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»° ' 


THE 


DRAMATIC   WORKS 


OF 


William  £>l)akespearr. 


WITH 


A    GLOSSARY. 


A  NEW  EDITION,  CORRECTED  AND  IMPROVED 


LONDON: 

HENRY  G.  BOHN,  YORK  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN. 


MDCCCLVni. 


> 


•    •   •  "•         l_ 

. .  •    •  ••  .  • ,  • 


•    •  •  "•  • 

•  •  •    .   • 


LON  DON : 
RICHARD    CLAY,    PRINTER,    BRKAD    STREET    HILL 


TO  THE  MOST  NOBLE 

iMttrg  tUettg  dFit?mattrte*t 

MARQUIS  OF  LANSDOWNE,   KG., 
LORD  PRESIDENT   OF  THE  COUNCIL, 

ETC.  ETC.  ETC., 

PRE-EMINENT  IN  HIS  APPRECIATION  OF  THE  GOOD  AND 
THE  BEAUTIFUL, 

THIS     EDITION    OF    THE    DRAMATIC    WRITINGS 

OF 

ttEftlltcim    $!)afcr0prcirr, 

IS,  WITH  PERMISSION,  INSCRIBED, 

BY   HIS   LORDSHIP'S 
MOST   DEVOTED,  HUMBLE    SERVANT, 

Cfce  ftiblfefrr. 


warm 


n 


gfttort&emtttt 


The  text  on  which  this  edition  of  Shakespeare  is  based 
is  that  of  Collier,  carefully  compared  with  the  folio  of 
mdcxxiii.  and  the  impressions  of  Johnson,  Steevens, 
Malone,  Boswell,  and  Knight.  Dyce's  remarks  have 
also  been  consulted. 


Of  the  numerous  editions  in  one  volume,  there  is, 
perhaps,  hardly  one  of  which  it  may  not  be  said  that  the 
size  is  too  great,  or  the  print  too  small.  It  occurred  to 
the  Publisher  that  considerable  improvements  yet  re- 
mained to  be  made  on  the  plan  of  the  Englishman's 
Vade-mecum.  He  thought  that  by  printing  the  names 
of  the  characters  at  full  length,  in  the  centre  of  the  text, 
and  in  red  ink,  considerable  relief  would  be  afforded 
both  to  the  memory  and  the  eye  of  the  reader,  and  that 
particular  passages  might  be  referred  to  icith  peculiar 


ease. 


He  ventures,  therefore,  to  hope  that  the  present  edition 
of  Shakespeare  may  be  found,  in  purity  of  text,  to 
equal,  and  in  convenience  of  form  to  excel,  any  of  its 
countless  and  multiform  predecessors. 


CONTENTS. 


y 


Page 

The  Tempest     --.«..-.  i 

The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona             •     -           -           -  24 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor     -           «           -           -           -  49 
Measure  for  Measure            -                    .  -           -           -      79 

The  Comedy  of  Errors          -           -           -           -           -  109 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing     -----  128 

Love's  Labour's  Lost  -           -           -           -           .           -  157 

\  Midsummer-Night's  Dream     -----  187 

*  Merchant  of  Venice  ---.--  208 

As  You  Like  It            -           -           -           -           -           -  234 

Taming  of  the  Shrew            -  2G2 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well            -           -           -            -  291 

Twelfth-night;  or,  What  You  Will         -           -           -  322 

The  Winter's  Tale     -           -           -                     ■  -           -  350 

King  John         -           -           -           -           -           -           -  381 

Life  and  Death  ok  King  Richard  II.                     -           -  40G 

First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV.         -  433 

Second  Part  of  King  Henry  IV.     -           -           -           -  463 

King  Henry  V. 496 

First  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.         -  528 

Second  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.                   -           -           -  556 

Third  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.                     -           -           -  588 

Life  and  Death  of  King  Richard  III.        -           -           -  620 

King  Henry  VIII.         -            -           -           -           -           -  659 

Troilus  and  Cressida-  -  -  -  -  -691 

Coriolanus         -------  728 

Titus  Andronicus         ------  767 

Romeo  and  Juliet        ------  792 

Timon  of  Athens          ------  824 

Julius  Cesar    -------  851 

Macbeth            -------  878 

Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark             -           -           -           -  903 

King  Lear         -------  944 

Othello,  the  Moor  of  Venice         -                   .    -           -  981 

Antony  and  Cleopatra           -----  1018 

Cymbeline         -------  1056 

Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre      -  -  -  -  -1092 

Glossary            -           -           -           -           -           -           -  1118 


LIST  OF  ENGEAVINGS. 


Painted  by 
Portrait  of  Shakespeare,  Facsimile  of  the  originate  t»  „„„„„,„,_ 

Portrait  by \  UROEShout  • 

Tempest.    Act  I.  Sc.  2 Stothard  .  . 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.     Act  V.  Sc.  3.     .    .     .  Stothard.  . 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.    Act  III.  Sc.  3.      .    .    .  Stothard.  . 

Measure  for  Measure.    Act  V.  Sc.  1 Stothard  .  . 

Comedy  of  Errors.    Act  V.  Sc.  1 Stothard  .  .. 

Much  Ado  About  Nothing.    Act  III.  Sc.  1.  .    .     .  Peters.     .  . 

Love's  Labour's  Lost.     Act  IV.  Sc.  3 Stothard  .  . 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream.    Act  II.  Sc.  2.  .    .    .  Reynolds  .  . 

Merchant  of  Venice.    Act  IV.  Sc.  1 Stothard  .  . 

As  You  Like  It.     Act  II.  Sc.  4 Stothard  .  . 

Taming  of  the  Shrew.  _  Act  IV.  Sc.  3 Stothard  .  . 

All's  Well  That  Ends  Well.    Act  I.  Sc.  3.      .    .     .  Worthington 

Twelfth  Night ;  or,  What  You  Will.  Act  III.  Sc.  4.  Stothard  .  . 

The  Winter's  Tale.     Act  V.  Sc.  3 ,    .  Stothard  .  . 

King  John.    Act  IV.  Sc.  1 Stothard  .  . 

King  Richard  II.    Act  V.  Sc.  5 Wright     .  . 

King  Henry  IV.     Part  First.    Act  II.  Sc.  2.      .     .  Stothard.  . 

King  Henry  IV.     Part  Second.     Act  III.  Sc  2.     .  Stothard  .  . 

King  Henry  V.    Act  V.  Sc.  2 Wright     .  . 

King  Henry  VI.     Part  First.    Act  II.  Sc.  3.      .     .  Stothard  .  . 

King  Henry  VI.    Part  Second.    Act  III.  Sc.  2.      .  Stothard  .  . 

King  Henry  VI.    Part  Third.    Act  V.  Sc.  5.     .     .  Stothard  .  . 

King  Richard  III.    Act  IV.  Sc.  3 Stothard  .  . 

King  Henry  VIII.    Act  I.  Sc.  4.  .     .......  Stothard.  . 

Troilus  and  Cressida.     Act  V.  Sc.  3 Kirk     .     .  . 

Coriolanus.    Act  V.  Sc.  3 Stothard  .  . 

Titus  Andronicus.    Act  IV.  Sc.  2 Kirk     .     .  . 

Romeo  and  Juliet.     Act  II.  Sc.  2 Stothard  .  . 

Timon  of  Athens.    Act  I.  Sc.  2 Howard    .  . 

Julius  Caesar.    Act  III.  Sc.  1. Westall  .  . 

Macbeth.    Act  II.  Sc.  2. .    »    .    i Worthington 

Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark.    Act  IV.  Sc.  7.      .    .  Westall   .  . 

King  Lear.    Act  III.  Sc.  4 .  Stothard  .  . 

Othello.    Act  II.  Sc.  1 Stothard.  . 

Antony  and  Cleopatra.    Act  V.  Sc.  2 Stothard.  . 

Cymbeline.    Act  III.  Sc.  6 Westall   .  . 

Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre.    Act  V.  Sc.  1 Stothard  .  . 


Engraved  by      Page~ 
.     .    .     .  Front. 


Worthington 

2 

R.  Graves . 

.      4fi 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.      Ct 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     102 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     124 

A  ii g.  Fox  . 

.     140 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     171 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     193 

R.  Graves. 

.    226 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     242 

C.  Marr    . 

.     282 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     294 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     338 

Engleheart 

.     379 

R.  Graves. 

.     395 

S.  Watts    . 

.     431 

Aug.  Fox  . 

440 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     479 

S.  Watts    . 

524 

Aug.  Fox  . 

.     536 

H.  Adlard 

.     572 

Aug.  Fox  . 

616 

Aug.  Fox  . 

647 

Perkins     . 

6G5 

T.  White  . 

723 

T.  White  . 

762 

Aug.  Fox . 

782 

Aug.  Fox  . 

801 

T.  White  . 

828 

Aug.  Fox  . 

8G2 

Aug.  Fox  . 

884 

A  ug.  Fox  . 

934 

Aug.  Fox  . 

962 

Aug.  Fox  .     . 

9S8 

Aug.  Fox  . 

1051 

T.  White  .     . 

1076 

Aug.  Fox  .     . 

1113 

aatiUiant  £hnncj3pcatc 

Was  born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwicn,  on  the  2 5  <1  of 
April,  1564.  His  father,  John  Sliakcspeare,  was  a  glover,  and  at  various  times 
alderman  and  bailiff  of  the  town ;  his  mother,  Mary  Arden,  was  the  daughter 
Of  an  ancient  but  decayed  family  in  the  county.  It  is  most  likely  that  the  poet 
roeeived  his  education  at  the  free-school  of  Stratford;  and  we  have  the  assertion 
of  Aubrey  that  he  was  for  some  time  a  schoolmaster,  and  the  plausible  conjecture 
of  Malone,  based  upon  the  familiarity  displayed  in  his  writings  with  the  tech- 
nicalities of  the  law,  that  he  likewise  served  in  the  office  of  an  attorney.  Nothing 
certain,  however,  is  known  of  his  youth,  but  that  he  married,  soon  after  the 
zHh  November,  1582,  Anne  Hathaway,  of  Stratford;  and  that  their  first  child 
was  christened  on  the  26th  of  May,  1583.  Twins  were  born  to  them  in  1585, 
soon  after  which  event  Shakespeare  went  to  seek  his  fortune  in  London.  The 
well  known  story  that  he  left  Stratford  in  order  to  avoid  the  consequences 
of  stealing  deer  from  the  park  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  at  Charlecote  rests  upon 
a  tradition,  picked  up  by  Betterton,  the  actor,  some  fifty  years  after  the  poet's 
death,  and  neither  shaken  nor  strengthened  by  the  diligence  of  many  sub- 
sequent inquirers.  We  first  hear  of  him  in  London  in  1589,  as  a  shareholder 
and  player  in  the  Blackfriars  Theatre;  and  he  had  doubtless  already  com- 
menced author,  by  altering  or  adapting  the  writings  of  others  to  the  stage ; 
for  a  passage  in  Spenser's  "Tears  of  the  Muses,"  in  which  he  seems  to  be 
alluded  to  as  "  our  pleasant  Willy,"  proves  that  in  1591,  when  the  poem  was 
first  printed,  he  had  achieved  a  considerable  reputation  as  a  dramatist.  In 
1593  he  published  his  poem  of  "  Venus  and  Adonis,"  and  in  1594  that  entitled 
**  Lucrece."  Both  works  were  dedicated  to  Henry  Wriothesley,  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, who  rewarded  the  author  with  a  gift  of  a  thousand  pounds.  It  was 
this  bounty,  perhaps,  which  enabled  him  to  become  a  leading  shareholder  in 
the  New  Globe  Theatre  on  the  bankside  in  Southwark,  built  by  the  Blackfriars 
company,  and  opened  in  1595.  In  summer,  the  same  company  used  to  perform 
at  a  theatre  at  Newington  Butts.  Shakespeare  remained  on  the  stage  till  1604, 
when  his  name  ceases  to  be  found  amongst  the  actors.  He  continued,  however, 
to  live  in  London  —  near  the  Bear  Garden  in  Southwark ;  and  to  write  for  the 
stage  until  161 2  or  1613,  when  he  took  up  his  permanent  abode  at  Strafford. 
There  his  gains  had  been  from  time  to  time  invested  in  a  substantial  house  called 
the  New  Place,  and  built  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  some 
other  detached  tenements,  a  hundred  and  seven  acres  of  land,  a  garden  and 
orchard,  and  the  great  tithes  of  the  parish  —  property  which  may  have  been 
worth  between  two  and  three  hundred  pounds  a  year.  This  property  must  have 
been  acquired  mainly  by  the  representations  of  his  plays,  and  his  own  exertions 
as  an  actor.    From  his  printed  dramas  he  seems  to  have  derived  no  profit,  nor 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


to  have  looked  for  any  fame  ;  indeed,  he  seems  neither  to  have  been  concerned 
in  their  publication,  nor  to  have  bestowed  the  least  care  in  the  revision  of  the 
text.  His  name  was  even  affixed  during  his  lifetime  to  several  plays  which  his 
friends  and  fellow  actors  saw  fit  to  exclude  from  the  first  collected  edition  printed 
by  them  in  1623.  Of  his  sonnets,  written,  many  of  them,  before  1598,  though 
not  printed  until  1609,  the  dedication  to  "their  only  begetter,"  Mr.  W.  H, 
initials  which  have  as  yet  never  been  deciphered,  was  signed,  not  by  the  author, 
but  by  the  publisher,  Thomas  Thorpe.  Aubrey  was  informed  that  Shakespeare 
"  did  act  exceedingly  well."  But  he  certainly  did  not  hold  amongst  actors  the 
prominent  place  which  he  occupied  amongst  authors.  In  his  own  plays,  he  is 
said  to  have  sustained  the  parts  of  the  Ghost  in  "  Hamlet,"  and  Adam  in  "  As 
You  Like  It ;"  he  likewise  acted  in  Ben  Jorison's  "Every  Man  in  his  Humour;" 
and  his  last  recorded  appearance  on  the  stage  was  in  that  author's  "  Scjanus." 
His  person  and  manners  are  thus  briefly  described  by  Aubrey.  "He  was  a 
handsome,  well-shaped  man,  very  good  company,  and  of  a  ready,  and  pleasant, 
and  smooth  wit."  He  died  at  Stratford  on  the  23rd  April,  1616,  aged  53  years. 
By  his  widow,  who  survived  him  till  1623,  he  had  three  children:  Susanna, 
married  to  Dr.  Hall,  a  physician  of  some  eminence ;  Hamnet,  who  died  aged 
eleven  in  1596 ;  and  Judith,  the  wife  of  Thomas  Quiney,  a  wine  merchant  at 
Stratford.  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Dr.  Hall  and  widow  of  Sir  John  Bernard, 
who  died  at  Abingdon  in  1670,  was  the  last  lineal  descendant  of  Shakespeare. 
— The  poet  was  buried  on  the  north  side  of  the  chancel  of  the  great  church  of 
Stratford. 

Within  seven  years  of  his  death  a  monument  was  erected  there  to  his  memory, 
containing  his  bust,  and  inscribed  with  these  verses :  — 

Stay,  Passenger,  why  goest  thov  by  so  fast  ? 
Read,  if  thov  canst,  whom  enviovs  Death  hath  plast 
Within  this  monvment :  Shakspeare;  with  whome 
Quick  natvre  dide ;  whose  name  doth  deck  ys  Tombe 
Far  more  then  cost;  sieth  all  yt  he  hath  writt 
Leaves  living  art  bvt  page  to  serve  his  witt 

Obiit  ano  Do*.  1616. 

JEtatis.  53.  die  23  Apr." 

The  house  of  New  Place  passed  to  the  Poet's  daughter,  Mrs.  Hall;  and  while 
in  the  possession  of  her  daughter,  was  for  three  weeks  the  residence  of  Queen 
Henrietta  Maria  in  1643.  It  afterwards  reverted  to  the  Chptons,  descendants 
of  Sir  Hugh,  and  at  last  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Rev.  Francis  Gastrell,  vicar  of 
Frodsham,  in  Cheshire.  Quarrelling  with  the  magistrates  of  Stratford  in  1756, 
this  divine  immortalized  himself  by  razing  the  building  to  the  ground,  having 
previously  cut  down  a  mulberry  tree  in  the  garden,  planted,  according  to  the 
tradition,  by  the  hand  of  Shakespeare. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  CATALOGUE 

OF   THE 

"WRITINGS  OF   SHAKESPEARE. 


Supposed  to 
have  been 


written. 

First  printed 

Titus  Andronicus 

. 

1588 

1600 

First  Part  of  Henry  VI. 

. 

1589 

1623 

Pericles 

. 

1590 

1609 

Second  Part  of  Henry  VI. 

. 

1591 

1623 

Third  Part  of  Henry  VL 

. 

1591 

1623 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 

. 

1591 

1623 

Comedy  of  Errors 

. 

1592 

1623 

Love's  Labour's  Lost  - 

. 

1592 

1598 

Richard  IL     - 

. 

1593 

1597 

Richard  IH.    - 

. 

1593 

1597 

Venus  and  Adonis 

. 

1593 

1593 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream 

- 

1594 

1600 

Rape  o/Lucrece 

- 

1594 

1594 

Taming  of  the  Shrew 

. 

1596 

1623 

Romeo  and  Juliet 

. 

1596 

1597 

Merchant  of  Venice    - 

. 

1597 

1600 

First  Part  of  Henry  IV. 

. 

1597 

1598 

Second  Part  of  Henry  IV. 

. 

1598 

1600 

King  John 

- 

1598 

1623 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well 

- 

1598 

1623 

Henry  V.        - 

. 

1599 

1600 

As  You  Like  It 

. 

1599 

1623 

Passionate  Pilgrim 

. 

1599 

1599 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing 

. 

1600 

1600 

Hamlet 

. 

1600 

1603 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 

. 

1601 

1602 

Twelfth  Night 

. 

1601 

1623 

Troilus  and  Cressida  - 

. 

1602 

1609 

Henry  VIH.  - 

. 

1603 

1623 

Measure  for  Measure  - 

. 

1603 

1623 

Othello 

. 

1604 

1622 

King  Lear 

. 

1605 

1608 

Macbeth 

. 

1606 

1623 

Julius  Caesar 

« 

1607 

1623 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 

. 

1608 

1623 

Cymbeline    '  - 

. 

1609 

1623 

Sonnets 

m 

1609 

Coriolauus 

. 

1610 

1623 

Timon  of  Athens 

.            . 

1610 

1623 

Winter's  Tale 

. 

1611 

1623 

Tempest 

- 

1612 

1623 

The  Dedication  prefixed  to  the  Folio  of  1623. 


To  the  most  Noble  and  Incomparable  Paire 
of  Brethren.  William  Earle  of  Pembroke, 
&c.  Lord  Chamberlaine  to  the  Kings 
most  Excellent  Maiesty. 

And  Philip  Earle  of  Montgomery,  &c. 
Gentleman  of  his  Maiesties  Bed-Cham  - 
ber.  Both  Knights  of  the  most  Noble 
Order  of  the  Garter,  and  our  singular 
good  Lords. 
Right  Honourable, 

Whilst  we  studie  to  be  thankful  in  our 
particular,  for  the  many  fauors  we  haue 
receiued  from  your  L.  L  we  are  falne  vpon 
the  ill  fortune,  to  mingle  two  the  most 
diuerse  things  that  can  bee,  feare,  and 
rashnesse ;  rashnesse  in  the  enterprize,  and 
feare  of  the  successe.  For,  when  we  valew 
the  places  your  H.  H.  sustaine,  we  cannot 
but  know  their  dignity  greater,  then  to 
descend  to  the  reading  of  these  trifles: 
and,  while  we  name  them  trifles,  we  haue 
depriu'd  our  selues  of  the  defence  of  our 
Dedication.  But  since  your  L.  L.  have 
beene  pleas'd  to  thinke  these  trifles  some- 
thing, heeretofore ;  and  have  prosequuted 
both  them,  and  their  Author  liuing,  with 
so  much  fauour :  we  hope,  that  (they  out- 
liuing  him,  and  he  not  having  the  fate, 
common  to  some,  to  be  exequutor  to  his 
owne  writings)  you  will  vse  the  like  in- 
dulgence toward  them,  you  haue  done  vnto 
their  parent.  There  is  a  great  difference, 
whether  any  booke  choose  his  Patrones, 
or  finde  them :  This  hath  done  both.  For, 
so  much  were  your  L.  L.  likings  of  the 
seuerall  parts,  when  they  were  acted,  as 
before  they  were  published,  the  Volume 


ask'd  to  be  yours.  We  have  but  collected 
them,  and  done  an  office  to  the  dead,  to 
procure  his  Orphanes,  Guardians ;  without 
ambition  either  of  selfe-profit,  or  fame: 
onely  to  keepe  the  memory  of  so  worthy 
a  Friend,  and  Fellow  aliue,  as  was  our 
Shakespeare,  by  humble  offer  of  his 
playes,  to  your  most  noble  patronage. 
Wherein,  as  we  haue  iustly  obserued,  no 
man  to  come  neere  your  L.  L.  but  with  a 
kind  of  religious  addresse;  it  hath  bin 
the  height  of  our  care,  who  are  the  Pre- 
senters, to  make  the  present  worthy  of 
yovr  H.  H.  by  the  perfection.  But,  there 
we  must  also  craue  our  abilities  to  be  con- 
sidered, my  Lords.  We  cannot  go  beyond 
oui  owne  powers.  Country  hands  reach 
foorth  milke,  creame,  fruites,  or  what  they 
|  haue :  and  many  Nations,  (we  haue  heard) 
that  had  not  gummes  and  incense,  ob- 
tained their  requests  with  a  leauened  Cake. 
It  was  no  fault  to  approch  their  Gods,  by 
what  meanes  they  could :  And  the  most, 
though  meanest,  of  things  are  made  more 
precious,  when  they  are  dedicated  to 
Temples.  In  that  name  therefore,  we  most 
humbly  consecrate  to  your  H.H.  these 
remaines  of  your  seruant  Shakespeare  ; 
that  what  delight  is  in  them,  may  be  euer 
your  L.  L.  the  reputation  his,  &  the  faults 
ours,  if  any  be  committed,  by  a  payre  so 
carefull  to  shew  their  gratitude  both  to 
the  liuing,  and  the  dead,  as  is 

Your  Lordshippes  most  bounden, 

Iohn  Heminge. 

Henry  Condell. 


Address  "  to  the  great  Variety  of  Readers  "  'prefixed  to 
*  the  Folio  of  1623. 


Fkom  the  most  able,  to  him  that  can 
but  spell :  There  you  are  mimber'd.  We 
had  rather  you  were  weighd.  Especially, 
when  the  fate  of  all  Bookes  depends  vpon 
your  capacities :  and  not  of  your  heads 
alone,  but  of  your  purses.  Weill  It  is 
now  publique,  and  you  wil  stand  for  your 
pri  viledges  wee  know :  to  read,  and  censure. 
Do  so,  but  buy  it  first.  That  doth  best 
commend  a  Booke,  the  Stationer  saies. 
Then,  how  odde  soeuer  your  braines  be,  or 
your  wisedomes,  make  your  licence  the 
same,  and  spare  not.  fudge  your  sixe- 
pen'orth,  your  shillings  worth,  your  fiue 
shillings  worth  at  a  time,  or  higher,  so 
as  you  rise  to  the  iust  rates,  and  welcome. 
But,  whatever  you  do,  Buy.  Censure  will 
not  driue  a  Trade,  or  make  the  Iacke  go. 
And  though  you  be  a  Magistrate  of  wit, 
and  sit  on  the  Stage  at  Black-Friers,  or 
the  Cock-pit,  to  arraigne  Playes  dailie, 
know,  these  Playes  haue  had  their  triall 
alreadie,  and  stood  out  all  Appeales ;  and 
do  now  come  forth  quitted  rather  by  a 
Decree  of  Court,  then  any  purchas'd  tet- 
ters of  commendation. 

It  had  bene  a  thing,  we  confesse,  worthie 
to  haue  bene  wished,  that  the  Author  him- 
selfe  had  liu'd  to  haue  set  forth,  and  ouer- 
seen  his  owne  writings ;  But  since  it  hath 
bin  ordain'd  otherwise,  and  he  by  death 
departed  from  that  right,  we  pray  you  doe 
not  envie  his  Friends,  the  office  of  their 


care,  and  paine,  to  have  collected  and 
[  publish'd  them ;  and  so  to  haue  publish'd 
them,  as  where  (before)  you  were  abus'd 
with  divers  stolne,  and  surreptitious  copies, 
maimed,  and  deformed  by  the  frauds  and 
stealthes  of  iniurious  impostors,  that  ex- 
pos'd  them:  even  those,  are  now  ofier'd 
to  vour  view  cur'd,  and  perfect  of  their 
limbes ;  and  all  the  rest,  absolute  in  their 
numbers,  as  he  conceiued  the":  Who,  as 
he  was  a  happie  imitator  of  Nature,  was  a 
most  gentle  expresser  of  it.  His  mind  and 
hand  went  together :  And  what  he  thought, 
he  vttered  with  that  easinesse,  that  wee 
haue  scarse  receiued  from  him  a  blot  in 
his  papers.  But  it  is  not  our  prouince, 
who  onely  gather  his  works,  and  give 
them  you,  to  praise  him.  It  is  yours  that 
reade  him.  And  there  we  hope,  to  your 
diuers  capacities,  you  will  finde  enough, 
both  to  draw,  and  hold  you :  for  his  wit 
can  no  more  lie  hid,  then  it  could  be  lost. 
Reade  him,  therefore;  and  againe,  and 
againe :  And  if  then  you  doe  not  like  him, 
surely  you  are  in  some  manifest  danger, 
not  to  vnderstand  him.  And  so  we  leaue 
you  to  other  of  his  Friends,  whom  if  you 
need,  can  bee  your  guides :  if  you  neede 
them  not,  you  can  leade  your  selues,  and 
others.    And  such  Readers  we  wish  him. 

Iohn  Hemlnge. 

Henrie  Condell. 


To  the  Memory  of  the  deceased  Author,  Master  William 
Shakespeare. 

Shake-spearb,  at  length  thy  pious  fellows  give 

The  world  thy  works ;  thy  works,  by  which  outlive 

Thy  tomb  thy  name  must :  when  that  stone  is  rent, 

And  time  dissolves  thy  Stratford  monument, 

Here  we  alive  shall  view  thee  still:  this  book, 

When  brass  and  marble  fade,  shall  make  thee  look 

Fresh  to  all  ages ;  when  posterity 

Shall  loath  what's  new,  think  all  is  prodigy 

That  is  not  Shake-speare's,  every  line,  each  verse, 

Here  shall  revive,  redeem  thee  from  thy  herse. 

Nor  fire,  nor  cankering  age,  as  Naso  said 

Of  his,  thy  wit-fraught  book  shall  once  invade: 

Nor  shall  I  e'er  believe  or  think  thee  dead, 

(Though  miss'd)  until  our  bankrout  stage  be  sped 

( Impossible)  with  some  new  strain  t'  out-do 

Passions  of  Juliet,  and  her  Romeo; 

Or  till  I  hear  a  scene  more  nobly  take, 

Than  when  thy  half-sword  parleying  Romans  spake: 

Till  these,  till  any  of  thy  volume's  rest, 

Shall  with  more  fire,  more  feeling,  be  express'd, 

Be  sure,  our  Shake-speare,  thou  cans't  never  die, 

But,  crown'd  with  laurel,  live  eternally. 

L.  Digues. 


[p 


To  the  Memory  of  my  beloved,  the  Author,  Mr.  William  Shakespeare, 
and  what  he  hath  left  us. 


To  draw  no  envy,  Shakespeare,  on  thy  name, 
Am  I  thus  ample  to  thy  book,  and  fame ; 
While  I  confess  thy  writings  to  be  such, 
As  neither  man,  nor  muse,  can  praise  too  much ; 
Tis  true,  and  all  men's  suffrage;    but  these 

ways 
Were  not  the  paths  I  meant  unto  thy  praise: 
For  seeliest  ignorance  on  these  may  light, 
Which,  when  it  sounds  at  best,  but  echoes  right ; 
Or  blind  affection,  which  doth  ne'er  advance 
The  truth,  but  gropes,  and  urgeth  all  by  chance ; 
Or  crafty  malice  might  pretend  this  praise, 
And  think  to  ruin,  where  it  seem'd  to  raise: 
These  are,  as  some  infamous  bawd,  or  whore, 
Should  praise  a  matron ;  what  could  hurt  her 

more? 
But  thou  art  proof  against  them ;  and,  indeed, 
Above  th'  ill  fortune  of  them,  or  the  need. 
I,  therefore,  will  begin:  — Soul  of  the  age, 
The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage, 
My  Shakespeare,  rise !  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser;  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  a  room: 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb  ; 
And  art  alive  still,  while  thy  book  doth  live, 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 
That  I  not  mix  thee  so,  my  brain  excuses  ; 
I  mean,  with  great  but  disproportion^  muses: 
For,  if  I  thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 
I  should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers ; 
And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lyly  outshine, 
Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlowe's  mighty  line: 
And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin,  and  less 

Greek, 
From  thence  to  honour  thee,  I  would  not  seek 
For  names ;  but  call  forth  thundering  JEschylus, 
Euripides,  and  Sophocles,  to  us, 
Pacuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordova  dead, 
To  life  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread 
And  shake  a  stage:  or,  when  thy  socks  were  on, 
Leave  thee  alone,  for  the  comparison 
Of  all  that  insolent  Greece,  or  haughty  Rome, 
Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes  come. 


Triumph,  my  Britain!  thou  hast  one  to  show, 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 
He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time ; 
And  all  the  muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 
When  like  Apollo  he  came  forth  to  warm 
Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm. 
Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 
And  joy'd  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines ; 
Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 
As  since  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 
The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 
Neat  Terence,  witty  Plautus,  now  not  please ; 
I  But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 
\  As  they  were  not  of  Nature's  family. 
!  Yet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all;  thy  art, 
j  My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part: 
;  For  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be, 
i  His  art  doth  give  the  fashion ;  and  that  he, 
!  Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  sweat, 
|  (Such  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  heat 
'  Upon  the  muses'  anvil ;  turn  the  same, 
'  (And  himself  with  it)  that  he  thinks  to  frame ; 
I  Or  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  a  scorn, 
For  a  good  poet's  made,  as  well  as  born  : 
:  And  such  wert  thou.  Look,  how  the  father's  face 
'  Lives  in  his  issue ;  even  so  the  race 
I  Of  Shakespeare's  mind,  and  manners,  brightly 

shines 
;  In  his  well-torned  and  true-filed  lines ; 
i  In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  skake  a  lance, 
i  As  brandish'd  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance. 
I  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon,  what  a  sight  it  were, 
I  To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear ; 
j  And  make  those   flights   upon   the   banks  of 

Thames, 
That  so  did  take  Eliza,  and  our  James! 
But  stay ;  I  see  thee  in  the  hemisphere 
Advanc'd,  and  made  a  constellation  there  : 
Shine  forth,  thou  star  of  poets ;  and  with  rage, 
Or  influence,  chide,  or  cheer,  the  drooping  stage ; 
Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourn  'd 

like  night, 
And  despairs  day,  but  for  thy  volume's  light  1 

Ben  Ionson. 


,-i  IfcUi 


THE    TEMPEST 


ALONSO,  King  of  Naples, 
f  ebastian,  his  Brother. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON2E. 

Stephano,  a  drunken  Butler. 
\  Master  of  a  Ship,  Boatswain,  Mariner  * 
Prospero.'fA*  right  Duke  of  Milan.  Miranda,  Daughter  to  Prospero. 

Antonio,   his  Brother,  the   usurping  Duke   of  I  Ariel,  an  airy  Spirit 

Milan.  Iris, 

Ferdinand,  Son  to  the  King  of  Naples.  Ceres, 


Gonzalo,  an  honest  old  Counsellor. 

Caliban,  a  savage  and  deformed  Slave. 
Trinculo,  a  Jester. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    On  a  Ship  at  Sea. 

A  tempestuous  noise  of  Thunder  and  Lightning,  i 

F.ntor  a  Ship-master  and  a  Boatswain. 

Master. 

OATSWAIN! 


iphs,  i 
lers,  J 


Juno,        ySpirits. 

Nymphs, 

Reape 

Other  Spirits  attending  on  Prospero. 
SCENE,  an  uninhabited  Island. 


Bo. 


atswaln. 
Hence  ! 


B 


Boatswain. 
Here,  master  :  what  cheer  ? 

Master. 
Good.    Speak  to  the  mariners :  fall  to 't  yarely,  i 
or  we  ruu  ourselves  aground :  bestir,  bestir. 

[Exit. 
F.nter  Mariners. 
Boatswain. 
Heigh,  my  hearts !  cheerly,  cheerly,  my  hearts! 
yare,  yare.     Take  in  the  top- sail  ;  tend  to  the 
master's  whistle.  — Blow,  till  thou  burst  thy 
wind,  if  room  enough  1 

Enter    ALmso,  Sebastian,    Antonio,    Ferdinand, 
Uonxali),  and  Others. 
Alonso. 
Good    boatswain,  have   care.      Where's  the 
master  ?    Play  the  men. 

Boatswain. 
1  pray  now,  keep  below. 

Antonio 
Where  is  the  master,  boatswain  ? 

BoattwalD. 
Do  you  not  hear  him  ?    You  mar  our  labour. 
Keep  your  cabins  ;  you  do  assist  the  storm. 
Contalo. 
Nay,  good,  be  patient. 


When  the  sea  Is.  Hence  !  What  care  these 
roarers  for  the  name  of  king?  To  cabin: 
silence  !  trouble  us  not. 

Gonzalo. 
Good ;  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast  aboard. 

Boatswain. 
None  that  1  more  love  than  myself.  You  are 
a  counsellor :  if  you  can  command  these  elements 
to  silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  the  present, 
we  will  not  hand  a  rope  more  ;  use  your  autho- 
rity :  if  you  cannot,  give  thanks  you  have  lived 
so  long,  and  make  yourself  ready  in  your  cabin 
for  the  mischance  of  the  hour,  if  it  so  hap. — 
Cheerly,  good  hearts  !  —  Out  of  our  way,  1  say. 

Gonzalo 
I  have  great  comfort  from  this  fellow :  me- 
think*,  he  hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him  ; 
his  complexion  is  perfect  gallows.  Stand  fast, 
good  fate,  to  his  hanging  1  make  the  rope  of  his 
destiny  our  cable,  for  our  own  doth  little  ad- 
vantage !  If  he  be  not  born  to  be  hanged,  our 
case  is  miserable.  [Exeunt . 

Re-enter  Boatswain. 
Boatswain. 
Down  with  the  top-mast :  yare ;  lower,  lower. 
Bring  her  to  try  with  main-course. 

FA  cry  within. 
A  plague  upon  this  howling  !  they  are  louder 
than  the  weather,  or  our  office — 

Re-enter  Sebastian     irUouio,  ami  (lunzalo. 
Yet  again  !  what  do  you  here  ?    Shall  we  give 
o'er,  and  drown  ?    Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

0  Sebastian. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  i. 


Sebastian. 
A  pox  o'  your  throat,  you  bawling,  blasphem- 
ous, incharitable  dog  1 

Boatswain. 
Work  you,  then. 

Antonio. 
Hang,  cur,  hang  !   you   whoreson,   insolent 
noisemaker,  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned 
than  thou  art. 

Gonzalo. 
I'll  warrant  him  from  drowning ;  though  the 
shin  were  no  stronger  than  a  nutshell,  and  as 
leak''  as  an  unstancked  W3n2h. 

'  '       •  .  BkSts^ata.  •  '  -   ' 

Lay  her  a-hold,  a-hold  !     Set  her  two«cpurses : 
off  to  ;ea  agair. ;  lay  h3"  off.    <. 

'    "    !  :  '  .»'Kii,«;ei;'iliff>-ijljfi,r{,^wjt;t»  (   »## 

Mariner. 
All  lost !  to  prayers,  to  prayers  !  all  lost ! 

[Exeunt. 
Boatswain. 
What !  must  our  mouths  be  cold  ? 

Gonzalo. 

The  king  and  prince  at  prayers  !  let  us  assist 

For  our  case  is  as  theirs.  [them, 

Sebastian. 

I  am  out  of  patience. 

Antonio. 
We  are  merely  cheated  of  our  lives  by  drunk- 
ards.— [lie  drowning, 
This  wide-chapp'd  rascal, — would,  thou  might'st 
The  washing  of  ten  tides  ! 

Gonzalo. 

He'll  be  hanged  yet, 
Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it, 
And  gape  at  wid'st  to  glut  him. 

[A  confused  noise,  and  cries  within. 
[Mercy  on  us  '.  —  We  split!  we  split  — Fare- 
well, my  wife  and  children  !— Farewell,  brother ! 
—  We  split,  we  split,  we  split !] 
Antonio. 
Let's  all  sink  with  the  king.  [Exit. 

Sebastian. 
Let's  take  leave  of  him.  [Exit. 

Gonzalo. 

Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of  sea 

for  an  acre  of  barren  ground  ;  long  heath,  brown 

furze,  any  thing.     The  wills  above  be  done  ! 

but  1  would  fain  die  a  dry  death.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.     The  Island:   before  the  cell  of 
Prospero. 

Enter  Prospero  and  Miranda. 
Miranda. 

If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them. 
The  sky,  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinking 

pitch, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek, 
Dashes  the  fire  out.     O  !  I  have  suffer'd 
With  those  that  I  saw  suffer :  a  brave  vessel, 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creatures  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.     O  !  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart.    Poor  souls,  they  pe- 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would    [rish'd  1 
Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth,  or  e'er 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallow'd,  and 
The  fraughting  souls  within  her. 
Prospero. 

Be  collected : 
No  more  amazement.  Tell  your  piteous  heart, 
There's  no  harm  done. 


Miranda. 

O,  woe  the  day  1 

Prospero. 

No  harm. 
I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee,  [who 
(Of  thee,  my  dear  one  !  thee,  my  daughter  !) 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
Of  whence  I  am  ;  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell, 
And  thy  no  greater  father. 

Miranda. 

More  to  know 
Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Prospero. 

'Tis  time 
I  should  inform  thee  farther.    Lend  thy  hand, 
And  pluck  my  magic  garment  from  me. —  So : 

[Lays  down  his  Mantle. 
Lie  there  my  art. — Wipe  thou  thine  eyes ;  have 

comfort. 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 
The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 
I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 
So  safely  order'd,  that  there  is  no  soul  — 
No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair, 
Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel     [Sit  down  ; 
Which  thou  heardst  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink. 
For  thou  must  now  know  farther. 

Miranda. 

You  have  often 
Begun  to  tell  me  what  I  am  ;  but  stopp'd, 
And  left  me  to  a  bootless  inquisition, 
Concluding,  "  Stay,  not  yet." 

Prospero. 

The  hour's  now  come, 
The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear ; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.     Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell  ? 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst,  for  then  thou  wast  not 
Out  three  years  old. 

Miranda. 

Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Prospero. 
By  what  ?  by  any  other  house,  or  person  ? 
Of  any  thing  the  image  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Miranda. 

'Tis  far  off; 
And  rather  like  a  dream,  than  an  assurance 
That  my  remembrance  warrants.    Had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  once,  that  tended  me  ? 

Prospero. 
Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda.    But  how 
is  it,  [else 

That  this  lives  in  thy  mind  ?    What  seest  thou 
i  In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time  ? 
If  thou  remember'st  aught,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
How  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st. 
Miranda. 

But  that  I  do  not. 

Prospero. 
Twelve  years   since,  Miranda,  twelve  years 
Tby  father  was  the  duke  of  Milan,  and     [since, 
I  A  prince  of  power. 

Miranda. 

Sir,  are  not  you  my  father  ? 
Prospero. 
Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said,  thou  wast  my  daughter  ;  and  thy  father 
Was  duke  of  Milan,  and  his  only  heir 
A  princess  no  worse  issued. 

*  Miranda. 


1T-B  SO  B>  »  S  "3?, 

•    Act      I      St.  2. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Miranda. 

O,  the  heavens  ! 
What   foul   play  had  we.  that  we  came  from 
Or  blessed  was 't,  we  did  ?  [thence  ? 

Prospero. 

Both,  both,  my  girl  : 
By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  heav'd 
But  blessedly  holp  hither.  [theuce  ; 

Miranda. 

0 1  my  heart  bleeds 
To  think  o'  the  teen  that  I  have  turn'd  you  to, 
Which  is  from  my  remembrance.    Please  you, 
farther. 

Prospero. 
My  brother,  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio, — 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me, — that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious  !  —  he  whom,  next  thyself, 
Of  all  the  world  I  lov'd,  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  state ;  as,  at  that  time, 
Through  all  the  signiories  it  was  the  first, 
(And  Prospero  the  prime  duke,  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity  ;  and  for  the  liberal  arts, 
Without  a  parallel,  those  being  all  my  study  ;) 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother. 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported 
And  rapt  in  secret  studies.     Thy  false  uncle — 
Dost  thou  attend  me  ? 

Miranda. 

Sir,  most  needfully. 
Prospero. 
Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 
How  to  deny  them,  whom  t'  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash  for  over-topping,  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine,  I  say,  or  chang'd 

them, 
Or  else  new  form'd  them  :  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts  i'  the  state 
To  what  tune  pleas'd  his  ear  ;  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't Thou  at- 
tend st  not. 

Miranda. 
O  good  sir  !  I  do. 

Prospero. 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 
I  thus  neglecting  worldly  ends,  all  dedicated 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that,  which  but  by  being  so  retir'd 
O'er-priz'd  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  brother 
Award  an  evil  nature :  and  my  trust, 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falsehood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was  ;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit,     \ 
A  confidence  sans  bound.    He  being  thus  lorded,  i 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded. 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact,  —  like  one,  | 
Who  having,  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it, 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory, 
To  credit  his  own  lie,  — he  did  believe 
He  was  indeed  the  duke ;  out  o'  the  substitution, 
And  executing  th*  outward  face  of  royalty, 
With    all    prerogative :  — hence    his   ambition 

growing,  — 
Dost  thou  hear? 

Miranda. 

Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness. 

Prospero. 

To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  he  play'd, 

And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 

Absolute  Milan.    Me,  poor  man  !  —  my  library 

Was  dukedom  large  enough  :  of  temporal  roy- 

He  thinks  me  now  incapable  ;  confederates 
So  dry  he  was  for  sway)  with  the  king  of 
Naples, 


To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage, 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown,  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd,  (alas,  poor  Milan!) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 
Miranda. 

O  the  heavens ! 
Prospero. 
Mark  his  condition,  and  th*  event ;  then  tell  me, 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 
Miranda. 

I  should  sin 
To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother : 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 
Prospero. 

Now  the  condition. 
This  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu  o'  the  premises, — 
Of  homage,  and  1  know  not  how  much  tribute, — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom,  and  confer  fair  Milan, 
With  all  the  honours,  on  my  brother:  whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight, 
Fated  to  the  purpose,  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan;  and,  i*  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  crying  self. 

Miranda. 

Alack,  for  pity ! 
I,  not  rememb'ring  how  I  cried  out  then, 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  :  it  is  a  hint, 
That  wrings  mine  eyes  to  't. 
Prospero. 

Hear  a  little  farther, 

And  then  I'll  bring  thee  to  the  present  business 

Which  now 's  upon  's ;  without  the  which  this 

Were  most  impertinent.  [story 

Miranda. 

Wherefore  did  they  not 
That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Prospero. 

Well  demanded,  wench : 
My  tale  provokes  that  question.    Dear,  they 

durst  not, 
(So  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me)  nor  set 
A  mark  so  bloody  on  the  business  ;  but 
With  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark, 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea,  where  they  prepar'd 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast ;  the  very  rats 
Instinctively  had  quit  it :  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  the  sea  that  roar'd  to  us  ;  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  sighing  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

Miranda. 

Alack  1  what  trouble 
Was  I  then  to  you  1 

Prospero. 
O  !  a  cherubim        [smile, 
Thou  wast,  that  did  preserve  me.     Thou  didst 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  I  have  deck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt, 
Under  my  burden  groan'd  ;  which  rais'd  in  me 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 
Miranda. 

How  came  we  ashore  ? 
Prospero. 

By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 
A  nohle  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charity,  (who  being  then  appointed 

Master 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


Master  of  this  design)  did  give  us  ;  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries, 
Which   since   have  steaded  much  :    so,  of  his 

gentleness, 
Knowing  I  lov'd  my  books,  he  furnish'd  me, 
From  my  own  library,  with  volumes  that 
I  prize  above  my  dukedom. 
Miranda. 

Would  I  might 
But  ever  see  that  man  ! 

Prospero. 

Now  I  arise :  — 
Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arriv'd ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  schoolmaster,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  princes  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful. 

Miranda. 

Heavens  thank  you  for  't !    And  now,  I  pray 
you,  sir, 
For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind,  your  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm  ? 

Prospero. 

Know  thus  far  forth 

By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  fortune, 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore ;  and  by  my  prescience 
1  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star,  whose  inlluence 
If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop.     Here  cease  more  ques- 
tions. 
Thou  art  iriclin'd  to  sleep  ;  'tis  a  good  dulness, 
And  give  it  way :  —  I   know  thou   canst  not 
choose.—  [Miranda  sleeps. 

Come  away,  servant,  come  !  I  am  ready  now. 
Approach,  my  Arid :  come  ! 

Enter  Ariel. 
Ariel. 

All  hail,  great  master;  grave  sir,  hail.   I  come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure ;  be 't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl'd  clouds:  to  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 

Prospero. 

Hast  thou,  spirit, 
Perform'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee  ? 

Ariel. 
To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship  ;  now  on  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flam'd  amazement :  sometimes,  I'd  divide, 
And  burn  in  many  places  ;  on  the  topmast, 
The  yards  and  bowsprit,  would  I  flame  distinctly, 
Then  meet,  and  join.    Jove's  lightnings,  the 

precursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight-outrunning  were  not:  the  fire,  ana 

cracks 

Of  sulphurous  roaring  the  most  mighty  Neptune 

Seem'd  to  besiege,  and  make  his  bold  waves 

Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake.  [tremble, 

Prospero. 

My  brave  spirit ! 
Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason  ? 
Ariel. 

Not  a  soul 
But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation.    All,  but  mariners, 
Plung'd  in  the  foaming  brine,and  quit  the  vessel, 
Theu  all  a-fire  with  me :  the  king's  son,  Ferdi- 


With  hair  up-staring  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair) 

Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd ;  cried,  "  Hell  is 

And  all  the  devils  are  here."  [empty, 

Prospero. 

Why,  that's  my  spirit ! 
But  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ? 
Ariel. 

Close  by,  my  master. 
Prospero. 
But  are  they,  Ariel,  safe  ? 
Ariel. 

Not  a  hair  perish'd  ; 
On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  fresher  than  before:  and,  as  thou  bad'st  me, 
In  troops  I  have  dispei  s'd  them  'bout  the  isle. 
The  king's  son  have  I  landed  by  himself, 
Whom  1  left  cooling  of  the  air  with  sighs 
In  an  odd  angle  of  the  isle,  and  sitting, 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 
Prospero. 

Of  the  king's  ship 
The  mariners,  say,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd, 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet  ? 
Ariel. 

Safely  in  harbour 
Is  the  king's  ship ;  in  the  deep  nook,  where  once 
Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vex'd  Bermouthes,  there  she's 
The  mariners  all  under  hatches  stow'd  ;  [hid  : 
Whom,  with  a  charm  join'd  to  their  suffer'd 

labour, 
I  have  left  asleep  :  and  for  the  rest  o'  the  fleet 
Which  I  dispers'd,  they  all  have  met  again, 
And  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  flote, 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples, 
Supposing    that    they    saw    the    king's    ship 

wreck'd, 
And  his  great  person  perish. 
Prospero. 

Ariel,  thy  charge 
Exactly  is  perform'd ;  but  there's  more  work. 
What  is  the  time  o'  the  day? 
Ariel. 

Past  the  mid  season. 
Prospero. 
At  least  two  glasses.    The  time  'twixt  six 
and  now 
Must  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously. 
Ariel. 
Is  there  more  toil  ?    Since  thou  dost  give  me 
pains,  [mis'd, 

Let  me  remember  thee  what  thou  hast  pro- 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 
Prospero. 

How  now!  moody? 
What  is't  thou  canst  demand  ? 
Ariel. 

My  liberty. 
Prospero. 
Before  the  time  be  out?  no  more. 
Ariel. 

I  prithee 
Remember,  1  have  done  thee  worthy  service  ; 
Told  thee  no  lies,  made  thee  no  mistakings, 
serv'd  [promise 

Without  or  grudge,  or  grumblings.   Thou  didst 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

Prospero. 

Dost  thou  forget 
From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee? 
Ariel. 

,    No. 
Prospero. 


Act  i.  Se.  11. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Thou  dost ;  and  thlnk'st  it  much,  to  tread  the 
00I« 

Of  the  s-iit  deep, 

To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north, 
To  do  iii«>  business  In  the  veins  o'  th'  earth, 
When  it  is  b.ih'd  with  Irost. 
Ariel. 

I  do  not,  sir. 
Prospero. 
Thou  licst,  malignant  thing !    Hast  thou  for- 
got 
The  foul  witch  Sycorax,  who.  with  age  and  envy, 
Was  grown  iuto  a  hoop?  hast  thou  forgot  her? 
Ariel. 
No,  sir. 

Prospero. 
Thou  hast.    Where  was  she  born  ? 
speak ;  tell  me. 

Ariel. 
Sir,  in  Argier. 

Prospero. 

O  !  was  she  so  ?    I  must, 
Once  in  a  month,  recount  what  thou  hast  been, 
Which  thou  forget'st.    This  damn'd  witch,  Sy- 
corax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  hearing,  from  Argier,        [did, 
Thou  know'st,  was  banish'd:  for  one  thing  she 
Thev  would  not  take  her  life.    Is  not  this  true? 
Ariel. 
Ay,  sir. 

Prospero. 
This  blue-ey'd  hag  was  hither  brought  with 
child, 
And  here  was  left  by  the  sailors :  thou,  my  slave 
As  thou  report'st  thyself,  was  then  her  servant: 
And,  for  thou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  her  earthy  and  abhorr'd  commands. 
Refusing  her  grand  hests,  she  did  confine  thee, 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 
And  in  her  most  unmitigable  rage, 
Into  a  cloven  pine ;  within  which  rift 
Imprison'd,  thou  didst  painfully  remain 
A  dozen  years  ;  within  which  space  she  died, 
And  left  thee  there,  where  thou  didst  vent  thy 
groans  [island 

As  fast  as  mill-wheels  strike.    Then  was  this 
(Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 
A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born)  not  honour'd  with 
A  human  shape. 

Ariel. 
Yes ;  Caliban,  her  son. 
Prospero. 
Dull  tiling,  I  say  so  ;  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now    I    keep   in   service.    Thou   best 

know'st 
What  torment  I  did  find  thee  in:  thv  groans 
Did   make    wolves    howl,   and   penetrate  the 

breasts 
Of  ever-anpry  bears.     Tt  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  "the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax 
Could  not  again  undo:  it  was  mine  art, 
When  1  arriv'd  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine,  and  let  thee  out. 
Ariel. 

I  thank  thee,  master. 
Prospero. 
If  thou  more  murmur'st,  I  will  rend  an  oak, 
And  peg  thee  in  his  knotty  entrails,  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 
Ariel. 

Pardon,  master  : 
I  will  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  spriting  gently. 


Prospero. 

Do  so,  and  after  two  days 
I  will  discharge  thee. 

Ariel. 
That's  my  noble  master  • 
What  shall  I  do?  say  what?  what  shall  I  do? 

Prospero. 
Go,  make  thyself  like  a  nymph  o'  the  sea :  be 
subject 
To  no  sight  hut  thine  and  mine  ;  invisible 
To  every  eyeball  else.    Go,  take  this  shape, 
And  hither  come  in't:  go;   hence,  with  dili- 
gence. [Exit  Ariel. 
A  wake,  dear  heart,  awake !  thou  hast  slept  well ; 


Awake! 


Miranda. 


The  strangeness  of  your  story  put 
Heaviness  in  me. 

Prospero. 

Shake  it  off.    Come  on : 
We'll  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answer. 

Miranda. 

'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 
I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Prospero. 

But,  as  'tis, 
We  cannot  miss  him :  he  does  make  our  fire, 
Fetch  in  our  wood,  and  serves  in  offices 
That  profit  us — What  ho  1  slave  1  Caliban! 
Thou  earth,  thou  1  speak. 

Caliban. 

[Within. 

There's  wood  enough  within. 

Prospero. 
Come  forth,  I  say:  there's  other  business  for 
Come,  thou  tortoise !  when  ?  [thee. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  like  a  water-nymph. 

Fine  apparition  !    My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  in  thine  ear. 

Ariel. 

My  lord,  it  shall  he  done.        [Exit. 

Prospero. 

Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  him- 

Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth  !  [self 

Enter  Caliban. 
Caliban. 
As  wicked  dew,  as  e'er  my  mother  brush 'd 
With  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  fen, 
Drop  on  you  both  !  a  south-west  blow  on  ye, 
And  blister  you  all  o'er ! 

Prospero. 
For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt  have 
cramps,  [urchins 

Side-stitches   that   shall  pen  thy  breath   up; 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee:  thou  shalt  be  pincli'd 
As    thick   as    honey-comb,    each  pinch   more 
Than  bees  that  made  'em.  [stinging 

Caliban. 

I  must  eat  my  dinner. 
This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax  my  mother. 
Which  thou  tak'st  from  me.   When  thou  earnest 
first,  [would'st  give  me 

Thou  strok'dst  me,  and  mad'st  mnch  of  me ; 
Water  with  berries  in't ;  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
That  burn  by  day  and  night :  and  then  I  lov'd 

thee. 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  th'  isle, 

The 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  place,  and  i 

fertile. 
Cursed  be  I  that  did  so  !  —  All  the  charms 
Of  Sycorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you  !     j 
For  I  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  have, 
Which  first  was  mine  own  king  ;  and  here  you  ; 

sty  me, 
In  this  hard  rock,  whiles  yon  do  keep  from  me 
The  rest  o'  th'  island. 

Prospero, 

Thou  most  lying  slave, 
Whom  stripes  may  move,  not  kindness,  1  have 
us'd  thee,  [thee 

Filth  as  thou  art,  with  human  care ;  and  lodg'd 
In  mine  own  cell,  till  thou  didst  seek  to  violate 
The  honour  of  my  child. 

Caliban. 
O  ho  !  Oho!  —  would  it  had  been  done  ! 
Thou  didst  prevent  me  ;  I  had  peopled  else 
Tuis  isle  with  Calibans. 

Prospero. 

Abhorred  slave, 
Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take, 
Being  capable  of  all  ill  !    I  pitied  thee, 
Took  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee 

each  hour 
One  thing  or  other :  when  thou  didst  not,  savage, 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  would'st  gabble 

like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  I  endow'd  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known  ;  but  thy 
vile  race,  [good  natures 

Though  thou  didst  learn,  had  that  in't  which 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with :  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  confin'd  into  this  rock, 
Who  hadst  deserv'd  more  than  a  prison. 
(  idiban. 
You  taught  me  language ;  and  my  profit  on't 
;  Is,  I  know  how  to  curse.    The  red  plague  rid 
For  learning  me  your  language  I  [you, 

Prospero. 

Hag-seed,  hence  ! 
Fetch  us  In  fuel ;  and  be  quick,  thou'rt  best, 
To   answer   other   business.      Shrug'st   thou, 

malice  ? 
If  thou  neglect'st,  or  dost  unwillingly 
What    I   command,    I'll   rack   thee  with   old 

cramps ; 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches  ;  make  thee  roar, 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din. 
Caliban. 

No,  pray  thee  !  —        [Aside. 
I  must  obey :  his  art  is  of  such  power, 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Prospero. 
So,  slave ;  hence  !      [Exit  Caliban. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  invisible,  playing  and  singing ; 
Ferdinand  following  him. 
Ariel's  song. 
Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands  ; 
Court'sied  when  you  have,  and  kiss'd, 

The  wild  waves  whist, 
Foot  itfeatly  here  and  there  ; 
And  sweet  sprites  the  burden  bear. 

Harjt,  hark  I 
(Burden.)  Bowgh,  wowgh.  [Dispersedly. 

The  watch-dogs  bark. 
(Burden.)  Bowgh,  wowgh. 

Hark,  hark !    I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticlere 
Cry,  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 


Ferdinand. 
Where  should  this  music  be  ?  i'  th'  air,  or  th* 
earth  ?  — 
It  sounds  no  more  ;— and  sure,  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  o'  th'  island.     Sitting  on  a  bank, 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck, 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters, 
Allaying  both  their  fury,  and  my  passion, 
With  its  sweet  air:  thence  I  have  folio w'd  it, 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather : — but  'tis  gone.— 
No,  it  begins  again. 

Ariel  sings. 
Full  fathom  Jive  thy  father  lies; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 

Nothing  of  him,  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  sotnething  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 

[Burden :  ding-dong. 
Hark!  now  I  hear  them, — ding-dong,  bell. 
Ferdinand. 
The  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father . — 
This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 
That  the  earth  owes — I  hear  it  now  above  me. 
Prospero. 
The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance 
And  say,  what  thou  seest  yond'. 
Miranda. 

What  is't  ?  a  spirit  ? 
Lord,  how  it  looks  about !    Believe  me,  sir, 
It  carries  a  brave  form :  —  but  'tis  a  spirit. 
Prospero. 
No,  wench :  it  eats  and  sleeps,  and  hath  such 
senses  [seest 

As  we  have ;  such.    This  gallant,  which  thou 
Was  in  the  wreck ;  and,  but  he's  something 
stain'd  \cs\\  him 

With  grief,  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  migh'st 
A  goodly  person.     He  hath  lost  his  fellows, 
And  strays  about  to  find  'em. 
Miranda. 

I  might  call  him 
A  thing  divine,  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble. 

Prospero. 

[Aside. 
It  goes  on,  I  see, 
As  my  soul  prompts  it — Spirit,  fine  spirit  1    I'll 
Within  two  days  for  this.  [free  thee 

Ferdinand. 

Most  sure,  the  goddess 
On  whom  these  airs  attend !  —  Vouchsafe,  my 

prayer 
May  know  if  you  remain  upon  this  island, 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give, 
How  I  may  bear  me  here :  my  prime  request, 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  O  you  wonder  1 
If  you  be  maid,  or  n^  ? 

Miranda. 

No  wonder,  sir ; 
But,  certainly  a  maid. 

Ferdinand. 

My  language  !  heavens  !— 
I  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech, 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 
Prospero. 

How  !  the  best  ? 
What  wert  thou,  if  the  king  of  Naples  heard 
thee?  _     .. 

Ferdinand. 

A  single  thing,  as  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  of  Naples.    He  does  hear  me, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


An<l  that  he  dors  I  weep:  myself  am  Naples  ; 
Who  with  mine  eyes,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king,  my  father,  wreck'd. 
Miranda. 

Alack,  for  mercy ! 
Ferdinand. 
Yes,  faith,  and  all  his  lords ;  the  duke  of  Milan, 
And  his  brave  son,  being  twain. 
Prosper© . 

The  duke  of  Milan, 
And  his  more  braver  daughter,  could  control 

thee. 
If  now  'twere  fit  to  do't.—  [Aside. 

At  the  first  sight 
They  have  chang'd  eyes: — delicate  Ariel, 
1 1*11  set  thee  free  for  this  1  — 

[To  him. 
A  word,  good  sir  ; 
1  fear,  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong :  a 
word. 

Miranda. 
Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently  ?    This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw  ;  the  first 
That  e'er  1  sigh'd  for.    Pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclin'd  my  way  ! 

Ferdinand. 

O  1  if  a  virgin, 
And  your  affection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples. 

Prospero. 
Soft,  sir:  one  word  more.—        [Aside. 
They  are  both  in  either's  powers  :  but  this  swift 

business 
I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning 
Make  the  prize  light.— 

F  [To  him. 

One  word  more :  I  charge  thee, 
That  thou  attend  me.    Thou  dost  here  usurp 
The  name  thou  ow'st  not ;  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island  as  a  spy,  to  win  it 
From  me  the  lord  on't. 

Ferdinand. 

No,  as  I  am  a  man. 
Miranda. 
There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple : 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  a  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with't. 
Prospero. 
Follow  me.  —  [To  Ferdinand. 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor  — Come. 
I'll  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together  ; 
Sea-water  shalt  thou  drink,  thy  food  shall  be 
The  fresh  brook  muscles,  wither'd  roots,  and 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled.    Follow.       [husks 
Ferdinand. 

No; 
I  will  resist  such  entertainment,  till 
Mine  epemv  has  more  power. 

[He  draws,  and  Is  charmed  from  moving. 

Miranda. 

O,  dear  father  ! 
Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
He's  gentle,  and  not  fearful. 
Prospero. 

Wrhat,  I  say, 
My  foot  my  tutor  ?— Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor ; 
Who  mak'st  a  show,  but  dar'st  not  strike,  thy 

conscience 
Is  so  possess'd  with  guilt :  come  from  thy  ward, 
For  I  can  here  disarm  thee  with  this  stick, 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 
Miranda. 

Beseech  you,  father  ! 


Prospero. 
Hence  I  hang  not  on  my  garments. 
Miranda. 

Sir,  have  pity : 
I'll  be  his  surety. 

Prospero. 
Silence !  one  word  more   [What ! 
Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee. 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor  ?  hush  1  [he 

Thou  think'st  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban:  foolish  wench  I 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels.  . 
Miranda. 

My  affections 
Are  then  most  humble :  I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 

Prospero. 

[To  Fctdmand. 
Come  on  ;  obey : 
Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 
Ferdinand. 

So  they  are : 
My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
I  My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel, 
I  The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  or  this  man's  threats, 
|  To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
I  Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 
Behold  this  maid :  all  corners  else  o'  th'  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of ;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 

Prospero. 

It  works Come  on 

Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel!— Follow  me 

[To  Ferdinand  and  Miranda. 
Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me.       [To  Ariel. 
Miranda. 

Be  of  comfort. 
My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir, 
Than  he  appears  by  speech :  this  is  unwonted, 
Which  now  came  from  him. 
Prospero. 

Thou  shalt  be  as  free 
As  mountain  winds ;  but  then,  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 
Ariel. 

To  the  syllable. 
Prospero. 
Come,  follow.— Speak  not  for  him.    [Exeunt. 


act  n. 

SCENE  I.    Another  Part  of  the  Island. 

Enter    Alonso,    Sebastian,    Antonio,    Gonzalo, 
Adrian,  Franciscc,  %nd  Others. 
Gonzalo. 
13  ESEECH  you,  sir,  be  merry :  you  have  cause 
-*-*  (So  have  we  all)  of  joy,  for  our  escape 
Is  much  beyond  our  loss.     Our  hint  of  woe 
Is  common :  every  day,  some  sailor's  wife, 
Themastersof  some  merchant,  and  themerchant,  | 
Have  just  our  theme  of  woe  ;  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us  :  then,  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. 
Alonso. 


Pr'ythee^eace 


astian. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Sebastian. 
He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Antonio. 
The  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Sebastian. 
Look  ;  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit : 
by  and  by  it  will  strike. 


Gonzalo. 

Sir,- 

Sebastian. 

One:— tell. 

Gonzalo. 

When  every  grief  is  entertain'd,  that's  offer'd, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer  — 
Sebastian. 
A  dollar. 

Gonzalo. 
Dolour  comes  to  him,  indeed :  you  have  spoken 
truer  than  you  purposed. 

Sebastian. 
You  have  taken  it  wiselier  than  I  meant  you 
should.  „ 

Gonzalo. 

Therefore,  my  lord,— 

Antonio. 
Fie,  what  a  spendthrift  is  he  of  his  tongue  ! 

Alonzo. 

I  pr'ythee,  spare.  _ 

Gonzalo. 

Well,  I  have  done.    But  yet— 

Sebastian. 
He  will  be  talking. 

Antonio. 
Which  of  them,  he  or  Adrian,  for  a  good 
wager,  first  begins  to  crow  ? 
Sebastian. 

The  old  cock.  t     . 

Antonio. 

The  cockrel.       _  .     .. 

Sebastian. 

Done.    The  wager  ? 

Antonio. 

A  laughter. 

Sebastian. 

A  match.  .  ,  . 

Adrian. 

Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert,— 
Sebastian. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  !  .     . 

Antonio. 

So,  you're  paid.      ,  ,  . 

Adrian. 

Uninhabitable,  and  almost  inaccessible, — 

Sebastian. 
Yet- 


Adrian. 

Yet—  A    .     • 

Antonio. 

He  could  not  miss  it. 

Adrian. 
It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate 
temperance.  .    .     . 

Antomo, 

Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

Sebastian. 
Ay,  and  a  subtle,  as  he  most  learnedly  de- 
livered. .  ,  . 

Adrian. 

The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Sebastian. 
As  if  it  had  lungs,  and  rotten  ones, 


Antonio. 
Or  as  t'were  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Gonzalo. 
Here  is  every  thing  advantageous  to  life. 

Antonio. 
True  ;  save  means  to  live. 

Sebastian. 
Of  that  there's  none,  or  little. 

Gonzalo. 
How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass  looks  !   how 
green  ! 

Antonio. 
The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Sebastian. 
With  an  eye  of  green  in't. 

Antonio. 
He  misses  not  much. 

Sebastian. 
No  ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Gonzalo. 
But  the  rarity  of  it  is,  which  is  indeed  almost 
beyond  credit  — 

Sebastian. 

As  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gonzalo. 
That   our   garments,  being,   as   they  were, 
drenched    in    the    sea,  hold,  notwithstanding, 
their  freshness,  and  glosses  ;  being  rather  new 
dyed,  than  stain'd  with  salt  water. 
Antonio. 
If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak,  would 
It  not  say,  he  lies  ? 

Sebastian. 
Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  up  his  report. 

Gonzalo. 

Methinks,  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh  as 

when  we  put  them  on  first  in  Afric,  at  the 

marriage  of  the  king's  fair  daughter  Claribcl  to 

the  king  of  Tunis. 

Sebastian. 
'Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper  well 
in  our  return. 

Adrian. 
Tunis  was  never  graced  before  with  such  a 
paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gonzalo. 
Not  since  widow  Dido's  time. 

Antonio. 
Widow  ?   a  pox  o'  that !     How  came  that 
widow  in  ?    Widow  Dido ! 

Sebastian. 
What  if  he  had  said,  widower  jEneas  too  ? 
good  lord,  how  you  take  it ! 
Adrian. 
Widow  Dido,  said  you  ?  you  make  me  study 
of  that :  she  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 
Gonzalo. 
This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 
Adrian. 

Carthage  ?  _        . 

Gonzalo. 

I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Antonio. 
His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Sebastian. 
He  hath  rais'd  the  wall,  and  houses  too. 

Antonio. 

What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  essay 

next?  Sebastian. 


Act  n.  Sc.  I. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


B*MthB. 


I  think  he  will  carry  this  Island  home  In  hit 
pocket,  and  give  it  his  son  for  an  appla 
Antonio. 

,     And,  sowing  the  kernels  of  it  in  the  sea,  bring 
forth  more  islands. 

Gonzalo 


Av? 


Antonio. 


!     Whv,  in  good  time. 

J  Gonzalo 

Sir,  we  were  talking,  that  our  garments  seem 
now  as  fresh,  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at  the 
marriage  of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 
Antonio. 

j     And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there. 
Sebastian. 

"Bate,  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido. 
Antonio. 

O  !  widow  Dido  ;  ay,  widow  Dido. 
Gonzalo. 

Is  not,  sir.  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first  day 
I  wore  it  ?    I  mean,  in  a  sort. 
Antonio. 

That  sort  was  well  fish'd  for. 
Gonzalo. 

When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  marriage  ? 
Alonso. 

You  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears,  against 
The  stomach  of  my  sense.    Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence. 
My  son  is  lost ;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too, 
Who  is  so  far  from  Italy  remov'd, 
I  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.     O  thou,  mine  heir 
Of  Naples  and  of  Milan !  what  strange  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee  ? 
Francisco. 

Sir,  he  may  live. 
I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  under  him, 
And  ride  upon  their  backs :  he  trod  the  water, 
Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 
The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him  :  his  bold 

head 
'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 
Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 
To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis 

bow'd, 
As  stooping  to  relieve  him.     I  not  doubt, 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

Alonso. 

No,  no ;  he's  gone. 
Sebastian. 
Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great  loss 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African ;      [daughter, 
Where  she,  at  lea«t,  is  banish'd  from  your  eye, 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  grief  on't. 
Alonso 

Sebastian.    Pr'*hee'  Peace' 

You  were  kneel'd  to,  and  importun'd  other- 

By  all  of  us  ;  and  the  fair  soul  herself         [wise 

Weigh'd,  between  lothness  and  obedience,  at 

Which  end  o'  the  beam  she'd  bow.    We  have 

lost  your  son, 
I  fear,  for  ever  :  Milan  and  Naplt-s  have 
More  widows  in  them,  of  this  business'  making, 
Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them :  the  fault's 
Your  own. 

Alonso. 

So  is  the  dearest  of  the  loss. 


Gonzalo. 

My  lord  Sebastian, 
The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness, 
And  time  to  speak  it  in :  you  rub  the  sore, 
When  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 
Sebastian. 


Antonio.  Very  well. 

And  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gonzalo. 
It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir, 
When  you  are  cloudy. 

Sebastian. 

Foul  weather  ? 
Antonio. 

Gonzalo.  Very  f°Ul- 

Had  I  a  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord, — 

Antonio. 
He'd  sow 't  with  nettle-seed. 
Sebastian. 

Or  docks,  or  mallows. 
Gonzalo. 
And  were  the  king  on't,  what  would  I  do  ? 

Sebastian. 
'Scape  being  drunk,  for  want  of  wine. 

Gonzalo. 
I'  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things,  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit ;  no  name  of  magistrate  ; 
Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service,  none ;  contract,  succession. 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none ; 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil  : 
No  occupation,  all  men  idle,  all ; 
And  women  too,  but  innocent  and  pure  ; 
No  sovereignty: — 

Sebastian. 
Yet  he  would  be  king  on't. 
Antonio. 
The  latter  end  of  his  commonwealth  forgets 
the  beginning.         ^^ 

All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce, 
Without  sweat  or  endeavour :  treason,  felony, 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
Would  I  not  have;   but  nature  should  bring 

forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foizon,  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 
Sebastian. 
No  marrying  'mong  his  subjects  ? 

Antonio. 
None,  man  ;  all  idle ;  whores,  and  knaves. 

Gonzalo. 
I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 
To  excel  the  golden  age 

Sebastian. 

'Save  his  majesty ! 
Antonio. 
Long  live  Gonzalo ! 

Gonzalo. 

And,  do  you  mark  me,  sir?— 
Alonso. 
Pr'ythee,  no  more :  thou  dost  talk  nothing  to 
me.  _         , 

Gonzalo. 

I  do  well  believe  your  highness ;  and  did  it  to 
minister  occasion  to  these  gentlemen,  who  are 
of  such  sensible  and  nimble  lungs,  that  they 
always  use  to  laugh  at  nothing.  Antonio 


13 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Antonio. 
'Twas  you  we  laugh'd  at. 
Gonzalo. 
Who,  in  this  kind  of  merry  fooling,  am  no- 
thing to  you :  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh 
at  nothing  still. 

Antonio. 
What  a  blow  was  there  given  ! 

S  ^bastian  Antonio 

An  I*  1,0,1  •%«•  foiiJ^  nof  i™,„  *  am  more  serious  than  my  custom :  you 

An  it  had  not  fallen  flat- long.  Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me  ;  which  to  do, 

Gonzalo.  Trebles  thee  o'er. 

You   are   gentlemen  of  brave  mettle :   you  :  Sebastian 

would  lift  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  she  Well,  I  am  standing  water. 


Antonio. 

Noble  Sebastian, 
Thou   let'st   thy    fortune  sleep— die    rather; 
Whiles  thou  art  waking.  [wink'st 

Sebastian. 
Thou  dost  snore  distinctly. 
There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 


would  continue  in  it  five  weeks  without  changing, 

Enter  Ariel  invisible,  playing  solemn  music. 

Sebastian. 
We  would  so,  and  then  go  a  bat-fowling. 

Antonio. 
Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gonzalo. 
No,  I  warrant  you  ;  I  will  not  adventure  my 
discretion    so   weakly.     Will   you   laugh   me 
asleep,  for  I  am  very  heavy  ? 
Antonio. 
Go  sleep,  and  hear  us. 
[All  sleep  but  Alonso,  Sebastian,  and  An- 
tonio. 

Alonso. 

What !  all  so  soon  asleep  ?    I  wish  mine  eyes 

Would,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts: 

They  are  inclin'd  to  do  so.  [I  find, 

Sebastian . 

Please  you,  sir, 
Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it : 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow  ;  when  it  doth, 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Antonio. 
We  two,  my  lord,  [rest, 

Will  guard  your  person  while  you  take  your 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alonzo. 

Thank  you.    Wondrous  heavy 

[Alonso  sleeps.    Exit  Ariel. 
Sebastian. 
What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them  ! 

Antonio. 
It  is  the  quality  o'  the  climate. 
Sebastian. 

Why 
Doth  it  not,  then,  our  eye-lids  sink  ?    I  find  not 
Myself  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Antonio. 

Nor  I:  my  spirits  are  nimble. 

They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent ;      [might, 

They  dropp'd,  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.    What 

Worthy  Sebastian ?  —  O  1    what  might?  — No 

more: — 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  see  it  in  thy  face, 
What  thou  should'st  be.    Th'  occasion  speaks 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown   [thee,  and 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Sebastian. 

What,  art  thou  waking  ? 
Antonio. 
Do  you  not  hear  me  speak  ? 
Sebastian. 

I  do  ;  and,  surely, 
It  is  a  sleepy  language,  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep.    What  is  it  thou  didst  say  ? 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With    eyes    wide   open;    standing,    speaking, 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep.  [moving-, 


Antonio. 

I'll  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

Sebastian. 

Do  so :  to  ebb 
Hereditary  sloth  instructs  me. 
Antonio. 

O! 
If  you  but  knew,  how  you  the  purpose  cherish, 
Whiles  thus  you  mock  it !  how,  in  stripping  it, 
You  more  invest  it !    Ebbing  men,  indeed, 
Most  often  do  so  near  the  bottom  run 
By  their  own  fear,  or  sloth. 
Sebastian. 

Pr'ythee,  say  on. 
The  setting  of  thine  eye,  and  cheek,  proclaim 
A  matter  from  thee ;  and  a  birth,  indeed, 
Which  throes  thee  much  to  yield. 
Antonio. 

Thus,  sir, 
Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory, 
When  he  is  earth'd)  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion,  only 
Professes  to  persuade)  the  king,  his  son's  alive, 
'Tis  as  impossible  that  he's  undrown'd, 
As  he  that  sleeps  here,  swims. 
Sebastian. 

I  have  no  hope 
That  he's  undrown'd. 

Antonio. 

O  !  out  of  that  no  hope, 
WThat  great  hope  have  you  !  no  hope,  that  way, 
Another  way  so  high  a  hope,  that  even  [is 

Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond, 
But  doubts  discovery  there.    Will  you  grant, 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown 'd  ?  [with  me, 

Sebastian. 

He's  gone. 


Antonio. 

Who's  the  next  heir  of  Naples? 
Sebastian 


Then,  tell  me, 


Claribcl. 


Antonio. 

She  that  is  queen  of  Tunis;  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life ;  she  that  from 

Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post, 
(The  man  i'  the  moon's  too  slow)  till  new-born 

chins 
Be  rough  and  razorable  ;  she,  from  whom 
We  all  were  sea-swallow'd,  though  some  cast 
And  by  that  destiny  to  perform  an  act,    [again  ; 
Whereof  what's  past  is  prologue,  what  to  come, 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 
Sebastian. 
What  stuff  is  this  !— How  say  you  ? 
'Tis  true,  my  brother's  daughter's  queen  of 
Tunis; 

So 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


■  • 


she  h.ir  of  Naples  i  'twixt  which  regioni 
There  is  some  space. 

Antonio. 
A  space  whose  every  cubit 
is  to  cry  out,  "  How  shall  that  Claribel 
I  Measure  us  back  to  Naples  f"  —  Keep  in  Tunis, 
I  S  bust ian  wake  !  —  Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seized  them  ;  why,  they  were  no 
worse  [Naples 

Thau  now  they  are.     There  be,  that  can  rule 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps;  lords  that  can  prate 
As  amply  and  unnecessarily. 
As  this  Gonzalo  ;  1  myseli  could  make 
A  chough  of  as  deep  chat.     O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do  1  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  your  advancement!    Do  you  understand 
me? 

Sebastian. 
Methinks,  I  do. 

Antonio. 

And  how  does  your  content 
Tender  your  own  good  fortune  ? 

Sebastian. 

1  remember, 
You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero. 

Antonio. 

True: 
And  look  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me ; 
[  Much  feater  than  before.  My  brother's  servants 
Were  then  my  fellows,  now  they  are  my  men. 

Sebastian. 
But,  for  your  conscience  — 

Antonio. 
Ay,  sir;  where  lies  that?  if  'twere  a  kybe, 
;  'Twould  put  me  to  my  slipper ;  but  I  feel  not 
This  deity  in  my  bosom:  twenty  consciences, 
;That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be 
they,  [brother, 

And  melt,  ere  they  molest!     Here  lies  your 
\  No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon, 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like,  that's  dead, 
Whom  I,  with  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches 

of  it, 
Can  lay  to  bed  for  ever ;  whiles  you,  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  might  put 
This  ancient  morsel,  this  sir  Prudence,  who 
,  Should  not  upbraid  our  course:  for  all  the  rest, 
i  They'll  take  suggestion  as  a  cat  laps  milk ; 
They'll  tell  the  clock  to  any  business  that 
We  say  befits  the  hour. 

Sebastian. 

Thy  case,  dear  friend, 
Shall  be  my  precedent:  as  thou  got'st  Milan, 
I'll  come  by  Naples.     Draw  thy  sword :  one 
stroke  [pay'st. 

Shall  free  thee  from  the  tribute  which  thou 
And  I  the  king  shall  love  thee. 

Antonio. 

Draw  together, 
And  when  I  rear  my  band,  do  you  the  like, 
!  To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo. 

Sebastian. 

O !  but  one  word. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Music.     Re-enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Ariel. 
My   master   through   his   art   foresees   the 
danger 

That  you,  his  friend,  are  in ;  and  sends  me  forth 
"For  else  his  project  dies)  to  keep  them  living. 
[Sings  in  Gonzalo's  ear. 


While  you  here  do  snoring  lie, 
Open-eu'd  conspiracy 

His  time  doth  take. 
If  of  life  you  keep  a  care. 
Shake  off  slumber,  and  beware : 
Awake  I  Awake  I 
Antonio. 
Then,  let  us  both  be  sudden. 
Gonzalo. 


Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king ! 

;n 

Alonso. 


[They  wake. 


'     Why,  how  now,  ho!  awake!    Why  are  you 

Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking?  [drawn ? 

Gonzalo. 

What's  the  matter? 
Sebastian. 
Whiles  we   stood   here   securing  your   re- 
pose, 
Even  now,  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowing 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions:  did  it  not  wake  you? 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 
Alonso. 

I  heard  nothing. 
Antonio. 
j     O  !  'twas  a  din  to  fright  a  monster's  ear, 
To  make  an  earthquake:  sure,  it  was  the  roar 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions. 


Alonso 

Heard  you  this,  Gonzalo  f 
Gonzalo. 
Upon   mine    honour,  sir,    I    heard  a  hum- 
ming, [me. 
And  that  a  strange  one  too,  which  did  awake 
1 1  shak'd  you,  sir,  and  cry'd;  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn. — There  was  a  noise, 
That's  verity :  'tis  best  we  stand  upon  our  guard, 
Or  that  we  quit  this  place.    Let's  draw  our 
weapons. 

Alonso. 

Lead  off  this  ground,  and  let's  make  farther 

For  my  poor  son.  [search 

Gonzalo. 

Heavens  keep  him  from  these  beasts, 

For  he  is,  sure,  i'  the  island. 


Alonso. 

Lead  away. 
Ariel. 


[Exeunt. 

Prospero,  my  lord,  shall  know  what  I  have 
done: 
So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.        [Exit. 


SCENE  II.    Another  part  of  the  Island. 

Enter  Caliban,  with  a  burden  of  wood     A  noise 
of  thunder  heard. 
Caliban. 
j    All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  up 
jFrom  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make 

him 
By  inch-meal  a  disease !    His  spirits  hear  me, 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse;  but  they'll  nor 

pinch,  [mire, 

Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  the 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand,  in  the  dark 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  'em ;  but 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me :  [me, 

Sometime  like  apes,  that  moe  and  chatter  at 
And  after,  bite  me;  then  like  hedge-hogs,  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  bare-foot  way,  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  foot-fall :  sometime  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders,  who  with  cloven  tongues 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness — Lo,  now  !  lo ! 

Enter 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  ii. 


Sc.  ii.  ] 


Enter  Trinculo. 
Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his,  and  to  torment  me 
For  bunging  wood  in  slowly  :  I'll  fall  flat*; 
Perchance,  he  will  not  mind  me. 
Trinculo. 
Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub  to  bear  off  any 
weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing ;  I 
hear  it  sing  i'  the  wind :  yond*  same  black  cloud, 
yond'  huge  one,  looks  like  a  foul  bombard  that 
would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as 
it  did  before,  I  know  not  where  to  hide  my  head  : 
yond'  same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  by  pail- 
fuls.  —  What  have  we  here  ?  a  man  or  a  fish? 
Dead  or  alive  ?  A  fish :  he  smells  like  a  fish  ;  a 
very  ancient  and  fish-like  smell ;  a  kind  of,  not 
of  the  newest,  Poor-John.  A  strange  fish  1 
Were  I  in  England  now,  (as  once  I  was)  and 
had  but  this  fish  painted,  not  a  holiday  fool 
thervj  but  would  give  a  piece  of  silver :  there 
would  this  monster  make  a  man :  any  strange 
beast  there  makes  a  man.  When  they  will  not 
give  a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will 
lay  out  ten  to  see  a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a 
man  !  and  his  fins  like  arms  !  Warm,  o'  my 
troth !  I  do  now  let  loose  my  opinion,  hold  it  no 
longer;  this  is  no  fish,  but  an  islander,that  hath 
lately  suffered  by  a  thunder-bolt.  [Thunder.] 
Alas"!  the  storm  is  come  again :  my  best  way  is 
to  creep  under  his  gaberdine  ;  there  is  no  other 
shelter  hereabout :  misery  acquaints  a  man  with 
strange  bedfellows.  I  will  here  shroud,  till  the 
dregs  of  the  storm  be  past. 

Enter  Stephano  singing ;  a  bottle  in  his  hand. 

Stephano. 

J  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  ashore.— 

This  is  a  very  scurvy  tune  to  sing  at  a  man's 

funeral.     Well,  here's  my  comfort.        [Drinks. 

The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boatswain,  and  I, 

The  gunner,  and  his  mate, 
Lov'd  Mall,  Meg,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 
But  none  of  us  car' d  for  Kate; 
For  she  had  a  tongue  with  a  tang, 
Would  ci-y  to  a  sailor,  Go  hang : 
She  Inv'd  not  the  savour  of  tar,  nor  of  pilch. 
Yet  a  tailor  might  scratch  her  where-e'er  she  did 
itch  ; 
Then,  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  go  hang. 
This   is  a  scurvy  tune   too;   but   here's   my 
comfort.  [Drinks. 

Caliban. 
Do  not  torment  me:  O  ! 

Stephano. 
What's  the  matter?  Have  we  devils  here? 
Do  you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages,  and 
men  of  Indi  I  Hall  have  not  'scap'd  drowning, 
to  be  afeard  now  of  your  four  legs ;  for  it  hath 
been  said,  as  proper  a  man  as  ever  went  on  four 
legs  cannot  make  him  give  ground,  and  it  shall 
be  said  so  again,  while  Stephano  breathes  at 
nostrils. 

Caliban. 
The  spirit  torments  me :  O ! 

Stephano. 
This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle,  with  four 
legs,  who  hath  got,  as  I  take  it,  an  ague.   Where 
the  devil  should  he  learn  our  language  ?    I  will 
give  him  some  relief,  if  it  be  but  for  that :  if  I 
can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame,  and  get  to 
Naplrs  with  him,  he's  a  present  for  any  empe- 
ror that  ever  trod  on  neat's-leather. 
Caliban . 
Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ythee :  I'll  bring  my 
wood  home  faster. 


Stephano. 
He's  in  his  fit  now,  and  does  not  talk  after  the 
wisest.    He  shall  taste  of  my  bottle :  if  he  have 
never  drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove 
his  fit.    If  I  can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame, 
1  will  not  take  too  much  for  him  :  he  shall  pay 
for  him  that  hath  him,  and  that  soundly. 
Caliban. 
Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt ;  thou  wilt 
anon,  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling:  now  Prosper 
works  upon  thee. 

Stephano. 
Come  on  your  ways :  open  your  mouth  ;  here 
is  that  which  will  give  language  to  you,  cat. 
Open  your  mouth  :  this  will  shake  your  shaking, 
I  can  tell  you,  and  that  soundly :  you  cannot  tell 
who's  your  friend ;  open  your  chaps  again. 
Trinculo. 
I  should  know  that  voice.     It  should  be  —  but 
he  is  drowned,  and  these  are  devils.     O  !  defend 
me  1  — 

Stephano. 
Four  legs,  and  two  voices  !  a  most  delicate  ] 
monster.     His  forward  voice,  now,  is  to  speak  > 
well  of  his  friend ;  his  backward  voice  is  to  uster  \ 
foul  speeches,  and  to  detract.     If  all  the  wine  in 
my  bottle  will  recover  him,  I  will  help  his  ague.  : 
Come,— Amen  !    I  will  pour  some  in  thy  other 
mouth. 

Trinculo. 
Stephano! 

Stephano. 
Doth  thy  other   mouth   call  me  ?     Mercy ! 
mercy  I    This  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster :  I  will 
leave  him;  I  have  no  long  spoon. 
Trinculo. 
Stephano .'—  if  thou  beest  Stephano,  touch  me, 
and  speak  to  me,  for  I  am  Trinculo: — be  not 
afeard,— thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 
Stephano. 
If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth.     I'll  pull 
thee  by  the  lesser  legs :   if  any  be   Trincu/o's 
legs,  these  are  they.     Thou  art  very  Trinculo, 
indeed !     How  cam'st  thou  to  be  the  siege  of 
this  moon-calf?    Can  he  vent  Trinculos  f 
Trinculo. 
I  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder-stroke. 
—  But  art  thou  not    drowned,    Stephano?     I 
hope  now,  thou  art  not  drowned.     Is  the  storm 
overblown?    I  hid  me  under  the  dead  moon- 
calf's gaberdine  for  fear  of  the  storm.     And  art 
thou  living,  Stephano ?    O  Stephano!  two  Nea- 
politans 'scap'd? 

Stephano. 
Pr'ythee,  do  not  turn  me  about:  my  stomach 
is  not  constant. 

Caliban. 
These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites. 
That's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor : 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Stephano. 
How  didst  thou  'scape?    How  cam'st  thou 
hither?  swear  by  this  bottle,  how  thou  cam'st 
hither.     I  escaped  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which 
the  sailors  heaved  over-board,  by  this  bottle! 
which  I  made  of  the  bark  of  a  tree,  with  mine 
own  hands,  since  I  was  cast  a-shore. 
Caliban. 
I'll  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy  true 
subject,  for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 
Stephano. 
Here ;  swear,  then,  how  thou  escap'dst. 

Trinculo. 
Swam  a  shore,  man,  like  a  duck.   I  can  swiro 
like  a  duck,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Stephano. 


.' 


THE  TEMPEST. 


«3 


Stephana, 

Ili-re,  kiss  the  book.      Though  thou  caust 
ike  a  duck,  thou  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Trlnculo. 

0  Stephana  I  hast  any  more  of  this  ? 

Stephano. 
The  whole  butt,  man  :  my  cellar  is  In  a  rock 
bv  the  tea-side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.     How 
oon-calfl  how  does  thine  ague? 

Caliban. 
Bast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven? 

Stephano. 
Out  o'  the  moon,  I  do  assure  thee :  I  was  the 
j  man  in  the  moon,  when  time  was. 

Caliban. 

1  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  1  do  adore  thee : 
my  mistress  showed  me  thee,  and  thy  dog,  and 
thy  bush. 

Stephano. 
Come,  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  book :  1  will 
furnish  it  anon  with  new  contents :  swear. 

Trlnculo. 
By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow  mon- 
ster:_  I  afeard  of  him  !  —  a  very  weak  monster. 
—  The  man  i'  the  moon!— a  most  poor  credu- 
lous monster.— Well  drawn,  monster,  in  good 
sooth. 

Caliban. 

I'll  show  thee  every  fertile  inch  o'  the  island  ; 

And  I  will  kiss  thy  foot.   I  pr'ythee,  be  my  god. 

Trlnculo. 
By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunken 
monster:   when  his  god's  asleep,  he'll  rob  his 
bottle. 

Caliban. 
I'll  kiss  thy  foot :  I'll  swear  myself  thy  subject. 

Stephano. 
Come  on,  then  ;  down,  and  swear. 

Trlnculo. 

I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster.  A  most  scurvy  monster :  I 
could  find  in  my  heart  to  beat  him,  — 

Stephano. 

Come,  kiss. 

Trlnculo. 
—  But  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink.    An 
abominable  monster ! 

Caliban. 
I'll  show  thee  the  best  springs  ;  I'll  pluck  thee 
berries  ; 
I'll  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve ! 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man ! 

Trlnculo. 
A  most  ridiculous  monster,  to  make  a  wonder 
of  a  poor  drunkard  ! 

Caliban . 
I  pr'ythee,  let  mebringthee  where  crabs  grow  ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts  ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet :  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberds,  and  sometimes  I'll  get 
thee  [with  me? 

Young  scamels  from  the  rock:  Wilt  thou  go 

Stephano. 
1  pr'ythee  now,  lead  the  way,  without  any 
more  talking.  —  Trinculo,  the  king  and  all  our 
company  else  being  drowned,  we  will  inherit 
here —  Here  ;  bear  my  bottle  —  Fellow  1  vin- 
culo, we'll  fill  him  by  and  by  again. 


Caliban. 
Farewell,  master  ;  farewellxfareweli. 

[Sings  drunkenly. 
Trlnculo. 
A  howling  monster  ;  a  drunken  monster. 

Caliban. 
No  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish  ; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 
Nor  scrape  trencher,  nor  trash  dish  j 
'Ban,  Ban,  Ca—  Caliban, 
Has  a  new  master  —  Get  a  new  tnan. 
Freedom,  hey-day  1  hey-day,  freedom  I  freedom  1 
hey-day  1  freedom  1 


Stephano. 
O  brave  monster  !  lead  the  way. 


[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Before  Prospero'M  Cell. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  bearing  a  log. 

Ferdinand. 
rP  HE  RE  be  some  sports  are  painful,  and  their 
*•  labour 

Delight  in  them  sets  off:  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone  ;  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.     This  my  mean  task 
Would  be  as  heavy  to  me,  as  odious  ;  but 
The  mistress  which  I  serve  quickens  what's  dead, 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures  :   O!  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crab- 
bed ;  [remove 
And  he's  composed    of    harshness.      I    must 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs,  and  pile  them  up, 
Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  my  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work  ;  and  says,  such 
Had  never  like  executor.     I  forget :      [baseness 
But  these  sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my 
Most  busy-less  when  1  do  it.                  [labours  ; 

Enter  Miranda;  and  Prospero  at  a  distance. 

Miranda. 

Alas  !  now,  pray  you, 
Work  not  so  hard  :  I  would  the  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs  that  you  are  enjoin'd  to 
pile.  [burns, 

Pray  set  it  down,    and   rest    you:  when  this 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you.    My  father 
Is  hard  at  study  ;  pray  now  rest  yourself: 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Ferdinand. 

O  most  dear  mistress  ! 
The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Miranda. 

If  you'll  sit  down, 
I'll  bear  your  logs  the  while.    Pray,  give  me 
I'll  carry  it  to  the  pile.  [that : 

Ferdinand. 

No,  precious  creature : 
I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back, 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mtmnda. 
It  would  become  me 
As  well  as  it  does  you  ;  and  1  should  do  it 
With  much  more  ease,  for  my  good  will  is  to  il. 
And  yours  it  is  against. 

Prospero.  ii 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Prcspero. 
Poor  worm !  thou  art  infected  ; 
This  visitation  shows  it. 

Miranda. 

You  look  wearily. 
Ferdinand. 
No,  noble  mistress ;  'tis  fresh  morning  with  me, 
When  you  are  by  at  night.     I  do  beseech  you, 
Chiefly  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers, 
What  is  your  name? 

Miranda. 

Miranda.— O  my  father  1 
I  have  broke  your  hest  to  say  so. 
Ferdinand. 

Admir'd  Miranda, 
Indeed  the  top  of  admiration ;  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world  I     Full  many  a  lady 
I  have  ey'd  with  best  regard ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women  ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd, 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  but  you,  O  you  I 
So  perfect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best. 

Miranda. 

I  do  not  know 
One  of  my  sex  ;  no  woman's  face  remember, 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own  ;  nor  have  I 
seen  [friend, 

More   that   I   may  call  men,  than  you,  good 
And  my  dear  father  :  how  features  are  abroad, 
I  am  skill-less  of  j  but,  by  my  modesty, 
(The  jewel  in  my  dower)  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you  ; 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape, 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of.     But  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  precepts 
I  therein  do  forget. 

Ferdinand. 
I  am,  in  my  condition, 
A  prince,  Miranda  ;  I  do  think,  a  king ; 
( I  would,  not  so !)  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  to  suffer         [speak  : 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth.  —  Hear  my  soul 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service  ;  there  resides, 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and  for  your  sake, 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 
Miranda. 

Do  you  love  me  ? 
Ferdinand. 
O  heaven!  O  earth!  bear  witness  to  this  sound, 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event, 
If  I  speak  true ;  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me  to  mischief!     I, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  i'  the  world, 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 
Miranda. 

I  am  a  fool 
To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 
Prospero. 

Fair  encounter 
Of  two  most   rare   affections!     Heavens   rain 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them  1        [grace 
Ferdinand. 

Wherefore  weep  you  ? 
Miranda. 
At  mine  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give ;  and  much  less  take, 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.    But  this  is  trifling ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 


The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.    Hence,  bashful  cun- 
ning! 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence  ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me ; 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid:  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Ferdinand. 
.    ,  .  t.       ,       , ,  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Miranda. 

My  husband  then  ? 
Ferdinand. 
Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom :  here's  my  hand. 
Miranda. 
And  mine,  with  my  heart  in't:  and  now  fare- 
Till  half  an  hour  hence.  [well, 
Ferdinand. 
r_            „  A  thousand  thousand  I 
[Exeunt  Ferdinand  and  Miranda. 

Prospero. 
So  glad  of  this  as  they,  I  cannot  be, 
Who  are  surpris'd  with  all ;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.     I'll  to  my  book ; 
For  yet,  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    Another  part  of  the  Island. 

Enter  Stephana  and  Trinculo;  Caliban  foriowing 

with  a  bottle. 

Stephano. 

Tell  not  me:  — when  the  butt  is  out,  we  will 

drink  water  ;  not  a  drop  before  :  therefore  bear 

up,  and  board  'em.  — Servant-monster,  drink  to 

Trinculo. 

Servant-monster!  the  folly  of  this  island! 
They  say,  there's  but  five  upon  this  isle:  we  are 
three  of  them;  if  the  other  two  be  brained  like 
us,  the  state  totters, 

Stepnano. 

Drink,  servant-monster,  when  I  bid  thee:  thy 
eyes  are  almost  set  in  thy  head. 
Trinculo. 
Where  should  they  be  set  else?  he  were  a 
brave  monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his  tail. 
Stephano. 
My  man-monster  hath  drowned  his  tongue  in 
j  sack :  for  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me :  I 
I  swam,  ere  1  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and- 
j  thirty  leagues,  off  and  on,  by  this  light.  —  Thou 
I  shalt  be  my  lieutenant,  monster,  or  my  standard. 
Trinculo. 
Your  lieutenant,  if  you  list ;  he's  no  standard. 

Stephano. 
We'll  not  run,  monsieur  monster. 

Trinculo. 
Nor  go  neither ;  but  you'll  lie,  like  dogs,  and 
yet  say  nothing  neither. 

Stephano. 
i     Moon- calf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou  beest 
'.  a  good  moon-calf.     „  ... 
'  Caliban. 

!     How  does  thy  honour  ?    Let  me  lick  thy  shoe. 
!  I'll  not  serve  him,  he  is  not  valiant. 

Trinculo. 
I     Thou  Hest,  most  ignorant  monster:   I  am  in  j 
case  to  justle  a  constable.    Why,  thou  deboshed  ! 
j  fish  thou,  was  there  ever  man  a  coward,  that  i 
!  hath  drunk  so  much  sack  as  I  to-day  ?    Wilt 
f  thouj 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


'5 


tfcoa  toll  a  monstrous  lie,  being  but  half  a  fish 
and  half  a  monster? 

Caliban. 
I.«.  how  he  mocks  me!  wilt  thou  let  him,  my 
lord? 

Trinculo. 
|     Lord,  quoth  he!— that  a  monster  should  be 
sue  li  a  natural  1 

Caliban. 
(     Lo,  lo,  again !  bite  him  to  death,  I  pr'ythee. 
Stephano. 
Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  head: 
if  you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree— The 
poor  monster's  my  subject,  and  he  shall  not 
suffer  indignity. 

Caliban. 

I  thank  my  noble  lord.     Wilt  thou  be  pleas'd 

to  hearken  once  again  to  the  suit  I  made  to  thee  ? 

Stephano. 

Marry  will  I ;  kneel  and  repeat  it :  I  will  stand, 

and  so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Caliban. 

As  I  told  thee  before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant ; 

a  sorcerer,  that  by  his  cunning  hath  cheated  me 

of  the  island. 

Ariel. 
Thou  liest. 

Caliban. 
Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou ; 
I  would,  my  valiant  master  would  destroy  thee: 
1  do  not  lie. 

Stephano. 
Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  his 
tale,  by  this  hand,  I  will  supplant  some  of  your 
teeth. 

Trinculo. 
W  hy,  I  said  nothing. 

Stephano. 
Mum,  then,  and  no  more.—  To  Caliban. 

Proceed. 

Caliban. 
I  say  by  sorcery  he  got  this  isle ; 
From  me  he  got  it:  if  thy  greatness  will, 
Revenge  it  on  him— for,  I  know,  thou  dar'st; 
But  this  thing  dare  not. 

Stephano. 
That's  most  certain. 

Caliban. 
Thou  shalt  be  lord  of  it,  and  I'll  serve  thee. 

Stephano. 
How,  now,  shall  this  be  compassed  ?    Canst 
thou  bring  me  to  the  party  ? 

Caliban. 

Yea,  yea,  my  lord:  I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep, 

Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 

Ariel. 

Thou  liest ;  thou  canst  not. 

Caliban. 

:     What  a   pied  ninny's   this !      Thou    scurvy 

patch !  — 
!  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  him  blows, 
And  take  his  bottle  from  him:  when  that's  gone 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine;  for  I'll  not 
!  Where  the  quick  freshes  are.  [show  him 

Stephano. 
Trinculo,  run  into  no  farther  danger:   inter- 
rupt the  monster  one  word  farther,  and,  by  this 
hand,  I'll  turn  mymercy  out  of  doors,  and  make 
i  a  stock-fish  of  thee. 

Trinculo. 
Why,  what  did   I?    I  did  nothing.     I'll  go 
farther  off. 


Didst  thou  not  say,  he  lied  ? 

Ariel. 
Thou  liest. 

Stephano. 
Do  I  so?  take  thou  that.  [Strikes  him. 

As  you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time. 
Trinculo. 

I  did  not  give  the  lie Out  o'  your  wits,  and 

hearing  too? — A  pox  o'  your  bottle!  this  can 
sack,  and  drinking  do. — A  murrain  on  your 
monster,  and  the  devil  take  your  fingers ! 

Caliban. 
Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Stephano. 
Now,  forward  with  your  tale.    Pr'ythee  stand 
farther  off. 

Caliban. 
Beat  him  enough :  after  a  little  time, 
I'll  beat  him  too. 

Stephano. 
Stand  farther —  Come,  proceed. 

Caliban. 
Why,  as  I  told  thee,  'tis  a  custom  with  him 
I'  the  afternoon  to  sleep:  there  thou  may'st  brain 
Having  first  seiz'd  his  books;  or  with  a  log  [him, 
Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake, 
Or  cut  his  wezand  with  thy  knife.    Remember, 
First  to  possess  his  books ;  for  without  them 
He's  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  nor  hath  not 
One  spirit  to  command:  they  all  do  hate  him, 
As  rootedly  as  I.    Burn  but  his  books: 
He  has  brave  utensils,  (for  so  he  calls  them), 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal  • 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter ;  he  himself 
Calls  her  a  nonpareil:  I  never  saw  a  woman, 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam,  and  she ; 
But  she  as  far  surpasseth  Sycorax, 
As  great'st  does  least. 

Stephano. 

Is  it  so  brave  a  lass  ? 
Caliban. 
Ay,  lord :  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  warrant, 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 
Stephano. 
Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man:   his  daughter 
and  1  will  be  king  and  queen ;  (save  our  graces  !) 
and  Trinculo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys. — 
Dost  thou  like  the  plot,  Trinculo  ? 
Trinculo- 
Excellent. 

Stephano. 
Give  me  thy  hand :   I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee ; 
I  but,  while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in 
thy  head. 

Caliban. 
Within  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep  ; 
,  Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  ? 
Stephano. 

Ay,  on  mine  honour. 
Ariel. 
This  will  I  tell  my  master. 
Caliban. 
Thou  mak'st  me  merry :  I  am  full  of  pleasure. 
'  Let  us  be  jocund:  will  you  troll  the  catch 
;  You  taught  me  but  while-ere  ? 

Stephano. 
\      At  thy  request,  monster,  I  will  do  reason,  any 
reason.  Come  on,  Trinculo,  let  us  sing.  [Sings. 
Flout  'em,  and  skout  'em  ;  and  skout  'em,  and 

flout  'em  ; 
Thought  is  free. 

Caliban 


i6 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


Caliban. 
That's  not  the  tune. 
[Ariel  plays  the  tune  on  a  Tabor  and  Pipe. 
Stephano. 
What  is  this  same? 

Trinculo. 
This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  the 
picture  of  No-body. 

Stephano. 
If  thou  beest  a  man,  show  thyself  in  thy  like- 
ness :  if  thou  beest  a  devil,  take't  as  thou  list. 

Trinculo. 
O,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! 

Stephano. 
He  that  dies,  pays  all  debts :  I  defy  thee.  — 
Mercy  upon  us  ! 

Caliban. 
Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Stephano. 
No,  monster,  not  I. 

Caliban . 
Be  not  afeard ;  the  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and 

hurt  not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears ;  and  sometime  voices, 
That,  if  I  then  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep,  [ing, 
Will  make  me  sleep  again :  and  then,  in  dream- 
The  clouds,  methought,  would  open,  and  show 

riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me,  that  when  I  wak'd 
I  cry'd  to  dream  again. 

Stephano. 
This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me,  where 
I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Caliban. 

When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Stephano. 
That  shall  be  by  and  Dy :  I  remember  the  story. 

Trinculo. 
The  sound  is  going  away :  let's  follow  it,  and 
after  do  our  work. 


Stephano. 
Lead,  monster ;  we'll  follow. — ] 
see  this  taborer  :  he  lays  it  on. 

Trinculo. 
Wilt  come  ?  I'll  follow,  Stepha 


',  would,  I  could 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    Another  part  of  the  Island. 

Enter  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonxalo, 
Adrian,  Francisco,  and  Others. 
Gonzalo. 
By'r  la'kin,  I  can  go  no  farther,  sir; 
My  old  bones  ake:  here's  a  maze  trod,  indeea, 
Through  forth -rights,  and  meanders!  by  your 
I  needs  must  rest  me.  [patience, 

A  Ion  so. 
Old  lord,  I  cannot  blame  thee, 
Who  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness, 
To  the  dulling  of  my  spirits  :  sit  down,  and  rest. 
Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer:  he  is  drown'd, 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  find ;  and  the  sea  mocks 
Our  frustrate  search  on  land.    Well,  let  him  go. 

Antonio. 
I  am  right  glad  that  he's  so  out  of  hope. 

[Aside  to  Sebastian. 
Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolv'd  to  effect. 


Sebastian. 

The  next  advantage 
Will  we  take  thoroughly. 

Antonio. 

Let  it  be  to-night ; 
For,  now  they  are  oppress'd  with  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance, 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Sebastian. 

I  say,  to-night :  no  more. 
[Solemn  and  strange  music ;  and  Prospero 
above,  invisible.  Enter  several  strange 
shapes,  bringing  in  a  banquet :  they  dance 
about  it  with  gentle  actions  of  salutations; 
and,  inviting  the  King,  &c.  to  eat,  they 
depart.] 

Alonso. 
What  harmony  is  this  ?  my  good  friends,  hark! 

Gonzalo. 

Marvellous  sweet  music  1 

Alonso. 
Give  us  kind  keepers,  heavens!    What  were 
these? 

Sebastian. 
A  living  drollery.    Now  1  will  believe 
That  there  are  unicorns  ;  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne ;    one 
At  this  hour  reigning  there.  [phcenix 

Antonio. 

I'll  believe  both ;  i 
And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me, 
And  I'll  be  sworn  'tis  true:  travellers  ne'er  did; 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  them.  [lie, 

Gonzalo. 

If  in  Naplrs 
I  should  report  this  now,  would  they  believe  me  ? 
If  I  should  say,  I  saw  such  islanders, 
(For,  certes,  these  are  people  of  the  island) 
Who,  though  they  are  of  monstrous  shape,  yet, 

note, 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle,  kind,  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Prospero. 

[Aside. 

Honest  lord, 
Thou  hast  said  well ;    for  some  of  you  there 
Are  worse  than  devils.  [present, 

Alonso. 

I  cannot  too  much  muse, 
Such  shape,  such  gesture,  and  such  sound,  ex- 
pressing 
(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue)  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 
Prospero. 

[Aside. 
Praise  in  departing. 
Francisco. 
They  vanish'd  strangely. 
Sebastian. 

No  matter,  since 
They  have  left  their  viands  behind,  for  we  have 

stomachs 

Will't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here? 
Alonso. 

Not  I. 
Gonzalo. 
Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear.     When  we  were 
boys, 
Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers 
Dew-lapp'd  like  bull's,  whose  throats  had  hang- 
ing at  them 

-Walleti 


A<  r  iv.  Sc.  i. 


mi:  TEMPEST. 


Wallets  of  flesh  ?  or  that  there  were  such  men, 
\\  bote  heads  stood  in  their  breasts?  which  now 

w  ■  find. 
Each  puttcr-o-.it  of  one  for  Ave  will  bring  us 
Good  warrant  of. 

1  will  stand  to,  and  feed, 
Although  my  last:  no  matter,  since  1  feel 

The  best  is  past Brother,  my  lord  the  duke, 

to,  and  do  as  we.  ,  M. 

:  ?  '  -r  nndlightnlng.  Enter  Ariel  like  a 
harpv,  claps  his  wings  upon  the  table,  and, 
with  a  quamtdevice,  the  banquet  vanishes. 

Ariel. 
You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world, 
And  what  is  in't)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caused  to  belch  up,  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit ;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.     I  have  made  you  mad; 
[seeing    /(km  \c.  drRw  their 

swords.  [drown 

And  even  with  such  like  valour  men  hang  and 
Their  proper  selves.  You  fools!  I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  fate :  the  elements, 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper 'd,  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bemock'd-at 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish    [stabs 
One  dowle  that's   in  my  plume :    my  fellow- 
ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable.     If  you  could  hurt, 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths, 
And  will  not  be  uplifted.     But,  remember, 
j  For  that's  my  business  to  you)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospero  ; 
Fxpos'd  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it, 
Him,  and  his  innocent  child:  for  which  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying  not  forgetting,  have 
Incens'd  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  crea- 
tures, 
Against  your  peace.    Thee,  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
They  have  bereft ;  and  do  pronounce,  by  me, 
lingering  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once)  shall  step  by  step  attend 
You,  and  your  ways ;  whose  wraths  to  guard  you 

from 
(Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
Upon  your  heads)  is  nothing, but  heart's  sorrow, 

I  He  vanishes  in  thunder:  then,  to  soft  music 
enter  the  Shapes  again,  and  dance  with 
mocks  and  mowes.and  carry  out  the  table. 


Prospero. 


I  Aside. 


Bravely  the  figure  of  this  harpy  hast  thou 
Perforn/d,  my  Ariel;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring. 
Of  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  'bated, 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say:  so,  with  good  life 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done.   My  high  charms 

work, 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions:  they  now  are  in  my  power; 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  while  I  visit 
Young    F<rdinand,    (whom    they    suppose    is 
And  his  and  my  lov'd  darling.    ,  „  .    [drown'd) 
[Exit  Prospero 

QoMUfti 

P  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why  stand 
In  this  strange  stare  ?  [you 

Alonso 
O,  it  is  monstrous  !  monstrous  ! 
Methought  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me ;  and  the  thunder. 
That  deep  and  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronoune'd 


The  name  of  Prosper :  It  did  bass  my  trespass. 
Therefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded  ;  and 
I'll  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded, 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  [Exit. 

Sebastian. 

But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 
I'll  fight  their  legions  o'er. 

Antonio. 

„  ,  I'll  be  thy  second. 
L  Exeunt  Sebastian  and  Anlunw. 

Conzalo. 
All  three  of  them  are  desperate ;  their  groat 
guilt, 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after, 
Now  *gin8  to  bite  the  spirits.— I  do  beseech  you, 
That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiftly, 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 
Adrian. 
Follow  I  pray  you.        [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  \.    Before  Prosperous  cell. 

Enter  Prospero,  Ferdinand,  and  Miranda. 

Prospero. 

IF  I  have  too  austerely  punish'd  you, 
Your  compensation  makes  amends  ;  for  I 
Have  given  you  here  a  thread  of  mine  own  life, 
Or  that  for  which  I  live  ;  whom  once  again 
I  tender  to  thy  hand.    All  thy  vexations 
Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Haststrangelystoodthetest:  here.afore  Heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift.     O  Ferdinand! 
Do  not  smile  at  me  that  I  boast  her  off", 
For  thou  shalt  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise, 
And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 
Ferdinand. 

I  do  believe  it, 
Against  an  oracle.  T> 
°  Prospero. 

Then,  as  my  gift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchas'd,  take  my  daughter:  but 
If  thou  dost  break  her  virgin  knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may, 
With  full  and  holy  rite,  be  minister'd, 
No  sweet  aspersion  shall  the  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow  ;  but  barren  hate, 
Sour-ey'd  disdain,  and  discord,  shall  bestrew 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly, 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both:   therefore,  take 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you.  [heed, 

Ferdinand. 

As  I  hope 
For  quiet  days,  fair  issue,  and  long  life, 
With  such  love  as  'tis  now,  the  murkiest  den, 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strong'st  sugges- 
Our  worser  genius  can,  shall  never  melt     [tion 
Mine  honour  into  lust,  to  take  away 
The  edge  of  that  day's  celebration,    [founder'd, 
When    I   shall   think,  or  Phoebus'  steeds    are 
Or  night  kept  chained  below. 
Prospero 

Fairly  spoke. 
Sit  then,  and  talk  with  her ;  she  is  thine  own  — 
What,  Ariel!  my  industrious  servant  Ariel! 
Enter  Ariel. 
Ariel. 


What  would  my  potent  master  r  he^.1 
£ 


ro-|>'To. 


i8 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  rv.  Sc.  i. 


Prospero. 

Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  service 
Did  worthily  perform,  and  I  must  use  you 
In  such  another  trick.    Go,  bring  the  rabble, 
O'er  whom  I  give  thee  power,  here,  to  this  place 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion ;  for  I  must 
Bestow  upon  the  eyes  of  this  young  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art :  it  is  my  promise, 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 
Ariel. 


Prospero. 


Presently ' 


Ay,  with  a  twink. 

J  Ariel. 

Before  you  can  say,  "  Come,"  and  "  go," 
And  breathe  twice ;  and  cry,  "  so,  so  ; " 
Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe. 
Do  you  love  me,  master  ?  no  ? 
Prospero. 
Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel.    Do  not  approach, 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 
Ariel. 

Well,  I  conceive.         [Exit. 
Prospero. 
Look  thou  be  true.    Do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein :  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  fire  i'  the  blood.    Be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night,  your  vow. 
Ferdinand. 

I  warrant  you,  sir  ; 
The  white-cold  virgin  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  liver. 
Prospero. 

Well.— 
Now  come,  my  Ariel !  bring  a  corollary, 
•  Rather  than  want  a  spirit :  appear,  aBd^perlly.-,- 
No  tongue,  all  eyes  ;  be  silent.  T**rrmis 


A  raasqm 


:.    Enter  Iris. 
Iris. 


'     Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats,  and  peas  ; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to 

keep; 
Thy  banks  with  pioned  and  twilled  brims, 
.  Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims, 
!  To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns  ;  and  thy 
broom  groves, 
Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 
Being  lass-lorn ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  steril,  and  rocky-hard,  [sky, 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air  ;  the  queen  o'  the 
Whose  watery  arch  and  messenger  am  I,  [grace, 
Bids  thee  leave  these,  and  with  her  sovereign 
Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place, 
To  come  and  sport.    Her  peacocks  fly  amain : 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 
Enter  Ceres. 
Ceres. 
Hail,  many-colour'd  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter; 
Who  with  thy  saffron  wings  upon  my  flowers 
Diffusest  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers  ; 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 
My  bosky  acres,  and  my  unshrubb'd  down, 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth ;  why  hath  thy 


Cere.i. 
Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 
If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  thou  dost  know, 
»Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?  since  they  did  plot 
The  means  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  company 
I  have  forsworn.  • 

Iris. 
Of  her  society 
Be  not  afraid :  I  met  her  deity 
;  Cutting  the  clouds  towards  Paphos,  and  her  son 
Dove-drawn  with  her.    Here  thought  they  to 

have  done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid, 
\  Whose  vows  are,  that  no  bed-right  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted  ;  but  in  vain  : 
'Mars's  hot  minion  is  return'd  again  ; 
Her  waspish -headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with 
And  be  a  boy  right  out.  [sparrows, 

Ceres. 

Highest  queen  of  state, 
Great  Juno  comes :  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Juno  descends. 

Juno. 

How  does  my  bounteous  sister  ?    Go  with  me, 

To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous 

And  honour'd  in  their  issue.  [be, 

Song. 
Juno. 
Honour,  riches,  marriage,  blessing, 
Long  continuance,  and  increasing, 
Hourly  joys  be  still  upon  you ! 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you. 

Ceres. 
Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty, 
Barns,  and  garners  never  empty; 
Vines,  with  clustering  bunches  growing; 
Plants,  with  goodly  burden  bowing; 
Spring  come  to  you,  at  the  farthest, 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest ! 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  you  ; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 
Ferdinand. 
This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  charmingly.    May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits  ? 

Prospero. 
Spirits,  which  by  mine  art 
;  I  have  from  their  confines  call'd,  to  enact 
My  present  fancies. 

Ferdinand. 
Let  me  live  here  ever : 
So  rare  a  wonder'd  father,  and  a  wife, 

:         \Juno  and  Ceres  whTftper,  and  send  Iris  on 
employment. 

Prospero. 

!     Sweet  now,  silence  ! 

;  Juno  and  Ceres  whisper  seriously ;  [mute, 

There's  something  else  to  do 
,  Or  else  our  spell  is  marr'd. 
Iris. 


Hush,  and  be 


You  nymphs,  call'd  Naiads,  of  the  winding 
•    brooks,  [looks, 

.    With  your  sedg'd  crowns,  and  ever-harmless 
Summon'd  me  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  green?    Leave  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green 

land 
Answer  your  summons:  Juno  does  command. 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  love :  be  not  too  late.     Ent(J5. 


A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate, 
And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  bless'd  lovers. 


iv.  Sc.  I. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


i« 


1  Jimtmrn'd  sicklemon,  of  August  weary, 

M  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  he  merry. 

te  hoi v- day:  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on, 

these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 

1  country  footing. 

[Inter  certain   Iirnprrs,  properly  habited: 

thrjf  Join  with  the  Nympbs  in  a  graceful 

,  towards  the  etui  w  hereof  /•;  us/u  ro 

starts  suddenly,  and  speaks;  after  which, 

.  hollow,  and  confused  noise, 

they  heavily  vanish. 

Prospero. 

[Aside. 
I  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban,  and  his  confederates, 
Against  my  life ;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is  almost  come — 

[To  the  Spirits. 
Well  done — Avoid ;— no  more. 

Ferdinand. 

This  is  strange :  your  father's  in  some  passion 
j  That  works  him  strongly. 

Miranda. 

Never  till  this  day, 
I  him  touch'd  with  anger  so  distemper'd. 
Prospero. 
fou  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  mov'd  sort, 
i  if  you  were  dismay'd :  be  cheerful,  sir, 
revels  now  are  ended.    These  our  actors, 
I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
melted  into  air,  into  thin  air: 
'j  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve; 
j  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep — Sir,  I  am  vex'd: 
Bear    with    my    weakness;    my    old    brain    is 

troubled : 
Be  not  disturb'd  with  my  infirmity. 
If  you  be  pleas'd  retire  into  my  ceil, 
And  there  repose :  a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk, 
To  still  my  beating  mind. 

Ferdinand,  Miranda. 

We  wish  your  peace.     [Exeunt 

Prospero. 

Come  with  a  thought !—  I  thank  thee.  —  Ariel, 

cornel  „  4       ,   .  , 

Lnter  Ariel 

Ariel. 
Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to.    What's  thy  plea- 
sure? _ 

Prospero 

Spirit, 
We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 

Ariel. 
j     Ay,  my  commander  :  when  I  presented  Ceres, 
,  I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd, 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee. 

Prospero. 

Say  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these  varlets? 
Ariel. 

j     I  told  you,  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drink  - 

l  So  full  of  valour,  that  they  smote  the  air      [ing : 
For  breathing  in  their  faces  ;  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet,  yet  always  bending 

j  Towards  their  project.    Then  I  beat  my  tabor  ; 

,  At  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their 
ears, 


Advanc'd  their  eye-lids,  lifted  up  their  noses, 
As  they  smelt  music :  so  I  charm 'd  their  ears, 
That,  calf-like,  theymy lowing  follow'd,  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  gorse,  and 
thorns,  [them 

Which  enter'd  their  frail  shins:  at  last  1  left 
1'  the  filthy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell, 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul 
O'erstunk  their  feet.  [lake 

Prospero. 
This  was  well  done,  my  bird. 
Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 
The  trumpery  in  ray  house,  go,  bring  it  hither, 
For  stale  to  catch  these  thieves. 

Ar,el- 

I  go,  I  go.    [Exit. 

Pros; 

A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 

Nurture  can  never  stick ;  on  whom  my  pains, 

Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost; 

And  as  with  age  his  body  uglier  grows, 

So  his  mind  cankers.    1  will  plague  them  all, 

Re-enter  Arid,  loaden  with  glistering 
apparel,  &c. 

Even  to  roaring — Come,  hang  them  on  this  line. 
Prospero  and  Ariel  remain  unseen.      Enter 
Caliban,  Stephana,  and  Trinculo,  all  wet. 
Caliban. 
Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole  may 
Hear  a  foot  fall:  we  now  are  near  his  cell,    [not 
Stephano. 
Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say, is  a  harm- 
less fairy,  has  done  little  better  than  played  the 
Jack  with  us. 

Trinculo. 

Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horse-piss,  at  which  my 

nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Stephano. 

So  is  mine.    Do  you  hear,  monster?      If  I 

should  takea  displeasure  against  you ;  look  you, — 

Trinculo. 

Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Caliban. 

Good  my  lord,  give  me  thy  favour  still. 

Be  patient,  for  the  prize  I'll  bring  thee  to 

Shall  hood- wink  this  mischance:  therefore,  speak 

All's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet.  [softly ; 

Trinculo. 

Ay,  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  pool, — 
Stephano. 

There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  in 
:  that,  monster,  but  an  infinite  loss. 
Trinculo. 

j     That's  more  to  me  than  my  wetting:  yet  this 
I  is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 
Stephano. 

I  will  fetch  off  my  bottle,  though  I  be  o'er 
j  ears  for  my  labour. 


Caliban. 

Pr'ythee,  my  king,  be  quiet.    Seest  thou  here. 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell :   no  noise,  and 

enter : 
Do  that  good  mischief,  which  may  make  this 
Thine  own  for  ever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban,    [island 
For  aye  thy  foot-licker. , 

Stephano. 

Give  me  thy  hand.     I  do  begin  to  have  bloody 
thoughts.  Trinculo. 

O  king  Stephano!    O  peer!    O  worthy  Ste- 
phano I  look,  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  fpjr  4fc$e  }. 


20 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  z. 


Caliban. 
Let  it  alone,  thou  fool :  it  is  but  trash. 

Trinculo. 

O,  ho,  monster  !  we  know  what  belongs  to  a 

frippery:— O  king  Stephano! 

Stephano . 

Put  off  that  gown,  Trinculo:  by  this  hand,  I'll 

have  that  gown. 

Trinculo. 
Thy  grace  shall  have  it. 

Caliban. 
The  dropsy  drown  this  fool !  what  do  you  mean, 
To  doat  thus  on  such  luggage  ?    Let 't  alone, 
And  do  the  murder  first:  if  he  awake, 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  fill  our  skins  with 
Make  us  strange  stuff.  [pinches  ; 

Step': 
Be  you  quiet,  monster.  —  Mistress  line,  is  not 
this  my  jerkin?    Now  is  the  jerkin  under  the 
line :  now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair, 
and  prove  a  bald  jerkin. 

Trinculo. 
Do,  do :  we  steal  by  line  and  level,  and't  like 
your  grace. 

Stephano. 
I  thank  thee  for  that  jest ;  here's  a  garment 
for't :  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  while  I  am 
king  of  this  country.  "  Steal  by  line  and  level," 
is  an  excellent  pass  of  pate  ;  there's  another 
garment  for't. 

Irmculo. 
Monster,  come,  put  some  lime  upon  your  fin- 
gers," and  away  with  the  rest. 
Caliban. 
I  will  have  none  on't :  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villainous  low. 


Monster,  lay-to  your  fingers:  help  to  bear 
this  away,  where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is,  or  I'll 
turn  you  out  of  my  kingdom.    Go  to ;  carry 

tnis-  ™  . 

Trinculo. 

And  this.  „      , 

Stephano. 
Ay,  and  this. 
tA  noise  of  hunters  heard.    Enter  divers 
Spirits,  in  shape  of  hounds,  and  hunt  them 
about ;  Prospero  and  Ariel  setting  them 
on. 

Prospero. 
Hey,  Mountain,  hey ! 

Ariel. 
Silver!  there  it  goes,  Silver! 

Prospero. 
Fury,    Fury!    there,  Tyrant,  there!    hark, 

[Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo  are  driven 
out. 
Go,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions  ;  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps,  and  more  pinch-spotted  make 
Than  pard,  or  cat  o'  mountain.  r_them, 

Ariel. 

Hark !  they  roar. 
Prospero. 
Let  them  be  hunted  soundly.    At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies  : 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labours  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom :  for  a  little. 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  y. 

SCENE  I.    Before  the  Cell  of  Prospero. 
Enter  Prospero  in  his  magic  robes ;  and  Ariel. 

Prospero. 

]y  OW  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head :  [time 

.  -L~    My  charms  crack  not,  my  spirits  obey,  and 

}  Goes  upright  with  his  carriage.    How's  the  day  V 

Ariel. 

On  the  sixth  hour ;  at  which  time,  my  lord, 

j  You  said  our  work  should  cease. 

I  did  say  so, 
When  first  I  rais'd  the  tempest.    Say,  my  spirit, 
J  How  fares  the  king  and 's  followers  ? 
Ariel. 

Confin'd  together 
|  In  the  same  fashion  as  you  gave  in  charge ; 
!  Just  as  you  left  them  :  all  prisoners,  sir,    [cell ; 
|  In  the   line-grove  which  weather-fends   your 
|  They  cannot  budge  till  your  release.    The  king, 
t  His  brother,  andyours,  abide  all  three  distracted, 
j  And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them, 
j  Brim-full  of  sorrow,  and  dismay ;  but  chiefly 
Him  that  you  term'd,  sir,  "  the  good  old  lord, 

Gonzalo : " 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  of  reeds.    Your  charm  so  strongly 

works  them, 
That,  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  affections 
Would  become  tender. 

Prospero. 
Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  ? 

Ariel. 
Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 
Prospero. 

And  mine  shall. 
Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling 
Of  their  afflictions,  and  shall  not  myself, 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  mov'd  than  thou  art  ? 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to 

the  quick, 
Yet,  with  my  nobler  reason,  'gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  part.    The  rarer  action  is  [tent, 

In  virtue,  than  in  vengeance  :  they  being  peni- 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  frown  farther.    Go,  release  them,  Ariel. 
My  charms  I'll  break,  their  senses  I'll  restore, 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 
Ariel. 
I'll  fetch  them,  sir.        [Exit. 
Prospero. 
Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes,  and 
groves ; 
And  ye,  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him, 
When  he  comes  back ;  you  demy-puppets,  that 
By  moonshine  do  the  green  sour  ringlets  make, 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites;   and  you,  whose 

pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight  mushrooms  ;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew  ;  by  whose  aid 
(Weak  masters  though  ye  be)  1  have  be-dimm'd 
The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinous 

winds, 
And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azur'd  vault 
Set  roaring  war :  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  fire,  and  rifted  Jove's  stout  oak 

With 


Sc.  i. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


21 


hit  own  bolt :  the  strong-bas'd  promontory 
I  made  shake;  and  by  the  spur*  pluck'd  up 
p:ne  ami  cedar :  graves,  at  my  command, 
fi>  waked  their  sleepers  ;  oped,  and  let  them 
forth 

y  so  potent  art.    But  this  rough  magic 
abjure  ;  and,  when  I  have  requir'd 
heavenly  music,  (which  even  now  I  do) 
To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 
This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  staff, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 

,  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 
I'll  drown  my  book.  [Solemn  music 

I:.-  •  nter  Artel:  alter  him,  Alonso,  with  a  frantic 

tended  by  Gonzalo ;  Sebastian  and 

like  manner,  attended  by  Adrian 

I     and  Iran  a  sco :  they  all  enter  the  circle  which 

mere  had  made,  and  there  stand  charmed ; 

\peio  observing,  speaks. 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 
Vo  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains,     [stand, 
useless,  boil'd  within  thy  skull !    There 
For  you  are  spell -stopp'd. — 
Holy  Gonzalo,  honourable  man, 

j    Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  show  of  thine, 
Fall  fellowiy  drops — The  charm  dissolves  apace ; 

;   And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkuess,  so  their  rising  senses 

I    Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason.—  O  good  Gonzalo! 
My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 
To  him  thou  follow'st,  1  will  pay  thy  graces 

',    Home,  both  in  word  and  deed.  —  Most  cruelly 
Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and  my  daughter  : 
j  Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act ;  — 

!   Thou'rt  ninch'd  for't  now,  Sebastian Flesh 

and  blood, 
You  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 
Expell'd  remorse  and  nature  ;   who,  with  Se~ 
bastian,  [strong) 

(Whose    inward   pinches    therefore   are  most 
Would  here  have  kill'd  your  king ;  I  do  forgive 
thee,  [ing 

Unnatural  though  thou  art. — Their  understand* 
Begins  to  swell,  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores, 

I   That  now  he  foul  and  muddy.    Not  one  of  them, 

|   That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me — Ariel, 

•   Fetch*  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell ; 

[Exit  Ariel. 
I  will  dis-case  me,  and  myself  present, 
As  I  was  sometime  Milan — Quickly,  spirit; 
Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free. 

Ariel  re-enters,  singing,  and  help*  to  attire 
Prospero. 
Ariel. 
Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie ; 
There  I  couch,  when  owls  do  cry  : 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly, 
After  summer,  merrily : 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  b  ttgh. 
Prospero. 

Why,  that's  my  dainty  Ariel!  I  shall  miss  thee ; 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom :  —  so,  so,  so.  — 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art: 
There  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches;  the  master,  and  the  boat- 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place,  [swain, 
And  presently,  1  pr'ythee. 

I  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return  . 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  twice  beat.  [Exit  Ariel. 


All  torment,  trouble,  wonder,  and  amazement 
Inhabit  here :  some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country  ! 
;>ero- 

Behold,  sir  king, 
■  The  wronged  duke  of  Milan,  Prospero. 
For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
;  Does  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body  ; 
1  And  to  thee,  and  thy  company,  I  bid 
A  hearty  welcome. 

Alu; 

Whe'r  thou  beest  he,  or  no, 
Or  some  enchanted  trifle  to  abuse  me, 
As  late  I  have  been,  I  not  know :  thy  pulse 
Beats  as  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  and,  since  1  saw  thee, 
Th'  affliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which, 
I  fear,  a  madness  held  me.    This  must  crave 
(An  if  this  be  at  all)  a  most  strange  story. 
Thy  dukedom  I  resign  ;  and  do  entreat 
Thou  pardon  me  my  wrongs. — But  how  should 
Be  living,  and  be  here  ?  [Prospero 

Prospero. 

First,  noble  friend, 
Let  me  embrace  thine  age,  whose  honour  cannot 
Be  measur'd,  or  confin'd. 

Gonzalo. 

Whether  this  be, 
Or  be  not,  I'll  not  swear. 

Prospero. 

You  do  yet  taste 
Some  subtleties  o'  the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain.  —  Welcome,  my  friends 
all — 
,  But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minde*d7 
[Aside  to  Sebastian  and  Antonio. 
I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you, 
And  justify  you  traitors :  at  this  time 
I  will  tell  no  tales. 

Sebastian . 

[Aside. 
The  devil  speaks  in  him. 
Prospero. 

No 

j  For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
;  Would  even  infect  my  mouth,  I  do  forgive 
'  Thy  rankest  fault ;  all  of  them ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which,  perforce,  I  know, 
I  Thou  must  restore. 

Alonso. 

If  thou  beest  Prospero, 
Give  us  particulars  of  thy  preservation :     [since 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore;  where  1  have 

lost 
(How  sharp  the  point  of  this  remembrance  is  !) 
My  dear  son  Ferdinand. 

Prospero. 

I  am  woe  for't,  sir. 
Alonso. 
Irreparable  is  the  loss,  and  patience 
Says  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Prospero. 

I  rather  think,  [grace, 
You  have  not  sought  her  help ;  of  whose  soft 
For  the  like  loss  1  have  her  sovereign  aid, 
And  rest  myself  content. 

Alonso. 

You  the  like  loss  ? 
M>ero. 
As  great  to  me,  as  late  ;  and,  supportable 
To  make  the  dear  loss,  have  I  means  much 
weaker 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you,  for  I 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alonso. 

A  daughter  ? 

0  heavens !  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples, 
The  king  and  queen  there !  that  they  were,  I  wish 
Myself  were  mudded  in  that  oozy  bed 

Where  my  son  lies.    When  did  you  lose  your 
daughter  ? 

Prospero. 
In  this  last  Tempest.    I  perceive,  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire, 
That  they  devour  their  reason,  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  their  words 
Are  natural  breath  ;  but,  howsoe'er  you  have 
Been  justled  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain, 
That  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
Which  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan  j  who  most 
strangely  [landed, 

Upon  this  shore,  where  you  were  wreck'd,  was 
To  be  the  lord  on't.    No  more  yet  of  this  ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting.    Welcome,  sir, 
j  This  cell's  my  court :  here  have  I  few  attendants, 
;  And  subjects  none  abroad :  pray  you,  look  in. 
|  My  dukedom  since  you  have  given  me  again, 

1  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing ; 

At  least,  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye 
As  much  as  me  my  dukedom. 

[The  scene  opens,  and  discovers  Ferdinand 
and  Miranda  playing  at  chess. 
Miranda. 
Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 
Ferdinand. 

No,  my  dearest  love, 
I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Miranda. 

Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms   you   should 

And  I  would  call  it  fair  play.  [wrangle, 

Alonso. 

If  this  prove 
A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Shall  I  twice  lose.  _  ,     ... 

Sebastian. 

A  most  high  miracle  I 
Ferdinand. 
Though  the  seas  threaten  they  are  merciful : 
I  have  curs'd  them  $«^neels  t0  Alon^ 

Alonso. 

Now,  all  the  blessings 
Of  a  glad  father  compass  thee  about ! 
Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 
Miranda. 

O,  wonder ! 
How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here  I 
How  beauteous  mankind  is  !  O  brave  new  world, 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 
Prospero. 

Alonso.  'Tis  new  t0  thee- 
What  is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast  at 
play? 
Your  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  hours : 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever 'd  us, 
And  brought  us  thus  together  ? 
Ferdinand. 

Sir,  she  is  mortal : 
But,  by  immortal  providence,  she's  mine : 
I  chose  her,  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice,  nor  thought  I  had  one.    She 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  duke  of  Milan, 


Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown, 
But  never  saw  before ;  of  whom  1  have 
Received  a  second  life,  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 
Alonso. 

I  am  hers. 
But  O  !  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness. 
Prospero. 

There,  sir,  stop : 
Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
With  a  heaviness  that's  gone. 
Gonzalo. 

I  have  inly  wept, 
Or  should  have  spoke  ere  this.    Look  down,  you 
i  And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown ;  [gods, 
For  it  is  you  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way, 
j  Which  brought  us  hither  ! 
Alonso. 

I  say,  Amen,  Gonzalo. 
Gonzalo 
j     Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan,  that  his  issue 
I  Should  become  kings  of  Naples  ?    O  !  rejoice 
;  Beyond  a  common  joy,  and  set  it  down 
|  With  gold  on  lasting  pillars.    In  one  voyage 
i  Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis ; 
•  And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife, 
Where  he  himself  was  lost ;  Prospero  his  duke- 
In  a  poor  isle ;  and  all  of  us,  ourselves,      [dom, 
When  no  man  was  his  own. 
Alonso. 
„_    „    Give  me  your  hands : 
[To  Ferdinand  and  Miranda. 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart, 
;  That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 
Gonzalo. 

Be  It  so:  Amen. 

)  Re-enter  Ariel,  with  the  Master  and  Boatswain 
amazedly  following. 

0  look,  sir  !  look,  sir !  here  are  more  of  us. 

1  prophesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land, 

This  fellow  could  not  drown. — Now, blasphemy, 

That  swear'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on 

shore  ?  [news  ? 

:  Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land?    What  is  the 

Boatswain. 
1      The  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  king,  and  company :  the  next  our  ship, 
Which  but  three  glasses  since  we  gave  out  split, 
;  Is  tight  and  yare,  and  bravely  rigg'd,  as  when 
I  We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

Ariel. 

Sir,  all  this  service 
1  Have  I  done  since  I  went. 

Prospero. 

My  tricksy  spirit ! 
Alonso. 
These  are  not  natural  events  ;  they  strengthen 
From  strange  to  stranger Say,  how  came  you 

hither?         Boatswain. 
If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awake, 
I'd  strive  to  tell  you.    We  were  dead  o'  sleep, 
And  (how  we   know  not)  all   clapp'd   under 
hatches,  [noises 

Where,  but  even  now,  with  strange  and  several 
Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howling,  jingling  chains, 
And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible, 
'  We  were  awak'd  ;  straightway  at  liberty : 
Where  we,  in  all  her  trim,  freshly  beheld 
:  Our  royal,  good,  and  gallant  ship ;  our  master 
Capering  to  eye  her :  on  a  trice,  so  please  you, 

£v§n 


A.  i  v.  Sc.  l. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


Kven  in  a  dream,  wore  we  divided  from  them, 
Ami  were  brought  moping  hither. 


Ariel. 


Was't  well 


done? 


be  fn 


Prospero. 
Bravely,  my  diligence  !    Thou  shalt  be^free" 

Alonso. 

Th's  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  eer  men  trod  ; 

Ami  there  is  in  tliis  business  more  than  nature 

i  r  conduct  of:  some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Prospero. 

Sir,  my  liege, 
Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The   strangeness  of  this  business :    at  pick'd 

leisure, 
Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  I'll  resolve  you 
(Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable)  of  every 
These  happen'd  accidents ;  till  when, be  cheerful, 
And  think  of  each  thing  well — Come  hither, 

spirit :  [A»Me. 

Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free  ; 
Untie  the  spell.  [Exit  Ariel. 

How  fares  my  gracious  sir  ? 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads,  that  you  remember  not. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  driving  in  Caliban,  Stephano, 
and  Trinculo,  in  their  stolen  apparel. 

Stephano. 
Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no 
man  take  care  for  himself,  for  all  is  but  fortune. 
—  Coraggio !  bully-monster,  coraggio  1 

Trinculo. 
If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my 
head,  here's  a  goodly  sight. 
Caliban. 
O  Setebos !  these  be  brave  spirits,  indeed. 
How  fine  my  master  is  l  1  am  afraid 
He  will  chastise  me. 

Sebastian. 
Ha,  ha  ! 
What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ? 
Will  money  buy  them  ? 

Antonio. 

Very  like :  one  of  them 
Is  a  plain  fish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable. 
Prospero. 
Mark  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords, 

Then  say,  if  they  be  true This  mis-shapen 

knave, 
His  mother  was  a  witch  ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and 

ebbs, 
And  deal  in  her  command,  without  her  power. 
These  three  have  robb'd  me ;  and  this  demi- 

devil 
(For  he's  a  bastard  one)  had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life  :  two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know,  and  own  ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

Caliban. 
I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 
Alonso. 
Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler  ? 

Sebastian. 
He  is  drunk  now :  where  had  he  wine  ? 

Alonso. 
And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe:  where  should 
they 


I  Find  this  grand  liquor  that  hath  gilded  »em?— 
<  How  cam'st  thou  in  this  pickle  ? 

I  have  been  In  such  a  pickle,  since  I  saw  you 
,  last,  that,  1  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my  bones  : 
j  I  shall  not  fear  fly-blowing. 

1      Why,  how  now,  Stephano! 

~ .  .  Stephano. 

:      O  !  touch  me  not :  I  am  not  Stephano,  but  a 
cramp. 

,     You'd  be  king  of  the  IKeTsirrah  ? 

..     Stephano. 

I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Alonso. 
This  is  a  strange  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd  on. 

[Pointing  to  Caliban. 

Prospero. 
[      He  is  as  disproportioned  in  his  manners, 

|  As  in  his  shape Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell ; 

■  Take  with  you  your  companions  :  as  you  look 
1  To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Caliban. 
»      Ay,  that  I  will ;  and  I'll  be  wise  nereafter, 

And  seek  for  grace.    What  a  thrice-double  ass 
:  Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
'  And  worship  this  dull  fool  ? 

Prospero. 

Go  to  ;  away  1 
Alonso. 
Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where  you 
found  it. 

Sebastian. 
Or  stolj  it  rather. 

[Exeunt  Caliban,  Stephano,  and  Trinculo. 

Prospero. 
Sir,  I  invite  your  highness,  and  your  train, 
To  my  poor  cell,  where  you  shall  take  your  rest 
For  this  one  night ;  which,  part  of  it,  I'll  waste 
With  such  discourse,  as,  I  not  doubt,  shall  make 
!  Go  quick  away  ;  the  story  of  my  life,  [it 

j  And  the  particular  accidents  gone  by, 
!  Since  I  came  to  this  isle :  and  in  the  morn, 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  1  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
!  Of  these  our  dear-beloved  solemniz'd  ; 
I  And  thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alonso 

I  long 
To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Take  the  car  strangely. 

Prospero. 

I'll  deliver  all ; 
And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales, 
And  sail,  so  expeditious,  that  shall  catch 
Your  royal  fleet  far  off".  —  My  Ariel ;  —chick,  — 
That  is  thy  charge :  then,  to  the  elements  ; 
Be  free,  and  fare  thou  well !  —  Please  you  draw 
near.  [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 

SPOKEN  BY  PROSPERO. 

Now  my  charms  are  all  o'erthrown, 
And  what  strength  I  have's  mine  own  ; 
Which  is  most  faint :  now,  'tis  true, 
1  must  be  here  confin'd  by  you, 
Or  sent  to  Naples.     Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  my  dukedom  got, 

And 


24 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Aud  pardon'd  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island,  by  your  spell ; 
But  release  me  from  my  bands, 
With  the  help  of  your  good  hands. 
Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  else  my  project  fails, 
Which  was  to  please.     Now  I  want 


Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant ; 
And  my  ending  is  despair, 
Unless  I  be  reliev'd  by  prayer  ; 
Which  pierces  so,  that  it  assaults 
Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 
As  you  from  crimes  would  pardon'd  be, 
Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free. 


THE 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VEEONA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


DUKE  OF  MILAN,  Father  to  Silvia. 
Stem?6']  Thetwo  Gentlemen. 
Antonio,  Father  to  Proteus. 
Thurio,  a  foolish  rival  to  Valentine. 
Eglamour,  agent  for  Silvia  in  her  escape. 
Speed,  a  clownish  Servant  to  Valentine. 
Launce,  the  like  to  Proteus. 
Panthino,  Servant  to  Antonio. 


.  Host,  where  Julia  lodges. 
I  Outlaws  with  Valentine. 
I  Julia,  beloved  of  Proteus. 
I  Silvia,  beloved  of  Valentine. 
!  Lucetta,  Waiting-woman  to  Julia. 
Servants,  Musicians. 

SCENE :  sometimes  in  Verona ;  sometimes  in 
Milan,  and  on  the  frontiers  of  Mantua. 


#-#-0-#-#'#-##- 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.    An  open  place  in  Verona 
Enter  Valentine  and  Proteus. 

Valentine- 
:  (~^E  ASE  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus : 
|  ^  Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits. 
;  Wer't  not,  affection  chains  thy  tender  days 
To  the  sweet  glances  of  thy  honour'd  love, 
;  I  rather  would  entreat  thy  company 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  abroad, 
'Than,  living  dully  sluggardiz'd  at  home, 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But   since  thou  lov'st,  love  still,  and    thrive 
Even  as  I  would,  when  I  to  love  begin,  [therein, 

Proteus. 
!    Wilt  thou  begone  ?    Sweet  Valentine,  adieu. 
I  Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou  haply  seest 
Some  rare  note- worthy  object  in  thy  travel : 
IWish  me  partaker  in  thy  happiness,       [danger, 
I  When  thou  dost  meet  good  hap  ;  and  in  thy 
{If  ever  danger  do  environ  thee, 
I  (Commend  thy  grievance  to  my  holy  prayers, 
|  For  I  will  be  thy  bead's -man,  Valentine. 
Valentine. 
And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success. 

Proteus. 
Upon  some  book  I  love,  I'll  pray  for  thee. 


Valentine. 
That's  on  some  shallow  story  of  deep  love, 
How  young  Leander  cross'd  the  Hellespont. 
Proteus. 
That's  a  deep  story  of  a  deeper  love, 
For  he  was  more  than  over  shoes  in  love. 
Valentine. 
'Tis  true  ;  for  you  are  over  boots  in  love, 
And  yet  you  never  swam  the  Hellespont. 
Proteus . 
Over  the  boots  ?  nay,  give  me  not  the  boots. 

Valentine. 
No,  I  will  not,  for  it  boots  thee  not. 
Proteus. 

What  ? 
Valentine. 
1    To  be  in  love,  where  scorn  is  bought  with 
groans;  [moment's  mirth, 

Coy  looks,  with  heart-sore  sighs  ;  one  fading 
With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights : 
If  haply  won,  perhaps,  a  hapless  gain  ; 
If  lost,  why  then  a  grievous  labour  won  : 
However,  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit, 
Or  else  a  wit  by  folly  vanquished. 
Proteus. 
So,  by  your  circumstance  you  call  me  fool. 

Valentine. 
So,  by  your  circumstance,  I  fear,  you'll  prove. 
ProUHiP. 


Sc.  i. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


H 


Proteus. 
TU  love  you  c&\  il  at :  I  am  not  love. 

tine. 
Love  Is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you  ; 
Ami  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool, 
Methinks,  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 
l'rot 
Yet  writers  say,  as  In  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

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  hopes. 
Hut  wherefore  waste  1  time  to  counsel  thee, 
That  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire  ? 
Once  more  adieu.     My  father  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 
Proteus. 

And  thither  will  I  bring  thee,  Valentine. 
Valentine. 

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 
Betideth  here  in  absence  of  thy  friend, 
And  I  likewise  will  visit  thee  with  mine. 
Proteus. 

All  happiness  bechance  to  thee  in  Milan. 
Valentine. 

As  much  to  you  at  home ;  and  so,  farewell, 

Proteus. 
He  after  honour  hunts,  1  after  love: 
He  leaves  his  friends  to  dignify  them  more; 
I  -leave  myself,  my  friends,  and  all  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia,  thou  hast  metamorphos'd  me  ; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time, 
War  with  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  nought, 
Made  wit  with  musing  weak,  heart  sick  with 
thought 

i.nter  Speed. 

Speed. 

Sir  Proteus,  save  you.    Saw  you  my  master  ? 

Proteus. 
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. 
Proteus. 
Indeed  a  sheep  doth  very  often  stray, 
An  if  the  shepherd  be  awhile  away. 
Speed. 
You  conclude,  that  my  master  is  a  shepherd, 
then,  and  I  a  sheep  ? 

Proteus. 
I  do. 

Speed. 
Why  then,  my  horns  are  his  horns,  whether  I 
wake  or  sleep. 

Proteus,. 
A  silly  answer,  and  fitting' well  a  sheep. 

Speed. 
This  proves  me  still  a  sheep. 

Prot 
True,  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 

Nay,  that  I  can  deny  by  a  circumstance. 


Proteus. 
It  shall  go  hard  but  I'll  prove  it  by  another. 

i 
The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not  the 
•heep  the  shepherd  ;  but  I  seek  my  master,  and 
my  master  seeks  not  me:  therefore,  I  am  no 
sheep. 

Proteus. 
The  sheep  for  fodder  follow  the  shepherd,  the 
shepherd  for  food  follows  not  the  sheep  ;  thou 
for  wages  followest  thy  master,  thy  master  for 
wages  follows  not  thee :  therefore,  thou  art  a 
sheep. 

Speed . 

Such  another  proof  will  make  me  cry  "  baa." 

Proteus . 
But,  dost  thou  hear  ?  gav'st  thou  my  letter  to 
Julia  T 

Speed. 

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  labour. 

Proteus. 

Here's  too  small  a  pasture  for  such  store  of 

muttons. 

Speed. 

If  the  ground  be  overcharg'd,  you  were  best 
stick  her.  „ 

Proteus. 

Nay,  in  that  you  are  astray :  'twere  best  pound 

J'ou- 

Speed. 

Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve  me  for 
carrying  your  letter. 

Proteus. 

You  mistake:  I  mean  the  pound,  the  pinfold. 

Speed 
From  a  pound  to  a  pin  ?  fold  it  over  and  over, 
'Tis  threefold  too  little  for  carrying  a  letter  to 
your  lover.      _.    . 

Proteus. 

But  what  said  she  ?  did  she  nod  ? 
Speed. 


I. 

Nod, 


Proteus. 
?  why  that's  noddy. 
Speed. 


[Speed  nods. 


You  mistook,  sir :  I  say  she  did  nod,  and  you 
ask  me,  if  she  did  nod  ?  and  I  say  I. 
Proteus. 
And  that  set  together,  is  noddy. 

Speed. 
Now  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  set  it  toge- 
ther, take  it  for  your  pains. 
Proteus. 
No,  no 
letter. 


Well, 
you. 


;   you  shall  have  it  for  bearing  the 

Speed, 
perceive  I  must  be  fain  to  bear  with 
Proteus. ' 
Why,  sir,  how  do  you  bear  with  me  ? 

Speed. 
Marry,  sir,  the  letter  very  orderly  ;   having 
nothing  but  the  word  noddy  for  my  pains. 
Proteus. 
Beshrew  me,  but  you  have  a  quick  wit. 

Speed. 

And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  your  slow  purse. 

Proteus. 


Come,  come ; 
said  she  ? 


open  the  matter  in  brief:  what 
Speed. 


26 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OE  VERONA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Speed. 
Open  your  purse,  that  the  money,  and  the 
matter,  may  be  both  at  once  deliver 'd. 

Proteus. 
Well,  sir,  here  is  for  your  pains.    What  said 
she' 

Speed. 
Truly,  sir,  I  think  you'll  hardly  win  her. 

Proteus. 
Why  ?    Couldst  thou  perceive  so  much  from 
her?  „      a 

Speed. 

Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from  her  ; 
no,  not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your 
letter ;  and  being  so  hard  to  me  that  brought 
your  mind,  I  fear  she'll  prove  as  hard  to  you  in 
telling  your  mind.  Give  her  no  token  but  stones, 
for  she  s  as  hard  as  steel. 

Proteus. 

What !  said  she  nothing? 
Speed. 

No,  not  so  much  as—"  take  this  for  thy  pains." 
To  testify  your  bounty,  I  thank  you,  you  have  : 
testern'd  me ;  in  requital  whereof,  henceforth  : 
carry  your  letters  yourself.     And  so,  sir,  I'll  j 
commend  you  to  my  master. 
Proteus. 

Go,  go,  be  gone,  to  save  your  ship  from  wreck, 
Which  cannot  perish,  having  thee  aboard, 
Being  destin'd  to  a  drier  death  on  shore.— 
I  must  go  send  some  better  messenger : 
I  fear  my  Julia  would  not  deign  my  lines, 
Receiving  them  from  such  a  worthless  Pg^unt 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    Jidia *s  Garden. 
Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 


But  say,  Lucetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Wouldst  thou,  then,  counsel  me  to  fall  in  love ' 
Lucetta. 

Ay,  madam ;  so  you  stumble  not  unheedfully. ; 

Julia 
Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gentlemen, 
That  every  day  with  parle  encounter  me, 
In  thy  opinion  which  is  worthiest  love  ? 
Lucetta. 

Please  you,  repeat  their  names,  I'll  show  ray! 
According  to  my  shallow  simple  skill.        [mind  j 
Julia. 

What  think'st  thou  of  the  fair  Sir  Eglamour  t 
Lucetta. 

As  of  a  knight  well-spoken,  neat,  and  fine ; 
But,  were  I  you,  he  never  should  be  mine. 
Julia. 

What  think'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercatio  t 
Lucetta. 

Well,  of  his  wealth  ;  but  of  himself,  so,  so. 
Julia. 

What  think'st  thou  of  the  gentle  Proteus  ? 
Lucetta. 

Lord,  lord !  to  see  what  folly  reigns  in  us ! 
Julia. 

How  now !  what  means  this  passion  at  his 


name? 


Lucetta. 


Pardon,  dear  madam :  'tis  a  passing  shame, 
That  I,  unworthy  body  as  I  am, 
Should  censure  thus  on  lovely  gentlemen. 


Julia. 
Why  not  on  Proteus,  as  of  all  the  rest  ? 

Lucetta. 
Then  thus,— of  many  good  I  think  him  best 

Julia. 
Your  reason  ? 

Lucetta. 
I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason  : 
I  think  him  so,  because  I  think  him  so. 

Julia. 
And  wouldst  thou  have  me  cast  my  love  on 
him? 

Lucetta. 
Ay,  if  you  thought  your  love  not  cast  away. 

Julia. 
Why,  he,  of  all  the  rest,  hath  never  mov'd  me. 

Lucetta. 
Yet  he,  of  all  the  rest,  I  think,  best  loves  ye. 

Julia. 
His  little  speaking  shows  his  love  but  small. 

Lucetta. 
Fire  that's  closest  kept  burns  most  of  all. 

Julia. 
They  do  not  love,  that  do  not  show  their  love. 
Lucetta. 

0  !  they  love  least,  that  let  men  know  their 

love. 

Julia. 

1  would  I  knew  his  mind. 

Lucetta. 
Peruse  this  paper,  madam. 
Julia. 
"  To  Julia."    Say,  from  whom? 
Lucetta. 

That  the  contents  will  show. 
Julia. 
Say,  say,  who  gave  it  thee  ? 

Lucetta. 

Sir  Valentine's  page;  and  sent,  I  think,  from 

Proteus.  [way, 

He  would  have  given  it  you,  but  I,  being  in  the 

Did  in  your  name  receive  it :  pardon  the  fault, 

I  pray. 

Julia. 
Kow,  by  my  modesty,  a  goodly  broker  ! 
Dare  you  presume  to  harbour  wanton  lines  ? 
To  whisper  and  conspire  against  my  youth  ? 
Now,  trust  me,  'tis  an  office  of  great  worth, 
And  you  an  officer  fit  for  the  place. 
There,  take  the  paper :  see  it  be  return'd, 
Or  else  return  no  more  into  my  sight. 
Lucetta. 
To  plead  for  love  deserves  more  fee  than  hate 

Julia. 
Will  you  be  gone  ? 

Lucetta. 
That  you  may  ruminate.   CExlt. 
Julia. 
And  yet,  I  would  I  had  o'erlook'd  the  letter. 
It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again, 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  I  chid  her. 
What  fool  is  she,  that  knows  I  am  a  maid, 
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, 

When 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


*7 


When  willingly  I  would  have  had  her  here: 
How  angerly  I  taught  ray  brow  to  frown. 
When  inward  joy  enforc  d  my  heart  to  smile. 
My  penance  is  to  call  Lucetta  back, 

And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past 

What  hoi  Lucetta t 

Reenter  Lucetta. 

Lucetta. 

What  would  your  ladyship  ? 
Julia. 
Is  it  near  dinner-time  ? 

Lucetta. 

I  would,  it  were ; 
That  you  might  kill  your  stomach  on  your  meat, 
And  not  upon  your  maid. 
Julia. 
What  is't  that  you  took  up  so  gingerly  ? 

Lucetta. 
Nothing. 

Julia. 
Why  didst  thou  stoop,  then  ? 
Lucetta. 

To  take  a  paper  up 
That  I  let  fall. 

Julia. 
And  is  that  paper  nothing  ? 
Lucetta. 
Nothing  concerning  me. 
Julia. 
Then  let  it  lie  for  those  that  it  concerns. 

Lucetta. 
Madam,  it  will  not  lie  where  it  concerns, 
Unless  it  have  a  false  interpreter. 
Julia. 
Some  love  of  yours  hath  writ  to  you  in  rhyme. 

Lucetta. 
That  I  might  sing  it,  madam,  to  a  tune. 
Give  me  a  note :  your  ladyship  can  set. 
Julia. 
As  little  by  such  toys  as  may  be  possible : 
Best  sing  it  to  the  tune  of  "  Light  o'  love." 
Lucetta. 
It  is  too  heavy  for  so  light  a  tune. 

Julia. 
Heavy  ?  belike,  it  hath  some  burden  then. 

Lucetta. 
Ay ;  and  melodious  were  it,  would  you  sing  it. 

Julia. 
And  why  not  you  ? 

Lucetta. 

I  cannot  reach  so  high. 
Julia. 
Let's  see  your  song.  —  How  now,  minion  1 

Lucetta. 
Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  sing  it  out: 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  do  not  like  this  tune. 
Julia. 
You  do  not  ? 

Lucetta. 
No,  madam  ;  it  is  too  sharp. 
Julia. 
You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 
Lucetta. 
Nay,  now  you  are  too  flat, 
And  mar  the  concord  with  too  harsh  a  descant: 
There  wanteth  but  a  mean  to  fill  your  song. 
Julia. 
The  mean  is  drown'd  with  your  unruly  base. 


Lucetta. 
Indeed  I  bid  the  base  for  Proteus. 

Julia. 
This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  trouble  me. 
Here  is  a  coil  with  protestation  1  — 

[Tears  the  letter. 
Go,  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie : 
You  would  be  fingering  them  to  anger  me. 
Lucetta. 
I      She  makes  it  strange,  but  she  would  be  best 
pleas 'd 
To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.        [Exit 
Julia. 
Nay,  would  I  were  so  anger'd  with  the  same ! 

0  hateful  hands  !  to  tear  such  loving  words: 
Injurious  wasps,  to  feed  on  such  sweet  honey, 
And  kill  the  bees  that  yield  it  with  vour  stings  ! 
I'll  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amends.   [Julia  ! 
Look,  here  is  writ— "kind  Julia ;"  —  unkind 
As  in  revenge  of  thy  ingratitude, 

1  throw  thy  name  against  the  bruising  stones, 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain. 
And  here  is  writ — "  love-wounded  Proteus."— 
Poor  wounded  name  1  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,  [bear 
Except  mine  own  name ;  that  some  whirlwind 
;  Unto  a  ragged,  fearful,  hanging  rock, 
\  And  throw  it  thence  into  the  raging  sea. 
i  Lo  I  here  in  one  line  is  his  name  twice  writ,— i 
;  "  Poor  forlorn  Proteus  j  passionate  Proteus 
To  the  sweet  Julia :"—  that  I'll  tear  away ; 
I  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. 

Ue-enter  Lucetta. 
Lucetta 
Madam, 
!  Dinner  is  ready,  and  your  father  stays. 
Julia. 

!     Well,  let  us  go.     . 

Lucetta. 

mat !  shall  these  papers  lie  like  tell-tale* 
here?  ,  ,. 

Julia. 

If  you  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 

Lucetta. 
Nay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down  ; 
Yet  here  they  shall  not  lie  for  catching  cold. 
Julia. 
I  see,  you  have  a  month's  mind  to  them. 
Lucetta. 
!     Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you  see 
;  I  see  things  too,  although  you  judge  1  wink. 
Julia. 
Come,  come ;  will't  please  you  go  ?    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Room  In  Antonio's 
House. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Panthino. 

Antonio. 

Tell  me,  Panthino,  what  sad  talk  was  that, 

Wherewith  my  brother  held  you  in  the  cloister  ? 

Panthino. 

'Twas  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  son.  .     , 


28 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


Antonio. 
Why,  what  of  him  ? 

Panthino. 
He  wonder'd,  that  your  lordship 
Would  suffer  him  to  spend  his  youth  at  home, 
While  other  men,  of  slender  reputation, 
Put  forth  their  sons  to  seek  preferment  out : 
Some  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there  ; 
Some,  to  discover  islands  far  away ; 
Some,  to  the  studious  universities. 
For  any,  or  for  all  these  exercises, 
He  said,  that  Proteus,  your  ron,  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 . 
Antonio. 
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, 
Not  being  tried  and  tutor'd  in  the  world : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achiev'd, 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time. 
Then,  tell  me,  whither  were  I  best  to  send  him  ? 
Panthino. 
I  think,  your  lordship  is  not  ignorant 
How  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine, 
Attends  the  emperor  in  his  royal  court. 
Antonio. 
I  know  it  well. 

Panthino. 
'Twere  good,  I  think,  your  lordship  sent  him 
thither. 
There  shall  he  practise  tilts  and  tournaments, 
Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  with  noblemen, 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise, 
Worthy  his  youth,  and  nobleness  of  birth. 
Antonio. 
1  like  thy  counsel :  well  hast  thou  advis'd ; 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  how  well  I  like  it, 
The  execution  of  it  shall  make  known. 
Even  with  the  speediest  expedition 
I  will  dispatch  him  to  the  emperor's  court. 
Panthino. 
To-morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Alphonso, 
With  other  gentlemen  of  good  esteem, 
Are  journeying  to  salute  the  emperor, 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 
Antonio. 
Good  company ;  with  them  shall  Proteus  go : 
And,  in  good  time,— now  will  we  break  with 
him. 

Enter  Proteus. 
Proteus. 
Sweet  love !  sweet  lines !  sweet  life ! 
Here  is  her  hand,  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 
Here  is  her  oath  for  love,  her  honour's  pawn. 
O  !  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves, 
To  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents  ! 
O  heavenly  Julia ! 

Antonio. 
How  now !  what  letter  are  you  reading  there  ? 

Proteus. 
May't  please  your  lordship,  'tis  a  word  or  two 
Of  commendations  sent  from  Valentine, 
Deliver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him. 
Antonio. 
Lend  me  the  letter:  let  me  see  what  news. 

Proteus. 
There  is  no  news,  my  lord,  but  that  he  writes 
How  happily  he  lives,  how  well  belov'd, 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor ; 
Wishing  me  with  him,  partner  of  his  fortune. 


Antonio. 
And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  wish  ? 

Proteus. 
As  one  relying  on  your  lordship's  will, 
;  And  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish. 

Antonio. 
I      My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wish. 
;  Muse  not  that  1  thus  suddenly  proceed, 

For  what  1  will,  1  will,  and  there  an  end. 
;  I  am  resolv'd,  that  thou  shalt  spend  some  time 

With  Valentinus  in  the  emperor's  court : 
;  What  maintenance  he  from  his  friends  receives, 
Like  exhibition  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go : 
|  Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 
Proteus. 
My  lord,  I  cannot  be  so  soon  provided : 
Please  you,  deliberate  a  day  or  two. 
Antonio. 
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  Antonio  and  Panthino. 
Proteus. 
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 
i     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. 
Panthino. 
Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you : 
He  is  in  haste  ;  therefore,  I  pray  you,  go 
Proteus. 
Why,  this  it  is  :  my  heart  accords  thereto, 
And  yet  a  thousand  times  it  answers,  no. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    Milan.    A    Room    in  the  Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed. 
Speed. 
CIR,  your  glove. 

Valentine. 
Not  mine  ;  my  gloves  are  on. 
Speed. 
Whythen  this  may  be  yours,  for  this  is  but  one. 

Valentine. 
Ha !  let  me  see  ;  ay,  give  it  me,  it's  mine.  — 
Sweet  ornament,  that  decks  a  thing  divine  1 
Ah  Silvia !  Silvia ! 

Speed. 

Madam  Silvia !  madam  Silvia  ! 

Valentine. 
How  now,  sirrah  ? 

Speed. 

She  is  not  within  hearing,  sir. 

Valentine. 


Au  n.  Sc.  i. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Valentine., 
Why,  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her  ? 

■  - 
Your  worship,  sir  ;  or  else  I  mistook. 

Valentine. 
Well,  you'll  still  be  too  forward. 

And  yet  I  was  last  chidden  for  being  too  slow. 

Valentine. 
Go  to,  sir.     Tell  me,  do  you  know  madam 
Silvia  t 

Speed 

She  that  your  worship  loves? 
Valentine. 

Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  love? 
Speed. 

Marry,  by  these  special  marks.  First,  you  have 
learn'd,  like  sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your  arms, 
like  a  mal-content ;  to  relish  a  love-song,  like  a 
robin-redbreast ;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  that 
had  the  pestilence ;  to  sigh,  like  a  schoolboy  that  \ 
had  lost  his  A  B  C  ;  to  weep,  like  a  young  wench  ; 
that  had  buried  her  grandam ;  to  fast,  like  one  ; 
that  takes  diet ;  to  watch,  like  one  that  fears  ! 
robbing ;  to  speak  puling,  like  a  beggar  at  Hal- 
lowmas. You  were  wont,  when  you  laugh'd,  to 
crow  like  a  cock  ;  when  you  walk'd,  to  walk  like 
one  of  the  lions ;  when  you  fasted,  it  was  pre- 
sently after  dinner ;  when  you  look'd  sadly,  it 
was  for  want  of  money ;  and  now  you  are  meta- 
morphosed with  a  mistress,  that,  when  1  look  on 
you,  1  can  hardly  think  you  my  master. 
Valentine 

Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  me? 
Speed. 

They  are  all  perceived  without  ye? 
Valentine. 

Without  me  ?  they  cannot. 
Speed 

Without  you  ?  nay,  that's  certain  ;  for,  with- 
out you  were  so  simple,  none  else  would:  but 
you  are  so  without  these  follies,  that  these  follies 


That's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and  the 
other  out  of  all  count. 

Valentine. 
How  painted?  and  how  out  of  count? 

Speed. 
Marry,  sir,  so  painted  to  make  her  fair,  that  no 
man  'counts  of  her  beauty. 

Valentino. 
How  esteem'st  thou  me?     I  account  of  her 
****•  Speed. 

You  never  saw  her  since  she  was  deform 'd. 

Valentine. 
How  long  hath  she  been  deform 'd  ? 

Speed. 
Ever  since  you  loved  her. 

Valentine. 
I  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  saw  her,  and  still 
I  see  her  beautiful.    _ 

Speed. 

If  you  love  her,  you  cannot  see  her. 
Valentine. 

Why? 

3  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 ! 

Valentine 

What  should  I  see  then  ? 
Speed. 

Your  own  present  folly,  and  her  passing  de- 
formity ;  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to 
garter  his  hose  ;  and  you,  being  in  love,  cannot 
see  to  put  on  your  hose. 

Valentine. 

Belike,  boy,  then  you  are  in  love ;  for  last 
morning  you  could  not  see  to  wipe  my  shoes. 
Speed. 

True,  sir ;  1  was  in  love  with  my  bed.   I  thank 


are  within  you,  and  shine  through  you  like  the  1  you,  you  swinged  me  for  my  love,  which  makes 


water  m  an  urinal,  that  not  an  eye  that  sees  you, 
but  is  a  physician  to  comment  on  your  malady. 
Valentine. 
But,  tell  me,  dost  thou  know  my  lady  Silvia  f 

Speed. 
She,  that  you  gaze  on  so,  as  she  sits  at  sup- 
per? 

Valentine. 

Hast  thou  observed  that?  even  she  I  mean. 

Speed. 
Why  sir,  I  know  her  not. 

Valentine. 
Dost  thou  know  her  by  my  gazing  on  her,  and 
yet  know 'st  her  not? 

Speed. 
Is  she  not  hard-favour 'd,  sir? 

Valentine. 
Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well  favour'd. 

Speed 
Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough. 

Valentine. 
What  dost  thou  know  ? 
Speed. 

That  she  is  not  so  fair,  as  (of  you)  well  fa- 
vour'd. 

Valentine. 

I  mean,  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but  her 
favour  infinite. 


me  the  bolder  to  chide  you  for  yours. 
Valentine. 

In  conclusion,  I  stand  affected  to  her. 
Speed. 

I  would  you  were  set,  so  your  affection  would 
cease.  Valentine. 

Last  night  she  enjoin'd  me  to  write  some  lines 
to  one  she  loves.       gDee(i 


And  have  you  ? 
I  have. 


Valentine. 

" Speed. 

Are  they  not  lamely  writ  ? 
Valentine. 


No,  boy,  but  as  well  as  I  can  do  them 

Peace !  here  she  comes. 

Kntcr  Silvia. 
Speed. 

O  excellent  motion!    O  exceeding  puppet! 
Now  will  he  interpret  to  her. 
Valentine. 

Madam  and  mistress,  a  thousand  good  mor- 
rows. 

Speed. 

O !  "give  ye  good  even :  here's  a  million  of 
maimers.  gu?||L 


3o 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VEKONA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Silvia. 
Sir  Valentine  and  servant,  to  you  two  thou- 
sand. 

Speed. 
He  should  give  her  interest,  and  she  gives  it 
him. 

Valentine. 
As  you  enjoin'd  me,  I  have  writ  your  letter 
Unto  the  secret  nameless  friend  of  yours  ; 
Which  I  was  much  unwilling  to  proceed  in, 
But  for  my  duty  to  your  ladyship. 
Silvia. 
I  thank  you,  gentle  servant.  'Tis  very  clerkly 
done.  _.  ,     u 

Valentine. 

Now  trust  me,  madam,  it  came  hardly  off; 
For,  being  ignorant  to  whom  it  goes, 
I  writ  at  random,  very  doubtfully. 
Silvia. 
Perchance  you  think  too  much  of  so  much 
pains  ? 

Valentine. 
No,  madam  :  so  it  stead  you,  I  will  write, 
Please  you  command,  a  thousand  times  as  much. 
And  yet, —  „.,  • 

*    '  Silvia. 

A  pretty  period.    Well,  I  guess  the  sequel : 
And  yet  I  will  not  name  it ;  —  and  yet  I  care 

not ;  — 
And  yet  take  this  again  ;— and  yet  I  thank  you, 
Meaning  henceforth  to  trouble  you  no  more. 
Speed. 
And  yet  you  will ;  and  yet,  another  yet. 

i,  Valentine. 

Whatmeans  your  ladyship?  do  you  not  like  it? 

Yes,  yes  ;  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  writ, 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again. 
Nay,  take  them.      Valentine< 

Madam,  they  are  for  you. 
Silvia. 

Ay,  ay  ;  you  writ  them,  sir,  at  my  request, 
But  1  will  none  of  them :  they  are  for  you. 
I  would  have  had  them  writ  more  movingly. 
Valentine. 

Please  you,  I'll  write  your  ladyship  another. 
Silvia. 

And,  when  it's  writ,  for  my  sake  read  it  over  ; 
And,  if  it  please  youx  so ;  if  not,  why,  so. 
valentine. 

If  it  please  me,  madam  :  what  then  ? 
Silvia. 

Why,  if  it  please  you,  take  it  for  your  labwrcj 
And  so  good-morrow,  servant.  L 

O  jest !  unseen,  inscrutable,  invisible, 
As  a  nose  on  a  man's  face,  or  a  weathercock  on 

a  steeple,  [suitor, 

My  master  sues  to  her,  and  she  hath  taught  her 
He  being  her  pupil,  to  become  her  tutor. 
O  excellent  device!   was  there  ever  heard  a 

better,  [write  the  letter? 

That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  himself  should 

How  now,  sir  1  what,  are  you  reasoning  with 
yourself?  Speed> 

Nay,  I  was  rhyming :  'tis  you  that  have  the 
reason.  Valentine. 

To  do  what? 


Speed. 

To  be  a  spokesman  from  madam  Silvia. 

Valentine. 

To  whom? 

Speed. 

[     To  yourself.    Why,  she  woos  you  by  a  figure. 

Valentine. 

;     What  figure  ? 

Speed. 

By  a  letter,  I  should  say. 

Valentine. 

!     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?  xr  ,     M 

Valentine. 

No,  believe  me. 

Speed. 

No  believing  you,  indeed,  sir :    but  did  you 
perceive  her  earnest  ? 

Valentine. 
She  gave  me  none,  except  an  angry  word. 

Speed. 
Why,  she  hath  given  you  a  letter. 

Valentine. 
That's  the  letter  I  writ  to  her  friend. 

Speed. 
And  that  letter  hath  she  deliver'd,  and  there 
an  end.  ,r  ,     ,. 

Valentine. 

j     I  would  it  were  no  worse ! 
Speed. 
I'll  warrant  you,  'tis  as  well : 
For  often  have  you  writ  to  her,  and  she,  in  mo- 
desty, [reply ; 
Or  else  for  want  of  idle  time,  could  not  again 
Or  fearing  else  some  messenger,  that  might  her 
mind  discover,               [unto  her  lover — 
Her  self  hath  taught  her  love  himself  to  write 
All  this  I  speak  in  print,  for  in  print  I  found  it. — 
Why  muse  you,  sir?  tis  dinner  time. 
Valentine. 


I  have  dined. 


speed. 


Ay,  but  hearken,  sir :  though  the  cameleon 
love  can  feed  on  the  air,  I  am  one  that  am  nou- 
rish'd  by  my  victuals,  and  would  fain  have 
meat.  O !  be  not  like  your  mistress :  be  Jnoved, 
be  moved.  laxeunr. 

SCENE  II.   Verona.  A  Room  in  Jm/w's  House. 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 

Proteus. 

Have  patience,  gentle  Julia. 
Julia. 

I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 
Proteus. 

When  possibly  I  can,  I  will  return. 
Julia. 

If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  the  sooner. 

Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  -{#ftf jnJ$ftjng. 

Proteus. 

Why  then,  we'll  make  exchange :  here,  take 

Julia. 


ItJU,    w 

you  this. 


n  with  a  holy  kiss, 
roteus. 


And  seal  the  1 

Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy ; 


And 


Act  ir.  Sc.  n. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


And  when  that  hour  o'er-slips  me  in  the  day, 
Wherein  1  sigh  not,  Julia,  for  thy  sake, 
The  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgetfulness. 
My  father  stays  my  coming  ;  answer  not. 
The  tide  is  now :  nay,  not  thy  tide  of  tears  ; 
That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should.  " 

[Exit  Julia. 
Julia,  farewell.  —What!  gone  without  a  word? 

>  true  love  should  do :  it  cannot  speak; 
For  truth  hath  better  deeds,  than  words,  to  grace 

it. 

Enter  Panthino. 

Panthino. 
Sir  Proteus,  you  are  stay'd  for. 
Proteus. 

Go  ;  I  come,  I  come.  — 
Alas  !  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Street. 

Enter  Launcc,  leadiag  a  Dog. 

Launce. 

I     Nay,  'twill  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done  weep- 

,  •  ing :  all  the  kind  of  the  Launces  have  this  very 

'  I  fault.     I  have  received  my  proportion,  like  the 

1 1  prodigious  son,  and  am  going  with  sir  Proteus 

1  j  to  the  imperial's  court.     I  think  Crab,  my  dog, 

:  be  the  sourest-natured  dog  that  lives :  my  mother 

weeping,  my  father  wailing,  my  sister  crying, 

i  our  maid  howling,  our  cat  wringing  her  hands, 

and  all  our  house  in  a  great  perplexity,  yet  did 

not  this  cruel-  hearted  cur  shed  one  tear.     He  is 

a  stone,  a  very  pebble-stone,  and  has  no  more 

pity  in  him  than  a  dog ;  a  Jew  would  have  wept 

to  have  seen  our  parting :  why,  my  grandam 

!  having  no  eyes,  look  you,  wept  herself  blind  at 

my  parting.    Nay,  I'll  show  you  the  manner  of 

it.    This  shoe  is  my  father ;  —no,  this  left  shoe 

■   is  my  father: — no,  no,  this  left  shoe  is  my 

'  mother ;— nay,  that  cannot  be  so,  neither:  — 

yes,  it  is  so, "it  is  so;  it  hath  the  worser  sole. 

This  shoe,  with  the  hole  in  it,  is  my  mother, 

i   and  this  my  father.    A  vengeance  on't !  there 

j  |  'tis  :  now,  sir,  this  staff  is  my  sister ;  for,  look 

\ '  you,  she  is  as  white  as  a  lily,  and  as  small  as  a 

j   wand :  this  hat  is  Nan,  our  maid :    I  am  the 

j  >  dog ;  —  no,  the  dog  is  himself,  and  I  am  the  dog, 

!  j  — O  !  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 

'  I  for  weeping :  now  should  1  kiss  my  father  ;  well, 

j  I  he  weeps  on.     Now,  come  I  to  my  mother,  ( O, 

I  that  she  could  speak  now  !)  like  a  wood  woman : 

I — well,  I  kiss  her;  why  there  'tis;   here's  my 

;  mother's  breath  up  and  down.    Now  come  I  to 

I  my  sister  ;  mark  the  moan  she  makes  :  now,  the 

,  dog  all  this  while  sheds  not  a  tear,  nor  speaks  a 

word,  but  see  how  I  lay  the  dust  with  my  tears. 

Enter  Panthino. 

Panthino. 

Launce,  away,  away,  aboard:  thy  master  is 
shipped,  and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars. 
What's  the  matter  ?  why  weep'st  thou,  man  ? 
Away,  ass  ;  you'll  lose  the  tide,  if  you  tarry  any 
lon6er-  Launre. 

It  is  no  matter  if  the  tied  were  lost ;  for  it  is 
the  unkindest  tied  that  ever  any  man  tied. 

I     What's  the  unkindest  tide  ? 
T.aunce. 

|     Why,  he  that's  tied  here ;  Crab,  my  dog. 


Panthino. 
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  thy 
service,  —  Why  dost  thou  stop  my  mouth  ? 
Launce. 
For  fear  thou  should'st  lose  thy  tongue. 

Panthino. 
Where  should  I  lose  my  tongue  ? 

Launce* 
In  thy  tale. 

Panthino. 
In  thy  tail? 

Launce. 
Lose  the  tied,  and  the  voyage,  and  the  master, 
and  the  service,  and  the  tide.  Why,  man,  if  the 
river  were  dry,  I  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my  tears  ; 
if  the  wind  were  down,  I  could  drive  the  boat 
with  my  sighs. 

Panthino. 
Come ;  come,  away,  man :  I  was  sent  to  call 
thee. 

Launce. 

Sir,  call  me  what  thou  dar'st. 
Panthino. 
'     Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Launce. 
i     Well,  I  will  go. 


SCENE  IV.    Milan.    A  Room  in  the  Duke'a 
Palace. 

Enter  Valentine,  Silvia,  Thurio,  and  Speed. 

Silvfa. 
Servant.— 


Mistress. 


Valentine. 
Speed. 


Master,  sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 

Valentine. 
Ay,  boy,  it's  for  love. 

Speed. 


Valentine. 


Not  of  you. 


Of  my  mistress,  then. 

Speed. 

'Twere  good  you  knock'd  him. 
Silvia. 

Servant,  you  are  sad. 

Valentine. 

Indeed,  madam,  I  seem  so. 
Thurio. 

Seem  you  that  you  are  n.ot  ? 
Thurio. 
alentine. 


Haply,  I  do. 

So  do  counterfeits. 

So  do  you. 


Thurio. 


i     What  seem  I  that  .1  am  not  ? 
Valen 


Wise. 


entine. 
Thurio. 
What  instance  oflhe  contrary  ? 

Your  folly.  Thurio- 

And  how  quote  you  my  folly  ?  Valentine. 


32 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv 


Valentine. 
I  quote  it  in  your  jerkin. 
Thurio. 
My  jerkin  is  a  doublet 

Valentine. 
Well,  then,  I'll  double  jour  folly. 

Thurio. 
How? 

Silvia. 
What,  angry,  sir   Thurio  ?   do   you    change: 
colour  ? 

Valentine. 
Give  him  leave,  madam :  he  is  a  kind  of  came-! 

leon-  ~.      . 

Thurio. 

That  hath  more  mind  to  feed  on  your  blood,  j 
than  live  in  your  air. 

Valentine. 
You  have  said,  sir. 

Thurio. 
Ay,  sir,  and  done  too,  for  this  time. 

Valentine. 
I  know  it  well,  sir:  you  always  end  ere  you, 
begin. 

Silvia. 
A  fine  volley  of  words,  gentlemen,  and  quickly: 
shot  off. 

Valentine. 
'Tis  indeed,  madam ;  we  thank  the  giver. 

Silvia. 
Who  is  that,  servant  ? 

Valentine. 
Yourself,  sweet  lady;  for  you  gave  the  fire.1 
Sir  Thurio  borrows  his  wit  from  your  ladyship's 
looks,  and  spends  what  he  borrows  kindly  inj 
your  company.         ^^ 

Sir,  if  you  spend  word  for  word  with  me,  I ' 
shall  make  your  wit  bankrupt. 
Valentine. 
I  know  it  well,  sir :  you  have  an  exchequer  of' 
words,  and,  I  think,  no  other  treasure  to  give: 
your  followers;  for  it  appears  by  their  bare; 
liveries,  that  they  live  by  your  bare  words. 
Silvia. 
No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more.    Here  comes 
my  father.         „  ..-.'". 

Enter  the  Duke. 

Duke. 

Now,  daughter  Silvia,  you  are  hard  beset. 
Sir  Valentine,  your  father's  in  good  health : 
What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news  ? 

Valentine. 

My  lord,  I  will  be  thankful 
To  any  happy  messenger  from  thence. 
t>uke. 
Know  you  Don  Antonio,  your  countryman  ? 

Valentine. 
Ay,  my  good  lord ;  I  know  the  gentleman 
To  be  of  worth,  and  worthy  estimation, 
And  not  without  desert  so  well  reputed. 
Duke. 
Hath  he  not  a  son  ? 

Valentine. 
Ay,  my  good  lord ;  a  son,  that  well  deserves 
The  honour  and  regard  of  such  a  father. 
Duke. 
You  know  him  well? 

Valentine. 
1  knew  him,  as  myself;  for  from  our  infancy 


We  have  convers'd,  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  one  word,  (for  far  behind  his  worth 
Come  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow) 
He  is  complete  in  feature,  and  in  mind, 
With  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 
Duke. 

Beshrew  me,  sir,  but,  if  he  make  this  good, 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  empress'  love, 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  counsellor. 
Well,  sir,  this  gentleman  is  come  to  me 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates  ; 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  a-while. 
I  think,  'tis  no  unwelcome  news  to  you. 
Valentine. 

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'll  send  him  hither  to  you  presently-,   .    n   . 

Valentine. 
This  is  the  gentleman,  I  told  your  ladyship, 
Had  come  along  with  me,  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 
Silvia. 
Belike,  that  now  she  hath  enfranchis'd  them, 
Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealty. 
Valentine. 
Nay,  sure,  I  think,  she  holds  them  prisoners 
still. 

Silvia. 

Nay,  then  he  should  be  blind ;  and,  being  blind, 
How  could  he  see  his  way  to  seek  out  you? 
Valentine. 
Why,  lady,  love  hath  twenty  pair  of  eyes. 

Thurio. 
They  say,  that  love  hath  not  an  eye  at  all. 

Valentine. 
To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio,  as  yourself: 
Upon  a  homely  object  love  can  wink. 
Enter  Proteus. 
Silvia. 
Have  done,  have  done.    Here 
tleman.         ,.  ,     .. 

Valentine. 

Welcome,  dear  Proteus ! — Mistress,  I  beseec 
you, 
Confirm  his  welcome  with  some  special  favour. 
Silvia. 
His  worth  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither, 
If  this  be  he  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 
Valentine. 
Mistress,  it  is.     Sweet  lady,  entertain  him 
To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 
Silvia. 

Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  servant. 
Proteus. 

Not  so,  sweet  lady  ;  but  too  mean  a  servant 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  worthy  mistress. 
Valentine. 

Leave  off  discourse  of  disability. — 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  for  your  8erv^J$jteug. 


Ai  i  ii.   Sc.  IV. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


33 


Proteus. 
I    My  duty  will  I  boast  of,  nothing  else. 
Silvia. 
And  duty  never  yet  did  want  his  meed. 
Servant,  you  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mis- 
tress. 

Trotcus. 
i     I'll  die  on  him  that  says  so,  but  yourself. 
Silvia. 
That  you  are  welcome  ? 

Proteus. 

That  you  are  worthless. 

Enter  Thurto. 
Thurio. 
Madam,  my  lord,  your  father,  would  speak 
with  you.  . 

Silvia. 
1  wait  upon  his  pleasure :  come,  sir  Thurio, 
Go  with  me.— Once  more,  new  servant,  welcome : 
I'll  leave  you  to  confer  of  home-affairs  ; 
When  you  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you. 
Proteus. 
We'll  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  SUvja,  Thurio,  and  Speed. 

Valentine. 
Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you 
came?  _ 

Proteus. 
Your  friends  are  well,  and  have  them  much 
commended. 

Valentine. 
And  how  do  yours  ? 

Proteus. 

I  left  them  all  In  health.. 
Valentine. 
How  does  your  lady,and  how  thrives  your  love? 

Proteus. 
My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you : 
I  know,  you  joy  not  in  a  love-discourse. 
Valentine. 
Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alter'd  now : 
I  have  done  penance  for  contemning  love ; 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punish'd 
With  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans,     [me 
With  nightly  tears,  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs  j 
For,  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 
Love  hath  chas'd  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes, 
And  made  them  watchers  of  mine  own  heart'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  I 
Now,  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love ; 
Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup,  and  sleep, 
Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 
Proteus. 
Enough  :  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  eye. 
Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so  ? 
Valentine. 
Even  she ;  and  is  she  not  a  heavenly  saint  ? 

Proteus. 
No,  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 
Valentine 

Call  her  divine.  _. 

Proteus. 

I  will  not  flatter  her. 
Valentine. 
0 1  flatter  me,  for  love  delights  in  praises 


Proteus. 
When  I  was  sick  you  gave  me  bitter  pills, 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you. 

Valentine. 
Then  speak  the  truth  by  her :  if  not  divine, 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality, 
Sovereign  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 

Proteus. 
Except  my  mistress. 

Valentine. 

Sweet,  except  not  any, 
Except  thou  wilt  except  against  my  love. 

Proteus. 
Have  I  not  reason  to  prefer  mine  own  ? 

Valentine. 
And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her,  too : 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  this  high  honour,— 
To  bear  my  lady's  train,  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss, 
And,  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud, 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-swelling  ilowes, 
And  make  rough  winter  everlastingly. 

Proteus. 
Why,  Valentine,  what  braggardism  is  this  ? 

Valentine. 

Pardon  me,  Proteus:  all  I  can,  is  nothing 

To  her,  whose  worth   makes   other  worthies 

She  is  alone.  [nothing. 

Proteus. 

Then,  let  her  alone. 

Valentine. 
Not  for  the  world.    Why,  man,  she  is  mine 
And  I  as  rich  in  having  such  a  jewel,         [own  ; 
As  twenty  seas,  if  all  their  sand  were  pearl, 
The  water  nectar,  and  the  rocks  pure  gold. 
Forgive  me,  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee, 
Because  thou  seest  me  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. 
Proteus. 
But  she  loves  you? 

Valentine. 
Ay,  and  we  are  betroth'd;  nay,  more,  our 
marriage  hour, 
With  all  the  cunning  manner  of  our  flight 
Determin'd  of:  how  I  must  climb  her  window, 
The  ladder  made  of  cords,  and  all  the  means 
Plotted,  and  'greed  on  for  my  happiness. 
Good  Proteus,  go  with  me  to  my  chamber. 
In  these  affairs  to  aid  me  with  thy  counsel. 
Proteus. 
Go  on  before ;  I  shall  enquire  you  forth. 
1  must  unto  the  road,  to  disembark 
Some  necessaries  that  I  needs  must  use, 
And  then  I'll  presently  attend  you. 
Valentine. 
Will  you  make  haste  ? 

Proteus. 
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. 
Is  it  mine  eye,  or  Valentinus"  praise, 
Her  true  perfection,  or  my  false  transgression. 
That  makes  me,  reasonless,  to  reason  thus? 
She's  fair,  and  so  is  Julia  that  1  love ;  — 
That  I  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thaw'd, 
Which,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  fire, 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 

n  Methinks 


3+ 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Methinks  my  zeal  to  Valentine  is  cold, 

And  that  I  love  him  not,  as  I  was  wont : 

O  !  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  ;• 

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,      [fcxit. 

SCENE  V.    The  same.    A  Street. 


Enter  Speed  and  Launce. 
Speed. 
Launce!  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to  Milan.  I 

Launce. 
Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth,  for  I  am 
not  welcome.    I  reckon  this  always— that  a  man  ■ 
is  never  undone,  till  he  be  hang'd ;  nor  never 
welcome  to  a  place,  till  some  certain  shot  be  paid,  \ 
and  the  hostess  say,  welcome. 

Come  on,  you  mad-cap,  I'll  to  the  alehouse  i 
with  you  presently  ;  where  for  one  shot  of  five 
pence  thou  shalt  have  five  thousand  welcomes. 
But,   sirrah,    how  did   thy  master   part  with 
madam  Julia  t  . 

Lauuce. 

Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they  parted 
very  fairly  in  jest.     Speed 

But  shall  she  marry  him  ? 
Launce. 

No-  Speed. 

How  then  ?    Shall  he  marry  her  ? 
Launce. 


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  so.    But,  Launce,  how 
say'st  thou,  that  my  master  is  become  a  notable 
lover  ? 

Launce. 
I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 

Speed. 
Than  how  ? 

Launce. 
A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  reportest  him  to  be. 

Speed. 
Why,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistak'st  me. 

Launce. 
Why,  fool,  I  meant  not  thee;   I  meant  thy 


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  h< 


What  an  ass  art  thou  ?  I  understand  thee  not. 
Launce. 

What  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  canst  not. 
My  staff  understands jne. , 

What  thou  say'st? 

Launce. 

Ay,  and  what  I  do  too:  look  thee;  I'll  but 
lean,  and  my  stafT  understands  me. 

It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 
Xaunce. 

Why,  stand-under  and  under-stand  is  all  one. 


Ask  my  dog:  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he  say,  no, 
it  will ;  if  he  shake  his  tail,  and  say  nothing,  it 
will. 


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,  so ;  if  not,  thou  art  an  Hebrew,  a  Jew, 

and  not  worth  the  name  of  a  Christian. 

Speed. 

Why? 

Launce. 

Because  thou  hast  not  so  m  jch  charity  in  thee, 
as  to  go  to  the  ale  with  a  Christian.    Wilt  thou 

g0?  Speed. 

At  thy  service. 

SCENE  VI.    The  same.    An  Apartment  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Proteus. 
Proteus. 
To  leave  my  Julia,  shall  I  be  forsworn  ; 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn ; 
To  wrong  my  friend,  I  shall  be  much  forsworn ; 
And  even  that  power,  which  gave  me  first  my 
Provokes  me  to  this  threefold  perjury :       [oath. 
Love  bad  me  swear,  and  love  bids  me  forswear. 

0  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. 
Unheedful  vows  may  needfully  be  broken  ; 
And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 
To  learn  his  wit  t'  exchange  the  bad  for  better. 
Fie,  fie,  unreverend  tongue !  to  call  her  bad, 
Whose  sovereignty  so  oft  thou  hast  preferr'd 
With  twenty  thousand  soul-confirming  oaths. 

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  I  keep  them,  1  needs  must  lose  myself; 

If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  I,  by  their  loss, 

For  Valentine,  myself ;  for  Julia,  Silvia. 

I  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  friend, 

For  love  is  still  most  precious  in  itself ; 

And  Silvia,  (witness  heaven  that  made  her  fair !) 

Shows  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Ethiope. 

I  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. 

I  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself 

Without  some  treachery  use  I  to  Valentine. 

This  night,  he  mcaneth  with  a  corded  ladder 

To 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vii. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


35 


To  climb  celestial  Silvia'*  chamber  window; 

Myself  In  counsel,  his  competitor. 

Now,  presently  I'll  give  her  father  notice 

Of  their  disguising,  and  pretended  flight; 

\\  ho,  all  enrag'd,  will  banish  VaUntine, 

For  Hiurio,  he  intends,  shall  wad  his  daughter: , 

Hut,  I  tt/rntnif  being  gone,  I'll  quickly  cross 

By  some  sly  trick  blunt  T/turiu'a  dull  proceeding,  j 

Love,  lend  me  wings  to  make  my  purpose  swill, 

As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drift ! 

[Exit.  ' 

B  VII.    Verona.    A    Room    in    Julia's 
House. 

Knter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 
Julia. 
Counsel,  Lucetta;  gentle  girl,  assist  me  : 
And,  e'en  in  kind  love,  1  do  conjure  thee, 
Who  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
Are  visibly  character 'd  and  engrav'd, 
To  lesson  me ;  and  tell  me  some  good  mean, 
How,  with  my  honour,  1  may  undertake 
A  journey  to  my  loving  Proteus. 
acta. 
Alas  !  the  way  is  wearisome  and  long. 

A  true-devoted  pilgrim  is  not  weary 
To  measure  kingdoms  with  his  feeble  steps, 
Much  less  shall  she,  that  hath  love's  wings  to  fly; 
And  when  the  flight  is  made  to  one  so  dear, 
Of  such  divine  perfection,  as  sir  Proteus. 
Lucetta. 
Better  forbear,  till  Proteus  make  return. 
Julia 

0  !  know'st  thou  not,  his  looks  are  my  soul's 
Pity  the  dearth  that  I  have  pined  in,  [food  ? 
Ky  longing  for  that  food  so  long  a  time. 

Didst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love, 
Thou  would'st  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow, 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 
Lucetta. 

1  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love's  hot  fire, 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage, 

Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 
Julia 

The  more  thou  dammit  it  up,  the  more  it 
burns. 
The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered,  [rage; 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamel'd  stones, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage  ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays 
With  willing  sport  to  the  wild  ocean. 
Then,  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course. 
I'll  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream, 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step, 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love ; 
And  there  I'll  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil, 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 
Lucetta 

But  in  what  habit  will  you  go  along  ? 
Julia. 

Not  like  a  woman,  for  I  would  prevent 
The  loose  encounters  of  lascivious  men. 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well-reputed  page. 
Lucetta. 

Why,  then  your  ladyship  must  cut  your  hair. 

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  1  shall  show  to  be. 
Lucetta. 
What   fashion,  madam,   shall   I   make  your 
breeches  ? 

Julia. 
That  fits  as  well,  as  —  "  tell  me,  good  my  lord, 
What  compass  will  you  wear  your  farthingale  ?  " 
Why.  even  what  fashion  thou  best  lik'st,  Lucetta. 
Lucetta. 
You  must  needs  have  them  with  a  codpiece, 
madam. 

Julia. 
Out,  out,  Lucetta !  that  will  be  ill-favour'd. 

Lucetta. 
A  round  hose,  madam,  now's  not  worth  a  pin, 
Unless  you  have  a  codpiece  to  stick  pins  on. 
Julia. 
L.ucetta,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
What  thou  think'st  meet,  and  is  most  mannerly. 
But  tell  me,  wench,  how  will  the  world  repute 
For  undertaking  so  unstaid  a  journey  ?  [me 

I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandalized. 
Lucetta. 
If  you  think  so,  then  stay  at  home,  and  go  not. 

Julia. 
Nay,  that  I  will  not. 

Lucetta. 
Then  never  dream  on  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  your  journey,  when  you  come. 
No  matter  who's  displeas'd,  when  you  are  gone. 
I  fear  me,  he  will  scarce  be  pleas'd  withal. 
Julia. 
That  is  the  least,  Lucetta,  of  my  fear. 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love, 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Proteus. 
Lucetta. 
All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Julia. 
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. 
Lucetta. 
Pray  heaven,  he  prove  so,  when  you  come  to 


himl 


Julia. 


Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  him  not  that  wrong, 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth : 
Only  deserve  my  love  by  loving  him, 
And  presently  go  with  me  to  my  chamber, 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  in  need  of, 
To  furnish  me  upon  my  longing  journey. 
All  that  is  mine  I  leave  at  thy  dispose, 
My  goods,  my  lands,  my  reputation  ; 
Only,  in  lieu  thereof,  dispatch  me  hence. 
Come ;  answer  not,  but  to  it  presently  *  p_eunt 
I  am  impatient  of  my  tarriauce. 


ACT 


36 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  r. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Milan.    An  Ante-chamber  in  the 
Luke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Thuno,  and  Proteus. 
Duke. 

SIR  Thurio,  give  us  leave,  I  pray,  awhile: 
We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about. — 

[Exit  Thurto. 
Now,  tell  me,  Proteus,  what's  your  will  with  me? 
Proteus 

My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  discover, 
The  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal ; 
But,  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favours 
Done  to  me,  undeserving  as  I  am, 
My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that,  [me. 

Which  else  no  worldly  good  should  draw  from 
Know,  worthy  prince,  sir  Valentine,  my  friend, 
This  night  intends  to  steal  away  your  daughter : 
Myself  am  one  made  privy  to  the  plot. 
I  know,  you  have  determin'd  to  bestow  her 
On  Thurio,  whom  your  gentle  daughter  hates  ; 
And  should  she  thus  be  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, 
Being  unprevented,  to  your  timeless  grave. 
Duke. 

Proteus,  1  thank  thee  for  thine  honest  care, 
Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  I  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  often  seen, 
Haply,  when  they  have  judg'd  me  fast  asleep, 
And  oftentimes  have  purpos'd  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  I  ever  yet  have  shunn'd) 
I  gave  him  gentle  looks  ;  thereby  to  find 
That  which  thyself  hast  now  disclos'd  to  me. 
And,  that  thou  mays't  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. 
Proteus. 

Know,  noble  lord,  they  have  devis'd  a  mean 
How  he  her  chamber- window  will  ascend, 
And  with  a  corded  ladder  fetch  her  down  ; 
For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  gone, 
And  this  way  comes  he  with  it  presently, 
Where,  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him. 
But,  good  my  lord,  do  it  so  cunningly, 
That  my  discov3ry  be  not  aimed  at ; 
For  love  of  you,  not  hate  unto  my  friend, 
Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence. 
Duke. 

Upon  mine  honour,  he  shall  never  know 
That  I  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 
Proteus. 

Adieu,  my  lord :  sir  Valentine  is  coming. 

3  [Exit. 

Enter  Valentine. 
Duke. 

Sir  Valentine,  whither  away  so  fast  ? 
Valentine. 

Please  it  your  grace,  there  is  a  messenger 
That  stays  to  bear  my  letters  to  my  friends, 
And  I  am  going  to  deliver  them. 
Duke. 

Be  they  of  much  import  ? 


Valentine. 
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  secret 
'Tis  not  unknown  to  thee,  that  1  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend,  sir  Thurio,  to  my  daughter. 
Valentine. 
I  know  it  well,  my  lord ;  and  sure,  the  match 
Were  rich  and  honourable :  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, 
Nor  fearing  me  as  if  I  were  her  father : 
And,  may  1  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 
I  now  am  full  resolv'd  to  take  a  wife,         [duty, 
And  turn  her  out  to  who  will  take  her  in: 
Then,  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding-dower  j 
For  me  and  my  possessions  she  esteems  not. 
Valentine. 
What  would  your  grace  have  me  to  do  in  this  ? 

Duke. 
There  is  a  lady,  sir,  in  Milan  here, 
Whom  I  affect ;  but  she  is  nice,  and  coy, 
And  nought  esteems  my  aged  eloquence : 
Now,  therefore,  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor, 
(For  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court ; 
Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  chang'd) 
How,  and  which  way,  I  may  bestow  myself, 
To  be  regarded  in  her  sun-bright  eye. 
Valentine. 
Win  her  with  gifts,  if  she  respect  not  words. 
Dumb  jewels  often,  in  their  silent  kind, 
More  than  quick  words  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 
Duke. 
But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 

Valentine. 
A  woman  sometime  scorns  what  best  contents 
Send  her  another ;  never  give  her  o'er,        [her. 
For  scorn  at  first  makes  after-love  the  more. 
If  she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you, 
But  rather  to  beget  more  love  in  you  : 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  you  gone, 
For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone. 
Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  doth  say  ; 
For,  "  get  you  gone,"  she  doth  not  mean, "  away." 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  extol  their  graces; 
Though  ne'er  so  black,  say  they  have  angels' 

faces. 
That  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman. 
Duke. 
But  she  I  mean  is  promis'd  by  her  friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth, 
And  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men, 
That  no  man  hath  access  by  day  to  her. 
Valentina. 
Why,  then  I  would  resort  to  her  by  night. 

Duke. 
Ay,  but  the  doors  be  lock'd,  and  keys  kept  safe, 
That  no  man  hath  recourse  to  her  by  night. 
Valentine. 
What  lets,  but  one  may  enter  at  her  window  ? 
Duke. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


37 


Duke. 
Her  chamber  is  aloft,  far  from  the  ground, 
And  built  so  shelving,  that  one  cannot  climb  it 
\\  ithuut  apparent  haiard  of  his  life. 

Valentine. 
Why  then,  a  ladder  quaintly  made  of  cords, 
To  cast  up,  with  a  pair  of  anchoring  hooks, 
WOuld  serve  to  scale  another  Hero  $  tower, 
So  bold  Leander  would  adventure  it. 

Duke. 

Now,  as  thou  art  a  gentleman  of  blood, 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder. 

Valentine. 
When  would  you  use  it  ?  pray,  sir,  tell  me 
that. 

Duke. 
This  very  night ;  for  love  is  like  a  child, 
Thai  longs  for  every  thing  that  he  can  come  by. 

Valentine. 
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? 

Valentine. 
It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  cloak  that  is  of  any  length. 

Duke. 
A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  serve  the  turn  ? 

Valentine. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Duke. 

Then,  let  me  see  thy  cloak : 
I'll  get  me  one  of  such  another  length. 

Valentine. 
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  1 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once. 

[Reads. 
"  My  thoughts  do  harbour  with  my  S\\vi&  nightly; 

And  slaves  they  are  to  me,  that  send  them  fly- 
fag : 
Of  could  their  master  come  and  go  as  lightly, 

Himself  would  lodge,  where  senseless  they  are 
lying. 
My  hrrald  thoughts  in  thy  pure  bosom  rest  them; 

While  I,  their  king,  that  thither  them  impor- 
tune, [bless'd  them. 
Do  curse  the  grace  that  with  such  grace  hath 

Because  myself  do  want  my  servants'  fortune. 
J  curse  myself  for  they  are  sent  by  me,  [be. ' ' 
That  they  should  harbour  where  their  lord  should 
What's  here  ? 

"  Silvia,  this  night  I  will  enfranchise  thee :  " 
'Tis  so ;  and  here's  the  ladder  for  the  purpose. — 
Why,  Pha'etjn,  (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 
Go,  base  intruder ;  over-weening  slave :  [thee  ? 
Bestow  thy  fawning  smiles  on  equal  mates, 
And  think  mv  patience,  more  than  thy  desert, 
Is  privilege  for  thy  departure  hence. 
Thank  me  for  this,  more  than  for  all  the  favours 
Which,  all  too  much,  I  have  bestow'd  on  thee: 
But  if  thou  linger  in  my  territories 
Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 
Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  court. 
By  heaven,  my  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  love 


I  ever  bore  my  daughter,  or  thyself. 
Begone  :  1  will  not  hear  thy  vain  excuse  ; 
But,  as  thou  lov'st  thy  lite,  make  speed  from 
hence.  [Exit  Duke. 

Valentine. 
And  why  not  death,  rather  than  living  tor- 
To  die  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself,      [ment  ? 
And  Silvia  is  myself:  banish'd  from  her, 
Is  self  from  sell;  a  deadly  banishment. 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen  ? 
What  joy  is  joy,  if  Silvia  be  not  by  ? 
Unless  it  be,  to  think  that  she  is  by, 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  of  perfection. 
Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night, 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale  ; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day, 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon. 
She  is  my  essence  ;  and  I  leave  to  be, 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Foster'd,  illumin'd,  cherish'd,  kept  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. 
_       .  Proteus. 

Run,  boy  ;  run,  run,  and  seek  him  out. 

_    .     ,       .  Launce. 

So-ho  1  so-ho  I 

Proteus. 
W  hat  seest  thou  ? 

Launce. 
Him  we  go  to  find:  there's  not  a  hair  on's 
head,  but  'tis  a  Valentine. 


Valentine? 

No. 

Who  then  ?  his 


Proteus. 
Valentine. 


Proteus, 
spirit  ? 

Valentine. 
Neither. 

„-^       .      ..         Proteus. 
What  then  ? 

Valentine. 
Nothing. 

Launce. 
Can  nothing  speak  ?  master,  shall  I  strike  ? 


Whom  wouldst  thou  strike  ? 

Launce. 
Nothing. 

Proteus. 
Villain,  forbear. 

Why,  sir,  I'll  strike  nodung  :  I  pray  you,  — 

Proteus. 
Sirrah,  I  say,  forbear.  —  Friend  Valentine,  a 
word. 

Valentine. 
My  ears  are  stopp  d,  and  cannot  hear  good 
news, 
So  much  of  bad  already  hath  possess'd  them. 

Proteus. 
Then  In  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine, 
For  they  are  harsh,  untuneable,  and  bad. 

Valentine. 
Is  Silvia  dead  t 

Proteus. 
No,  Valentine. 

„    „  .    Valentine.       .  _     , 

No  Valrnttne,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia  .'— 
Hath  she  forsworn  me  ? 

Proteus. 
No,  Valentine. 

Valentine. 


38 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VEKONA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Valentine. 
No  Valentine,  if  Silvia  have  forsworn  me !  — 
What  is  your  news  ? 

Launce. 
Sir,  there  is  a  proclamation  that  you  are  va- 
nish'd. 

Proteus. 

That  thou  art  banish'd :  O  !  that  is  the  news, 

From  hence,  from  Silvia,  and  from  me,  thy  friend. 

Valentine. 

0  !  I  have  fed  upon  this  woe  already, 

i  And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  me  surfeit. 
Doth  Silvia  know  that  I  am  banished? 
Proteus. 

Ay,  ay ;  and  she  hath  offer'd  to  the  doom, 
(Which,  unrevers'd,  stands  in  effectual  force) 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears : 
Those  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tender'd, 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  self; 
Wringing  her  hands,  whose  whiteness  so  became 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  woe :    [them, 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up, 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tears, 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire, 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 
Besides,  her  intercession  chaf  d  him  so, 
When  she  for  thy  repeal  was  suppliant, 
That  to  close  prison  he  commanded  her, 
With  many  bitter  threats  of  'biding  there. 
Valentine. 

No  more;  unless  the  next  word  that  thou 
speak  'st 
Have  some  malignant  power  upon  my  life : 
If  so,  I  pray  thee,  breathe  it  in  mine  ear, 
As  ending  anthem  of  my  endless  dolour. 
Proteus. 

Cease  to  lament  for  that  thou  canst  not  help, 
And  study  help  for  that  which  thou  lament'st. 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  all  good. 
Here  if  thou  stay,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love ; 
Besides,  thy  staying  will  abridge  thy  life. 
Hope  is  a  lover's  staff ;  walk  hence  with  that, 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thoughts. 
Thy  letters  may  be  here,  though  thou  art  hence; 
Which,  being  writ  to  me,  shall  be  deliver'd 
Even  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate : 
Come,  I'll  convey  thee  through  the  city-gate, 
And,  ere  I  part  with  thee,  confer  at  large 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love  affairs. 
As  thou  lov'st  Silvia,  though  not  for  thyself, 
Regard  thy  danger,  and  along  with  me. 
Valentine. 

1  pray  thee,  Launce,  an  if  thou  seest  my  boy, 
Bid  him  make  haste,  and  meet  me  at  the  north- 
gate. 

Proteus. 

Go,  sirrah,  find  him  out.    Come,  Valentine. 


0  my  dear  Silvia !  hapless  Valentine,!^ 

[Exeunt  Valentine  and  Proteus. 

Launce. 

1  am  but  a  fool,  look  you,  and  yet  I  have  the 
wit  to  think,  my  master  is  a  kind  of  a  knave  ; 
but  that's  all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.  He 
lives  not  now,  that  knows  me  to  be  in  love :  yet 
I  am  in  love ;  but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck 
that  from  me,  nor  who  'tis  I  love  ;  and  yet  'tis  a 
woman :  but  what  woman,  I  will  not  tell  myself; 
and  yet  'tis  a  milk-maid ;  yet  'tis  not  a  maid,  for 
she  hath  had  gossips :  yet  'tis  a  maid,  for  she  is 
her  master's  maid,  and  serves  for  wages.  She 
hath  more  qualities  than  a  water-spaniel,  which 
is  much  in  a  bare  Christian.   Here  is  the  cate-log 


pulling  out  a  paper]  of  her  conditions.    Im- 

Erimis,  "  She  can  fetch  and  carry."  Why,  a 
orse  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  ? 

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. 
I      The  blackest  news  that  ever  thou  heard'st. 
Speed. 
Why,  man,  how  black  "* 

Launce. 
Why,  as  black  as  ink. 

Speed. 
Let  me  read  them. 

Launce. 
Fie  on  thee,  jolt-head !  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed. 
Thou  liest,  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. 

Launce. 
There,  and  saint  Nicholas  be  thy  speed  ! 

Speed. 
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." 

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 
wash'd  and  scour'd. 

Speed. 

Item,  "  She  can  spin." 

Launce. 


Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels,  when  she 
can  spin  for  her  living.  Speed. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


39 


Speed. 
Itfin,  ■  She  hath  many  nameless  virtues." 

ice. 
That's  as  much  as  to  say,  bastard  virtues ; 
that,  indeed,  know  not  their  fathers,  and  there- 
fore have  no  names. 

Speed. 

Here  follow  her  vices. 

Launce. 
Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 

Speed. 
Horn,  "  She  is  not  to  be  kissed  fasting,  in  re- 
spect of  her  breath." 

Launce. 
Wetl,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a  break- 
fast.   Read  on. 

Speed. 
Item,  "  She  hath  a  sweet  mouth." 

Launce. 
That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath. 

Speed 
Item,  "  She  doth  talk  in  her  sleep." 

Launce. 
It's  no  matter  for  that,  so  she  sleep  not  in  her 


Item,  "  She  is  slow  in  words." 
Launce. 

0  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. 

Item,  "  She  is  proud." 

Launce. 
Out  with  that  too :  it  was  Eve's  legacy,  and 
cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

Item,  "  She  hath  no  teeth." 
Launce. 

1  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. 

Item,  "  She  will  often  praise  her  liquor." 

If  her  liquor  be  good,  she  shall :  if  she  will  not, 
I  win  ;  for  good  things  should  be  praised. 

Item, "  She  is  too  liberal." 

Of  her  tongue  she  cannot,  for  that's  writ  down 
she  is  slow  of:  of  her  purse  she  shall  not,  for 
that  I'll  keep  shut:  now,  of  another  thing  she 
may,  and  that  cannot  I  help.    Well,  proceed. 

■ 

Item, "  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit,  and  more 
faults  than  hairs,  and  more  wealth  than  faults." 

Stop  there  ;  I'll  have  her :  she  was  mine,  and 
not  mine,  twice  or  thrice  in  that  last  article. 
Rehearse  that  once  more 

Item,  "  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit," — 

;  . 

More  hair  than  wit, — it  may  be  ;  I'll  prove  it: 
the  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt,  and  therefore 


it  is  more  than  the  salt :  the  hair,  that  covers 
the  wit,  is  more  than  the  wit,  for  the  greater 
hides  the  less.     What's  next  ? 
Speed. 
— '*  And  more  faults  than  hairs," — 

That's  monstrous  :  O,  that  that  were  out ! 

— •*  And  more  wealth  than  faults." 

Launce. 
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  ? 

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  stay'd 
for  a  better  man  than  thee. 
Speed. 
And  must  I  go  to  him  ? 

Launce. 
Thou  must  run  to  him,  for  thou  hast  stay'd  so 
long,  that  going  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 
Speed. 
Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner?  pox  o, 
j  love-letters  1 

Launce. 

Now  will  he  be  swing'd  for  reading  my  letter. 
An  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  himself 
into  secrets.  — I'll  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's 
correction. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    An  Apartment  in  the 
Duke's  Palace. 


Enter  Duke  and  Thurio; 
Duke. 


Proteus  behind. 


Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  but  that  she  will  love  you 
Now  Valentine  is  banish'd  from  her  sight. 

Since  his  exile  she  hath  despis'd  me  most ; 
Forsworn  my  company,  and  rail'd  at  me, 
That  1  am  desperate  of  obtaining  her. 

Duke. 

This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
Trenched  in  ice,  which  with  an  hours  heat 
Dissolves  to  water,  and  doth  lose  his  form. 
A  little  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thoughts, 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  be  forgot. — 
How  now,  sir  Proteus !  Is  your  countryman, 
According  to  our  proclamation,  gone  ? 


Gone,  my  good 


Duke. 


My  daughter  takes  his  going  grievously. 

A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  grief. 

So  I  believe ;  but  Thurio  thinks  not  so. 
Proteus,  the  good  conceit  I  hold  of  thee, 
(  For  thou  hast  shown  some  sign  of  good  desert) 
Makes  me  the  better  to  confer  with  thee. 

Longer  than  I  prove  loyal  to  your  grace, 
Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  grace.  T>jfce# 


4o 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA 


Act  hi.  5c.  n, 


Duke. 

Thou  know'st  how  willingly  T  would  effect 

The  match  between  sir  Thurio  and  my  daughter. 

Proteus. 

I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ignorant 
How  she  opposes  her  against  my  will. 
Proteus. 
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  ? 
Proteus. 
The  best  way  is,  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent ; 
Three  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 
Duke. 
Ay,  but  she'll  think  that  it  is  spoke  in  hate 

Proteus. 

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. 

Proteus. 
And  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  be  loth  to  do : 
'Tis  an  ill  office  for  a  gentleman, 
Especially,  against  his  very  friend. 
Duke. 
Where  your  good  word  cannot  advantage  him, 
Your  slander  never  can  endamage  him  : 
Therefore,  the  office  is  indifferent, 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend. 
Troteus. 
You  have  prevaiPd,  my  lord.    If  I  can  do  it, 
By  aught  that  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise, 
She  shall  not  long  continue  love  to  him . 
But  say,  this  weed  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not  that  she  will  love  sir  Thurio, 
Thurio. 
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 
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  persuasion, 
To  hate  young  Valentine,  and  love  my  friend. 
Proteus. 
As  much  as  I  can  do  I  will  effect. 
But  you,  sir  Thurio,  are  not  sharp  enough  ; 
You  must  lay  lime  to  tangle  her  desires 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  composed  rhymes 
Should  be  full  fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 
Duke. 
Ay,  much  is  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Proteus. 
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 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire- lamenting  elegies, 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber  window 
With  some  sweet  consort :  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump ;  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  grie- 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  inherit  her.     [vance 
Duke. 
This  discipline  shows  thou  hast  been  in  love. 

Thurio. 
And  thy  advice  this  night  I'll  put  in  practice. 
Therefore,  sweet  Proteus,  my  direction-giver, 
Let  us  into  the  city  presently, 
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. 

Proteus. 
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.    A  Forest,  between  Milan  and 
Verona. 

Enter  certain  Outlaws. 

1  Outlaw. 
"I7ELLOWS,  stand  fast:  I  see  a  passenger. 

2  Outlaw. 

If  there  be  ten,  shrink  not,  but  down  with 
'em. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed. 

3  Outlaw. 

Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  that  you  have  about 
you  ; 
If  not,  we'll  make  ycu  sit,  and  rifle  you. 
Speed. 
Sir,  we  are  undone.    These  are  the  villains 
That  all  the  travellers  do  fear  so  much. 
Valentine. 

My  friends,— 

1  Outlaw. 

That's  not  so,  sir :  we  are  your  enemies. 

2  Outlaw. 
Peace  !  we'll  hear  him. 

3  Outlaw.  # 

Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we  ;  for  he  is  a  prope 
man.  _,  ,     u 

Valentine. 

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. 
2  Outlaw. 

Whither  travel  you?  v»l«ntinB. 


Act  iv.  &.  n.         TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Valentine. 
To  Verona. 

3  Outlaw. 
Whence  came  you  ? 

V.ilentine. 
From  Milan. 

3  Outlaw. 
Hate  you  long  sojourn'd  there  ? 

Valentine. 
Some  sixteen  months ;  and  longer  might  haTe 
stay'd, 
If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  me. 

8  Outlaw 

What !  were  you  banish'd  thence  ? 

Valentine. 
I  was.  „  ^     , 

9  Outlaw. 
For  what  offence  ? 

Valentine. 
For  that  which  now  torments  me  to  rehearse. 
I  kill'd  a  man,  whose  death  I  much  repent ; 
But  vet  1  slew  him  manfully,  in  fight. 
Without  false  vantage,  or  base  treachery. 
1  Outlaw. 
Why,  ne'er  repent  it,  if  it  were  done  so. 
But  were  you  banish'd  for  so  small  a  fault? 
Valentine. 
I  was,  and  held  me  glad  of  such  a  doom. 

1  Outlaw. 
Have  you  the  tongues  ? 

Valentine. 

My  youthful  travel  therein  made  me  happy, 

Or  else  I  had  been  often  miserable. 

3  Outlaw. 

By  the  bare  scalp  of  Robin  Hood's  fat  friar, 

This  fellow  were  a  king  for  our  wild  faction. 

1  Outlaw. 
We'll  have  him.    Sirs,  a  word. 

Speed. 
Master,  be  one  of  them  : 
It  is  an  honourable  kind  of  thievery. 
Valentine. 
Peace,  villain  I 

2  Outlaw. 

Tell  us  this :  have  you  any  thing  to  take  to  ? 

Valentine. 
Nothing,  but  my  fortune. 

3  Outlaw. 

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. 

2  Outlaw. 

And  1  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman, 
Who,  in  my  mood,  I  stabb'd  unto  the  heart. 
1  Outlaw. 

And  I,  for  such  like  petty  crimes  as  these. 
I  But  to  the  purpose  ;  for  we  cite  our  faults. 
That  they  may  hold  excus'd  our  lawless  lives ; 
And,  partly,  seeing  you  are  beautify'd 
With  goodly  shape ;  and  by  your  own  report 
A  linguist,  and  a  man  of  such  perfection, 
As  we  do  In  our  quality  much  want  — 

3  Outlaw. 

Indeed,  because  you  are  a  banish'd  man, 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you. 
Are  you  content  to  be  our  general  ? 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity. 
And  live,  as  we  do,  in  this  wilderness  ? 


3  Outlaw. 
What  say'st  thou  ?  wilt  thou  be  of  our  con- 
sort? 
Say,  ay,  and  be  the  captain  of  us  all. 
We'll  do  thee  homage,  and  be  rul'd  by  thee, 
Love  thee  as  our  commander,  and  our  king. 

1  Outlaw. 

But  if  thou  scorn  our  courtesy,  thou  diest 

2  Outlaw. 

Thou  shalt  not  live  to  brag  what  we  have 
offer  d. 

Valentine. 
I  take  your  offer,  and  will  live  with  you  ; 
Provided  that  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women,  or  poor  passengers. 

3  Outlaw. 

No  ;  we  detest  such  vile,  base  practices. 
Come,  go  with  us :  we'll  bring  thee  to  our  crews, 
And  show  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got, 
Which,  with  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Milan.   The  Court  of  the  Palace. 
Enter  Proteut. 
Proteus. 
Already  have  I  been  false  to  Valentine, 
And  now  I  must  be  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  colour  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  now  I  have  been  forsworn, 
In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  I  lov'd  ; 
And,  notwithstanding  all  her  sudden  quips, 
The  least  whereof  would  quell  a  lover  s  hope, 
Yet,  spaniel-like,  the  more  6he  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows,  and  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. 
Thurio. 
How  now,  sir  Proteus !  are  you  crept  before 
us? 

Proteus. 

Ay,  gentle  Thurio  ;  for,  you  know,  that  love 

Will  creep  in  service  where  it  cannot  go. 

Thurio. 

Ay;  but  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  love  not  here. 

Proteus. 
Sir,  but  I  do ;  or  else  I  would  be  hence. 
Thurio. 

Whom?  Silvia t 

Proteus. 

Ay,  Silvia,  —  for  your  sake. 

Thurio. 
I  thank  you  for  your  own.    Now,  gentlemen, 
Let's  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  awhile. 

Enter  Host  and  Julia,  behind;  Julia  In  boy's 
clothes. 
Host. 
Now,  my  young  guest ;  methinks  you're  ally- 
cholly :  1  pray  you,  why  is  it  ? 
Julia. 
Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Host. 
Come,  we'll  have  you  merry.    I'll  bring  you 
where 


43 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


where  you  shall  hear  music,  and  see  the  gentle- 
man that  you  ask'd  for. 

Julia. 
But  shall  I  hear  him  speak  ? 

Host. 

Ay,  that  you  shall.  _  ,. 
Julia. 

That  will  be  music.  tMusic  Play8- 

Host. 

Hark!  hark! 

Julia. 

Is  he  among  these  ? 

Host. 
Ay ;  but  peace !  let's  hear  'cm. 
Song. 
JVho  is  Silvia  f  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, 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness; 
And,  being  helped  inhabits  there. 
Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 
That  Silvia  is  excelling  ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing, 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

How  now  !  are  you  sadder  than  you  were  be- 
fore ?    How  do  you,  man  ?  the  music  likes  you 

not'  Julia. 

You  mistake :  the  musician  likes  me  not. 

Why,  my  pretty  youth  ? 

He  plays  false,  father. 

How  ?  out  of  tune  on  the  strings  ? 

Not  so ;  but  yet  so  false,  that  he  grieves  my 
very  heart-strings. 

Ho^t. 

You  have  a  quick  ear. 

Ay;  I  would  I  were  deaf!  it  makes  me  have 


Host. 
Gone  to  seek  his  dog ;  which,  to  morrow,  by 
his  master's  command,  he  must  carry  for  a  pre- 
sent to  his  lady. 

Julia. 
Peace !  stand  aside :  the  company  parts. 

.  Proteus. 
Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  you :  I  will  so  plead, 
That  you  shall  say  my  cunning  drift  excels. 
Thurio. 
Where  meet  we  ? 

Proteus. 
At  saint  Gregory's  well. 

Thurio. 
Farewell.        [Exeunt  Thurio  and  Musicians. 

Enter  Silvia  above,  at  her  window. 
Proteus. 
Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 

Silvia. 
I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen. 
Who  is  that,  that  spake  ? 

Proteus. 

One,  lady,  if  you  knew  his  pure  heart's  truth, 

You  would  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  hii 

voice.  _.,  . 

Silvia. 

Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it. 
Proteus. 

Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 

Silvia. 


What  is  your  will  ? 


a  slow  heart. 


H.^t. 


I  perceive,  you  delight  not  in  music. 
Julia. 

Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so. 
Host. 

Hark !  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music. 

Ay,  that  change  is  the  spite. 

You  would  have  them  always  play  but  one 
thin8 ?  Julia. 

I  would  always  have  one  play  but  one  thing. 
But,  Host,  doth  this  sir  Proteus,  that  we  talk  on, 
Often  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman  ? 

ifost. 

I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me,  he 
lov'd  her  out  of  all  nick.. 
Julia. 

Where  is  Launce? 


That  I  may  compass  yours. 

You  have  your  wish :  my  will  is  even  this, 
That  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  bed. 
Thou  subtle,  perjur'd,  false,  disloyal  man  ! 
Think'st  thou,  I  am  so  shallow,  so  conceitless, 
To  be  seduced  by  thy  flattery, 
That  hast  deceiv'd  so  many  with  thy  vows  ? 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
For  me,  by  this  pale  queen  of  night  1  swear, 
I  am  so  far  from  granting  thy  request, 
That  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wrongful  suit, 
And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

I  grant,  sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady ; 
But  she  is  dead.         Juj.a 

TAside. 
•Twere  false,  if  I  should  speak  it ; 
For,  I  am  sure,  she  is  not  buried. 

Say,  that  she  be ;  yet  Valentine,  thy  friend, 
Survives,  to  whom  thyself  art  witness 
I  am  betroth'd ;  and  art  thou  not  asham'd 
To  wrong  him  with  thy  importunacy  ? 

I  likewise  hear,  that  ^Valentine  is  dead. 

And  so,  suppose,  am  I ;  for  in  his  grave, 
Assure  thyself,  my  love  is  buried. 

Sweet  lady,  let  me  rake  it  from  the  earth. 

Go  to  thy  lady's  grave,  and  call  her's  thence ; 
Or,  at  the  least,  in  her's  sepulchre  thine. 

[Aside. 

He  heard  not  that.  Proteus. 


iv.  Sc.  iv.        TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


43 


Madam,  if  your  heart  bo  so  obdurate, 

Bheafe  me  yet  your  picture  for  my  love, 
M  picture  tint  is  hanging  iu  your  charabei : 
l<>  thai  I'll  speak,  to  that  I'll  sigh  and  weep; 
or,  since  the  substance  of  your  perfect  tell 
Is  mm  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow, 
And  to  your  shadow  will  I  make  true  love. 
Julia. 

[Aside. 
If  'twere  a  substance,  you  would,  sure, deceive 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am.  [it, 

Silvia. 
I  am  very  loth  to  be  your  idol,  sir ; 
But,  since  your  falsehood  shall  become  you  well 
To  worship  shadows,  and  adore  false  shapes, 
id  to  me  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  send  it. 
so,  good  rest. 

As  wretches  have  o'er  night, 


wait  for  ex 


n  in  the  morn.      ,  „ .,  . 
•:\eunVProteus  and  Stlvta 

Julia. 
Host,  will  you  go  ? 

Host. 
By  my  halidom,  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Julia. 
Pray  you,  where  lies  sir  Proteus  t 

Host. 
Marry,  at  my  house.    Trust  me,  I  think,  'tis 
almost  day.  .   .. 

J  Julia. 

Not  so ;  but  it  hath  been  the  longest  night 
That  e'er  1  watch'd,  and  the  most  heaviest.      . 
[Exeunt 

SCENE  III.    The  same. 
Enter  Eglamour. 
Eglamour. 
This  is  the  hour  that  madam  Silvia 
Fn treated  me  to  call,  and  know  her  mind. 
There's  some  great  matter  she'd  employ  me  in.—, 
madam  1 
Enter  Silvia  above,  at  her  window. 
Silvia. 
Who  calls?  Eglamour. 

Your  servant,  and  your  friend ; 
One  that  attends  your  ladyship's  command. 

Sir  Eglamour,  a  thousand  times  good  morrow. 

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. 

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  ignoraut  what  dear  good  will 
1  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine; 
Nor  how  my  father  would  enforce  me  marry 
Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhorr'd. 
Thyself  hast  lov'd  ;  and  I  have  heard  thee  say, 
No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  thy  heart, 
As  when  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died, 
Upon  whose  grave  thou  vow'dst  pure  chastity. 
Sir  Eglamour,  I  would  to  Valentine, 
To  Mantua,  where,  I  hear,  he  makes  abode ; 
And,  for  the  ways  are  dangerous  to  pass, 


I  do  desire  thy  worthy  company, 
Upon  whose  faith  and  honour  I  repose. 
Urge  not  my  father's  anger,  Eglamour, 
lint  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief; 
And  on  the  justice  of  my  flying  hence, 
To  keep  me  from  a  most  unholy  match, 
Which   heaven  and  fortune  still  reward  with 
I  do  desire  thee,  even  from  a  heart        [plagues. 
As  full  of  sorrows  hs  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. 
Eglamour. 
Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances; 
Which  since  I  know  they  virtuously  are  plac'd, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you; 
Kecking  as  little  what  betideth  me, 
As  much  1  wish  all  good  befortune  you. 
When  will  you  go?       ,   , 
Silvia. 

This  evening  coming. 
Eglamour. 
Where  shall  I  meet  you? 
Silvia. 

At  friar  Patrick's  cell, 
Where  I  intend  holy  confession. 
Eglamour. 
I  will  not  fail  your  ladyship.    Good  morrow, 
Gentle  lady.  ^^ 

Good  morrow,  kind  sir  Eglamour.  [Exeunt. 
SCENE  IV.    The  same. 


!  Enter  Launce  with  his  dog. 

Launce. 
When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur  with 
him,  look  you,  it  goes  hard :  one  that  1  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 

i  sooner  into  the  dining-chamber,  but  he  steps 

i  me  to  her  trencher,  and  steals  her  capon's  leg. 

j  O !  'tis  a  foul  thing,  when  a  cur  cannot  keep 
himself  in  all  companies.    I  would  have,  as  one 

■  should  say,  one  that  takes  upon  him  to  be  a  dog 
indeed,  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  dog  at  all  things.  \f 
I  had  not  had  more  wit  than  he,  to  take  a  fault 
upon  me  that  he  did,  1  think  verily,  he  had 
been  hang'd  for't :  sure  as  I  live,  he  had  sufler'd 
for't.  You  shall  judge.  He  thrusts  me  himself 
into  the  company  of  three  or  four  gentleman- 
like 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 ; 
44  hang  him  up,"  says  the  duke.  I,  having  been 
acquainted  with  the  smell  before,  knew  it  was 
Crab,  and  goes  me  to  the  fellow  that  whips  the 
dogs :  "  Friend,"  quoth  I,  "  you  mean  to  whip 
the  dog."  "  Ay,  marry,  do  I,  quoth  he.  "  You 
do  him  the  more  wrong,"  quoth  I ;  "  'twas  I 
did  the  thing  you  wot  of."  He  makes  me  no 
more  ado,  but  whips  me  out  of  the  chamber. 
How  many  masters  would  do  this  for  his  ser- 
vant ?  Nay,  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  sat  in  the 
stocks  for  puddings  he  hath  stolen,  otherwise 
he  had  been  executed :  1  have  stood  on  the 
pillory  for  geese  he  hath  killed,  otherwise  he 
had  sufler'd  for't :  thou  think'st  not  of  this  now. 
—  Nay,  I  remember  the  trick  you  served  me, 

when 


44 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


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  farthin- 
gale ?    Didst  thou  ever  see  me  do  such  a  trick  ? 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 

Proteus. 

Sebastian  is  thy  name  ?    I  like  thee  well, 

And  will  employ  thee  in  some  service  presently. 

Julia. 

In  what  you  please :  I  will  do  what  I  can. 

Proteus. 

I  hope  thou  wilt — How,  now,  you  whoreson 

peasant ! 

Where  have  you  been  these  two  days  loitering  ? 

Launce. 

Marry,  sir,  I  carried  mistress  Silvia  the  dog 

you  bade  me.  „ 

Proteu3. 
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.  _. 

Proteus. 
But  she  receiv'd  my  dog  ? 
Launce. 
No,  indeed,  did  she  not.  Here  have  1  brought 
him  back  again.         '    . 

Proteus. 

What !  didst  thou  offer  her  this  from  me  ? 

Launce. 
Ay,  sir:  the  other  squirrel  was  stolen  from 
me  by  the  hangman's  boys  in  the  market-place  ; 
and  then  1  offer'd  her  mine  own,  who  is  a  dog 
as  big  as  ten  of  yours,  and  therefore  the  gift  the 
greater. 

Proteus. 
Go  ;  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  again, 
Or  ne'er  return  again  into  my  sight. 
Away,  I  say !  Stayest  thou  to  vex  me  here? 
A  slave  that  still  an  end  turns  me  to  shame. 

[Exit  Launce. 

Sebastian,  I  have  entertained  thee, 
Partly,  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth, 
That  can  with  some  discretion  do  my  business, 
For  'tis  no  trusting  to  yond  foolish  lowt ; 
But,  chiefly,  for  thy  face,  and  thy  behaviour, 
Which  (if  my  augury  deceive  me  not) 
Witness  good  bringing  up,  fortune,  and  truth  : 
Therefore,  know  thou,  for  this  I  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently,  and  take  this  ring  with  thee : 
Deliver  it  to  madam  Silvia. 
She  lov'd  me  well  deliver'd  it  to  me. 
Julia. 
It  seems,  you  lov'd  not  her,  to  leave  her  token. 
She's  dead,  belike?,, 

Proteus. 

Not  so  :  I  think,  she  lives. 
Julia. 

Alas! 

Proteus. 

Why  dost  thou  cry,  alas  ? 
Julia. 
I  cannot  choose  but  pity  her. 

Proteus. 
Wherefore  shouldst  thou  pity  her  ? 

Julia. 
Because,  methinks,  that  she  lov'd  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  ! 
Proteus. 

Well,  give  her  that  ring ;  and  therewithal 

This  letter:  —  that's  her    chamber Tell   my 

lady 
I  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  message  done,  hie  home  unto  my  chamber, 
Where  thou  shalt  find  me  sad  and  solitary. 

[Exit. 
Julia. 

How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message  ? 
Alas,  poor  Proteus !  thou  hast  entertain'd 
A  fox  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs. 
Alas,  poor  fool !  why  do  I  pity  him, 
That  with  his  very  heart  despiseth  me? 
Because  he  loves  her,  he  despiseth  me, 
Because  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 
This  ring  I  gave  him  when  he  parted  from  me, 
To  bind  him  to  remember  my  good  will, 
And  now  am  I  (unhappy  messenger  !) 
To  plead  for  that  which  I  would  not  obtain  ; 
To  carry  that  which  I  would  have  refus'd ; 
To  praise  his  faith  which  I  would  have  disprais'd. 
I  am  my  master's  true  confirmed  love, 
But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master, 
Unless  1  prove  false  traitor  to  myself. 
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. 
Silvia. 
What  would  you  with  her,  if  that  I  be  she  ? 

Julia. 
If  you  be  she,  I  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  me  speak  the  message  I  am  sent  on. 
Silvia. 
From  whom  ?         „    . 

Julia. 
From  my  master,  sir  Proteus,  madam. 

Silvia. 
0 1  he  sends  you  for  a  picture  ? 

Julia. 
Ay,  madam. 

Silvia. 
Ursula,  bring  my  picture  there. 

[A  picture  brought. 
Go,  give  your  master  this  :  tell  him  from  me, 
One  Julia,  that  his  changing  thoughts  forget, 
Would  better  fit  his  chamber,  than  this  shadow. 
Julia. 
Madam,  please  you  peruse  this  letter.  — 
Pardon  me,  madam,  I  have  unadvis'd 
Deliver'd  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not : 
This  is  the  letter  to  your  ladyship. 
Silvia. 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  again. 

Julia. 
It  may  not  be :  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

Silvia. 
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 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper.  [break 

Julia. 
Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring. 

Silvia. 
The  more  shame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me  ; 

For, 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


45 


I  or,  1  hare  heard  hira  say,  a  thousand  tiroes, 
His  Juiia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure. 
Though  his  false  ringer  have  profan'd  the  ring, 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  JtUia  so  much  wrong. 

Julia. 
She  thanks  you. 

Silvia. 
What  say'st  thou  ? 

Julia. 
I  thank  vou,  madam,  that  you  tender  her. 
Poor  gentlewoman  1    my  master  wrongs    her 
much. 

Silvia. 
Dost  thou  know  her  ? 

Julia. 
Almost  as  well  as  I  do  know  myself: 
To  think  upon  her  woes,  I  do  protest, 
That  I  have  wept  a  hundred  several  times. 
Silvia. 
Belike,  she  thinks,  that  Proteus  hath  forsook 
her. 

Julia. 
I  think  she  doth,  and  that's  her  cause  of  sor- 
row. 

Silvia. 
Is  she  not  passing  fair  ? 
Julia. 
She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  she  is. 
When  she  did  think  my  master  lov'd  her  well, 
She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you  ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass, 
And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away, 
The  air  hath  starv'd  the  roses  in  her  cheeks, 
And  pinch'd  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face, 
ThHt  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I. 
Silvia. 
How  tall  was  she? 

Julia. 
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, 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  madam  Julia's  gown, 
Which  served  me  as  fit,  by  all  men's  judgments, 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  me : 
Therefore,  I  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And  at  that  time  1  made  her  weep  a-good, 
For  1  did  play  a  lamentable  part. 
Madam,  'twas  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight ; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears. 
That  ray  poor  mistress,  moved  therewithal, 
Wept  bitterly  ;  and,  would  I  might  be  dead, 
If  1  in  thought  felt  not  her  very  sorrow. 
Silvia. 

She  is  beholding  to  thee,  gentle  youth 

Alas,  poor  lady  !  desolate  and  left  1  — 
I  weep  myself,  to  think  upon  thy  words. 
Here,  youth  ;  there  is  my  purse :  I  give  thee  this 
For  thy  sweet  mistress'  sake,  because  thou  lov'st 

her. 
Farewell.  [Exit  Silvia. 

Julia 
And  she  shall  thank  you  for't,  If  e'er  you  know 

her 

A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautiful. 
I  I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold, 
j  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  1  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine 
Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers  ; 
|  And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little, 

Unless  1  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
I  Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow : 


If  that  be  all  the  difference  in  his  love, 
I'll  get  me  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 
Her  eyes  are  grey  as  glass,  and  so  are  mine : 
Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's  as  high. 
W  hat  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  her, 
But  I  can  make  respective  in  myself, 
If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god  ? 
Come,  shadow,  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up, 
For  'tis  thy  rival.     O  thou  senseless  form  1 
Thou  shalt  be  worshipp'd,  kiss'd,  lov'd,  and 

ador'd, 
And,  were  there  sense  in  his  idolatry, 
My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead. 
I'll  use  thee  kindly  for  thy  mistress'  sake, 
That  us'd  me  so  ;  or  else,  by  Jove  I  vow, 
I  should  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes, 
To  make  my  master  out  of  love  with  thee. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    An  Abbey. 

Enter  Eglumour. 

Eglamour. 

rpHE  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. 

Enter  Silvia. 
See,  where  she  comes !— Lady,  a  happy  evening. 
Silvia. 
Amen,  Amen  !  go  on,  good  Eglamour, 
Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey-wall. 
I  fear  I  am  attended  "by  some  spies. 
Eglamour. 
Fear  not:  the  forest  is  not  three  leagues  off; 
If  we  recover  that,  we  are  sure  enough. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Duke'* 
Palace. 

Enter  Thurio,  Proteus,  and  Julia. 
Thurio. 
Sir  Proteus,  what  says  Silvia  to  my  suit  ? 

Proteus 
O,  sir  !  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was  ; 
And  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 
Thurio. 
What !  that  my  leg  is  too  long  ? 

Proteus. 
No,  that  it  is  too  little. 

Thurio. 

I'll  wear  a  boot  to  make  it  somewhat  rounder. 

Julia. 

[Aside. 
But  love  will  not  be  spurr'd  to  what  it  loaths. 

Thurio. 
What  says  she  to  my  face  ? 
Proteus. 
She  says  it  is  a  fair  one. 

Thurio. 
Nay,  then  the  wanton  lies :  my  face  is  black. 

Proteus. 
But  pearls  are  fair,  and  the  old  saying  is, 
Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  eyes. 

Julia. 


46 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  Act  v.  &-.1T 


Julia, 

[Aside. 
Tis  true,  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies'  eyes ; 
For  I  had  rather  wink  than  look  on  them. 
Thurio. 
How  likes  she  my  discourse  ? 

Proteus. 
Ill,  when  you  talk  of  war. 
Thurio. 
But  well,  when  I  discourse  of  love  and  peace? 
Julia. 

[Aside. 
But  better,  indeed,  when  you  hold  your  peace. 

Thurio. 
What  says  she  to  my  valour  ? 

Proteus. 
O,  sir  1  she  makes  no  doubt  of  that. 
Julia. 

[Aside. 
She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  cowardice. 

Thurio. 
What  says  she  to  my  birth  ? 

Proteus. 
That  you  are  well  deriv'd. 
Julia. 

[A  side. 
True ;  from  a  gentleman  to  a  fool. 

Thurio. 
Considers  she  my  possessions  ? 

Proteus. 
O  !  ay  ;  and  pities  them. 
Thurio. 
Wherefore  ? 

Julia. 

[Aside;. 
That  such  an  ass  should  owe  them. 

Proteus. 
That  they  are  out  by  lease. 

Julia. 
Here  comes  the  Duke. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke. 

How  now,  sir  Proteus  !  how  now,  Thurio  1 

Which  of  you  saw  sir  Eglamour  of  late  ? 

Thurio. 

Not  I. 

Proteus. 
Nor  I. 

Duke. 
Saw  you  my  daughter  ? 

Proteus. 
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,      J 
As  he  in  penance  wander'd  through  the  forest : 
Him  he  knew  well ;  and  guess'd  that  it  was  she, 
But,  being  mask'd,  he  was  not  sure  of  it : 
Besides,  she  did  intend  confession  [not. 

At  Patrick's  cell  this  even,  and  there  she  was 
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,         [fled. 
That  leads  towards  Mantua,  whither  they  are 
Dispatch,  sweet  gentlemen,  and  follow  m 


Thurio. 
Why,  this  it  is  to  be  a  peevish  girl, 
That  flies  her  fortune  when  it  follows  her. 
I'll  after,  more  to  be  reveng'd  on  Eglamour, 
Than  for  the  love  of  reckless  Silvia.         [Exit. 
Proteus. 
And  I  will  follow,  more  for  Silvia's  love, 
Than  hate  of  Eglamour,  that  goes  with  her. 

[Kxit. 
Julia. 
And  I  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love, 
Than  hate  for  Silvia,  that  is  gone  for  love. 

[Exit. 
SCENE  Itl.     The  Forest. 

Enter  Silvia  and  Outlaws. 

1  Outlaw. 
Come,  come: 

Be  patient ;  we  must  bring  you  to  our  captain, 

A  thousand  more  mischances  than  this  one 
Have  learn 'd  me  how  to  brook  this  patiently. 

2  Outlaw. 
Come,  bring  her  away. 

1  Outlaw. 
Where  is  the  gentleman  that  was  with  her  ? 

3  Outlaw. 

Being  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: 
The  thicket  is  beset ;  he  cannot  'scape. 
1  Outlaw. 

Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain's  cave. 
Fear  not ;  he  bears  an  honourable  mind, 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  lawlessly. 


O  Valentine  !  this  I  endure  for  thee. 


[Exeunt. 


lExit. 


SCENE  IV.    Another  Part  of  the  Forest 
Enter  Valentine 
Valentine. 
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  1 
Repair  me  with  thy  presence,  Silvia! 
Thou  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swain! — 
What  halloing,  and  what  stir,  is  this  to-day  ? 
These  are  my  mates,  that  make  their  wills  their 
Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chase,      [law, ; 
They  love  me  well ;  yet  I  have  much  to  do, 
To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages. 
Withdraw  thee,  Valentine :   who's  .this  comes 
here5  [Steps  aside. 

Enter  Proteus,  Silvia,  and  Julia. 
Proteus. 
Madam,  this  service  I  have  done  for  you, 
(Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant 

doth) 
To  hazard  life,  and  rescue  you  from  him, 
That  would  have  fore'd  your  honour  and  your 

love. 
Vouchsafe  me,  for  my  meed,  but  one  fair  look  ; 
A  smaller 


Act    s.    sc  a. 


I 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


4-7 


A  smaller  boon  than  this  I  cannot  beg, 

Ami  less  than  this,  1  am  sure,  you  cannot  give. 

tine. 

[Aside. 
How  like  a  dre.-xm  is  this,  I  see,  and  hear  ! 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  awhile. 

O,  miserable  !  unhappy  that  I  am  ! 

Unhappy  were  you,  madam,  ere  I  came ; 
But  by  my  coming  I  have  made  you  happy. 

By  thy  approach  thou  mak'st  me  most  unhappy. 
Julia. 

[Aside. 
And  me,  when  he  approacheth  to  your  pre- 
sence. 

Silvia. 
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) 
1  do  detest  false,  perjur'd  Proteus: 
Therefore  be  gone :  solicit  me  no  more. 
Proteus. 
What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to  death, 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look. 

0  !  'tis  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  approv'd, 
When  women  cannot  love,  where  they're  belov'd. 

Silvia. 
When  Proteus  cannot  love,  where  he's  belov'd. 
Read  over  Julia's  heart,  thy  first  best  love, 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  "didst  then  rend  thy 

faith 
Into  a  thousand  oaths  ;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  unless  thou'dst  two, 
Ami  that's  far  worse  than  none:  better  have  none 
Than  plural  faith,  which  is  too  much  by  one. 
Thou  counterfeit  to  thy  true  friend  ! 
Proteus. 

In  love 
Who  respects  friend  ? 

Silvia. 

All  men  but  Proteus. 
Proteus. 
Nay,  If  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
I'll  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arms'  end,      [you. 
And  love  you  'gainst  the  nature  of  love:  force 
Silvia. 
O  heaven  I  __ 

Proteus. 
I'll  force  thee  yield  to  my  desire. 
Enter  Valentine. 
Valentine. 
Ruffian,  let  go  that  rude  uncivil  touch  ; 
Thou  friend  of  an  ill  fashion  ! 
Proteus. 

Valentine!  .„  . 

Valentine. 

Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith  or 

love ; 
( Tor  such  is  a  friend  now)  treacherous  man  ! 
Thou  hast  beguil'd  my  hopes  :  nought  but  mine 

eye 
Could  have  persuaded  me.    Now  I  dare  not  say, 

1  have  one  friend  alive  :  thou  would'st  disprove 
_„,      ■*»■  [hand 

A  ho  Bhould  be  trusted  now,  when  one's  right 


Is  perjur'd  to  the  bosom  ?    Proteus, 
I  am  sorry  1  must  never  trust  thee  more, 
But  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake. 
The  private  wound  is  deepest.    O  time  most 
accurst !  [worst  ! 

'Mongst  all  foes,  that  a  friend  should  be  the 

Proteus. 
My  shame  and  guilt  confound  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. 

Valentine. 

Then,  I  am  paid ; 
And  once  again  I  do  receive  thee  honest. 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied. 
Is  nor  of  heaven,  nor  earth  ;  for  these  are  pleas'd. 
By  penitence  th'  Eternal's  wrath's  appeas'd  : 
And,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free, 
All  that  was  mine  in  Silvia  I  give  thee. 

J  Ola. 
O  me  unhappy ! 

Pr-teus. 
Look  to  the  boy. 

Valentine. 
Why,  boy  !  why,  wag  !  how  now  !  what'*  the 
matter  ?  look  up  ;  speak. 

O  good  sir  !  my  master  charg'd  me  to  delive 
a  ring  to  madam  Silvia,  which,  out  of  my  neglect 
was  never  done. 

'*US. 

Where  is  that  ring,  boy? 
Julia. 
Here  'tis :  this  is  it.       [Gives  a  ring. 
Proteus. 
How !  let  me  see.    Why,  this  is  the  ring 
gave  to  Julia. 

Julia. 
O  !  cry  you  mercy,  sir ;  I  have  mistook  : 
This  is  the  ring  you  sent  to  Silvia. 

[Shows  another  ring. 
Proteus. 
But,  how  cam'st  thou  by  this  ring  ? 
At  my  depart  I  gave  this  unto  Julia. 
Julia. 
And  Julia  herself  did  give  it  me ; 
And  Julia  herself  hath  brought  it  hither. 
Proteus. 
How  ?    Julia  ! 

Julia. 
Behold  her  that  gave  aim  to  all  thy  oaths, 
And  entertain'd  them  deeply  in  her  heart : 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root  ! 
O  Proteus !  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush  : 
Be  thou  asham'd,  that  1  have  took  upon  me 
Such  an  immodest  raiment ;  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love. 

It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds,  [minds. 

Women  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their 
Proteus. 
Than  men  their  minds :  'tis  true.    O  heaven  ! 
were  man 
But  constant,  he  were  perfect :  that  one  error 
Fills  him  with  faults ;  makes  him  run  through 
Inconstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins,  [all  the  sins* 
What  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  1  may  spy 
More  fresh  in  Julia's,  with  a  constant  eye  ? 
Valentine. 
Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either. 
Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  close : 
'Twere  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  lone  foes. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.         Act  v.  Sc.  tv. 


Proteus. 
Bear  witness,  heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for  ever. 

Julia. 
And  I  mine. 
Enter  Outlaws,  with  Duke  anil  Thurto. 
Outlaws. 
A  prize  !  a  prize !  a  prize ! 
Valentine. 
Forbear:  forbear,  I  say;  it  is  my  lord  the 

duke 

Your  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgrac'd, 
Banished  Valentine. 

Duke. 
Sir  Valentine  ! 
Thurio 
Yonder  is  Silvia  ;  and  Silvia's  mine. 

Valentine. 
Thurio,  give  back,  or  else  embrace  thy  death. 
Come  not  within  the  measure  of  my  wrath  : 
Do  not  name  Silvia  thine ;  if  once  again, 
Verona  shall  not  hold  thee.    Here  she  stands : 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch. 
I  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. 
Thurio. 
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  tier  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  honour  of  my  ancestry, 
I  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  Valentine, 
And  think  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  love. 
Know  then,  I  here  forget  all  former  griefs, 
Cancel  all  grudge,  repeal  thee  home  again, 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrivall'd  merit, 
To  which  I  thus  subscribe.— Sir  Valentine, 
Thou  art  a  gentleman,  and  well  deriv'd :    [her. 
Take  thou  thy  Silvia,  for  thou  hast  deserv'd 


Valentine. 
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. 

Duke. 
I  grant  it  for  thine  own,  whate'er  it  be. 

Valentine. 
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 
With  triumphs,  mirth,  and  rare  solemnity. 

Valentine. 
And  as  we  walk  alon°r,  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 

Valentine. 
I  warrant  you,  my  lord,  more  grace  than  boy. 

Duke. 
What  mean  you  by  that  saying  ? 

Valentine. 
Please  you,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  pass  along, 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortuned  _ 
Come,  Proteus  ;  'tis  your  penance,  but  to  hear 
The  story  of  your  loves  discovered  : 
That  done,  our  day  of  marriage  shall  be  yours ; 
One  feast  one  house,  one  mutual  happiness. 

[Exeunt. 


4 


Act  i.  Sc  i.  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


tt 


MEKRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR 


DRAMATIS  FEKSONiE. 


SIR  JOHN  FALSTAFF. 

Fen ton. 

Shallow,  a  Country  Justice. 

Slender,  Cousin  to  Shallow. 

Page'  \  Tw0  Genttemen  dwelling  at  Windsor. 

William  Page,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Mr.  Page. 

Sir  Hugh  Evans,  a  Welsh  Parson. 

Dr.  Cains,  a  French  Physician. 

Host  of  the  Garter  Inn. 

Bardolph, } 

Pistol,       >  Followers  of  Falstaff. 

Nym,        J 


ACT  I. 

Y;  I.     Windsor.    Before  Page'*  Hou»e. 

Kotor  Justice  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Sir  Hugh 
Evans. 
Shallow. 
C  1R  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make  a 
^-  Star-chamber  matter  of  it :  if  he  were  twenty 
sir  John  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert 
Shallow,  esquire. 

Slender. 
In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace,  and 
coram. 

Shallow. 
Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  cust-alorum. 

Slender. 
Ay,  and  ratolorum  too  ;  and  a  gentleman  born, 
master  parson  ;  who  writes  himself  armigero  ; 
in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation, 
armigero. 

B  shallow. 

Ay,  that  I  do  ;  and  have  done  any  time  these 
three  hundred  years. 

All  his  successors,  gone  before  him,  hath  don't; 
and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  after  him,  may  : 
they  may  give  the  dozen  white  luces  in  their 
coat. 

Shallow. 
It  is  an  old  coat. 

Evans. 
The  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old  coat 
I  well :  it  agrees  well,  passant :  it  is  a  familiar 
I  beast  to  man,  and  signifies  love. 


Robin,  Page  to  Falstaff. 

Simple,  Servant  to  Slender. 

Rugbv,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Anne  Page,  her  Daughter,  in  love  with  Fenton. 

Mrs.  Quickly,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 

Servants  to  Page,  Ford,  $c. 

SCENE,  Windsor  ;  and  the  Parts  adjacent. 


Shallow. 
The  luce  is  the  fresh  fish  ;  the  salt  fish  is  an 
old  coat. 

Slender. 
I  may  quarter,  coz  ? 

Shallow. 
You  may,  by  marrying. 

Evans, 
It  is  marring,  indeed,  if  he  quarter  it. 

Shallow. 
Not  a  whit. 

Evans. 
Yes,  per-lady :  if  he  has  a  quarter  of  your 
coat,  there  is  but  three  skirts  for  yourself,  in  my 
simple  conjectures.     But  that  is  all  one:  if  sir 
John  Falstaff  have  committed  disparagements 
unto  you,  I  am  of  the  church,  and  will  be  glad 
to  do  my  benevolence,  to  make  atonements  and 
compremises  between  you. 
Shallow. 
The  council  shall  hear  it :  it  is  a  riot. 

Evans. 
It  is  not  meet  the  council  hear  a  riot ;  there 
is  no  fear  of  Got  in  a  riot.     The  council,  look 
you,  shall  desire  to  hear  the  fear  of  Got,  and 
not  to  hear  a  riot :  take  your  vizaments  in  that. 
Shallow. 
Ha !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again  the 
sword  should  end  it. 

Evans. 

It  is  petter  that  friends  is  the  sword,  and  end 

it :  and  there  is  also  another  device  in  my  prain, 

which,  peradventure,   prings  goot   discretions 

E  with 


5° 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  I. 


with  it.    There  is  Anne  Page,  which  is  daughter 
to  master  George  Page,  which  is  pretty  virginity. 

Slender. 
Mistress  Anne  Page?    She  has  brown  hair, 
and  speaks  small,  like  a  woman. 

Evans. 
It  is  that  fery  person  for  all  the  orld ;  as  just 
as  you  will  desire,  and  seven  hundred  pounds  of 
monies,  and  gold,  and  silver,  is  her  grandsire, 
upon  his  death's-bed,  (Got  deliver  to  a  joyful 
resurrections!)  give,  when  she  is  able  to  over- 
take seventeen  years  old.  It  were  a  goot  motion, 
if  we  leave  our  pribbles  and  prabbles,  and  desire 
a  marriage  between  master  Abraham,  and  mis- 
tress Anne  Page. 

Slender. 
Did  her  grandsire  leave  her  seven  hundred 
pound  ? 

Evans. 
Ay,  and  her  father  is  make  her  apetter  penny. 

Slender. 
I  know  the  young  gentlewoman  ;  she  has  good 
gifts. 

Evans. 
Seven  hundred  pounds,  and  possibilities,  is 
good  gifts. 

Shallow. 
Well,  let  us  see  honest  master  Page.    Is  Fal- 
staff  there  ? 

Evans. 
Shall  I  tell  you  a  lie  ?  I  do  despise  a  liar,  as  I 
do  despise  one  that  is  false  ;  or,  as  I  despise  one 
that  is  not  true.  The  knight,  sir  John,  is  there ; 
and,  I  beseech  you.be  ruled  by  your  well-willers. 
1  will  peat  the  door  for  master  Page.  [Knocks] 
What,  hoa  1  Got  pless  your  house  nere! 

Enter  Page. 
Page. 
Who's  there  ? 

Evans. 
Here  is  Got's  plessing,  and  your  friend,  and 
justice  Shallow  ;  and  here  young  master  Slender, 
that,  peradventures,  shall  tell  you  another  tale, 
if  matters  grow  to  your  likings. 
Tage. 
I  am  glad  to  see  your  worships  well.    I  thank 
you  for  my  venison,  master  Shallow. 
Shallow. 
Master  Page,  I  am  glad  to  see  you :  much 
good  do  it  your  good  heart.    I  wished  your 
venison  better  ;  it  was  ill  kill'd. — How  doth  good 
mistress  Page? — and  I  thank  you  always  with 
my  heart,  la;  with  my  heart. 
Page. 
Sir,  I  thank  you. 

Shallow. 
Sir,  I  thank  you  ;  by  yea  and  no,  I  do. 

Page. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,  good  master  Slender. 

Slender. 
How  does  your   fallow   greyhound,   sir?    I 
heard  say,  he  was  outrun  on  Cot  sal  I. 

It  could  not  be  judg'd,°8ir. 

You'll  not  confess,  you'll  not  confess. 

That  he  will  not ; — 'tis  your  fault,  'tis  your 
fault.— 'Tis  a  good  dog. 

Page. 
A  cur,  sir. 

Shallow. 
Sir,  he's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog  ;  can  there 


be  more  said  ?  he  is  good,  and  fair.     Is  sir  John 
Falstaff  here  ? 

Page. 
Sir,  he  is  within ;  and  I  would  I  could  do  a 
good  office  between  you. 

Evans. 
It  is  spoke  as  a  Christians  ought  to  speak. 
Shallow. 
I      He  hath  wrong'd  me,  master  Page. 

Page. 
I      Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 
Shallow. 
If  it  be  confess'd,  it  is  not  redress'd :  is  not 
that  so,  master  Page?    He  hath  wrong'd  me  ; 
indeed,  he  hath  ;  — at  a  word,  he  hath  ;  —  believe 
me:  —  Robert   Shallow,   esquire,   saith,   he   is 
wrong'd. 

Page. 
Here  comes  sir  John. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstqff",  Bardolph,  Nym,  and 
Pistol. 

Falstaff. 
Now,  master  Shallow;  you'll  complain  of  me 
to  the  king  ? 

Shallow. 
Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed  my 
deer,  and  broke  open  my  lodge. 
Falstaff. 
But  not  kiss'd  your  keeper's  daughter  ? 

Shallow. 
Tut,  a  pin  !  this  shall  be  answered. 

Falstaff. 
I  will  answer  it  straight :— I  have  done  all  this. 
— That  is  now  answer'd. 

Shallow. 
The  council  shall  know  this. 

Falstaff. 
'Twere  better  for  you,  if  it  were  known  in 
counsel :  you'll  be  laughed  at. 
Evans. 
Pauca  verba,  sir  John;  good  worts. 

Falstaff. 
Good  worts  ?  good  cabbage.— Slender,  I  broke 
your  head ;  what  matter  have  you  against  me  ? 

Slender. 
i  Marry,  sir,  I  have  matter  in  my  head  against 
you  ;  and  against  your  coney-catching  rascals, 
Bardolph,  Nym,  and  Pistol.  They  carried  me 
to  the  tavern,  and  made  me  drunk,  and  after- 
wards picked  my  pocket. 

Bardolph. 
You  Banbury  cheese  ! 

Slender. 
Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Pistol. 
How  now,  Mephostophilus  ? 

Slender. 
Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Nym. 
Slice,  I  say  !  pauca,  pauca  ;  slice  !  that's  my 
humour. 

Slender. 
Where's   Simple,  my  man?— can  you   tell, 
cousin  ? 

Evans. 
Peace!  I  pray  you.  Now  let  us  understand: 
there  is  three  umpires  in  this  matter,  as  I  under- 
stand; that  is— master  Page,  fidelicct,  master 
Page  ;  and  there  is  myself,  Jidelicet,  myself ;  and 
the  three  party  is,  lastly  and  finally,  mine  host  of 
the  Garter. 

Paire. 


A.i  t.   Sc.  i. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


5* 


We  three,  to  henr  it,  atid  end  It  between  them.        How  now,  mistress  Ford  I 


Fery  goot:  I  will  make' a  prief  of  It  in  my 
note  book;  and  we  will  afterwards  'ork  upon 
the  cause,  with  as  great  discreetly  as  we  can. 

i      „.     ,  Falstaff. 

Pittol! 

!      „   .  ,4.         Pistol. 

He  hears  with  ears. 

Theteviland  his  tam!' what  phrase  Is  this? 
i  *'  lie  hears  w  ith  ear  ?  "    Why,  it  is  affectations. 

Falstaff. 
Pistol,  did  you  pick  master  S/ender'a  purse  ? 

Ay,  by  these  gloves,  did  he,  (or  1  would  I  might 

I  never  come  in  mine  own  great  chamber  again 

■>f  seven  groats  in  mill-sixpences,  and  two 

Edward  shovel-boards,  that  cost  me  two  shilling 

and  two  pence  a-piece  of  Yed  Miller,  by  these 

1  gloves. 

Falstaff 
Is  this  true,  Pistol t 

Evans. 
No  ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  a  pick-purse. 

i  Pistol. 

,     Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner !— Sir  John  and 
master  mine, 

!  combat  challenge  of  this  lattin  bilbo  ; 

Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras  here  ; 

Word  of  denial :  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest. 

„     .  Slender. 

By  these  gloves,  then  'twas  he. 

I     _        ,     .  Nvm. 

Be  avised,  sir,  and  pass  good  humours.  I  will 
say,  "  marry  trap,"  with  you,  if  you  run  the  nut- 
hook's  humour  on  me ;  that  is  the  very  note  of  it. 

1     _  Slender. 

I  By  this  hat,  then  he  in  the  red  face  had  it ;  for 
I  though  I  cannot  remember  what  I  did  when  you 
made  me  drunk,  yet  I  am  not  altogether  an  ass. 

__  Falstaff. 

Wnat  say  you,  Scarlet  and  John  f 

Bardolph. 
\\  by  sir,  for  my  part,  I  say,  the  gentleman 
I  had  drunk  himself  out  of  his  five  sentences. 

i  Evans. 

'     It  is  his  five  senses :  fie,  what  the  ignorance  is  1 

Bardolph. 
And  being  fap,  sir,  was,  as  they  say,  ca^hier'd ; 
and  so  conclusions  pass'd  the  carieres. 

Slender. 
j  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latin  then  too ;  but  'tis  no 
,  matter.  I'll  ne'er  be  drunk  whilst  I  live  again, 
,  but  in  honest,  civil,  godly  company,  for  this  trick : 
j  if  I  be  drunk,  I'll  be  drunk  with  those  that  have 
■  the  tear  of  God,  and  not  with  drunken  knaves. 

I  Evans. 

So  Got  'udge  me,  that  is  a  virtuous  mind. 

Falstaff. 
You  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentle- 
men ;  you  hear  it. 

Enter  Anne  Page  with  Wine ;  Mistress  Ford 
and  Mistress  Page  following. 

I  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in  ;  we'll  drink 
within.  [Exit  Anne  Page. 

_  Slender. 

O  heaven  !  this  is  mistress  Anne  Page. 


Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth,  you  are  very  well 
met :  by  your  leave,  good  mistress,  [Kissing  her. 

Wife,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome — Come, 
we  have  a  hot  venison  pasty  to  dinner :  come, 
gentlemen,  I  hope  we  shall  drink  down  all  un- 
kindness. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Evans. 
Slender. 

I  had  rather  than  forty  shillings,  I  had  my 
book  of  songs  and  sonnets  here  :— 

Enter  Simple. 
How  now,  Simple.    Where  have  you  been  ?    I 
must  wait  on  myself,  must  I  ?  You  have  not  the 
book  of  riddles  about  you,  have  you  ? 

Simple. 
Book  of  riddles  !  why,  did  you  not  lend  it  to 
Alice  Shortcake  upon  Allhallowmas  last,  a  fort- 
night afore  Michaelmas  ? 

Shallow. 
Come,  coz  ;  come,  coz ;  we  stay  for  you.    A 
word  with  you,  coz  ;  marry,  this,  coz  :  there  is, 
as  'twere,  a  tender,  a  kind  of  tender,  made  afar 
off  by  sir  Hugh  here :  do  you  understand  me  ? 
Slender. 
Ay,  sir,  you  shall  find  me  reasonable :  if  it  be 
so,  I  shall  do  that  that  is  reason. 

Shallow 
Nay,  but  understand  me. 

Slender. 
So  I  do,  sir. 

Evans. 
Give  ear  to  his  motions,  master  Slsnder.     I 
j  will  description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  ca- 
pacity of  it. 

Slender. 
!     Nay,  I  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says.    I 
;  pray  you,  pardon  me;  he's  a  justice  of  peace  in 
his  country,  simple  though  I  stand  here. 

Evans. 
;     But  that  is  not  the  question :  the  question  is 
(  concerning  your  marriage. 
Shallow. 
Ay,  there's  the  point,  sir. 
Evans. 
Marry,  is  it,  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  mistress 
Anne  Page. 

Slender. 
Why,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  marry  her  upon  any 
reasonable  demands. 

Evans. 

But  can  you  affection  the  'oman?    Let  us 

command  to  know  that  of  your  mouth,  or  of 

your  lips  ;  for  divers  philosophers  hold,  that  the 

lips  is  parcel  of  the  mouth  :  therefore,  precisely, 

can  you  carry  your  good  will  to  the  maid? 

Shallow. 

Cousin  Abraham  Slender,  can  you  love  her? 

Slender. 
I  hope,  sir,  I  will  do,  as  it  shall  become  one 
that  would  do  reason. 

Evans. 
Nay,  Got's  lords  and  his  ladies,  you  must 
speak  possitable,  if  you   can  carry  her  your 
desires  towards  her. 

Shallow. 
That  you  must.    Will  you,  upon  good  dowry, 
marry  her  ? 

Slender. 


s* 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Slender. 
I  will  do  a  greater  thing  than  that,  upon  your 
request,  cousin,  in  any  reason. 
Shallow. 
Nay,  conceive  me,  conceive  me,  sweet  coz : 
what  I  do,  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz.   Can  you  love 
the  maid  ? 

Slender. 
I  will  marry  her,  sir,  at  your  request ;  but  if 
there  be  no  great  love  in  the  beginning,  yet 
heaven  may  decrease  it  upon  better  acquaintance, 
when  we  are  married,  and  have  more  occasion 
to  know  one  another :  I  hope,  upon  familiarity 
will  grow   more   contempt :   but   if  you   say, 
"  marry  her,"  I  will  marry  her  ;  that  I  am  freely 
dissolved,  and  dissolutely. 
Evans. 
It  is  a  fery  discretion  answer  ;  save,  the  fault 
is  in  the  'ort  dissolutely :  the  'ort  is,  according 
to  our  meaning,  resolutely —  His  meaning  is 
good. 

Shallow. 
Ay,  1  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

Slender. 
Ay,  or  else  I  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la. 

Re-enter  Anne  Page. 
Shallow. 
Here  comes  fair  mistress  Anne.  —  Would   I 
were  young,  for  your  sake,  mistress  Anne ! 
Anne. 
The  dinner  is  on  the  table  ;  my  father  desires 
your  worships'  company. 

Shallow. 
I  will  wait  on  him,  fair  mistress  Anne. 

Evans. 

Od's  plessed  will  1  I  will  not  be  absence  at  the 

grace.  [Exeunt  Shallow  and  Sir  H.  Evans. 

Anne. 

Will't  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  sir  ? 

Slender. 
No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily ;  I  am  very 
well. 

Anne. 
The  dinner  attends  you,  sir. 

Slender. 
I  am  not  a-l«ungry,  I  thank  you,  forsooth.  —  j 
Go,  sirrah,  for  all  you  are  my  man,  go,  wait  upon  i 
my  cousin  Shallow.    [Exit  Simple?]     A  justice 
of  peace  sometime  may  be  beholding  to  his  friend 
for  a  man. — I  keep  but  three  men  and  a  boy  yet, 
till  my  mother  be  dead  ;  but  what  though  ?  yet  i 
1  live  like  a  poor  gentleman  born. 
Anne. 
I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship :  they 
will  not  sit,  till  you  come. 
Slender. 
I'faith,  I'll  eat  nothing  ;  I  thank  you  as  much 
as  though  I  did. 

Anne. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  walk  in. 

Slender. 
I  had  rather  walk  here,  I  thank  you.  I  bruised 
my  shin  the  other  day  with  playing  at  sword  and  j 
dagger  wiMi  a  master  of  fence,  (three  veneys  for  ; 
a  dish  oi  stewed  prunes)  and,  by  my  troth,  I 
cannot  abide  the  smell  of  hot  meat  since.  Why  j 
do  your  dogs  bark  so  ?  be  there  bears  i'  the  i 
town? 

Anne. 
I  think  there  are,  sir  ;  I  heard  them  talked  of. 

Slender. 
I  love  the  sport  well ;  but  I  shall  as  soon 


quarrel  at  it  as  any  man  in  England.    You  are 
afraid,  if  you  see  the  bear  loose,  are  you  not  ? 
Anne. 

Ay,  indeed,  sir. 

Slender. 

That's  meat  and  drink  to  me,  now :  I  have 
seen  Sackerson  loose,  twenty  times,  and  have 
taken  him  by  the  chain  ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  the 
women  have  so  cried  and  shriek'd  at  it,  that  ic 
pass'd :  but  women,  indeed,  cannot  abide  'em  ; 
they  are  very  ill-favoured  rough  things. 

Re-enter  Page. 
Page. 
Come,  gentle  master  Slender,  come  ;  we  stay 
for  you. 

Slender 
I'll  eat  nothing,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Page. 
By  cock  and  pye,  you  shall  not  choose,  sir. 
Come  come. 

Slender. 
Nay  ;  pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Page. 
Come  on,  sir. 

Slender. 
Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first. 

Anne. 
Not  I,  sir  ;  pray  you,  keep  on. 

Slender. 
Truly,  I  will  not  go  first :  truly,  la,  I  will  not 
do  you  that  wrong. 

Anne. 
1  pray  you,  sir. 

Slender. 
I'll  rather  be  unmannerly,  than  troublesome. 
You  do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 
Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  Simple. 

Evans. 

Go  your  ways,  and  ask  of  doctor  Caius'  house, 
which  is  the  way  ;  and  there  dwells  one  mistress 
Quickly,  which  is  in  the  manner  of  his  nurse,  or 
his  dry  nurse,  or  his  cook,  or  his  laundry,  his 
washer,  and  his  wringer. 

Simple. 

Well,  sir. 

Evans. 

Nay,  it  is  petter  yet.— Give  her  this  letter; 
for  it  is  a  'oman  that  altogether's  acquaintance 
with  mistress  Anne  Page :  and  the  letter  is,  to 
desire  and  require  her  to  solicit  your  master's 
desires  to  mistress  Anne  Page :  1  pray  you,  be 
gone.  I  will  make  an  end  of  my  dinner :  there's 
pippins  and  cheese  to  come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstaff",  Host,  Bardolph,  Nt/m,  Pistol,  and 
Robin. 
Falstaff. 
Mine  host  of  the  Garter ! 
Host. 
What  says  my  bully-rook  ?    Speak  scholarly, 
and  wisely.  „  ,      „ 

Falstaff. 
Truly,  mine  host,  I  must  turn  away  some  of 
my  followers. 

Host. 
Discard,  bully  Hercules  ;   cashier :  let  mem 


wag ;  trot,  trot. 


Falstaff. 


Acr  i.  Sr.  in. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


H 


rrimf 

1  $lt  at  ten  pounds  a  week. 

Host. 

Thou'rt    an    emperor,    drsar,    Keisar,   and 
r.     1  will  entertain  Rardolph  ;  he  shall 
dr.iw,  he  shall  tap:  said  I  well,  bully  Hector? 

Falstaff. 
Do  so,  good  mine  host. 

Host. 

I  have  spoke;  let  him  follow Let  me  see 

thtv  troth,  and  live :  1  am  at  a  word :  follow. 

[Exit  Host. 
Falstaff. 
Bardolph,  follow  him.    A  tapster  is  a  good 
trade:  an  old  cloak  makes  a  new  jerkin  ;  a  wi- 
thered servingman,  a  fresh  tapster.    Go ;  adieu. 

Bardolph. 
It  is  a  life  that  I  have  desired.    I  will  thrive. 
[Exit  Bardolph. 
Pistol. 

0  base  Gongarlan  wight  1  wilt  thou  the  spigot 
wield? 

Nym. 
He  was  gotten  in  drink:  is  not  the  humour 
conceited  ?    His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and  there's 
the  humour  of  it. 

Falstaff. 

1  am  glad  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder-box  : 
his  thefts  were  too  open  ;  his  filching  was  like 
an  unskilful  singer,  he  kept  not  time. 

Nyrn. 
The  good  humour  is  to  steal  at  a  minute's  rest. 

Tistol. 
Convey  the  wise  it  call.     Steal?  foh!  a  fico 
for  the  phrase  1 

Falstaff. 
Well,  sirs,  I  am  almost  out  at  heels. 

Pistol. 
j    Why  then,  let  kibes  ensue. 

Falstaff. 
1     There  is  no  remedy;  I  must  coney- catch,  I 
Jmust  shift. 

Pistol. 
I    "V  oung  ravens  must  have  food. 

Falstaff. 
|    Which  of  you  know  Ford  of  this  town  ? 

Pistol. 
I  ken  the  wight :  he  is  of  substance  good. 

Falstaff. 
My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am 
Ubout. 

Pistol. 
Two  yards,  and  more. 

Falstaff. 
No  quips  now,  Pistol:  indeed  I  am  in  the 
waist  two  yards  about ;  but  I  am  now  about  no 
waste ;  I  am  about  thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to 
make  love  to  Ford's  wife:  I  spy  entertainment 
in  her  ;  she  discourses,  she  carves,  she  gives  the 
leer  of  invitation  :  I  can  construe  the  action  of 
her  familiar  style  ;  and  the  hardest  voice  of  her 
behaviour,  to  be  Knglished  rightly,  is,  "  I  am 
Isir  John  l-'alstajfs." 
I  Pistol. 

,    He  hath  studied  her  will,  and  translated  her 
nviH ;  out  of  honesty  into  Knglish. 

Nym. 
The  anchor  is  deep :  will  that  humour  pass  ? 

Falstaff. 
Now,  the  report  goes,  she  has  all  the  rule  of 
Ml  husband's  purse  ;  he  hath  legions  of  angels. 


Pistol. 
As  many  devils  entertain,  and  "  To  her,  boy," 
say  I. 

Nym. 
The  humour  rises;  it  is  good:  humour  me 
the  angels. 

Falstaff. 
I  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  her ;  and  here 
another  to  Pane's  wife,  who  even  now  gave  me 
good  eyes  too,  examin'd  my  parts  with  most 
judicious  ceiliads:  sometimes  the  beam  of  her 
view  gilded  my  foot,  sometimes  my  portly  belly. 

Pistol. 
Then  did  the  sun  on  dunghill  shine. 

Nym. 
I  thank  thee  for  that  humour. 
Falstaff. 

0  !  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  with 
such  a  greedy  intention,  that  the  appetite  of  her 
eye  did  seem  to  scorch  me  up  like  a  burning 
glass.  Here's  another  letter  to  her :  she  bears 
the  purse  too;  she  is  a  region  in  Guiana,  all 
gold  and  bounty.  1  will  be  cheater  to  them 
both,  and  they  shall  be  exchequers  to  me :  they 
shall  be  my  East  and  West  Indies,  and  1  will 
trade  .to  them  both.  Go,  bear  thou  this  letter 
to  mistress  Page;  and  thou  this  to  mistress 
Ford.    We  will  thrive,  lads,  we  will  thrive. 

Pistol 

Shall  I  sir  Pandams  of  Troy  become,       [all  ! 

And  by  my  side  wear  steel  ?  then,  Lucifer  take 

Nym. 

1  will  run  no  base  humour  :  here,  take  the 
humour-letter.  I  will  keep  the  'haviour  of  re- 
putation. 

Falstaff. 
Hold,  sirrah,  [to  Bobin,]beax  you  these  letters 
tightly: 
Sail  like  my  pinnace  to  these  golden  shores. — 
Rogues,  hence  1  avaunt  !  vanish  like  hailstones, 
go ;  [pack  ! 

Trudge,  plod  away  o'  the  hoof;  seek  shelter, 
FalstaffiviiW  learn  the  honour  of  this  age, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues :  myself,  and  skirted 
page.  [Exeunt  Falstaff" and.  Robin. 

Pistol. 
Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts  !  for  gourd,  and 
fullam  holds, 
And  high  and  low  beguile  the  rich  and  poor. 
Tester  I'll  have  in  pouch,  when  thou  shalt  lack 
Base  Phrygian  Turk. 

Nym. 
I  have  operations,  which  be  humours  of  re- 
venge. 

Pistol. 
Wilt  thou  revenge  ? 

Nym. 
By  welkin,  and  her  star. 

Pistol. 
With  wit,  or  steel  ? 

Nym. 
With  both  the  humours,  I : 
I  will  discuss  the  humour  of  this  love  to  Page. 
Pistol. 
And  I  to  Ford  shall  eke  unfold. 

How  Falstnff;  varlet  vile. 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold, 
And  his  soft  couch  defile. 
Nym. 
My  humour  shall  not  cool :   1  will  incense 
Page  to  deal  with  poison ;    I  will  possess  him 
with  yellowness,  for  the  revolt  of  mine  is  dan- 
gerous: that  is  my  true  humour. 

Pistol. 


5+ 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


Pistol. 
Thou  art  the  Mars  of  malcontents  :  I  second 
thee ;  troop  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  Dr.  Cuius**  House. 

Enter  Mrs.  Quickly,  Simple,  and  Rugby. 

Quickly. 

What,  John  Rugby  !  —  i  pray  thee,  go  to  the 

casement,  and  see  if  you  can  see  my  master, 

master  Doctor  Caius,  coming :  if  he  do,  i'  faith, 

and  find  any  body  in  the  house,  here  will  be  an 

old  abusing  of  God's  patience,  and  the  king's 

English. 

Rugby. 
I'll  go  watch.  [Exit  Rugby. 

Quickly. 
Go ;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  for't  soon  at  night, 
in  faith,  at  the  latter  end  of  a  sea-coal  fire.  An 
honest,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant  shall 
come  in  house  withal ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  no 
tell-tale,  nor  no  breed-bate :  his  worst  fault  is, 
I  that  he  is  given  to  prayer;  he  is  something 
peevish  that  way,  but  nobody  but  has  his  fault; 
but  let  that  pass.  Peter  Simple,  you  say  your 
name  is  ? 

Simple. 
Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Quickly. 
And  master  Slender,&  your  master  ? 

Simple. 
Ay,  forsooth. 

Quickly. 
Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard,  like  a 
glover's  paring-knife  ?„ 

Simple. 
No,  forsooth :  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face, 
with  a  little  yellow  beard ;   a  Cam-coloured 
beard. 

Quickly. 
A  softly-sprighted  man,  is  he  not  ? 

Simple. 
Ay,  forsooth ;  but  he  is  as  tall  a  man  of  his 
hands,  as  any  is  between  this  and  his  head :  he 
hath  fought  with  a  warrener. 
Quickly. 
How  say  you  ?—  O !  I  should  remember  him : 
does  he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were,  and 
strut  in  his  gait  ? 

Simple. 
Yes,  indeed,  does  he. 

Quickly. 
Well,  heaven  send  Anne  Page  no  worse  for- 
tune !     Tell  master  parson  Evans,   I  will  do 
what  I  can   for  your  master:  Anne  is  a  good 
girl,  and  I  wish- 
Re-enter  Rugby. 
Rugby. 
Out,  alas  I  here  comes  my  master. 

Quickly. 

We  shall  all  be  shent.    Run  in  here,  good 

young  man ;  go  into  this  closet.     [Shuts  Simple 

m  the  closetrj    He  will  not  stay  long What, 

\John  Rugby!  John,  what,  John,  I  say!  —  Go, 
John,  go  inquire  for  my  master  ;  I  doubt,  he  be 


not  well,  that  he  comes  not  home : 
down,  adown-a,"  &c. 


and  down, 
[Sings. 
Enter  Dr.  Caius. 
Caius. 
Vat  is  you  sing  ?   I  do  not  like  dese  toys.   Pray 
you,  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  un  boitier 
vera";  a  box,  a  green -a  box:  do  intend  vat  I 
speak  ?  a  green-a  box. 


Quickly. 
Ay,  forsooth  ;  I'll  fetch  it  you.  [Aside.]    I  am 
glad  he  went  not  in  himself:  if  he  had  found 
the  young  man,  he  would  have  been  horn-mad. 
Caius. 
Fe,  Je,  fe,  fe!  ma  foi,  il  fait  fort  chaud.    Je 
m'e7i  vats  &  la  cour,—la  grande  affaire. 
Quickly. 
Is  it  this,  sir  ? 

Caius. 
Ouy ;    mette   le   au   mon   pocket ;    depeche, 
quickly.— Vere  is  dat  knave  Rugby? 
Quickly. 
What,  John  Rugby!  John! 

Rugby. 
Here,  sir. 

Caius. 
You  are  John  Rugby,  and  you  are  Jack  Rugby : 
come,  take-a  your  rapier,  and  come  after  my  ! 
heel  to  de  court. 

Rugby. 
"Pis  ready,  sir,  here  in  the  porch. 

Caius. 
By  my  trot,   I  tarry  too  long.— Od's  me! 
Qu'ai-jeoublie?   dere  is  some  simples  in  my 
closet,  dat  I  vill  not  for  the  varld  I  shall  leave 
behind. 

Quickly. 

[Aside. 
Ah  me  I  he'll  find  the  young  man  there,  and 
be  mad. 

Caius. 
Odiable,  diable!  vat  is  in  my  closet  ?  — Vil- 
jlainy!   larronl   [Pulling  Simple  out.]  Rugby, 
\  my  rapier ! 

Quickly. 
i     Good  master,  be  content 
Caius. 
Verefore  shall  I  be  content-a  ? 

Quickly. 
The  young  man  is  an  honest  man. 

Caius. 
Vat  shall  the  honest  man  do  in  my  closet  ? 
dere  is  no  honest  man  dat  shall  come  in  my 
closet. 

Quickly. 
I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  phlegmatic;    hear 
the  truth  of  it :  he  came  of  an  errand  to  me  from 
parson  Hugh. 

Caius. 
Veil. 

Simple. 
Ay,  forsooth,  to  desire  her  to — 

Quickly. 
Peace,  I  pray  you. 

Caius. 
Peace-a  your  tongue  ! — Speak-a  your  tale. 

To  desire  this  honest  gentlewoman,  your  maid, 
to  speak  a  good  word  to  mistress  Anne  Page 
for  my  master,  in  the  way  of  marriage. 
Quickly. 
This  is  all,  indeed,  la ;  but  I'll  ne'er  put  my 
finger  in  the  fire,  and  need  not. 
Caius. 
Sir  Hugh  send-a  you? — Rugby,  baillez  me 
some  paper  :  tarry  you  a  littel-a  while. 

Quickly. 

I  am  glad  he  is  so  quiet :  if  he  had  been  tho- 

i  roughly  moved,  you  should  have  heard  him  so 

i  loud,  and  so  melancholy. — But  notwithstanding, 

jman,  I'll  do  you  your  master  what  good  1  can  : 

and 


Ai  i  ii.  Sc.  i. 


MERBY  WIVES  OF  WIN1>»>K, 


55 


and  the  very  yea  and  the  no  Is,  the  French  doctor, 
my  master, — I  may  call  him  my  master,   look, 
or  I  keep  his  house;  and   I  wash,  wring, 
bake,  scour,  dress  meat  and  drink,  make 
the  beds,  and  do  all  myself; — 
Simple, 
"lis  a  great  charge,  to  come  under  one  body's 
nand. 

Quickly. 
Are  you  avis'd  o'  that  ?  you  shall  find  it  a  great 
charge :  and  to  be  up  early  and  down  late  ; — but 
I  notwithstanding,  to  tell  you  in  your  ear,  ( I  would 
have  no  words  of  it)  my  master  himself  is  in  love 
with  mistress  Anne  Page :  but  notwithstanding 
that,  I  know  Anne's  mind ;  that's  neither  here 
nor  there. 

Caius. 

You  jack'nape,  give-a  dis  letter  to  sir  Hugh  ; 

;  by  gar,  it  is  a  shallenge :  1  vill  cut  his  troat  in 

de  park  ;  and  I  vill  teach  a  scurvy  jack-a-nape 

prle«t  to  meddle  or  make. — You  may  be  gone ; 

it  is  not  good  you  tarry  here: — by  gar,  I  vill  cut 

,  all  his  two  stones ;  by  gar,  he  shall  not  have  a 

stone  to  trow  at  his  dog.  [Exit  Simple. 

Quickly. 

Alas  1  he  speaks  but  for  his  friend. 

Caius. 
It  is  no  matter-a  for  dat : — do  not  you  tell-a 
me.  dat  I  shall  have  Anne  Page  for  myself?  — 
J'.y  gar,  I  vill  kill  de  Jack  priest ;  and  I  have 
'  appointed  mine  Host  of  de  Jarretiere  to  mea- 
sure our  weapon. — By  gar,  I  vill  myself  have 
!  Anne  Page. 

Quickly. 
Sir,  the  maid  loves  you,  and  all  shall  be  well. 
We  must  give  folks  leave  to  prate:  what,  the 
I  good  year  1 

Cains. 
|     Rugby,  come  to  the  court  vit  me — By  gar,  if 
1  have  not  Anne  Page,  I  shall  turn  your  head 
Jut  of  my  door.— Follow  my  heels,  Rugby. 

[Exeunt  Caius  and  Rugby. 
Quickly. 
You  shall  have  An  fool's-head  of  your  own. 
No,  I  know  Anne's  mind  for  that :  never  a  woman 
in  Windsor  knows  more  of  Anne's  mind  than  I 
do,  nor  can  do  more  than  I  do  with  her,  I  thank 
heaven. 

Fenton. 

[Within. 
Who's  within  there,  ho  ? 

Quickly. 
Who's  there,  I  trow  ?    Come  near  the  house, 
I  pray  you. 

Enter  Fenton. 

Fenton. 
How  now,  good  woman  !  how  dost  thou  ? 

Quickly. 
The  better,  that  it  pleases  your  good  worship 
to  ask. 

Fenton. 
What  news?  how  does  pretty  mistress  Anne. 

Quickly. 
In  truth,  sir,  and  she  is  pretty,  and  honest, 
and  gentle ;  and  one  that  is  your  friend,  I  can 
t  11  you  that  by  the  way  ;  I  praise  heaven  for  it. 
Fenton. 
Shall  I  do  any  good,  think'st  thou  ?    Shall  I 
not  lose  my  suit  ? 

Quickly. 
Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  his  hands  above:  but  not- 
j  withstanding,  master  Fenton,  I'll  be  sworn  on  a 
!  book,  she  loves  you.  —  Have  not  your  worship  a 
j  wart  above  your  eye  ? 


I  on. 
Yes,  marry,  have  I ;  what  of  that  ? 

Quickly. 
Well,  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  — Good  faith,  it  is 
such  another  Nan  ; — but,  I  detest,  an  honest 
maid  as  ever  broke  bread :  —  we  had  an  hour's 
talk  of  that  wart.  — I  shall  never  laugh  but  in 
that  maid's  company ;— but,  indeed,  she  is  given 
too  much  to  allichofly  and  musing.  But  for  you 
—well,  go  to. 

Fenton. 

Well,  I  shall  see  her  to-day.    Hold,  there's 

money  for  thee ;  let  me  have  thy  voice  in  my 

behalf:  if  thou  seest  her  before  me,  commend 

me — 

Quickly. 

Will  I  ?  i'faith,  that  we  will ;  and  I  will  tell 

your  worship  more  of  the  wart,  the  next  time 

we  have  confidence,  and  of  other  wooers. 

Fenton. 

Well,  farewell ;  I  am  in  great  haste  now. 

[Exit. 
Quickly. 

Farewell  to  your  worship Truly  an  honest 

gentleman  ;  but  Anne  loves  him  not,  for  I  know 
Anne's  mind  as  well  as  another  does: — Out 
upon't !  what  have  I  forgot?  [lixit. 

#•#•#■#•■€■ 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    Before  Page's  House. 

Enter  Mistress  Page,  with  a  Letter. 
Mr 8.  Page. 
\yHAT!  have  I  'scaped  love-letters  in  the 
*  w    holy-day  time  of  my  beauty,  and  am  I  now 
a  subject  for  them  ?    Let  me  see.  [Reads. 

14  Ask  me  no  reason  why  I  love  you  ;    for 
though  love  use  reason  for  his  precisian,  he 
admits  him  not  for  his  counsellor.     You  are  not 
young,  no  more  am  I :  go  to  then,  there's  sym- 
pathy.    You  are  merry,  so  am  1;  ha  !  ha  I  then, 
there's  more  sympathy :  you  love  sack,  and  so 
do  1 ;  would  you  desire  better  sympathy  ?    Let 
it  suffice  thee,  mistress  Page,  (at  the  least,  if  the 
love  of  soldier  can  suffice)  that  I  love  thee.     I 
will  not  say,  pity  me,  'tis  not  a  soldier-like 
phrase ;  but  I  say,  love  me.    By  me, 
Thine  own  true  knight, 
By  day  or  night, 
Or  any  kind  of  light, 
With  all  his  might, 

For  thee  to  fight.  John  Falstaff." 

What  a  Herod  of  Jewry  is  this  !  —  O  wicked, 
wicked,  world ! — one  that  is  well  nigh  worn  to 
pieces  with  age,  to  show  himself  a  young 
gallant  1  What  an  unweighed  behaviour  hath 
this  Flemish  drunkard  picked  (with  the  devil's 
,  name)  out  of  my  conversation,  that  he  dares  in 
this  manner  assay  me  ?  Why,  he  hath  not  been 
thrice  in  my  company. — What  should  I  say  to 
him  ? — I  was  then  frugal  of  my  mirth  :  — heaven 
forgive  me  1— Why,  I'll  exhibit  a  bill  in  the  par- 
liament for  the  putting  down  of  fat  men.  How 
'  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  ?  for  revenged  I  will 
;  be,  as  sure  as  his  guts  are  made  of  puddings. 

Enter  Mistress  Ford. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Mistress  Page !  trust  me,  I  was  going  to  your 
house.  .,      _ 

Mrs.  Pa«e. 


5<5 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Mrs.  Page. 
And,  trust  me,  I  was  coming  to  you.     You 
look  very  ill. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  that :  1  have  to  show  to 
the  contrary. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Faith,  but  you  do,  in  my  mind. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Well,  I  do  then  ;  yet,  I  say,  I  could  show  you 
to  the  contrary.    O,  mistress  Page!    give  me 
some  counsel. 

Mrs.  Page. 
What's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Ford. 
O  woman  !  if  it  were  not  for  one  trifling  re- 
ject, I  could  come  to  such  honour. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Hang  the  trifle,  woman  ;  take  the  honour. 
What  is  it  ? — dispense  with  trifles  ;—  what  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford. 
If  I  would  but  go  to  hell  for  an  eternal  mo- 
ment or  so,  I  could  be  knighted. 

Mrs.  Page. 
What?— thou    liest.  — HSir    Alice    Ford!  — 
These  knights  will  hack  ;  and  so,  thou  shouldst 
not  alter  the  article  of  thy  gentry. 


Mrs.  Ford. 
-light:  —  here,  read,  read; 


We  burn  day 
perceive  how  1  might  be  knighted — I  shall 
think  the  worse  of  fat  men,  as  long  as  I  have  an 
eye  to  make  difference  of  men's  liking :  and  yet 
he  would  not  swear,  praised  women's  modesty, 
and  gave  such  orderly  and  well-behaved  reproof 
to  all  uncomeliness,  that  I  would  have  sworn  his 
disposition  would  have  gone  to  the  truth  of  his 
words  ;  but  they  do  no  more  adhere  and  keep 
place  together,  than  the  hundredth  psalm  to  the 
tune  of  "Green  Sleeves."  What  tempest,  I  trow, 
threw  this  whale,  with  so  many  tuns  of  oil  in 
his  belly,  ashore  at  Windsor  ?  How  shall  I  be 
revenged  on  him  ?  I  think,  the  best  way  were 
to  entertain  him  with  hope,  till  the  wicked  fire 
of  lust  have  melted  him  in  his  own  grease.  — 
Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Letter  for  letter,  but  that  the  name  of  Page 
and  Ford  differs  !  —  To  thy  great  comfort  in  this 
mystery  of  ill  opinions,  here's  the  twin-brother 
of  thy  letter:  but  let  thine  inherit  first;  for,  I 
protest,  mine  never  shall.  I  warrant,  he  hath 
a  thousand  of  these  letters,  writ  with  blank 
space  for  different  names,  (sure  more)  and  these 
are  of  the  second  edition.  He  will  print  them, 
out  of  doubt ;  for  he  cares  not  what  he  puts  into 
the  press,  when  he  would  put  us  two:  I  had 
rather  be  a  giantess,  and  lie  under  mount  Pe- 
lion.  Well,  I  will  find  you  twenty  lascivious 
turtles,  ere  one  chaste  man. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Why,  this  is  the  very  same ;  the  very  hand,  the 
very  words.    W  hat  doth  he  think  of  us  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Nay,  I  know  not :  it  makes  me  almost  ready  to 
wrangle  with  mine  own  modesty.  I'll  entertain 
myself  like  one  that  I  am  not  acquainted  withal ; 
for,  sure,  unless  he  know  some  strain  in  me,  that 
I  know  not  myself,  he  would  never  have  boarded 
me  in  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Boarding  call  you  it?    I'll  be  sure  to  keep 
him  above  deck. 

Mrs.  Page. 
So  will  I :  if  he  come  under  my  hatches,  I'll 


never  to  sea  again.  Let's  be  revenged  on  him : 
let's  appoint  him  a  meeting  ;  give  him  a  show  of 
comfort  in  his  suit ;  and  lead  him  on  with  a  fine- 
baited  delay,  till  he  hath  pawned  his  horses  to 
mine  Host  of  the  Garter. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

_  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  villainy  against 

him,  that  may  not  sully  the  chariness  of  our 

honesty.    O,  that  my  husband  saw  this  letter  1 

it  would  give  eternal  food  to  his  jealousy. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Why,  look,  where  he  comes ;  and  my  good 
man  too  :  he's  as  far  from  jealousy,  as  I  am  from 
giving  him  cause ;  and  that,  I  hope,  is  an  un- 
measurable  distance. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
You  are  the  happier  woman. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Let's  consult   together   against   this    greasy 

knight.    Come  hither.  [They  retire. 

Enter  Ford,  Pistol,  Page,  and  Nym. 

Ford. 
Well,  I  hope,  it  be  not  so. 

Pistol. 
Hope  is  a  curtail  dog  in  some  affairs  : 
Sir  John  affects  thy  wife. 

Ford. 
Why,  sir,  my  wife  is  not  young. 

Pistol. 
He  woos  both  high  and  low,  both  rich  and 
poor, 
Both  young  and  old,  one  with  another,  Ford. 
He  loves  the  gally-mawfry :  Ford,  perpend. 

Ford. 
Love  my  wife? 

Pistol. 

With  liver  burning  hot :  prevent,  or  go  thou, 

Like  sir  Actteun  he,  with  Ring-wood  at  thy 

O  !  odious  is  the  name.  [heels. 

Ford. 
What  name,  sir  ? 

Pistol. 
The  horn,  I  say.    Farewell : 
Take  heed ;  have  open  eye,  for  thieves  do  foot 
by  night:  [dosing,— 

Take  heed,  ere  summer  comes,  or  cuckoo  birds 
Away,  sir  corporal  Nym.  — 
Believe  it,  Page  j  he  speaks  sense.  [Exit  Pistol. 
Ford. 
I  will  be  patient :  I  will  find  out  this. 

Nym. 

And  this  is  true ;  [to  Page.]   I  like  not  the 

humour  of  lying.    He  hath  wronged  me  in  some 

humours :  I  should  have  borne  the  humoured 

letter  to  her,  but  I  have  a  sword,  and  it  shall 

bite  upon  my  necessity.    He  loves  your  wife  ; 

there's  the  short  and  the  long.     My  name  is 

corporal  Nym :  I  speak,  and  I  avouch  'tis  true:— 

my  name  is  Nym,  and  Falstaff  loves  your  wife. 

—  Adieu.     I  love  not  the  humour  of  bread  and 

cheese.    Adieu.  [Exit  Nym. 

Page. 

The  humour  of  it,  quoth  'a  !  here's  a  fellow 

frights  English  out  of  his  wits. 

Ford. 

I  will  seek  out  Falstaff. 

Page. 
I  never  heard  such  a  drawling-affecting  rogue- 

Ford. 
If  I  do  find  it,  well. 

Page. 


Act  ii.  Se.  \. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR 


1  will  not  believe  sucn  a  Cataian,  though  the 
phot  <>'  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true 

in. in. 

Twas  a  good  sensible  fellow :  well. 

How  now,  Meg! 

Whither  go  you,  Georger  —  Hark  you. 

How  now,  sweet  Frank !  why  art  thou  me- 
lancholy ? 

Ford. 
1  melancholy  !    I  am  not  melancholy.  —  Get 
you  home,  go. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
'Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in  thy  head 
now.  —  Will  you  go,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Have  with   you.— Youll   come   to   dinner, 
George?  —  [Aside  to  Mrs.  Ford.]    Look,  who 
comes  yonder :  she  shall  be  our  messenger  to 
this  paltry  knight. 

Enter  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Trust  me,  I  thought  on  her :  she'll  fit  it. 

Mrs.  Page. 
You  are  come  to  see  my  daughter  Anne  ? 

Ay,  forsooth  ;   and,  I  pray,  how  does  good 
mistress  Anne? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Co  in  with  us,  and  see :  we  have  an  hour's 
talk  with  you. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford,  and  Mrs. 
Quickly. 

How  now,  master  Foraf 


£°fr 


You  heard  what  this  knave  told  me,  did  you 

not? 

Yes ;  and  you  heard  wliat  the  other  told  me. 

Ford. 
Do  you  think  there  Is  truth  in  them  ? 


AT 


Hang  'em,  slaves  ;  I  do  not  think  the  knight 
would  offer  it :  but  these  that  accuse  him,  in  his 
j  intent  towards  our  wives,  are  a  yoke  of  his  dis- 
i  carded  men ;  very  rogues,  now  they  be  out  of 
service. 

Ford. 
'     Were  they  his  men  ? 

Page. 
Marry,  were  they. 

I  Ford. 

I  like  it  never  the  better  for  that.  —  Does  he 
lie  at  the  Garter? 

Page. 
I     Ay,  marry,  does  he.     ft  he  should  intend  this 
j  voyage  towards   my  wife,    I    would   turn    her 
I  loose  to  him;  and  what  he  gets  more  of  her 
than  sharp  words,  let  it  lie  on  my  head. 

Ford. 
I  do  not  misdoubt  my  wife,  but  I  would  be 
|  loath  to  turn  them  together.     A  man  may  be 
itoo  confident :  I  would  have  nothing  lie  on  my 
head.     1  cannot  be  thus  satisfied. 

Pane. 
|     Look,  where  my  ranting  Host  of  the  Garter 


comes.  There  Is  either  liquor  In  his  pate,  or 
money  in  his  purse,  when  he  looks  so  merrily. — 
How  now,  mine  host  1 

Enter  Host,  and  Shallow. 

Host. 
How  now,  bully-rook!  thou'rt  a  gentleman. 
Cavaliero-justice,  I  say. 

Shallow. 
1  follow,  mine  host,  I  follow.  — Good  even, 
and  twenty,  good  master  Page.    Master  Page, 
will  you  go  with  us?  we  have  sport  in  hand. 

Host. 
Tell  him,  cavaliero-justice  ;  tell  him,  bully- 
rook. 

Shallow. 
Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought  between  sir 
Hugh,  the  Welch  priest,  and  Cams,  the  French 
doctor. 

Ford. 
Good  mine  Host  o'  the  Garter,  a  word  with 
you. 

Host. 
What  say'st  thou,  my  bully-rook  ? 

[They  go  aside. 

Shallow. 
Will  you  [to  Page]  B°  with  us  to  behold  it  ? 
My  merry  host  hath  had  the  measuring  of  their 
weapons,  and,  1  think,  hath  appointed  them 
contrary  places ;  for,  believe  me,  I  hear,  the 
parson  is  no  jester.  Hark,  I  will  tell  you  what 
our  sport  shall  be. 

Host. 
Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  my 
guest-cavalier  ? 

Ford. 
None,  I  protest :  but  I'll  give  you  a  pottle  of 
burnt  sack  to  give  me  recourse  to  him,  and  tell 
him,  my  name  is  Brook  ;  only  for  a  jest. 

Host. 
My  hand,  bully:  thou  shalt  have  egress  and 
regress  ;  said  I  well  ?   and  thy  name  shall  be 
Brook.     It  is  a  merry  knight —  Will  you  go, 
An-heires  ? 

Shallow. 
Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page. 

I  have  heard,  the  Frenchman  hath  good  skill 
in  his  rapier. 

Shallow. 

Tut,  sir  !  I  could  have  told  you  more :  in  these 
times  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes,  stoc- 
cadoes,  and  I  know  not  what:  'tis  the  heart, 
master  Page  ;  'tis  here,  'tis  here.  I  have  seen 
the  time,  with  my  long  sword,  I  would  have 
made  you  four  tall  fellows  skip  like  rats. 

Host. 
Here,  boys,  here,  here  !  shall  we  wag  ? 

Page. 
Have  with  you.  —  I   had  rather  hear  them 
scold  than  fight. 

[Exeunt  Host,  Shallow,  and  Page. 

Ford. 
Though  Page  be  a  secure  fool,  and  stands  so 
firmly  on  his  wife's  frailty,  yet  I  cannot  put  off 
my  opinion  so  easily :  she  was  in  his  company 
at  Page's  house  and  what  they  made  there,  I 
know  not.  Well,  I  will  look  farther  into't ;  and 
1  have  a  disguise  to  sound  Falstaff.  If  I  find 
her  honest,  I  lose  not  my  labour ;  if  she  be 
otherwise,  'tis  labour  well  bestowed.  [Exit. 

SCENE 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  u. 


SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Falstaff and  Pistol. 
Falstaff. 
I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pistol. 
Why,  then  the  world's  mine  oyster, 
"Which  I  with  sword  will  open. — 
Falstaff. 
Not  a  penny.    I  have  been  content,  sir,  you 
should  lay  my  countenance  to  pawn:  I  have 
grated  upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves 
for  you  and  your  coach-fellow,  Nym;  or  else 
you  had  looked  through  the  grate,  like  a  gemini 
of  baboons.     I  am  damned  in  hell  for  swearing 
to  geutlemen,  my  friends,  you  were  good  sol- 
diers,   and    tall    fellows:    and  when    mistress 
Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her  fan,  I  took't  upon 
mine  honour  thou  hadst  it  not. 
Pistol. 
Didst  thou  not  share  ?  hadst  thou  not  fifteen 
pence  ? 

Falstaff. 
Reason,  you  rogue,  reason :  think'st  thou,  I'll 
endanger  my  soul  gratis  ?    At  a  word,  hang  no 
more  about  me,  I  am  no  gibbet  for  you : — go. — 
A  short  knife  and  a  throng :  — to  your  manor  of 
Pickt-hatch,  go. — You'll  not  bear  a  letter  for 
me,  you  rogue ! —  you  stand  upon  your  honour  ! 
Why,    thou    unconfinable   baseness,    it   is  as 
much  as  I  can  do,  to  keep  the  terms  of  my 
honour  precise.     I,  I,  I  myself  sometimes,  leav- 
ing the  fear  of  heaven  on  the  left  hand,  and 
hiding  mine  honour  in  my  necessity,  am  fain  to 
shuffle,  to  hedge,  and  to  lurch ;  and  yet  you, 
rogue,  will  ensconce  your  rags,  your  cat-a-moun- 
tain  looks,  your  red-lattice  phrases,  and  your 
bold-beating  oaths,  under  the  shelter  of  your 
honour  !    You  will  not  do  it,  you  ? 
Pistol. 
I  do  relent:    what  would'st  thou  more  of 
man? 

Enter  Robin. 

Robin. 

Sir,  here's  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 

Falstaff. 
Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Quickly. 
Give  your  worship  good-morrow. 

Falstaff. 
Good-morrow,  good  wife. 

Quickly. 
Not  so,  an't  please  your  worship. 

Falstaff. 
Good  maid,  then. 

Quickly. 
I'll  be  sworn ;  as  my  mother  was,   the  first 
hour  I  was  born. 

Falstaff. 
1  do  believe  the  swearer.    What  with  me? 

Quickly. 
Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word  or 

Falstaff. 
Two  thousand,  fair  woman  ;  and  I'll  vouch- 
safe thee  the  hearing. 

Quickly. 
There  is  one  mistress    Ford,   sir:  — I  pray, 
come  a  little  nearer  this  ways.  —  1  myself  dwell 
with  master  Doctor  Caius. 


Falstaff. 
Well,  on :  Mistress  Ford,  you  say, — 

Quickly. 

Your  worship  says  very  true :  —  I  pray  your 

worship,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. 

Falstaff. 

I  warrant  thee,   nobody  hears: — mine  own 

people,  mine  own  people. 

Quickly. 
Are  they  so  ?    Heaven  bless  them,  and  make 
them  his  servants  ! 

Falstaff. 
i     Well :  Mistress  Ford  j— what  of  her  ? 

Quickly. 
I     Why,  sir,  she's  a  good  creature.    Lord,  lord  ! 
!  your  worship's  a  wanton  :  well,  heaven  forgive 
you,  and  all  of  us,  I  pray  1 

Falstaff. 

j     Mistress  Ford  ; — come,  mistress  Ford, — 

Quickly. 

Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of  it. 

i  You  have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries,  as 

!  'tis  wonderful :  the  best  courtier  of  them  all, 

\  when  the  court  lay  at  Windsor,  could  never  have 

I  brought  her  to  such  a  canary ;  yet  there  has 

been  knights,  and  lords,  and  gentlemen,  with 

■  their  coaches  ;  I  warrant  you,  coach  after  coach,  | 

I  letter  after  letter,  gift  after  gift ;  smelling  so 

j  sweetly,  all  musk,  and  so  rushling,  I  warrant 

;  you,  in  silk  and  gold;   and  in  such  alligant 

terms  ;  and  in  such  wine  and  sugar  of  the  best, 

and  the   fairest,    that    would    have   won    any 

woman's  heart,  and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could 

j  never  get  an  eye-wink  of  her. — I   had  myself 

twenty  angels  given  me  this  morning;  but  I 

I  defy  all  angels,  (in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say,) 

1  but  in  the  way  of  honesty  : — and,  1  warrant  you, 

they  could  never  get  her  so  much  as  sip  on  a 

cup  with  the  proudest  of  them  all ;  and  yet  there 

has  been  earls,  nay,  which  is  more,  pensioners  ; 

but,  I  warrant  you,  all  is  one  with  her. 

Falstaff. 

But  what  says  she  to  me  ?  be  brief,  my  good 

she  Mercury. 

Quickly. 
Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter,  for  the 
which  she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times ;  and 
she  gives  you  to  notify,  that  her  husband  will 
be  absence  from  his  house  between  ten  and 
eleven. 

Falstaff. 
Ten  and  eleven  ? 

Quickly. 
Ay,  forsooth  ;  and  then  you  may  come  and  see 
the  picture,  she  says,  that  you  wot  of:  master 
Ford,  her  husband,  will  be  from  home.    Alas  !  i 
the  sweet  woman  leads  an  ill  life  with  him  ;  he's  I  j 
a  very  jealousy  man ;  she  leads  a  very  fram-  |  j 
pold  life  with  him,  good  heart. 

Falitaff. 

Ten  and  eleven.  —  Woman,  commend  me  to 
her  ;  I  will  not  fail  her. 

Quickly. 

Why,  you  say  well.  But  I  have  another  mes- 
senger to  your  worship :  mistress  Page  hath  her 
hearty  commendations  to  you  too  ; — and  let  me 
tell  you  in  your  ear,  she's  as  fartuous  a  civil  i 
modest  wife,  and  one  (I  tell  you)  that  will  not  | 
miss  you  morning  or  evening  prayer,  as  any  is 
in  Windsor,  whoe'er  be  the  other  :  and  she  bade 
me  tell  your  worship,  that  her  husband  is  sel- 
dom from  home,  but  she  hopes  there  will  come 
a  time.     I  never  knew  a  woman  so  dote  upon  a 

man: 


Sc.  11. 


MERRY  WIVES  OE  WINDSOR. 


59 


man  :  surely,  I  think  you  hare  charms,  la  ;  yes, 
in  truth. 

Not  I,  1  assure  thee;  setting  the  attraction  of 
my  good  parts  aside,  I  nave  no  other  charms. 


Blessing  on  your 


neartfor't 
l6taff. 


Hut,  1  pray  thee,  tell  me  this  :  has  Ford't  wife, 
and  /'age's  wife,  acquainted  each  other  how  they 
love  me  ? 

Quickly. 

That  were  a  jest,  indeed  !  —  they  have  not  so 
little  grace,  I  hope : — that  were  a  trick,  indeed  1 
But  mistress  Page  would  desire  you  to  send  her 
your  little  page,  of  all  loves  :  her  husband  has  a 
marvellous  infection  to  the  little  page ;  and, 
truly,  master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never  a 
wife  in  Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she 
does  :  do  what  she  will,  say  what  she  will,  take 
all,  pay  all,  go  to  bed  when  she  list,  rise  when 
she  list,  all  is  as  she  will ;  and,  truly,  she  de- 
serves it,  for  if  there  be  a  kind  woman  in  Wind- 
sor, she  is  one.  You  must  send  her  your  page  ; 
no  remedy. 

Falstaff. 

Why,  I  will. 

Quickly. 

Nay,  but  do  so,  then:  and,  look  you,  he  may 
come  and  go  between  you  both;  and,  in  any 
case,  have  a  nayword,  that  you  may  know  one 
another's  mind,  and  the  boy  never  need  to 
understand  any  thing :  for  'tis  not  good  that 
children  should  know  any  wickedness ;  old  folks, 
you  know,  have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know 
the  world. 

Falstaff. 

Fare  thee  well :  commend  me  to  them  both. 
There's  my  purse ;  I  am  yet  thy  debtor —  Boy, 
go  along  w  ith  this  woman. — This  news  distracts 
me.  [Exeunt  Quickly  and  Robin. 

Pistol. 
This  punk  is  one  of  CupiaTt  carriers.— 
Clap  on  more  sails  ;  pursue,  up  with  your  fights: 
Give  fire  !     She  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  whelm 
them  all !  [Exit  Pistol. 

Falstaff". 
Say'st  thou  so,  old  Jack?  go  thy  ways;  I'll 
make  more  of  thy  old  body  than  I  have  done. 
Will  they  yet  look  after  thee  ?  Wilt  thou,  after 
the  expence  of  so  much  money,  be  now  a  gainer  ? 
Good  body,  I  thank  thee:  let  them  say,  'tis 
grossly  done  ;  so  it  be  fairly  done,  no  matter. 

Enter  Bardolph. 
Bardolph. 
Sir  John,  there's    one  master  Brook  below 
would  fain  speak  with  you,  and  be  acquainted 
witli  you  ;  and  hath  sent  your  worship  a  morn- 
ing's draught  of  sack. 

Falstaff. 

Brook,  is  his  name  ? 

Bardolph. 

I     Ay,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
!     Call  him  in;   [Exit  Bardolph.]  Such  Brooks 
i  are  welcome  to  me,  that  o'erflow  such  liquor. 
:  Ah  !  ha  !  mistress  Ford  and  mistress  Page,  have 
I  encompassed  you  ?  go  to  ;  via  I 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  with  Ford  disguised. 
'  Ford. 

Bless  you,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
And  you,  sir  :  would  you  speak  with  me  ? 


Ford. 
I  make  bold,  to  press  with  so  little  preparation 
upon  you. 

You're  welcome.    What's  your  will?— Give 
us  leave,  drawer.  [Exit  Bardolph. 

Ford. 
Sir,  I  am  a  gentleman  that  have  spent  much : 
my  name  is  Brook. 

Falstaff. 
Good  master  Brook,  I  desire  more  acquaintance 
of you. 

Ford. 
Good  sir  John,  I  sue  for  yours :  not  to  charge 
you,  for   I  must  let  you  understand,  I  think 
myself  in  better  plight  for  a  lender  than  you 
are  ;  the  which  hath  something  embolden'd  me 
to  this  unseasoned  intrusion,  for,  they  say,  if 
money  go  before  all  ways  do  lie  open. 
Falstafl 
Money  is  a  good  soldier,  sir,  and  will  on. 

Ford. 
Troth,   and   I  have   a   bag   of  money  here 
troubles  me:  if  you  will  help  to  bear  it,  sir 
John,  take  all,  or  half,  for  easing  me  of  the 
carriage. 

Falstaff. 
Sir,  I  know  not  how  I  may  deserve  to  be  your 
porter. 

Ford. 
I  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
hearing. 

Falstaif. 
Speak,  good  master  Brook  j  I  shall  be  glad  to 
be  your  servant. 

Ford 
Sir,  I  hear  you  are  a  scholar, — I  will  be  brief 
with  you,  —  and  you  have  been  a  man  long 
known  to  me,  though  I  had  never  so  good 
means,  as  desire,  to  make  myself  acquainted 
with  you.  I  shall  discover  a  thing  to  you, 
wherein  I  must  very  much  lay  open  mine  own 
imperfection ;  but,  good  sir  John,  as  you  have 
one  eve  upon  my  follies,  as  you  hear  them  un- 
folded, turn  another  into  the  register  of  your 
own,  that  I  may  pass  with  a  reproof  the  easier, 
sith  you  yourself  know,  how  easy  it  is  to  be  such 
an  offender. 

Falstaff. 
Very  well,  sir ;  proceed. 
Ford. 
There  is  a  gentlewoman  in  this  town,  her 
husband's  name  is  Ford. 


Well,  sir. 


Falstaff. 
Ford. 


I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protest  to  you, 
bestowed  much  on  her ;  followed  her  with  a 
doting  observance;  engrossed  opportunities  to 
meet  her;  fee'd  every  slight  occasion,  that  could 
but  niggardly  give  me  sight  of  her:  not  only 
bought  many  presents  to  give  her,  but  have 
given  largely  to  many,  to  know  what  she  would 
have  given.  Briefly,  I  have  pursued  her,  as 
love  hath  pursued  me,  which  hath  been,  on  the 
wing  of  all  occasions:  but  whatsoever  I  have 
merited,  either  in  my  mind,  or  in  my  means, 
meed,  I  am  sure,  I  have  received  none,  unless 
experience  be  a  jewel ;  that  1  have  purchased  at 
an  infinite  rate,  and  that  hath  taught  me  to  say 
this : 

Love  like  a  shadow  flies,  when  substance  love 

pursues  ; 
Pursuing    that   that  flies,    and  flying    uhat 

pursues 

1-alstaff. 


6o 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n 


Fatrtaff. 
Have  you  received  no  promise  of  satisfaction 
her  hands  ? 

Ford. 
Never. 

Falstaff. 
Have  you  importuned  her  to  such  a  purpose  ? 

Ford. 
Never. 

Falstaff. 
Of  what  quality  was  your  love  then  ? 

Ford. 
Like  a  fair  house,  built  upon  another  man's 
ground ;  so  that  1  have  lost  my  edifice,  by  mis- 
taking the  place  where  I  erected  it. 
Falstaff. 
To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  this  to 
e? 

Ford. 
When  I  have  told  you  that,  1  have  told  you  all . 
Some  say,  that  though  she  appear  honest  to  me, 
ret  in  other  places  she  enlargeth  her  mirth  so 
ar,  that  there  is  shrewd  construction  made  of 
her.  Now,  sir  John,  here  is  the  heart  of  my 
purpose :  you  are  a  gentleman  of  excellent  breed- 
ing, admirable  discourse,  of  great  admittance, 
authentic  in  your  place  and  person,  generally 
allowed  for  your  many  war-like,  court-  like,  and 
learned  preparations. 

Falstaff. 
O  sir! 

Ford. 

Believe  it,  for  you  know  it — There  is  money  ; 
spend  it,  spend  it :  spend  more;  spend  all  I  have, 
only  give  me  so  much  of  your  time  in  exchange 
of  it,  as  to  lay  an  amiable  siege  to  the  honesty 
of  this  Ford's  wife  :  use  your  art  of  wooing,  win 
her  to  consent  to  you ;  if  any  man  may,  you  may 
as  soon  as  any. 

Falstaff. 

Would  it  apply  well  to  the  vehemency  of  your 
affection,  that  1  should  win  what  you  would 
enjoy  ?  Methinks,  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very 
preposterously. 

Ford. 

O  !  understand  my  drift.  She  dwells  so  se- 
curely on  the  excellency  of  her  honour,  that  the 
folly  of  my  soul  dares  not  present  itself:  she  is 
too  bright  to  be  looked  against.  Now,  could  I 
come  to  her  with  any  detection  in  my  hand,  my 
desires  had  instance  and  argument  to  commend 
themselves;  I  could  drive  her,  then,  from  the 
ward  of  her  purity,  her  reputation,  her  marriage 
vow,  and  a  thousand  other  her  defences,  which 
now  are  too  strongly  embattled  against  me. 
What  say  you  to't,  sir  John  ? 
Falstaff. 

Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with  your 
money ;  next,  give  me  your  hand  ;  and  last,  as  1 
am  a  gentleman,  you  shall,  if  you  will,  enjoy 
Ford's  wife. 

Ford. 

0  good  sir  ! 

Falstaff. 

1  say  you  shall. 

Ford. 

Want  no  money,  sir  John;  you  shall  want 
none. 

Falstaff. 

Want  no  mistress  Ford,  master  Brook ;  you 
shall  want  none.  1  shall  be  with  her  (I  may  tell 
you)  by  her  own  appointment ;  even  as  you  came 
to  to  me,  her  assistant,  or  go-between,  parted 
from  me :  I  say,  I  shall  be  with  her  between  ten 
and  eleven  ;  for  at  that  time  the  jealous  rascally 


knave,  her  husband,  will  be  forth.    Come  you  to 
me  at  night ;  you  shall  know  how  I  speed. 
Ford. 
I  am  blest  in  your  acquaintance.     Do  you 
know  Ford,  sir  ? 

Falstaff. 
Hang  him,  poor  cuckoldly  knave!  I  know 
him  not. — Yet  I  wrong  him,  to  call  him  poor . 
they  say,  the  jealous  wittolly  knave  hath  masses 
of  money,  for  the  which  his  wife  seems  to  me 
well-favoured.  I  will  use  her  as  the  key  of  the 
cuckoldly  rogue's  coffer,  and  there's  my  harvest- 
home. 

Ford, 
would  you  knew  Ford,  sir,  that  you  might 
avoid  him,  if  you  saw  him. 

Falstaff. 

Hang  him,  mechanical  salt-butter  rogue  !  I 
will  stare  him  out  of  his  wits  ;  1  will  awe  him 
with  my  cudgel :  it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor  o'er 
the  cuckold's  horns:  master  Brook,  thou  shalt 
know  1  will  predominate  over  the  peasant,  and 
thou  shalt  lie  with  his  wife. — Come  to  me  soon 
at  night. — Ford's  a  knave,  and  I  will  aggravate 
bis  style ;  thou,  master  Brook,  shalt  know  him 
for  a  knave  and  cuckold. — Come  to  me  soon  at 
night.  [Exit. 

Ford. 

What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this!  — 
My  heart  is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience. — 
Who  says,  this  is  improvident  jealousy?  my  wife 
hath  sent  to  him,  the  hour  is  fixed,  the  match  is 
made.  Would  any  man  have  thought  this?  — 
See  the  hell  of  having  a  false  woman  !  my  bed 
6hall  be  abused,  my  coffers  ransacked,  my  repu- 
tation gnawn  at ;  and  I  shall  not  only  receive 
this  villainous  wrong,  but  stand  under  the  adop- 
tion of  abominable  terms,  and  by  him  that  does 
me  this  wrong.  Terms!  names!  —  Amaimon 
sounds  well ;  Lucifer,  well ;  Barbason,  well ; 
yet  they  are  devils'  additions,  the  names  of 
fiends  :  but  cuckold  !  wittol,  cuckold  !  the  devil 
himself  hath  not  such  a  name.  Page  is  an  ass, 
a  secure  ass  ;  he  will  trust  his  wife  ;  he  will  not 
be  jealous :  I  will  rather  trust  a  Fleming  with 
my  butter,  parson  Hugh  the  Welchman  with  my 
cheese,  an  Irishman  with  my  aqua-vita?  bottle, 
or  a  thief  to  walk  my  ambling  gelding,  than  my 
wife  with  herself:  then  she  plots,  then  she  ru- 
minates, then  she  devises  ;  and  what  they  think 
in  their  hearts  they  may  effect,  they  will  break 
their  hearts  but  they  will  effect.  Heaven  be 
)raised  for  my  jealousy!  —  Eleven  o'clock  the 
lour:  1  will  prevent  this,  detect  my  wife,  be 
revenged  on  Falstaff,  and  laugh  at  Page.  1  will 
about  it ;  better  three  hours  too  soon,  than  a 
minute  too  late.  Fie,  fie,  fie  !  cuckold  !  cuckold ! 
cuckold  I  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.   Windsor  Park 
Enter  Cams  and  Rugby. 
Caius. 
Jack  Rugby! 

Rugby. 
Sir. 

Caius. 
Vat  is  de  clock,  Jack  ? 

Rugby. 
'Tis  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  sir  Hugh  promised 
to  meet. 

Caius. 

By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soul,  dat  he  is  no 

come:  he  has  pray  his  Pible  veil,  dat  he  is  no    ! 

come.    By  gar,  Jack  Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,    j 

if  he  be  come. 

Rugby. 


Act  hi.  5c.  i. 


MEKKY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR 


Si 


llf  is  wise,  sir;  he  knew'  your  worship  would 
kill  him  if  he  came. 

Caius. 
By  gar,  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  as  I  vill  kill 
him.    Take  your  rapier,  Jack ;    I  vill  tell  you 
how  I  vill  kill  him. 

•  ■  ,        FysJ'y- 

Alas,  sir  !  I  cannot  fence. 
Villainy,  take  your  rapier. 
Forbear ;  here's  company. 

Enter  Host,  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Page. 

Host. 
Bless  thee,  bully  doctor. 

Shallow. 
Save  you,  master  doctor  Caius. 


Now,  good  master 

„,  „      Slender. 

Give  you  good-morrow,  sir. 

Caius. 
Vat  be  all  you,  one,  two,  tree,  four,  come  for  ? 

Host. 
To  see  thee  fight,  to  see  thee  foin,  to  see  thee 
averse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  there ;  to 
see  thee  pass  thy  punto,  thy  stock,  thy  reverse, 
thy  distance,  thy  montant.  Is  he  dead,  my 
Ethiopian?  is  he  dead,  my  Francisco?  ha, 
bully  1  What  says  my  JEsculapius  ?  my  Galen  ? 
my  heart  of  elder  ?  ha  1  is  he  dead,  bully-stale  ? 
is  he  dead  ? 

Caius. 
By  gar,  he  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of  the 
vorld  ;  he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Thou  art  a  Castilian-king-  Urinal :  Hector  of 
Greece,  my  boy. 

Caius. 

I  pray  you,  bear  vitness  that  me  have  stay  six 
or  seven,  two,  tree  hours  for  him,  and  he  is  no 
come. 

Shallow. 

He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor:  he  is  a 
curer  of  souls,  and  you  a  curer  of  bodies ;  if 
you  should  fight,  you  go  against  the  hair  of  your 
professions.     Is  it  not  true,  master  Page  ? 

P*8& 
Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been  a  great 
fighter,  though  now  a  man  of  peace. 

Shallow. 
Bodykins,  master  Page,  though  I  now  be  old, 
and  oi  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out,  my  finger 
itches  to  make  one.  Though  we  are  justices, 
and  doctors,  and  churchmen,  master  Page,  we 
have  some  salt  of  our  youth  in  us ;  we  are  the 
sons  of  women,  master  Page. 

Page. 

Tis  true,  master  Shallow. 

Shallow. 
It  will  be  found  so,  master  Page.  Master 
doctor  Caius,  I  am  come  to  fetch  you  home.  I 
am  sworn  of  the  peace ;  you  nave  showed 
yourself  a  wise  physician,  and  sir  Hugh  hath 
shown  himself  a  wise  and  patient  churchman. 
You  must  go  with  me,  master  doctor. 

Host. 
Pardon,  guest-justice: —a    word,    monsieur 
Mock-water. 


Calm. 

Mock-vater  I  vat  is  oat  ? 

Host. 
Mock-water  in  our  English  tongue  is  valour, 
bully. 

Caius. 
By  gar,  then,  I  have  as  much  mock-vater  as 

de  Englishman Scurvy  jack-dog   priest  1  by 

gar,  me  vill  cut  his  ears. 
Host. 
He  will  clapper-claw  thee  tightly,  bully. 

Caius. 
Clapper-de-claw  !  vat  is  dat  ? 

Host. 
That  is,  he  will  make  thee  amends. 

Caius. 
By  gar,  me  do  look,  he  shall  clapper -de-claw 
me ;  for,  by  gar,  me  vill  have  it. 
Host. 
And  I  will  provoke  him  to't,  or  let  him  wag. 

Caius. 
Me  tank  you  for  dat. 

Host. 
And   moreover,    bully,— But    first,    master 
guest,   and  master    Pace,    and    eke    cavalero 
Slender,  go  you  through  the  town  to  Frogmore. 
[Aside  to  them. 
Page. 
Sir  Hugh  is  there,  is  he  ? 
Host. 
He  is  there:  see  what  humour  he  is  in,  and  I 
will  bring  the  doctor  about  by  the  fields.    Will 
it  do  well  ? 

Shallow. 
We  will  do  it. 

Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 
Adieu,  good  master  doctor. 

[Exeunt  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 
Caius. 
By  gar,  me  vill  kill  de  priest,  for  he  speak  for 
a  jack-au-ape  to  Anne  Page. 
Host. 
Let  him  die.    Sheath  thy  impatience  ;  throw 
cold  water  on  thy  choler.    Go  about  the  fields 
with  me  through  Frogmore  ;  I  will  bring  thee 
where  mistress  Anne  Page  is,  at  a  farm-house  a 
feasting,  and  thou    shall  woo    her.     Cried    I, 
aim  ?  said  I  well  ? 

Caius. 
By  gar,  me  tank  you  vor  dat :  by  gar,  I  love 
you  ;  and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  good  guest, 
de  earl,  de  knight,  de  lords,  de  gentlemeu,  my 
patients. 

Host. 
For  the  which  I  will  be  thy  adversary  toward 
Anne  Page  :  said  I  well  ? 
Caius. 
By  gar,  tis  good  ;  veil  said. 

Host. 
Let  us  wag  then. 

Caius. 
Come  at  my  heels,  Jack  Rugby.         [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Field  near  Frogmore. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  Simple. 

Evans. 

I  PR  AY  you  now,  good  master  Slender's  serv- 
ing-man, and  friend  Simple  by  your  name, 
which 


62 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


which  way  have  you  looked  for  master  Caius, 
that  calls  himself  Doctor  of  Physic  ? 
Simple. 
Marry,  sir,  the  petty-ward,  the  park-ward, 
every  way ;  old   Windsor  way,  and  every  way 
but  the  town  way. 

Evans. 
I  most  fehemently  desire  you,  you  will  also 
look  that  way. 


I  will,  sir.  [Retiring. 

Evans. 
Pless  my  soul !  how  full  of  cholers  I  am,  and 
trempling  of  mind  1  —  I  shall  be  glad,  if  he  have 
deceived  me.  —  How  melancholies  I  am! — I 
will  knog  his  urinals  about  his  knave's  costard, 
when  I  have  good  opportunities  for  the  'ork :  — 
pless  my  soul  1  [Sings. 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  ; 
There  will  we  make  our  peds  of  roses, 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies. 
To  shallow  — 
Mercy  on  me  I  I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry. 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  ;  — 
When  as  I  sat  in  Pabylon,  — 
And  a  thousand  vagram  posies. 
To  shallow  — 

Simple. 

[Coming  forward. 
Yonder  he  is  coming,  this  way,  sir  Hugh. 

Evans. 
He's  welcome.  — 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls  — 
Heaven  prosper  the  right !  —  What  weapons  is 
he? 

Simple. 
No  weapons,  sir.    There  comes  my  master, 
master  Shallow,  and  another  gentleman,  from 
Frogmore,  over  the  stile,  this  way. 
Evans. 
Pray  you,  give  me  my  gown  ;  or  else  keep  it 
in  your  arms 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 
Shallow. 
How  now,  master  parson !    Good   morrow, 
good  sir  Hugh.    Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dice, 
and  a  good  student  from  his  book,  and  it  is  won- 
derful. 

Slender. 
Ah,  sweet  Anne  Page  ! 

Page. 
Save  you,  good  sir  Hugh. 
Evans. 
Pless  you  from  his  mercy  sake,  all  of  you ! 

Shallow. 

What!   the  sword  and  the  word?    do   you 

study  them  both,  master  parson  ? 

Page. 

And  youthful  still,  in  your  doublet  and  hose, 

this  raw  rheumatic  day? 

Evans. 
There  Is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 

Page. 
We  are  come  to  you  to  do  a  good  office,  mas- 
ter parson. 

Evans. 
Fery  well:  what  is  it' 

Page. 

Yonder  is  a  most  reverend  gentleman,  who, 

belike  having  received  wrong  by  some  person, 


is  at  most  odds  with  his  own  gravity  and  patience 
that  ever  you  saw. 

Shallow. 
I  have  lived  fourscore  years,  and  upward,  I 
never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and 
learning,  so  wide  of  his  own  respect. 

Evans. 
What  is  he? 

Page. 
I  think  you  know  him  ;  master  doctor  Cams, 
the  renowned  French  physician. 

Evans. 
Got's  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart !    I 
had  as  lief  you  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  por- 
ridge. 

Page. 
Why? 

Evans. 
He  has  no  more  knowledge  in  Hibbocrates 
and  Galen,  —  and  he  is  a  knave  besides;  a 
cowardly  knave,  as  you  would  desires  to  be  ac- 
quainted withal 

Page. 
I  warrant  you,  he's  the  man  should  fight  with 
him. 

Slender. 
O,  sweet  Anne  Page ! 

Shallow. 

It  appears  so,  by  his  weapons Keep  them 

asunder :  —  here  comes  doctor  Caius. 

Enter  Host,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 
Page. 
Nay,   good   master   parson,    keep    in    your 
weapon. 

Shallow. 
So  do  you,  good  master  doctor 

Host. 
Disarm  them,  and  let  them  question:    let 
them  keep  their  limbs    whole,  and  hack  our 
English. 

Caius. 
I  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  vit  your 
ear :  verefore  vill  you  not  meet  a-me? 

Evans. 
t    Pray  you,  use  your  patience :  in  good  time. 

Caius. 
!    By  gar,  you  are  de  coward,  de  Jack  dog,  John 
jape. 

Evans. 
Pray  you,   let  us  not  be  laughing-stogs  to 
! other  men's  humours  ;  I  desire  you  in  friend- 
ship, and  I  will  one  way  or  other  make  you 

amends I  will  knog  your  urinals  about  your 

knave's  cogscomb  for  missing   your  meetings 
land  appointments. 

Caius. 
Diable!  — Jack  Rugby, — mine  Hostde  Jarre- 
tiere,  have  I  not  stay  for  him,  to  kill  him  ?  have 
1  not,  at  de  place  I  did  appoint  ? 
Evans. 
As  I  am  a  Christians  soul,  now,  look  you,  this 
is  the  place  appointed.    I'll  be  judgement  by 
mine  Host  of  the  Garter. 
Host 
Peace,  I  say  !  Gallia  and  Guallia,  French  and 
Welch  :  soul-curer  and  body-curer. 
Caius 
Ay,  dat  is  very  good :  excellent. 

Host. 

Peace,  I  say !  hear  mine  Host  of  the  Garter. 

Am  I  politic?  am  I  subtle?  am  I  a  Machiavel? 

Shall  I  lose  my  doctor  ?  no ;  he  gives  me  the 

potions, 


I  Act  hi.  Sc.  u.  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


potions,  and  the  motions.  Shall  I  lose  my  par- 
ton  ?  my  priest  ?  my  sir  Hugh  t  no  ;  he  gives 

me  the  proverbs  and  the  noverbs Give  me 

thy  hand,  terrestrial ;  so  :  —  Give  me  thy  hand, 

celestial ;  so Boys  of  art,  I  have  deceived  you 

both  ;  I  have  directed  you  to  wrong  places : 
your  hearts  are  mighty,  your  skins  are  whole, 
and  let  burnt  sack  be  the  issue.  —  Come,  lay 
their  swords  to  pawn.  —  Follow  me,  lad  of  peace ; 
follow,  follow,  follow. 

Shallow. 
Trust  me,  a  mad  host.  —  Follow,  gentlemen, 
follow. 

Slender. 
O,  sweet  Anne  Page ! 
[Exeunt  Shallow,  Slender,  Page,  and  Host. 
Caius. 
Ha  !  do  I  perceive  dat?  have  you  make-a  de 
sot  of  us  ?  ha,  ha ! 

Evans. 
This  is  well ;  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting- 
stog. — I  desire  you,  that  we  may  be  friends,  and  j 
let  us  knog  our  prains  together  to  be  revenge  on 
this  same  scall,  scurvy,  cogging  companion,  the 
Host  of  the  Garter. 

Caius. 
By  gar,  vit  all  my  heart.   He  promise  to  bring 
me  vere  is  Anne  Page  :  by  gar,  he  deceive  me 
too 

Evans. 
Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddles.  —  Pray  you, 
follow.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II.    A  Street  in   Windsor. 

Enter  Mistress  Pa«e  and  Robin. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant :  you  were 
wont  to  be  a  follower,  but  now  you  are  a  leader. 
Whether  had  you  rather,  lead  mine  eyes,  or  eye 
your  master's  heels  ? 

Robin. 
I  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like  a 
man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 

Mrs.  Fage. 

0  !  you  are  a  nattering  boy :  now,  I  see,  you'll 
be  a  courtier. 

Enter  Ford. 

Ford. 

Well  met,  mistress  Page.    Whither  go  you  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Truly,  sir,  to  see  your  wife :  is  she  at  home  ? 

Ford. 
Ay  :  and  as  idle  as  she  may  hang  together,  for  | 
want  of  company.     I  think,  if  your  husbands 
were  dead,  you  two  would  marry. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Be  sure  of  that,— two  other  husbands. 

Ford. 

Where  had  you  this  pretty  weather-cock  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 

1  cannot  tell  what  the  dickens  his  name  is  my  i 
husband  had  him  of— What  do  you  call  your 
knight's  name,  sirrah  ? 

Robin. 
Sir  John  Falstaff 

Ford. 
Sir  John  Falstaff"! 

Mrs.  Page. 
He,  he;  I  can  never  hit  on's  name — There  is 
such  a  league  between  my  good  man  and  he ! 
Is  your  wife  at  home,  indeed  ? 


Ford. 

Indeed,  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page. 

By  your  leave,  sir :  I  am  sick,  till  I  see  her. 
[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Robin. 
Ford. 

Has  Page  any  brains  ?  hath  he  any  eyes  ?  hath 
he  any  thinking  ?  Sure,  they  sleep  •  he  hath  no 
use  of  them.  Why,  this  boy  will  carry  a  letter 
twenty  miles,  as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot 
point-blank  twelve  score.  He  pieces-out  his 
wife's  inclination;  he  gives  her  folly  motion, 
and  advantage :  and  now  she's  going  to  my  wife, 
and  Falstaff"&  boy  with  her.  A  man  may  hear 
this  shower  sing  in  the  wind: — and  Falstaff s 
boy  with  her! — Good  plots!  —  they  are  laid; 
and  our  revolted  wives  share  damnation  toge 
ther.  Well ;  I  will  take  him,  then  torture  my 
wife,  pluck  the  borrowed  veil  of  modesty  from 
the  so-seeming  mistress  Page,  divulge  Page 
himself  for  a  secure  and  wilful  Act&on  ;  and  to 
these  violent  proceedings  all  my  neighbours 
shall  cry  aim.  [Clock  strikes.]  The  clock  gives 
me  my  cue,  and  my  assurance  bids  me  search ; 
there  I  shall  find  Falstaff.  I  shall  be  rather 
praised  for  this,  than  mocked ;  for  it  is  as  posi- 
tive as  the  earth  is  firm,  that  Falstaff  is  there: 
I  will  go. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  Slender,  Host,  Sir  Hugh 
Evans,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Page,  Shallow,  &c. 
Well  met,  master  Ford. 
Ford. 
Trust  me,  a  good  knot.    I  have  good  cheer  at 
home,  and  I  pray  you  all  go  with  me. 
Shallow. 
I  must  excuse  myself,  master  Ford. 

Slender. 
And  so  must  I,  sir :  we  have  appointed  to  dine 
with  mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break  with 
her  for  more  money  than  I'll  speak  of. 
Shallow. 
We  have  lingered  about  a  match    between 
Anne  Page  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day 
we  shall  have  our  answer. 
Slender. 
1  hope,  I  have  your  good  will,  father  Page. 

Page. 
You  have,  master  Slender;  I  stand  wholly  for 
you :  —  but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for  you 
altogether. 

Caius. 
Ay»  by  gar ;  and  de  maid  is  love-a  me :  my 
nursh-a  Quickly  tell  me  so  mush. 
Host. 
What  say  you  to  young  master  Fenton?  he 
capers,  he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he 
writes  verses,  he  speaks    holyday,   he   smells 
April  and  May :  he  will  carry't,  he  will  carry't ; 
'tis  in  his  buttons  ;  he  will  carry't. 
Page. 
Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.    The  gen- 
tleman is  of  no  having:  he  kept  company  with 
the  wild  Prince  and  Poins  ;  he  is  of  too  high  a 
region  ;  he  knows  too  much.     No,  he  shall  not 
knit  a  knot  in  his  fortunes  with  the  finger  of  my 
substance:  if  he  take  her,  let  him  take  her 
simply :  the  wealth  1  have  waits  on  my  consent, 
and  my  consent  goes  not  that  way. 
Ford. 
I  beseech  you,  heartily,  some  of  you  go  home 
with  me  to  dinner  :  besides  your  cheer, you  shall 

have 


H 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


have  sport ;  I  will  show  you  a  monster.— Master 
doctor,  you  shall  go:  — so  shall  you,  master 
Page  ; — and  you,  sir  Hugh. 

_,  ,  Shallow. 

Weil,  fare  you  well.  —We  shall  have  the  freer 
wooing  at  master  Page's. 

[Exeunt  Shallow  and  Slender. 

Caius. 
Go  home,  John  Rugby  ;  I  come  anon., 

[Exit  Rugby. 
Host. 
Farewell,  my  hearts.    I  will  to  my  honest 
knight  Falstaff;  and  drink  canary  with  him. 

[Exit  Host. 
Ford. 

[Aside 
I  think,  I  shall  drink  in  pipe-wine  first  with 
him  ;  I'll  make  him  dance.    Will  you  go,  gen- 
tles? 

All. 
Have  with  you,  to  see  this  monster.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 
Enter  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
What,JoA-»/  what,  Robert! 

Mrs.  Page. 
Quickly,  quickly.    Is  the  buck-basket  — 

Mrs.  Ford. 
I  warrant.  —What,  Robin,  I  say  ! 

Enter  Servants  with  a  large  Basket. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Come,  come,  come. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Here,  set  it  down. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Give  your  men  the  charge :  we  must  be  brief. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Marry,  as  I  told  you  before,  John,  and  Robert, 
be  ready  here  hard  by  in  the  brew-house ;  and 
when  I  suddenly  call  you,  come  forth,  and  (with- 
out any  pause,  or  staggering)  take  this  basket 
on  your  shoulders  :  that  done,  trudge  with  it  in 
all  haste,  and  carry  it  among  the  whitsters  in 
Datchet  mead,  and  there  empty  it  in  the  muddy 
ditch,  close  by  the  Thames  side. 
Mrs.  Page. 
You  will  do  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford. 

I  have  told  them  over  and  over  ;  they  lack  no 

direction.    Be  gone,  and  come  when  you  are 

called.  [Exeunt  Servants. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Here  comes  little  Robin. 

Enter  Robin. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
How  now,  my  eyas-musket  I  what  news  with 
you? 

Robin. 
My  master,  sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your  back- 
door, mistress  Ford,  and  requests  your  company. 
Mrs.  Page 
You  little  Jack-a-lent,  have  you  been  true  to 
us? 

Robin. 
Ay,  I'll  be  sworn:  my  master  knows  not  of 
your  being  here ;  and  hath  threatened  to  put 
me  into  everlasting  liberty,  if  I  tell  you  of  it, 
for  he  swears  he'll  turn  me  away. 


"         .  Mrs.  Page. 

Thou'rt  a  good  boy;  this  secrecy  of  thine  shall 
be  a  tailor  to  thee,  and  shall  make  thee  a  new 
doublet  and  hose.  —  I'll  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Do  so.  —  Go  tell  thy  master,  I  am  alone. 
Mistress  Page,  remember  you  your  cue. 

[Exit  Robin. 
Mrs.  Page. 
I  warrant  thee  :  if  I  do  not  act  it,  hiss  me. 

<"Exit  Mrs.  Page. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Go  to,  then  :  we'll  use  this  unwholesome  hu- 
midity, this  gross  watery  pumpion ;— we'll  teach 
him  to  know  turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Falstaff. 
Have   I  caught   thee,   my   heavenly  jewel? 
Why,  now  let  me  die,  for   I  have  lived  long 
enough  :  this  is  the  period  of  my  ambition.    O 
this  blessed  hour  1 

Mrs.  Ford. 
O,  sweet  sir  John ! 

Falstaff. 

Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog.  I  cannot  prate, 

mistress  Ford.    Now  shall  1  sin  in  my  wish :  I 

would  thy  husband  were  dead,    I'll    speak   it 

before  the  best  lord,  I  would  make  thee  my  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
I  your  lady,  sir  John!   alas,  I  should  be  a 
pitiful  lady. 

Falstaff. 
Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  another. 
I  see  how  thine  eye  would  emulate  the  diamond : 
thou  hast  the  right  arched  beauty  of  the  brow, 
that  becomes  the  ship-tire,  the  tire-valiant,  or 
any  tire  of  Venetian  admittance. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
A  plain  kerchief,  sir  John :  my  brows  become 
nothing  else ;  nor  that  well  neither. 

Falstaff. 

By  the  Lord,  thou  art  a  tyrant  to  say  so :  thou 
wouldst  make  an  absolute  courtier ;  and  the 
firm  fixure  of  thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent 
motion  to  thy  gait,  in  a  semi-circled  farthingale. 
I  see  what  thou  wert,  if  fortune  thy  foe  were 
not,  nature  thy  friend:  come,  thou  canst  not 
hide  it. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Believe  me,  there's  no  such  thing  in  me. 

Falstaff. 

What  made  me  love  thee  ?  let  that  persuade 
thee,  there's  something  extraordinary  in  thee. 
Come  ;  I  cannot  cog,  and  say  thou  art  this  and 
that,  like  a  many  of  these  lisping  hawthorn 
buds,  that  come  like  women  in  men's  apparel, 
and  smell  like  Bucklersbury  in  simple-time:  I 
cannot;  but  I  love  thee,  none  but  thee,  and 
thou  deservest  it. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Do  not  betray  me,  sir.  I  fear,  you  love 
mistress  Page. 

Falstaff. 

Thou  might'st  as  well  say,  I  love  to  walk  by 
the  Counter-gate,  which  is  as  hateful  to  me  as 
the  reek  of  a  lime-kiln. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Well,  heaven  knows,  how  I  love  you ;  and  you 
shall  one  day  find  it. 

Falstaff. 
Keep  in  that  mind  ;  I'll  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford. 


•  o -:       ••»„  «  ■ 


M3E5E3E'Jf  W^TES  Off  "WHKBDSQrii 

Act  3 .  Sc.  3  . 


Act  in.  Sc.  in. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


65 


Mr*.  Ford. 
Nay,  I  must  toll  you,  so  you  do,  or  else  I  could 
not  ba  in  that  mind. 

Robin. 

[Within. 

Mistress  Ford!  mistress  Ford!  here's  mistress 

Pngc  at  the  door,  sweating,  and  blowing,  and 

looking  wildly,  and  would  needs  speak  with  you 

presently. 

Falstaff. 
She  shall  not  see  me.     I  will  ensconce  me  be- 
hind the  arras. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

rery 
[Falstaffhidet  himself. 
Enter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 
What's  the  matter?  how  now  ! 
Mrs.  Page. 
1      O   mistress    Ford!    what   have   you    done? 
You're  shamed,  you    are   overthrown,  you're 
undone  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

What's  the  matter,  good  mistress  Page? 

Mrs.  Page. 

1      O  well-a  day,  mistress  Ford!  having  an  honest 

man  to  your  husband,  to  give  him  such  cause  of 

>  suspicion  ! 

Mrs.  Ford. 
What  cause  of  suspicion  ? 
Mrs.  Page. 
What  cause  of  suspicion? — Out  upon  you! 
how  am  1  mistook  in  you  1 

Mrs  Ford. 
Why,  alas  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Your  husband's  coming  hither,  woman,  with 
all  the  officers  in  Windsor,  to  search  for  a  gentle- 
man, that,  he  says,  is  here  now  in  the  house,  by 
your  consent,  to  take  an  ill  advantage  of  his 
absence.     You  are  undone. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
!      Tis  not  so,  I  hope. 

Mrs.  Page. 

:      Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so,  that  you  have  such 

I  a  man  here ;  but  'tis  most  certain  your  husband's 

;  coming,  with  half  Windsor  at  his  heels,  to  search 

1  for  such  a  one:   1  come  before  to  tell  you.     If 

\  you  know  yourself  clear,  why  I  am  glad  of  it ; 

but  if  you  have  a  friend  here,  convey,  convey 

him  out.     Be  not  amazed ;  call  all  your  senses 

I  to  you:  defend  your  reputation,  or  bid  farewell 

to  your  good  life  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  —  There  is  a  gentleman,  my 
dear  friend  ;  and  I  fear  not  mine  own  shame,  so 
much  as  his  peril :  1  had  rather  than  a  thousand 
pound,  he  were  out  of  the  house. 
Mrs.  Page. 
For  shame !  never  stand  "  you  had  rather," 
and  "  you  had  rather  :  "  your  husband's  here  at 
hand ;  bethink  you  of  some  conveyance  :  in  the 
I  house  you  cannot  hide  him.—  O,  how  have  you 
1  deceived  me  !  —  Look,  here  is  a  basket :  if  he  be 
of  any  reasonable  stature,  he  may  creep  in  here ; 
and  throw  foul  linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  were 
going  to  bucking:  or,  it  is  whiting-time,  send 
him  by  your  two  men  to  Dutchet  mead. 
Mrs.  Ford 
He's  too  big  to  go  in  there.    What  shall  I 
do? 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Falstaff. 

Let  me  see't,  let  me  see't !    O,  let  me  see't ! 


I'll  in,  I'll  in.— Follow  your  friend's  counsel 

I'll  in. 

Mrs.  Page. 
What  !  sir  John   Falstaff?    Are  these  your 
letters,  knight  ? 

Falstnrt. 
I  love  thee :  help  me  away ;  let  me  creep  in 
here  ;  I'll  never  — 

[He  gets  into  the  basket :  they  cover 
him  with  foul  linen. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Help  to  cover  your  master,  boy.     Call  your 

men,  mistress  Ford You  dissembling  knight  1 

Mrs.  Ford 
What,  John!  Robert!  John!  [Exit  Robin. 
Re-enter  Servants.]  Go,  take  up  these  clothes 
here,  quickly;  where's  the  cowl-staff?  look,  how 
you  drumble:  carry  them  to  the  laundress  in 
Datcliet  mead ;  quickly,  come. 

Enter  Fori,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
Ford. 
Pray  you,  come  near :  if  I  suspect  without 
cause,  why  then  make  sport  at  me,  then  let  me 
be  your  jest ;  I  deserve  it — How  now  1  whither 
bear  you  this  ? 

Servants. 
To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Why,  what  have  you  to  do  whither  they  hear 
it  ?    You  were  best  meddle  with  buck-washing. 
Ford. 
Buck  !  I  would  I  could  wash  myself  of  the 
buck!  Buck,  buck  buck?   Ay,  buck  ;  I  warrant 

fou,  buck,  and  of  the  season  too,  it  shall  appear. 
Exeunt  Servants  with  the  basket.]  Gentlemen, 
I  have  dreamed  to-night :  I'll  tell  you  my  dream. 
Here,  here,  here  be  my  keys :  ascend  my  cham- 
'  bers,  search,  seek,  find  out :  I'll  warrant,  we'll 
unkennel  the  fox.  —  Let  me  stop  this  way  first : 
—  so,  now  uncape. 

Page. 
i      Good  master  Ford,  be  contented :  you  wrong 
!  yourself  too  much. 

Ford. 
True,  master  Page —  Up,  gentlemen ;   you 
6hall  see  sport  anon  :  follow  me,  gentlemen. 

[F.xit. 
Evans 
•      This   is   fery  fantastical  humours,  and  jea- 
;  lousies. 

Caius. 
By  gar,  'tis  no  de  fashion  of  France :  it  is  not 
i  jealous  in  France. 

Page. 
Nay,  follow  him,  gentlemen :  see  the  issue  of 
,  his  search.       (Exeunt  Page,  Evans,  and  Cams. 

Mrs.  Page. 
!      Is  there  not  a  double  excellency  in  this  ? 
Mrs.  Ford. 
I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better,  that  my 
;  husband  is  deceived,  or  sir  John. 
Mrs.  Page. 
What  a  taking  was  he  in,  when  your  husband 
asked  who  was  in  the  basket  ! 
Mrs.  Ford 
I  am  half  afraid  he  will  have  need  of  washing ; 
so,  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do  him  a 
benefit. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Hang  him,  dishonest  rascal !    I  would  all  of 

the  same  strain  were  in  the  same  distress. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

I  think,  my  husband  hath  some  special  sus- 

■B  picion 


66 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  Act  hi.  Sc.  hi. 


i  picion  of  FalstqfTs  being  here,  for  I  never  saw 
him  so  gross  in  his  jealousy  till  now. 

I  will  lay  a  plot  lolry  trial ;  and  we  will  yet 
!  have  more  tricks  with  Falstaff;   his  dissolute 
disease. will  scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

Shall  we  send  thafroousn  carrion,  mistress 
Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing  into 
the  water ;  and  give  him  another  hope,  to  betray 
him  to  another  punishment  ? 

We'll  do  it :  let  mm  Decent  for  to-morrow 
eight  o'clock,  to  have  amends. 

Re-enter  Ford,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh 
Evans. 

I  cannot  find  him :  may  De,  the  knave  bragged 
of  that  he  could  not  compass. 

Heard  you  that  ?Mr8'Page- 

You  use  me  well',  mastetFord,  do  you  ? 

Ay,  I  do  so. 

Heaven  make  you  bl'tterttian  your  thoughts  ! 

Ford. 
Amen. 

You  do  yourself  mignty  wrong,  master  Ford. 

Ay,  ay  ;  I  must  bear  it. 

If  there  be  any  pody  in  the  house,  and  in  the 
chambers,  and  in  the  coffers,  and  in  the  presses, 
heaven  forgive  my  sins  at  theday  of  judgment. 


By  gar,  nor  I  too 


Caius. 
:  dere  is 


no  bodies. 


T  Evans. 

I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow  on 


If  there  be  one  or  two,  I  shall  make-a  de  turd. 

r>  F9Jd- 

Pray  you  go,  master  Page. 

P 
the  lousy  knave,  mine  Host 

Dat  is  good  ;  by  gar,  vit  all  my  heart. 

.    ,  ,  Evans. 

A  lousy  knave  !  to  have  his  gibes,  and  his 
mockeries.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.  A  Room  in  Page'%  House. 
Enter  Fen/on  and  Anne  Page 

Fenton. 
I  see,  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love  ; 
Therefore,  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 


Alas  !  how  then  ? 


Anne, 


.1  n 
Wl 


„.     ..  Pag®- 

Fie,  fie,  master  Ford!  are  you  not  ashamed? 
What  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  this  imagina- 
tion ?  I  would  not  have  your  distemper  in  this 
kind  for  the  wealth  of  Windsor  Castle. 

Ford. 
'Tis  my  fault,  master  Page :  I  suffer  for  it. 

Evans. 

You  suffer  for  a  pad  conscience :  your  wife  is 
as  honest  a  'omans  as  I  will  desires  among  five 
thousand,  and  five  hundred  too. 

_  ;  Caius. 

By  gar,  I  see  tis  an  honest  woman. 

Ford. 
Well;  I  promised  you  a  dinner.  —  Come, 
come,  walk  in  the  park  :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me  ; 
I  will  hereafter  make  known  to  you,  why  I  have 
done  this —  Come,  wife  ;  —  come,  mistress 
Page :  I  pray  you  pardon  me ;  pray  heartily, 
pardon  me. 

Page. 
Let's  go  in,  gentlemen;  but,  trust  me,  we'll 
mock  him.  I  do  invite  you  to-morrow  morning 
to  my  house  to  breakfast ;  after,  we'll  a  birding 
together:  I  have  a  fine  hawk  for  the  bush. 
Shall  it  be  so  ? 

Ford. 
Any  thing. 

Evans. 
If  there  is  one,  I  shall  make  two  in  the  com- 
pany. 


en ton. 
hy,  thou  must  be  thyself. 
He  doth  object,  I  am  too  great  of  birth, 
And    that    my    state    being    gall'd    with    my 
I  seek  to  heal  it  only  by  his  wealth,      [expense, 
Besides  these,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me,  — 
My  riots  past,  my  wild  societies  ; 
And  tells  me,  'tis  a  thing  impossible 
I  should  love  thee,  but  as  a  property. 

Anne. 

May  be,  he  tells  you  true. 

Fenton. 

No,  heaven  so  speed  me  in  my  time  to  come  1 
Albeit,  I  will  confess,  thy  father's  wealth 
Was  the  first  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne  : 
Yet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bags  ; 
And  'tis  the  very  riches  of  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

Anne. 

Gentle  master  Fenton, 
Yet  seek  my  father's  love  ;  still  seek  it,  sir  : 
If  opportunity  and  humblest  suit 
Cannot  attain  it,  why  then,—  Hark  you  hither. 
[They  converse  apart. 
Enter  Shallow,  Slender,  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 
Shallow. 
Break  their  talk,  mistress  Quickly,  my  kins- 
man  shall  speak  for  himself. 
Slender. 
I'll  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on't.    'Slid,  'tis  but 
venturing. 

Shallow. 
Be  not  dismay'd. 

Slender. 

No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me :  I  care  not  for 

that,  —but  that  I  am  afeard. 

Quickly. 

Hark  ye  ;  master  Slender  would  speak  a  word 

with  you. 

Anne. 
I  come  to  him —  This  is  my  father's  choice. 
O  !  what  a  world  of  vile  ill-favour'd  faults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a 
year  1 

Quickly. 
And  how  does  good  master  Fenton  t    Pray 
you,  a  word  with  you. 

Shallow. 
She's  coming;   to  her,  coz.    O  boy  1  thou 
hadst  a  father. 

Slender. 


Act  in.  Sc.  v. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


67 


Slender. 

I  hail  a  father,  mistress  Anne  :  my  uncle  can 

tall  you  good  jests  of  him.  —  Pray  you,  uncle, 

tell  mistress  Anne  the  jest,  how  my  father  stole 

two  geese  out  of  a  pen,  good  uncle. 

Shallow. 
Mistress  Anne,  my  cousin  loves  you. 

Slender. 
Ay.  that  I  do  ;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman  in 
rshire. 

Shallow. 
He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman. 

Slender. 
Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail,  under 
the  degree  of  a  'squire. 

Shallow. 
He  will  make  you  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
jointure. 

Anne. 
Good  master  Shallow,  let  him  woo  for  him- 
self. 

Shallow. 
Marry,  I  thank  you  for  it ;  I  thank  you  for 
that  good  comfort.   She  calls  you,  coz :  I'll  leave 
you. 

Anne. 
Now,  master  Slender. 

Slender. 
Now,  good  mistress  Anne. 
Anne. 
What  is  your  will  ? 

Slender. 

My  will  ?  od's  heartlings !  that's  a  pretty  jest, 

indeed.      I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet,   I  thank 

heaven  ;  I  am  not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give 

heaven  praise. 

Anne. 
I  mean,  master  Slender,  what  would  you  with 
me? 

Slender. 
Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  little  or 
(nothing  with  you.  Your  father,  and  my  uncle, 
ihave  made  motions :  if  it  be  my  luck,  so  ;  if  not, 
happy  man  be  his  dole  1  They  can  tell  you  how 
things  go,  better  than  I  can :  you  may  ask  your 
father  ;  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Page  and  Mistress  Page 
Page. 
Now,  master  Slender!  —  Love  him,  daughter 
Anne.  — 
Why,  how  now  !  what  does  master  Fenton  here? 
You  wrong  me,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house : 
1  told  you,  sir,  my  daughter  is  dispos'd  of. 
Fenton. 
Nay,  master  Page,  be  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Good  master  Fenton.  come  not  to  my  child. 

Page. 
She  is  no  match  foryou. 

Fenton. 
Sir,  will  you  hear  me  ? 

Page. 

No,  good  master  Fenton 

Come,  master  Shallow; —come,  son  Slender;  in.— 
Knowing   my   mind,   you    wrong   me,   master 

^Exeur-t  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 
Quickly. 


Speak  to  mistress  Page. 

Fenton. 

Good  mistress  Page,  for  that 
daughter 


love   your 


In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do, 
Perforce,  against  all  checks,  rebukes,  and  man- 
1  must  advance  the  colours  of  my  love,       [ners, 
And  not  retire :  let  me  have  your  good  wilL 

Anne. 
Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  yond'  fool. 

Mrs.  Page. 
I  mean  it  not ;  I  seek  you  a  better  husband. 

Quickly. 
That's  my  master,  master  doctor. 

Anne. 
Alas  !  I  had  rather  be  set  quick  i'  the  earth, 
And  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnips. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Come,  trouble  not  yourself.     Good  master 
Fenton, 
I  will  not  be  your  friend,  nor  enemy : 
My  daughter  will  I  question  how  she  loves  you, 
And  as  1  find  her,  so  am  1  affected. 
•Till  then,  farewell,  sir  :  she  must  needs  go  in  ; 
Her  father  will  be  angry. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Anne. 
Fenton. 
Farewell,  gentle  mistress.— Farewell,  Nan. 

Quickly. 

This  is  my  doing,  now— Nay,  said  I,  will  you 

cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a  physician  ? 

look  on  master  Fenton This  is  my  doing. 

Fenton. 
I  thank  thee ;  and  I  pray  thee,  once  to-night 


Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring.    There's  for  thy 

[Exit. 
Quickly. 


pains. 


Now,  heaven  send  thee  good  fortune  1  A  kind 
heart  he  hath :  a  woman  would  run  through 
fire  and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart.  But  yet  I 
would  my  master  had  mistress  Anne  ;  or  I  would 
master  Slender  had  her ;  or,  in  sooth,  I  would 
master  Fenton  had  her.  I  will  do  what  I  can 
for  them  all  three,  for  so  I  have  promised,  and 

11  be  as  good  as  my  word ;  but  speciously  for 
master  Fenton.  Well,  I  must  of  another  errand 
to  Sir  John  Falstaff  from  my  two  mistresses  : 
what  a  beast  am  I  to  slack  it.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Falstaff 'and  Bardolph. 
Falstaff. 
Bardolph,  I  say  1 


Here,  sir. 


Bardolph. 
Falstaff. 


Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack  ;  put  a  toast  in't. 
[Exit  Bardofph.J  Have  I  lived  to  be  carried  in 
a  basket,  like  a  barrow  of  butcher's  offal,  and  to 
be  thrown  in  the  Thames  t  Well,  if  I  be  served 
such  another  trick,  I'll  have  my  brains  ta'en 
out,  and  buttered,  and  give  them  to  a  dog  for  a 
r  year's  gift.  The  rogues  slighted  me  into 
the  river  with  as  little  remorse  as  they  would 
have  drowned  a  blind  bitch's  puppies,  fifteen  i' 
the  litter ;  and  you  may  know  by  my  size,  that  I 
have  a  kind  of  alacrity  in  sinking :  if  the  bottom 
were  as  deep  as  hell,  I  should  down.  I  had  been 
drowned,  but  that  the  shore  was  shelvy  and 
shallow ;  a  death  that  I  abhor,  for  the  water 
swells  a  man,  and  what  a  thing  should  I  have 
been,  when  I  had  been  swelled  !  I  should  have 
been  a  mountain  of  mummy. 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  with  the  wine. 

Bardolph. 

Here's  mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak  w^hjfMf 


68 


MERRY  WIVES  OE  WINDSOR. 


Act  hi. 


&r^n 


Falstaff. 
Come,  let  me  pour  in  some  sack  to  the  Thames 
water  ;  for  my  belly's  as  cold,  as  if  1  had  swal- 
lowed snow-balls  for  pills  to  cool  the  reins.  Call 
her  in. 

Bardolph. 
Come  in,  woman. 

Enter  Mrs.  Quickly. 
Quickly. 
By  your  leave.— I  cry  you  mercy  :  give  your 
worship  good  morrow. 

Falstaff. 
Take  away  these  chalices.    Go  brew  me  a 
pottle  of  sack  finely. 

Bardolph. 
With  eggs,  sir  ? 

Falstaff. 
Simple  of  itself ;  I'll  no  pullet-sperm  in  my 
brewage.— (Exit  Bardolph.]  —How  now  1 
Quickly. 
Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  your  worship  from  mis- 
tress Ford. 

Falstaff. 
Mistress  Ford!     I  have  had  ford  enough:  I 
was  thrown  into  the  ford  :  I  have  my  belly  full 
of  ford. 

Quickly. 
Alas  the  day  1  good  heart,  that  was  not  her 
fault :  she  does  so  take  on  with  her  men  ;  they 
mistook  their  erection. 

Falstaff. 
So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish  woman's 
promise. 

Quickly. 
Well,  she  laments,  sir,  for  it,  that  it  would 
yearn  your  heart  to  see  it.  Her  husband  goes 
this  morning  a  birding :  she  desires  you  oncej 
more  to  come  to  her  between  eight  and  nine.  I> 
must  carry  her  word  quickly:  she'll  make  youj 
amends,  I  warrant  you. 

Falstaff. 
Well,  I  will  visit  her:  tell  her  so  ;  and  bid  her! 
think,  what  a  man  is:  let  her  consider  his  frailty,! 
and  then  judge  of  my  merit. 
Quickly. 
I  will  tell  her. 

Falstaff. 
Do  so.    Becween  nine  and  ten,  say'st  thou  ? 

Quickly. 
Eight  and  nine,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
Well,  be  gone :  I  will  not  miss  her. 

Quickly. 
Peace  be  with  you,  sir.  [Exit. 

Falstaff. 
I  marvel,  I  hear  not  of  master  Brook :  he  sent? 
me  word  to  stay  within.    I  like  his  money  well. 
O  I  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Ford. 
Ford. 
Bless  you,  sir. 

Falstaff. 

Now,  master  Brook  ;  you  come  to  know  what 
hath  passed  between  me  and  Ford's  wife  ? 
Ford. 
That,  indeed,  sir  John,  is  my  business. 

Falstaff. 
Master  Brook,  I  will  not  lie  to  you.    I  was  a 
her  house  the  hour  she  appointed  rap. 
Ford. 
And  sped  you,  sir  ? 


Did  she  change  her  determi- 


.Falstaff, 
Very  lll-favouredly,  master  Brook. 

How  so,  sir?    " 
nation  ? 

_      Falstaff. 

No,  master  Brook  ;  but  the  peaking  cornuto 
her  husband,  master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  con- 
tinual larum  of  jealousy,  comes  me  in  the  instant 
of  our  encounter,  after  we  had  embraced,  kissed^ 
protested,  and,  as  it  were,  spoke  the  prologue  of 
our  comedy ;  and  at  his  heels  a  rabble  of  his 
companions,  thither  provoked  and  instigated  by 
his  distemper,  and,  forsooth,  to  search  his  house 
for  his  wile's  love 


Ford. 
What !  while  you  were  there  ? 

Falstaff. 
While  I  was  there. 

Ford. 

And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not  find 
you? 

Falstaff. 

You  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  have  it, 
comes  in  one  mistress  Fage  ;  gives  intelligence 
of  Ford's  approach  ;  and  by  her  invention,  and 
Ford's  wife's  distraction,  they  conveyed  me  into 
a  buck-basket. 

Ford. 

A  buck-basket ! 

Falstaff. 

By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket :  rammed  me  in 
with  foul  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stock- 
ings, and  greasy  napkins  ;  that,  master  Brook, 
there  was  the  rankest  compound  of  villainous 
smell,  that  ever  offended  nostril. 
Ford. 

And  how  long  lay  you  there  ? 
Fa.ataff. 

Nay,  you  shall  hear,  master  Brook,  what  I 
have  suffered,  to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  for 
your  good.  Being  thus  crammed  in  the  basket, 
a  couple  of  Ford's  knaves,  his  hinds,  were  called 
forth  by  their  mistress,  to  carry  me  in  the  name 
of  foul  clothes  to  Dalchet-lane:  they  took  me 
on  their  shoulders  ;  met  the  jealous  knave  their 
master  in  the  door,  who  asked  them  once  or 
twice  what  they  had  in  their  basket.  I  quaked 
for  fear,  lest  the  lunatic  knave  would  have 
searched  it ;  but  fate,  ordaining  he  should  be  a 
cuckold,  held  his  hand.  Well  ;  on  went  he  for 
a  search,  and  away  went  1  for  foul  clothes.  But 
mark  the  sequel,  master  Brook :  I  suffered  the 
pangs  of  three  several  deaths :  first,  an  intolera- 
ble fright,  to  be  detected  with  a  jealous  rotten 
bell-wether:  next,  to  be  compassed,  like  a  good 
bilbo,  in  the  circumference  of  a  peck,  hilt  to 
point,  heel  to  head :  and  then,  to  be  stopped  in, 
like  a  strong  distillation,  with  stinking  clothes 
that  fretted  in  their  own  grease :  think  of  that, 
—a  man  of  my  kidney, — think  of  that ;  that  am, 
as  subject  to  heat,  as  butter  ;  a  man  of  continuali 
dissolution  and  thaw :  it  was  a  miracle  to  'scape! 
suffocation.  And  in  the  height  of  this  bath, 
when  I  was  more  than  half  stewed  in  grease,  likel  I 
a  Dutch  dish,  to  be  thrown  into  the  ThumcsA 
and  cooled,  glowing  hot,  in  that  surge,  like  ai 
horse  shoe  ;  think  of  that,— hissing  hot, — thinki 
of  that,  master  Brook. 

Ford. 

In  good  sadness,  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for  my 
sake  you  have  suffered  all  this.    My  suit,  then, 
is  desperate;  you'll  undertake  her  no  more?      | 
Falstaff. 

Master  Brook.,  I  will  be  thrown  into  2Etna,  as; 
I  have 


.  Sc.  i. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


I  hive  been  into  Thames,  ere  I  will  leave  her 
Ikui  Her  hushand  is  this  morning  gone  a 
birding  :  I  have  received  from  her  another  era- 
'i  meeting ;  'twixt  eight  and  nine  is  the 
hour,  master  Brook. 

Ford. 

'Tis  past  eight  already,  sir. 
Falstaft*. 

Is  it?  I  will  then  address  me  to  my  appoint- 
ment. Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure, 
an  I  you  shall  know  how  I  speed,  and  the  con- 
dition shall  be  crowned  with  your  enjoying 
In  r :  adieu.  You  shall  have  her,  master  Brook  ; 
■aster  Brook,  you  shall  cuckold  Ford.  f  Exit 
Ford. 

Hum :  ha  !  is  this  a  vision  ?  is  this  a  dream  ? 
do  I  sl^ep  ?  Master  Ford,  awake !  awake, 
master  Ford!  there's  a  hole  made  in  your  best 
coat,   master  Ford.    This  'tis  to  be  married : 

this  'tis  to  have  linen,  and  buck-baskets Well, 

1  will  proclaim  myself  what  I  am  :  I  will  now 
take  the  lecher  ;  he  is  at  my  house :  he  cannot 
'scape  me  ;  'tis  impossible  he  should :  he  cannot 
creep  into  a  halfpenny  purse,  nor  into  a  pepper- 
box :  but,  lest  the  devil  that  guides  him  should 
aid  him,  1  will  search  impossible  places.  Though 
what  I  am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to  be  what  I 
would  not,  shall  not  make  me  tame :  if  1  have 
horns  to  make  me  mad,  let  the  proverb  go  with 
me,  I'll  be  horn  mad.  (Exit. 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Street. 
Enter  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Quickly,  and  William. 
Mrs.  Page. 
T  S  he  at  master  Ford's  already,  think'st  thou  ? 
1  Quickly. 

i      Sure,  he  is  by  this,  or  will  be  presently  ;  but 
I    truly,   he  is  very  courageous   mad  about    his 
throwing  into  the  water.    Mistress  Ford  desires 
you  to  come  suddenly. 

Mrs.  Page. 
I'll  be  with  her  by  and  by :  I'll  but  bring  my 
i    young  man  here  to  school.    Look,  where  his 
I  master  comes  ;  'tis  a  playing-day,  I  see. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
How  now,  sir  Hugh  !  no  school  to  day  ? 
Evans. 
No ;  master  Slender  is  let  the  boys  leave  to 

Pliiy-  Quickly. 

Blessing  of  his  heart  1 

Mrs.  Page. 

!      Sir  Uuzh,  my  husband  says,  my  son  profits 

nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book  :  1  pray  you, 

ask  him  some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Evans. 

iCome  hither,  William :  hold  up  your  head ; 
come. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Come  on,  sirrah  :  hold  up  your  head ;  answer 
your  master,  be  not  afraid. 
Evans. 
William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  nouns  ? 


William. 
Two. 

Quickly. 
Truly,  I  thought  there  had  been  one  number 
j  more,  because  they  say,  od's  nouns. 
Evans. 
Peace  your  tattlings  !  —  What  is  fair,  Wil- 
!  Ham? 

William. 
,      Fulcher. 

Quickly. 
I     Pole-cats  !  there  are  fairer  things  than  pole- 
cats, sure. 

Evans. 
You  arc  a  very  simplicity  'oman :  I  pray  you, 
j  peace.— What  is  lapis,  William  t 
William. 

A  stone. 

hvans. 
And  what  is  a  stone,  William  f 
William. 
j      A  pebble.  _ 

Evans. 
No,  it  is  lapis  :  I  pray  you  remember  in  your 

William. 

I      Lapis. 

Lvans. 

That  is  a  good  William.  What  is  he,  William, 
that  does  lend  articles  ? 

William. 
A  rticles  are  borrowed  of  the  pronoun ;  and 
be  thus  declined,  Singulariter,  nominativo,  hie, 
hate,  hoc.  _ 

Evans. 

Nominative-,  hig,  hag,  hog  ;  — pray  you,  mark : 
genitivo,  hujus.    Well,  what  is  your  accusative 


prain. 


William. 


case? 

Accusativo,  hinc. 

Evans. 

I  pray  you,  have  your  remembrance,  child: 

accusativo,  hing,  hang,  hog. 

Quickly. 

Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  bacon,  I  warrant  you. 

Evans, 
leave  your  prabbles,  'oman.  —  What  is  the 
focative  case,  William  t 

William. 

O — vocalivo,  O.      _ 

Evans. 

Remember,  William ;  focative  is,  caret. 

Quickly. 
And  that's  a  good  root. 

Evans. 
'Oman,  forbear. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Peace !  _, 

Evans. 

What  is  your  genitive  case  plural,  William  T 
William. 


Evans. 


Genitive  case  ? 

Ay-  William. 

Genitive, — horum,  harum,  horum. 

Quickly. 
Vengeance  of  Jenny's  case !  fie  on  her !  — 
Never  name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 
Evans. 

For  shame,  'oman  !  «  ,  , , 

Quickly. 


7o 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i 


Quickly. 
You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words — 
He  teaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  they'll 
do  fast  enough  of  themselves  ;  and  to  call  horum, 
— fie  upon  you  1 

Evans. 
'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics  ?  hast  thou  no  under- : 
standings  for  thy  cases,  and  the  numbers  of  the  j 
genders.      Thou  art  as  foolish  Christian  crea-; 
tures  as  I  would  desires. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Pr'ythee  hold  thy  peace. 
Evans. 
Show  me  now,  William,  some  declensions  of 
your  pronouns. 

William. 
Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 
Evans. 
Tt  is  qui,  quce,  quod;  if  you  forget  your  quis, 
your  quccs,  and  your  quods,  you  must  be  preeches. 
Go  your  ways,  and  play ;  go. 
Mrs.  Page. 
He  is  a  better  scholar,  than  I  thought  he  was. 

Evans. 
He  is  a  good  sprag  memory.    Farewell,  mis- 
tress Page. 

B  Mrs.  Page. 

Adieu,  good   sir  Hugh.     [Kxit  Sir  Hugh.} 
Get  you  home,  boy. — Come,  we  stay  too  long. 


SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 

Enter  FalsUff and  Mrs.  Ford. 

Falstaff. 

Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up  my 

sufferance.     I  see,  you  are  obsequious  in  your 

love,  and  I  profess  requital  to  a  hair's  breadth  ; 

not  only,  Mrs.  Ford,  in  the  simple  office  of  love, 

but  in  all  the  accoutrement,  complement,  and 

ceremony  of  it.     But  are  you   sure  of  your 

husband  now?       _.      _     . 

Mrs.  Ford. 

He's  a  birding,  sweet  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page. 

[Within. 
What  hoa  !  gossip  Ford  !  what  hoa  ! 

Mrs.  Ford. 


Step  into  the  chamber,  sir  John^  ^^ 

Enter  Mrs.  Page. 
Mrs.  Page. 
How  now,  sweetheart  !  who's  at  home  besides 
yourself?  Mrs.  Ford. 

Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 
Mrs.  Page. 

Indeed?  .-      .,     . 

Mrs.  Ford. 

No,  certainly — [A«de.]  Speak  louder. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Truly,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  nobody  here. 

MrsT  Ford. 

Wh*?  Mrs.  Page. 

Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in  his  old  lunes 
again :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with  my  husband ;  ' 
so  rails  against  all  married  mankind  ;  so  curses 
all  Eve's  daughters,  of  what  complexion  soever ; 
and  so  buffets  himself  on  the  forehead,  crying, 
*'  Peer-out,  Peer-out ! "  that  any  madness  I  ever 


yet  beheld  seemed  but  tameness,  civility,  and 
patience,  to  this  his  distemper  he  is  in  now. 
I  am  glad  the  fat  knight  is  not  here. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Why,  does  he  talk  of  him  ? 
Mrs.  Page. 
Of  none  but  him  ;  and  swears,  he  was  carried 
out,  the  last  time  he  searched  for  him,  in  a 
basket :  protests  to  my  husband  he  is  now  here, 
and  hath  drawn  him  and  the  rest  of  their  com- 
pany from  their  sport,  to  make  another  experi- 
ment of  his  suspicion.    But  1  am  glad  the  knight 
is  not  here  ;  now  he  shall  see  his  own  foolery. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
How  near  is  he,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Hard  by  ;  at  street  end :  he  will  be  here  anon. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
I  am  undone  !  the  knight  is  here. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Why,  then  you  are  utterly  shamed,  and  he's 

but  a  dead  man.    What  a  woman  are  you  ! — 

Away  with  him,  away  with  him :  better  shame 

than  murder.  .      _     , 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Which  way  should  he  go?  how  should  \ 
bestow  him  ?  Shall  I  put  him  into  the  basket 
again? 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Falstaff. 
No,  I'll  come  no  more  i'  the  basket.    May  I 
not  go  out,  ere  he  come  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Alas,  three  of  master  Ford's  brothers  watch 
the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  shall  issue  out ; 
otherwise  you  might  slip  away  ere  he  came. 
But  what  make  you  here  ? 
Falstaff. 
What  shall   I  do?-— I'll  creep  up  into  the 
chimney.  Mrg.  Ford. 

There  they  always  use  to  discharge  their  bird- 
ing-pieces.    Creep  into  the  kiln-hole. 
Falstaff. 

Where  is  it  ?      . .      -,     . 
Mrs.  Ford. 

He  will  seek  there,  on  my  word.  Neither 
press,  coffer,  chest,  trunk,  well,  vault,  but  he 
hath  an  abstract  for  the  remembrance  of  such 
places,  and  goes  to  them  by  his  note :  there  is  no 
hiding  you  in  the  house. 

Falstaff. 

I'll  go  out,  then. 

Mrs.  Page. 

If  you  go  out  in  your  own  semblance,  you  die, 
sir  John.    Unless  you  go  out  disguised, — 
Mrs.  Ford. 

How  might  we  disguise  him  ? 
Mrs.  Page. 

Alas  the  day  1  I  know  not.  There  is  no 
woman's  gown  big  enough  for  him  ;  otherwise, 
he  might  put  on  a  hat,  a  muffler,  and  a  kerchief, 
and  so  escape.  Falstaff. 

Good  hearts,  devise  something :  any  extremity, 
rather  than  a  mischief. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

My  maid's  aunt,  the  fat  woman  of  Brentford, 
has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page. 

On  my  word  it  will  serve  him  ;  she's  as  big  as 

'  he 


Act  rv.  Sc.  n. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR 


7« 


he  it:  and  there's  her  thrum'd  hat,  and  her 
mutller  too. — Hun  up,  tlr  John. 
Mrt.  Ford. 

Go,  go,  tweet  sir  John :  mistrest  Page  and  1 
will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 
Mrt.  Page. 
Quick,  quick:  we'll  come  dress  you  straight 
put  on  the  gown  the  while.  [Exit  FalsTaJT- 

Mrt.  Ford. 
I  would,  my  husband  would  meet  him  in  this 
thape :  he  cannot  abide  the  old  woman  of  Brent- 
ford ;  he  swears,  she's  a  witch  ;  forbade  her  my 
house,  and  hath  threatened  to  beat  her. 
Mrt.  Page. 

Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband's  cudgel, 
and  the  devil  guide  his  cudgel  afterwards  1 
Mrs.  Ford. 
But  is  my  husband  coming? 

Mrt.  Page. 

Ay,  in  good  sadness,  is  he ;  and  talks  of  the 
basket  too,  howsoever  he  hath  had  intelligence 
Mrt.  Ford. 
We'll  try  that ;   for  I'll  appoint  my  men  to 
carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  him  at  the  door 
with  it,  as  they  did  last  time. 
Mrt.  Page. 
Nay,  but  he'll  be  here  presently :  lets  go  dress 
him  like  the  witch  of  Brentford. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
1*11  first  direct  my  men  what  they  shall  do 
with  the  basket.    Go  up,  I'll  bring  linen  ibr  him 
straight  TExitr 

Mrt.  Page. 
Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet !  we  cannot  mis- 
use him  enough. 

We'll  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do, 
Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  honest  too : 
We  do  not  act,  that  often  jest  and  laugh  ; 
'1  is  old  but  true, "  Still  swine  eat  all  the  dtaff." 

Re-enter  Mrt.  Ford,  with  two  Servantt. 

Mrt.  Ford. 

Go,    sirs,    take   the   basket   again    on    your 

shoulders :  your  master  is  hard  at  door  ;  if  he 

bid  you  set  it  down,  obey  him.     Quickly^-das- 

Pa  C  1  Servant. 

Come,  come,  take  it  up. 

2  Servant. 

Pray  heaven,  it  be  not  full  of  knight  again. 
1  Servant. 

I  hope  not ;  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much  lead. 

Enter  Ford,  Page,  Shallow,  Cains,  and  Sir  Hugh 

Evans. 

Ford. 

Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  master  Page,  have  you 
any  way  then  to  unfool  me  again?— Set  down 

the  basket,  villain. —  Somebody  call  my  wile. 

Youth  in  a  basket !  —  O  you  panderly  rascals  ! 
there's  a  knot,  a  ging,  a  pack,  aconspiracy  against 
me:  now  shall  the  devil  be  shamed.  —  What, 
wife,  I  say  !  Come,  come  forth  :  behold  what 
honest  clothes  you  send  forth  to  bleaching. 

Why,  this  passes  1    Master  Ford,  you  are  not 
to  go  loose  any  longer  ;  you  must  be  pinioned. 

Why,  this  is  lunatics :  this  it  mad  as  a  mad 
dog. 


Shallow 

Indeed,  master  Ford,  this  is  not  well ;  indeed. 
Enter  Mrt.  Ford. 
Ford. 

So  say  I  too,  tir — Come  hither,  mistress  Ford; 
mistress  Ford,  the  honest  woman,  the  modest 
wife,  the  virtuous  creature,  that  hath  the  jealous 
fool  to  her  husband ! — I  suspect  without  cause 
mistress,  do  I  ?  „  _  . 
'  Mrs.  Ford. 

Heaven  be  my  witness,  you  do,  if  you  suspect 
me  in  any  dishonesty. 

Tord 

Well  said,  brazen-face;  hold  it  out  — Come 
forth,  sirraJj^  the  c,othef  out  of  the  Baiket. 

Page. 
This  passes!      MrsFor<L 

Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  let  the  clothes  alone. 
Ford. 

I  shall  find  you  anon. 

Brans. 

'Tis  unreasonable.     Will  you  take  up  your 
wife's  clothes  ?    Come  away. 
Ford.  T 

Empty  the  basket,  I  say. 
Mrt.  Ford. 

Why,  man,  why,- 


Ford. 


Master  Page,  as  I  am  a  man,  there  was  one 
conveyed  out  of  my  house  yesterday  in  this 
basket :  why  may  not  he  be  there  again  ?  In  my 
house  I  am  sure  he  is :  my  intelligence  is  true  ; 
my  jealousy  is  reasonable. — Pluck  me  out  all  the 

linen'  Mrt.  Ford. 

If  you  find  a  man  there,  he  shall  die  a  flea's 
death-  Page. 

Here's  no  man.    ghaUow 

By  my  fidelity,  this  is  not  well,  master  Ford; 
this  wrongs  you.       Evans. 

Master  Ford,  you  must  pray,  and  not  follow 
the  imaginations  of  your  own  heart :  this  is 
jealousies.  FonL 

Well,  he's  not  hereJ  seek  for. 
Page. 

No,  nor  no  where  else,  but  in  your  brain. 

Help  to  search  my  house  this  one  time :  if  I 
find  not  what  I  seek,  show  no  colour  for  my  ex- 
tremity, let  me  for  ever  be  your  table-sport ;  let 
them  say  of  me,  "  As  jealous  as  Ford,  that 
searched  a  hollow  walnut  for  his  wife's  leman." 
Satisfy  me  once  more ;  once  more  search  with 
me-  Mrs.  Ford. 

What  hoa !  mistress  Page!  come  you,  and  the 
old  woman,  down ;  my  husband  will  come  into 
the  chamber.  Ford. 

Old  woman  !    What  cJd  woman's  that  ? 

Why,  it  is  my  maidis  aunt  of  Brentford. 

A  witch,  a  quean,  an  old  cozening  quean  ! 
Have  I  not  forbid  her  my  house  ?  She  comes 
of  errands,  does  she  ?  We  are  simple  men  ;  we 
— * . dfLJ 


72 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


do  not  know  what's  brought  to  pass  under  the 
profession  of  fortune-telling.  She  works  by 
charms,  by  spells,  by  the  figure,  and  such  daubery 
as  this  is ;  beyond  our  element :  we  know 
nothing. — Come  down,  you  witch,  you  hag  you; 
come  down  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Nay,  good,  sweet  husband— Good  gentlemen, 
let  him  not  strike  the  old  woman. 

Enter   Falstaff  in   Women's   Clothes   led   by 
Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Come,  mother  Pratt;   come,  give  me  your 
hand. 

Ford. 
I'll  prat  her.  —  Out  of  my  door,  you  witch  ! 


[beats  nlm]  you  rag,  you  baggage,  you  polecat, 
you  ronyon  !  out!  out!  I'll  conjure  you,  I'll 
fortune-tell  you.  [Exit  Falstaff. 


Mrs.  Page. 
Are  you  not  ashamed?     I  think,  you  have 
killed  the  poor  woman. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Nay,  he  will  do  it — 'Tis  a  goodly  credit  for 
you. 

Ford. 
Hang  her,  witch  1 

Evans. 
By  yea  and  no,  I  think,  the  'oman  is  a  witch 
indeed:  I  like  not  when  a  'oman  has  a  great 
peard  ;  I  spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler. 
Ford. 
Will  you  follow,  gentlemen  ?    I  beseech  you, 
follow  :  see  but  the  issue  of  my  jealousy.     If  I 
cry  out  thus  upon  no  trail,  never  trust  me  when 
I  open  again. 

Page. 
Let's  obey  his  humour  a  little  farther.    Come, 
gentlemen. 

[Exeunt  Ford,  Page,  Shallow,  and  Evans. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Trust  me,  he  beat  him  most  pitifully. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Nay,  by  the  mass,  that  he  did  not ;  he  beat 
him  most  unpitifully,  methought. 
Mrs.  Page. 
I'll  have  the  cudgel  hallowed,  and  hung  o'er 
the  altar:  it  hath  done  meritorious  service. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
What  think  you  ?    May  we,  with  the  warrant 
of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good  con- 
science, pursue  him  with  any  farther  revenge  ? 
Mrs.  Page. 
The  spirit  of  wantonness  is,  sure,  scared  out 
of  him:  if  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee  simple, 
with  fine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I  think,  in 
the  way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Shall  we   tell   our   husbands  how  we  have 
served  him  ? 

Mr*.  Page. 
Yes,  by  all  means  ;  if  it  be  but  to  scrape  the 
figures  out  of  your  husband's  brains.  If  they 
can  find  in  their  hearts  the  poor  unvirtuous  fat 
knight  shall  be  any  farther  afflicted,  we  two  will 
still  be  the  ministers. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
I'll  warrant,  they'll  have  him  publicly  shamed, 
and,  methinks,  there  would  be  no  period  to  the 
jest.     Should  he  not  be  publicly  shamed  ? 


Mrs.  Page. 
Come,  to  the  forge  with  it,  then  shape  it :  II 
would  not  have  things  cool.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Host  and  Bardolph. 
Bardolph. 
Sir,  the  Germans  desire  to  have  three  of  your 
horses :  the  duke  himself  will  be  to-morrow  at 
court,  and  they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Host. 

What  duke  should  that  be,  comes  so  secretly  ? 
I  hear  not  of  him  in  the  court.  Let  me  speak 
with  the  gentlemen  ;  they  speak  English  ? 

Bardolph. 
Ay,  sir  ;  I'll  call  them  to  you. 

Host. 
They  shall  have  my  horses,  but  I'll  make 
them  pay  ;  I'll  sauce  them:  they  have  had  my 
houses  a  week  at  command  ;  I  have  turned 
away  my  other  guests :  they  must  come  off;  I'll 
sauce  them.    Come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford  and 
Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
Evans. 
'Tis  one  of  the  pest  discretions  of  a  'oman  a* 
ever  I  did  look  upon. 

Page. 
And  did  he  send  you  both  these  letters  at  an 
Instant  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ford. 
Pardon  me,  wife.     Henceforth  do  what  thou 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold,      [wilt ; 
Than    thee  with  wantonness :    now  doth  thy 
In  him  that  was  of  late  a  heretic,  [honour  stand, ! 
As  firm  as  faith. 

Page. 
'Tis  well,  'tis  well ;  no  more,  j 
Be  not  as  extreme  in  submission, 
As  in  offence ; 

But  let  our  plot  go  forward :  let  our  wives 
Yet  once  .again,  tor  make  us  public  sport, 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  fellow,     [it. 
Where  we  may  take  him,  and  disgrace  him  for 
Ford. 
There  is  no  better  way  than  that  they  spoke 


of. 

Page. 

How  ?  to  send  him  word  they'll  meet  him  in 
the  park  at  midnight  ?  fie,  fie  !  he'll  never  come. 
Evans. 
You  say,  he  has  been  thrown  into  the  rivers, 
and  has  been  grievously  neaten,  as  an  old  'oman : 
methinks,  there  should  be  terrors  in  him,  that 
he  should  not    come;    methinks,  his  flesh  is 
punished,  he  shall  have  no  desires. 
Page. 
So  think  I  too. 

Mrs,  Ford. 
Devise  but  how  you'll  use  him  when  he  comes, 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 
Mrs.  Page. 
There  is  an  old  tale  goes,  that  Heme  the 
hunter, 
Sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  forest, 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  still  midnight, 

Walk 


A<  I  tv.  Sc.  v. 


Walk  round  about  an  oak,  with  great  ragg'd 
horns  ;  fcattle ; 

And  there  he  blasts  the  tree,  and  takes  the 
Anil  makes  inilch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner,  [chain 
You  bare  heard  of  such  a  spirit ;  and  well  you 
The  superstitious  idle-headed  eld  [know, 

MUll mil,  and  did  deliver  to  our  age, 
This  tale  of  Herne  the  hunter  for  a  truth. 
Page. 
Why,  yet  there  want  not  many,  that  do  fear 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  this  Heme's  oak. 
But  what  of  this? 

Mr*.  I 

Marry,  this  is  our  device  ; 
That  Falstaffi  at  that  oak  shall  meet  with  us, 
Disguis'd  like  Herne,  with  huge  horns  on  his 
head.  _ 

Page. 

Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he'll  come, 

And  in  this  shape:  when  you  have  brought  him 

thither, 
What  shall  be  done  with  him?  what  is  your 
plot? 

Mrs.  Page. 
That  likewise  have  we  thought  upon,  and  thus. 
Nan  Page  my  daughter,  and  my  little  son, 
And  three  or  four  more  of  their  growth,  we'll 
dress  [white, 

Like  urchins,  ouphes,  and  fairies,  green  and 
With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads, 
And  rattles  in  their  hands.     Upon  a  sudden, 
As  Falstaffi  she,  and  I,  are  newly  met. 
Let  them  from  forth  a  saw-pit  rush  at  once 
With  some  diffused  song:  upon  their  sight, 
We  two  in  great  amazedness  will  fly: 
Then,  let  them  all  encircle  him  about, 
And,  fairy-like,  to-pinch  the  unclean  knight ; 
And  ask  him,  why,  that  hour  of  fairy  revel, 
In  their  so  sacred  paths  he  dares  to  tread, 
In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

And  till  he  tell  the  truth, 
Let  the  supposed  fairies  pinch  him  sound, 
And  burn  him  with  their  tapers. 
Mrs.  Page. 

The  truth  being  known, 
We'll  all  present  ourselves,  dis-horn  the  spirit, 
And  mock  him  home  to  Windsor. 
Ford. 

The  children  must 
Be  practised  well  to  this,  or  they'll  ne'er  do't. 
Evans. 
I  will  teach  the  children  their  behaviours ; 
and  I  will  he  like  a  jack-an-apes  also,  to  burn 
the  knight  with  my  taber. 
Ford. 
That  will  be  excellent.     I'll  go  buy  them 
vizards.  ,,      _ 

Mrs.  Page. 

My  Nan  shall  be  the  queen  of  all  the  fairies, 
Finely  attired  in  a  robe  of  white. 
Page. 
That  silk  will  I  go  buy ;— C  Aside.]  m&  m  that 
time 
Shall  master  Slender  steaLmy  Nan  away, 
And  marry  her  at  Eton,    i  r°  them.]     Go,  send 
to  Falstaffi&traight. 
Ford. 
Nay,  I'll  to  him  again  in  name  of  Brook; 
He'll  tell  me  all  his  purpose.    Sure,  he'll  come. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Fear  not  you  that.     Go,  get  us  properties, 
And  tricking  for  our  fairies. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


73 


!  |  m, 
Let  us  about  it :  it  is  admirable  pleasures,  and 
fery  honest  knaveries. 

[Exeunt  Page,  Ford,  and  Evans. 
Mrs.  Page. 
Go,  mistress  Ford, 
Send  Quickly  to  sir  John,  to  know  his  mind. 

[Exit  Mrs.  Ford. 
Pll  to  the  doctor  :  he  hath  my  good  will. 
And  none  but  he.  to  marry  with  Nan  Page. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot ; 
And  he  my  husband  best  of  all  affects  : 
The  doctor  is  well  money'd,  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court :  he,  none  but  he,  shall  have  her, 
Though  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave 
her.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  In  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Host  and  Simple. 
Host. 
What  wouldst  thou  have,  boor  ?  what,  thick- 
skin  ?  speak,  breathe,  discuss  ;  brief,  short,  quick, 
snap. 

Simple. 
Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  sir  John  Fal- 
staff  from  master  Slender. 
Host. 
There's  his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle, 
his  standing-bed,  and  truckle-bed  :  'tis  painted 
about  with  the  story  of  the  prodigal,  fresh  and 
new.    Go,  knock  and  call ;  he'll  speak  like  an 
Anthropophaginian  unto  thee :  knock,  1  say. 
Simple. 
There's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone  up 
into  his  chamber :  I'll  be  so  bold  as  stay,  sir,  till 
she  come  down  ;  1  come  to  speak  with  her,  in- 
deed. 

Host. 

Ha  !  a  fat  woman  ?  the  knight  maybe  robbed : 

I'll  call.— Bully  knight !     Bully  sir  John !  speak 

from  thy  lungs  military ;  art  thou  there  ?  it  is 

thine  host,  thine  Ephesian,  calls. 

FalstafT. 

[Above. 
How  now,  mine  host ! 

Host. 
Here's  a  Bohemian  Tartar  tarries  the  coming 
down  of  thy  fat  woman.   Let  her  descend,  bully, 
let  her  descend  ;  my  chambers  are  honourable : 
fie!  privacy?  fie! 

Enter  Falstaffi. 
Falstaff. 
There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman  even 
now  with  me,  but  she's  gone. 
Simple. 
Pray  you,  sir,  was't  not  the  wise  woman  of 
Brentford?  „  ,  ,  „ 

Falstaffi 
Ay,  marry,  was  it,  muscle-shell :  what  would 
you  with  her  ? 

Simple. 
My  master,  sir,  my  master  Slender,  sent  to  her, 
seeing  her  go  through  the  streets,  to  kuow,  sir, 
whether  one  Ni/vi,  sir,  that  beguiled  him  of  a 
chain,  had  the  chain,  or  no. 
Falstaff. 
I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Simple. 
And  what  says  she,  I  pray,  sir  ? 

Falstaff. 
Marry,  she  says,  that  the  very  same  man,  that 
beguiled 


74 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v. 


beguiled  master  Slender  of  his  chain,  cozened 
him  of  it. 

Simple. 
I  would,  I  could  have  spoken  with  the  woman 
herself:  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken  with 
her  too,  from  him. 

Falstaff. 
What  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

Host. 
Ay,  come ;  quick. 

Simple. 
I  may  not  conceal  them,  sir  ? 

Host. 
Conceal  them,  or  thou  diest. 

Simple. 
Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about  mistress 
Anne  Page;  to  know,  if  it  were  my  master's 
fortune  to  have  her,  or  no. 
Falstaff. 
'Tis,  'tis  his  fortune. 

Simple. 
What,  sir  ? 

Falstaff. 
To  have  her,  —  or  no.    Co  ;  say,  the  woman 
told  me  so. 

Simple. 
May  I  be  bold  to  say  so,  sir  ? 

Falstaff. 
Ay,  sir,  tike,  who  more  bold  ? 

Simple. 
I  thank  your  worship.    I  shall  make  my  mas- 
ter glad  with  these  tidings.  [Exit  Simple. 
Host. 
Thou  art  clerkly,  thou  art  clerkly,  sir  John. 
Was  there  a  wise  woman  with  thee  ? 
Falstaff. 
Ay,  that  there  was,  mine  host ;  one,  that  hath 
taught  me  more  wit  than  ever  I  learned  before 
in  my  life:  and  I  paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but 
was  paid  for  my  learning. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Bardolph. 

Out,  alas,  sir  !  cozenage  ;  mere  cozenage  ! 

Host. 
Where  be  my  horses  ?  speak  well  of  them, 
rarletto. 

Bardolph. 
Run  away  with  the  cozeners  ;  for  so  soon  as  I 
came  beyond  Eton,  they  threw  me  off  from  be- 
hind  one  of  them  in  a  slough  of  mire  ;  and  set 
spurs,  and  away,  like  three  German  devils,  three 
Doctor  Faustuses. 

Host. 
They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  villain. 
Do  not  say,  they  be  fled :  Germans  are  honest 
men. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
Evans. 
Where  is  mine  host  ? 

Host. 

What  is  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Evans. 

Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments :  there  is 

a  friend  of  mine  come  to  town  tells  me,  there  is 

three  couzin  germans,  that  has  cozened  all  the 

hosts  of  Readings,  of  Maidenhead,  of  Colebrook, 

of  horses  and  money.    1  tell  you  for  good-will, 

look  you:  you  are  wise,  and  full  of  gibes  and 

vloutmg-stogs,   and    'tis   not   convenient-jou 

should  be  cozened.    Fare  you  well.  \axn. 


Enter  Doctor  Cains. 
Caius. 
Vere  is  mine  Host  de  Jarretiere  ? 

Host. 
Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity,  and  doubt* 
ful  dilemma. 

Caius. 
I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat ;  but  it  is  tell-ame,  dat 
you  make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke  de  Jar- 
many  :  by  my  trot,  dere  is  no  duke,  dat  de  court 
is  know  to  come.   I  tell  you  for  good  vill :  .adieu. 

Host. 

Hue  and  cry,  villain  !  go —  Assist  me,  knight ; 
I  am  undone— Fly,  run,  hue  and  cry,  villain  !.  I 
am  undone  !  [Exeunf  Host  amr  Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 

I  would  all  the  world  might  be  cozened,  for  I 
have  been  cozened,  and  beaten  too.  If  it  should 
come  to  the  ear  of  the  court  how  I  have  been 
transformed,  and  how  my  transformation  hath 
been  washed  and  cudgelled,  they  would  melt  me 
out  of  my  fat,  drop  by  drop,  and  liquor  fisher- 
men's boots  with  me:  1  warrant,  they  would 
whip  me  with  their  fine  wits,  till  I  were  as 
crestfallen  as  a  dried  pear.  I  never  prospered 
since  I  forswore  myself  at  primero.  Well,  if  my 
wind  were  but  long  enough  to  say  my  prayers,  1 
would  repent.  — 

Enter  Mrs.  Quickly. 
Now,  whence  come  you  ? 

Quickly. 
From  the  two  parties,  forsooth. 

Falstaff. 
The  devil  take  one  pa>ty,  and  his  dam  the 
other,  and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed.  I 
have  suffered  more  for  their  sakes,  more,  than 
the  villainous  inconstancy  of  man's  disposition 
is  able  to  bear.         „ 

Quickly. 

And  have  not  they  suffered  ?    Yes,  I  war- 
;  rant ;  speciously  one  of  them  :  mistress  Ford, 
good  heart,  is  beaten  black  and  blue,  that  you 
i  cannot  see  a  white  spot  about  her. 
Falstaff. 
What  tell'st  thou  me  of  black  and  blue?    I 
was  beaten  myself  into  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow  ;  and  I  was  like  to  be  apprehended  for 
the  witch  of  Brentford  :  but  that  my  admirable 
dexterity  of  wit,  my  counterfeiting  the  action 
of  an  old  woman,  deliver'd  me,  the  knave  con- 
stable had  set  mei'  the  stocks,  i'  the  common 
stocks,  for  a  witch.  _,  ,  . . 
'  Quickly. 

Sir,  let  me  speak  with  you  in  your  chamber ; 
you  shall  hear  how  things  go,  and,  I  warrant,  to 
your  content.  Here  is  a  letter  will  say  somewhat. 
Good  hearts  !  what  ado  here  is  to  bring  you 
together.  Sure,  one  of  you  does  not  serve  heaven 
well,  that  you  are  so  crossed. 
Falstaff. 

Come  up  into  my  chamber.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.   Another  Room  in  the  Garter  Iun. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Host. 

Host. 

Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  me :  my  mind  is 

heavy  ;  1  will  give  over  all. 

Fenton. 

Yet  hear  me  speak.  Assist  me  in  my  purpose, 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I'll  give  thee 
A  hundred  pound  in  gold  more  than  your  lf£s,st 


Sc.  in. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


75 


Host. 

I  will  hear  you,  master  Fenion;  and  I  will,  at 
the  least,  keep  your  counsel. 
Feu ton. 

From  time  to  time  I  have  acquainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  I  bear  to  fair  Anne  Page  ; 
Who,  mutually,  hath  answer'd  my  affection 
(So  far  forth  as  herself  might  be  her  chooser) 
Even  to  my  wish.     I  have  a  letter  from  her 
Of  such  contents  as  you  will  wonder  at ; 
The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
That  neither,  singly,  can  be  manifested, 
Without  the  show  of  both  ;— wherein  fat  Falstaff 
Hath  a  great  scene :  the  image  of  the  jest . 

rshowTngthe  letter. 
I'll  show  you  here  at  large.     Hark,  good  mine 
Host :  [one, 

To-night  at  Heine's  oak,  just  'twixt  twelve  and 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  fairy  queen  ; 
The  purpose  why,  is  here  ;  in  which  disguise, 
While  other  jests  are  something  rank  on  foot, 
Her  father  hath  commanded  her  to  slip 
Away  with  Slender,  and  with  him  at  Eton 
Immediately  to  marry :  she  hath  consented. 
Now,  sir, 

Her  mother,  even  strong  against  that  match, 
And  firm  for  Dr.  Cains,  hath  appointed 
That  he  shall  likewise  shuffle  her  away, 
While  other  sports  are  tasking  of  their  minds, 
And  at  the  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 
Straight  marry  her :  to  this  her  mother's  plot 
She,  seemingly  obedient,  likewise  hath 
Made  promise* to  the  doctor. — Now,  thus  it  rests : 
Her  father  means  she  shall  be  all  in  white : 
And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 
To  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  bid  her  go, 
She  shall  go  with  him: — her  mother  hath  in- 
The  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor,  [tended, 
(For  they  must  all  be  mask'd  and  vizarded) 
That  quaint  in  green  she  shall  be  loose  enrob'd, 
With  ribands  pendant,  flaring  'bout  her  head  ; 
And  when  the  doctor  spies  his  vantage  ripe, 
To  pinch  her  by  the  hand,  and  on  that  token 
The  maid  hath  given  consent  to  go  with  him. 
Host. 

Which  means  she  to  deceive  ?  father  or  mo- 
ther? 

Fen  ton. 

Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me  : 
And  here  it  rests, — that  you'll  procure  the  vicar 
To  stay  for  me  at  church  'twixt  twelve  and  one, 
And  in  the  lawful  name  of  marrying, 
To  give  our  hearts  united  ceremony. 
Host. 

Well,  husband  your  device :  I'll  to  the  vicar. 

Bring  you  the  maid,  you  shall  not  lack  a  priest. 

Fenton. 

So  shall  I  evermore  be  bound  to  thee  ; 
Besides,  I'll  make  a  present  recomPeQsfEXeunf 


■9"®-0-0-#  ••e--#-©"®--<f- 


SCENE  I. 


ACT  V. 

A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 


Enter  Falstaff  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Falstaff. 

pR'YTHEE,  no  more  prattling;  — go: - 

■■•    hold.    This  is  the  third  time;  1  hope,  good 

luck  lies  in  odd  numbers.    Away,  go.    They 


•  I'll 


say,  there  is  divinity  in  odd  numbers,  either  in 
nativity,  chance,  or  death Away. 

Quickly. 
I'll  provide  you  a  chain,  and  I'll  do  what  I 
can  to  get  you  a  pair  of  horns. 

Falstaff. 

andmince8ay;  ^  WeW!  ifc&ftCTJ* 
Enter  Ford. 

How  now,  master  Brook!     Master  Brook,  the 
matter  will  be  known  to-night,  or  never.    Be 
you  in  the  Park  about  midnight,  at  Herne'&  oak, 
and  you  shall  see  wonders. 
Ford. 

Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as  you 
told  me  you  had  appointed  ? 
Falstaff. 

I  went  to  her,  master  Brook,  as  you  see,  like 
a  poor  old  man ;  but  I  came  from  her,  master 
Brook,  like  a  poor  old  woman.  That  same 
knave,  Ford  her  husband,  hath  the  finest  mad 
devil  of  jealousy  in  him,  master  Brook,  that  ever 

governed  frenzy.    I  will  tell  you He  beat  me 

grievously,  in  the  shape  of  a  woman ;  for  in  the 
shape  of  a  man,  master  Brook,  I  fear  not  Goliah 
with  a  weaver's  beam,  because  I  know  also,  life 
is  a  shuttle.  I  am  in  haste:  go  along  with  me ; 
I'll  tell  you  all,  master  Brook.  Since  I  plucked 
geese,  played  truant,  and  whipped  top,  I  knew 
not  what  it  was  to  be  beaten  till  lately.  Follow 
me:  I'll  tell  you  strange  things  of  this  knave 
Ford,  on  whom  to-night  I  will  be  revenged,  and 
I  will  deliver  his  wife  into  your  hand.—  Follow. 
Strange  things  in  hand,  master  Brook  l.  follow. 

SCENE  II.    Windsor  Park. 

Enter  Paget  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Page. 

Come,  come :  we'll  couch  i'  the  castle-ditch, 

till  we  see  the  light  of  our  fairies Kemember, 

son  Slender,  my  daughter. 
Slender. 

Ay,  forsooth ;  I  have  spoken  with  her,  and  we 
have  a  nay- word,  how  to  know  one  another.  I 
come  to  her  in  white,  and  cry,  "mum;"  she 
cries,  "  budget,"  and  by  that  we  know  one  an- 
other. „ 

Shallow. 

That's  good  too :  but  what  needs  either  your 
"mum,"  or  her  "budget?"  the  white  will  de- 
cipher her  well  enough — It  hath  struck  ten 
o'clock.  page 

The  night  is  dark;  light  and  spirits  will  be- 
come it  well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport!  No 
man  means  evil  but  the  devil,  and  we  shall  know 
him  by  his  horns.    Let's  away;  wN°w|'|MjreUnt 

SCENE  III.    The  Street  in  Windsor. 

IJnter  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford,  and  Dr.  Caius. 

Mrs.  Page. 

Master  Doctor,  my  daughter  is  in  green :  when 
you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the  hand,  away 
with  her  to  the  deanery,  and  dispatch  it  quickly. 
Go  before  into  the  park :  we  two  must  go  to- 

*ether-  Caius. 

I  know  vat  I  have  to  do.    Adieu.    jjrSi  Page. 


76 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  v.  Sc.  m. 


lt     Mrs.  Page.  ,r    , 

Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Exit  CaiusA  My  hus- 
band  will  not  rejoice  so  much  at  the  abuse  of 
Falstaff,  as  he  will  chafe  at  the  doctor's  marrying 
my  daughter :  but  'tis  no  matter  ;  better  a  little 
chiding,  than  a  great  deal  of  heart-break. 

Mrs.  Ford. 

Where  is  Nan  now,  and  her  troop  of  fairies  ? 
and  the  Welch  devil,  Hugh? 

Mrs.  Page. 

They  are  all  couched  in  ?  pit  hard  by  Heme's 

oak,  with  obscured  lights ;  which,  at  the  very 

instant  of  Falstaffs  and  our  meeting,  they  will 

at  once  display  to  the  night. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mrs.- Page. 
If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  be  mocked ;  if  he 
be  amazed,  he  will  every  way  be  mocked. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
We'll  betray  him  finely. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Against  such  lewdsters,  and  their  lechery, 
Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treachery. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
The  hour  draws  on:  to  the  oak,  to  the  oak  1 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Windsor  Park. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  and  Fairies. 

Evans. 

Trib,  trib,  fairies :  come ;  and  remember  your 

parts.     Be  pold,  I  pray  you ;  follow  me  into  the 

pit,  and  when  I  give  the  watch-'ords.  do  as  I 

pidyou.     Come,  come;  trib,  trib.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V.  Another  Part  of  the  Park. 
Enter  Falstaff disguised,  with  a  Buck's  Head  on. 
Falstaff. 
The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve;  the 
minute  draws  on.  Now,  the  hot-blooded  gods 
assist  me  !  —  remember,  Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull 
for  thy  Europa;  love  set  on  thy  horns.— O 
powerful  love !  that,  in  some  respects,  makes  a 
beast  a  man,  in  some  other,  a  man  a  beast. — 
You  were  also,  Jupiter,  a  swan,  for  the  love  of 
Leda ;—  O,  omnipotent  love !  how  near  the  god 
drew  to  the  complexion  of  a  goose!  — A  fault 
done  first  in  the  form  of  a  beast;  —  O  Jove,  a 
beastly  fault!  and  then  another  fault  in  the 
semblance  of  a  fowl:  think  on't,  Jove;  a  foul 
fault.— When  gods  have  hot  backs,  what  shall 
poor  men  do?  For  me,  I  am  here  a  Windsor 
stag;  and  the  fattest,  I  think,  i' the  forest:  send 
me  a  cool  rut -time,  Jove,  or  who  can  blame  me 
to  piss  my  tallow  ?    Who  comes  here  ?  my  doe  ? 

Enter  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page. 
Mrs.  Ford. 
Sir  John  t  art  thou  there,  my  deer  ?  my  male 
deer  ?  .      _ 

Falstaff. 
My  doe  with  the  black  scut? — Let  the  sky 
rain  potatoes ;  let  it  thunder  to  the  tune  of 
«*  Green  Sleeves : "  hail  kissing-comfits,  and 
snow  eringoes ;  let  there  come  a  tempest  of  pro- 
vocation, I  will  shelter  me  here. 

[Embracing  her. 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Mistress  Page  is  come  with  me,  sweetheart. 


|  Divide  me  like  a  bribe-buck,  each  a  haunch : 
'  I  will  keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  for 
:  the  fellow  of  this  walk,  and  my  horns  I  bequeath 

your  husbands.  Am  I  a  woodman  ?  ha!  Speak 
!  I  like  Heme  the  hunter  ? — Why,  now  is  Cupid  a 
;  child  of  conscience ;  he  makes  restitution.     As 

I  am  a  true  spirit,  welcome.  [Noise  within. 


n 


.  Page. 


Alas !  what  noise 

Mrs.  Ford. 
Heaven  forgive  our  sins  1 

Falstaff. 
What  should  this  be  ? 


Mrs.  Ford. 
Away,  away ! 


Mrs.  Page. 

Falstaff 


They  run  off. 


I  think,  the  devil  will  not  have  me  damned, 
lest  the  oil  that  is  in  me  should  set  hell  on  fire ; 
he  would  never  else  cross  me  thus. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  like  a  Satyr;  Mrs. 
Quickly,  and  Pistol;  Anne  Page,  as  the  Fairy 
Queen,  attended  by  her  brother  and  others, 
dressed  like  fairies,  with  waxen  tapers  on 
their  heads. 

Queen. 
Fairies,  black,  grey,  green,  and  white, 
You  moonshine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night, 
YoO  orphan-heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 
Attend  your  office,  and  your  quality — 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fairy  o-yes. 

Pistol. 

Elves,  list  your  names:  silence,  you  airy  toys  ! 
Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  shalt  thou  leap : 
Where  fires  thou  find'st  unrak'd,  and  hearths 

unswept, 
There  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry  : 
Our  radiant  queen  hates  sluts,  and  sluttery. 
Falstaff. 
They  are  fairies  ;  he,  that  speaks  to  them, 
shall  die : 
I'll  wink  and  couch.    No  man  their  works  must 
eye.  [Lies  down  upon  his  face. 

Evans. 
Where's  Bead?—  Go  you,  and  where  you  find 
a  maid, 
That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said, 
Raise  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasv, 
Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy ; 
But  those  as  sleep,  and  think  not  on  their  sins, 
Pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides, 
and  shins. 

Queen. 
About,  about ! 
Search  Windsor  castle,  elves,  within  and  out : 
Strew  good  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room, 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
In  state  as  wholesome,  as  in  stats  'tis  fit ; 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  the  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm,  and  every  precious  flower: 
Each  fair  instalment,  coat,  and  several  crest, 
With  loyal  blazon,  ever  more  be  blest ! 
And  nightly,  meadow-fairies,  look,  you  sing, 
Like  to  the  Garter's  compass,  in  a  ring: 
Th'  expressure  that  it  bears,  green  let  it  be, 
More  fertile-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see  ; 
And,  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense,  write, 
In  emerald  tufts,  flowers  purple,  blue,  and  white ; 
Like  sapphire,  pearl,  and  rich  embroidery, 
Buckled  below  fair  knighthood's  bending  knee : 


Fairies,  use  flowers  for  their  characterv. 
Away !  disperse !    But,  till  'tis  one  o'clock, 


Our 


Act  v.  Sc.  r. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


77 


Our  dance  of  custom,  round  about  the  oak 
Of  Heme  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget. 
Evans. 
Pray  you,  lock  hand  in  hand :  yourselves  in 
order  set ; 
And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  be, 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
1    But,  stay  1  1  smell  a  man  of  middle  earth. 

Falttaff. 

i      Heavens  defend  me  from  that  Welch  fairy, 

lest  he  transform  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese ! 

Pistol. 

I     Vile  worm,  thou  wast  o'er-look'd,  even  in  thy 

birth. 

Queen. 
!      With  trial-fire  touch  me  his  finger-end: 

If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend, 
|  And  turn  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start, 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 
Pistol. 
A  trial  1  come. 

Evans. 
Come,  will  this  wood  take  fire? 
[They  burn  him  with  their  tapers. 

Falstaff. 
Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Queen. 
|      Corrupt,  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire ! 

About  him,  fairies,  sing  a  scornful  rhyme ; 

And,  as  you  trip,  still  ^inch  him  to  your  time. 
Song. 

Fie  on  sinful  fantasy ! 

Fie  on  lust  and  luxury ! 

Lust  is  but  a  bloody  fire, 

Kindled  with  unchaste  desire. 

Fed  in  heart ;  whose  flames  aspire, 

As  thoughts  do  blow  them  higher  and  higher. 

Pinch  him,  fairies,  mutually  ; 

Pinch  him  for  his  villainy  ; 

Pinch  him,  and  bum  him,  and  turn  him  about, 

Till  candles,  and  star-light,  and  moonshine  be  out. 

During  this  song,  the  tiiiles  pinch  Falstaff: 
Doctor  Caius  comes  one  way,  and  steals  away 
a  fairy  in  green  ;  Slender  another  way,  ana 
takes  off  a  fairy  in  white  ;  and  Fenton  comes, 
and  steals  away  Anne  Page.  A  noise  of  hunt- 
ing is  made  within.  All  the  fairies  run  away. 
Falstaff  pulls  off  his  buck's  head,  and  rises. 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mrs.  Page,  and  Mrs.  Ford. 
They  lay  hold  on  him. 
Page. 
Nay,  do  not  fly :   I  think,  we  have  watch'd 
you  now. 
Will  none  but  Heme  the  hunter  serve  your  turn? 
Mrs.  Page. 
I  pray  you  come ;  hold  up  the  jest  no  higher. — 
Now,  good  sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives  ? 
See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes 
Become  the  forest  better  than  the  town  ? 

Now,  sir,  who's  a  cuckold  now?  —  Master 
Brook,  Falstaff :'s  a  knave,  a  cuckoldly  knave ; 
here  are  his  horns,  master  Brook :  and,  master 
Brook,  he  hath  enjoyed  nothing  of  Ford's  but 
his  buck-basket,  his  cudgel,  and  twenty  pounds 
of  money,  which  must  be  paid  to  master  Brook: 
his  horses  are  arrested  for  it,  master  Brook. 
Mrs.  Ford 

Sir  John,  we  have  had  ill  luck  ;  we  could 
1  never  meet.     I  will  never  take  you  for  my  love 
again,  but  I  will  always  count  you  my  deer. 


Falstaff. 
I  do  begin  to  perceive,  that  I  am  made  an  ass. 

Ford. 
Ay,  and  an  ox  too ;  both  the  proofs  are  extant. 

Falstaff. 
And  these  are  not  fairies?  I  was  three  or  four 
times  in  the  thought,  they  were  not  fairies ;  and 
yet  the  guiltiness  of  my  mind,  the  sudden  sur- 
prise of  my  powers,  drove  the  grossness  of  the 
foppery  into  a  received  belief,  in  despite  of  the 
teeth  of  all  rhyme  and  reason,  that  they  were 
fairies.  See  now,  how  wit  may  be  made  a  Jack- 
a-lent,  when  'tis  upon  ill  employment  I 

Evans. 
Sir  John  Falstaff,  serve  Got,  and  leave  your 
desires,  and  fairies  will  not  pinse  you. 
Ford. 
Well  said,  fairy  Hugh. 

Evans. 
And  leave  you  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray  you. 

Ford. 
I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till  thou 
art  able  to  woo  her  in  good  English. 
Falstaff. 
Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun,  and  dried  it, 
that  it  wants  matter  to  prevent  so  gross  o'er- 
reaching  as  this?    Am  I  ridden  with  a  Welch 
goat  too?  shall  I  have  a  coxcomb  of  frize?  'Tis 
time  I  were  choked  with  a  piece  of  toasted 
cheese. 

Evans. 
Seese  is  not  good  to  give  putter:  your  pelly  is 
all  putter. 

Falstaff. 
Seese  and  putter !  have  I  lived  to  stand  at  the 
taunt  of  one  that  makes  fritters  of  English? 
This  is  enough  to  be  the  decay  of  lust,  and  late- 
walking,  through  the  realm. 
Mrs.  Pago. 
Why,  sir  John,  do  you  think,  though  we  would 
have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearts  by  the  head 
and  shoulders,  and  have  given  ourselves  without 
scruple  to  hell,  that  ever  the  devil  could  have 
made  you  our  delight? 

Ford. 
What,  a  hodge-pudding  ?  a  bag  of  flax  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
A  puffed  man  ? 

Page. 
Old,  cold,  withered,  and  of  intolerable  en- 
trails? -     _ 
Ford. 

And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  T 

Page. 
And  as  poor  as  Job? 

Ford. 
And  as  wicked  as  his  wife? 

Evans. 
And  given  to  fornications,  and  to  taverns,  and 
sack,  and  wine,  and  metheglins,  and  to  drinkings, 
and  swearings,  and  starings,  pribbles  and  prab- 
bles? 

Falstaff. 
Well,  I  am  your  theme :  you  have  the  start  of 
me ;  1  am  dejected ;  1  am  not  able  to  answer  the 
Welch  flannel.     Ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet 
o'er  me :  use  me  as  you  will. 
Ford. 
Marry,  sir,  we'll  bring  you  to  Windsor,  to  one 
master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of  money, 
to  whom  you  should  have  been  a  pander :  over  i 
and 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


Act  v.  Sc.  v.  ! 


and  above  that  you  have  suffered,  I  think,  to 
repay  that  money  will  be  a  biting  affliction. 
Page. 
Yet  be  cheerful,  knight:  thou  shalt  eat  a  pos- 
set to-night  at  my  house ;  where  I  will  desire 
thee  to  laugh  at  my  wife,  that  now  laughs  at 
thee.  Tell  her,  master  Slender  hath  married 
her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Page. 
Doctors  doubt  that:    if  Anne  Page  be  my 
daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  doctor  Caius  wife. 

[Aside. 
Enter  Slender. 
Slender. 
Whoo,  ho !  ho !  father  Page! 

Page. 
Son,  how  now !  how  now,  son !  have  you  de- 
spatched? 

Slender. 
Despatched! — I'll  make  the  best  in  Glouces- 
tershire know  on't;  would  I  were  hanged,  la, 
else.  j, 

Page. 
Of  what,  son  ? 

Slender 

I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  mistress  Anne 
Page,  and  she's  a  great  lubberly  boy:  if  it  had 
not  been  i'  the  church,  I  would  have  swinged 
him,  or  he  should  have  swinged  me.  If  I  did 
not  think  it  had  been  Anne  Page,  would  I  might 
never  stir,  and  'tis  a  post-master's  boy. 
Page. 
Upon  my  life,  then,  you  took  the  wrong. 

Slender. 

What  need  you  tell  me  that?  I  think  so,  when 

T  took  a  boy  for  a  girl :  if  I  had  been  married  to 

him,  for  all  he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I  would 

not  have  had  him.      „ 

Page. 

Why,  this  is  your  own  folly.  Did  not  I  tell 
you,  how  you  should  know  my  daughter  by  her 
garments?-  slender 

I  went  to  her  in  white,  and  cried,  "mum," 
and  she  cried  "budget,"  as  Anne  and  I  had 
appointed ;  and  yet  it  was  not  Anne,  but  a  post- 
master's boy.  M      _ 

J  Mrs.  Page. 

Good  George,  be  not  angry :  I  knew  of  your 
purpose ;  turned  my  daughter  into  green ;  and, 
indeed,  she  is  now  with  the  doctor  at  the  deanery, 
and  there  married. 

Enter  Doctor  Caius . 
Caiui. 

Vere  is  mistress  Page?  By.gar,  I  am  cozened; 
I  ha'  married  un  gargon,  a  boy ;  tin  paisan,  by 
gar,  a  boy:  it  is  not  Anne  Page;  by  gar,  I  am 
cozened. 


Mrs.  Page. 

Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green  ? 

Caius. 

Ay,  by  gar,  and  'tis  a  boy:  by  gar,  I'll  raise 

1  Windsor.  fExit  Cains. 


all  Windsor. 


Ford. 


[Exit  Caius. 


This  is  strange.  Who  hath  got  the  right  Anne  f 

Page. 
My  heart  misgives  me.    Here  comes  master 
Fenton. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Anne  Page. 
How  now,  master  Fenton! 
Anne. 
Pardon,  good  father !  good  my  mother,  pardon ! 

Page. 
Now,  mistress ;  how  chance  you  went  not  with 
master  Slender  ? 

Mrs.  Page. 
Why  went  you  not  with  master  doctor,  maid? 

Fenton. 
You  do  amaze  her:  hear  the  truth  of  it. 
You  would  have  married  her  most  shamefully, 
Where  there  was  no  proportion  held  in  love. 
The  truth  is,  she  and  I,  long  since  contracted, 
Are  now  so  sure,  that  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  offence  is  holy  that  she  hath  committed ; 
And  this  deceit  loses  the  name  of  craft, 
Of  disobedience,  or  unduteous  title, 
Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun 
A  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours,  [upon  her. 
Which  forced  marriage  would   have  brought 
Ford. 
Stand  not  amaz'd:  here  is  no  remedy. — 
In  love,  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the 

state : 
Money  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 
Falstaff. 
I  am  gIad,though  you  have  ta'en  a  special  stand 
to  strike  at  me,  that  your  arrow  hath  glanced. 
Page. 
Well,  what  remedy?     Fenton,  heaven  give 
thee  joy. 
What  cannot  be  eschew'd,  must  be  embrac'd. 

Falstaff. 
I     When  night-dogs  run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are 
chas'd.  _,      _ 

Mrs.  Page. 

J     Well,  I  will  muse  no  farther.  — Master  Fenton, 
I  Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days.  — 
!  Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go  home, 

And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  fire; 

Sir  John  and  all.        _,     . 
Ford. 

Let  it  be  so. — Sir  John, 
To  master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  your  word ; 
For  he,  to-night,  shall  lie  with  mistress  Jb-rd. . 


• 


Act  i.  &•.  i. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


VINCENTIO,  the  Duke. 

Angelo,  the  Deputy. 

Escalus,  an  ancient  Lord. 

Claudio,  a  young  Gentleman. 

Lucio,  a  Fantastic. 

Two  other  like  Gentlemen. 

Provost. 

Jar}"-""- 

A  Justice. 

Elbow,  a  simple  Constable. 

Froth,  a  foolish  Gentleman. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.   An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace 

Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Duke. 


Escalus. 


Duki 


7SCALUS ! 

My  lord. 


Of  government  the  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  t'  affect  speech  and  discourse ; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know,  that  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you :  then,  no  more  remains, 
Put  that  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able, 
And  let  them  work.    The  nature  of  our  people, 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  y'  are  as  pregnant  in 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember.    There  is  our  commission, 

From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp 

Call  hither, 

I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo 

^Exit  an  Attendant. 
What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  will  bear  ? 
For,  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply. 
Lent  him  our  terror,  drest  him  with  our  love, 
And  given  his  deputation  all  the  organs 
Vf  our  own  power.    What  think  you  of  it  ? 
Escalus. 

If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honour, 
It  is  lord  Angelo. 


I  Clown. 

lAbhorson,  an  Executioner 

iBamardine,  a  dissolute  Prisoner. 

j  Isabella,  sister  to  Claudio. 

Mariana,  betrothed  to  Angelo. 

Juliet,  beloved  of  Claudio. 

Francisca,  a  Nun. 

'Mistress  Over-done,  a  Bawd, 

Lords,  Gentlemen.  Guards,  Officers,  and  other 
Attendants. 

SCENE,  Vienna. 


Enter  Angelo. 
Duke. 

Look,  where  he  comes. 

Angeio. 
Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  "to  know  your  pleasure. 
Duke. 

Angelo, 
There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life, 
That,  to  th'  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold.     Thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do, 
Not  light  them  for  themselves ;  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike  [touch'd, 
As  if  we  had  them  not.    Spirits  are  not  finely 
But  to  fine  issues  ;  nor  nature  never  lends 
[The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence, 
But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 
Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor, 
Both  thanks  and  use.    But  I  do  bend  my  speech 
To  one  that  can  my  part  in  him  advertise : 
Hold,  therefore,  Angelo  : 
In  our  remove,  be  thou  at  full  ourself ; 
Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 
Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart.    Old  Escalus, 
Though  first  in  question,  is  thy  secondary : 
Take  thy  commission. 

Angelo. 

Now,  good  my  lord, 
Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal, 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamped  upon  it. 


8o 


MEASUKE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  i.  Sc  i. 


Duke. 

No  more  evasion : 
We  have  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepared  choice 
Proceeded  to  you  ;  therefore  take  your  honours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition, 
That  it  prefers  itself,  and  leaves  unquestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.  We  shall  write  to  you, 
As  time  and  our  concernings  shall  importune, 
How  it  goes  with  us  ;  and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.    So,  fare  you  well: 
To  the  hopeful  execution  do  1  leave  you 
Of  your  commissions. 

Angelo. 

Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord, 
That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

TDuke. 
My  haste  may  not  admit  it ; 
Nor  need  you,  "on  mine  honour,  have  to  do 
With  any  scruple :  your  scope  is  as  mine  own, 
So  to  enforce,  or  qualify  the  laws 
As  to  your  soul  seems  good.  Give  me  your  hand. 
I'll  privily  away:  I  love  the  people, 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eves. 
Though  it  do  well,  1  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves  vehement, 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion, 
That  does  affect  it.    Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

Angelo 

The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes  ! 

Escalus. 
Lead  forth,  and  bring  you  back  in  happiness  1 

Duke. 
I  thank  you.    Fare  you  well  [Exit. 

fiscal  us. 
I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  to  give  me  leave 
To  have  freespeech  with  you ;  and  it  concerns  me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  my  place : 
A  power  I  have,  but  of  what  strength  and  nature 
I  am  not  yet  instructed. 

Angelo. 
•Tis  so  with  me.    Let  us  withdraw  together, 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have 
Touching  that  point. 

Escalus. 
I'll  wait  upon  your  .honour. 

SCENE  II.    A  Street. 

Fnter  Lucfo  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lucio. 

If  the  duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come  not  to 

composition   with  the  king  of  Hungary,  why  I 

then,  all  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

1  Gentleman. 

Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not  the  king  of 
Hungary's  1  _ 

*    *  2  Gentleman. 


2  Gentleman. 
I  never  heard  any  soldier  dislike  it. 

Lucio. 
I  believe  thee  ;  for,  I  think,  thou  never  wast 
where  grace  was  said. 

2  Gentleman. 
No  ?  a  dozen  times  at  least. 
1  Gentleman. 
What,  in  metre  ? 

Lucio. 
In  any  proportion,  or  in  any  language. 

1  Gentleman. 
I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio. 
Ay  ;  why  not  ?    Grace  is  grace,  despite  of  all 
controversy :  as  for  example  ;  thou  thyself  art  a 
wicked  villain,  despite  of  all  grace. 
1  Gentleman. 
Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  sheers  between 
us.  .      , 

Lucio. 

I  grant ;  as  there  may  between  the  lists  and 
the  velvet;  thou  art  the  list. 
1  Gentleman. 

And  thou  the  velvet :  thou  art  good  velvet : 
thou  art  a  three-pil'd  piece,  I  warrant  thee.  I 
had  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English  kersey,  as  be 

?il'd,  as  thou  art  pild,  for  a  French  velvet.    Do 
speak  feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio. 
1  think  thou  dost ;   and,  indeed,  with  most 
painful  feeling  of  thy  speech  :  I  will,  out  of  thine 
own  confession,  learn  to  begin  thy  health  ;  but, 
whilst  1  live,  forget  to  drink  after  thee. 

1  Gentleman. 

I  think,  I  have  done  myself  wrong,  have  I  not? 

2  Gentleman . 

Yes,  that  thou  hast,  whether  thou  art  tainted, 
orfree'  Lucio. 

Behold,  behold,  where  madam  Mitigation 
comes!  1  Gentleman. 

I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases  under  her 
roof,  as  come  to  — 

i  Gentleman. 


To  what,  I  pray  ? 
Judge. 


Lucio. 

2  Gentleman. 


To  three  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
J  Gentleman. 


Ay,  and  more. 


..ucio. 


Amen. 


Lucio. 


Thou  concludest,  like  the  sanctimonious  pi-  , 
rate,  that  went  to  sea  with  the  ten  command- 
ments, but  scraped  one  out  of  the  table. 
2  Gentleman. 

Thou  shalt  not  steal  ? 

Lucio. 

Ay,  that  he  razed. 

1  Gentleman. 


Why?  'Twa3  a  commandment  to  command  ;  profound  sciatica  ? 
j  the  captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  functions :  | 
;  they  put  forth  to  steal.    There's  not  a  soldier  of 
I  us  all,  that,  in  the  thanksgiving  before  meat, 
(  doth  relish  the  petition  well  that  prays  for  peace. 


A  French  crown  more. 

2  Gentleman. 

Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  in  me  ;  but 
thou  art  full  of  error  :  I  am  sound. 
Luc.i-i 

Nay,  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy ;  but  so 
sound  as  things  that  are  hollow  :  thy  bones  are 
hollow  ;  impiety  has  made  a  feast  of  thee. 
Enter  Bawd. 
1  Gentleman. 
How  now  ?    Which  of  your  hips  has  the  most 


Well,  well :  there's  one  yonder  arrested,  and 
carried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  o/ 

y°u  »»■  2  Gentleman. 


Sc.  hi. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Bi 


:  ieman. 
Who's  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 
Bawd. 
Marry,  sir,  that'i  Claudio  j  signior  Claudio. 

1  Gentleman. 
Claudio  to  prison  !  'tis  not  so. 

Bawd. 

Nay,  but  I  know,  'tis  so :  I  saw  him  arrested  ; 

saw  him  carried  away  ;   and,  which  is  more, 

within  these  three  days  his  head  to  be  chopped 

off. 

Lucio. 
But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not  have  it 
so.     Art  thou  sure  of  this  ? 
Bawd. 
I  am  too  sure  of  it ;  and  it  is  for  getting  madam 
JulicUa  with  child. 

Lucio. 
Believe  me,  this  may  be :  he  promised  to  meet 
me  two  hours  since,  and  he  was  ever  precise  in 
promise-keeping. 

2  Gentleman. 

Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  something  near 
to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 
1  Gentleman. 
But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  proclamation. 

Lucio. 
Away :  let's  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

[Exeunt  Lucio  and  Gentlemen. 

Bawd. 

Thus,  what  with  the  war,    what  with    the 

sweat,  what  with  the  gallows,  and  what  with 

|    poverty,  1  am  custom-shrunk.   How  now?  what's 

the  news  with  you  ? 

Enter  Clown. 

Clown. 

Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Bawd. 
Well :  what  has  he  done  ? 

Clown. 
A  woman. 

Bawd. 
But  what's  his  offence  ? 

Clown. 
Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Bawd. 
What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by  him  ? 

Clown. 
No  ;  but  there's  a  woman  with  maid  by  him. 
I    You  have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have 
i    you  ? 

Bawd. 
What  proclamation,  man  ? 

Clown. 
All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must  be 
pluck'd  down. 

Bawd. 
And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the  city  ? 

Clown. 

I'      They  shall  stand  for  seed:   they  had  gone 
down  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 
Bawd. 
But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the  suburbs 
be  pulled  down  ? 

Clown. 

To  the  ground,  mistress. 

[  Bawd. 

Why,  here's  a  change,  indeed,  in  the  com- 
monwealth 1    What  shall  become  of  me  ? 


Clown. 
Come  ;  fear  not  you :   good  counsellors  lack 
no  clients  :  though  you  change  your  place,  you 
need  not  change  your  trade  ;  I'll  be  your  tapster 
still.     Courage !  there  will  be  pity  taken  on  you ; 
you  that  have  worn  your  eyes  almost  out  in  the 
service :  you  will  be  considered. 
Bawd. 
What's  to  do  here,  Thomas  Tapster?    Let's 
withdraw. 

Clown. 

Here  comes  signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  provost 

to  prison  :  and  there's  madam  Juliet.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same. 

Enter   Provost,  Claudio,  Juliet,  and  Officers; 
Lucio,  and  two  Gentlemen. 
Claudio. 
Fellow,  why  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to  th* 
world  ? 
Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am  committed, 
l'rovost. 
I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 
Claudio. 
Thus  can  the  demi-god,  Authority, 
Make  us  pay  down  for  our  offence  by  weight. — 
The  words  of  heaven ;— on  whom  it  will,  it  will ; 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so  :  yet  still  'tis  just. 
Lucio. 
Why,  how  now,  Claudio  ?  whence  comes  this 
restraint  ? 

Claudio. 
From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty  ; 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fast, 
So  every  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint :  Our  natures  do  pursue, 
Like  rats  that  ravin  down  their  proper  bane, 
A  thirsty  evil,  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 
Lucio. 
If  I  could  speak  so  wisely  under  an  arrest,  I 
would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors-    And 
yet,  to  say  the  truth,  1  had  as  lief  have  the  fop- 
pery of  freedom,  as  the  morality  of  imprison- 
ment.—What's  thy  offence,  Claudio  ? 
Claudio. 
What  but  to  speak  of  would  offend  again. 

Lucio. 
What  is  it  ?  murder  ? 

Claudio. 


Lucio. 
Claudio. 


No. 

Lechery  V 

Call  it  so. 

Provost. 
Away,  sir:  you  must  go. 

Claudio. 

One  word,  good  friend. — Lucio,  a  word  with 

you.  [Takes  him  aside. 

Lucio. 

A  hundred,  if  they'll  do  you  any  good.— Is 

lechery  so  look'd  after  ? 

Claudio. 
Thus  stands  it  with  me : — Upon  a  true  contract, 
I  got  possession  of  Julietta's  bed: 
You  know  the  lady  ;  she  is  fast  my  wife, 
Save  that  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order:  this  we  came  not  to, 
Only  for  propagation  of  a  dower 
Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends, 
From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love, 
g  Till 


82 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  i.  Sc.   in. 


Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.  But  it  chances, 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment 
With  character  too  gross  is  writ  on  Juliet. 

Luoio. 

With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claudio. 

Unhappily,  even  so. 
And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke, — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse  of  newness, 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride, 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur ; 
Whether  the  tyrarny  be  in  his  place, 
Or  in  his  eminonus  that  fills  it  up, 
I  stagger  in  ;  —  but  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enrolled  penalties,         [wall 
Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the 
So  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacks  have  gone  round, 
And  none  of  them  been  worn  ;  and,  for  a  name, 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me:  — 'tis  surely,  for  a  name. 
Lucio. 

I  warrant,  it  is ;  and  thy  head  stands  so  tickle 
on  thy  shoulders,  that  a  milk-maid,  if  she  be  in 
love,  may  sigh  it  off.  Send  after  the  duke,  and 
appeal  to  him. 

Claudio. 

I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not  to  be  found. 
I  pr'ythee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service. 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister  enter, 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  : 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state ; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy  ;  bid  herself  assay  him : 
I  have  great  hope  in  that ;  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect,      [art, 
Such  as  moves  men :  beside,  she  hath  prosperous 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse, 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 
Lucio. 

I  pray,  she  may:  as  well  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under 
grievous  imposition,  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy 
life,  who  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus  fool- 
ishly lost  at  a  game  of  tick-tack.  I'll  to  her. 
Claudio. 

I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 
Lucio. 

Within  two  hours, 

Claudio. 

Come,  officer ;  away  I 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Monastery. 

Enter  Duke,  and  Friar  Thomas. 

Duke. 

No,  holy  father  ;  throw  away  that  thought : 

Believe  not  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  love 

Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom.     Why  I  desire 

thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled,  than  the  aims  and 
Of  burning  youth.  [ends 

Friar. 
May  your  grace  speak  of  it  ? 
Duke 
My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lov'd  the  life  remov'd  ; 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies, 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery 
I  hare  deliver'd  to  lord  Angela  [keeps. 


(A  man  of  stricture,  and  firm  abstinence) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear, 
And  so  it  is  receiv'd.     Now,  pious  sir, 
You  will  demand  of  me,  why  I  do  this  ? 

Friar. 
Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
We  have  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting  laws, 
(The   needful  bits  and  curbs  to  head-strong 

steeds,) 
Which  for  this  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep  ; 
Even  like  an  o'er-grown  lion  in  a  cave, 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey :  now,  as  fond  fathers, 
Having  bound  up  the  threat'ning  twigs  of  birch 
Only  to  stick  it  in  their  children's  sight, 
For  terror,  not  to  use,  la  time  the  rod      [crees, 
Becomes  more  mock'd,  than  fear'd  ;  so  our  de- 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead, 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose ; 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  athwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

Friar. 

It  rested  in  your  grace 
To  unloose  this  tied  up  jus  tice,  when  you  pleas  'd ; 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  haveseem'd, 
Than  in  lord  Angelo. 

Duke. 
I  do  fear,  too  dreadful  : 
Sith  'twas  my  fault  to  give  the  people  scope, 
'Twould  be  my  tyranny  to  strike  and  gall  them 
For  what   I  bid  them  do :  for  we  bid  this  be 

done, 
When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass, 
And  not  the  punishment.     Therefore,  indeed, 

my  father, 
I  have  on  Angelo  impos'd  the  office, 
Who  may,  in  th'  ambush  of  my  name,  strike 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  fight,      [home, 
To  do  in  slander.    And  to  behold  his  sway, 
I  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order, 
Visit  both   prince   and  people:    therefore,    I 

pr'ythee, 
Supply  me  with  the  habit,  and  instruct  me 
How  I  may  formally  in  person  bear 
Like  a  true  friar.    More  reasons  for  this  action, 
At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you  ; 
Only,  this  one :  —  Lord  Angelo  is  precise; 
Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy  ;  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone :  hence  shall  we  see, 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Nunnery. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Francisco. 
Isabella. 
And  have  you  nuns  no  farther  privileges  ? 

Francisca. 
Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 

Isabella. 
Yes,  truly  :  I  speak  not  as  desiring  more. 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sisterhood,  the  votarists  of  saint  Clare. 
Lucio. 

[Within. 
Ho  1  Peace  be  in  this  place ! 
Isabella. 

Who's  that  which  calls  ? 
Francisca. 
It  is  a  man's  voice.    Gentle  Isabella, 

Turn 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


S3 


Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him : 
You  may,  I  may  not ;  you  are  yet  unsworn. 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with 
But  in  "the  presence  of  the  prioress :  [men, 

|  Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your 

face  ; 
I  Or,  if  vou  show  your  face,  you  must  not  speak.   | 
I  He  calls  again :  I  pray  you,  answer  him. 

[Exit  Francisco. 
Isabella. 
Peace  and  prosperity  !    Who  is't  that  calls  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 
Lucio. 
Hall,  virgin,  if  you  be,  as  those  cheek-roses 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less,  can  you  so  stead  me, 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudia  t 

Isabella. 
Why  her  unhappy  brother  ?  let  me  ask, 
The  rather,  for  1  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister. 
Lucio. 
Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison,    [you. 
Isabella. 
Woe  me  1  for  what  ? 

Lucio. 
For  that,  which,  if  myself  might  be  his  judge, 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks. 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 
Isabella. 
Sir,  make  me  not  your  story. 

Lucio. 
'Tis    true.    I   would   not,   though    'tis    my 
familiar  sin 
With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest, 
i  Tongue  far  from  heart,  play  with  all  virgins  so : 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd,  and  sainted 
By  your  renouncement,  an  immortal  spirit, 
'  And  to  be  talk'd  with  in  sincerity, 
As  with  a  saint. 

Isabella. 
j     You  do  blaspheme  the  good  in  mocking  me. 
Lucio. 
Do  not  believe  it.    Fewness  and  truth,  'tis 
thus: 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embrac'd : 
j  As  those  that  feed  grow  full ;  as  blossoming 
time, 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
I  To  teeming  foison,  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth  and  husbandry. 

Isabella. 
:     Some  one  with  child  by  him?  — My  cousin 
Juliet  t 

Lucio. 
Is  she  your  cousin  ? 

Isabella. 

Adoptedly ;    as    school-maids    change   their 

By  vain,  though  apt,  affection.  [names 

Lucio. 

She  it  is. 
Isabella, 
O  1  let  him  marry  her. 

Lucio. 

This  is  the  point. 
I  The  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence, 
j  Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one, 
\  |  In  hand,  and  hope  of  action  ;  but  we  do  learn, 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state, 
;  His  giving  out  was  of  an  infinite  distance 


From  his  true-meant  design.     Upon  his  place, 
And  with  full  line  of  his  authority, 
Governs  lord  Angela  ;  a  man  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth  ;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense, 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  his  natural  edge 
With  proiits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty, 
Which  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous  law, 
As  mice  by  lions,)  hath  pick'd  out  an  act, 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 
Falls  into  forfeit :  ne  arrests  him  on  it. 
And  follows  close  the  rigour  of  the  statute, 
To  make  him  an  example.    All  hope  is  gone, 
Unless  you  have  the  grace  by  your  fair  prayer 
To  soften  Angelo  ;  and  that's  my  pith 
Of  business  'twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

Isabella. 
Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 

Lucio. 

Has  censur'd  him 
Already  ;  and,  as  I  hear,  the  provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  execution. 
Isabella. 
Alas  !  what  poor  ability's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ? 

Lucio. 
Assay  the  power  you  have. 
Isabella. 
My  power,  alas  !  I  doubt. 
Lucio. 

Our  doubts  are  traitors, 
And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win, 
By  fearing  to  attempt.     Go  to  lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  maidens  sue, 
Men  give  like  gods ;  but  when  they  weep  ano. 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs       [kneel, 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  them. 
Isabella. 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 

Lucio. 

But  speedily. 
Isabella. 
I  will  about  it  straight, 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother 
Notice  of  my  affair.     I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother  ;  soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 
Lucio. 
1  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Isabella. 

Good  sir,  adieu. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Hall  in  Angela'*  House. 

Enter  Angelo,  Etcalut,  a  Justice,  Officers,  and 
other  Attendants. 
Angelo. 
V\7  E  must  not  make  a  scare-crow  of  the  law, 
*  '     Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey, 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 
Escalus. 

Ay,  but  yet 
Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 

Than 


*4 


MEASURE  1011  MEASURE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death.    Alas  !  this  gen- 
tleman, 
Whom  1  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  father. 
Let  but  your  honour  know, 
(  Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  virtue,) 
That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections, 
Had  time  coher'd  with  place,  or  place  with 

wishing, 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  [y]our  blood 
Could  have  attain'd  th'  effect  of  your  own  pur- 
pose, 
Whether  you  had  not,  sometime  in  your  life, 
Err'd  in  this  point,  which  now  you  censure  him, 
And  pull'd  the  law  upon  you. 
Angelo. 
'Tis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.     I  not  deny, 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life, 
May  in  the  sworn  twelve  have  a  thief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try:  what's  open  made 

to  justice, 
That  justice  seizes :  what  know  the  laws, 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves?    'Tis  very 

pregnant, 
The  jewel  that  we  find,  we  stoop  and  take  it, 
Because  we  see  it ;  but  what  we  do  not  see 
We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 
You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  offence, 
For  I  have  had  such  faults  ;  but  rather  tell  me, 
When  I,  that  censure  him,  do  so  offend, 
Let  mine  own  judgment  pattern  out  my  death, 
And  nothing  come  in  partial.    Sir,  he  must  die. 
E*calus. 
Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 
Angelo. 

Where  is  the  provost  ? 

Knter  Provost. 
Provost. 
Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 
Angelo. 

See  that  Claudio 
Be  executed  by  nine  to  morrow  morning. 
Bring  him  his  confessor,  let  him  be  prepar'd, 
For  that's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage. 

[Exit  Provost. 
Rgcalus. 
Well,  heaven  forgive  him,  and  forgive  us  all ! 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall : 
Some  run  from  breaks  of  vice,  and  answer  none, 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

Enter  Elbow,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  &c. 

Elbow. 

Come,  bring  them  away.    If  these  be  good 

people  in  a  common-weal,  that  do  nothing  but 

use  their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no 

law :  bring  them  away. 

Angelo. 
How  now,  sir  I  What's  your  name,  and  what's 
the  matter  ? 

Elbow. 
If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor  duke's 
constable,  ana  my  name  is  Elbow:    I  do  lean 
upon  justice,  sir  ;  and  do  bring  in  here  before 
your  good  honour  two  notorious  benefactors. 
Angelo. 
Benefactors  1    Well ;    what   benefactors   are 
they  ?  are  they  not  malefactors? 
Elbow. 
If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well  what 
they  are ;  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  I 
am  sure  of,  and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the 
world,  that  good  Christians  ought  to  have. 


Escalus. 
This  comes  off  well :  here's  a  wise  officer. 

Angelo. 
Go  to:  what  quality  are  they  of?    Elbow  is 
your  name :  why  dost  thou  not  speak,  Elbow. 
Clown. 
He  cannot,  sir :  he's  out  at  elbow. 

Angelo. 
What  are  you,  sir  ? 

Elbow. 
He,  sir?  a  tapster,  sir;  parcel-bawd;  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman,  whose  house,  sir,  was, 
as  they  say,  pluck'd  down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  i 
now  she  professes  a  hot-house,  which,  I  think,    | 
is  a  very  ill  house  too. 

How  know  you  that? 

Elbow. 
My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  heaven 
and  your  honour,  — 

Escalus. 
How!  thy  wife? 

Elbow. 
Ay,  sir  ;  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  is  an  honest 
woman, — 

Escalus. 
Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elbow. 

I  say,  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well  as 

she,  that  this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house, 

it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escalus. 

How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

Klbow. 
Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife ;  who,  if  she  had  been 
a  woman  cardinally  given,  might  have  been  ac- 
cused in  fornication,  adultery,  and  all  unclean- 
liness  there. 

Escalus. 
By  the  woman's  means  ? 

Elbow 
Ay,  sir,  by  mistress  Over-dove's  means;  but 
as  she  spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defied  him. 
Clown. 
Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  is  not  so. 

Elbow. 
Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou  hon- 
ourable man ;  prove  it. 

Escalus. 

[To  Angelo. 
Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces  ? 

Clown. 
Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  child,  and  longing 
(saving  your   honour's   reverence)   for   stew'd 
prunes :  sir,  we  had  but  two  in  the  house,  which 
at  that  very  distant  time  stood,  as  it  were,  in  a 
fruit-dish,  a  dish  of  some  three-pence:    your 
honours  have  seen  such  dishes ;  they  are  not 
China  dishes,  but  very  good  dishes. 
Escalus. 
Go  to,  go  to  :  no  matter  for  the  dish.  sir. 

Clown. 
No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin  ;  you  are  therein 
in  the  right;  but  to  the  point.  As  I  say,  this 
mistress  Klbow,  being,  as  I  say,  with  child,  and 
being  great  belly'd,  and  longing,  as  I  said,  for 
prunes,  and  having  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  I  said, 
master  Froth,  here,  this  very  man,  having  eaten 
the  rest,  as  I  said,  and,  as  I  say,  paying  for  them 
very  honestly ;— for,  as  you  know,  master  Froth, 
I  could  not  give  you  three-pence  again. 

Froth. 


An  11.  Sc.  I. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Froth. 

No,  indeed. 

Clown. 
Very  well :  you  being  then,  if  you  be  remem- 
>  racking  the  stones  of  the  foresaid  prunes. 

Froth. 
Ay,  so  I  did,  indeed. 

Clown. 
Why,  very  well :  I  telling  you  then,  if  you  be 
remember'd,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one, 
were  past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless 
they  kept  very  good  diet,  as  1  told  you. 

Froth. 
AH  this  is  true. 

Clown. 
Why,  very  well  then. 

Escalus. 

Come ;  you  are  a  tedious  fool :  to  the  purpose. 

—  W  hat  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  he  hath 

cause  to  complain  of?    Come  me  to  what  was 

done  to  her. 

Clown. 
Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escalus. 
No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not. 
Clown. 
Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your  honour's 
I  leave.    And,  I  beseech  you,  look  into  master 
!  Froth  here,  sir ;  a  man  of  fourscore  pound  a  year, 
whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas. — Was't  not  at 
Hallowmas,  master  Froth? 
Froth. 
All-hallownd  eve. 

Clown 
Why,  very  well :  I  hope  here  be  truths.    He, 
sir,  sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,  sir ; — 'twas  i 
in  the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  where,  indeed,  you  have 
a  delight  to  sit,  have  you  not  ? 
Froth 
I  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room,  and 
good  for  winter. 

Clown, 
Why,  very  well  then:  I  hope  here  be  truths.  ; 

Angelo 
This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia,     [leave, 
When  nights  are  longest  there.     I'll  take  my 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause, 
Hoping  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 
Escalus. 
I  think  no  less.     Good  morrow  to  your  lord- 
ship. [Exit  Angelo. 
Now,  sir,  come  on :  what  was  done  to  Elbow'* 
;  wife,  once  more? 

Clown. 
I      Once,  sir  ?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her  once. 
Elbow. 
I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this  man  did 
to  my  wife. 

Clown. 
I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me. 

Escalus . 

Well,  sir,  what  did  this  gentleman  to  her  ? 

('town. 

J      I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentleman's 

,  face— Good  master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour ; 

i  'tis  for  a  good  purpose.    Doth  your  honour  mark 

his  face  ? 

Escalus. 
j      Ay,  sir,  very  well. 

Clown. 
Nay.  1  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 


Escalus. 
Well,  1  do  so. 

Clown. 
Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face  ? 

Escalus. 
Why,  no. 

Clown. 
I'll  be  supposed  upon  a  book,  his  face  is  the 
worst  thing  about  him.    Good  then  ;  if  his  face 
be  the  worst  thing  about  him,  how  could  master 
Froth  do  the  constable's  wife  any  harm  ?  1  would 
know  that  of  your  honour. 
Escalus. 
He's  in  the  right.    Constable,  what  say  you 
to  it? 

Elbow. 
First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  Is  a  respected 
house  ;  next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow,  and  his 
mistress  is  a  respected  woman. 

Clown. 
By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  respected 
person  than  any  of  us  all. 
Elbow. 
Varlet,  thou  liest :  thou  liest,  wicked  varlet. 
The  time  is  yet  to  come  that  she  was  ever  re- 
spected with  man,  woman,  or  child. 
Clown. 
Sir,  she  was  respected  with  him,  before  he 
married  with  her. 

Escalus. 
Which  is  the  wiser  here?  Justice,  or  Iniquity  f 
—Is  this  true  ? 

Elbow. 
O  thou  caitiff!  O  thou  varlet!  O  thou  wicked 
Hannibal!  I  respected  with  her,  before  I  was 
married  to  her  ? — If  ever  I  was  respected  with 
her,  or  she  with  me,  let  not  your  worship  think 
me  the  poor  duke's  officer. — Prove  this,  thou 
wicked  Hannibal,  or  I'll  have  mine  action  of 
battery  on  thee. 

Escalus. 
If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  th'  ear,  you  might 
have  your  action  of  slander  too. 
Elbow. 
Marry,  I  thank  your  good  worship  for  it.  What 
is't  your  worshiprs  pleasure  I  shall  do  with  this 
wicked  caitiff  ? 

Escalus. 
Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  offences 
in  him,  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thou  couldst, 
let  him  continue  in  his  courses,  till  thou  know'st 
what  they  are. 

Elbow. 

Marry,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it.  — Thou 

seest,  thou  wicked  varlet  now,  what's  come  upon 

thee :  thou  art  to  continue ;  now,  thou  varlet, 

thou  art  to  continue. 

Escalus. 
Where  were  you  born,  friend  ? 

Froth. 
Here  in  Vienna,  sir. 

Escalus. 
Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  year  ? 

Froth. 
Yes,  an't  please  you,  sir. 
Escalus. 
So— What  trade  are  you  of,  sir  ? 

Clown. 
A  tapster  ;  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

Escalus. 
Your  mistress'  name  ? 

Clown. 
Mistress  Over-done. 

Escalus. 


86 


MEASUKE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Escalus. 
Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  husband  ? 

Clown. 
Nine,  sir ;  Over-done  by  the  last. 

Escalus. 
Nine  !  —  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Froth. 
Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainted 
with  tapsters  ;  they  will  draw  you,  master  Froth, 
and  you  will  hang  them:  get  you  gone,  and  let 
me  hear  no  more  of  you. 

Froth. 
I  thank  your  worship.    For  mine  own  part, 
I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  1 
am  drawn  in. 

Escalus. 
Well ;  no  more  of  it,  master  Froth :  farewell. 
[Exit  Froth.]— Come  you  hither  to  me,  master 
tapster.    What's  your  name,  master  tapster  ? 

Clown. 


Escalus. 
What  else  ? 

Clown. 
Bum,  sir. 

Escalus. 
'Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing 
about  you  ;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  you 
are  Pompey  the  great.  Pompey,  you  are  partly 
a  bawd,  tompey,  howsoever  you  colour  it  in 
being  a  tapster.  Are  you  not  ?  come,  tell  me 
true :  it  shall  be  the  better  for  you. 

Clown. 
Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow  that  would  live. 

Escalus. 
How  would  you  live,  Pompey?  by  being  a 
bawd  ?  W  hat  do  you  think  of  the  tr  ade,  Pompey  ? 
is  it  a  lawful  trade  ? 

Clown. 
If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 

Escalus. 

But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey  ;  nor  it 

shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Clown. 

Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  spay  all 

the  youth  of  the  city  ? 

Escalus. 
No,  Pompey. 

Clown. 
Truly,  sir,  in  my  poor  opinion,  they  will  to't 
then.    If  your  worship  will  take  order  for  the 
drabs  and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to  fear  the 
bawds. 

Escalus. 
There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I  can  tell 
you  :  it  is  but  heading  and  hanging. 
Clown. 
If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that  way 
but  for  ten  year  together,  you'll  be  glad  to  give 
out  a  commission  for  more  heads.     If  this  law  ] 
hold  in  Vienna  ten  year,  I'll  rent  the  fairest  \ 
house  in  it  after  three  pence  a  bay.    If  you  live  j 
to  see  this  come  to  pass,  say,  Pompey  told  you  so.  : 
Escalus. 
Thank  you,  good  Pompey;  and,  in  requital  of  '• 
your  prophecy,  hark  you : — I  advise  you,  let  me 
not  find  you  before  me  again  upon  any  complaint  j 
whatsoever ;  no,  not  for  dwelling  where  you  do :  : 
I  if  1  do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you  to  your  tent,  { 
1  and  prove  a  shrewd  Casar  to  you.     In  plain 
|  dealing,  Pompfiy,  I  shall  have  you  whipt.    So, 
j  for  this  time,  Pompey,  fare  you  well. 

|! ; , I 


Clown. 
I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good  counsel, 
but  I  shall  follow  it,  as  the  flesh  and  fortune 
shall  better  determine. 
Whip  me  ?    No,  no ;  let  carman  whip  his  jade  ; 
The  valiant  heart's  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade. 
[Exit. 
Escalus. 
Come  hither  to  me,  master  Elbow;    come 
hither,  master  constable.    How  long  have  you 
been  in  this  place  of  constable  ? 

Elbow. 
Seven  year  and  a  half,  sir. 

Escalus. 
I  thought,  by  the  readiness  in  the  office,  you 
had  continued  in  it  some  time.    You  say,  seven 
years  together  ? 

Elbow. 
And  a  half,  sir. 

Escalus. 

Alas  1  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you.    They 

do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon't.    Are 

there  not  men  in  your  ward  sufficient  to  serve  it  ? 

Elbow. 

Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters.    As 

they  are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  me  for 

them  :  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  and  go 

through  with  all. 

Escalus. 
Look  you  bring  me  in  the  names  of  some  six 
or  seven,  the  most  sufficient  of  your  parish. 
Elbow. 
To  your  worship's  house,  sir  ? 

Escalus. 
To  my  house.    Fare  you  well.     [Exit  Elbow. 
What's  o'clock,  think  you  ? 
Justice. 
Eleven,  sir. 

Escalus. 
I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Justice. 
I  humbly  thank  you. 

Escalus. 
It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio  ; 
But  there's  no  remedy. 

Justice. 
Lord  Angela  is  severe. 

Escalus. 

It  is  but  needful : 
Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so ; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe. 
But  yet,  poor  Claudio!  —  There  is  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Servant. 

He's  hearing  of  a  cause  :  he  will  come  straight. 

I'll  tell  him  of  you. 

Provost. 
Pray  you,  do.  [Exit  Servant.]    I'll  know 
His  pleasure  ;  may  be,  he  will  relent.    Alas  1 
He  hath  but  as  offended  in  a  dream  : 
All  sects,  all  ages  smack  of  this  vice,  and  he 
To  die  for  it!  — 

Enter  Angela, 

Angelo. 

Now,  what's  the  matter,  provost  r 

Provost. 

Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to-morrow  ? 

Angelo. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  u. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


*7 


Ancelo. 
Did  I  not  tell  thee,  yea?  hadst  thou  not  order  ? 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ? 
Provost. 

Lest  I  might  be  too  rash. 
•  'Under  your  good  correction,  1  have  seen, 
When,  after  execution,  judgment  hath 
ited  o'er  his  doom. 

Angelo. 
Go  to ;  let  that  be  mine : 
Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  place, 
And  you  shall  well  be  spar'd. 
Provost. 
I  crave  your  honour's  pardon. 


*;s 


with  the  groanin 
[Juliet , 


What    shall  be  done, 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

Angelo. 

Dispose  of  her 
To  some  more  fitter  place,  and  that  with  speed. 

Re-enter  Servant. 
Servant. 
1     Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Angelo. 

Hath  he  a  sister  ? 
Provost. 
Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  very  virtuous  maid, 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood, 
If  not  already. 

Angelo. 
Well,  let  her  be  admitted. 

TExit  Servant. 
See  you  the  fornicatress  be  removed : 
Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means  ; 
There  shall  be  order  for  it. 

Enter  Lucio  and  Isabella. 

Provost. 

Save  your  honour  !  [Offering  to  retire. 

Angelo. 

Stay  a  little  while [To  Isabella.)    Y'  are 

welcome :  what's  your  will  ? 
Isabella. 
I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour, 
Please  but  your  honour  hear  me. 
Angelo. 

Well ;  what's  your  suit  ? 
Isabella. 
There  is  a  vice,  that  most  I  do  abhor, 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice, 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  1  must; 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war  'twixt  will,  and  will  not. 
Angelo. 

Well;  the  matter? 
Isabella. 
1     I  have  a  brother  is  condemn'd  to  die : 
',  I  do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault, 
:  And  not  my  brother. 

Provost. 

[Aside. 
Heaven  give  thee  moving  graces  1 
Angelo. 
Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it  ? 
Why,  every  fault's  condemn'd  ere  it  be  done. 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of  a  function, 
To  fine  the  faults,  whose  fine  stands  in  record, 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

Isabella. 

O  just,  but  severe  law  ! 

1   had  a  brother  then —  Heaven    keep  your 

honour !  [Retiring. 


Lucio. 

[To  Isabella. 
[     Give  *t  not  o'er  so :  to  him  again,  intreat  him ; 
,  Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown  ; 
You  are  too  cold  :  if  you  should  need  a  pin, 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it. 
To  him,  1  say. 

Isabella. 
Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Angelo. 

Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isabella- 
Yes ;  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him, 
And  neither  heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the 
mercy. 

Angelo. 
I  will  not  do't. 

Isabella. 
But  can  you,  if  you  would  ? 

Angelo. 
Look  ;  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 

Isabella. 
But  might  you  do't,  and  do  the  world  no  wron  <?, 
If  so  your  heart  were  touch'd  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him  ? 

Angelo. 
He's  sentene'd :  'tis  too  late. 
Lucio. 

[To  Isabella. 
You  are  too  cold. 

Isabella. 
Too  late  ?  why,  no ;  I,  that  do  speak  a  word, 
May  call  it  back  again  :  Well  believe  this, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace 
As  mercy  does.    If  he  had  been  as  you,  and  you 

as  he, 
You  would  have  slipt  like  him ;  but  he,  like  you, 
Would  not  have  been  so  stern. 
Angelo. 

Pray  you,  begone. 
Isabella. 
I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
And  you  were  Isabel !  should  it  then  be  thus  ? 
No  ;  I  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio. 

[Aside. 
Ay,  touch  him  ;  there's  the  vein. 

Angelo. 
Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law, 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 
Isabella. 

Alas  !  alas  ! 
Why,  all  the  souls  that  were  were  forfeit  once ; 
And  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took, 
Found  out  the  remedy.    How  would  you  be, 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?    O,  think  on  that, 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made  1 

Angelo. 
Be  you  content,  fair  maid. 
It  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother : 
I  Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son, 
'  It  should  be  thus  with  him :  he  must  die  to- 
morrow. 

Isabella. 
To-morrow  ?    O,  that's  sudden  1    Spare  him, 
spare  him  !  [kitchens 

He's  not   prepar'd  for  death.     Even  for  our 

We 


RS 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


We  kill  the  fowl  of  season :  shall  we  serve  heaven 

With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 

To  our  gross  selves  ?    Good,  good  my  lord,  be- 

think  you : 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence  ? 
There's  many  have  committed  it. 


Lucio. 


Ay 


[Aside. 
,  well  said. 


The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it  hath 
slept : 
Those  many  had  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil, 
If  the  first,  that  did  th'  edict  infringe, 
Had  answer'd  for  his  deed :  now,  'tis  awake ; 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done,  and,  like  a  prophet, 
Looks  in  a  glass,  that  shows  what  future  evils 
(Either  now,  or  by  remissness  new-conceiv'd, 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born,) 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees, 
But  where  they  live,  to  end. 

Isabella. 

Yet  show  some  pity. 

I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice ; 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Which  a  dismiss'd  offence  would  after  gall, 
And  do  him  right,  that,  answering  one  foul 

wrong, 
Lives  not  to  act  another.    Be  satisfied : 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow :  be  content. 

Isabella. 
So  you  must  be  the  first  that  gives  this  sentence, 
And  he  that  suffers.     O  1  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength :  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 


Lucio. 


That's  well  said 


[Aside. 


n  Isabella, 

Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  pelting,  petty  officer, 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder  ; 
Nothing  but  thunder.    Merciful  heaven  ! 
Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oak, 
Than  the  soft  myrtle ;  but  man,  proud  man  ! 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assur'd, 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape, 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven, 
A  s  make  the  angels  weep  ;  who,  with  our  spleens, 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio. 

[To  Isabeli 
O,  to  him,  to  him,  wench  I    He  will  relent : 
He's  coming ;  I  perceive't. 

Provost. 

[Aside. 
Pray  heaven,  she  win  him  ! 

Isabella. 
We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself : 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints :  'tis  wit  in  them, 
But  in  the  less  foul  profanation. 

Lucio. 

[To  Isabella. 
Thou'rt  in  the  right,  girl :  more  o'  that. 

Isabella. 
That  in  the  captain's  but  a  choleric  word, 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 


abella. 


Lucio. 

[Aside. 
Art  avis'd  o'  that  ?  more  on't. 

Angelo. 
Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me  ? 

Isabella. 

Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others, 

Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself,     [bosom  ; 

That  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top.    Go  to  your 

Knock  there,  and  ask  your  heart,  what  it  doth 

know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault:  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his, 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brother's  life. 
Angelo. 

[Aside. 
She  speaks,  and  'tis 
Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it.  [To 
her.].  Fare  you  well. 
Isabella. 
Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Angelo. 
I  will  bethink  me.  — Come  again  to-morrow. 

Isabella. 
Hark,  how  I'll  bribe  you.    Good  my  lord, 
turn  back. 

Angelo. 
How  !  bribe  me  ? 

Isabella. 
Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  heaven  shall  share 
with  you. 

Lucio. 

[Aside. 
You  had  marr'd  all  else. 

Isabella. 
Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold, 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor 
As  fancy  values  them  ;  but  with  true  prayers, 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven,  and  enter  there 
Ere  sun-rise:  prayers  from  preserved  souls, 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Angelo. 
Well ;  come  to  me  to-morrow. 
Lucio. 

[To  Isabella. 
Go  to  ;  'tis  well :  away  ! 

Isabella. 
Heaven  keep  your  honour  safe  ! 
Angelo. 

[Aside. 
Amen: 
For  I  am  that  way  going  to  temptation, 
Where  prayers  cross. 

Isabella. 

At  what  hour  to-morrow 
Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ? 

Angelo. 

At  any  time  'fore  noon. 
Isabella. 
Save  your  honour  1 

[Exeunt  Lucio,  Isabella,  and  Provost. 

Angelo. 
From  thee ;  even  from  thy  virtue  !  — 
What's  this?  what's  this  ?    Is  this  her  fault,  or 
mine?  [Ha! 

The  tempter,  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most  ? 
Not  she,  nor  doth  she  tempt ;  but  it  is  I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet  in  the  sun, 
Do,  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower, 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.    Can  it  be, 
That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 

Than 


A<  i  11.   Se.  iv. 


MEASURE  FOR   MEASURE. 


So 


Thin  woman's  lightness?    Having  waste  ground 

■oough, 
Shall  we  d. sire  to  raze  the  sanctuary, 
And  j>itch  our  erlls  there?     O.  fye,  fye,  fye  1 
Whit  dost  thou,  or  what  art  thou,  Angela? 
pMl  thou  desire  her  foully  for  those  things 
Th  it  make  her  good  ?     O,  let  her  brother  live  ! 
1  hieves  for  their  robbery  have  authority,  [her, 
Wl  en  judges  steal  themselves.    What !  do  I  love 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again, 
»nd  feast  upon  her  eyes?    What  is't  I  dream 

0  cunning  enemy,  that,  to  catch  a  saint,  [on  ? 
With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook !  Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on  [pet, 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue.  Never  could  the  strum- 
With  all  her  double  vigour,  art  and  nature, 
Once  stir  my  temper :  but  this  virtuous  maid 
Subdues  me  quite. —  Ever,  till  now, 

When  men  were  fond,  I  smil'd,  and  wonder'd 
how.  [Exit 

SCENE  III.    A  Room  In  a  TrUon. 
|  Enter  Duke,  habited  like  a  Friar,  and  Provost. 
Duke. 
Hail  to  you,  provost ;  so  I  think  you  are. 

Provost. 
I  am  the  provost.    What's  your  will,  good 
friar  r 

Duke. 
Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bless'd  order. 

1  come  to  visit  the  afflicted  spirits 

Here  in  the  prison :  do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them,  and  to  make  me  know 
;The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  1  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 

Provost. 
1     I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were 
needful. 

Enter  Juliet- 
Look  ;  here  comes  one:  a  gentlewoman  of  mine, 
Who,  falling  in  the  flaws  of  her  own  youth, 
Hath  blister'd  her  report.    She  is  with  child, 
And  he  that  got  it,  sentene'd — a  young  man 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  offence, 
Than  die  for  this. 

Duke. 
When  must  he  die  ? 

Provost. 

As  I  do  think,  to-morrow — 
[To  Juliet. 
,  I  have  provided  for  you :  stay  a  while, 
;  And  you  shall  be  conducted. 
Duke. 
Repent  you,  fair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry  ? 

Juliet. 
1  do,  and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently. 

Duke. 
I'll  teach  you  how  you  shall  arraign  your 
conscience. 
And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound, 
i  Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Juliet. 

I'll  gladly  learn. 
Duke. 
Love  you  the  man  that  wrong'd  you  ? 

Juliet. 
Yes,  as  I  love  the  woman  that  wrong'd  him. 

Duke. 
So  then,  it  seems,  your  most  offenceful  act 
Was  mutually  committed? 
Juliet. 

Mutually. 


Dul    . 
Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kiad  than  his. 

Juliet 
I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke. 
'Tis  meet  so,  daughter :  but  least  you  do  re- 
pent, 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame  ; 
Which  sorrow  is  always  toward  ourselves,  not 
heaven,  [it, 

Showing,  we  would  not  spare  heaven,  as  we  love 
But  as  we  stand  in  fear. 

Juliet 
I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil, 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 
Duke. 

There  rest. 
Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow, 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. 
Grace  go  with  you  !    Benedicite!  [Exit. 

Juliet. 
Must  die  to  morrow  I     O,  injurious  love, 
That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror  ! 

Provost. 
'Tis  pity  of  him.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  In  Angelo'*  House. 

Enter  Angelo. 
Angelo. 
When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and  pray 
To  several  subjects:    heaven  hath  my  empty 

words 
WTiilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  on  Isabel :  heaven  in  my  mouth, 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name, 
\  And  in  my  heart  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
■  Of  my  conception.   The  state,  whereon  I  studied, 
;  Is  like  a  good  thing,  being  often  read, 
Grown  sear'd  and  tedious ;  yea,  my  gravity, 
Wherein  (let  no  man  hear  me)  I  take  pride, 
Could  1,  with  boot,  change  for  an  idle  plume, 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain     O  place !  t )  form  ! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  habit, 
Wrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
>  To  thy  false  seeming  1    Blood,  thou  art  blood : 
I  Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn, 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest. 

Enter  Servant. 
How  now  !  who's  there  ? 

Servant. 

One  Isabel,  a  sister, 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Angelo. 
Teach  her  the  way.   [Exit  Servant. 
O  heavens ! 

W  hy  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart, 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself, 
And  dispossessing  all  my  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness? 

So  play  the  foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive :  and  even  so 
The  general,  subject  to  a  well-wish'd  king, 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  where  their  untaught 
Must  needs  appear  offence.  [love 

Enter  Isabella. 
How  now   fair  maid  ? 

Isabella. 
I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 
Angelo 


9o 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


-71 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Angelo. 
That  you  might  know  it,  would  much  better 
please  me,  [live. 

Than  to  demand  what  'tis.   Your  brother  cannot 

Isabella. 
Even  so. —  Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 

[Retiring. 
Angelo, 
Yet  may  he  live  a  while ;  and,  it  may  be, 
As  long  as  you,  or  I :  yet  he  must  die. 

Isabel'a. 
Under  your  sentence  ? 

Angelo. 
Yea. 

Isabella. 
When,  I  beseech  you  ?  that  in  his  reprieve, 
Longer  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted, 
1  hat  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Angelo. 
Ha  !  Fye,  these  filthy  vices  !  It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  liim,  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit  [image 

Their  saucy  sweetness,  that  do  coin  heaven's 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made, 
As  to  put  metal  in  restrained  means, 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isabella 
'Tis  set  down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  in  earth. 

Angelo. 
Say  you  so  ?  then,  I  shall  pose  you  quickly. 
Which  had  you  rather,  that  the  most  just  law 
Now  took  your  brother's  life,  or  to  redeem  him 
Give  up  your  body  to  such  sweet  uncleanness 
As  she  that  he  hath  stain'd  ? 
Isabella. 

Sir,  believe  this, 
I  had  rather  give  my  body  thau  my  soul. 
Angelo. 
I  talk  not  of  your  soul.    Our  compell'd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  for  accompt. 
Isabella. 

How  say  you  ? 
Angelo. 
Nay,  I'll  not  warrant  that ;  for  I  can  speak 
Against  the  thing  I  say.    Answer  to  this  :  _ 
I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law, 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brother's  life : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin, 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 
Isabella. 

Please  you  to  do't, 
I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul : 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 
Angelo. 
Pleas'd  you  to  do't,  at  peril  of  your  soul, 
Were  equal  poize  of  sin  and  charity. 
Isabella. 
That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin, 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit, 
If  that  be  sin,  I'll  make  it  my  morn-prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine, 
And  nothing  of  your  answer. 
Angelo. 

Nay,  but  hear  me. 
Jfour  sense  pursues  not  mine:  either  you  are 

ignorant, 
Or  seem  so,  crafty  ;  and  that  is  not  good. 
Isabella. 
Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good, 
But  graciously  to  know  1  am  no  better. 


Angeio. 
Thus  wisdom  wishes  to  appear  most  bright, 
When  it  doth  tax  itself:  as  these  black  masks 
Proclaim  an  enshield  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could  displayed.  —  But  mark  me 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross. 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 


So. 


Isabella. 


Angelo. 
And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain. 
Isabella. 
True. 

Angelo. 
Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other, 
But  in  the  loss  of  question)  that  you,  his  sister, 
Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all-building  law  ;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 
To  this  suppos'd,  or  else  to  let  him  suffer, 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isabella. 
As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself: 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death, 
Th'  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  I  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 

Angelo. 

Then  must 
f  Your  brother  die. 

Isabella. 
!     And  'twere  the  cheaper  way. 
i  Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once, 
j  Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him, 
I  Should  die  for  ever. 

Angelo. 
j     Were  not  you,  then,  as  cruel,  as  the  sentence 
!  That  you  have  slander'd  so  ? 
Isabella. 
Ignomy  in  ransom,  and  free  pardon, 
jAre  of  two  houses  :  lawful  mercy  is 
j  Nothing  akin  to  foul  redemption. 

Angelo. 
i     You  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  tyrant ; 
|  And  rather  prov'd  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment,  than  a  vice. 

Isabella. 
O  pardon  me,  my  lord  !  it  oft  falls  out, 
To  have  what  we  would  have,  we  speak  not 

what  we  mean. 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate, 
For  his  advantage  that  I  dearly  love. 
Angelo. 
We  are  all  frail. 

Isabella. 

Else  let  my  brother  die, 
If  not  a  feodary,  but  only  he, 
Owe,  and  succeed  thy  weakness. 
Angelo. 

Nay,  women  are  frail  too. 
Isabella. 
Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  them- 
selves, 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
iWomen  !  —  Help  heaven  !  men  their  creation 
mar  [frail, 

In  profiting  by  them.    Nav,  call  us  ten  times 

For 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


9* 


For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 
And  credulous  to  false  prints. 

Angelo. 

I  think  it  well ; 
And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, 
( Since,  I  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger, 
Than  faults  may  shake  our  frames,)  let  me  be 
I  do  arrest  your  words.  Be  that  you  are,  [bold: 
That   is,  a  woman ;    if  you  be  more,   you're 
If  you  be  one.  (as  you  are  well  express'd  [none ; 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now, 
By  putting  on  the  destin'd  livery. 

Isabella. 

1  have  no  tongue  but  one :  gentle  my  lord, 

Let  me  intrcat  you  speak  the  former  language. 

Angelo. 
Plainly,  conceive  I  love  you. 

Isabella. 
My  brother  did  love  Juliet ;  and  you  tell  me, 
That  he  shall  die  for't. 

Angelo. 
He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  you  give  me  love. 

Isabella. 
I  know,  your  virtue  hath  a  licence  in't, 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is, 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Angelo. 
Believe  me,  on  mine  honour, 
My  words  express  my  purpose. 

Isabella. 
Ha  !  little  honour  to  be  much  believ'd, 
And    most     pernicious     purpose !_  Seeming, 

seeming  !  — 
1  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo  ;  look  for't : 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother, 
Or  with  an  outstretch'd  throat    I'll   tell  the 
Aloud  what  man  thou  art.  [world 

Angelo. 

Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel? 
My  unsoil'd  name,  the  austereness  of  my  life, 
M  V  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'the  state, 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh, 
That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report, 
And  smell  of  calumny.    1  have  begun, 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein : 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety,  and  prohxious  blushes, 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for;  redeem  thy 
By  yielding  up  thy  body  to  my  will,       [brother 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death, 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufferance.  Answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  the  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
I'll  prove  a  tyrant  to  him.    As  for  you, 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs  your  true. 

CExIt. 
Isabella. 
To  whom  should  1  complain  ?    Did  I  tell  this, 
Who  would  believe  me?    O  perilous  mouths  ! 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue, 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof, 
Bidding  the  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will, 
Hooking  both  right  and  wrong  to  th'  appetite, 
To  follow  as  it  draws.     I'll  to  my  brother : 
Though  he  hath  fallen  by  prompture  of  theblood, 
Yet  hath  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour, 
That  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down 
On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he'd  yield  them  up, 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  *uch  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then,  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die : 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 


I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Angela's  request, 

And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest. 

[Exit. 

0..@..0..^.0..@..^..^..0..0. 
ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  as  a  Friar,  Claudia,  and  Provott. 

Duke. 
CO  then,  you  hope  of  pardon  from  lord  Angela? 

Claudio. 
The  miserable  have 
No  other  medicine,  but  only  hope. 
I  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 
Duke. 
Be  absolute  for  death  ;  either  death,  or  life, 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.    Reason  thus  with 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing  [life : — 

That  none  but  fools  would  keep  :  a  breath  thou 
Servile  to  all  the  skyey  influences,  [art 

That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st, 
Hourly  afflict.    Merely,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 
For  him  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun, 
And  yet  run'st  toward  him  still:  thou  art  not 

noble ; 
For  all  th'  accommodations  that  thou  bear'st, 
Are  nurs'd  by  baseness :  thou  art  by  no  means 

valiant ; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
j  Of  a  poor  worm :  thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep, 
I  And  that  thou  oft  provok'st,  yet  grossly  fear'st 
j  Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.    Thou  art  not 

thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust :  happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  striv'st  to  get, 
And  what  thou  hast  forget'st.    Thou  art  not 

certain ; 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  effects, 
After  the  moon :  if  thou  art  rich,  thou'rt  poor; 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows, 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey, 
And  death  unloads  thee :  friend  hast  thou  none ; 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire, 
The  mere  effusion  of  thy  proper  loins, 
Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,  and  the  rheum, 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner :  thou  hast  nor  youth, 

nor  age, 
But,  as  it  were,  an  after-dinner's  sleep, 
Dreaming  on  both ;  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld :  and  when  thou  art  old  and  rich, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor 

beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.  What's  yet  in  this, 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  ?    Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  more  thousand  deaths,  yet  death  we 

fear, 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 
Claudio. 

1  humbly  thank  you. 
To  sue  to  live,  I  find,  I  seek  to  die, 
And,  seeking  death,  find  life :  let  it  come  on. 
Isabella. 

[Without. 
What,   ho !    Peace   here ;   grace  and    good 
company. 

Provost. 
Who's  there?  come  in:  the  wish  deserves  a 
welcome. 

Enter  | 


92 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Enter  Isabella. 
Duke. 
Dear  sir,  ere  long  I'll  visit  you  again. 

Claudio. 
Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 
Isabella. 
My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 

Provost. 
And   very  welcome.    Look,  signior;    here's 
your  sister. 

Duke. 
Provost,  a  word  with  you. 
Provost. 
As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke. 

Bring  me  to  hear  them  speak,  where  I  may  be 

conceal'd.       [Exeunt  Duke  and  Provost. 

Claudio. 

Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort  ? 

Isabella. 

Why,  as  all 
Comforts  are :  most  good,  most  good,  indeed. 
Lord  Angelo,  having  affairs  to  heaven, 
Intends  you  for  his  swift  ambassador, 
Where  you  shall  be  an  everlasting  leiger  : 
Therefore,  your  best  appointment  make  with 
To-morrow  you  set  on.  [speed ; 

Claudio. 

Is  there  no  remedy  ? 
Isabella. 
None,  but  such  remedy,  as  to  save  a  head 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 
Claudio. 

But  is  there  any  ? 
Isabella. 
Yes,  brother,  you  may  live : 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge, 
It  you'll  implore  it,  that  will  free  your  life, 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claudio. 

Perpetual  durance  ? 
Isabella. 
Ay,  just ;  perpetual  durance :  a  restraint, 
Though  all  the  world's  vastidity  you  had, 
To  a  determin'd  scope. 

Claudio. 

But  in  what  nature  ? 

Isabella. 

In  such  a  one  as,  you  consenting  to't, 

Would  bark  your  honour  from  that  trunk  you 

And  leave  you  naked.  [bear, 

Claudio. 

Let  me  know  the  point. 
Isabella. 
O  !  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio ;  and  I  quake, 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  life  should'st  entertain, 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect, 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.    Dar'st  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension, 
And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon, 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang,  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claudio. 
Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 
Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?    If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride, 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isabella. 
There  spake  my  brother :  there  my  father's 
grave 


Did  utter  forth  a  voice.    Yes,  thou  must  die: 

Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 

In  base  appliances.  This  outward-sainted  deputy, 

Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word 

Kips  youth  i'  the  head,  and  follies  doth  enmew 

As  falcon  doth  the  fowl,  is  yet  a  devil ; 

His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 

A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

Claudio. 

The  princely  Angelo  ? 
Isabella. 
O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell, 
The  damned'st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  princely  guards  1    Dost  thou  think,  Claudio, 
If  1  would  yield  him  my  virginitv, 
Thou  might'st  be  freed.? 

Claudio. 

O,  heavens  !  it  cannot  be 
Isabella. 
Yes,  he  would   give't  thee  from  this  rank 
offence, 
I  So  to  offend  him  still.    This  night's  the  time 
|  That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name, 
|  Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claudio. 

Thou  shalt  not  do't. 
Isabella. 
O  !  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claudio. 
Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 
Isabella. 
Be  ready,  Claudio,  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claudio. 
Yes.    Has  he  affections  in  him. 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nose, 
When  he  would  force  it  ?    Sure,  it  is  no  sin  ; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 
Isabella. 
Which  is  the  least  ? 

Claudio. 
If  it  were  damnable,  he  being  so  wise, 
Why  would  he  for  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fin'd  ?  —  O  Isabel ! 
Isabella. 
What  says  my  brother  ? 
Claudio. 

Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 
Isabella. 
And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 
Claudio. 
Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where  ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice ; 
To  be  imprison'd  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world  ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
•  Imagine  howling !  —  'tis  too  horrible. 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life, 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isabella. 
Alas  !  alas  ! 

Claudio 
Sweet  sister,  let  me  live. 

What 


y 


Ac i   in.   Sc.  T. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Wli  it  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life, 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far, 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isabella. 

O,  you  beast ! 
O,  faithless  coward  !     O,  dishonest  wretch  1 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice  ? 
Is't  not  a  kind  of  incest  to  take  life  [think  ? 

From  thine  own  sister's  shame  ?  What  should  I 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair, 
For  sui'h  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 
Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.   Take  my  defiance  : 
Die ;  perish  !  might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed. 
I'll  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death, 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claudio. 
Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Isabella. 

O,  fie,  fie,  fie  1 
Thy  sin's  not  accidental,  but  a  trade. 
Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd : 
'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly.  [Oolng. 

Claudio. 

O  hear  me,  Isabella ! 
He-enter  Duke. 
Duke. 
Vouchsafe  a  word,  young   sister;    but   one 
word. 

Isabella. 
What  is  your  will  ? 

Duke. 
Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I  would 
by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you :  the  sa- 
tisfaction 1  would  require,  is  likewise  your  own 
benefit. 

Isabella. 
I  have  no  superfluous  leisure :  my  stay  must 
be  stolen  out  of  other  affairs  ;  but  I  will  attend 
you  a  while. 

Duke. 

Claudio. 
Son,  I  have  overheard  what  hath  past  between 
you  and  your  sister.    Angelo  had  never  the  pur- 
pose to  corrupt  her ;  only  he  hath  made  an  essay 
i  of  her  virtue,  to  practise  his  judgment  with  the 
!  disposition  of  natures.    She,  having  the  truth  of 
|  honour  in  her,  hath  made  him  that  gracious  de- 
'•  nial  which  he  is  most  glad  to  receive :  I  am  con- 
!  fessor  to  Angelo,  and  I  know  this  to  be  true ; 
:  therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death.     Do  not 
satisfy  your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  fal- 
lible :  to-morrow  you  must  die.    Go  ;  to  your 
knees,  and  make  ready. 

Claudio. 
Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.     I  am  so  out  of 
love  with  life,  that  1  will  sue  to  be  rid  of  it. 
Duke. 
Hold  you  there:  farewell.  [F.xlt  Claudio. 

Ke-enter  Provost. 
Provost,  a  word  with  you. 
Provost. 
What's  your  will,  father  ? 
Duke. 
That  now  you  are  come,  you  will  be  gone. 
Leave  me  a  while  with  the  maid:  my  mind 
'  promises  with  my  habit  no  loss  shall  touch  her 
by  my  company. 

Provost. 
In  good  time.  [Exit  Provost. 

Duke. 
The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair  hath  made 


93 


you  good  :  the  goodness  that  is  cheap  in  beauty 
makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness  ;  but  grace,  being 
the  soul  of  your  complexion,  shall  keep  the  body 
of  it  ever  fair.  The  assault,  that  Angelo  hath 
made  to  you,  fortune  hath  convey'd  to  my  un- 
derstanding ;  and,  but  that  frailty  hath  examples 
for  his  falling,  I  should  wonder  at  Angelo.  How 
will  you  do  to  content  this  substitute,  and  to 
save  your  brother  ? 

Isabella. 
I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him.  I  had  rather 
my  brother  die  by  the  law,  than  my  son  should 
be  unlawfully  born.  But  O,  how  much  is  the 
good  duke  deceived  in  Angelo !  If  ever  he  re- 
turn, and  I  can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open  my 
lips  in  vain,  or  discover  his  government. 

Duke. 
That  shall  not  be  much  amiss  ;  yet,  as  the 
matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusation : 
he  made  trial  of  you  only. — Therefore,  fasten 
your  ear  on  my  advisings :  to  the  love  I  have  in 
doing  good  a  remedy  presents  itself.  I  do  make 
myself  believe,  that  you  may  most  uprighteously 
do  a  poor  wronged  lady  a  merited  benefit,  redeem 
your  brother  from  the  angry  law,  do  no  stain  to 
your  own  gracious  person,  and  much  please  the 
absent  duke,  if,  peradventure,  he  shall  ever  re- 
turn to  have  hearing  of  this  business. 

Isabella 

Let  me  hear  you  speak  farther.  I  have  spirit 
to  do  anything  that  appears  not  foul  in  the  truth 
of  my  spirit. 

Duke. 

Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never  fearful. 
Have  you  not  heard  speak  of  Mariana,  the  sister 
of  Frederick,  the  great  soldier  who  miscarried  at 
sea? 

Isabella. 

I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words  went 
with  her  name. 

Duke. 

She  should  this  Angelo  have  married  ;  he  was 
affianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  ap- 
pointed :  between  which  time  of  the  contract, 
and  limit  of  the  solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick 
was  wrecked  at  sea,  having  in  that  perish'd  vessel 
the  dowry  of  his  sister.  But  mark  how  heavily 
this  befel  to  the  poor  gentlewoman :  there  she 
lost  a  noble  and  renowned  brother,  in  his  love 
toward  her  ever  most  kind  and  natural ;  with 
him  the  portion  and  sinew  of  her  fortune,  her 
marriage-dowry;  with  both,  her  combinate  hus- 
band, this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isabella. 
Can  this  be  so  ?    Did  Angelo  so  leave  her  ? 

Duke. 
Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dried  not  one  of 
them  with  his  comfort;  swallowed  his  vows 
whole,  pretending  in  her  discoveries  of  dis- 
honour :  in  few,  bestowed  her  on  her  own  la- 
mentation, which  she  yet  wears  for  his  sake,  and 
he,  a  marble  to  her  tears,  is  washed  with  them, 
but  relents  not. 

Isabella. 
What  a  merit  were  it  in  death  to  take  this  poor 
maid  from  the  world  1    What  corruption  in  this 
life,  that  it  will  let  this  man  live  !— But  how  out 
of  this  can  she  avail  ? 

Duke. 
It  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily  heal  ;  and 
the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but 
keeps  you  from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 
Isabella. 
Show  me  how,  good  father. 

Duke. 


94 


MEASUKE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Duke. 

This  fore-named  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the  con- 
tinuance of  her  first  affection :  his  unjust  un- 
kindness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have  quenched 
her  love,  hath,  like  an  impediment  in  the  current, 
made  it  more  violent  and  unruly.  Go  you  to 
Angelo :  answer  his  requiring  with  a  plausible 
obedience :  agree  with  his  demands  to  the  point ; 
only  refer  yourself  to  this  advantage, — first,  that 
your  stay  with  him  may  not  be  long,  that  the 
time  may  have  all  shadow  and  silence  in  it,  and 
the  place  answer  to  convenience.  This  being 
granted  in  course,  and  now  follows  all:  we  shall 
advise  this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your  ap- 
pointment, go  in  your  place;  if  the  encounter 
acknowledge  itself  hereafter,  it  may  compel  him 
to  her  recompense ;  and  here  by  this  is  your 
brother  saved,  your  honour  untainted,  the  poor 
Mariana  advantaged,  and  the  corrupt  deputy 
scaled.  The  maid  will  I  frame,  and  make  fit  for 
his  attempt.  If  you  think  well  to  carry  this,  as 
you  may,  the  doubleness  of  the  benefit  defends 
the  deceit  from  reproof.  What  think  you  of 
it? 

Isabella. 

The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already,  and, 
I  trust,  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  perfec- 
tion. 

Duke. 

It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up.  Haste  you 
speedily  to  Angelo:  if  for  this  night  he  entreat 
you  to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction. 
I  will  presently  to  St.  Luke's  ;  there,  at  the 
moated  grange,  resides  this  dejected  Mariana : 
at  that  place  call  upon  me,  and  despatch  with 
Angelo,  that  it  may  be  quickly. 

Isabella. 
I  thank  you  for  this  comfort.    Fare  you  well, 
good  father.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  Street  before  the  Prison. 

Enter  Duke,  as  a  Friar  :  to  him  Elbow,  Clovon, 
and  Officers. 

Elbow. 
Nay,  if  there  be  no  remedy  for  it,  but  that  you 
will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women  like 
beasts,  we  shall  have  all  the  world  drink  brown 
and  white  bastard. 

Duke. 
O,  heavens  !  what  stuff  is  here  ? 

Clown. 
'T  was  never  merry  world,  since,  of  two  usuries, 
the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser 
allow'd  by  order  of  law  a  furr'd  gown  to  keep 
him  warm  ;  and  furr'd  with  fox  and  lamb-skins 
too,  to  signify  that  craft,  being  richer  than  in- 
nocency,  stands  for  the  facing. 

Elbow. 
Come  your  way,  sir.— Bless  you,  good  father 
friar. 

Duke. 
And  you,  good  brother  father.    What  offence 
hath  this  man  made  you,  sir  ? 

Elbow. 

Marry,  sir,  he  hath  offended  the  law  :  and,  sir, 

we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir ;  for  we  have 

found  upon  him,  sir,  a  strange  pick-lock,  which 

we  have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke. 
Fie,  sirrah :  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd  ! 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done, 
That  is  thy  means  to  live.    Do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back, 


I  From  such  a  filthy  vice:  say  to  thyself, 

From  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 
j  I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
i  Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life, 
!  So  stinkingly  depending  ?    Go  mend,  go  mend. 

Clown. 
Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,sir  ;  but  yet, 
j  sir,  I  would  prove 

!  Duke. 

j      Nay,  if  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs  for 
sin, 

Thou  wilt  prove  his.  Take  him  to  prison,  officer : 
i  Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work, 

Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Elbow. 

i  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir  ;  he  has  given 
him  warning.  The  deputy  cannot  abide  a  whore- 
master:  if  he  be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes 
before  him,  he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his 
errand. 

Duke. 
That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem  to  be, 
From  our  faults,  as  faults  from  seeming,  free  ! 

Enter  Lucio. 

Elbow. 
His  neck  will  come  to  your  waist,  a  cord,  sir.   j  j 

Clown, 
I  spy  comfort :  I  cry,  bail    Here's  a  gentle-  j  j 
man,  and  a  friend  of  mine. 

Lucio. 

How  now,  noble  Pompey!      What,  at   the  ! 
wheel*  of  Caesar  ?    Art  thou  led  in  triumph  ? 
What)  is  there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images, 
newly  made  woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  putting 
the  hand  in  thepocket  and  extracting  it  clutch'd  ? 
What  reply  ?    Ha  !    What  say'st  thou  to  this    j 
tune,  matter,  and  method  ?    Is't  not  drown 'd  i' 
the  last  rain  ?    Ha  1    What  say'st  thou,  trot  ? 
Is  the  world  as  it  was,  man  ?    Which  is  the    i 
way  ?    Is  it  sad,  and  few  words,  or  how  ?    The    j 
trick  of  it  ? 

Duke. 

Still  thus,  and  thus  :  still  worse ! 


Lucio. 


How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  ? 
Procures  she  still  ?    Ha  1 

Clown. 

Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef,  and 
she  is  herself  in  the  tub. 

Lucio. 

Why,  'tis  good  ;  it  is  the  right  of  it ;  it  must 
be  so :  ever  your  fresh  whore,  and  your  powder'd 
bawd :  an  unshunn'd  consequence ;  it  must  be 
so.    Art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  ? 

Clown. 
Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Lucio. 
!     Why  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey.    Farewell.   Go  ; 
•  say,  I  sent  thee  thither.    For  debt,  Pompey,  or 
!  how  ? 

Elbow. 
For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lucio. 
!  Well,  then,  imprison  him.  If  imprisonment 
I  be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :  bawd 
|  is  he,  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too ;  bawd- 
j  born.  Farewell,  good  Pompey  :  commend  me 
:  to  the  prison,  Pompey.  You  will  turn  good 
i  husband  now,  Pompey  ;  you  will  keep  the  house. 

Clown. 
I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  my  bail. 
Liino. 


Arr  :n.  Sc.  ii. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


95 


Lucio. 

indeed,  will  I  not,  Pompey  ;  it  is  not  the 

I  will  pray,  Pompey,  to  increase  your 

bondage:  iryou  take  it  not  patiently,  why,  your 

in.ttle  is  the  more.     Adieu,  trusty  Pompey. 

—Bleu  you,  friar. 

Duke. 
And  you. 

Lucio. 
Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey  f    Ha ! 

Elbow. 
Come  your  ways,  sir  ;  come. 

Clown. 
You  will  not  bail  me,  then,  sir  ? 

Lucio. 

Then,  Pompey,  nor  now.— What  news  abroad, 
friar?     What  news? 

Elbow. 
Come  your  ways,  sir  ;  come. 

Lucio. 
Go  ;  to  kennel,  Pompey,  go. 

[Exeunt  Elbow,  Clown,  and  Officers. 
What  news,  friar,  of  the  duke? 

Duke. 
I  know  none.    Can  you  tell  me  of  any  ? 

Lucio. 
Some  say,  he  is  with  the  emperor  of  Russia  ; 
other  some,  he  is  in  Rome :  but  where  is  he, 
think  you  ? 

Duke. 
I  know  not  where  ;  but  wheresoever,  I  wish 
him  well. 

Lucio. 
It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him,  to  steal 
from  the  state,  and  usurp  the  beggary  he  was 
never  born  to.   Lord  Angela  dukes  it  well  in  his 
absence :  he  puts  transgression  to't. 
Duke. 
He  does  well  in't. 

Lucio. 
A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  do  no 
:  harm  in  him:  something  too  crabbed  that  way, 
I  friar. 

Duke. 
It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity  must1 
,  cure  it. 

Lucio. 
Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great  kin- 
>  dred :  it  is  well  allied ;  but  it  is  impossible  to 
extirp  it  quite,  friar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be 
put  down.    They  say,  this  A ngelo  was  not  made 
by  man  and  woman,  after  this  downright  way  of 
creation :  is  it  true,  think  you  ? 
Duke. 
How  should  he  be  made  then  ? 

Lucio. 

Some  report,  a  sea-maid  spawn'd  him :  some, 
that  he  was  begot  between  two  stock-fishes ;  but 
it  is  certain,  that  when  he  makes  water,  his 
urine  is  congeal'd  ice :  that  I  know  to  be  true ; 
and  he  is  a  motion  generative,  that's  infallible. 

Duke. 

You  are  pleasant,  sir,  and  speak  apace. 

Lucio. 
Why,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in  him,  for 
the  rebellion  of  a  cod-piece  to  take  away  the 
life  of  a  man  ?  Would  the  duke  that  is  absent 
have  done  this  ?  Ere  he  would  have  hang'd  a 
man  for  the  getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  would 
have  paid  for  the  nursing  a  thousand.  He  had 
some  feeling  of  the  sport :  he  knew  the  service, 
and  that  instructed  him  to  mercy. 


Duke. 
I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  detected 
for  women  :  he  was  not  inclined  that  way. 
Lucio. 
O,  sir  !  you  are  deceived. 

Duke. 
Tis  not  possible. 

Lucio. 

Who?  not  the  duke?  yes,  your  beggar  of 

fifty;  and  his  use  was,  to  put  a  ducat  in  her 

clack-dish.    The  duke  had  crotchets  in  him  : 

he  would  be  drunk  too ;  that  let  me  inform  you. 

Duke. 

You  do  him  wrong,  surely. 

Lucio. 
Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  his.    A  shy  fellow  was 
the  duke ;  and,  I  believe,  I  know  the  cause  of 
his  withdrawing. 

Duke. 
What,  I  pr'ythee,  might  be  the  cause  ? 

Lucio. 
No, — pardon:  —  'tis  a  secret  must  be  lock'd 
within  the  teeth  and  the  lips  ;  but  this  I  can  let 
you  understand,  — the  greater  file  of  the  subject 
held  the  duke  to  be  wise. 

Duke. 
Wise  ?  why,  no  question  but  he  was. 

Lucio. 

A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing,  fel- 
low. 

Duke- 

Either  this  is  envy  in  you,  folly,  or  mistaking : 
the  very  stream  of  his  life,  and  the  business  he 
hath  helmed,  must,  upon  a  warranted  need,  give 
him  a  better  proclamation.  Let  him  be  but 
testimonied  in  his  own  bringings  forth,  and  he 
shall  appear  to  the  envious  a  scholar,  a  states- 
man, and  a  soldier.  Therefore,  you  speak  un- 
skilfully ;  or,  if  your  knowledge  be  more,  it  is 
much  darken'd  in  your  malice. 

Lucio. 
Sir,  I  know  him,  and  I  love  him. 

Duke. 
Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and  know- 
ledge with  dearer  love. 

Lucio. 
Come,  sir,  I  know  what  I  know. 

Duke. 

I  can  hardly  believe  that,  since  you  know  not 
what  you  speak.  But,  if  ever  the  duke  return, 
(as  our  prayers  are  he  may)  let  me  desire  you  to 
make  your  answer  before  him :  if  it  be  honest 
you  have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to  maintain 
it.  I  am  bound  to  call  upon  you  ;  and,  I  pray 
you,  your  name  ? 

Lucio. 

Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio,  well  known  to  the  duke. 

Duke. 
He  shall  know  you  better,  sir,  if  I  may  live  to 
report  you. 

Lucio. 
I  fear  you  not 

Duke. 
O  I  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no  more, 
or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite. 
But,  indeed,  I  can  do  you  little  harm :  you'll 
forswear  this  again. 

Lucio. 
I'll  be  hang'd  first:  thou  art  deceived  in  me, 
friar.    But  no  more  of  this.    Canst  thou  tell,  if 
Claudio  die  to-morrow,  or  no  ? 

Duke. 
Why  should  he  die,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  ' 


<;6 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ii. 


Lucio. 
Why  ?  for  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish.  I 
would,  the  duke,  we  talk  of,  were  return'd  again : 
this  ungenitur'd  agent  will  unpeople  the  province 
with  continency ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in 
his  house-eaves,  because  they  are  lecherous.  The 
duke  yet  would  have  dark  deeds  darkly  answer'd ; 
he  would  never  bring  them  to  light :  would  he 
were  return'd !  Marry,  this  Claudia  is  condemn  d 
for  untrussing.  Farewell,  good  friar  ;  I  pr'ythee, 
pray  for  me.  The  duke,  I  say  to  thee  again,; 
would  eat  mutton  on  Fridays.  He's  now  past; 
it ;  yet,  and  1  say  to  thee,  he  would  mouth  withi 
a  beggar,  though  she  smelt  brown  bread  and 
garlic  :  say,  that  I  said  so.    Farewell.      [Exit. 

Duke. 

No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape  :  back-wounding  calumny     ' 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes.  What  king  so  strong, 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  ? 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Escalus,  Provost,  Bawd,  and  Officers, 

Escalus. 
Go :  away  with  her  to  prison  ! 

Bawd. 
Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me  ;  your  honour  is 
accounted  a  merciful  man :  good  my  lord. 
Kscalus . 
Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still  forfeit ' 
in  the  same  kind  ?    This  would  make  mercy  j 
swear,  and  play  the  tyrant. 

Provost. 

A  bawd  of  eleven  years'  continuance,  may  it ! 
please  your  honour. 

Bawd. 

My  lord,  this  is  one  Lurio's  information  against 
me.  Mistress  Kate  Keep-down  was  with  child 
by  him  in  the  duke's  time:  he  promised  her 
marriage  ;  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old, 
come  Philip  and  Jacob.  I  have  kept  it  myself, 
and  see  how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me  1 

F.  seal  us. 
That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  licence :  —  let 
him  be  called  before  us.  —  Away  with  her  to 
prison !  Go  to ;  no  more  words.  \  Pxeunt  Btnpd 
and  QJflcer*.  i  Provost,  my  brother  Angela  will 
not  be  alter'd;  Claudio  must  die  to-morrow. 
Let  him  be  furnished  with  divines,  and  have  all 
charitable  preparation :  if  my  brother  wrought 
by  my  pity,  it  should  not  be  so  with  him. 

Provost. 
So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  with  him, 
and  advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of  death. 

,-,      ,  ,  Escalus. 

Good  even,  good  father. 

Duke- 

Bliss  and  goodness  on  you. 

_,    ,  Escalus. 

Of  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke. 

Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance  is  now 
To  use  it  for  my  time :  I  am  a  brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  See, 
In  special  business  from  his  holiness. 


road  1  the  world? 


What  news  ab: 

None,  but  that  there  is'  so  great  a  fever  on 
goodness,  that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it : 
novelty  is  only  in  request ;  and  it  is  as  dan- 
gerous to  be  aged  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is 


virtuous  to  be  constant  in  any  undertaking. 
There  is  scarce  truth  enough  alive  to  make 
societies  secure,  but  security  enough  to  make 
fellowships  accurs'd.  Much  upon  this  riddle 
runs  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  This  news  is 
old  enough,  yet  it  is  every  day's  news.  I  pray 
you,  sir,  of  what  disposition  was  the  duke. 

Escalus. 
One  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  contended 
especially  to  know  himself. 

Duke. 

What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 

Escalus. 
Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry,  than 
merry  at  any  thing  which  profess'd  to  make  him 
rejoice:  a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But 
leave  we  him  to  his  events,  with  a  prayer  they 
may  prove  prosperous,  and  let  ine  desire  to  know 
how  you  find  Claudio  prepared.  I  am  made  to 
understand,  that  you  have  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke. 
He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister 
measure  from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly 
humbles  himself  to  the  determination  of  justice ; 
yet  had  he  framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction 
of  his  frailty,  many  deceiving  promises  of  life, 
which  I,  by  my  good  leisure,  have  discredited 
to  him,  and  now  is  he  resolved  to  die. 

Kscalus. 
You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function,  and 
the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  calling.  1  have 
labour'd  for  the  poor  gentleman  to  the  extremest 
shore  of  my  modesty  ;  but  my  brother  justice 
have  I  found  so  severe,  that  he  hath  forced  me 
to  tell  him,  he  is  indeed— justice. 

Duke. 

If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of  his 
proceeding,  it  shall  become  him  well ;  wherein 
if  he  chance  to  fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himself.    !  I 

Kscalus. 

I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner.    Fare  you    \ 
well.  '      \\ 

Duke. 

Peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Escalus  and  Provost.  \  \ 
He,  who  the  sword  of  heaven  will  bear, 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe  ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying, 
Than  by  self  offences  weighing. 
Shame  to  him,  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Angel), 
To  weed  my  vice,  and  let  his  grow  ! 
O,  what  may  man  within  him  hide, 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side ! 
How  may  likeness,  made  in  crimes, 
Making  practice  on  the  times, 
To  draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 
Most  pond'rous  and  substantial  things  1 
Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply. 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despised  : 
So  disguise  shall,  by  the  disguised, 
Pay  with  falsehood  false  exacting, 
And  perform  an  old  contracting.  [Exit, 


A  ci  iv.  Sc.  ii. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


97 


ACT  IV. 

Vi?  !.    A  Room  at  the  moated  Grange. 
ma  discovered  sitting :  a  Boy  singing. 

Song. 
rpjKE,  0!  take  those  lips  away, 
-*  That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day. 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn : 
But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

bring  again, 
Seals  of  love,  but  seard  in  vain, 

seal'd  in  vain. 
Mariana. 
Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick  away : 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  still'd  my  brawling  discontent.— 

[Exit  Boy. 
Enter  Duke. 
I  cry  you  mercy,  sir ;  and  well  could  wish 
You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical : 
Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, 
My  mirth  is  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas'dmy  woe. 

Duke. 
'Tis  good :  though  music  oft  hath  such  a  charm, 
To  make  bad  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inquired  for 
me  here  to-day?  much  upon  this'  time  have  I 
promis'd  here  to  meet. 

Mariana. 
You  have  not  been  inquired  after  :  I  have  sat 
here  all  day. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke. 
I  do  constantly  believe  you.  —  The  time  is 
come,  even  now.    I  shall  crave  your  forbearance 
a  little:  maybe,  1  will  call  upon  you  anon,  for 
some  advantage  to  yourself. 
Mariana. 
I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

Duke. 
Very  well  met,  and  welcome. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  ? 
Isabella. 
He  hath  a  garden  circummur'd  with  brick, 
Whose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd  j 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planched  gate, 
That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door, 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads  ; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  upon  the  heavy 
Middle  of  the  night  to  call  upon  him. 
Duke. 
But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  this 
way? 

Isabella. 
1  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon't : 
With  whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence, 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me 
T  he  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke. 
Are  there  no  other  tokens 
Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance? 
Isabella. 
No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i'  the  dark  ; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd  him  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:  for  1  have  made  him  know, 
I  ha\  e  a  servant  comes  with  me  along, 
That  stays  upon  me ;  whose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 


*Tls  well  borne  up. 
I  have  not  vet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this — What,  ho  !  within  !  come  forth. 

Re-enter  Mariana. 
I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid: 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 

Isabella. .-..._,       L    ,„ 

I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke. 
Do  you  persuade  yourself  that  I  respect  you? 

Mariana. 
Good  friar,  I  know  you  do,  and  have  found  it. 

Duke. 
Take  then  this  your  companion  by  the  hand, 
Who  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear. 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure :  but  make  haste; 
The  vaporous  night  approaches. 

Mariana. 
Will't  please  you  walk  aside  ? 
[Exeunt  Mariana  and  Isabella* 

Duke. 

O  place  and  greatness  !  millions  of  false  eyes 
Are  stuck  upon  thee.    Volumes  of  report 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests 
Upon  thy  doings  :  thousand  escapes  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  dream, 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies  1 

Re-enter  Mariana  and  Isabella. 

Welcome  1    How  agreed  ? 

Isabella. 
She'll  take  the  enterprize  upon  her,  father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke. 
It  is  not  my  consent, 
But  my  entreaty  too. 

Isabella. 

Little  have  you  to  say, 
When  you  depart  from  him,  but,  soft  and  low, 
44  Remember  now  my  brother." 
Mariana. 

Fear  me  not. 
Duke. 
Nor,  gentle  daughter,  fear  you  not  at  all. 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contract : 
To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin, 
Sith  that  the  justice  of  your  title  to  him 
Doth  flourish  the  deceit.    Come,  let  us  go : 
Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tithe's  to  sow. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Provost  and  Clown. 
Provost. 
Come  hither,  sirrah.    Can  you  cut  off  a  man's 
head? 

Clown. 
If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can  ;  but  if  he 
be  a  married  man,  he  is  his  wife's  head,  and  I 
can  never  cut  off  a  woman's  head. 
Provost. 
Come,  sir  ;  leave  me  your  snatches,  and  yield 
me  a  direct  answer.     1  o-morrow  morning  are 
to  die  Claudia  and  Barnardine :  here  is  in  our 
prison  a  common  executioner,  who  in  his  office 
lacks  a  helper :  if  you  will  take  it  on  you  to 
assist  him,  it  shall  redeem  you  from  your  gyves; 
if  not,  you  shall  have  your  full  time  ol  imprison- 
ment, and  your  deliverance  with  an  unpitied 
whipping,  for  you  have  been  a  notorious Jbawd. 
« 


Clown. 


93 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  ji. 


Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd,  time  out 
of  mind ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  lawful 
hangman.  I  would  be  glad  to  receive  some 
instruction  from  my  fellow  partner. 


What 
there  ? 


Provost^^, 
ho,    Abhorson!      Where's    Abhorson, 

Enter  Abhorson. 

_  „     .    Abhorson. 

Do  you  call,  sir  ? 

Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  will  help  you  to-morrow 
in  your  execution.  If  you  think  it  meet,  com- 
pound with  him  by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide ' 
here  with  you  ;  if  not,  use  him  for  the  present, 
and  dismiss  him.  He  cannot  plead  his  estima- 
tion with  you  :  he  hath  been  a  bawd. 


Enter  Claudio. 

'.  Look,  here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death :  j 

;  'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to  "morrow ; 

,  Thou  must  be  made  immortal.     Where's  Bar-\ 

nardine  ? 

Claudio. 
As  fast  lock'd  up  In  sleep,  as  guiltless  labour, 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  traveller's  bones : 
He  will  not  wake. 


Who/ 


Abhorson. 


A  bawd,  sir  ?  Fie  upon  him  !  he  will  dis- : 
credit  our  mystery. 

Provost.  j 

Go  to,  sir  ;  you  weigh  equally :  a  feather  will 

turn  the  scale.  [Exit.  | 

Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favour,  (for,  surely, 
sir,  a  good  favour  you  have,  but  that  you  have  a 
hanging  look,)  do  you  call,  sir,  your  occupation 
•  mystery  ? 

Abhorson. 

Ay,  sir ;  a  mystery. 

Clown. 
Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mystery  ; 
and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my  oc-  ; 
cupation,  using  painting,  do  prove  my  occupation  j 
a  mystery ;  but  what  mystery  there  should  be 
in  hanging,  if  I  should  be  hang'd,  I  cannot 
imagine. 

Abhorson. 
Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Clown. 

Proof? 

Abhorson. 
Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief. 

Clown. 
If  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true  man 
thinks  it  big  enough  ;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your 
thief,  your  thief  thinks  it  little  enough  :  so,  every 
true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Provost. 
Are  you  agreed  ? 

Clown. 
Sir,  I  will  serve  him;   for  I  do  find,  your 
hangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your 
bawd :  he  doth  oftener  ask  forgiveness. 

Provost. 

You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your  axe 
to-morrow,  four  o'clock. 

Abhorson. 

Come  on,  bawd ;  I  will  instruct  thee  in  my 
trade :  follow. 

Clown. 

I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir ;  and,  I  hope,  if  you 
have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you 
shall  find  me  yare;  for,  truly,  sir,  for  your  kind- 
ness I  owe  you  a  good  turn. 

Provost. 
Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 

[Exeunt  Clown  and  Abhorson. 
Th'  one  has  my  pity  ;  not  a  jot  the  other, 
Being  a  mur6V,.er,  though  he  were  my  brother. 


can  do  good  on  him  ? 
Well,  go;   prepare  yourself.    But  hark,  what 
noise?  [Knocking  within. 

Heaven  give  your  spirits    comfort!  —  By  and 

¥u      b7:—  3  TExit  Claudio. 

I  hope  it  is  some  pardon,  or  reprieve, 

For  the  most  gentle  Claudio Welcome,  father. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke. 

The  best  and  wholsom'st  spirits  of  the  night    j 

Envelop  you,  good  provost!    Who  call'd  herei 

of  late  ? 

Provost. 
rfe\ 


None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 
Duke. 
Provost. 


Not  Isabel  f 


Duke. 
They  will  then,  ere't  be  long. 


What  comfort 


is  for 


Duke 


:e. 
There's  some  in  hope 

....        ,      Provost. 
It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.  I 

Not  so,  not  so :  his  life  is  paraliel'd 
Even  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice. 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself,  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others :  were  he  meal'd  with  that 


Which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous  ; 

[Knocking  within. 

But  this  being  so,  he's  just.  —  Now  are  they 
come.—  [Exit  Provost. 

This  is  a  gentle  provost :  seldom,  when 

The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men. 

[Knocking. 

How  now  ?     vVhat  noise  ?    That  spirit's  pos- 
sessed with  haste,  [strokes. 

That  wounds  th'  unsisting  postern  with  these 

Re-enter  Provost. 
Provost. 
{[Speaking  to  one  at  the  door. 

There  he  must  stay,  until  the  offieer 
Arise  to  let  him  in :  he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke. 

Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet, 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Provost. 

None,  sir,  none. 
Duke. 
As  near  the  dawning,  provost,  as  it  is, 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Provost. 

Happely, 
You  something  know ;  yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 
No  countermand:  no  such  example  have  we. 
Besides,  upon  the  very  siege  of  justice, 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Proless'd  the  contrary. 

Enter 


Act  rv.  Sc  n. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


99 


Enter  a  Messenger. 

Duke. 
This  is  his  lordship's  man. 

Provost. 
And  here  comes  Claudio's  pardon. 

enger. 
My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note  ;  and  by  me 
this  further  charge,  that  you  swerve  not  from 
the  smallest  article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter, 
or  other  circumstance.  Good  morrow ;  for,  as 
I  take  it,  it  is  almost  day. 

Provost. 
I  shall  obey  him.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Duke. 
This  is  his  pardon  ;  purchas'd  by  such  sin, 

C  A  side. 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in : 
Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  celerity, 
When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority. 
When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended, 
That  for  the  fault's  love  is  tb'  offender  friended.— 
Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

I  told  you  :  Lord  Angela,  belike  thinking  me 
remiss  in  mine  office,  awakens  me  with  this 
unwonted  putting  on  ;  methinks  strangely,  for 
he  hath  not  used  it  before. 

Duke. 
Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Provost. 

[Reads.  ! 

m  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to  the  contrary, 

let  Claudia  be  executed  hy  four  of  the  clock ; 

and,  in  the  afternoon,  Barnardine.     For  my 

\  better  satisfaction,  let  me  have  Claudio's  head 

!  sent  me  by  five.    Let  this  be  duly  perform'd ; 

1  with  a  thought,  that  more  depends  on  it  than  we 

1  must  yet  deliver.     Thus  fail  not  to  do  your 

1  office,  as  you  will  answer  it  at  your  peril."  — 

What  say  you  to  this,  sir  ? 

Duke. 
What  is  that  Barnardine,  who  is  to  be  exe- 
cuted in  the  afternoon  ? 

Provost. 
A  Bohemian  born  ;  but  here  nursed  up  and 
bred  :  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old. 

Duke. 
How  came  it  that  the  absent  duke  had  not; 
either  deliver'd  him  to  his  liberty,  or  executed! 
!  him  ?     I  have  heard,  it  was  ever  his  manner  to  ' 
;    do  so. 

Provost. 
Hi3  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  him :  j 
,  |  and,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  government  \ 
j  i  of  Lord  Angela,  came  uot  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 

Duke. 
It  is  now  apparent. 

Provost. 
Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself.        i 

Duke. 

Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in  prison  ? 
',   How  seems  he  to  be  touch  d  ? 

Provost. 
1        A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  more  drcad- 
i     fully, but  as  a  drunken  sleep;  careless,  reckless, 
I    and  fearless  of  what's  past,  present,  or  to  come :  . 
I  insensible  of  mortality,  and  desperately  mortal. 

Duke. 
He  wants  advice. 

Provost. 
He  will  hear  none.     He  hatb  evermore  had 
!  j  the  liberty  of  the  prison :  give  him  leave  to  J 


escape  hence,  he  would  not :  drunk  many  times 
a  day,  if  not  many  days  entirely  drunk.  We 
have  very  oft  awaked  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to 
execution,  and  show'd  him  a  seeming  warrant 
for  it :  it  hath  not  moved  him  at  all. 

Duke. 

More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in  your 
brow,  provost,  honesty  and  constancy :  if  I  read 
it  not  truly,  my  ancient  skill  beguiles  me  ;  but 
in  the  boldness  of  my  cunning  I  will  lay  myself 
in  hazard.  Claudio,  whom  here  you  have 
warrant  to  execute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the 
law,  than  Angelo  who  hath  sentenced  him.  To 
make  you  understand  this  in  a  manifested  effect, 
I  crave  but  four  days'  respite,  for  the  which  you 
are  to  do  me  both  a  present  and  a  dangerous 
courtesy. 

Provost. 

Pray,  sir,  in  what  ?  * 

Duke. 
In  the  delaying  death. 

Provo«t. 
Alack!  how  may  I  do  it,  having  the  hour 
limited,  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty, 
to  deliver  his  head  in  the  view  of  Angelo  ?  1 
may  make  my  case  as  Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in 
the  smallest. 

Duke. 
By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you :  if 
my  instructions  may  be  your  guide,  let  this 
Barnardine  be  this  morning  executed,  and  his 
head  borne  to  Angelo. 

Provost. 
Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  discover 
the  favour. 

Duke. 

0  !  death's  a  great  disguiser,  and  you  may 
add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  beard  ; 
and  say,  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be 
so  bared  before  his  death ;  you  know,  the  course 
is  common.  If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this, 
more  than  thanks  and  good  fortune,  by  the  saint 
whom  I  profess,  I  will  plead  against  it  with  my 
life. 

Provost. 
Pardon  me,  good  father  :  it  is  against  my  oath. 

Duke, 
Were   you   sworn   to    the  duke,   or   to  the 
deputy  ? 

Provost. 
To  him,  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke. 

You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence,  if 
the  duke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  dealing. 

Provost. 
But  what  likelihood  is  in  that  ? 

Duke. 
Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet 
since  I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat, 
integrity,  nor  my  persuasion,  can  with  ease 
attempt  you,  I  will  go  farther  than  I  meant,  to 
pluck  all  fears  out  of  you.  Look  you,  sir  ;  here 
is  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  duke :  you  know  the 
character,  I  doubt  not,  and  the  signet  is  not 
strange  to  you. 

Provost. 

1  know  them  both. 

Duke. 
The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  the  duke : 
you  shall  anon  over -read  it  at  your  pleasure, 
where  you  shall  find,  within  these  two  days  he 
will  be  here.  This  is  a  thing  that  Angelo  knows 
not,  for  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of; 
strange  tenor  ;  perchance,  of  the  duke's  death  ;  ! 
perchance,  | 


IOO 


MEASUEE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  iv  Sc.  il 


perchance,  entering  into  some  monastery  ;  but, 
by  chance,  nothing  of  what  is  writ.  Look,  the 
unfolding  star  calls  up  the  shepherd.  Put  not 
yourself  into  amazement  how  these  things  should 
be :  all  difficulties  are  but  easy  when  they  are 
known.  Call  your  executioner,  and  off  with 
Barnardine's  head :  I  will  give  him  a  present 
shrift,  and  advise  him  for  a  better  place.  Yet 
you  are  amazed,  but  this  shall  absolutely  resolve 
you.    Come  away  ;  it  is  almost  clear  dawn. 


SCENE  111.    Another  Room  in  the  lame. 
Enter  Clown. 
Clown. 
I  am  as  well  acquainted  here,  as  I  was  in  our 
house  of  profession :  one  would  think,  it  were 
mistress  Over-done*  own  house,  for  here  be 
many  of  her  old  customers.    First,  here's  young 
master  Rash;  he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown 
paper  and  old  ginger,  ninescore  and  seventeen 
pounds,  of  which  he  made  five  marks,  ready 
money :  marry,  then,  ginger  was  not  much  in 
request,  for  the  old  women  were  all  dead.    Then 
is  there  here  one  master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of 
master    Threrpile  the  mercer,  for   some  four 
suits  of  peach-colour'd  satin,  which  now  peaches 
him  a  beggar.   Then  have  we  here  young  Dizzy, 
and  young  master  Deep-vow,  and  master  Copper- 
spur,  and  master  Starve-lackey,  the  rapier  and 
dagger-man,  and  young  Drop-heir  that  killed 
Lusty  Pudding,  and  master  Forthright  the  tilter, 
and  brave  master  Shoe-tie  the  great  traveller, 
and  wild  Half-can  that  stabb'd   Pots,  and,   1 
think,  forty  more,  all  great  doers  in  our  trade, 
and  are  now  for  the  Lord's  sake. 
Enter  Abhorson. 
Abhorion. 
Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 

Clown. 
Master  Barnardine!   you  must  rise  and  be 
hang'd,  master  Barnardine. 
Abhorion. 
What  ho,  Barnardine ! 

Barnardine. 

[Within. 
A  pox  o'  your  throats  !   Who  makes  that  noise 
there  1    What  are  you  ? 

Clown. 

Your  friends,  sir ;  the  hangman.     You  must 
be  so  good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 
Barnardine. 

[Within. 

Away,  you  rogue,  away  !  I  am  sleepy. 

Abhorson. 
Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that  quickly 
to°-  Clown. 

Pray,  master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you  are 
executed,  and  sleep  afterwards. 
Abhorson. 
Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  him  out. 

Clown. 
He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming :   I  hear  his 
straw  rustle.    Enter  Barnardh*. 
Abhorson. 
Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah  ? 

Clown. 
Very  ready,  sir. 


Barnardine. 
How  now,  Abhorson?  what's  the  news  with 
iyou  ? 

Abhorson. 

!     Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap  into 
lyour  prayers ;  for,  look  you,  the  warrant's  come. 
Barnardine. 
You  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all  night :  I 
am  not  fitted  for't.     „. 

Clown. 

O,  the  better,  sir ;  for  he  that  drinks  all  night, 
and  is  hang'd  betimes  in  the  morning,  may  sleep 
the  sounder  all  the  next  day. 
Enter  Duke. 
Abhorson. 
Look  you,  sir  ;  here  comes  your  ghostly  father 
Do  we  jest  now,  think  you  ? 
Duke. 
Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing  how 
hastily  you  are  to  depart,  I  am  come  to  advise 
you,  comfort  you,  and  pray  with  you. 
Barnardine. 
Friar,  not  I :    I  have  been  drinking  hard  all 
night,  and  I  will  have  more  time  to  prepare  me, 
or  they  shall  beat  out  my  brains  with  billets.     I 
will  not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that's  certain . 
Dukt. 
O,  sir,  you  must ;  and  therefore,  I  beseech 
you, 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 
Barnardine. 
I  swear,  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any  man's 
persuasion.  ^^ 

But  hear  you, 

Barnardine. 

Not  a  word  :  if  you  have  any  thing  to  say  to 

me,  come  to  my  ward  ;  for  thence  will  not  I  to- 

dav  [Kxit. 

3 *  Enter  Provost. 

Duke. 
Unfit  to  live,  or  die.     O,  gravel  heart !  — 
After  him,  ^^^SS^j^SS^^^ 
Provost. 
Now,  sir  ;  how  do  you  find  the  prisoner  ? 

Duke. 
A  creature  unprepar'd,  unmeet  for  death  ; 
And,  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is, 
Were  damnable.       proyon 

Here  in  the  prison,  father, 
There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozim,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudia's  years  ;  his  beard,  and  head, 
Just  of  his  colour.    What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate,  till  he  were  well  inclin'd, 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  with  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio  ? 
Duke. 

O,  'tis  an  accident  that  heaven  provides  ! 
Despatch  it  presently  :  the  hour  draws  on 
Prefix'd  by  Angela.    See,  this  be  done, 
And  sent  according  to  command,  whiles  I 
1  Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 
Provost. 

This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  presently. 
But  Barnardine  must  die  this  afternoon  ; 
And  how  shall  we  continue  Claudio. 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  come, 
If  he  were  known  alive  ?  Duke 


Ac  1    IV. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


101 


. 


Duke. 
this  be  done.— Put  them  in  secret  holds, 
Both  Bamardine  and  Claurtio  : 
Bretwtce  the  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting 
'1\>  th"  under  generation,  you  shall  find 
\  our  safety  manifested. 

Provost. 
I      I  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke. 

.      Quick,  despatch,  and  send  the  head  to  Angelo. 
[Exit  Provost. 

i  Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo,  [tents 

(The  provost,  he  shall  bear  them)  whose  con- 
Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home, 
And  that  by  great  injunctions  I  am  bound 
To  enter  puidicly  :  him  I'll  desire 
To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 
A  league  below  the  city  ;  and  from  thence, 
By  cold  gradation  and  weal-balanc'd  form, 
We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provott. 

Provost. 
Here  is  the  head  ;  I'll  carry  it  myself. 

Duke. 
Convenient  is  it.    Make  a  swift  return. 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things, 
That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 

Provost. 

I'll  make  all  speed. 
[Exit. 
Isabella. 

[Within. 
Peace,  ho,  be  here  ! 

Duke. 
The  tongue  of  Isabel —  She's  come  to  know, 
If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither  ; 
But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  of  her  good, 
'  To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair, 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 
Isabella. 
Ho  I  by  your  leave. 

Duke. 
Good    morning   to    you,    fair    and    gracious 
daughter. 

Isabella. 

The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 

Hath  yet  the  deputy  sent'my  brother's  pardon  ? 

Duke. 

He  hath  releas'd  him,  Isabel,  from  the  world. 

His  head  is  off,  and  sent  to  Angelo. 

Isabella. 
Nay,  but  it  Is  not  so. 

Duke. 

It  is  no  other. 
;  Show  your  wisdom,  daughter,  in   your  close 
patience. 

Isabella. 
I      O,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes  ! 

Duke. 
You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

Isabella. 
Unhappy  Claudio  !     Wretched  Isabel ! 
Injurious  world  1    Most  damned  Angelo! 
Duke. 
This  nor  hurts  him,  nor  profits  you  a  jot : 
Forbear  it  therefore ;  give  your  cause  to  heaven. 
Mark  what  I  say,  which  you  shall  find 
By  every  syllable  a  faithful  verity. 
The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow  ; 
your  eyes : 


nay,  dry 


One  of  our  convent,  ai.d  fcis  comessor, 

Gives  me  this  instance     \1r3aJy  r  e  hath  carrier 

Notice  to  Escalus  aiiu  Angeio, 

Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates. 

There  to  give  up  the'r  power,     't  you  can,  oa'\ 

your  wibdon 
In  that  good  patn  tnat  i  would  wish  ii  go  ; 
And  you  shall  have  your  bosom  on  this  wretch. 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart, 
And  general  honour. 

Isabella, 

I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke. 
This  letter,  then,  to  friar  Peter  give  ; 
'Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke's  return  : 
Say,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
At  Mariana's  house  to-night.     Her  cause,  and 

yours 
I'll  perfect  him  withal,  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke ;  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home,  and  home.   For  my  poor  self, 
1  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow, 
And  shall  be  absent.   Wend  you  with  this  letter. 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart :  trust  not  my  holy  order, 
If  I  pervert  your  course. — Who's  here? 

Enter  lucio. 

Lucio. 

Good  even. 
Friar,  where  is  the  provost  ? 

Duke. 

Not  within,  sir. 
Lucio. 
O,  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mine  heart,  to 
see  thine  eyes  so  red :  thou  must  be  patient.  I 
am  fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water  and  bran  ; 
I  dare  not  for  my  head  fill  my  belly:  one  fruitful 
meal  would  set  me  to't.  But,  they  say,  the  duke 
will  be  here  to-morrow.  By  my  troth,  Isabel,  I 
loved  thy  brother  :  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  of 
dark  corners  had  been  at  home,  he  had  lived. 

[Exit  Isabella. 
Duke. 
Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholding  to 
your  reports  ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in 
them. 

Lucio. 
Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  duke  so  well  as 
I  do :  he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  takest 
him  for. 

Duke. 
Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.     Fare  ye 
well. 

Lucio. 
Nay,  tarry;  I'll  go  along  with  thee.     I  can 
tell  thee  pretty  tales  of  the  duke. 

Duke. 

You  have  told  me  too  many  of  him  already, 

sir,  if  they  be  true;  if  not  true,  none  were  enough. 

Lucio. 
I  was  once  before  him  for  getting  a  wench 
with  child. 

Duke. 
Did  you  such  a  thing  ? 

Lucio. 
Yes,  marry,  did  I ;  but  I  was  fain  to  forswear 
it:  they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the 
rotten  medlar. 

Duke. 
Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest.    Re«t 
you  well. 

Lucio. 

By  my  troth,  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the  lane's 

end.     If  bawdy  talk  offend  you,  we'll  have  very 

little 


F= 


102 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


Hitcle  of  it.    Nay,  friar,  r  am  a  kind  of  burr ;  1 
flbfiW  stick.     ,  ,   -  t.    >,  [Exeunt. 

<  SGBNE  FT*.  ;A  R<«on>in  An£elo'a  House. 
'  j    « "    ','■  „  ifentqr  ^ff^l  any.  Escalus. 
Escalus. 
Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouch'd 
other. 

Angelo. 
In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner. 
His  actions  show  much  like  to  madness :  pray 
His  wisdom  be  not  tainted !  [heaven, ! 

And  why  meet  him  at  the  gates,  and  re-deliver 
Our  authorities  there  ? 

Escalus. 
I  guess  not. 

Angelo. 
And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour  be-  ; 
fore  his  ent'ring,  that  if  any  crave  redress  of  j 
injustice,  they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  iu  '■ 
the  street  ? 

Escalus. 
He  shows  his  reason  for  that :  to  have  a  de- 
spatch of  complaints,  aud  to  deliver  us   from 
devices  hereafter,  [us. 

Which  shall  then  have  no  power  to  stand  against 
Angelo. 
Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaim'd : 
betimes  i'  the  morn,  I'll  call  you  at  your  house. 
Give  notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit,  as  are 
to  meet  him. 

Escalus. 
I  shall,  sir:  fare  you  well.  [Exit 
Angelo. 
Good  night.  —  [pregnant, , 

This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  un- 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.   A  deflowered  maid, 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enfore'd 
The  law  against  it  1— But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss, 
How  might  she  tongue  me  I    Yet  reason  dares 

her  No : 
For  my  authority  bears  of  a  credent  bulk 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch, 
But  it  confounds  the  breather.    He  should  have 
liv'd,  [sense, 

Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous 
Might  in  the  times  to  come  have  ta'en  revenue, 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour'd  life  [liv'd  ! 

With  ransom  of  such  shame.   Would  yet  he  had 
Alack  !  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot, 
Nothing  goes  right :  we  would,  and  we  wpqld 


not. 


SCENE  V.    Fields  without  the  Town. 

Enter  Duke,  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Peter.  ! 

Duke. 

These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me..     , 

[Giving  letters.  ) 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction, 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift,       [that, : 
Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to 
As  cause  doth  minister.    Go,  call  at  Flavins' 
bouse, 
j  And  tell  him  where  1  stay  :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentius,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 
And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  tha  gate ; 
But  send  me  Flavius  first. 

Friar  Peter. 
It  shall  be  speeded  well.  CExit  Friar.  : 


Enter  Varrius. 

Duke. 

I  thank  thee,  Varrius  ;  thou  hast  made  good 

haste. 

Come,  we  will  walk  :  there's  other  of  our  friends 

Will  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius. 


SCENE  VI.    Street  near  the  City  Gate. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 
Isabella. 
To  speak  so  indirectly,  I  am  loath  : 
I  would  say  the  truth  ;  but  to  accuse  him  so, 
That  is  your  part ;  yet  I'm  advis'd  to  do  it, 
He  says,  to  veil  full  purpose. 
Mariana. 

Be  rul'd  by  him. 
Isabella. 
Besides,  he  tells  me,  that  if  peradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;  for  'tis  a  physic, 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 
Mariana. 
I  would,  friar  Peter — 

Isabella. 

O,  peace !  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 

Friar  Peter. 

Come  ;  I  have  found  you  out  a  stand  most  fit, 

Where  you  may  have  such  vantage  on  the  duke,  . 

He  shall  not  pass  you.   Twice  have  the  trumpets 

sounded : 
The  generous  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  ent'ring :  therefore  hence,  away. 
[Exeunt 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    A  public  Place  near  the  City  Gate. 

Mariana,  (veil'd,)  habeilii,  and  Peter,  at  a  dis- 
tance. Enter  at  several  doors,  Duke,  Vnrrim, 
Lords;  Angela,  Escn/us,  Lucio,  Provost, 
Officers,  and  Citizens. 

Duke. 

MY  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met  :— 
Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we.are  glad  to 
see  you. 

Angelo- and  Escalus. 
Happy  return  be  to  your  royal  grace  I 

Duke. 
Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks, 
Forerunning  more  requital. 
Angelo. 
You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 
Duke. 
O  I  your  desert  speaks  loud ;  and   I  should 
wrong  it, 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom, 
When  it  deserves  with  characters  of  brass 
A  forted  residence  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time, 
And  razure  of  oblivion.    Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 

Tha* 


KBA.8WIB3    ?_:.    ROEA.S'Oa£I 


That  outward  courtesies  would  fain  proclaim 
I    Favours  that  ke«p  within. — Come,  Escalus  ; 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  our  other  hand, 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

Friar  Peter  and  Isabella  come  forward. 
Friar  Peter. 
Now  is  your  time.    Speak  loud,  and  kneel 
before  him. 

Isabella. 
Justice,  O  royal  duke  !     Vail  your  regard 
Upon  awrong'd,  I  would  fain  have  said,  a  maid ! 
O  worthy  prince  !  dishonour  not  your  eye 
By  throwing  it  on  any  other  object, 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint. 
And  given  me  justice,  justice,  justice,  justice  ! 
Duke. 
Relate  your  wrongs :  in  what  ?  by  whom  ? 
Be  brief. 
Here  is  lord  Angela  shall  give  you  justice : 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isabella. 

O,  worthy  duke  ! 
!  You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil. 
1  Hear  me  yourself;  for  that  which  I  must  speak 
Must  either  punish  me,  not  being  believ'd, 
Or  wring  redress  from  you.     Hear  me,  O,  hear 
me,  here  ! 

Angelo. 
My  lord,  her  wits,  I  fear  me,  are  not  firm  : 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brother, 
Cut  off  by  course  of  justice. 
Isabella. 

By  course  of  justice  ! 
Angelo. 
',     And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly,  and  strange. 
Isabella. 
Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I  speak. 
j  That  Angelo's  forsworn,  is  it  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo's  a  murderer,  is't  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo  is  an  adulterous  thief, 
I  An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violater, 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  strange  ? 
Duke. 

Nay,  it  is  ten  times  strange. 
Isabella. 
It  is  not  truer  he  is  Angelo, 
Than  this  is  all  as  true  as  it  is  strange : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true  ;  for  truth  is  truth 
To  th'  end  of  reckoning. 

Duke. 
Away  with  her — Poor  soul ! 
She  speaks  this  in  th'  infirmity  of  sense. 
Isabella. 
O  prince,  I  conjure  thee,  as  thou  believ'st 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world, 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion 
That   I  am  touch'd  with  madness:   make  not 
impossible  [sible, 

That  which  but  seems  unlike.    'Tis  not  impos- 
But  one,  the  wicked'st  caitiff  on  the  ground, 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute, 
As  Angelo  ;  even  so  may  Angelo, 
In  all  his  dressings,  characts,  titles,  forms, 
Be  an  arch-villain.     Believe  it,  royal  prince: 
If  he  be  less,  he's  nothing ;  but  he's  more, 
Had  1  more  name  for  badness. 
Duke. 

By  mine  honesty, 
If  she  be  mad,  as  I  believe  no  other, 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense, 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing, 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 


No,  my  good  lord  ; 


Isabella. 

O,  gracious  duke  I 
Harp  not  on  that ;  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
:  For  inequality  ;  but  let  your  reason  serve 

To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid, 
j  And  hide  the  false  seems  true. 
Duke. 

Many  that  are  not  mad, 
•  Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason —  What  would 
you  say  ? 

3  Isabella. 

;      I  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
;  Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication 
;  To  lose  his  head  ;  condemn'd  by  Angelo. 
I  I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterhood, 
j  Was  sent  to  by  my  brother  ;  one  Lucio 
i  As  then  the  messenger  ;  — 
Lucio. 
That's  I,  an't  like  your  grace. 
I  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desir'd  her 
To  try  her  gracious  fortune  with  lord  Angelo, 
For  her  poor  brother's  pardon. 
Isabella. 

That's  he,  indeed. 
Duke. 
You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 
Lucio. 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 
Duke. 

J  wish  you  now,  then : 
Pray  you,  take  note  of  it ;  and  when  you  have 
A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven,  you  then 
Be  perfect. 

Lucio. 

I  warrant  your  honour. 

Duke. 

The  warrant's  for  yourself :  take  heed  to  it. 

Isabella. 
This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  tale. 

Lucio. 
Right. 

Duke. 
It  may  be  right  ;  but  you  are  in  the  wrong 

To  speak  before  your  time Proceed. 

Isabella. 

I  went 
To  this  pernicious,  caitiff  deputy. 
Duke. 
That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 
Isabella. 

Pardon  it : 
The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 
Duke. 
Mended  again  :  the  matter  ?—  Proceed. 

Isabella. 
In  brief,  -  to  set  the  needless  process  by, 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd,  and  kneel'd, 
How  he  refell'd  me,  and  how  I  repli'd, 
(For  this  was  of  much  length)  the  vile  conclusion 
I  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter. 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust, 
Release  mybrother ;  and,aftermuch  debatement, 
My  sisterly  remorse  confutes  mine  honour, 
And  I  did  yield  to  him.     But  the  next  morn 

betimes, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brother's  head. 
Duke. 

This  is  most  likely. 


j;I04 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  v.  Sc. 


Isabella. 
O,  that  it  were  as  like,  as  it  is  true  ! 

Duke. 
By  heaven,  fond  wretch  !  thou  know'st  not 
what  thou  speak'st, 
Or  else  thou  art  suborn'd  against  his  honour, 
In  hateful  practice.    First,  his  integrity 
Stands  without  blemish :  next,  it  imports  no 

reason, 
That  with  such  vehemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:  if  he  had  so  offended, 
He  would  have  weigh'd  thy  brother  by  himself, 
And  not  have  cut  him  off.    Some  one  hath  set 

you  on : 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complain. 
Isabella. 

And  is  this  all  ? 
Then,  O  1  you  blessed  ministers  above, 
Keep  me  in  patience ;  and,  with  ripen'd  time, 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up      [woe, 
In  countenance ! — Heaven  shield  your  grace  from 
As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go  ! 
Duke. 
I  know,  you'd  fain  be  gone.  — An  officer  ! 
To  prison  with  her.— Shall  we  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  him  so  near  us  ?    This  needs  must  be  a 

practice. 
Who  knew  of  your  intent,  and  coming  hither  ? 
Isabella. 
One  that  I  would  were  here,  friar  Lodowick. 

Duke. 
A  ghostly  father,  belike.  — Who  knows  that 
Lodowick? 

Lucio. 
My  lord,  I  know  him :  'tis  a  meddling  friar ; 
I  do  not  like  the  man :  had  he  been  lay,  my  lord, 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  grace 
In  your  retirement,  I  had  swing'd  him  soundly. 
Duke. 
Words  against  me?  This  a  good  friar,  belike ! 
And  to  set  on  this  wretched  woman  here 
Against  our  substitute !— Let  this  friar  be  found. 
Lucio. 
But  yesternight,  my  lord,  she  and  that  friar 
I  saw  them  at  the  prison.    A  saucy  friar, 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

Friar  Peter. 

Blessed  be  your  royal  grace  ! 
I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abus'd.    First,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accus'd  your  substitute, 
Who  is  as  free  from  touch  or  soil  with  her, 
As  she  from  one  ungot. 

Duke. 

We  did  believe  no  less. 
Know  you  that  friar  Lodowick,  that  she  speaks 
of? 

Friar  Peter. 
I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy : 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler, 
A  s  he's  reported  by  this  gentleman  ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet 
Did,  as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  grace. 
Ludo. 
My  lord,  most  villainously  :  believe  it. 

Friar  Peter. 
Well ;  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear  himself, 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord, 
Of  a  strange  fever.    Upon  his  mere  request, 
Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there. was  com- 
plaint 


Intended  'gainst  lord  Angela,  came  I  hither, 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  what  he  doth 

know 
Is  true,  and  false  ;  and  what  he  with  his  oath, 
And  all  probation,  will  make  up  full  clear, 
Whensoever  he's  convented.      First,  for  this 
To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman,  [woman, 

So  vulgarly  and  personally  accus'd, 
Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes, 
Till  she  herself  confess  it 

Duke. 

Good  friar,  let's  hear  it. 
[Isabella  is  carried  off  guarded  ;  and  Ma- 
riana comes  forward. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  lord  Angela  t — 

0  heaven,  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools  !  — 

Give  us  some  seats Come,  cousin  Angelo  ; 

In  this  I'll  be  impartial :  be  you  judge 

Of  your  own  cause.  —  Is  this  the  witness,  friar  ? 
First,  let  her  show  her  face,  and  after  speak. 
Mariana. 
Pardon,  my  lord,  I  will  not  show  my  face, 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 
Duke. 

What,  are  you  married  ? 
Mariana. 
No,  my  lord. 

Duke. 

Are  you  a  maid  ? 

Mariana. 

No,  my  lord. 
Duke. 
A  widow  then  ? 

Mariana. 
Neither,  my  lord. 
Duke. 

Why  you 
Are  nothing  then:  neither  maid,  widow,  nor 
wife? 

Lucio. 

My  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk ;  for  many  of 

them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife. 

Duke. 

Silence  that  fellow :  I  would,  he  had  some 

To  prattle  for  himself.  [cause 

Lucio. 

Well,  my  lord. 

Mariana. 
My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married  ; 
And,  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid : 

1  have  known  my  husband,  yet  my  husband 
That  ever  he  knew  me.  [knows  not 

Lucio. 
He  was  drunk  then,  my  lord :  it  can  be  no 
better. 

Duke. 
For  the  benefit  of  silence,  would  thou  wert  so 
too! 

Lucio. 
Well,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
This  is  no  witness  for  lord  Angelo. 

Mariana. 
Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord. 
She  that  accuses  him  of  fornication, 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband  ; 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time, 
When,  I'll  depose,  I  had  him  in  mine  arms, 
With  all  th'  effect  of  love. 
Angelo. 

Charges  she  more  than  me  ? 
Mariana. 
Not  that  I  know.  .  , 

Duke. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


i°5 


ke. 


o  ?  you  say,  your  husband. 

Ma: 
Why,  just,  mv  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks,  lie  knows,  that  he  ne'er  knew  my 

body, 
But  knows,  he  thinks,  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Angelo. 
This  is  a  strange  abuse.  — Let's  see  thy  face. 

Mariana 
My  husband  bids  me  ;  now  I  will  unmask. 

[Unveiling 
This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Angelo, 
Which    once,   thou   swor'st,    was    worth    the 

looking  on : 
This  is  the  hand,  which,  with  a  vow'd  contract, 
Was  fist  belock'd  in  thine :  this  is  the  body 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house 
In  her  imaghvd  person. 

Buk.6. 

Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lucio. 
Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke. 

Sirrah,  no  more. 
Lucio. 
Enough,  my  lord. 

Angelo. 
My  lord,  I  must  confess,  I  know  this  woman  ; 
i  And  five  years  since  there  was  some  speech  of  | 

marriage 
,  Betwixt  myself  and  her,  which  was  broke  off,     | 
j  Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Came  short  of  composition  ;  but,  in  chief, 
;  For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
i  In  levity  :  since  which  time  of  five  years 
I  I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from 
Upon  my  faith  and  honour.  [her, 

Mariana. 

Noble  prince, 
As  there  comes  light  from  heaven,  and  words 
from  breath, 
I  As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
j  I  am  affiane'd  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly  [lord, 
As  words  could  make  up  vows  :  and,  my  good 
;  But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in's  garden-house, 
!  He  knew  me  as  a  wife.    As  this  is  true 
1  Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees, 

Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 
I  A  marble  monument. 

Angelo 

I  did  but  smile  till  now  : 
Now,  good  my  lord,  give   me   the   scope   of 

justice  ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd.     I  do  perceive, 
These  poor  informal  women  are  no  more 
But     instruments     of    some    more    mightier 

member, 
That  sets  them  on.     Let  me  have  way,  my  lord, 
To  find  this  practice  out. 

Duke. 

Ay,  with  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  to  your  height  of  pleasure. 

Thou  foolish  friar,  and  thou  pernicious  woman, 

Compact  with  her  that's  gone,  think'st  thou, 
thy  oaths,  [saint, 

Though  they  would  swear  down  each  particular 

Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit. 

That's  seal'd  in  approbation  ?  —  You,  lord  Es- 
calus, 

Sit  with  my  cousin  :  lend  him  your  kind  pains 


To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  deriv'd — 
There  is  another  friar  that  set  them  on  ; 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

Friar  Peter. 
Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  ;  for  he,  Indeed, 
Hath  set  the  women  on  to  this  complaint. 
Your  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides, 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke. 
Co,  do  it  instantly.  —  [Exit  Provost. 

And  you,  my  noble  and  well-warranted  cousin, 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth, 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best, 
In  any  chastisement :  I  for  a  while 
Will  leave  you  ;  but  stir  not  you,  till  you  have 
Determined  upon  these  slanderers.  [well 

Escalus. 
My  lord,   we'll   do    it    thoroughly.— [Kxit 
Duke.]     Signior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you 
knew  that  friar   Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest 
person  ? 

Lucio. 
Cucullus  turn  facit   monachum :     honest    in 
nothing,  but  in  his  clothes  ;  and  one  that  hath 
spoke  most  villainous  speeches  of  the  duke. 

Escalus. 
We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he 
come,  and  enforce  them  against  him.     We  shall 
find  this  friar  a  notable  fellow. 

Lucio. 
As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escalus. 
Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again.    r.To 
an  Attendant.]     I  would  speak  with  her.    Pray 
you,  my  lord,  give  me  leave  to  question  ;  you 
shall  see  how  I'll  handle  her. 

Lucio. 
Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Escalus. 
Say  you  ? 

Lucio. 
Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  handled  her  pri- 
vately, she  would  sooner  confess :  perchance, 
publicly  she'll  be  ashamed. 

Ue-entei  Officers,  with  Isabella  :  the  Duke,  in  a 
Friar's  habit,  and  Provost. 
Escalus. 
I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

Lucio. 
That's  the  way ;  for  women  are  light  at  mid- 
night. 

Escalus. 
Come  on,  mistress.    [To  Isabella.]     Here's  a 
gentlewoman  denies  all  that  you  have  said. 
Lucio. 
My  lord,  here  comes  the  rascal  I  spoke  of; 
here,  with  the  provost. 

Escalus. 
In  very  good  time: — speak  not  you  to  him, 
till  we  call  upon  you. 

Lucio. 
Mum. 

Escalus. 
Come,  sir.    Did  you  set  these  women  on  to 
slander  lord  Angelo?  they  have  confess'd  you 
did. 

Duke. 
'Tis  false. 

Escalus. 
How  !  know  you  where  you  are  ? 

Duke. 


io6  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  Act  v.  Sc.  r. 


Duke.  Angelo. 

Respect  to  your  great  place !  and  let  the  devil  !      Hark  how  the  villain  would  close  now,  after 

Be  sometime  honour'd  for  his  burning  throne.—  <  his  treasonable  abuses. 

Where  is  the  duke  ?   'tis  he  should   hear  me  i  Escalus. 

speak.  Escalus  '      Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talk'd  withal : — 

t>u    j  .i.»»-  u.  ... a  :--  *— "■  i.„»  „„„  mmi .  I  Away  with  him  to  prison. — Where  is  the  pro- 

TIte±,  L8^^fK  y        P  I  vost?_Away  with  him  to  prison.     Lay  bolts 

Look,  you  speak  justly.  j  enough  upon'  him>  let  him  £peak  no  m'ore  _ 

Duke.  i  Away  with  those  giglots  too,  and  with  the  other 

Boldly,  at  least.  —  But,  O,  poor  souls  !  j  confederate  companion. 
Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  fox  ?  [The  Provost  lays  hand  on  the  Duke . 

Good  night  to  your  redress.    Is  the  duke  gone  ?  j  Duke 

Then    is  your  cause  gone   too.      The   duke's  ;      R.         .    .    fa  ... 

Thus  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal,       [unjust,  I      &tav'  sir  '  8tav  a  wnile- 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth,  Angelo. 

Which  here  you  come  to  accuse.  ;     What !  resists  he  ?    Help  him,  Lucia. 

Lucio.  Lucio. 

This  is  the  rascal :  this  is  he  I  spoke  of.  j      Come,  sir  ;  come,  sir  ;  come,  sir ;  foh  !  sir. 

j?sca|us  :  Why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  you  must  be 

Why,  thou  unreverend  and  unhallow'd  friar  !    hooded,  must  you  ?  show  your  knave's  visage, 
is't    Zot   enough,   thou   hast    suborn'd   ^^^S^^^SS^SSl^^ 

To  accuseds  worthy  man,  but,  in  foul  mouth,  !  £Puffs  °™e,  f",Vir'8  hood'  and  disCOVerS 

And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear.  ine  JJUhe' 

To  call  him  villain  ?    And  then  to  glance  from  Duke. 

him  i      Thou  art  the  first  knave,  that  e'er  made  a 

To  the  duke  himself,  to  tax  him  with  injustice  ?  duke.— 

Take  him  hence;   to  the  rack  with  him:—  ,  First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three — 
We'll  touze  you  :  Sneak  not  away,  sir;  [To  Lucio.]  for  the  friar 

Joint  by  joint,  but  we  will  know  his  purpose —   j  and  you 

What  1  unjust  ?  I  Must  have  a  word  anon.— Lay  hold  on  him. 

Duke-  Lucio 

N."££  XSS  &  »„,ine,  than  h,        ;     Thi,  „,  prove  ™e  than  hanging. 
Dare  rack  his  own  :  his  subject  am  I  not,  Duke. 

Nor  here  provincial.    My  business  in  this  state   j     What  you  have  spoke,  I  pardon  ;    sit   you 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna,  down.  [To  Escalus. 

Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble,    j  We'll  borrow  place  of  him:— Sir,  by  your  leave. 
Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew  :  laws  for  all  faults,  [  Fo  Angela, 

But   faults   so  countenane'd,   that  the  strong  i  Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence, 

statutes  |  That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ?    If  thou  hast, 

Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop,  i  Rely  upon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard, 

As  much  in  mock  as  mark.  And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Escalus.  Angelo. 

Slander  to  the  state  1  Away  with  him  to  prison.  O,  my  dread  lord  ! 

Angelo.  \  I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness, 

What  can    vou  vouch  against  him,  signior  ;  To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible, 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of?    [Lucio  ?    When  I  perceive  your  grace,  like  power  divine, 
t      io  Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes :  Then,  good  prince 

>Tw  ha    mv  lnrd       Tome  hither    eoodman  '  No  lo°ger  session  hold  upon  my  shame, 
».  J  '  JRL, ,  w.^,  ™?S  gooaman  .  *  .  j  b   mjne  QWn  confession  . 

bald-pate :  do  you  know  me  ?  .  Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent  death, 

^Ulti'      «.  j      r  Is  a11  the  SfaCe  l  beS- 

I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your  ■ 
voice :  I  met  you  at  the  prison,  in  the  absence  of 
the  duke. 

Lucio. 
O  !  did  you  so  ?    And  do  you  remember  what 
you  said  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke. 
Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio, 


Duke. 

Come  hither,  Mariana — 
Say,  wast  thou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman  ? 
Angelo. 
I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
Go  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  instantly.— 
Do  you  the  office,  friar  ;  which  consummate, 


Do  you  so,  sir  ?    And  was  the  duke  a  flesh-    Return  him  here  again.— Go  with  him,  provost, 
monger,   a   fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  :  [Exeunt  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter,  and 

reported  him  to  be  ?  Provost. 

Duke.  Escalus. 

You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  me,  ere  .      ]yry  ior(i,  I  am  more  amaz'd  at  his  dishonour, 
you  make  that  my  report :  you,  indeed,  spoke    Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 
so  of  him ;  and  much  more,  much  worse.  Duke. 

Lucio.  |  Come  hither,  Isabel. 

O,  thou  damnable  fellow  !    Did  not  I  pluck  |  your  friar  is  now  your  prince :  as  I  was  then 
thee  by  the  nose,  for  thy  speeches  ?  ;  Advertising  and  holy  to  your  business, 

Duke.  ]  Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 

I  protest,  I  love  the  duke  as  I  love  myself.  Attorney 'd  at  your  service. 


.  Sc.  i. 


MEASUKE  FOR  MEASURE. 


107 


Isabella. 

O,  give  me  pardon, 
.  vour  vassal,  have  employ  d  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty ! 

Duke. 

You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel:  1 
And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel,  why  I  obscur'd  myself. 
Labouring  to  save  his  life,  and  would  not  rather 

rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power, 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost.     O,  most  kind  maid  1 
It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death, 
Which  1  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on, 
That  brain'd  my  purpose :  but,  peace  be  with 
him  1 
at  lift!  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death, 
an  that  which  lives  to  fear.     Make  it  your 
happy  is  your  brother.  [comfort, 

-enter  Angela,  Mariana,  Peter,  and  Provost. 

Isabella. 

I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
For  this  new-married  man,  approaching  here, 
Those  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong'd 
four  well-defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For  Mariana's  sake.    But,  as  he  adjudg'd  your 
( Being  criminal,  in  double  violation      [brother, 
If  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach, 
"lereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life,) 
le  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 
lost  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue, 
An  Angelo  for  Claudia,  death  for  death  1  " 
ste   still    pays   haste,   and   leisure   answers 
leisure,  [Measure, 

ike   doth  quit    like,   and    Measure   still   for 
hen,  Angela,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested, 
Ul,  though  thou  would'st  deny,  denies  thee 

vantage. 

>"e  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 
There  Claudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like 

haste 

I  way  with  him. 

Mariana. 
O,  my  most  gracious  lord ! 
I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband. 

Duke. 

It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a  husband. 

'—Wiring  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 

I  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputation,      i 

For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life, 

And  choke  your  good  to  come.    For  his  pos-  ' 

sessions, 

Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ours  ; 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal, 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mariana. 

O,  my  dear  lord ! 
I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke. 
Never  crave  him :  we  are  definitive. 

Mariana. 
Gentle  my  liege,—  [Kneeling. 

Duke. 
You  do  but  lose  your  labour.  ; 
Away  with  him  to  death.— Now,  sir,  [To  Lueio.] 
to  you. 

Mariana. 
O,  my  good  lord !  —  Sweet  Isabel,  take  my 
part : 
Lend  me  your  knees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I'll  lend  you ;  all  my  life  to  do  you  service. 


An 


Duke. 
Against  all  sense  you  do  Importune  her : 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  this  fact, 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break, 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mariana. 

Isabel, 
Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me : 


Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothing,  I'll  sj>eak  all 

""ley 

And,  for    the   most,   become  much  more  the 


They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  01 


speak  all 
f  faults, 


better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :  so  may  my  husband 
O,  Isabel  I  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 
Duke. 
He  dies  for  Claudio^  death. 
Isabella. 

Most  bounteous  sir, 
[Kneeling. 
Look,  if  it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemn'd, 
As  if  my  brother  liv'd.     I  partly  think, 
A  due  sincerity  govern'd  his  deeds, 
Till  he  did  look  on  me :  since  it  is  so. 
Let  him  not  die.    My  brother  had  but  justice, 
In  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  died : 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent ; 
And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 
That  perish'd  by  the  way.    Thoughts  are  no 

subjects, 
Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 
Mariana. 

Merely,  my  lord. 
Duke. 

Your  suit's  unprofitable :  stand  up,  I  say 

I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault— 
Provost,  how  came  it  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hour  ? 

Provost. 

It  was  commanded  so. 
Duke. 
Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 

Provost. 
No,  my  good  lord :  it  was  by  private  message. 

Duke. 
For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  office : 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Provost. 

Pardon  me,  noble  lord : 
I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not, 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice ; 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison. 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke. 
What's  he  ? 
Provost. 

His  name  is  Barnardine. 
Duke. 
I  would  thou  had'st  done  so  by  Claudio. — 
Go,  fetch  him  hither  :  let  me  look  upon  him. 

[Exit  Provost. 
Escalus. 
I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  lord  Angelo,  have  still  appear'd, 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood, 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  afterward. 
Angelo. 
I  am  sorry  that  such  sorrow  I  procure  ; 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart, 
That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy  : 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Re-enter 


io8 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Re-enter  Provost,  Iiamardine,  Claudio,  and 

J>d,et. 

Duke. 

Which  is  that  Barnardine? 

Provost. 

This,  my  lord. 
Duke. 
There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man — 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul,      ! 
That  apprehends  no  farther  than  this  world, 
And  squar'st  thy  life  according.    Thou'rt  con- 
demned ; 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all, 
And  pray  thee,  take  this  mercy  to  provide 
For  better  times  to  come —  Friar,  advise  him : 
I  leave  him  to  your  hand.  —  What  muffled  fel- 
low's that  ? 

Provost. 
This  is  another  prisoner  that  I  sav'd, 
That  should  havedied  when  Claudio  lost  his  head, 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio  as  himself. 

[Unmufllcs  Claudio. 
Duke. 
If  he  be  like  your  brother,  [To  Isabella  ]    for 
his  sake 
Is  he  pardon'd ;  and  for  your  lovely  sake 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine, 
He  is  my  brother  too.     But  fitter  time  for  that. 

S7  this  lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe : 
ethinks,  I  see  a  quick'ning  in  his  eye. — 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits  you  well : 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife ;  her  worth,  worth 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself,  [yours. — 

And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon — 
You,  sirrah,  [To  Lucio.]    that  knew  me  for  a 

fool,  a  coward, 
One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman : 
Wherein  have  I  so  deserv'd  of  you, 
That  you  extol  me  thus  ? 
Lucio. 
'Faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according  to 
the  trick.    If  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  may ; 


but  I  had  rather  it  would  please  you,  I  might  be 
whipp'd. 

Duke. 

Whipp'd  first,  sir,  and  hang'd  after — 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  the  city, 
If  any  woman's  wrong'd  by  this  lewd  fellow, 
(As  I  have  heard  him  swear  himself  there's  one 
Whom  he  begot  with  child)  let  her  appear, 
And  he  shall  marry  her :  the  nuptial  finish'd, 
Let  him  be  whipp'd  and  hang'd. 
Lucio. 

I  beseech  your  highness,  do  not  marry  me  to  a 
whore!     Your  highness  said  even  now  I  made 
you  a  duke :  good  my  lord,  do  not  recompense 
me  in  making  me  a  cuckold. 
Duke. 

Upon  mine  honour,  thou  shalt  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive ;  and  therewithal 

Remit  thy  other  forfeits Take  him  to  prison* 

And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 
Lucio. 

Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to  death, 
whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke. 

Slandering  a  prince  deserves  it.  —      [store.  — 
She,  Claudio,  that  you  wrong'd,  look  you  re- 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana!  — love  her,  Angelo : 
I  have  confess'd  her,  and  I  know  her  virtue. — 
Thanks,    good   friend  Escalus,  for  thy  much 

goodness : 
There's  more  behind  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care,  and  secrecy ; 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place. — 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's  : 
Th*  offence  pardons  itself — Dear  Isabel, 
I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 
Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline, 
What's  mine  is  yours,  and  what  is  yours  is  mine.— 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace ;  where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should 
know.  [Exeunt 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


109 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


SOLINUS,  Duke  o/Ephesus. 

jEgeon,  a  Merchant  of  Syracuse. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  (Twin  Brothers,  Sons  to 

Antipholas  of  Syracuse,  3    iEgeon  and  iEmilia, 


Dromioo/ Ephesus,  }  Twin  Brothers,  Attendants 
5,3 


Dromio  of  Syracuse,  3   on  the  two  Antipholuses 

Balthazar,  a  Merchant. 

Angelo,  a  Goldsmith. 

A  Merchant,  Friend  to  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

Pinch,  a  Schoolmaster. 
,  JSmilia,  Wife  to  iEgeon. 
Adriana,  Wife  to  Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Luciana,  her  Sister. 
Luce,  Servant  to  Adriana. 
A  Courtezan. 


Jailor,  Officers,  and  other  Attendants 
SCENE,  Ephesus. 


•0-#-#-#--#-#-#-# 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.    A  Hall  In  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  S  >linus  Duke  of  Ephesus,  &geon  a : 
Merchant  of  Syracusa,  Jailor,  Officers,  and  | 
other  Attendants. 

^geon. 

PROCEED,  Solinus,  to  procure  my  fall, 
And  by  the  doom  of  death  end  woes  and  all. 
Duke. 
Merchant  of  Syracusa,  plead  no  more. 
I  am  not  partial,  to  infringe  our  laws: 
The  enmity  and  discord,  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, — 
Who,  wanting  gilders  to  redeem  their  lives, 
Have  seal'd  his   rigorous  statutes  with   their 

bloods, — 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threat'ning  looks. 
For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
"Twixt  thy  seditious  countrymen  and  us, 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed, 
Both  by  the  Syracusians  and  ourselves, 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns : 
Nay,  move,  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 ; 
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  condemn'd  to  die. 
.Egeon. 
Yet  this  my  comfort ;  when  your  words  are 

done, 
My  woes  end  likewise  with  the  evening  sun. 


Duke. 

Well,  Syracusian  ;  say,  In  brief,  the  cause 
Why  thou  departedst  from  thy  native  home, 
And  for  what  cause  thou  cam'st  to  Ephesus. 
JEgeon. 

A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  impos'd, 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable  ; 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness,  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  "i  born  ;  and  wed 
Unto  a  woman,  happy  but  for  me, 
And  by  me  too,  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
With  her  I  liv'd  in  joy :  our  wealth  increas'd, 
By  prosperous  voyages  I  often  made 
To  Epidamnum  ;  till  my  factor's  death, 
And  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  ;         [other, 
And,  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the 
As  could  not  be  distinguish'd  but  by  names. 
That  very  hour,  and  in  the  self-same  inn, 
A  poor  mean  woman  was  delivered 
Or  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike. 
Those,  for  their  parents  were  exceeding  poor, 
I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 
My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys, 
Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return : 
Unwilling  I  agreed.    Alas,  too  soon  we  came 

aboard ! 
A  league  from  Epidamnum  had  we  sail'd, 
Before  the  always-wind-obeying  deep 
Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 
But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope : 

For 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  i.  Sc. 


For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  grant    ' 
I    Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 
I    A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 
Which,  though  myself  would  gladly  have  em- 
Yet  the  incessant  weepings  of  my  wife,   [brae'd, 
Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come,     ! 
And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes, 
That  mourn'd  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear,i 
Forc'd  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was,— for  other  means  was  none I 

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, 
Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms : 
To  him  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound, 
Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 
The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 
Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  care  was  fix'd, 
Fasten'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast ; 
And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream, 
Were  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 
At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 
Dispers'd  those  vapours  that  offended  us, 
And  by  the  benefit  of  his  wish'd  light 
The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 
Two  ships  from  far  making  amain  to  us ; 
Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this : 
But  ere  they  came, — O,  let  me  say  no  more ! 
Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before. 

Duke. 
Nay,  forward,  old  man  ;  do  not  break  off  so, 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

£gcon. 
O,  had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  merciless  to  us  !  [leagues, 
For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five 
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  unjVist  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 
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, 
That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  prolong'd, 
To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps. 


Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loth  to  leave  unsought 
Or  that,  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  the  story  of  my  life  ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death, 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  me  they  live. 

Duke. 

Hapless  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  honour's  great  disparagement, 
Yet  will  I  favour  thee  in  what  1  can  : 
Therefore,  merchant,  I'll  limit  thee  this  day, 
To  seek  thy  help  by  beneficial  help. 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Ephesus ; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum, 
And  live ;  if  no,  then  thou  art  doom'd  to  die.— 
Jailor,  take  him  to  thy  custody. 

Jailor. 
I  will,  my  lord. 

^geon. 

Hopeless  and  helpless,  doth  JEgeon  wend, 

But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.    [Exeunt. 


And,  for  the  sake  6?  them  thou  sorrowest  for, 
Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 
What  hath  befall'n  of  them,  and  thee,  till  now. 

JEgeon. 

My  youngest  boy,  ana  yet  my  eldest  care, 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother  ;  and  importun'd  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  labour'd  of  a  love  to  see, 
1  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  1  lov'd. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  farthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean  through  the  bounds  of  Asia; 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Ephesus, 


SCENE  II.    A  public  Place. 

Enter  Anlipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  and 
a  Merchant. 

Merchant. 
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. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Go,  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,  where  we  host, 
And  stay  there,  Dromio,  till  1  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time : 
Till  that,  I'll  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
And  then  return  and  sleep  within  mine  inn, 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stiff  and  weary. 
Get  thee  away. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Many  a  man  would  take  you  at  your  word, 

And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean.    [Exit. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
A  trusty  villain,  sir ;  that  very  oft, 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy, 
Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 
What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me  ? 

Merchant. 
I  am  invited,  sir,  to  certain  merchants, 
Of  whom  I  hope  to  make  much  benefit ; 
I  crave  your  pardon.    Soon  at  five  o'clock, 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart, 
And  afterwards  consort  you  till  bed-  time : 
My  present  business  calls  me  from  you  now. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Farewell  till  then.     I  will  go  lose  myself, 
And  wander  up  and  down  to  view  the  city. 
Merchant. 
Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 

[Exit. 
Antipholus 


I  Act  ii.  8c.  i. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


in 


Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own  content, 
Commends  mc  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  fiml  his  fellow  forth, 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  I,  to  flna  a  mother,  and  a  brother, 
In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephcsus. 
Here  comes  the  almanack  of  my  true  date.  — 
What  now  ?    How  chance  thou  art  return'd  so 
soon  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Return'd  so  soon  1  rather  approach'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  ; 


slave, 


Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Thy  mistress'  marks  !  what  mistress, 
hast  thou  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Your   worship's    wife,   my  mistress    at    the 
Phoenix  ; 
She  that  doth  fast  till  voucome  home  to  dinner, 
And  prays  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What,  wilt  thou  flout  me  thus  unto  my  face. 
Being  forbid  ?    There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 
[Strikes  him. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
What  mean  you,  sir  ?    For  God's  sake,  hold 
your  hands. 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels. 

[Exit. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other 
The  villain  is  o'er-raught  of  all  my  money. 


You   come   not    home,  because  you  have  no    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, 
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  : 


greatly  fear,  my  money  is  not  safe. 


[Exit. 


stomach 
You  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  fast ; 
But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray, 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Stop  in  your  wind,  sir.     Tell  me  this,  I  pray ; 

Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you  ? 

_  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

0  !  sixpence,  that  I  had  o'  Wednesday  last 
To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  crupper. 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir ;  I  kept  it  not. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

1  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now. 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money  ? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I  pray  you.  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner. 

I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post ;  -«,„  Adriana. 

If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed,  ]V  EITHER  my  husband,  nor  the  slave  re- 
Kor  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate.  turn'd, 

Methinks,  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your  Tliat  in  sucn  haste  1  sent  to  seek  his  master  ? 

clock,  .  Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger.  Luciana. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse.  Perhaps,  some  merchant  hath  invited  him, 

Come,  Dromio,  come  ;  these  jests  are  out  of  I  And  fr?m  the  mart  he'8  somewhere  gone  to 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  public  Hace. 

Enter  Adriana.  wife  to  Antipholus  of  Ephesus, 
and  Luciana,  her  sister. 


season: 

Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this. 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
To  me,  sir  ?  why  you  gave  no  gold  to  me. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Come  on,  sir  knave  ;  have' done  your  foolish- 
ness, 
And  tell  me  how  thou  hast  dispos'd  thy  charge. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from  the  mart 
Home  to  your  house,  the  Phoenix,  sir,  to  dinner. 
My  mistress,  and  her  sister,  stay  for  you. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Now,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  answer  me, 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow 'd  my  money, 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce  of  yours. 
That  stands  on  tricks  when  I  am  undispos'd. 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  had'st  of  me  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my  pate ; 
Some  of  my  mistress'  marks  upon  my  shoulders, 
But  not  a  thousand  marks  between  you  both. 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again, 
l'erchance,  you  will  not  bear  them  patiently. 


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. 
Adriana. 
Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more  ? 

Luciana. 
Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'  door. 

Adriana. 
Look,  when  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  ill. 

Luciana. 
O  1  know  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

Adriana. 
There's  none  but  asses  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luciana. 
Why,  head-strong  liberty  is  lashed  with  woe. 
There's  nothing,  situate  under  heaven's  eye, 
But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  In  sky  : 
The  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls, 
Are  their  males'  subjects,  and  at  their  controls. 
Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these, 
Lords  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  wat'ry  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls, 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls, 

Are 


Ill 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  ij.  Sc.  i. 


Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords  : 
Then,  let  your  will  attend  on  their  aceords. 

Adriana. 
This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Luciana. 
Not  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage-bed. 

Adriana. 
But,  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear  some 
sway. 

Luciana. 
Ere  I  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adriana. 
How  if  your  husband  start  some  other  where  ? 

Luciana. 
Till  he  come  home  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adriana. 
Patience   unmov'd,  no   marvel   though    she 
pause : 
They  can  be  meek,  that  have  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity, 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  we  hear  it  cry  ; 
But  were  we  burden'd  with  like  weight  of  pain, 
As  much,  or  more,  we  should  ourselves  com- 
plain ; 
So  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee, 
With  urging  helpless  patience  would'st  relieve 
But  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft,       [me  : 
This  fool-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Luciana. 
Well,  I  will  marry  one  day,  but  to  try. — 
Here  comes  your  man :  now  is  your  husband 
nigh. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Adriana.    ' 
Say,  is  your  tardy  master  now  at  hand  ? 

Oromio  of  Ephesus. 
Nay,  he  is  at  two  hands  with  me,  and  that  my 
two  ears  can  witness. 

Adriana. 
Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  ?    Know'st 
thou  his  mind  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Ay  ay;  he  told  his  mind   upon  mine    ear. 
Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 
Luciana, 
Spake  he  so  doubtfully,  thou  couldst  not  feel 
his  meaning  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Nay,  he  struck  so  plainly,  I  could  too  well  feel 
his  blows ;  and  withal  so  doubtfully,  that  I  could 
scarce  understand  them. 

Adriana. 
But  say,  I  pr'ythee,  is  he  coming  home  ? 
It  seems,  he  hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn-mad. 

Adriana. 
Horn-mad,  thou  villain  ! 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

I  mean  not  cuckold-mad  ; 
But,  sure,  he  is  stark  mad. 
When  1  desir'd  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold : 
'Tis  dinner-time,  quoth  I ;  my  gold,  quoth  he: 
Your  meat  doth  burn,  quoth  I ;  my  gold,  quoth 

he: 
Will  you  come,  quoth  I  ?  my  gold,  quoth  he : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  1  gave  thee,  villain  ? 
The  pig,  quoth  I,  is  burn'd  ;  my  gold,  quoth  he: 
My  mistress,  sir,  quoth  I ;  hang  up  thy  mistress ; 
I  know  not  thy  mistress :  out  on  thy  mistress  1 


Luciana. 
Quoth  who  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Quoth  my  master : 
I  know,  quoth  he,  no  house,  no  wife,  no  mistress. 
So  that  my  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bear  home  upon  my  shoulders  ; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adriana. 
Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him  home. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  ? 
For  God's  sake,  send  some  other  messenger. 

Adriana. 
Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other  beating. 
Between  you  I  shall  have  a  holy  head. 

Adriana. 
Hence,   prating   peasant  !    fetch  thy  master 
home. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Am  I  so  round  with  you,  as  you  with  me, 
That  like  a  foot-ball  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. 

Luciana. 
Fie,  how  impatience  lowreth  in  your  face! 

Adriana. 
His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
H«th  homely  age  th'  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek  ?  then,  he  hath  wasted  it: 
Are  my  discourses  dull?  barren  my  wit? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  discourse  be  marr'd, 
Unkindness  blunts  it,  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  their  gay  vestments  his  affections  bait? 
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, 
And  feeds  from  home :  poor  I  am  but  his  stale. 

Luciana. 

Self-harming  jealousy  !  — fie !  beat  it  hence. 
Adriana. 

Unfeeling  fools  can  with  such  wrongs  dispense. 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  other  where, 
Or  else,  what  lets  it  but  he  would  be  here? 
Sister,  you  know,  he  promis'd  me  a  chain : 
Would  that  alone,  alone  he  would  detain, 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed ! 
I  see,  the  jewel  best  enamelled 
Will  lose  his  beauty:  yet  though  gold  'bides  still, 
That  others  touch,  an  often  touching  will 
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. 
Luciana. 

How  manv  fond  fools  serve  mad  jealousy  J 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.    The  same. 

Enter  Antipholns  of  Syracuse. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 


The 
Safe 


ie  gold,  I  gave  to  Dromio,  is  laid  up 
at  the  Centaur  ;  and  the  heedful  sla 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


113 


Is  wander'd  forth,  In  care  to  seek  me  out. 
I  By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report, 

I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio,  since  at  first 
\  I  sent  him  from  the  mart.    See,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  How  now,  sir  ?  is  your  merry  humour  alter'd  ? 
!  As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
I  You  know  no  Centaur?    You  received  no  gold? 
,  Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner  ? 
I  My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix  f    Wast  thou  mad, 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
What  answer,  sir  ?  when  spake  I  such  a  word  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour  since. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
1  did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  me  hence, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  receipt, 
And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dinner  ; 
j  For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein. 
What  means  this  jest  ?     I  pray  you,  master, 
tell  me. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Yea,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  flout  me  In  the  teeth  ? 
Think'st  thou,  I  jest  ?    Hold,  take  thou  that, 
and  that.  [Beating  him. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake !  now  your  jest  is 
earnest : 
;  Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Because  that  I  familiarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool,  and  chat  with  you, 
Your  sauciness  will  jest  upon  my  love. 
And  make  a  common  of  my  serious  hours. 
When  the  sun  shines  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creep  in  crannies  when  he  hides  his  beams. 
If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  aspect, 
And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
'      Sconce,  call  you  it  ?  so  you  would  leave  bat- 
!  tering,  I  had  rather  have  it  a  head :  an  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.    But,  I  pray,  sir,  why 
am  I  beaten  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Dost  thou  not  know  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Nothing,  sir ;  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore;  for,  they  say,  every 
why  hath  a  wherefore. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Why,  first,— for  floutingme ;  and  then,  where- 
fore,—for  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I     Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out  of 

season, 
j  When,  in  the  why,  and  the  wherefore,  is  neither 
rhyme  nor  reason  ?  — 
Well,  sir,  1  thank  you. 


Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Thank  me,  sir  ?  for  what  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse 
Marry,  sir,  for  this  something,  that  you  gave 
me  for  nothing. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you  nothing 

for  something.    But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner-time  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

No,  sir :  I  think,  the  meat  wants  that  I  have. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
In  good  time,  sir ;  what's  that  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Basting. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Your  reason  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Lest  it  make  you  choleric  ;  and  purchase  me 
another  dry  basting. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time :  there's  a 
time  for  all  things. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  durst  have  denied  that,  before  you  were  so 
choleric. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
By  what  rule,  sir  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain  bald 
pate  of  father  Time  himself. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Let's  hear  it. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his  hair 
that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  periwig,  and  recover 
the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Why  is  Time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  being,  as 

it  is,  so  plentiful  an  excrement  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows  on 

beasts :  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair, 

he  hath  given  them  in  wit. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more  hair 
than  wit. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Not  a  man  of  those,  but  he  hath  the  wit  to 
lose  his  hair. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  men  plain 
dealers,  without  wit. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost 
loseth  it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
For  what  reason  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
For  two ;  and  sound  ones  too. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you. 
I  " 


yet  he 


Dromio 


114- 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  ii.  Sc  ii 


Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Sure  ones  then. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Certain  ones  then. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Name  them. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he  spends  in 
•tiring;   the  other,  that  at  dinner  they  should 
not  drop  in  his  porridge. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
You  would  all  this  time  have  proved,  there  is 
no  time  for  all  things. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Marry,  and  did,  sir ;  namely,  e'en  no  time  to 
recover  hair  lost  by  nature. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
But  your   reason  was  not  substantial,  why 
there  is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Thus  I  mend  it:  Time  himself  is  bald,  and 
therefore,  to  the  world's  end,  will  have  bald 
followers. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  knew,  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion. 
But  soft  !  who  wafts  us  yonder  ? 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 
Adriana. 

Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange,  and  frown : 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects, 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife.  [vow 

The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurg'd  would'st 
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-savour'd  in  thy  taste, 
Unless  I  spake,  or  look'd,  or  touch'd,  or  carv'd 
to  thee.  [it, 

How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  O  !  how  comes 
That  thou  art  then  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  me ; 
For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thou  fall 
A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulph, 
And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again, 
Without  addition  or  diminishing, 
As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 
How  dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 
Should'st  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious, 
And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee, 
By  ruffian  lust  should  be  contaminate  ! 
Would'st  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me, 
And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face, 
And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  off  my  harlot-brow, 
And  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  wedding-ring, 
And  break  it  with  a  deep-divorcing  vow  ? 
I  know  thou  can'st ;  and  therefore,  see,  thou  do 
I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot ;  [it. 

My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust : 
For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  thou  play  false, 
I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh, 
Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion. 
Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true 
I  live  unstain'd,  thou  undishonoured.         [bed ; 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?    I  know  you  not. 
In  Ephesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old, 
As  strange  unto  your  town  as  to  your  talk  ; 


Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 

Luciana. 
Fie,  brother :  how  the  world  is  chang'd  with 
youl 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
By  Dromio  t 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Byrne? 

Adriana. 
By  thee ;  and  this  thou  didst  return  from  him,— 
That  he  did  buffet  thee,  and,  in  his  blows 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentlewoman? 
What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I,  sir?    I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Villain,  thou  liest ;  for  even  her  very  words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
How  can  she  thus  then  call  lis  by  our  names, 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration  ? 
Adriana. 
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  wi  th  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine  ; 
Thou  art  en  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,  briar,  or  idle  moss  ; 
Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrusion 
Infect  thy  sap,  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
To  me  she  speaks;  she  moves  me  for  her 
theme  1 
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. 
Luciana. 
Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for  dinner. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
O,  for  my  beads  !  I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
This  is  the  fairy  land :  O,  spite  of  spites  1 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites. 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue,         [blue. 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and 
Luciana. 
Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st 
not  ?  [sot ! 

Dromio,  thou  Dromio,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  am  transformed,  master,  am  I  not  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  think  thou  art,  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Nay,  master,  both  in  mind  and  in  my  shape. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Dromio 


d 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


"5 


Syracuse. 

No,  I  am  an  ape. 
Lactam. 

If  thou  art  chang'd  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass. 

Dromio  of  Syracu 
•TIs  true;  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  for  grass. 
•Tis  so,  !  am  an  ass  ;  else  it  could  never  be, 
But  1  should  know  her,  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 
Adrian*. 
Come,  come  ;  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool, 
To  nut  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.— 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master. 
Say,  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter — 
Come,  sister.— Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Am  I  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell  ? 
Sleeping  or  waking  ?  mad,  or  well-advis'd  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguis'd  ? 
I'll  say  as  they  say,  and  persever  so, 
And  in  this  mist,  at  all  adventures,  go. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate  ? 

Adriana. 
Ay ;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your  pate. 

Luciana. 
Come,  come,  Antipholus  ;  we  dine  too  late. 


•@-@-#-#-# 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Angclo,  and  Balthazar. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

C2J.OOD  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  carkanet, 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home; 
But  here's  a  villian,  that  would  face  me  down 
He  met  me  on  the  mart,  and  that  I  beat  him, 
Andcharg'd  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold; 
And  that  I  did  deny  my  wife  and  house. — 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  did'st  thou  mean  by 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Say  what  you  will,  sir;  but  I  know  what  I 
know.  [to  show : 

That  you  beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand 
If  the  skin  were  parchment,  and  the  blows  vou 
gave  were  ink,  [think. 

Your  own  hand-writing  would  tell  you  what  I 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  think,  thou  art  an  ass. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Marry,  so  it  doth  appear, 
By  the  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  the  blows  J  bear. 
1  should  kick,  being  kick'd ;  and  being  at  that 
pass,  [an  ass. 

You  would  keep  from  my  heels,  and  beware  of 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
You  are  sad,  signior  Balthazar:  pray  God,  our 
cheer  [here. 

Mayanswermygood-will.andyour  good  welcome  j  And  so  tell  your  master. 


Balthazar. 
I  hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your  wel- 
come dear. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
|     O,  signior  Balthazar,  either  at  flesh  or  fish, 
I  A  table-full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty 
dish. 

Balthazar. 

!     Good  meat,  sir,  is  common  ;  that  every  churl 
affords. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
And  welcome  more  common,  for  that's  nothing 
but  words. 

Balthazar. 
Small  cheer  and  great  welcome  makes  a  merry 
feast. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I     Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more  sparing 
guest:  [part; 

But  though  my  cates  be  mean,  take  them  in  good 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better 
heart.  [in. 

But  soft !  my  door  is  lock'd.    Go  bid  them  let  us 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,  Cicely,  Gillian,  Gin' I 
Dromio  of  Syracuse.        [  Within. 
Mome,   malt-horse,  capon,  coxcomb,  idiot, 
patch  1  [hatch. 

Either  get  thee  from  the  door,  or  sit  down  at  the 
Dost  thou  conjure  for  wenches,  that  thou  call'st 
for  such  store,  [the  door. 

When  one  is  one  too  many  ?    Go,  get  thee  from 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
What  patch  is  made  our  porter?— My  master 
stays  in  the  street. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came,  lest  he 
catch  cold  on's  feet. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Who  talks  within  there?  ho  1  open  the  door. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Right,  sir;   I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll  tell 
me  wherefore. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Wherefore  ?  for  my  dinner :  I  have  not  din'd 
to-day.  _        ,      ._ 

*    Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not,  come  again 
when  you  may. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
What  art  thou  that  keep'st  me  out  from  the 
house  1  owe  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
The  porter  for  this  time,  sir;  and  my  name  is 
Dromio. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

O  villain !  thou  hast  stolen  both  mine  office 

and  my  name :  [blame. 

The  one  ne'er  got  me  credit,  the  other  mickle 

If  thou  had'st  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place, 

Thou  would'st  have  chang'd  thy  face  for  a  name, 

or  thy  name  for  an  ass. 

Luce.  [Within. 

What  a  coil  is  there  Dromio :  who  are  those 
at  the  gate  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Let  my  master  in,  Luce. 
Luce. 


Faith  no  ;  he  comes  too  late  ; 


Droinic. 


n6 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Dromioof  Ephesus. 

O  Lord  !  I  must  laugh  :  — 
Have  at  you  with  a  proverb.— Shall  I  set  in  my 
staff?  . 

Luce. 

Have  at  you  with  another:  that's,— when? 
can  you  tell  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
If  thy  name  be  called  Luce,  Luce,  thou  hast 
answer'd  him  well. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Do  you  hear,  you  minion  ?  you'll  let  us  in,  1 
nope  ?  _ 

*  Luce. 

I  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

And  you  said,  no. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
So ;  come,  help  !  well  struck  ;  there  was  blow 
for  blow. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Thou  baggage,  let  me  in. 
Luce. 
Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake  ? 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 
Luce. 

Let  him  knock  till  it  ache. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
You'll  cry  for  this,  minion,  if  I  beat  the  door 
down.  T 

Luce. 

What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks  in 
the  town?       .  ,  ,  ,„„..  . 

Adriana.  [Within. 

Who  is  that  at  the  door,  that  keeps  all  this 
noise?  _.       ,      ,„ 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

By  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled  with  un- 
ruly boys. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Are  you  there,  wife  ?  you  might  have  come 
before.  .  .  . 

Adriana. 

Your  wife,  sir  knave?  go,  get  you  from  the 
door.     _.        .      -„  , 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

If  you  went  in  pain,  master,  this  knave  would 
go  sore.  .       , 

■  Angelo. 

Here  is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor  welcome :  we 
would  fain  have  either. 
Balthazar. 

In  debating  which  was  best,  we  shall  part 
with  neither. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
They  stand  at  the  door,  master:  bid  them 
welcome  hither. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
There  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we  can- 
not  get  in. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
You  would  say  so,  master,  if  your  garments  I 
were  thin.  [in  the  cold :  ' 

Your  cake  here  is  warm  within  ;  you  stand  here 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck  to  be  so 
bought  and  sold. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Go,  fetch  me  something :  I'll  break  ope  the 
gate. 


Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break  your 
knave's  pate. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

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. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
It  seems,  thou  want'st  breaking.    Out  upon 
thee,  hind  1 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Here's  too  much  out  upon  thee  !    I  pray  thee, 
let  me  in. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers,  and  fish  have 
no  fin. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Well,  I'll  break  in.    Go,  borrow  me  a  crow. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

A  crow  without  feather?  master,  mean  vou 

so  ?  [a  feather. 

For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without 

If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  pluck  a  crow 

together. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

Go,  get  thee  gone :  fetch  me  an  iron  crow. 

Balthazar. 

Have  patience,  sir  ;  O  !  let  it  not  be  so : 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation, 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
Th'  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife.  [dom, 

Once  this, — Your  long  experience  of  her  wis- 
Her  sober  virtue,  years,  and  modesty, 
Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown  ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against 

you. 
Be  rul'd  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 ; 
And  that  supposed  by  the  common  route, 
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. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

You  have  prevail'd :  I  will  depart  in  quiet, 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse, 
Pretty  and  witty ;  wild,  and  yet  too,  gentle  ; 
There  will  we  dine  :  this  woman  that  I  mean, 
My  wife  (but,  I  protest,  without  desert,) 
Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal : 

To  her  will  we  to  dinner Get  you  home, 

And  fetch  the  chain  ;  by  this,  I  know,  'tis  made : 
Bring  it,  1  pray  you,  to  the  Porcupine  ; 
For  there's  the  house.   That  chain  will  I  bestow 
(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife) 
Upon  mine  hostess  there.  Good  sir,  make  haste. 
Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 
I'll  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 
Angelo. 

I'll  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  hour  hence. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

Do  so.    This  jest  shall  cost  me  some  A^gense.. 
SCENE 


Acr  in.   Sc.  II. 


COMEDY  OK  ERRORS. 


117 


SCESEll.    The  same. 
Enter  Luciana,  and  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quite  forgot 

A  husband's  office  ?     Shall,  Antipholus, 

in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-springs  rot  ? 

Shall  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinous  ? 
If  you  did  wed  ray  sister  for  her  wealth, 

Then,  lor  her  wealth's  sake  use  her  with  more 
kindness : 
Or,  ifyou  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth  : 

Muffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of 
blindness  ; 
Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  shame's  orator  ; 
Look  sweet,  speak  fair,  become  disloyalty  ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger : 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though your  heart  be  tainted; 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint : 
Be  secret-false ;  what  need  she  be  acquainted  ? 

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. 
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,  [strife. 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers 

o       l     .  *  Antipholus  of  Syracuse.  , 
Sweet  mistress,  (Vhatyour  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,  [divine. 

Than  our  earth's  wonder;  more  than  earth 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  think  and  speak : 

I^ay  open  to  my  earthly  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak, 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words'  deceit. 
Against  my  soul's  pure  truth,  why  labour  you 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  held  ? 
Are  you  a  god  ?  would  you  create  me  new  ? 

Transform  me  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  know,         [yield. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine, 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  do  1  owe  : 

Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  I  decline. 
O,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note, 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears. 
Sing,  syren,  for  thyself,  and  I  will  dote : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  hairs, 
And  as  a  bed  I'll  take  thee,  and  there  lie  ; 

And,  in  that  glorious  supposition,  think 
He  gains  by  death,  that  hath  such  means  to  die: 

Let  Love,  being  light,  be  drowned  if  she  sink  1 

What !  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so  ? 
Not  mad,  hut  mated ;  now,  1  do  'not  know. 

It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 

.  Antipholus  of  Syracuse, 
ror  gazing  on  your  beam's,  fair  sun,  being  by. 

Gaze  where  you  should,' and  that  will  clear 
your  sight. 

As  good  to  wiAk,  sweet  love,  as  look  on  night 


Why  call  you  me  lover^call  my  sister  so. 

mu      ...    Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Thy  sisters  slsler. 

That's  my  sister. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

It  is  thyself,  mine  own  selfs  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. 


No: 


All  this  my  sister 


Luciana 
is,  or  eh 


se  should  be. 


Call  thyself  sTsfer,  sweet,  for  Tahri  thee. 
Thee  will  I  love,  and  with  thee  lead  my  life: 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  1  no  wife. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

D,  sorffsir  !  hold  you  still : 
I'll  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good-will. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse  hastily. 

-XT,      .     Antipholus  of  Syracuse        ,  t    , 
Why,  how  now,  Dromio  f  where  run'st  thou 
so  fast  ? 

Do  you  know  me,  sir  i^am  I  Dromio  f  am  I 
your  man  ?  am  I  myself  ? 

Thou  art  Dromio,  tnou  att  my  man,  thou  art 
thyself. 

.  Dromio  of  Syracuse.  .=     .. 

I  am  an  ass  ;  I  am  a  woman's  man,  and  besides 
myself. 


nan's 


hoIusx>f  S 


w  besides  thy- 


What  woman 
self? 

Marry,  sir,beside's myself,  fam due  toa woman; 
one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  me,  one  that 
will  have  me. 


Whatclaim^te^tmie^1 


„  .     Drpmio.of  Syracuse. 

Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  you  would  lay  to  your 
horse  ;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast :  not 
that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  would  have  me ;  but 
that  she,  being  a  very  beastly  creature,  lays  claim 
tome. 

WhatiSs^en?iph0,US0fSyraCU8e' 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
A  very  reverend  body  ;  ay,  sucn  a  one  as  a  man 
may  not  speak  of,  without  he  say,  sir-reverence. 
I  have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and  yet  she  is 
a  wondrous  fat  marriage. 

,     .Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
How  dost  thoU  mean  a  fat  marriage  ? 

Marry,  sir,  she's"  the  klt'chen-wench,  and  all 
grease  ;  and  I  know  not  what  use  to  put  her  to, 
but  to  make  a  lamp  of  her,  and  run  from  her  by 
her  own  light.  I  warrant,  her  rags,  and  the 
tallow  in  them,  will  burn  a  Poland  winter :  if  she 
lives  till  doomsday,  she'll  burn  a  week  longer 
than  the  whole  world. 


Antiuholus  of  Syracuse. 


What  complexion'  is  she  or  ? 


Dromio 


n8 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Swart,  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  nothing  like 
I  so  clean  kept :  for  why  ?  she  sweats  ;  a  man  may 
go  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
No,  sir  ;  'tis  in  grain:  Noah's  flood  could  not 
I  do  it. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What's  her  name  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
'     Nell,  sir  ;  but  her  name  is  three  quarters,  that 
is,  an  ell ;  and  three  quarters  will  not  measure 
her  from  hip  to  hip. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse 
Then  she  bears  some  breadth  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
No  longer  from  head  to  foot,  than  from  hip  to 
hip :  she  is  spherical,  like  a  globe  ;  1  could  And 
out  countries  in  her. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse 
In  what  part  or  her  body  stands  Ireland? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks  :  I  found  it  out  by 
the  bogs. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  Scotland? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  found  it  by  the  barrenness,  hard,  in  the  palm 
of  the  hand. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  France? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
In  her  forehead ;  arm'd  and  reverted,  making 
war  against  her  heir. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  England? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

I  look'd  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 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  Spain  f 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Faith,  I  saw  it  not ;  but  I  felt  it  hot  in  her 
breath. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  America,  the  Indies  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
O  !  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embellished 
with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining 
their  rich  aspect  to  the  hot  breath  of  Spain,  who 
sent  whole  armadoes  of  carracks  to  be  ballast  at 
her  nose. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netherlands  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
O  !  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  conclude, 
this  drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me ;  call'd 
me  Dromio ;  swore,  I  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,  she  had  transform 'd  me  to  a  curtail  dog, 
and  made  me  turn  i'  the  wheel. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Go,  hie  thee  presently  post  to  the  road, 


And  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  shore, 
I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  put  forth,  come  to  the  mart, 
Where  1  will  walk  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  knows  us,  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack,  and  begone. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life, 
So  fly  I  from  her  that  would  be  my  wife.    [Exit. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
There's  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here, 
And  therefore  'tis  high  time  that  I  were  hence. 
She  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
Doth  for  a  wife  abhor  ;  but  her  fair  sister, 
Fossess'd  with  such  a  gentle  sovereign  grace, 
Of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse, 
Hath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself: 
But,  lest  myself  be  guilty  to  self-wrong, 
I'll  stop  mine  ears  against  the  mermaid's  song. 

Enter  Angelo. 
Angelo. 
Master  Antipholus  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Ay,  that's  my  name. 

Angelo. 
I  know  it  well,  sir.    Lo,  here  is  the  chain. 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porcupine  ; 
The  chain  unhnish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What  is  your  will  that  I  shall  do  with  this  ? 

Angelo. 
What  please  yourself,  sir :  I  have  made  it  for 
you. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Made  it  for  me,  sir  ?  I  bespoke  it  not. 

Angelo. 
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. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now, 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain,  nor  money,  more. 
Angelo. 
You  are  a  merry  man,  sir.    Fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain, 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  ofl'er'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  lor  Dromio  stay: 
If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.      [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 
Enter  a  Merchant,  Angelo,  and  an  Officer. 

Merchant. 
You  know,  since  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due, 
And  since  I  have  not  much  importun'd  you  ; 
Nor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  am  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  gilders  for  my  voyage : 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction, 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  oflicer. 

Angelo. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  l 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


119 


Even  just  the  sum,  that  I  do  owe  to  you, 
Is  growing  to  me  by  An  tip  bolus  ; 
And,  in  the  instant  that  I  met  with  you, 
He  had  of  me  a  chain :  at  five  o'clock, 
I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same. 
Pleaseth  yon  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
I  will  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

Enter  Antlphaht*  of  Fvhr/t"s.  and  Dromfo  of 
Ep&ettUf  from  the  1  ouruzan'a. 

Officer. 
That  labour  may  you  save :  see  where  he  comes. 

Antinholus  of  Ephesus. 
While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go  thou 
And  buy  a  rope's  end,  that  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates, 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day. — 
But  soft,  I  see  the  goldsmith. — Get  thee  gone ; 
Buy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a  year  ?  I  buy  a  rope  ? 

[Exit. 
Antinholus  of  Ephesus. 
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  too  long, 
If  it  were  chain'd  together,  and  therefore  came 
not. 

Angelo. 

Saving  your  merry  humour,  here's  the  note 

How  much  your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost 

caract, 
The  fineness  of  the  gold,  and  chargeful  fashion, 
Which  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman : 
1  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharg'd, 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 

Antinholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  am  not  furnish 'd  with  the  present  money ; 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town. 
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. 

Angelo. 
Then,  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  yourself  ? 

Antinholus  of  Ephesus. 
No ;  bear  it  with  you,  lest  I  come  not  time 
enough. 

Angelo. 
Well,  sir,  I  will.    Have  you  the  chain  about 
you? 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
An  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  hope  you  have, 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 
Angelo. 
Nay,  come,  I  pray  you,  sir,  give  me  the  chain  : 
Both  wind  and  tide  stay  for  this  gentleman, 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Good  lord  !  you  use  this  dalliance,  to  excuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porcupine. 
I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it, 
But,  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 
Merchant. 
The  hour  steals  on  :  I  pray  you,  sir,  dispatch. 

Angelo. 
You  hear,  how  he  importunes  me :  the  chain— 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Why,  give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch  your  money. 


Come,  come ;  you  know,  I  gave  it  you  eren 

now.  [token. 

Either  send  the  chain,  or  send  me  by  some 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Fie  1  now  you  run  this  humour  out  of  breath. 
Come  whereas  the  chain  ?    I  pray  you,  let  me 
see  it. 

Merchant. 
My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance. 
Good  sir,  say,  whe'r  you'll  answer  me,  or  no? 
If  not,  I'll  leave  him  to  the  officer. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  answer  you  !  what  should  I  answer  you  ? 

Angelo. 
The  money  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  owe  you  none,  till  I  receive  the  chain. 

Angelo. 
You  know,  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour  since. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
You  gave  me  none :  you  wrong  me  much  to 
say  so. 

Angelo. 
You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it : 
Consider  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 

Merchant. 
Well,  officer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit 

Officer. 
I  do,  and  charge  you  in  the  duke's  name  to 
obey  me. 

Angelo. 
This  touches  me  in  reputation. — 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me, 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Consent  to  pay  thee  that  lnever  had  ? 
Arrest  me,  foolish  fellow,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Angelo 
Here  is  thy  fee :  arrest  him,  officer.  — 
I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case, 
If  he  should  scorn  me  so  apparently. 

Officer. 
I  do  arrest  you,  sir.    You  hear  the  suit. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  do  obey  thee,  till  I  give  tnee  bail. — 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear, 
A  8  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Angelo. 
Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  your  notorious  shame,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard, 
And  then,  sir,  she  bears  away.    Our  fraughtage, 
I  have  convey'd  aboard,  and  I  have  bought  [sir, 
The  oil,  the  balsamum,  and  aqua-vita?. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim  :  the  merry  wind     [all, 
Blows  fair  from  land  ;  they  stay  for  naught  at 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
How  now  ?  a  madman  !    Why,  thou  peevish 
sheep, 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
A  ship  you  sent  me  to,  to  hire  wattage. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Thou  drunken  slave,  I  sent  thee  for  a  rope ; 
And  told  thee  to  what  purpose,  and  what  end. 

Dromio 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
You  sent  me  for  a  rope's  end  as  soon. 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure, 
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 
l  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,         [gone.  ■ 
And  that  shall  bail  me.    Hie  thee,  slave,  be  j 
I  On,  officer,  to  prison  till  it  come. 

[Exeunt  Merchant,  Angela,  Officer,  and  An-  \ 
tipholus  of  Ephesus. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
To  Adriana  ?  that  is  where  we  din'd, 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband : 
She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will, 
For  servants  must  their  masters'  minds  fulfil. 

[Exit,  j 

SCENE  II.    The  «ame. 
Enter  Adriana  and  Luciano. 
Adriana. 
Ah  !  Luciano,  did  he  tempt  thee  so  ? 

Might'st  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  ?  i 
What  observation  mad'st  thou  in  this  case, 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  ? 
Luciana. 
First  he  denied  you  had  in  him  no  right. 

Adriana. 
He  meant,  he  did  me  none :  the  more  my  spite. 

Luciana. 
Then  swore  he,  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 

Adriana. 
And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he 
were. 

Luciana. 
Then  pleaded  I  for  you. 

Adriana. 

And  what  said  he  ? 
Luciana. 
That  love  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  of  me. 

Adriana. 
With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy  love  ? 

Luciana. 

With  words  that  in   an  honest  suit  might 

move. 

First,  he  did  praise  my  beauty ;  then,  my  speech. 

Adriana. 

Did'st  speak  him  fair  ? 

Luciana. 

Have  patience,  I  beseech. 
Adriana. 
I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not  hold  me  still ;     [will. 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old,  and  sere, 
Ill-fac'd,  worse  bodied,  shapeless  every  where ; 
Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unkind, 
Stigmatical  in  making,  worse  in  mind. 
Luciana. 
Who  would  be  jealous,  then,  of  such  a  one  ? 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  gone. 

Adriana. 
Ah  !  but  I  think  him  better  than  1  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. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Here,  go :  the  desk  1  the  purse !  sweet,  now 
make  haste. 

Luciana. 
How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

By  running  fast. 
Adriana. 
Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio  ?  is  he  well  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
No,  he's  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell : 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him, 
One  whose  hard  heart  is  button'd  up  with  steel ; 
A  fiend,  a  fairy,  pitiless  and  rough  ; 
A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff ; 
A  back-friend,  a   shoulder-clapper,   one   that 

countermands 
The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands : 
A  hound  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws  dry- 
foot  well ;  [souls  to  hell. 
One  that,  before  the  judgment,  carries  poor 
Adriana. 
Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I  do  not  know  the  matter :  he  is  'rested  on  the 
case. 

Adriana. 
What,  is  he  arrested  ?  tell  me,  at  whose  suit. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

I  know  not  at  whose  suit  he  is  arrested  well ; 

But  he's  in  a  suit  of  buff  which  'rested  him,  that 

can  I  tell. 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption  ?  the 
money  in  his  desk  ? 

Adriana. 
Go  fetch  it,  sister.— This  I  wonder  at; 

[Exit  Luciano. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt :  — 
Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing ; 
A  chain,  a  chain  :  do  you  not  hear  it  ring  ? 
Adriana. 
What,  the  chain  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
No,  no,  the  bell.    'Tis  time  that  I  were  gone : 
It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock 
strikes  one. 

Adriana. 
The  hours  come  back  !  that  did  I  never  hear. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
O  yes  ;  if  any  hour  meet  a  serjeant,  'a  turns 
back  for  very  fear. 

Adriana. 
As  if  time  were  in  debt !  how  fondly  dost  thou 
reason  1 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Time  is  a  very  bankrupt,  and  owes  more  than 
he's  worth,  to  season.  [say, 

Nay,  he's  a  thief  too  :  have  you  not  heard  men 
That  time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day  ? 
If  he  be  in  debt  and  theft,  and  a  serjeant  in  the 
way,  [day  ? 

Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a 
Re-enter  Luciana. 
Adriana. 
Go,    Dromio :    there's  the   money,  bear    it 
straight, 

And 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


i*i 


And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately.— 
Come,  sister  ;  1  am  press'd  down  with  conceit, 
Conceit,  my  comfort,  and  my  injury. 

[Exeunt. 

SCESE  III.    The  lame. 
Filter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Antipholus  of  Syracu--- 
There's  not  a  man  I  meet  Tmt  doth  salute  me, 
As  if  1  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  methanks  for  kindnesses ; 
Some  offer  me  commodities  to  buy : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  bis  shop, 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me, 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles, 
And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for. 
What  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What  gold  is  this  ?    What  Adam  dost  thou 
mean? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Not  that  Adam  that  kept  the  paradise,  but 
that  Adam  that  keeps  the  prison  :  he  that  goes 
in  the  calfs-skin  that  was  kill'd  for  the  prodigal : 
he  that  came  behind  you,  sir,  like  an  evil  angel, 
and  bid  you  forsake  your  liberty. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  understand  thee  not. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
No  ?  why,  'tis  a  plain  case  :  he  that  went,  like 
a  base-viol,  in"  a  case  of  leather:  the  man,  sir, 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  them  a 
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. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
What,  thou  mean'st  an  officer  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Ay,  sir,  the  Serjeant  or  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 !  " 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery.    Is  there 
any  ship  puts  forth  to-night  ?  may  we  be  gone  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour  since, 
that  the  bark  Expedition  put  forth  to-night ; 
and  then  were  you  hindered  by  the  Serjeant  to 
tarry  for  the  hoy  Delay.  Here  are  the  angels 
that  you  sent  for  to  deliver  you. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
The  fellow  Is  distract,  and"  so  am  I, 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions. 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence  ! 

Enter  a  Courtezan. 
Courtezan. 
Well  met,  well  met,  master  Antipholus. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now : 
Is  that  the  chain,  you  promis'd  me  to-day  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Satan,  avoid  I    I  charge  thee,  tempt  me  not  ! 


Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  is  this  mistress  Satan  f 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
It  is  the  devil. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam  ;  and 
here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wench : 
and  thereof  comes  that  the  wenches  say,  "  God  I 
damn  me,"  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  "  God  make 
me  a  light  wench."  It  is  written,  they  appear 
to  men  like  angels  of  light :  light  is  an  effect  of 
fire,  and  fire  will  burn  ;  ergo,  light  wenches  will 
burn.    Come  not  near  her. 

Courtezan. 
Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  merry,  sir. 
Will  you  go  with  me  ?  we'll  mend  our  dinner 
here. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  if  you  do,  expect  spoon-meat,  or  be- 
speak a  long  spoon. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Why,  Dromio  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Marry,  he  must  have  a  long  spoon  that  must 
eat  with  the  devil. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Avoid  then,  fiend !   what  tell'st  thou  me  of 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress  :  [supping  ? 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me,  and  be  gone. 
Courtezan. 
Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  dinner, 
Or  for  my  diamond  the  chain  you  promis'd, 
And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
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,  be  wise  :  an  if  you  give  it  her, 
,  The  devil  will  shake  her  chain,  and  fright  us 
with  it. 

Courtezan. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain. 
I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Avaunt,  thou  witch  1    Come,  Dromio,  let  us 
go. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Fly  pride,  says  the  peacock :  mistress,  that  you 
know.     [Exeunt  Antipholus  and  Dromio. 

Courtezan. 
Now,  out  of  doubt,  Antipholus  is  mad, 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself. 
A  ring  he  hath  of  mine  worth  forty  ducats, 
And  for  the  same  he  promis'd  me  a  chain : 
Both  one  and  other  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad, 
Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage, 
Is  a  mad  tale  he  told  to-day  at  dinner    [trance. 
Of  his  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  en- 
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, 
j  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.    The  same. 

Enter  Aniipholus  of  Ephestis,  and  a  Jailor. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus.  , 
Fear  me  not,  man  ;  I  will  hot  break  away: 
I'll  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,  so  much  money, 


ia* 


COMEDY  OF  EKKORS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


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  Ephestis, 
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  ? 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay  them  all. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
But  where's  the  money  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
To  a  rope's  end,  sir ;  and  to  that  end  am  I 
return'd. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome  you. 

[Beating  him. 
Jailor. 
Good  sir,  be  patient. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Nay,  'tis  for  me  to  be  patient ;  I  am  in  ad- 
versity. 

Jailor. 
Good  now,  hold  thy  tongue. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his  hands. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain  ! 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I  would  I  were  senseless,  sir ;  that  I  might 
not  feel  your  blows. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows,  and  so 
is  an  ass. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

I  am  an  ass,  indeed :  you  may  prove  it  by  my 

long  ears.     I  have  serv'd  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  I  am 

warm,  he  cools  me  with  beating:  I  am  wak'd 

with  it,  when  I  sleep ;  rais'd  with  it,  when  I 

sit ;  driven  out  of  doors  with  it,  when  I  go  from 

home  ;  welcom'd  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. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

Come,  go  along:  my  wife  is  coming  yonder. 

Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  the  Courtezan,  and  a 
Schoolmaster  called  Pinch. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Mistress,  resptce  finem,  respect  your  end  ;  or 
rather   the  prophecy,  like   the  parrot,    "  Be- 
ware the  rope's  end." 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Wilt  thou  still  talk  ?  [Beats  him. 

Courtezan. 
How  say  you  now  ?  is  not  your  husband  mad  ? 


Adrians. 

His  incivility  confirms  no  less.  — 
Good  doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer  ; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  again, 
And  1  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 
Luciana. 
Alas,  how  fiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks  ! 

Courtezan. 
Mark,  now  he  trembles  in  his  ecstasy  ! 

Pinch. 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  feel  jour 
pulse. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your  ear. 

Pinch. 
1  charge  thee,  Satan,  hous'd  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. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace !    I  am  not  mad. 

Adriana. 
O,  that  thou  wert  not,  poor  distressed  soul  I 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
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  ? 
Adriana. 
O  husband,   God  doth  know,  you  din'd  at 
home ; 
Where  'would  you  had  remain'd  until  this  time, 
Free  from  these  slanders,  and  this  open  shame  I 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Din'd  at  home  1    Thou,  villain,  what  say'st 
thou? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  at  home. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Were  not  my  doors  lock'd  up,  and  I  shut  out? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Perdy,  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and  you  shut 
out. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Sans  fable,  she  herself  revil'd  you  there. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Did  not  her  kitchen-maid   rail,  taunt,  and 
scorn  me  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Certes,  she  did;  the  kitchen-vestal  scorn'd 
you. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
And  did  not  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

In  verity,  you  did :  —my  bones  bear  witness, 

That  since  have  felt  the  vigour  of  his  rage. 

Adriana. 

Is't  good  to  soothe  him  in  these  contraries  ? 

Pinch. 
It  is  no  shame :  the  fellow  finds  his  vein, 
And,  yielding  to  him,  humours  well  his  frenzy. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Thou  hast  suborn'd  the  goldsmith  to  arrest 
me. 

Adriana. 
Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you, 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


»»3 


Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Money   by   me!    heart   and    good-will   you 
might ; 
But,  surely,  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Went'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of  ducat*  ? 

Adrians. 
He  came  to  me,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 

Luciana. 
And  I  am  witness  with  her  that  she  did. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
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. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth  to- 
day, 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 

Adriana. 
I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
And,  gentle  master,  I  receiv'd  no  gold ; 
But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adriana. 
Dissembling  villain  I   thou  speak'st  false  in 
both. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Dissembling  harlot !  thou  art  false  in  all, 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack 
To  make  a  loathsome,  abject  scorn  of  me  ; 
But  with  these  nails  I'll  pluck  out  these  false 

eyes, 
That  would  behold  in  me  this  shameful  sport. 

Enter  three  or  four,  and  bind  Antipholus  and 
Dromio. 


Adriana. 
hii 


0  bind  him,  bind  him  I  let  him  not  come  near 

me. 

Pinch. 
More  company!  — the  fiend  is  strong  within 
him. 

Luciana. 
Ah  me !  poor  man,  how  pale  and  wan   he 
looks. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

What,  will  you  murder  me  ?     Thou  jailor, 
thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner :  wilt  thou  suffer  them 
To  make  a  rescue  ? 

Jailor. 

Masters,  let  him  go : 
He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch. 
Go,  bind  this  man,  for  he  is  frantic  too. 

Adrian*. 
What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  peevish  officer  ? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself? 

Jailor. 
He  is  my  prisoner :  if  I  let  him  go, 
The  debt  he  owes  will  be  requir'd  of  me. 
Adriana. 

1  will  discharge  thee,  ere  I  go  from  thee. 
Bear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor, 

I  And,  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay 
|  Good  master  doctor,  see  him  safe  convey'd  [it. 
i  Home  to  my  house O,  most  unhappy  day  I 


Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
O,  most  unhappy  strumpet  1 

to  of  Ephesus. 
Master,  I  am  here  enter'd  in  bond  for  you. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Out  on  thee,  villain !  wherefore  dost  thou 
mad  me  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing  ?  be  mad,  good 
master ; 
Cry,  the  devil— 

Luciana. 
God  help,  poor  souls  !  how  idly  do  they  talk. 

.    Adriana. 
Go  bear  him  hence.  —  Sister,  go  you  with 
me. —        [Exeunt  Pinch  and  assistants 
With  Antipholus  and  Dromio. 
Say  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at  ? 
Jailor. 
One  Angelo,  a  goldsmith ;  do  you  know  him  ? 

Adriana. 
I  know  the  man.    What  is  the  sum  he  owes  ? 

Jailor. 
Two  hundred  ducats. 

Adriana. 

Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 
Jailor. 
Due  for  a  chain  your  husband  had  of  him. 

Adriana. 
He  did  bespeak  a  chain  for  me,  but  had  it  not. 

Courtezan. 
When  as  your  husband,  all  in  rage,  to-day 
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. 
Adriana. 

It  may  be  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it 

Come,  jailor,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is : 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 

Knter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  with  his  rapier 
drawn,  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Luciana. 
God,  for  thy  mercy !  they  are  loose  again. 

Adriana. 

And  come  with  naked  swords.   Let's  call  more 

To  have  them  bound  again.  [help, 

Jailor. 

Away  !  they'll  kill  us. 
TExeunt  Adriana,  Luciana,  and  Jailor. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  see,  these  witches  are  afraid  of  swords. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
She,  that  would  be  your  wife,  now  ran  from 
you. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Come  to  the  Centaur ;  fetch  our  stuff  from 
thence : 
I  long,  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
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 
j  claims  marriage  of  me,  I  could  find  in  my  heart 
to  stay  here  still,  and  turn  witch. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  will  not  stay  to-night  for  all  the  town  ; 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuff  aboard. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT 


1*4 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  l 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    Before  an  Abbey. 
Enter  Merchant  and  Angelo. 

T  AM  sorry,  sir,  that  fhave  hinder'd  you  ; 
x  But,  I  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me, 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

iere  in  the  city  ? 

Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir, 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  belov'd, 
Second  to  none  that  lives  here  in  the  <  ity  : 
His  word  might  bear  my  wealth  at  any  time. 

Speak  softly:  yonder0,  as  I" think,  he  walks. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

'Tis  so  ;  and  that' serf  chain  about  his  neck, 
Which  he  forswore  most  monstrously  to  have. 

Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him 

Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much       [trouble ; 
That  you  would  put  me  to  this  shame   and 
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, 
Had  hoisted  sail,  and  put  to  sea  to-day. 
This  chain,  you  had  of  me :  can  you  deny  it  ? 

I  think,  I^H^vefcuffaiHFit. 

Yes,  that  you  did,  sir  ;  and  forswore  it  too. 

Who  heard  me^to  deny  it?  orCfors'wear  it  ? 

These  ears  of  mine,  thou  knowest,  did  hear 
thee. 
Fie  on  thee,  wretch  !  'tis  pity  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Thou  art  a  villain  to  impeach  me  thus. 
I'll  prove  mine  honour  and  mine  honesty 
Against  thee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand. 

I  dare,  and  do  derythee'nVr  a  villain. 

[They  draw. 
Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  Courtezan,  and  others. 

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. 

Run,  master,  run  ;   Mr  God's   sake  take  a 
house ! 
This  is  some  priory : — in,  or  we  are  spoil'd. 
[Exeunt  Antipholus  and  Dromio  to  the  Abbey. 
Enter  the  Lady  Abbess 

Re  quiet,  people.     VVherefore  throng  you  hi- 
ther? 


To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence. 
Let  us  come  m,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast, 
And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

I  knew,  he  was  nbt!'fri  his  perfect  wits. 

I  am  sorry  now, Ihaf  t'efta'  draw  on  him. 

How  long  hath  this  possession  held  the  man  ? 

This  week  he  hathbeen''heavy,  sour,  sad  ; 
And  much  different  from  the  man  he  was  ; 
But,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  rage. 

Hath  he  not  lost  muclTwealth  by  wreck  of  sea  ?: 
Buried  some  dear  friend  ?   Hath  not  else  his  eye 
Stray'd  his  affection  in  unlawful  love  ? 
A  sin  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men, 
Who  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to  ? 

To  none  of  these,  eSccepffit  be  the  last ; 
Namely,  some  love,  that  drew  him  oft  from 
home. 

You  should  for  that  have  reprehended  him. 


Why,  so  I  did. 


Adriana. 


Ay,but  not  rough  enough, 
As  roughly,  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 
Haply,  in  private 


Abbess. 


Adriana. 


And  in  assemblies,  too. 


Ay,  but  not  enough 


Adriana.. 

It  was  the  copy  ofour  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  glanc'd  it : 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 

And  thereof  came  it  that  the  man  was  mad : 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems,  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing, 
And  thereof  comes  it,  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say'st,  his  meat  was  saue'd  with  thy  up- 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions  ;  [braidings : 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred : 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
Thou  say'st,  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy 

brawls : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue, 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 
Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair, 
And  at  her  heels  a  huge  infectious  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  heast. 
The  consequence  is,  then,  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scar'd  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

She  never  reprehended  nim  but  mildly, 
When  he  demean'd  himself  rough,  rude,  and 

wildly. — 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  and  answer  not  ? 
Adriana. 


COKKSIDT   ©IF   lS3m©I&S. 

Art.  ? 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


125 


Adriaua. 
She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof — 
Good  people,  enter,  and  lay  hold  on  him. 
Abbes/. 

No  ;  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 

Adrian*. 
Then,  let  your  servants  bring  my  husband 
forth.  ... 

Abbtaa 

Neither  :  he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary, 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands, 
Till  I  have  brought  him  to  his  wits  again, 
Or  lose  my  labour  in  essaying  it. 
Adrians. 

I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse, 
Diet  his  sickness  ;  for  it  is  my  office. 
And  will  have  no  attorney  but  myself, 
And  therefore  let  me  have  him  home  with  me. 
Abbess. 

Be  patient ;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir, 
Till  1  have  us'd  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. 

Adriana. 
I  will  not  hence,  and  leave  my  husband  here ; 
And  ill  it  doth  beseem  your  holiness 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

Abbess. 

Be  quiet,  and  depart :  thou  shalt  not  have  him. 

Luciana. 

;      Complain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indignity. 
Adriana. 

i      Come,  go :  I  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet, 
And  never  rise,  until  my  tears  and  prayers 

I  '  Have  won  his  grace  to  cbme  in  person  hither, 

:    And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  abbess. 
Merchant. 

By  this,  I  think,  the  dial  points  at  five: 
Anon,  I'm  sure,  the  duke  himself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale, 

I I  The  place  of  death  and  sorry  execution, 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  abbey  here. 

Angelo. 

Upon  what  cause  ? 

Merchant. 
To  see  a  reverend  Syracusian  merchant, 
:  j  Who  put  unluckily  into  this  bay 
Against  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town, 
Beheaded  publicly  for  his  offence. 
Angelo. 
See,  where  they  come :  we  will  behold  his 
death.  T      . 

Luciana. 

Kneel  to  the  duke  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 
Enter  Duke   attended ;    JEgeon    bare-headed ; 
with  the  Headsman  and  other  Officer*. 
Duke. 
Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly, 
If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  him, 
He  shall  not  die,  so  much  we  tender  him. 
Adriana. 

Justice,  most  sacred  duke,  against  the  abbess  1 
Duke. 

She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady  : 
It  cannot  be,  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 
Adriana. 

May  it  please  your  grace,  Antipholus,  my  hus- 
Whom  I  made  lord  of  me,  and  all  I  had,  [band, 


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) 
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, 
Each  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords, 
Met  us  again,  and,  madly  bent  on  us, 
Chas'd  us  away  ;  till,  raising  of  more  aid, 
We  came  again  to  bind  them.    Then  they  fl  fcd 
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, [help. 
Let  him  be  brought  forth,  and  borne  hence  for  | 

Duke. 
1      Long  since  thy  husband  serv'd  me  in  my  wars, 
«  And  I  to  thee  engag'd  a  prince's  word, 
j  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. 

Servant. 

O  mistress,  mistress  !  shift  and  save  yourself. 

My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose, 

Beaten  the  maids  a-row,  and  bound  the  doctor, 

:  Whose  beard  they  have  sing'd  off  with  brands  of 

;  And  ever  as  it  blazed  they  threw  on  him    [fire ; 

Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair. 

My  master  preaches  patience  to  him,  and  the 

while 
His  man  with  scissars  nicks  him  like  a  fool ; 
And,  sure,  unless  you  send  some  present  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 
Adriana. 
Peace,  fool !  thy  master  and  his  man  are  here: 
And  that  is  false,  thou  dost  report  to  us. 
Servant. 
Mistress,  upon  my  life,  I  tell  you  true  ; 
I  have  not  breath'd,  almost,  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you.  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you, 
To  scorch  your  face,  and  to  disfigure  you. 

!  Hark,  hark,  I  hear  him,  mistress :  fly,  be  gone. 
Duke. 
Come,  stand  by  me;   fear  nothing.    Guard 
with  halberds  I 

Adriana. 
Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband  !    Witness  you, 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible : 
Even  now  we  hous'd  him  in  the  abbey  here, 
And  now  he's  there,  past  thought  of  human 
reason. 
Enter  Antipholus  and  Drotnio  of  Ephesus. 
Antipholus  of  Ephestw. 
Justice,  most  gracioQs  duke  1    O  I  grant  me 
justice, 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars,  and  took 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life ;  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 


126 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


iEgeon. 
Unless  the  fear  of  death  doth  make  me  dote, 
I  see  my  son  Antipholus,  and  Dromiol 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Justice,  sweet   prince,  against   that  woman 
there ! 
She  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife, 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonour'd  me, 
Even  in  the  strength  and  height  of  injury. 
Beyond  imagination  is  the  wrong, 
That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 
Duke. 
Discover  how,  and  thou  shalt  find  me  just. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
This  day.  great  duke,  she  shut  the  doors  upon 
me, 
While  she  with  harlots  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke. 
A  grievous  fault.   Say,  woman,  did'st  thou  so  ? 

Adrian  a. 
No,  my  good  lord :  myself,  he,  and  my  sister, 
To-day  did  dine  together.     So  befal  my  soul, 
As  this  is  false  he  burdens  me  withal. 

Luciana. 
Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night, 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth. 

Angelo. 
O  perjur'd  woman  !  They  are  both  forsworn: 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
My  liege,  T  am  advised  what  T  say ; 
Neither  disturb'd  with  the  effect  of  wine, 
Nor  heady-rash  provok'd  with  raging  ire, 
Albeit  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner: 
That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with 
Could  witness  It,  for  he  was  with  me  then  ;  [her, 
Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 
Promising  to  bring  it  to  the  Porcupine, 
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.        [down, 
There  did  this  perjur'd  goldsmith  swear  me 
That  I  this  day  of  him  receiv'd  the  chain, 
WThich,  God  he  knows,  I  saw  not ;  for  the  which, 
He  did  arrest  me  with  an  officer. 
I  did  obey,  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  he  with  none  return'd. 
Then  fairly  1  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-fae'd 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank,  [villain, 

A  thread-bare  juggler,  and  a  fortune-teller, 
A  needy,  hollow-ey'd,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living  dead  man.    This  pernicious  slave, 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer, 
And  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse, 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  out-facing  me, 
Cries  out,  I  was  possess'd.     Then,  altogether 
They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence, 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together; 
Till,  gnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gain'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 
Ran  hither  to  jour  grace,  whom  I  beseech 
To  give  me  ample  satisfaction 
For  these  deep  shames,  and  great  indignities. 

Angelo. . 
My  lord,  in  truth,  thus  far  I  witness  with  him, 
That  he  dined  not  at  home,  but  was  lock'd  out. 


Duke. 
But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee,  or  no  ? 

Angelo. 

He  had,  my  lord;  and  when  he  ran  in  here, 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 
Merchant. 

Besides,  I  will  be  sworn,  these  ears  of  mine 
Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him, 
After  you  first  forswore  it  on  the  mart, 
And,  thereupon,  I  drew  my  sword  on  you  ; 
And  then  you  fled  into  this  abbey  here, 
From  whence,  I  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  never  came  within  these  abbey  walls, 
Nor  ever  did'st  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me. 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  heaven  I 
And  this  is  false  you  burden  me  withal. 

Duke. 
Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is  this  J 
I  think,  you  all  have  drunk  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  hous'd  him,  here  he  would  have  been ; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly :  — 
You  say,  be  dined  at  home  ;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying Sirrah,  what  say  you  ? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Sir,  he  dined  with  her,  there,  at  the  Porcupine. 

Courtezan. 
He  did,  and  from  my  finger  snatch'd  that  ring. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
'Tis  true,  my  liege ;  this  ring  I  had  of  her. 

Duke. 
Saw'st  thou  him  enter  at  the  abbey  here  ? 

Courtezan. 
As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  grace. 

Duke. 
Why,  this  is  strange — Go  call  the  abbess 

hither 

I  think  you  are  all  mated,  or  stark  mad. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
JEgeon. 
Most  mighty  duke,  vouchsafe  me  speak    a 
Haply,  I  see  a  friend  will  save  my  life,     [word. 
And  pay  the  sum  that  may  deliver  me. 

Duke. 
Speak  freely,  Syracusian,  what  thou  wilt. 

iEgeon. 
Is  not  your  name,  sir,  call'd  Antipholus, 
And  is  not  that  your  bondman  Dromio? 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Within  this  hour  I  was  his  bondman,  sir ; 
But  he,  I  thank  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords : 
Now  am  I  Dromio,  and  his  man,  unbound. 
iEgeon. 
I  am  sure  you  both  of  you  remember  me. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
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  ? 
JEgcon. 
Why  look  you  strange  on  me  ?  you  know  me 
well. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  never  saw  you  in  my  life,  till  now. 

iEgeon. 
O  !  grief  hath  changM  me,  since  you  saw  me 
last; 
And  careful  hours,  with  time's  deformed  hand, 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face : 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice  ? 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Neither. 

iEgeon 


J] 


A- •!  v.  So.  I. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


117 


JEgcon. 
Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

Dromio  or  Ephesus. 
No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

iEgeon. 
1  am  sure  thou  dost. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Ay,  sir ;  but  I  am  sure  I  do  not ;  and  what- 
soever a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  to 
believe  him. 

JEgcon. 
Not  know  my  voice  ?    O,  time's  extremity  ! 
Hast  thou  so  crack'dand  splittedmypoor  tongue 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untun'd  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  fading  glimmer  left, 
My  dull,  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear  : 
All  these  old  witnesses  (I  cannot  err) 
Tell  me  thou  art  my  son  Antiphoius. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  never  saw  my  father  in  my  life. 

IEgeon. 
But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  boy, 
Thou  k  now'st  we  parted.    But,  perhaps,  my  son, 
Thou  sham'st  to  acknowledge  me  in  misery. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
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  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa. 
I  see,  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

Enter  Abbess,  with  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Abbess. 

Most    mighty  duke,   behold   a    man   much 

wrong'd.  [All  gather  to  see  them. 

Adriana. 

I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive  me  1 

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  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
I,  sir,  am  Dromio :  command  him  away. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
I,  sir,  am  Dromio :  pray  let  me  stay. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
JEgcon,  art  thou  not  ?  or  else  his  ghost  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
O,  my  old  master  !  who  hath  bound  him  here  ? 

Abbess. 
Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  his  bonds, 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty— 
Speak,  old  Mgeon,  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  JEgeon,  speak, 
And  speak  unto  the  same  JEmilia  I 
^gcon. 
If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  JEmilia. 
If  thou  art  she.  tell  me,  where  is  that  son 
That  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft  ? 
Abbess. 
By  men  of  Epidamnum,  he,  and  I, 


And  the  twin  Dromio.  all  were  taken  up  ; 
But,  by  and  by,  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them, 
And  me  they  lelt  with  those  of  Epidamnum. 
What  then  became  of  them,  I  cannot  tell ; 
I,  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 
l)uk<-. 
Why,  here  begins  his  morning  story  right. 
These  two  Antipholus',  these  two  so  like, 
And  these  two  Dromios,  one  in  semblance, — 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  sea  ; — 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  children, 
Which  accidentally  are  met  together. 
Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  first. 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
No,  sir,  not  I :  I  came  from  Syracuse. 

Duke. 
Stay,  stand  apart :  I  know  not  which  it  which, 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
I  came  from  Corinth,  my  most  gracious  lord. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
And  I  with  him. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 

Brought  to  this  town  by  that  most  famoui 

warrior, 

Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  reuowned  uncle. 

Adriana. 

Which  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to-day  ? 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I,  gentle  mistress. 

Adriana. 
And  are  not  you  my  husband  ? 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
No  ;  I  say  nay  to  that. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
And  so  do  I,  yet  did  she  call  me  so  ; 
And  this  fair  gentlewoman,  her  sister  here, 
Did  call  me  brother. — WThat  I  told  you  then, 
I  hope,  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good, 
If  this  be  not  a  dream  I  see,  and  hear. 
Angelo. 
That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
I  think  it  be,  sir :  I  deny  it  not. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me. 

Angelo. 
I  think  I  did,  sir :  I  deny  it  not. 

Adriana. 
I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail, 
By  Dromio  i  but  I  think,  he  brought  it  not. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
No,  none  by  me. 

Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
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  all  arose. 
Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke. 
It  shall  not  need :  thy  father  hath  bis  life. 

Courtezan. 
Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
There,  take  it;  and  much  thanks  for  my  good 
cheer. 

Abbess. 


n8 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  i.  So.  i 


Abbess. 
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  suffered  wrong,  go,  keep  us  company, 
And  we  shall  make  full  satisfaction. 
Twenty-five  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons  ;  and  'till  this  present  hour 
My  heavy  burden  ne'er  delivered. — 
The  duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both, 
And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
Go  to  a  gossip's  feast,  and  go  with  me : 
After  so  long  grief  such  nativity  1 
Duke. 
With  all  my  heart :  I'll  gossip  at  this  feast. 
CExeunt  Duke,  Abbess,  Mzeon,  Courtezan, 
Merchant,  Angela,  and  Attendants. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Master,  shall  I  fetch  your  stuff  from  ship- 
board? 

Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou  em- 
bark'd? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Your  goods,  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the  Cen- 
taur. 


Antipholus  of  Syracuse 
He  speaks  to  me. — T  am  your  master,  Dromio: 
Come,  go  with  us  ;  we'll  look  to  that  anon. 
Embrace  thy  brother  there  ;  rejoice  with  him. 
[Exeunt  Antipholus  of  Syracuse  and  Ephe- 
sus, Adriana,  and  Luciano. 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's  house, 
That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner  : 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 
Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
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  ? 
Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
Not  I,  sir ;  you  are  my  elder. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
That's  a  question  :  how  shall  we  try  it  ? 

Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
We'll  draw  cuts  for  the  senior  :  till  then,  lead 
thou  first. 

Dromio  of  Ephesus 
Nay,  then  thus : 
We  came  into    the  world,   like   brother   and 

brother ; 
And  now,  let's  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before 
another. 


one  I 
[Kxe 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


DON  PEDRO,  Prince  of  Arragon. 
John,  his  bastard  Brother. 
Claudio,  a  young  Lord  of  Florence. 
Benedick,  a  young  Lord  of  Padua. 
Leonato,  Governor  of  Messina. 
Antonio,  his  Brother. 
Balthazar,  Servant  to  Don  Pedro 

cZT^fo^ers  of  John. 
Ve^^  Officers. 


Friar  Francis. 

A  Sexton. 

A  Boy. 

Hero,  Daughter  to  Leonato. 

Beatrice,  Niece  to  Leonato. 

Ursula6*'  I  Gentleu>omen  attending  on  Hero. 

Messengers,  Watchmen,  and  Attendants. 

SCENE.  Messina. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Before  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others,  with 

a  Messenger. 

Leonato. 

I  LEARN  in  this  letter,  that  Don  Pedro  of 
Arragon  comes  this  night  to  Messina. 


Messenger. 
He  Is  very  near  by  this:  he  was  not  three- 
leagues  off  when  1  left  him. 
Leonato. 
How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in  thfr 
action  ? 

Messenger. 

But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 


Act  l  Sc.  l 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


ia9 


Leonato.  Lconato. 

A  victory  is  twice  itself,  when  the  achiever '  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece.  There 
brings  home  full  numbers.  1  find  here,  that  is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  signior  Benedick 
Don  Pedro  hath  bestowed  much  honour  on  a    and  her:  they  never  meet,  but  there's  a  skirmish 


young  Florentine,  called  Claudia 
Messenger. 

Much  deserved  on  his  part,  and  equally  re- 
membered by  Don  Pedro :  he  hath  borne  himself 
beyond  the  promise  of  his  age,  doing  in  the  figure 
of  a  lamb  the  feats  of  a  lion*  he  hath,  indeed, 


of  wit  between  them. 

Beatrice. 

Alas  !  he  gets  nothing  by  that  In  our  last 
conflict  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off, 
and  now  is  the  whole  man  governed  with  one  ; 
so  that  if  he  have  wit  enough  to  keep  himself 


better  bettered  expectation,  than  you  must  ex-  [  warm,  let  him  bear  it  for  a  difference  between 

I  pect  of  me  to  tell  you  how.  himself  and  his  horse  ;  for  it  is  all  the  wealth 

Lconato.                                    j  that  he  hath  left  to  be  known  a  reasonable 

He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be  very  creature.  -  Who  is  his  companion  now  ?    He 

much  clad  of  it  hatn  every  month  a  new  sworn  brother. 

Messenger.  Messenger. 

I  have   already  delivered   him    letters,  and '  is't  possible  ? 
there  appears  much  joy  in  him  ;  even  so  much 


Beatrice. 


that  joy  could  not  show  itself  modest  enough 
withoat  a  badge  of  bitterness. 
Leonato. 

Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 
Messenger. 

In  great  measure. 

Leonato. 

A  kind  overflow  of  kindness.  There  are  no 
faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed :  how 
much  better  is  it  to  weep  at  joy,  than  to  joy  at 


weeping  ? 


Beatrice. 


I  pray  you,  is  signior  Montanto  returned  from 
the  wars,  or  no  ?   . . 

Messenger. 

I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady :  there  was 
none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 
Leonato. 

What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece  ? 
Hero. 

My  cousin  means  signior  Benedick  of  Padua. 
Messenger. 

0 1  he  is  returned,  and  as  pleasant  as  ever  he 
Beatrice. 

He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and  chal- 
lenged Cupid  at  the  flight ;  and  my  uncle's  fool, 
reading  the  challenge,  subscribed  for  Cupid,  and 
challenged  him  at  the  bird-bolt — I  pray  you, 
how  many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these 
wars  ?  But  how  many  hath  he  killed  ?  for, 
indeed,  I  promised  to  eat  all  of  his  killing. 
Lconato. 


Very  easily  possible:  he  wears  his  faith  but 
as  the  fashion  of  his  hat,  it  ever  changes  with 
the  next  block.      MefSenger. 

I  see,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  your  books. 
Beatrice 

No;  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study. 
But,  I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ?    Is 
there  no  joung  squarer  now,  that  will  make  a 
voyage  with  him  to  the  devil  ? 
Messenger. 

He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the  right  noble 
Claudia.  Beatrice 

0  Lord !  he  will  hang  upon  him  like  a  disease : 
he  is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilence,  and  the 
taker  runs  presently  mad.  God  help  the  noble 
Claudio  I  if  he  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it  will 
cost  him  a  thousand  pounds  ere  he  be  cured. 

Messenger. 

1  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beatrice. 

Do,  good  friend.  LeonatQ 

You  will  never  nm  mad,  niece. 
Beatrice. 

No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 
Messenger. 


Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  John,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Bal- 

thenar,  and  others. 

Don  Pedro- 

Faith,  niece,  you  tax  signior  Benedick  too  Good  signer  Leonato,  are  you  come  to  meet 
much ;  but  he  11  be  meet  with  you,  I  doubt  it  your  trouble  ?  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to 
uof  •  Messenger.  avoid  cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 

He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these  ;      .T  ',    .  .  ,..,.. 
wars.                      *                    *        "                      Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  the  like- 
Beatrice,  ness  of  your  grace;    for  trouble  being  gone, 
You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp  to  comfort  should  remain,  but  when  you  depart 
eat  it:  he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man;  he  J™™  me>  »°rrow  abides,  and  happiness  takes 
hath  an  excellent  stomach.  hls  leaye.               n      VttArn 
Messenger. 


And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beatrice. 
And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady ;  but  what  is  he 
to  a  lord  ? 

Messenger. 

A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man ;  stuffed  with 
all  honourable  virtues. 

Beatrice. 

It  is  so,  indeed :  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuffed 
man;  but  for  the  stuffing,— Well,  we  are  all 
mortal. 


You  embrace  your  charge  too  willingly.    I 
think,  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leonato. 
Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

Benedick. 
Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  you  asked  her  ? 

Leonato. 
Signior  Benedick,  no ;  for  then  were  you  a 


child. 


Don  Pedro. 


You  have  it  full,  Benedick :  we  may  guess 


th 


s 


130 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.  — Truly,  the 
lady  fathers  herself.  —  Be  happy,  lady,  for  you 
are  like  an  honourable  father. 
Benedick. 
If  signior  Lconato  be  her  father,  she  would  not 
have  his  head  on  her  shoulders  for  all  Messina, 
as  like  him  as  she  is. 

Beatrice. 
I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking,  signior 
Benedick:  no  body  marks  you. 
Benedick. 
What,  my  dear  lady  Disdain!  are  you  yet 
living? 

Beatrice. 
Is  it  possible  disdain  should  die,  while  she 
hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it,  as  signior  Bene- 
dick?   Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  disdain, 
if  you  come  in  her  presence. 
Benedick. 
Then  is  courtesy  a  turn-coat.  But  it  is  certain, 
I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted ;  and  I 
would  I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not  a 
hard  heart,  for,  truly,  I  "love  none. 
Beatrice. 
A  dear  happiness  to  women :  they  would  else 
have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.     I 
thank  God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your 
humour  for  that :  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark 
at  a  crow,  than  a  man  swear  he  loves  me. 
Benedick. 
God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind ;  so 
some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predesti- 
nate scratched  face. 

Beatrice. 
Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an  'twere 
such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Benedick. 
Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

Beatrice. 
A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast  of 
yours. 

Benedick. 
I  would,  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue,  and  so  good  a  continuer.   But  keep  your 
way  o'  God's  name ;  1  have  done. 
Beatrice. 
You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  :  I  know 
you  of  old. 

Don  Pedro. 

This  is  the  sum  of  all.  —  Leonato, — signior 

j  Claudio,  and  signior  Benedick,  —  my  dear  friend 

\  Leonato  hath  invited  you  all.     I  tell  him  we 

shall  stay  here  at  the  least  a  month,  and  he 

|  j  heartily  prays  some    occasion  may  detain    us 

longer :  1  dare  swear  he  is  no  hypocrite,  but 

prays  from  his  heart. 

Leonato. 
If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be  for- 
sworn.—  Let  me  bid  you   welcome,  my  lord: 
being  reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I 
owe  you  all  duty. 

John. 
I  thank  you  :  1  am  not  of  many  words,  but  I 
thank  you. 

Leonato. 
Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ? 

Don  Pedro. 
Your  hand,  Leonato :  we  will  go  together. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claudio. 
Benedick,  didst  thou  note    the  daughter  of 
aignior  Leonato  t 


Benedick. 
I  noted  her  not ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claudio. 
Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady  ? 

Benedick. 
Do  you  question  me,  as  an  honest  man  should 
do,  for  my  simple  true  judgment ;  or  would  you 
have  me  speak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a  pro- 
fessed tyrant  to  their  sex  ? 
Claudio. 
No ;  I  pray  thee,  speak  in  sober  judgment. 

Benedick. 
Why,  i'faith,  methinks  she's  too  low  for  a  high 
praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  little 
for  a  great  praise:  only  this  commendation  I  can 
afford  her;  that  were  she  other  than  she  is,  she 
were  unhandsome,  and  being  no  other  but  as 
she  is,  I  do  not  like  her. 

Claudio. 
Thou  thinkest,  I  am  in  sport :  I  pray  th'ee,  tell 
me  truly  how  thou  lik'st  her. 
Benedick. 
Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquireafter  her  ? 

Claudio. 
Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel  ? 

Benedick. 
Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.    But  speak  you 
this  with  a  sad  brow,  or  do  you  play  the  flouting 
Jack,  to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-finder,  and 
Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter  ?    Come,  in  what  key 
shall  a  man  take  you,  to  go  in  the  song  ? 
Claudio. 
In  mine  eye  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  that  ever 
I  looked  on. 

Benedick. 
I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see  no 
such  matter :  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not 
possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in 
beauty,  as  the  first  of  May  doth  the  last  of  De- 
cember. But  I  hope,  you  have  no  intent  to  turn 
husband,  have  you  ? 

Claudio. 
I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  though  I  had 
sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 
Benedick. 
Is't  come  to  this,  i'faith  ?   Hath  not  the  world 
one  man,  but  he  will  wear  his  cap   with  sus- 
picion ?     Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  three- 
score again  ?    Go  to,  i'faith  ;  an  thou  wilt  needs 
thrust  thy  neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it, 
and  sigh  away  Sundays.    Look  ;  Don  Pedro  is 
returned  to  seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro. 
Don  Pedro. 
What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that  you  fol- 
lowed not  to  Leonato's  ? 

Benedick. 
I  would  your  grace  would  constrain  me  to  tell. 

Don  Pedro. 
I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Benedick. 
You  hear,  Count  Claudio :  I  can  be  secret  as 
a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  you  think  so  ;  but  on 
my  allegiance, — mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance. 
—  He  is  in  love.     With  whom?  — now  that  is 
your  grace's  part.  —  Mark,  how  short  his  answer 
is  :— with  Hero,  Leonato's  short  daughter. 
Claudio. 
If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered. 

Benedick. 
Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord :  it  is  not  so,  nor 

'twas  i 


Act  i,  Sc.  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Hi 


'twas  not  »o ;  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should 

Claudio. 
If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God  forbid 
it  should  be  otherwise. 

Don  Fedro. 
Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  lady  is  very 
well  worthy. 

Cl.uidio. 
You  speak  this,  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

Don  l'edro. 
By  my  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claudio. 
And  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Benedick. 
And  by  ray  two  faiths,  and  troths,  my  lord,  I 
spoke  mine. 

Claudio. 
That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

Don  Pedro. 
That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Benedick. 
That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be  loved, 
nor  know  how  she  should   be  worthy,  is  the 
opinion  that  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me:  I  will 
die  in  it  at  the  stake. 

Don  Pedro. 
Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in  the 
despite  of  beauty. 

3      Claudio. 
And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but  in  the 
force  of  his  will. 

Benedick. 
That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her: 
that  she  brought  me  up,   I   likewise  give  her 
most  humble  thanks  ;  but  that   1  will  have  a 
recheat  winded  in  my  forehead,  or  hang  my 
bugle  in  an  invisible  baldrick,  all  women  shall 
pardon  me.     Because  I  will  not  do  thera  the 
wrong  to  mistrust  any,  I  will  do  myself  the  right 
to  trust  none  ;  aud  tne  fine  is,  (for  the  which  I 
may  go  the  finer,)  1  will  live  a  bachelor. 
Don  Pedro. 
I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale  with  love. 

Benedick. 
With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger, 
my  lord  ;  not  with  love :  prove,  that  ever  I  lose 
more  blood  with  love,  than  I  will  get  again  with 
drinking,  pick  out  mine    eyes   with  a  ballacl- 
maker's  pen,  and  hang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a 
brothel-house  for  the  sign  of  blind  Cupid. 
Don  Pedro. 
Well,  if  ever  thou  dost  fall  from  this  faith, 
thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 
Benedick. 
If  1  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,  and 
shoot  at  me;  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be 
clapped  on  the  shoulder,  and  called  Adam. 
Don  Pedro. 
Well,  as  time  shall  try : 
"  In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke." 
Benedick. 
The  savage  bull  may,  but  if  ever  the  sensible 
;  Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  off  the  bull's  horns,  and 
set  them  in  my  forehead  ;  and  let  me  be  vilely 
;  painted,  and  in  such  great  letters  as  they  write, 
;  "  Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,"  let  them  signify 
under  my  sign,  — "  Here  yon  may  see  Benedick 
the  married  man." 

Claudio. 
If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  would'st  be 
horn-mad. 


Don  Pedro. 
Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his  quiver  In 
Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 
Benedick. 
I  look  for  an  earthquake  too,  then. 

Don  Pedro. 
Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the  hours.     In 
the  mean  time,  good  signior  Benedick,  repair  to 
l.eonatu'* :  commend  me  to  him,  and  tell  him, 
I  will  not  fail  him  at  supper ;  for,  indeed,  he 
hath  made  great  preparation. 
Benedick. 
I  have  almost  matter  enough  In  me  for  such 
an  embassage  ;  and  so  I  commit  you  — 
Claudio. 
To  the  tuition  of  God :  from  my  house,  if  I 
had  it.  — 

Don  Pedro. 
The  sixth  of  July  ;  your  loving  friend,  Bene- 
dick. 

Benedick. 

Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not.    The  body  of  your 

discourse  is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments, 

i  and  the   guards    are   but    slightly   basted    on 

|  neither :    ere  you  flout  old  ends  any  farther, 

,  examine  your  conscience,  and  so  1  leave  you. 

[Exit  Benedick. 
Claudio. 
;      My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me  good. 
Don  Pedro. 
My  love  is  thine  to  teach  :  teach  it  but  how, 
:  And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 
Claudio. 
Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  ? 

Don  Pedro. 
No  child  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir. 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  t 
Claudio. 

O  !  my  lord, 
,  When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
;  I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye, 
i  That  lik'd,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand, 
;  Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  ; 
i  But  now  I  am  return'd,  and  that  war-thoughts 
i  Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
i  Come  thronging  soft  and  delicate  desires, 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is. 
Saying,  I  lik'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars  — 
Don  Pedro. 
Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently. 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words. 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it, 
:  And  I  will  break  with  her,  and  with  her  father, 
':  And  thou  shalt  have  her.   Was't  not  to  this  end, 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 
Claudio. 
How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
I  That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
:  But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
j  I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 
Don  Pedro. 
What  need  the  bridge  much  broader  than  the    • 
1  The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity.  [flood  ? 

!  Look,  what  will  serve  is  fit :    'tis  once,    thou 
:  And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy.         [lovest, 
I  know  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night : 
1  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise, 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio  ; 
',  And  In  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart, 
,  And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force, 

And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale: 
I  Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  : 

Aud 


ij* 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


And,  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine. 

lu  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Leonato. 

How  now,  brother  ?    Where  is  my  cousin, 
your  son  ?    Hath  he  provided  this  music  ? 
Antonio. 
He  is  very  busy  about  it.     But,  brother,  I  can 
tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamt  not  of. 
Leonato. 
Are  they  good  ? 

Antonio. 
As  the  event  stamps  them ;  but  they  have  a 
good  cover ;    they  show   well   outward.    The 
prince  and  Count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick- 
pleached  alley  in  my  orchard,  were  thus  much 
overheard  by  a  man  of  mine:  the  prince  dis- 
covered to  Claudio  that  he  loved  my  niece  your 
daughter,  and  meant  to  acknowledge  it  this  night 
in  a  dance  ;  and,  if  he  found  her  accordant,  he 
meant  to  take  the  present  time  by  the  top,  and 
instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 
Leonato. 
Hath  the  fellow  any  wit,  that  told  you  this  ? 

Antonio. 
A  good  sharp  fellow  :  I  will  send  for  him,  and 
question  him  yourself. 

Leonato. 
No,  no :  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream,  till  it 
appear  itself;  but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
withal,  that  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for 
an  answer,  if  peradventure  this  be  true.  Go 
you,  and  tell  her  of  it.  [  Several  persons  cross 
i  lie  stag'-.]  Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have 
to  do.  —  O,  I  cry  you  mercy,  friend ;  go  you 
with  me,  and  I  will  use  your  skill.— -Good 
cousin,  have  a  care  this  busy  time.       [Excuut. 

SCENE  III.    Another  Room  in  Leonato** 
House. 

Enter  John  and  Conrade 
Conrade. 
What  the  good  year,  my  lord !  why  are  you 
thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 
John. 
There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that 
breeds,  therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 
Conrade. 
You  should  hear  reason. 
John. 
And  when   I  have  heard  it,  what  blessing 
brings  it? 

Conrade. 
If  not  a  present  remedy,  at  least  a  patient 
sufferance.  .  . 

John. 
I  wonder,  that  thou  being  (as  thou  say'st  thou 
art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to  apply  a 
moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying   mischief.    I 
cannot  hide  what  I  am :  I  must  be  sad  when  I 
have  cause,  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests ;  eat 
when  I  have  stomach,  and  wait  for  no  man's 
leisure ;  sleep  when  I  am  drowsy,  and  tend  on 
no  man's  business  ;  laugh  when  I  am  merry, 
and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 
Conrad*. 
Yea ;  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show  of 
this,  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment. 


You  have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother, 
and  he  hath  ta'en  you  newly  into  his  grace ; 
where  it  is  impossible  you  should  take  true 
root,  but  by  the  fair  weather  that  you  make 
yourself:  it  is  needful  that  you  frame  the  season 
for  your  own  harvest. 

John. 

I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge,  than  a 
rose  In  his  grace ;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood  to 
be  disdained  of  all,  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to 
rob  love  from  any :  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be 
said  to  be  a  flattering  honest  man,  it  must  not 
be  denied  but  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I 
am  trusted  with  a  muzzle,  and  enfranchised 
with  a  clog;  therefore  I  have  decreed  not  to 
sing  in  my  cage.  If  I  had  my  mouth,  I  would 
bite  ;  if  I  had  my  liberty,  I  would  do  my  liking: 
in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be  that  I  am,  and  seek 
not  to  alter  me. 

Conrade. 

Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 
John. 

I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  1  use  it  only.  Who 
comes  here  ?    W  hat  news,  Borachio  ? 

Enter  Borachio. 

Borachio. 

I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper :  the  prince, 

your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leonato, 

and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended 

marriage. 

John. 
Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  mischief 
on  ?  What  is  he,  for  a  fool,  that  betroths  himself 
to  unquietness  ? 

Borachio. 
Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand. 

John. 
Who  ?  the  most  exquisite  Claudio  t 
Borachio. 

Even  he.  .  , 

John. 

A  proper  squire !  And  who,  and  who  ?  which 
way  looks  he? 

Borachio. 

Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of 
Leonato.  .  , 

John. 

A  very  forward  March-chick  1  How  came 
you  to  this  ?  _        ■ 

Borachio. 

Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  w»as 
smoking  a  musty-room,  comes  me  the  prince 
and  Claudio,  hand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference :  I 
whipt  me  behind  the  arras,  and  there  heard  it 
agreed  upon,  that  the  prince  should  woo  Hero 
for  himself,  and  having  obtained  her,  give  her 
to  count  Claudio. 

John. 

Come,  come ;  let  us  thither :  this  may  prove 
food  to  my  displeasure.  That  young  start-up 
hath  all  the  glory  of  my  overthrow:  if  I  can 
cross  him  any  way,  I  bless  myself  every  way. 
You  are  both  sure,  and  will  assist  me  ? 
Conrade. 

To  the  death,  my  lord. 
John. 

Let  us  to  the  great  supper :  their  cheer  is  the 
greater,  that  I  am  subdued.  'Would  the  cook 
were  of  my  mind  ! — Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to 
be  done?  '       .. 

Borachio. 

We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 


Act  u.  Sc.  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


133 


head,  and  say,  "  Get  you  to  heaven,  Beatrice, 
gut  you  to  heaven;  here's  no  place  for  you 
maids  :  "  so,  deliver  I  up  my  apes,  and  away  to 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Hall  Id  Leonato's  House. 

Enter   Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,   Beatrice,  and 
others. 
Leonato. 
Vy  AS  not  count  John  here  at  supper  ? 

Antonio. 
I  saw  him  not. 

Beatrice. 
How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks :  I  never  can 
see  him,  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 
Hero. 
He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beatrice. 
He  were  an  excellent  man,  that  were  made 
just  in  the  mid-way  between  him  and  Benedick: 
the  one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says  nothing ; 
and  the  other  too  like  my  lady's  eldest  son, 
evermore  tattling. 

Leonato. 
Then,  half  signior  Benedick's  tongue  in  count 
John's  mouth,  and  half  count  John's  melancholy 
in  signior  Benedick's  face,— 
Beatrice. 
With  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle,  and 
money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would 
win  any  woman  in  the  world,— if  a'  could  get 
1  her  good  will. 

Leonato. 
By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee 
a  husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 
Antonio. 
In  faith,  she's  too  curst 

Beatrice. 
Too  curst  is  more  than  curst :  I  shall  lessen 
God's  sending  that  way,  for  it  is  said,  "God 
sends  a  curst  cow  short  horns ;  "  but  to  a  cow 
too  curst  he  sends  none. 

Leonato. 
So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you  no  , 
horns? 

Beatrice. 
Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband;  for  the  which 
blessing,  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every 
morning  and  evening.  Lord !  I  could  not  en- 
dure a  husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face :  1  had 
rather  lie  in  the  woollen. 

Leonato. 
You  may  light  on  a  husband  that  hath  no 
beard. 

Beatrice. 
What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him  in 
my  apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentle- 
woman ?  He  that  hath  a  beard  is  more  than  a 
youth,  and  he  that  hath  no  beard  is  less  than  a 
man  ;  and  he  that  is  more  than  a  youth  is  not 
for  me  ;  and  he  that  is  less  than  a  man  I  am  not 
for  him :  therefore  I  will  even  take  sixpence  in 
earnest  of  the  bear-ward,  and  lead  his  apes  into 
hell. 

Leonato. 
Well  then,  go  you  into  hell  ? 

Beatrice. 
No  ;  but  to  the  gate ;  and  there  will  the  devil 
meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horus  on  his 


Saint  /'(•/(•/■  for  the  heavens :  he  shows  me  where 
the  bachelors  sit,  and  there  live  we  as  merry  as 
the  day  is  long. 

Antonio. 
Well,  niece,  [to  Hero,}  \  trust,  you  will  be 
ruled  by  your  father. 

Beatrice. 
Yes,  faith  ;  It  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
courtesy,  and  say,  "  Father,  as  it  please  you  :  " 
but  yet  for  all  that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  hand- 
some fellow,  or  else  make  another  courtesy,  and 
say,  "  Father,  as  it  please  me." 

Leonato. 
Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day  fitted 
with  a  husband. 

Beatrice. 
Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal 
than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  to 
be  overmastered  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  ? 
to  make  an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  way- 
ward marl  ?  No,  uncle,  I'll  none :  Adam's  sons 
are  my  brethren ;  and  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to 
match  in  my  kindred. 

Leonato. 
Daughter,  remember,  what  I  told  you :  if  the 
prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know 
your  answer. 

Beatrice. 
The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if  you 
be  not  woo'd  in  good  time :  if  the  prince  be  too 
important,  tell  him,  there  is  measure  in  every 
thing,  and  so  dance  out  the  answer:  for,  hear 
me,  Hero ;  wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting,  is 
as  a  Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque-pace: 
the  first  suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig, 
and  full  as  fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly, 
modest,  as  a  measure,  full  of  state  and  ancientry; 
and  then  comes  repentance,  and  with  his  bad 
legs  falls  into  the  cinque-pace  faster  and  faster, 
till  he  sink  into  his  grave. 

Leonato. 
Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beatrice. 
I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle :  I  can  see  a  church 
by  day-light. 

Leonato. 
The  revellers  are  entering,  brother.     Make 
good  room  ! 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Baltha- 
zar; John,  Borachio,  Margaret,  Ursula,  and 
maskers. 

Don  Pedro. 
Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your  friend  ? 

Hero. 
So  you  walk  softly,  and  look  sweetly,  and  say 
nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk ;  and,  especially, 
when  I  walk  away. 

Don  Pedro. 
With  me  in  your  company  ? 

Hero. 
I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 
Don  Pedro. 
And  when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 

Hero. 

When  I  like  your  favour ;  for  God  defend,  the 

lute  should  be  like  the  case  I 

Don  Pedro. 

My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within  the  house 

is  Jove. 

Hero. 


; 


3+ 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Hero. 
Why,  then  your  visor  should  be  thatch'cl 

Don  Pedro. 
Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[Takes  her  aside. 
Balthazar. 
Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Margaret. 
So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake  ;  for  I  have 
many  ill  qualities. 

Balthazar. 
Which  is  one  ? 

Margaret 
I  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Balthazar. 
I  love  you  the  better ;  the  hearers  may  cry 
Amen. 

God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer  1 

Balthazar 
Amen. 

And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when  the 
dance  is  done ! — Answer,  clerk. 


ttaitnazar. 
No  more  words :  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Ursula.  ,     . 

I  know  you  well  enough:  you  are  signior 
Antonio. 

Antonio. 
At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Ursula. 
I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head. 


fool,  only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible 
;  slanders  :  none  but  libertines  delight  in  him  ; 
and  the  commendation  is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in 
his  villainy,  for  he  both  pleases  men,  and  angers 
them,  and  then  they  laugh  at  him,  and  beat  him. 
I  am  sure,  he  is  in  the  fleet ;  1  would  he  had 
I  boarded  me  ! 

Benedick. 
[     When  I  know  the  gentleman,   I'll  tell  him 
'  what  you  say. 

Beatrice. 
j  Do,  do :  he'll  but  break  a  comparison  or  two 
!  on  me  ;  which,  peradventure,  not  marked,  or  not 
laughed  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy ;  and 
'  then  there's  a  partridge'  wing  saved,  for  the  fool 
;  will  eat  no  supper  that  night.  [Music  within.] 
!  We  must  follow  the  leaders. 

Benedick. 
In  every  good  thing. 

Beatrice. 

Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave  them 
at  the  next  turning. 

[Dance.    Then,  exeunt  all  but  Juhn%  Bora- 
chio, and  Claudio. 

John. 

Sure,  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero,  and 

hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him 

about  it.     The  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one 

visor  remains. 


Borachlo. 
And  that  is  Claudio:  I  know  him  by  his  bear- 
ing. 

John. 
Are  not  you  signior  Benedick  ? 


tntonio. 
( 


To  tell  you  true,  Y  counterfeit  him. 

You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless  you 
were  the  very  man.  Here's  his  dry  hand  up  and 
dowu :  you  are  he,  you  are  he. 


Claudio. 
ill:  I : 


At  a  word,  I  am  no 


Antonio, 
•t. 


Come,  come:  do  you  think  I  do  not  know  you 
by  your  excellent  wit  ?  Can  virtue  hide  itself  ? 
Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he :  graces  will  appear, 
and  there's  an  end. 

Beatrice. 

Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so  ? 

Benedick. 
No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are  ? 

Benedick. 
Not  now. 

That  I  was  disdainful,  and  that  I  had  my 
good  wit  out  of  the  "  Hundred  merry  Tales/' 
—Well,  this  was  signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 


You  know  me  well:  I  am  he. 

John 
Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother  in  his 
love :  he  is  enamoured  on  Hero.  I  pray  you, 
dissuade  him  from  her  ;  she  is  no  equal  for  his 
birth :  you  may  do  the  part  of  an  honest  man 
in  it. 


Claudic 
e  lc 


What's  he  ? 


Beatrice. 

hi"  - 


I  am  sure,  you  know  him  well  enough. 

Benedick. 
Not  I,  believe  me. 

Did  he  never  make  you  laugh  ? 

I  pray  vou,  what  is  he i? 

Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester :  a  very  dull 


How  know  you  he  loves  her  ? 

I  heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Borachio.     , 
So  did  I  too  ;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry 
her  to-night. 

.    John. 
Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

[Exeunt  John  and  Borachio. 

.  ,    Claudio-  _ 
Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio. 
'Tis  certain  so  :  —  the  prince  woos  for  himself. 
Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things, 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love : 
Therefore,   all  hearts  in  love  use   their  own 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself,         [tongues  ; 
And  trust  no  agent,  for  beauty  is  a  witch, 
Against  whose  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
Tiiis  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof,  [Hero ! 

Which  I  mistrusted  not.    Farewell,  therefore, 


Count  Claudio  t 
Yea,  the  same. 


Re-enter  Benedick. 
Benedick. 


Claudio. 


Come,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Claudio, 
Whither  ? 


Benedick. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


135 


Benedick. 
Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own  busi- 
ness, county.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the 
garland  of?  About  your  neck,  like  an  usurer's 
chain,  or  under  your  arm,  like  a  lieutenant's 
sen  f  P  You  must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the  prince 
hath  got  your  Hero. 

Claudio. 
I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Benedick. 
Why,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover:  so 
the-   sell  bullocks.     But  did   you    think,  the 
prince  would  have  served  you  thus  ? 
Claudio. 
1  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Benedick. 
Ho  1  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man  :  'twas 
the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat  the 
post. 

Claudio. 
If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Benedick. 
Alas,  poor  hurt  fowl !    Now  will  he  creep  into 

sedges But,  that  my  lady  Beatrice  should 

know  me,  and  not  know  me  !  fhe  prince's  fool ! 
— Ha  1  it  may  be,  I  go  under  that  title,  because 
I  am  merry. — Yea  j  but  so  I  am  apt  to  do  myself 
wrong:  I  am  not  so  reputed:  it  is  the  base, 
though  bitter  disposition  of  Beatrice,  that  puts 
the  world  into  her  person,  and  so  gives  me  out. 
Well,  I'll  be  revenged  as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro* 
Don  Pedro. 

Now,  signior,  where's  the  count  ?  Did  you 
see  him  ? 

Benedick. 

Troth,  my  lord,  T  have  played  the  part  of  lady 
Tanw.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a 
lodge  in  a  warren :  I  told  him,  and,  1  think,  I 
told  him  true,  that  your  grace  had  got  the  good 
will  of  this  young  lady  ;  and  I  offered  him  my 
company  to  a  willow  tree,  either  to  make  him  a 
garland,  as  being  forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a 
rod,  as  being  worthy  to  be  whipped. 
Don  Pedro. 

To  be  whipped  !    What's  his  fault  ? 
Benedick. 

The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy  ;  who, 
being  overjoy'd  with  finding  a  bird's  nest,  shows 
it  his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 
Don  Pedro. 

Wilt  thou  make  a  trust  a  transgression  ?   The 
transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 
Benedick. 

Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss,  the  rod  had  been 
made,  and  the  garland  too  ;  for  the  garland  he 
might  have  worn  himself,  and  the  rod  he  might 
have  bestow'd  on  you,  who,  as  I  take  it,  have 
stolen  his  bird's  nest. 

Don  Pedro. 
I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and  restore  them 
to  the  owner. 

Benedick. 
If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  my 
faith,  you  say  honestly. 

Don  Pedro. 
The  lady  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to  you :  the 
gentleman,  that  danced  with  her,  told  her  she  is 
much  wronged  by  you. 

Benedick. 
O  1  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of  a 


block :  an  oak,  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  It, 
would  have  answered  her:  my  very  visor  began 
to  assume  life,  and  scold  with  her.  She  told 
me,  not  thinking  I  had  been  myself,  that  1  was 
the  prince's  jester ;  that  I  was  duller  than  a 
great  thaw;  huddling  jest  upon  jest,  with  such 
I  Impossible  conveyance,  upon  me,  that  I  stood 
J  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a  whole  army 
shooting  at  me.  She  speaks  poignards,  and 
I  every  word  stabs:  if  her  breath  were  as  terrible 
!  as  her  terminations,  there  were  no  living  near 
I  her  ;  she  would  infect  to  the  north  star.  I 
j  would  not  marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed 
with  all  that  Adam  had  left  him  before  he  trans- 
1  gressed :  she  would  have  made  Hercules  have 
;  turned  spit,  yea,  and  have  cleft  his  club  to  make 
the  lire  too.  Come,  talk  not  of  her  ;  you  shall 
find  her  the  infernal  Ate  in  good  apparel.  I 
would  to  God,  some  scholar  would  conjure  her  ; 
for,  certainly,  while  she  is  here,  a  man  may  live 
as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a  sanctuary ;  and  people 
sin  upon  purpose,  because  they  would  go  thither, 
so,  indeed, all  disquiet,  horror,  and  perturbation 
follow  her. 

Enter  Claudio,  Beatrice,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 
Don  Pedro. 
j     Look,  here  she  comes. 

Benedick. 
j     Will  your  grace  command  me  any  service  to 
the  world's  end  ?    I  will  go  on   the  slightest 
errand  now  to  the  Antipodes,  that  you  can  devise 
to  send  me  on:  I  will  fetch  you  a  toothpicker 
now  from  the  farthest  inch  of  Asia;  bring  you 
the  length  of  Prester  John's  foot ;  fetch  you  a 
hair  of  the  great  Cham's  beard ;  do  you  any 
embassage  to  the  Pigmies,  rather    than  hold 
three  words'  conference  with  this  harpy.     You 
have  no  employment  for  me  ? 
Don  Pedro. 
None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company. 

Benedick. 

O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not :  1  cannot 

endure  my  lady  Tongue.  [Exit. 

Don  Pedro. 
Come,  lady,  come  ;  you  have  lost  the  heart  of 
signior  Benedick. 

Beatrice. 
Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  a  while  ;  and  I 
gave  him  use  for  it,  a  double  heart  for  his  single 
one:  marry,  once  before  he  won  it  of  me  with 
false  dice,  therefore  your  grace  may  well  say  I 
have  lost  it. 

Don  Pedro. 
You  have  put  him  down,  lady  ;  you  have  put 
him  down. 

Beatrice. 
So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord,  lest 
I   should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.     I  have 
brought  count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to 
seek. 

Don  Pedro. 
Why,  how  now,  count  ?  wherefore  are  you 
sad  ? 

Claudio. 
Not  sad,  my  lord. 

Don  Pedro. 
How  then?    Sick? 

Claudio. 
Neither,  my  lord. 

Beatrice. 
The   count    is    neither    sad,    nor   sick,    nor 
merry,  nor  well ;  but  civil,  count,  civil  as  an 

orange, 


i36 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  it.  Sc.  i. 


orange,  and  something  of  that  jealous  com- 
plexion. 

I'faith,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to  be  true; 
though,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  he  be  so,  his  conceit  is 
false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name, 
and  fair  Hero  is  won;  I  have  broke  with  her 
father,  and,  his  good  will  obtained,  name  the 
day  of  marriage,  and  God  give  thee  joy  1 

Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with  her 
my  fortunes :  his  grace  hath  made  the  match, 
and  all  grace  say  Amen  to  it ! 

„  t  hi  Beatrice. 

Speak,  count,  tis  your  cue. 

Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  joy  :  I  were 
but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  much. — 
Lady,  as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours  :  I  give  away 
myself  for  you,  and  dote  upon  the  exchange. 

Beatrice. 

Speak,  cousin  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his 
mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  let  him  not  speak  neither. 

.    ...    .  „        Don  Pedro. 

In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

Yea,  my  lord  ;  I  thank  it*  poor  fool,  it  keeps 

on  the  windy  side  of  care My  cousin  tells  him 

in  his  ear,  that  he  is  in  her  heart. 

Claudio. 

And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beatrice, 
Good  lord  !  for  alliance  thus  goes  every  one 
to  the  world  but  I,  and  I  am  sun-burned:   I 
may  sit  in  a  corner,  and  cry,  heigh  ho !  for  a 
husband. 

Lady  Beatrice,  1  will  get  you  one. 

.  Beatrice.  „  ,     . 

I  would  rather  have  one  of  your  father's  get- 
ting. Hath  your  grace  ne'er  a  brother  like  you  ? 
Your  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid 
could  come  by  them. 


Doc 

Will  you  have  me,  1; 


Fyf0- 


No,  my  lord,  unless  1  might  have  another  for 
working-days :  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
every  day.— But,  1  beseech  your  grace,  pardon 
me;  I  was  born  to  speak  all  mirth,  and  no 
matter. 

Your  silence  most  ofl&nds  me,  and  to  be  merry 
best  becomes  you  ;  for,  out  of  question,  you  were 
born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beatrice. 

No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cried  ;  but  then 
there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  I 
born. — Cousins,  God  give  you  joy  ! 

Leonato.  ,  • 

Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told 
you  of? 

Beatrice.    „ 
I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle.  — By  your  grace's 
pardon.  [Exit  Beatrice. 

Don  Pedro. 
By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leonato. 

There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element  m 
her,  my  lord :  she  is  never  sad,  but  when  she 
sleeps  ;  and  not  ever  sad  then,  for  I  have  heard 


my  daughter  say,  she  hath  often  dreamed  of  un- 
happiness,  and  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

Don  Pedro. 

She  cannot  endure  to  near  tell  of  a  husband. 

Leonato. 
O  !  by  no  means,  she  mocks  all  her  wooers 
out  of  suit. 

She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Benedick. 

O  lord  !  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week 
married,  they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

_  _         Don  Pedro. 

County  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go  to 
church  ? 

To-morrow,  my  lord1.  Time  goes  on  crutches, 
till  love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leonato. 

Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is  hence 
a  just  seven- night ;  and  a  time  too  brief,  too,  to 
have  all  things  answer  my  mind. 

Don  Pedro. 

Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a  breath- 
ing; but,  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time 
shall  not  go  dully  by  us.  I  will,  in  the  interim, 
undertake  one  of  Hercules'  labours,  which  is, 
to  bring  signior  Benedick  and  the  lady  Beatrice 
into  a  mountain  of  affection,  the  one  with  the 
other.  I  would  fain  have  it  a  match  ;  and  I 
doubt  not  but  to  fashion  it,  if  you  three  will  but 
minister  such  assistance  as  I  shall  give  you  di- 
rection. 

My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me  ten 
nights'  watchings. 

A  Claudio. 

And  I,  my  lord. 


Don  Pedro. 
'  e  Hero  f 


And  you  too,  gentl 

Hero. 
I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to  help 
my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 

Don  Pedro. 

And  Benedick  is  not  the  unnopefullest  husband 
that  I  know.  Thus  far  can  1  praise  him :  he  is 
of  a  noble  strain,  of  approved  valour,  and  con- 
firmed honesty.  I  will  teach  you  how  to  humour 
your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in  love  with 
Benedick; — and  I,  with  your  two  helps,  will  so 
practise  on  Benedick,  that,  in  despite  of  his  quick 
wit  and  his  queasy  stomach,  he  shall  fall  in  love 
with  Beatrice.  If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no 
longer  an  archer :  his  glory  shall  be  ours,  for  we 
are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in  with  me,  and  I 
will  tell  you  my  drift.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.    Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  John  and  Borachio. 

It  is  so :  the  count  Claudio  shall  marry  the 
daughter  of  Leonato. 

Borachio. 


Borachio. 
Yea,  my  lord ;  but  T  can  cross  it 


John.  .        ,.        

Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  imped  ment  will  be 
medicinable  to  me  :  I  am  sick  in  displeasure  to 
him,  and  whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  affection 
ranges  evenly  with  mine.  How  canst  thou  cross 
this  marriage  ? 

Borachio. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


M7 


rait* 


« tiio. 
Not  honestly,  my  lord;  but  so  covertly  that 
uo  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 
John. 
Show  me  briefly  how. 

Borachio. 
I  think,  I  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since,  how 
much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  ~ 
ing-gcntlewoman  to  Hero. 
John. 
I  remember. 

Borachio. 
I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  Instant  of  the  night, 
appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber-  j 
window. 

John. 
What  life  is  in  that  to  be  the  death  of  this 
marriage  ? 

Borachio. 
The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper.    Go 
vou  to  the  prince  your  brother:  spare  not  to 
tell  him,  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in 
marrying  the  renowned  Claudio  (whose  cstima-  . 
tion  do  you  mightily  hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  j 
stale,  such  a  one  as  Hero. 
John. 
What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that  ? 

Borachio. 
Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex  | 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonaio.    Look  j 
you  for  any  other  issue  ? 

John. 

Only  to  despite  them   I  will  endeavour  any 
thing. 

Borachio. 

Go  then  ;  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw  Don  | 
Pedro  and  the  Count  Claudio,  alone:  tell  them, 
that  you  know  that  Hero  loves  me ;  intend 
a  kind  of  zeal  both  to  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
(as  in  love  of  your  brother's  honour,  who  hath 
made  this  match,  and  his  friend's  reputation,  who 
is  thus  like  to  be  cozened  with  the  semblance  of 
a  maid)  that  you  have  discovered  thus.  They 
will  scarcely  believe  this  without  trial :  offer 
them  instances,  which  shall  bear  no  less  likeli- 
hood than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber -window, 
hear  me  call  Margaret  Hero  ;  hear  Margaret 
term  me  Borachio ;  and  bring  them  to  see  this 
tire  very  night  before  the  intended  wedding:  for 
in  the  mean  time  I  will  so  fashion  the  matter, 
that  Hero  shall  be  absent,  and  there  shall  appear 
such  seeming  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty,  that 
Jealousy  shall  be  call'd  assurance,  and  all  the 
preparation  overthiown. 

John. 
Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can,  1  will 
put  it  in  practice.     Be  cunning  in  the  working 
this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Borachio. 
lie  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my 
cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 


Benedick. 

Tn  my  chamber-window  lies  a  book  ;  bring  it 
hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boy. 
I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Benedick. 
I  know  that ;  [Exit  Boy.}  but  I  would  hav« 
thee  hence,  and  here  again.  I  do  much  wonder, 
that  one  man,  seeing  how  much  another  man  is 
a  fool  when  he  dedicates  his  behaviours  to  lore, 
will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such  shallow  follies 
in  others,  become  the  argument  of  his  own  scorn 
by  falling  in  love:  and  such  a  man  is  Claudio. 
I  have  known,  when  there  was  no  music  with 
him  but  the  drum  and  the  fife ;  and  now  had  he 
rather  hear  the  tabor  and  the  pipe:  I  have 
known,  when  he  would  have  walked  ten  mile 
afoot  to  see  a  good  armour  ;  and  now  will  he  lie 
ten  nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a  new 
doublet.  He  was  wont  to  speak  plain,  and  to 
the  purpose,  like  an  honest  man,  and  a  soldier  ; 
and  now  is  he  turn'd  orthographer :  his  words 
are  a  very  fantastical  banquet,  just  so  many 
strange  dishes.  May  I  be  so  converted,  and  see 
with  these  eyes  ?  I  cannot  tell ;  1  think  not :  I 
will  not  be  sworn,  but  love  may  transform  me 
to  an  oyster ;  but  I'll  take  my  oath  on  it,  till  he 
have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never  make 
me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair,  yet  1  am 
well :  another  is  wise,  yet  I  am  weil :  another 
virtuous,  yet  I  am  well ;  but  till  all  graces  be  in 
one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my 
grace.  Rich  she  shall  be,  that's  certain  ;  wise, 
or  I'll  none ;  virtuous,  or  I'll  never  cheapen  her ; 
fair,  or  I'll  never  look  on  her ;  mild,  or  come 
not  near  me ;  noble,  or  not  I  for  an  angel ;  of 
good  discourse,  an  excellent  musician,  and  her 
hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it  please  God.  Ha  ! 
the  prince  and  monsieur  Love!  I  will  hide  me 
in  the  arbour.  [Withdraws. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Leonaio,  and  Claudio. 

Don  Pedro. 

Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  ? 

Claudio. 
Yea,  my  good  lord.    How  still  the  evening  is, 
As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony  ! 

Don  Pedro. 
See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid  himself  ? 

Claudio. 
O,  very  well,  my  lord:  the  music  ended, 
We'll  fit  the  kid-fox  with  a  penny-worth. 

Enter  Balthazar,  with  music. 


John.. 
>fej 


I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of  marriage. 
[Exeunt. 


Boy 


SCENE  III.    Leonato'i  Garden. 

Enter  Benedick. 

Benedick. 


Signior. 


Enter  a  Boy. 
Boy. 


Come,  Balthazar,  we' 


rear  that  song  again. 


Balthazar, 
d,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice 


O  !  good  my  lor 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once 

It  is  the  witness  still  ofexcellency, 

To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection 

I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

.  _  Balthazar.  _  . 

Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing ; 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  snit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy  ;  yet  he  woos, 
Yet  will  he  swear,  he  loves. 

Don  Pedro.  .. 

Nay,  pray  thee,  come  : 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument, 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balthazar. 


«3« 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  Act  ii.  Sc.  hi. 


Balthazar. 
Note  thU  oefore  my  notes  ; 
There's  not  a  note  of  mine  that's  worth  the 
noting. 

Don  Pedro. 

Why  these  a»";  very  crotchets  that  he  speaks  ; 

Note  notes,  forsooth,  and  nothing  I         [Music. 

Benedick.  [Aside. 

Now,  divine  air  !  now  is  his  soul  ravish'd  !  — 

Is  it  not  strange  that  sheeps'  guts  should  hale 

souls  out  of  men's  bodies  ? — Well,  a  horn  for  my 

money  when  all's  done. 

The  Song. 
Balthazar. 

Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 

Men  were  deceivers  ever; 
One  foot  in  sea,  and  one  on  shore  ; 
To  one  thing  constant  never. 
Then  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  go, 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny, 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into,  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo 
Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 

The  fraud  of  men  teas  ever  so, 
Since  summer  first  was  leavy. 
Then  sigh  not  so,  &c. 

Don  Pedro. 

By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

Balthazar. 

And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

Don  Pedro. 
Ha  ?  no,  no  ;  faith,  thou  singest  well  enough 
for  a  shift. 

Benedick.  T  A  side. 

An  he  had  been  a  dog  that  should  have  howled 
thus,  they  would  have  hang'd  him  ;  and,  I  pray 
God,  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief !  I  had  as 
lief  have  heard  the  night-raven,  come  what 
plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

Don  Pedro. 
Yea,  marry:  dost  thou  hear,  Balthazar?    I 
pray  thee,  get  us  some  excellent  music,  for  to- 
morrow night  we  would  have  it  at  the  lady 
Hero's  chamber  window. 

Balthazar. 
The  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

Don  Pedro. 
Do  so:    farewell.      [Exeunt   Balthazar  and 
musicians  J    Come  hither,  Leonato :  what  was 
it   you  told  me  of  to-day?   that   your   niece 
Beatrice  was  in  love  with  signior  Benedick  ? 

Claudio.       [Aside  to  Pedro. 
O,  ay:  —  stalk  on,  stalk  on;  the  fowl  sits. 
[Aloud.]    I  did  never  think  that  lady  would 
have  loved  any  man. 

Leonato. 
No,  nor  I  neither ;  but  most  wonderful,  that 
she  should  so  dote  on  signior  Benedick,  whom 
she  hath  in  all  outward  behaviours  seemed  ever 
to  abhor. 

Benedick.  [Aside. 

Is't  possible  ?    Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner  ? 

Leonato. 
By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to 
think  of  it,  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  en- 
raged affection  :  it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 


Don  Pedro. 
May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claudio. 
'Faith,  like  enough. 

Leonato. 

0  God  !  counterfeit !  There  was  never  coun- 
terfeit of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion, 
as  she  discovers  it. 

Don  Pedro. 
Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shows  she? 

Claudio.  [Aside. 

Bait  the  hook  well :  this  fish  will  bite. 

Leonato. 
What  effects,  my  lord  ?    She  will  sit  you,— 
you  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how. 
Claudio. 
\      She  did,  indeed. 

Don  Pedro. 
How,  how,  I  pray  you?    You  amaze  me:  I 
would  have  thought  her  spirit  had  been  invin- 
cible against  all  assaults  of  affection. 
Leonato. 

1  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord;  espe- 
i  daily  against  Benedick. 

Benedick.  [Aside. 

I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that  the  white- 
bearded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavery  cannot,  sure, 
hide  himself  in  such  reverence. 

Claudio.  [Aside. 

He  hath  ta'en  the  infection  :  hold  it  up. 

Don  Pedro. 
Hath    she    made    her   affection    known    to 
Benedick  ? 

Leonato. 
No,  and  swears  she  never  will:  that's  her 
torment. 

Claudio. 
'Tis  true,  indeed ;   so  your  daughter  says : 
"  Shall  I,"  says  she,  "  that  have  so  oft  encoun- 
tered him  with  scorn,  write  to  him  that  I  love 
him  ?  " 

Leonato. 
This  says  she,  now,  when  she  is  beginning  to 
write  to  him  ;  for  she'll  be  up  twenty  times  a 
night,  and  there  will  she  sit  in  her  smock,  till 

she  have  writ  a  sheet  of  paper My  daughter 

tells  us  all. 

Claudio. 
Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  remember 
a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 
Leonato. 
O  !  —  when  she  had  writ  it,  and  was  reading 
it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  be- 
tween the  sheet  ?  — 

Claudio. 
That. 

Leonato. 
O  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  half- 
pence ;  railed  at  herself,  that  she  should  be  so 
immodest  to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would 
flout  her: — "  I  measure  him,"  says  she,  "by 
my  own  spirit ;   for  1  should  flout  him,  if  he 
writ  to  me  ;  yea,  though  I  love  him,  1  should." 
Claudio. 
Then  down  upon  her  knees  she  falls,  weeps, 
sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears   her  hair,  prays, 
curses;— "  O  sweet  Bent  dick!   God  give  me 
patience ! " 

Leonato. 

She  doth  indeed  :  my  daughter  says  so  ;  and 

the  ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her,  that 

my 


Act  il  Sc.  hi. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


39 


my  daughter  is  sometimes  afoard  she  will  do  a 
dwbporaFe  outrage  to  herself.     It  Is  very  true. 
Don  I 
It  were  good,  that  Benedick  know  of  it  by 
'  some  ott»r,  if  IM  will  not  discover  it. 

To  what  end  ?    Ho  would  but  make  a  sport 
of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 
Don  Pedro. 
An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang  him. 
She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady,  and  out  of  all 
suspicion  she  is  virtuous. 

Claudio. 
And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 
Don  Pedro. 
In  every  thing,  but  in  loving  Benedick. 
Leonato. 

0  !  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating  in 
so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that 
blood  hath  the  victory.  1  am  sorry  for  her, 
as  I  have  just  cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her 
guardian. 

Don  Pedro. 

1  would,  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage  on  me ; 
I  would  have  dafTd  all  other  respects,  and  made 
her  half  myself.  I  pray  you,  tell  Benedick  of  it, 
and  hear  what  a'  will  say. 

Leonato. 
Were  it  good,  think  you? 
Claudio. 
|      Hero  thinks  surely,  she  will  die ;  for  she  says, 
:  she  will  die  if  he  love  her  not,  and  she  will  die 
ere  she  make  her  love  known,  and  she  will  die 
if  he  woo  her,  rather  than  she  will  'bate  one 
breath  of  her  accustomed  crossness. 
Don  Pedro. 
i      She  doth  well :  if  she  should  make  tender  of 
her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it ;  for 
,  the  man,  as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible 
spirit. 

Claudio. 
He  is  a  very  proper  man. 

Don  Pedro. 
He  hath,  indeed,  a  good  outward  happiness. 

Claudio. 
Before  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

Don  Pedro. 
He  doth,  indeed,  show  some  sparks  that  are 
like  wit. 

Leonato. 
And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

Don  Pedro. 
As  Hector,  I  assure  you :  and  in  the  managing 
of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise ;  for  either 
he  avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  under- 
takes  them  with  a  most  Christian- like  fear. 
Leonato. 
If  he  do  fear  God,  he  must  necessarily  keep 
peace :  if  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter 
i  into  a  quarrel  with  fear  and  trembling. 

Don  Pedro. 
'  And  so  will  he  do  ;  for  the  man  doth  fear  God, 
howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some  large 
jests  he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  your 
i  niece.  Shall  we  go  seek  Benedick,  and  tell  him 
I  of  her  love  ? 

Claudio. 
Never  tell  him,  my  lord  :  let  her  wear  it  out 
:  with  good  counsel. 

Leonato. 
Nay,  that's  impossible ;  she  may  wear  her 
j  heart  out  first. 


Don  I 
Well,  we  will  hear  farther  of  it  by  your 
daughter :  let  it  cool  the  while.  I  love  Benedick 
well,  and  I  could  wish  he  would  modestly  ex- 
amine himself,  to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy 
so  good  a  lady. 

Leonato. 
My  lord,  will  you  walk  ?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claudio.  [Aside. 

If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  upon  this,  I  will  never 
trust  my  expectation. 

Don  Pedro.  [Aside. 

Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for  her ; 
and  that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gen- 
tlewomen carry.  The  sport  will  be,  when  they 
hold  one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotage,  and  no 
such  matter  :  that's  the  scene  that  I  would  see, 
which  will  be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us 
send  her  to  call  him  in  to  dinner. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

Benedick. 

[Advancing  from  the  Arbour. 
This  can  be  no  trick  :  the  conference  was  sadly 
borne. — They  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero, 
They  seem  to  pity  the  lady :  it  seems,  her  af- 
fections have  their  full  bent.  Love  me  I  why,  it 
must  be  requited.  1  hear  how  1  am  censured: 
they  say,  1  will  bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  per- 
ceive the  love  come  from  her :  they  say,  too, 
that  she  will  rather  die  than  give  any  sign  of  af- 
fection.—  I  did  never  think  to  marry.  — I  must 

not  seem  proud Happy  are  they  that  hear 

their  detractions,  and  can  put  them  to  mending. 
They  say,  the  lady  is  fair  ;  'tis  a  truth,  I  can  bear 
them  witness :  and  virtuous ;  'tis  so,  I  cannot 
reprove  it :  and  wise,  but  for  loving  me  ;  by  my 
troth,  it  is  no  addition  to  her  wit,  nor  no  great 
argument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly  in 
love  with  her.  1  may  chance  have  some  odd 
quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  be- 
cause I  have  railed  so  long  against  marriage  ; 
but  doth  not  the  appetite  alter  ?  A  man  loves 
the  meat  in  his  youth,  that  he  cannot  endure  in 
his  age.  Shall  quips,  and  sentences,  and  these 
paper  bullets  of  the  brain,  awe  a  man  from  the 
career  of  his  humour  ?  No ;  the  world  must  be 
peopled.  When  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I 
did  not  think  I  should  live  till  I  were  married — 
Here  comes  Beatrice.  By  this  day,  she's  a  fair 
lady  :  I  do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her. 

Enter  Beatrice. 
Beatrice. 
Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  come  in 
to  dinner. 

Benedick. 
Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beatrice. 
I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me:  if  it  had  been  pain- 
ful, I  would  not  have  come. 
Benedick. 
You  take  pleasure,  then,  in  the  message  ? 

Beatrice. 

Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon  a 

knife's  point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal.  —  You 

have  no  stomach,  signior  :  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Benedick. 

Ha  !  "  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 

come  in  to  dinner" — there's  a  double  meaning 

in  that.   "  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks, 

than  you  took  pains  to  thank  me"  —  that's  as 

much  as  to  say,  any  pains  that  I  take  for  you  is 

as  easy  as  thanks If  I  do  not  take  pity  of  her, 

1  am 


14.0 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  h 


am  a  villain :  if  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jew. 
I  will  go  get  her  picture.  [Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Lennato's  Garden. 

Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero. 
OOD  Margaret,  run  thee  to  the  parlour  ; 


^There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  prince  and  Claudia  : 
Whisper  her  ear,  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard,  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her :  say,  that  thou  overheard'st  us  ; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honey-suckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter  ;  like  favourites, 
Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it.  — There  will 

she  hide  her, 
To  listen  our  propose.    This  is  thy  office  ; 
Bear  thee  well  in  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

Margaret. 
I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  presently. 

[Exit. 
Hero 
Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come, 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down, 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit. 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be,  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice  :  of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made, 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay.    Now  begin  ; 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 
For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 
Ursula. 

The  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait : 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice  ;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture. 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 
Hero. 

Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose  nothing 
Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it — 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
I  know,  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock. 

Ursula. 

But  are  you  sure 
That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ? 
Hero. 
So  says  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed  lord. 

Ursula. 
And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam  ? 

Hero. 
They  did  intreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it ; 
But  I  persuaded  them,  if  they  lov'd  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  affection, 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 
Ursula. 
Why  did  you  so  ?    Doth  not  the  gentleman 
I  Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed, 
I  As  erer  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon  ? 


Hero. 

O  God  of  .ove  !    I  know,  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man  ; 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on  ;  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak.    She  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Ursula. 

Sure,  I  think  so  : 
And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Hero. 
Why,  you  speak  truth.    I  never  yet  saw  man, 
How  wise,  how  noble, young,  how  rarely  featur'd, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward :  if  fair-fae'd, 
She'd  swear  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister  : 
If  black,  why,  nature,  drawing  of  an  antick, 
Made  a  foul  blot :  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed : 
If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut : 
If  speaking,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds  : 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out, 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Ursula. 
Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero. 
No  ;  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashions 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable. 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  ?    If  I  should  speak,. 
She  would  mock  me  into  air :  0  1  she  would 

laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover'd  fire, 
Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly : 
It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  mocks, 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling. 
Ursula. 
Yet  tell  her  of  it :  hear  what  she  will  say. 

Hero. 

No  ;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion  : 
And,  truly,  I'll  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with.    One  doth  not  know, 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Ursula. 
O !  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment, 
(  Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit, 
As  she  is  priz'd  to  have)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  signior  Benedick. 
Hero. 
He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Ursula. 

I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam, 
Speaking  my  fancy :  signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument,  and  valour, 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 
Hero. 
Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Ursula. 
His  excellence  did  earn  it  ere  he  had  it.  — 
When  are  you  married,  madam  ? 
Hero. 
Whv,  every  day  ;— to-morrow.     Come,  go  In  « 
I'll  show  thee  some  attires,  and  have  thy  counsel, 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Ursula. 


anjTsia  abb®  AiB®T!T?r  sjoiraisFjf; 


•        <>    ,  »  u 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ii.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Ursula.  [Atlde. 

She's  lim'd,  I  warrant  you :  we  have  caught 
her,  madam. 

Hero.  [Aside. 

If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps : 
Some  fed  kill,  -t^rreOWn.,Fme  w^ra^ 

Beatrice.  [Advancing. 

What  fire  is  In  mine  ears  ?    Can  this  be  true  ? 

Stand   I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so 
much? 
Contempt,  farewell  1  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 
And,  Henedick,  love  on  :  I  will  requite  thee, 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand. 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band ; 
lor  others  say  thou  dost  deserve,  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  In  Leonato'a  House 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and  Leo- 
ruxto. 
Don  Fedro. 
I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  consum- 
mate, and  then  go  1  toward  Arragun. 
Claudio. 
I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you'll  vouch- 
safe me. 

Don  Pedro 
Nay  ;  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in  the  new 
gloss  of  your  marriage,  as  to  show  a  child  his 
new  coat,  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.     I  will  only 
be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company;  for 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his 
foot,  he  is  all  mirth :  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut 
Cupid's  bow-string,  and  the  little  hangman  dare 
not  shoot  at  him.     He  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as 
a  bell,  and  his  tongue  is  the  clapper  ;  for  what 
his  heart  thinks,  his  tongue  speaks. 
Benedick. 
Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leonato. 
So  say  I :  methinks,  you  are  sadder. 

Claudio. 
I  hope,  he  be  in  love. 

Don  Podro 
Hang  him,  truant  !  there's  no  true  drop  of 
blood  In  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love.    If 
he  be  sad,  he  wants  money. 
Benedick. 
I  have  the  tooth -ache. 

Don  Pedro. 
Draw  It. 

Benedick. 
Hang  it ! 

Claudio. 
You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  after- 
wards. 

Don  Pedro. 
What !  sigh  for  the  tooth-ache  ? 

Leonato. 
Where  is  but  a  humour,  or  a  worm  ? 

Benedick. 
Well,  every  one  can  master  a  grief,  but  he 
that  has  it. 

Claudio. 
Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

Don  Pedro. 
There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  in  him.  un- 
less it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  disguises; 


as  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day,  a  Frenchman  to- 
morrow, or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries  at  once; 
as  a  German  from  the  waist  downward,  all  slops, 
and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no  doublet 
Unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  a*  it  ap- 
pears he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you 
would  have  it  appear  he  is. 
Claudio. 
If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman,  there 
is  no  believing  old  signs :  a'  brushes  his  hat  o' 
mornings ;  what  should  that  bode  ? 
Don  Pedro. 
Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's  ? 

Claudio. 
No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen  with 
him,  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath 
already  stuffed  tennis-balls. 
Leonato. 
Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by  the 
loss  of  a  beard. 

Don  Pedro. 
Nay,  a'  rubs  himself  with  civit :  can  you  smell 
him  out  by  that  ? 

Claudio. 
That's  as  much  as  to  say  the  sweet  youth's  In 
love.  „ 

Don  Pedro. 
The  greatest  note  of  it  Is  his  melancholy. 

Claudio. 
And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face? 

Don  Pedro. 
Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the  which,  I  hear 
i  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claudio. 
Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit,  which   is   now 
j  crept  into  a  lutestring,  and  now  governed  by 
stops. 

Don  Pedro. 
i      Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him.    Con- 
clude, conclude,  he  is  in  love. 
Claudio. 
Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

Don  Pedro. 
That  would  I  know  too :  I  warrant,  one  that 
knows  him  not. 

Claudio. 
Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions  ;  and  in  despite  of 
all  dies  for  him. 

Don  Pedro. 
Shall  she  be  buried  with  her  face  upwards  ? 

Benedick. 
Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  tooth-ache. — 
Old  signior,  walk  aside  with  me:  1  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hear. 

[Exeunt  Benedick  and  Leonato. 

Don  Pedro. 

For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  about  Beatrice. 

Claudio. 

'Tis  even  so.    Hero  and  Margaret  have  by 

this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice,  and  then 

the  two  bears  will  not  bite  one  another  when 

they  meet. 

Enter  John. 

John. 
My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 

Don  Pedro. 
Good  den,  brother. 

John. 
If  your  leisure  served,  1  would  speak  with  you. 
Don  Pedro. 

In  private  ? 

John. 


14  z 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


John. 
If  it  please  you ;  yet  count  Claudia  may  hear, 
for  what  I  would  speak  of  concerns  him. 
Don  Pedro. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

John.  [To  Claudio. 

Means  your  lordship  to  be  married  to-morrow? 

Don  Pedro. 
You  know,  he  does. 

John. 
I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what  1  know. 

Claudio. 
If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you  dis- 
cover it.  .  | 

John. 
You  may  think,  I  love  you  not :  let  that  ap- 
pear hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I 
now  will  manifest.     For  my  brother.  1  think,  he 
holds  you  well,  and  in  clearness  of  heart  hath 
holp  to  effect  your  ensuing  marriage;   surely, 
suit  ill  spent,  and  labour  ill  bestowed  1 
Don  Pedro. 
Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
John. 
I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and.  circumstances 
shortened,  (for  she  has  been  too  long  a  talking 
of,)  the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claudio. 
Who?  Herot 

John. 

Even  she :  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero,  every 
man's  Hero. 

Claudio. 
Disloyal  ? 

John. 
The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her  wicked- 
ness :  I  could  say,  she  were  worse:  think  you  of 
a  worse  title,  and  1  will  fit  her  to  it.  Wonder 
not  till  farther  warrant:  go  but  with  me  to- 
night, you  shall  see  her  chamber-window  en- 
tered, even  the  night  before  her  wedding-day : 
if  you  love  her  then,  to-morrow  wed  her ;  but  it 
would  better  fit  your  honour  to  change  your 
mind. 

Claudio. 
May  this  be  so  ? 

Don  Pedro. 
1  will  not  think  it. 

John. 
If  you  dare  not  trust  that  vou  see,  confess  not 
that  you  know.     If  you  wifl  follow  me,  I  will 
6how  you  enough  ;    and  when  you  have  seen 
more,  and  heard  more,  proceed  accordingly. 
Claudio. 
If  I  see  any  thing  to-night,  why  I  should  not 
marry  her    tomorrow,    in    the    congregation, 
where  1  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 
Don  Pedro. 
And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her,  I  will 
join  with  thee  to  disgrace  her. 
John. 
I  will  disparage  her  no  farther,  till  you  are 
my  witnesses :  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight, 
and  let  the  issue  show  itself. 
Don  Pedro. 
O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 
Claudio. 
O  mischief  sfrangely  thwarting  I 

John. 

O  plague  right  well  prevented  !     So  will  you 

»ay,  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel.      [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  Street. 

Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges,  with  the  Watch. 

Dogberry. 

Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verges. 
Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should  suffer 
salvation,  body  andsoul. 

Dogberry. 

Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for 

them,   if  they   should   have  any  allegiance   in 

them,  being  choseu  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verge*. 

Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbour  Dog- 

bemj.  „     . 

Dogberry. 

First,  who  think  you  the  most  desartless  man 
to  be  constable  ? 

1  Watchman. 

Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal,  for 
they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogberry.  . 

Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal.  God  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name:  to  be  a  well- 
favoured  man  is  the  gift  of  fortuue,  but  to  write 
and  read  comes  by  nature. 

2  Watchman. 

Both  which,  master  constable, 

Dogberry. 
You  have:  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer. 
Well,  for  your  favour,  sir,  why,  give  God  thanks, 
and  make  no  boast  of  it ;  and  for  your  writing 
and  reading,  let  that  appear  when  there  is  no 
need  of  such  vanity.     You  are  thought  here  to 
be  the  most  senseless  and  tit  man  for  the  con- 
stable of  the  watch  ,•    therefore  bear  you  the 
lantern.    This  is  your  charge.     You  shall  com- 
prehend all  vagrom  men:  you  are  to  bid  any 
man  stand,  in  the  prince's  name. 
2  Watchman. 
How,  if  a'  will  not  stand  ? 

Dogberry. 
Why  then,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let  him 
go ;   and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch 
together,  and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 
Verges. 
If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he  is 
none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 
Dogberry. 
True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none  but 
the  prince's  subjects — You  shall  also  make  no 
noise  in  the  streets  ;  for  for  the  watch  to  babble 
and  talk  is  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured. 
2  Watchman. 
We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk;   we  know 
what  belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogberry. 
Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman,  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping 
should  offend  ;  only,  have  a  care  that  your  bills 
be  not  stolen.  Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the 
ale-houses,  and  bid  those  that  are  drunk  get 
them  to  bed. 

2  Watchman. 
How,  if  they  will  not  ? 

Dogberry. 
Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are  sober : 
if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer, 
you  may  say,  they  are  not  the  men  you  took 
them  for. 

2  Watchman. 

Well,  sir.  „     , 

Dogberry. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


i+3 


Dogberry. 
If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him,  by 
virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man  ;  and, 
for  such  kind  of  men,  the  laM  you  meddle  or 
make  with  them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your 
honesty. 

2  Watchman. 
If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we  not  lay 
hands  on  him  ? 

Dogberry. 
Truly,  by  your  office  you  may ;  but,  I  think, 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled.  The  most 
peaceable  way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is, 
to  let  him  show  himself  what  he  is,  and  steal 
out  of  your  company. 

Verges. 
You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful  man, 
partner. 

Dogberry. 
Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ; 
much  more  a  man  who  hath  any  honesty  in  him. 
Verges. 
If  you  hear  a  child  crym  the  night,  you  must 
call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 
2  Watchman. 
How,  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  will  not  hear 
us? 

Dogberry. 
Why  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the  child 
wake  her  with  crying  ;  for  the  ewe  that  will  not 
hear  her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answer  a 
calf  when  he  bleats. 

Verges. 
'Tis  very  true. 

Dogberry. 

This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.   You,  constable, 

are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person :  if  you 

meet  the  prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verges. 

Nay  by'r  lady,  that,  I  think,  a*  cannot. 

Dogberry. 
Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man  that 
knows  the  statutes,  he  may  stay  him:  marry, 
not  without  the  prince  be  willing ;  for,  indeed, 
the  watch  ought  to  offend  no  man.  and  it  is  an 
offence  to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Verges. 
By'r  lady,  I  think,  it  be  so. 

Dogberry. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !    Well,  masters,  good  night :  an 
there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up 
me.    Keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own, 
and  good  night.    Come,  neighbour. 

2  Watchman. 

Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge:  let  us  go 
sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two,  and 
then  all  to-bed. 

Dogberry. 

One  word  more,  honest  neighbours.  I  pray 
you,  watch  about  signior  Leonato's  door ;  for 
the  wedding  being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a 
great  coil  to-night.  Adieu,  be  vigitant,  I  beseech 
y°u-  [Exeunt  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Rnter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 

_,  Borachio. 

What!  Conrade  I 

_  Watchman. 

Peace !  stir  not. 

Borachio. 
turn-tide,  1  say  I 

Conrade. 
Here,  man  ;  I  am  at  thy  »llv>w. 


[Aside. 


Borachio. 
Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched  ;  I  thought,  there 
i  would  a  scab  follow. 

Conrade. 
I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that ;  and  now 
forward  with  thy  tale. 

Borachio. 
Stand  thee  close,  then,  under  this  penthouse, 
for  it   drizzles    rain,  and   1   will,  like  a  true 
drunkard,  utter  all  to  thee. 

Watchman.  [Aside. 

Some  treason,  masters  ;  yet  stand  close. 

Borachio. 
Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don  John  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Conrade. 
I     Is  it  possible  that  any  villainy  should  be  60 

Borachio. 
Thou  should'st  rather  ask,  if  it  were  possible 
any  villainy  should  be  so  rich ;  for  when  rich 
|  villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may 
j  make  what  price  they  will. 
Conrade. 
I  wonder  at  it. 

Borachio. 
i     That  shows  thou   art   unconfirmed.      Thou 
|  knowest,  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat, 
1  or  a  cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 
Conrade. 
Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Borachio. 
I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Conrade. 
Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 
Borachio. 

I  Tush  !  I  may  as  well  say,  the  fool's  the  fool. 
But  seest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this 
fashion  is  ? 

Watchman.  [Aside. 

>  I  know  that  Deformed;  a'  has  been  a  vile 
j  thief  this  seven  year :  a'  goes  up  and  down  like 
:  a  gentleman.    I  remember  his  name. 

Borachio. 
1     Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  ? 

Conrade. 
1     No  :  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 
Borachio. 
Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed  thief 
j  this  fashion  is?  how  giddily  a'  turns  about  all 
j  the  hot  bloods  between  fourteen  and  five  and 
j  thirty  ?  sometime,  fashioning  them  like  Pha- 
raoh s  soldiers  in  the  reechy  painting ;   some- 
time, like  god  Bel's  priests  in  the  old  church 
j  window  ;  sometime,  like  the  shaven  Hercules  in 
j  the  smirched  worm-eaten  tapestry,  where  his 
!  cod-piece  seems  as  massy  as  his  club  ? 

Conrada. 
i  All  this  I  see,  and  I  see  that  the  fashion  wears 
out  more  apparel  than  the  man.  But  art  not 
thou  thyself  giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that 
thou  hast  shifted  out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me 
of  the  fashion  ? 

Borachio. 
Not  so,  neither;  but  know,  that  I  have  to- 
night wooed  Margaret,  the  lady  Hero's  gentle- 
woman, by  the  name  of  Hero  ;  she  leans  me  out 
at  her  mistress'  chamber  window,  bids  mo  a 
thousand  times  good  night.— I  tell  this  tale 
:  vilely :— I  should  first  tell  thee,  how  the  Prince, 
:  Claudio,  and  my  master,  planted,  and  placed, 
I  and  possessed  by  my  master  Don  John,  saw  afar 
i  off  in  the  orchard  this  amiable  encounter. 

Conrade. 


14* 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.         Act  iii.  Sc.  iii. 


Conrade.  Margaret 

And  thought  they  Margaret  was  Hero  t  By  my  troth,  it's  but  a  night-gown  in  respect 

Borachio.                                 }  °f  yours:  cloth  o'  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced 

Two  of  them  did,  the  prince  and  Claudioj  but|  ^ith  silver'  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side] 

the  devil,  my  master,  knew  she  was  Margaret^  K,ee.v?s' .and,  skl!rts  /ound>.  under-borne  with  a| 

and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  bu"sh  tln,seV,bu.^  for  a  nne>  Quaint,  graceful.i 

them,  partly  by  the  dark  night,  which  did  de-!  and  excellent  fashion,  yours  is  worth  ten  on't.    | 

ceive  them,  but  chiefly  by  my  villainy,  which  Hero. 

did  confirm  any  slander  that  Don  John  had!  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart  is 

made,  away  went  Claudio  enraged ;  swore  he|  exceeding  heavy  1 

Margaret 


would  meet  her,  as  he  was  appointed,  next 
morning  at  the  temple,  and  there,  before  the 
whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what  hel 
saw  over-night,  and  send  her  home  again  without' 
a  husband. 

1  Watchman. 

We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name,  stand.     | 

2  Watchman. 


'Twill  be  heavier  soon  by  the  weight  of  a  man. 

Hero. 
Fie  upon  thee  !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Margaret. 
Of  what,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ?    Is 
not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar  " 


Call  up  the  right  master  constable.    We  have,   your  lord   honourable  without   marriage  ? 
here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of  le-    il 


Is  not 

1 


chery,  that  ever  was  known  in  the  common 
wealth. 

1  Watchman. 

And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them :  I  know 
him,  a'  wears  a  lock. 

Conrade. 
Masters,  masters  ! 

2  Watchman. 

You'll    be   made   bring   Deformed   forth,    I 
warrant  you 


Conrade. 


Masters, — 

Never  speak 
to  go  with  us. 


[BUS? 


1  Watchman. 

we  charge  you,  let  us  obey  you 

Borachio. 

We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity, 
oeing  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 
Conrade. 

A  commodity  in   question,  I  warr; 
Come,  we'll  obey  you. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  Leonato'a  House. 
Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 
Hero. 
Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and 
desire  her  to  rise.    w, 

Ursula. 
I  will,  lady. 

Hero. 

And  bid  her  come  hither. 
Ursula. 
Well.  [Exit  Ursula. 

Margaret. 
Troth,  I  think,  your  other  rabato  were  better. 

Hero. 
No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

Margaret. 
By  my  troth,  it's  not  so  good  ;  and  I  warrant, 
your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero. 
My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another.     I'll 
wear  none  but  this. 

Margaret. 
I  like  the  new  tire  within  excellently,  if  the 
hair  were  a  thought  browner  ;  and  your  gown's 
a  most  rare  fashion,  i'faith,     I  saw  the  duchess 
of  Milan's  gown,  that  they  praise  so. 
Hero. 
O,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 


think,  you  would  have  me  say,  saving  your 
reverence, — a  husband :  an  bad  thinking  do  not 
wrest  true  speaking,  I'll  offend  no  body.  Is 
there  any  harm  in— the  heavier  for  a  husband 
None,  I  think,  an  it  be  the  right  husband,  and 
the  right  wife ;  otherwise  'tis  light,  and  not 
heavy :  ask  my  lady  Beatrice  else ;  here  she 
comes. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Hero. 
Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beatrice. 
Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero. 

Hero. 

Why,  how  now?  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 
tune  ? 

Beatrice. 

I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Margaret. 
Clap  us  into  —  "  Light  o'  love ;  "  that  goes 
without  a  burden:    do    you  sing  it,  and    I'll 
dance  it.  n 

Beatrice. 

Yea,  "  Light  o'  love,"  with  your  heels  !  — 
then,  if  your  husband   have  stables   enough, 
you'll  see  he  shall  lack  no  barns. 
Margaret. 

0  illegitimate  construction  I  I  scorn  that 
with  my  heels.        „ 

Beatrice. 

'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin  :  'tis  time  you 
were  ready.  By  my  troth,  I  am  exceeding  ill. 
-  Heigh  ho  I 

Margaret. 

For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

Beatrice. 
For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Margaret. 
Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there's  no 
more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beatrice. 
What  means  the  fool,  trow  ? 

Margaret. 
Nothing  I ;  but  God  send  every  one  their 

heart's  desire  1  IT 

Hero. 

These  gloves  the  count  sent  me,  they  are  an 
excellent  perfume. 

Beatrice. 

1  am  stuffed,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Margaret. 

A  maid,  and  stuffed  1  there's  goodly  catching 


of  cold. 


Beatrice. 


Act  iit.  Sc.  v. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


H5 


Beatrice. 
O,  God  help  me  !  Cod  help  me  !  how  long 
have  you  profess'd  apprehension  ? 
.r,  t. 
Ever  since  you  left  It.     Doth  not  my  wit 
become  me  rarely  ? 

Beatrice. 
It  Is  not  seen  enough ,  you  should  wear  it  in 
your  cap. — By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 
Margaret. 
Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  cardnus  bene- 
dictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart :  it  is  the  only 
thing  for  a  qualm. 

Hero. 
There  thou  prick'st  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beatrice. 
Benedictus  !  why  benedictus  ?  you  have  some 
moral  in  this  benedictus. 

Margaret. 
Moral  ?  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral 
meaning;  I  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.  You  may 
think,  perchance,  that  I  think  you  are  in  love : 
nay,  by'r  lady,  1  am  not  such  a  fool  to  think 
what  I  list ;  nor  I  list  not  to  think  what  I  can  ; 
nor,  indeed,  1  cannot  think,  if  I  would  think  my 
heart  out  of  thinking,  that  you  are  in  love,  or 
that  you  will  be  in  love,  or  that  you  can  be  in 
love.  Yet  Benedick  was  such  another,  and  now 
is  he  become  a  man  :  he  swore  he  would  never 
marry  ;  and  yet  now,  in  despite  of  his  heart,  he 
eats  his  meat  without  grudging :  and  how  you 
may  be  converted.  I  know  not,  but,  methinks, 
you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other  women  do. 
Beatrice. 
What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps  ? 

Margaret. 
Not  a  false  gallop. 

Re-enter  Ursula. 

Ursula. 

Madam,  withdraw :    the  prince,  the   count, 

signior  Benedick,  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants 

of  the  town,  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero. 

Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg,  good 

Ursula.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. 


Another  Room  In  Leonato't 
House. 


Enter  Leonato,  with  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Leonato. 
What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neighbour  ? 

Dogberry. 

Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  confidence  with 

you,  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

I.eonato. 

Brief,  I  pray  you ;  for,  you  see,  it  is  a  busy 

time  with  me. 

Dogberry. 
Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verges. 
Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leonato. 
What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Dogberry. 
Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  off  the 
matter :  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so 
blunt,  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were  ; 
but,  in  faith,  honest  as  the  skin  between  his 
brows. 


:e». 
Yes,  I  thank  God,  T  am  as  honest  as  any  man 
living,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honeater 
than  I. 

Dogberry. 
Comparisons  are  odorous :  palabras.  neighbour 
Verges. 

Leonato. 
Neighbours,  you  are  tedious. 

Doybcrry. 

It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so,  but  we  are 

the  poor  duke's  officers  ;  but,  truly,  for  mine 

own  part,  if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king,  I  could 

find  in  my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Leonato. 

All  thy  tediousness  on  me  ?  ha  1 

Dogberry. 
Yea,  an  'twere  a  thousand  pound  more  than 
I  'tis ;  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your 
|  worship,  as  of  any  man  in  the  city,  and  though 
I  be  but  a  poor  man,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 
Verges. 
And  so  am  I. 

Leonato. 
I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verges. 
Marry,  sir,  our    watch    to-night,    excepting 
your  worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of 
as  arrant  knaves  as  any  in  Messina. 
Dogberry. 
A  good  old  man,  sir;  he  will  be  talking:  as 
they  say,  when  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out. 
God  help  us  1  it  is  a  world  to  see  !  —  Well  said, 
i'faith,  neighbour  Verges  :  —  well  God's  a  good 
man  :  an  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  must  ride 
behind — An  honest  soul,  i'faith,  sir:  by  my 
troth  he  is,  as  ever  broke  bread  ;  but,  God  is  to 
be  worshipped :  all  men  are  not  alike ;  alas, 
good  neighbour  ! 

Leonato. 
Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of  you. 

Dogberry. 
Gifts,  that  God  gives. 

Leonato. 
I  must  leave  you. 

Dogberry. 
One  word,  sir.    Our  watch,  sir,  have,  Indeed, 
comprehended  two  aspicious  persons,  and  we 
would  have  them  this  morning  examined  before 
your  worship. 

Leonato. 
Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring  it 
me :  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may  appear 
unto  you. 

Dogberry. 
It  shall  be  suffigance. 

Leonato. 
Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go.    Fare  you  well. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger 
My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your  daugh. 
ter  to  her  husband. 

Leonato. 
I'll  wait  upon  them :  I  am  ready. 

(Exeunt  Leonato  and  Messenger. 
Dogberry. 
Go,  good  partner,  go ;  get  you  to  Francis  Sea- 
coal  ;  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  the 
gaol :  we  are  now  to  examination  these  men. 
Verges. 
And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Dogberry. 


14.6 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  you ; 

here's  that  shall  drive  some  of  them  to  a  non 

com :  only  get  the  learned  writer  to  set  down 

our  excommunication,  and  meet  me  at  the  gaol. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Inside  of  a  Church. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  John,  Leonato,  Friar, 
Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  Beatrice,  &c. 

fOME,  friar  Franc?s]%e  brief:  only  to  the 
v  plain  form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  re- 
count their  particular  duties  afterwards. 

You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this  lady  ? 

.,  Claudio. 

No. 

To  be  married  to  her ;  friar,  you  come  to  marry 

Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to  this 
count  ? 

.  ,  Hero. 

I  do. 

Friar, 

I:' either  of  you  know  any  inward  impediment, 
why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge  you 
on  your  souls  to  utter  it. 

„  ..Claudio. 

Know  you  any,  Hero  7 

,     a         Hero- 
None,  my  lord. 

„    Friar. 
Know  you  any,  Count  ? 

.  Leonato. 

I  dare  make  his  answer  ;  none. 

_      ,  .    Claudio. 

O,  what  men  dare  do  J  what  men  may  do  ! 
what  men  daily  do,  not  knowing  what  they  do  ! 

How  now  !  Interjections  ?"  Why  then,  some 
be  of  laughing,  as,  ha  !  ha  1  he ! 

Claudio, 
Stand  thee  by,  friar.— Father,  by  your  leave : 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  me  this  maid,  your  daughter  ? 


God  did  give  her  me. 


As  freely,  son,  as 

Claudio. 
And  what  have   I  to  give  you  back,  whose 
worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift  ? 


Nothing,  unless  you  ren 


Don  Pedro, 

ider  her 

Claudio. 


again. 


Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thankful- 
ness.— 
There,  Leonato  ;  take  her  back  again : 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honour.-- 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here : 
O,  what,  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal  I 


Comes  not  that  blood,  as  modest  evidence, 

To  witness  simple   virtue  ?     Would  you   not 

swear, 
All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid, 
By  these  exterior  shows  ?    But  she  is  none : 
She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed  ; 
Her  blush  is  gultiness,  not  modesty. 

Leonato. 
What  do  you  mean,  my  lord? 

Claudio. 

Not  to  be  married, 
Not  to  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 
Leonato. 
Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof, 
Have  vanquish'd  the  resistance  of  her  youth, 

And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity, 

Claudio. 
I  know  what  you  would  say  :  if  1  have  known 
her, 
You'll  say,  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband, 
And  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin : 
No,  Leonato, 

I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  large  ; 
But,  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  showed 
Bashful  sincerity,  and  comely  love. 

Hero. 
And  seem'd  I  ever  otherwise  to  you? 

Claudio. 
Out  on  the  seeming  !     I  will  write  against  it, 
You  seem  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb, 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  ; 
But  you  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero. 

Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide  ? 

Leonato. 

Sweet  prince,  why?peak  not  you  ? 

Don  Pedro. 

What  should  I  speak  ? 
l  stand  dishonour'd.  that  have  gone  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leonato. 

Are  these  things  spoken,  or  do  I  but  dream  ? 

John. 

Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things  are  true. 

Benedick. 
This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero. 

True?  O  God  i 
Claudio. 
Leonato,  stand  I  here  ? 
Is  this  the  prince  ?    Is  this  the  prince's  brother  ? 
Is  this  face  Hero's  ?    Are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leonato. 

All  this  is  so  ;  but  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claudio. 

Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your  daugh- 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power  [ter, 
That  you  have  in  her,  bitl  her  answer  truly. 

Leonato. 

I  charge  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero. 

O  God,  defend  me  !  how  am  I  beset !  — 
What  kind  of  catechizing  call  you  this  ? 

Claudio. 
To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hero. 

Is  it  not  Hero  t    Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  ? 

Claudio. 


Act  iv.  St.  i. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


»47 


Claudlo. 

Marry,  that  can  Hero  : 
Hrro  itself  can  blot  nut  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  lie.  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window,  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 
Hero. 
1  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

Don  Pedro. 
Why.  then  are  you  no  maiden. — Leonato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear :  upon  mine  honour, 
Myself,  my  brother,  and  this  grieved  count. 
Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night, 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber  window  ; 
Who  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 
John. 
Fie,  fie  !  they  are  not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord, 
Not  to  be  spoke  of. 

There  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language, 
Without  offence  to  utter  them.    Thus,  pretty 

lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  mlsgovernment. 
("laudio. 
O  Hero !  what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been, 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart ! 
But,  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  most  fair !  farewell, 
Thou  pure  impiety,  and  impious  purity  I 
For  thee  I'll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 
And  on  my  eye-lids  shall  conjecture  hang, 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm, 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. 
Leonato. 
Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me  ? 
[Hero  swoons. 
Beatrice. 
Why,  how  now,  cousin  !  wherefore  sink  you 
down  ? 

John. 
Come,  let  us  go.    These  things,  come  thus  to 
light, 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  John,  and  Claudia. 

Benedick. 
How  doth  the  lady  ? 

Beatrice. 
Dead,  I  think  : — help,  uncle  !  — 
Hero:    why,   Hero!  —  Uncle  !— Signior  Bene- 
dick !  —  friar  I 

Leonato. 
O  fate  !  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand : 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame, 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beatrice. 

How  now,  cousin  Hero  f 
Friar. 
Have  comfort,  lady. 

Leonato. 
Dost  thou  look  up? 

Friar. 
Yea ;  wherefore  should  she  not  ? 
Leonato. 
Wherefore  ?     Why  doth  not  every  earthly 
thing 
Cry  shame  upon  her  ?    Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ?  — 
Do  not  live,  Hero  ;  do  not  ope  thine  eyes  ; 
For  did  I  think  thou  would'st  not  quickly  die, 
Thought  1  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy 
shames, 


Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches, 
Strike  at  thy  life.     Griev'd  I,  1  had  but  one  t 
Chid  1  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  ? 
(),  one  too  much  by  thee  !    Why  had  I  one  ? 
W  hy  ever  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes  ? 
Why  had  1  not  with  charitable  hand 
Took  up  a  beggar's  Issue  at  my  gates  ; 
Who  smirched  thus,  and  mir'd  with  infamy, 
|  I  might  have  said,  "  No  part  of  it  is  mine, 
I  This  shame  derives  itself  from  unknown  loins  ?  " 
But  mine,  and  mine  1  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais  <\, 
I  And  mine  that  1  was  proud  on  ;  mine  so  much, 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine, 
Valuing  of  her  ;  why,  she—  O  !  she  is  fallen 
Into  a  pit  of  ink.  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again, 
And  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  flesh  ! 

Benedick. 

Sir,  sir,  be  patient. 
For  my  part.  I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beatrice. 
O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied  I 

Benedick. 
Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  ? 

Beatrice 
No,  truly,  not ;  although,  until  last  night, 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 
Leonato. 
Confirm 'd,  confirm'd !     O,  that  is  stronger 
made. 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron ! 
Would  the  two  princes  lie  ?  and  Claudio  lie, 
Who  lov'd  her  so,  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 
Wash'd  it  with  tears  ?     Hence  !  from  her  ;  let 
her  die. 

Friar. 
Hear  me  a  little ; 
For  1  have  only  been  silent  so  long, 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 
By  noting  of  the  lady  :  I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  [shames 

To  start   into  her  face ;  a  thousand  innocent 
In  angel  whiteness,  beat  away  those  blushes  ; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire, 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 

Against  her  maiden  truth Call  me  a  fool; 

Trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observations, 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
The  tenour  of  my  book  ;  trust  not  my  age, 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity, 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  bitmg  error. 

Leonato. 

Friar,  it  cannot  be. 
Thou  seest,  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left, 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury  :  she  not  denies  it. 
Why  seek'st  thou  then  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness  t 
Friar. 
Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of? 

Hero. 
They  know,  that  do  accuse  me :  I  know  none. 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive, 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant. 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  !  —  O,  my  father  ■ 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  t  onvers'd 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight       [ture, 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  crea- 
Hefuse  me.  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death.  _ 

Friar. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Friar. 

There  is    some   strange   misprision    in    the 
princes. 

Benedick. 

Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour  ; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard, 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanies. 
Leonalo. 

1  know  not.     If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her, 
These  hands  shall  tear  her :  if  they  wrong  her 

honour, 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 
Nor  fortune  made  such  havoc  of  my  means, 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  or  friends, 
But  they  shall  find,  awak'd  in  such  a  kind, 
Both  strength  of  limb,  and  policy  of  mind, 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends, 
To  quit  me  of  them  throughly. 
Inai 

Pause  a  while, 
And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter,  here,  the  princes  left  for  dead ; 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is  dead  indeed: 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation ; 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  h  burial. 
Leonato 

What  shall  becomeof  this?  What  will  this  do? 
Friar. 

Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her  behalf 
Change  slander  to  remorse  ;  that  is  some  good  : 
But  not  for  that  dream  I  on  this  Grange  course, 
Hut  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain'd, 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd, 
Shall  be  lamented,  pitied,  and  excus'd 
Of  every  hearer  ;  for  it  so  falls  out, 
That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth, 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it,  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack  the  value ;  then  we  find 
The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us, 

Whiles  it  was  ours So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio : 

When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 
The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination, 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 
More  moving,  delicate,  and  full  of  life, 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul,      [mourn, 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed:  —  then  shall  he 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver) 
And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her  ; 
No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 
But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false, 
The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death 
Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy : 
And,  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her 
As  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation, 
In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life, 
Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds,  and  injuries. 
Benedict. 

Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you : 
And  though  you  know,  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudfo, 
Yet,  by  mine  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly  and  justly,  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 


Leonato. 
Being  that  I  flow  in  grief, 
The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar. 
'Tis  well  consented:  presently  away. 
For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the 
cure. — 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live :  this  wedding  day, 
Perhaps,  is  but  prolong'd :  have  patience,  and 
endure. 

[Exeunt  Friar,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 
Benedick. 
Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this  while  ? 

Beatrice. 
Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Benedick. 
I  will  not  desire  that. 

Beatrice. 
You  have  no  reason  ;  I  do  it  freely. 

Benedick. 
Surely,  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wronged. 

Beatrice. 
Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of  me 
that  would  right  her. 

Benedick. 
Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  friendship  ? 

Beatrice. 
A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Benedick. 
May  a  man  do  it  ? 

Beatrice. 
It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 

Benedick. 
I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as  you. 
Is  not  that  strange  ? 

Beatrice. 
As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not.  It  were 
as  possible  for  me  to  say,  I  loved  nothing  so 
well  as  you  ;  but  believe  me  not,  and  yet  1  lie 
not:  I  confess  nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing.— 
I  am  sorry  for  my  cousin. 

Benedick. 
By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beatrice. 
Do  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Benedick. 
I  will  swear  by  it,  that  you  love  me;  and  I 
will  make  him  eat  it,  that  says  I  love  not  you. 
Beatrice. 
Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ? 

Benedick. 
With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it.    I 
protest,  I  love  thee. 

Beatrice. 
Why  then,  God  forgive  me  1 
Benedick. 
What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice? 

Beatrice. 
You  have  stayd  me  in  a  happy  hour:  1  was 
about  to  protest,  I  loved  you. 
Benedick. 
And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beatrice. 
I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  that 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Benedick. 
Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee. 

Beatrice. 
Kill  Claudio. 

Benedick. 
Ha  !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beatrice. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


H9 


You  kill  me  to  deny  It.     Farewell. 

Benedick. 
Tarry,  tweet  Beatrice. 

Beatrice. 
I  am  gone,  though  1  am  here:— there  Is  no 
love  in  you Nay,  I  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Benedick. 

Beatrice—  _     ,  . 

Beatrice. 

In  faith,  1  will  go. 

Benedick. 
We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beatrice. 
You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me,  than  fight 
with  mine  enemy. 

Benedick. 
Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beatrice. 
Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my 
kinswoman  ? — O,  that  I  were  a  man  !  —What  ! 
bear  her  in  hand  until  they  come  to  take  hands, 
and  then  with  public  accusation,  uncovered 
slander,  unmitigated  rancour,  —  O  God,  that  I 
were  a  man  !  I  would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market- 
place. 

Benedick. 
Hear  me,  Beatrice— 

Beatrice. 
Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window  1  — a  proper 

saying.  

Benedick. 
Nay,  but  Beatrice— 

Beatrice. 
Sweet  Hero!— she  is  wronged,  she  is  slan- 
dered, she  is  undone. 

Benedick. 
Beat— 

Beatrice. 
Princes,  and  counties  !  Surely,  a  princely 
testimony,  a  goodly  count,  count  confect ;  a 
sweet  gallant,  surely  !  O,  that  I  were  a  man 
for  his  sake  !  or  that  I  had  any  friend  would  be 
a  man  for  my  sake  1  But  manhood  is  melted 
into  courtesies,  valour  into  compliment,  and 
men  are  only  turned  into  tongue,  and  trim  ones 
too :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercules,  that  only 
tells  a  lie,  and  swears  it.  —  I  cannot  be  a  man 
with  wishing,  therefore  I  will  die  a  woman  with 
grieving. 

Benedick. 
Tarry,  good  Beatrice.    By  this  hand,  I  love 

Beatrice. 

i     Use  it  for  my  love    some   other  way  than 
swearing  bv  it. 

Benedick. 
Think  you  in  your  soul  the  count  Claudio 
hath  wronged  Hero  t 

Beatrice. 
Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a  soul. 

Benedick. 
Enough  !  I  am  engaged,  1  will  challenge  him. 
I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  I  leave  you.  By 
this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  ac- 
count. As  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go, 
comfort  your  cousin:  I  must  say  she  is  Head; 
nnd  so,  farewell.  [Exeunt. 


thee 


SCENE  II.    A  Prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Sexton,  in  gowm ; 
and  the  Watch,  with  Conrade,  and  Borachio. 

Dogberry. 
Is  our  whole  disscmbly  appeared  ? 
Verges. 

0  !  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton. 

Sexton. 
Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 
Dogberry. 
Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verge*. 
Nay,  that's  certain :  we  have  the  exhibition  to 
examine. 

Sexton. 
But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be 
examined  ?  let  them  come  before  master  con- 
stable. 

Dogberry. 
Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.— What 
is  you  name,  friend  ? 

Borachio. 
Borachio. 

Dogberry. 

Pray  write  down  Borachio. Yours, sirrah? 

Conrade. 

1  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is  Con- 
rade. - 

Dogberry. 

Write  down  master  gentleman    Conrade 

Masters,  do  you  serve  God  ? 

Conrade  and  Borachio. 
Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Dogberry. 
Write  down — that  they  hope  they  serve  God  : 
— and  write  God  first ;  for  God  defend  but  God 
should  go  before  such  villains  !  —  Masters,  it  is 
proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than 
false  knaves,  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought 
so  shortly.    How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ? 
Conrade. 
Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Dogberry. 
A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you ;  but 
I  will  go  about  with  him.  —  Come  you  hither, 
sirrah  ,  a  word  in  your  ear,  sir :  I  say  to  you,  it 
is  thought  you  are  false  knaves. 
Borachio. 
Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 

Dogberry. 
Well,  stand  aside  -'Fore  God,  they  are  both 
in  a  tale.     Have  you  writ  down,  that  they  are 
none? 

Sexton. 
Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way  to  ex- 
amine :  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that  are 
their  accusers. 

Dogberry. 
Yea  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way :  —  Let  the 
watch  come  forth.— Masters,  I  charge  you,  in  the 
prince's  name,  accuse  these  men. 
1  Watchman. 
This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the  prince's 
brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogberry. 
Write  down  —  prince  John  a  villain.  —  Why, 
this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother, 
villain. 

Borachio. 
Master  constable— 

Dogberry. 


!5° 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n 


t.        .u        r  ,.  D°Sberry-  ,    .  ,                                                Leonato. 

Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace :  I  do  not  like  thy                            I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 

look,  1  promise  thee.  j  Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 

Sexton.  !  As  water  in  a  sieve.    Give  not  me  counsel ; 


What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 
2  Watchmai 


Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear, 

But  such  a  one  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine: 


Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thousand  ducats  I  ^ring  me  a  father  that  so  lov'd  his  chiid, 
of  Don  John,  for  accusing  the  lady  Hero  wrong-  |  Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelmed  like  mine 
fully.  And  bid  him  speak  of  patience; 


Dogberry. 
Flat  burglary  as  ever  was  committed. 

Verges. 
Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 

Sexton. 
What  else,  fellow  ? 

1  Watchman. 
And  that  Count  Claudio  did  mean,  upon  his 

words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole  as- 
sembly, and  not  marry  her. 
Dogberry. 
O  villain  !  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into  ever- 
lasting redemption  for  this. 

Sexton. 
What  else  ? 

2  Watchman. 
This  is  all. 

Sexton. 
And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can  deny. 
Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen 
away:  Hero  was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this 
very  manner  refused,  and,  upon  the  grief  of  this, 
suddenly  died.  Master  constable,  lee  these  men 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's :  I  will  go 
before,  and  show  him  their  examination. 

[lixit. 
Dogberry. 
Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

Verges. 
Let  them  be  in  the  hands — 

Conrade. 

Off,  coxcomb ! 

Dogberry. 

God's  my  life!  where  "a  the  sexton?  let  him 

writedown  the  prince's  officer,  coxcomb Come, 

bind  them. — Thou  naughty  varlet  I 
Courade 

Away  !  you  are  an  ass  ;  you  are  an  ass. 
Dogberry. 

Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place  ?    Dost  thou  j 
not  suspect  my  years  ?— O,  that  he  were  here  to 
write  me  down  an  ass ! — but,  masters,  remember,  ! 
that  I  am  an  ass  ;  though  it  be  not  written  down,  j 
yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass.  —  No,  thou  vil-  ! 
Iain,  thou  art  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved  j 
upon  thee  by  good  witness.    I  am  a  wise  fellow ;  I 
and,  which  is  more,  an  officer  ;  and,  which  is  j 
more,  a  householder ;  and,  which  is  more,  as 
pretty  a  piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina  ;  and  j 
one  that  knows  the  law,  go  to ;  and  a  rich  fellow 
enough,  go  to ;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses;  I 
and  one  that  hath  two  gowns,  and  every  thing  j 
handsome  about  him.   Bring  him  away.  O,  that  I 
1  had  been  writ  down  an  ass  1  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Before  Leonato's  House. 


Fnter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

1  Antonio. 

F  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 


Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 
j  And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain  ; 
I  As  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  such, 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard  ; 
And  sorrow,  wag  1  cry  hem,  when  he  should 
groan ;  [drunk 

Patch  grief  with  proverbs;    make  misfortune 
With  candle- wasters  ;  bring  him  yet  to  me, 
j  And  !  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
I  But  there  is  no  such  man  ;  for,  brother,  men 
i  Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it, 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage, 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread, 
I  Charm  ache  with  air,  and  agony  with  words. 
No,  no  ;  'tis  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 
To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 
But  no  man's  virtue,  nor  sufficiency, 
To  be  so  moral  when  he  shall  endure 
The  like  himself.    Therefore  give  me  no  coun- 
My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement,     [sel : 

Antonio. 
Therein  do  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

Leonato. 
I  pray  thee,  peace  !    I  will  be  flesh  and  blood ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher, 
That  could  endure  the  tooth  -ache  patiently, 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods, 
And  made  a  push  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Antonio. 
Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself: 
Make  those  that  do  offend  you  suffer  too. 

Leonato. 

There  thou  speak 'st  reason:  nay,  I  will  do  so. 

My  soul  doth  tell  me  Hero  is  belied,        [prince, 

And  that  shall   Claudio  know  ;    so   shall   the 

And  all  of  them,  that  thus  dishonour  her. 

Luter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 

Antonio. 
Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio  hastily. 

Don  Pedro. 
Good  den,  good  den. 

Claudio. 

Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leonato. 
Hear  you,  my  lords,— 

Don  Pedro. 
We  have  some  haste,  Leonato 

Leonato. 

Some  haste,  my  lord!  — well,  fare  you  well 

my  lord :  — 

Are  you  so  hasty  now  ? — well,  all  is  one. 

Don  Pedro. 

Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man. 

Antonio. 
If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling, 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claudio. 

Who  wrongs  him  P 
Leonato. 


An  v.  Sc.  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


'5' 


Leonato. 

Marry,  thou  dost  wrong  me;   thou,  dissem- 
bler, thou.— 
Nay.  new  r  lav  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword, 
the*  not. 

ulio. 

Marry,  beshrcw  my  hand. 
If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  foar. 
In  faith,  my  nana  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 
Leonato. 
Tush,  tush,  man  !  never  fiVer  and  jest  at  me: 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ; 
As.  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag  [do, 

What  1  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would 
Were  1  not  old.     Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  child  and 
That  I  am  fore'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by,    [me, 
And  with  grey  hairs,  and  bruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child : 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  through  and  through 

her  heart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors, 
O  !  In  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
Save  this  of  hor's,  fram'd  by  thy  villainy. 
Claudio. 
My  villainy? 

Leonato. 
Thine,  Claudio;  thine,  I  say. 
Don  Pedro. 
You  say  not  right,  old  man. 
Leonato. 

My  lord,  my  lord, 
1*11  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare, 
Despite  his  nice  fence,  and  his  active  practice, 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyiiood. 
Claudio. 
Away  1  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Leonato. 
Canst  thou  so  daff  me  ?    Thou  hast  kill'd  my 
child: 
If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man. 
Antonio. 
He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed : 
But  that's  no  matter  ;  let  him  kill  one  first: — 
Win  me  and  wear  me,—  let  him  answer  me. — 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  !   come,  sir  boy,  come, 

follow  me. 
Sir  boy,  I'll  whip  vou  from  your  foining  fence  ; 
Nay.  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 
Leonato. 
Brother  — 

Antonio. 
Content  yourself.    God  knows,   I   lov'd  my 
niece ; 
And  she  is  dead  ;  slander'd  to  death  by  villains, 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed, 
As  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue. 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops  !  — 
Leonato. 

Brother  Antony  — 
Antonio. 
Hold  you  content.   What,  man  !  I  know  them, 
yea,  [scruple : 

And  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost 
Scambling,  out-facing,  fashion-mong'ring  boys, 
That  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 
Go  antickly,  and  show  outward  hideousness, 
And  speak  off  half  a  dozen  dangerous  words. 
How  they  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  thev 
And  this  is  all  !  [durst, 

Leonato. 
But.  brother  Antnny  — 


Antonio. 

Come,  'tis  no  matter  : 
Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  in  this. 
Don  Pedro. 
Gentlemen    both,   we   will    not    wake    your 
patience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  ; 
But,  on  my  honour,  she  was  charg'd  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 
Leonato. 

My  lord,  my  lord  1  — 

Don  Pedro. 

I  will  not  hear  you. 
Leonato. 

No? 

Come,  brother,  away.  — I  will  be  heard 

Antonio. 

And  shall,  or  some  of  us  jwill  smart  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Enter  Benedick. 
Don  Pedro. 
See,  see :  here  comes  the  man  we  went  to  seek. 

Claudio. 
Now,  signior,  what  news  ? 
Benedick. 
Good  day,  my  lord. 

Don  Pedro. 
Welcome,  signior :   you  are  almost  come  to 
part  almost  a  fray.  _ 
y  *    Claudio. 

We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses  snapped 
off  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 
Don  Pedro. 
Leonato  and  hi<  brother.   WThat  think'st  thou? 
Had  we  fought,  I  doubt,  we  should  have  been 
too  young  for  them. 

Benedick. 
In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour.     1 
ca:ne  to  seek  you  both. 

Claudio. 

We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee  ;  for 

we  are  high  proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain 

have  it  beaten  away.    Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit  ? 

Benedick. 

It  is  in  my  scabbard :  shall  1  draw  it  ? 

Don  Pedro. 
Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claudio. 
Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many  have 
been  beside  their  wit.— I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as 
we  do  the  minstrels  ;  draw  to  pleasure  us. 
Don  Pedro. 
As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks  pale.  —  Art 
thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

Claudio. 
What  1    courage,  man  !    What  though  care 
killed  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to 
kill  care. 

Benedick. 

Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  an 
you  charge  it  against  me.  —  I  pray  you,  choose 
another  subject        ,„      „ 
Claudio. 

Nay  then,  give  him  another  staff:  this  last 
was  broke  cross.    i%      „    , 

Don  Pedro. 

By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and  more.    I 
think  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claudio. 
If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  gifdle..  . 


1 5z 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  v.  Sc.  j. 


cheer 


"Benedick. 
Shall  I  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claudio. 
God  bless  me  from  a  challenge ! 

Benedick. 
You  are  a  villain. — I  jest  not :  —  1  will  make 
it  good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare,  and 
when  you  dare.— Do  me  right,  or  I  will  protest 
your  cowardice.  You  have  killed  a  sweet  lady, 
and  her  death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you.  Let  me 
hear  from  you. 

Claudio. 

Well,  1  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have  good 

Don  Pedro. 

What,  a  feast  ?  a  feast  "* 
Claudio. 

I'faith,  I  thank  him  ;  he  hath  bid  me  to  a 
calfs-head  and  a  capon,  the  which  If  I  do  not 

carve  m<>st  curiously,  say  my  knife's  naught 

Shall  1  not  find  a  woodcock  too  ? 
Benedick. 

Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well :  it  goes  easily. 
Don  Pedro. 

I'll  tell  thee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy  wit 
the  other  day.  I  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit : 
"  True,"  said  she,  "  a  fine  little  one  :  "  "  No," 
said  1,  "  a  great  wit :  "  "  Right,"  said  she,  "  a 
great  gross  one :  "  "  Nay,"  said  I,  "  a  good  wit :  " 
"  Just,"  said  she,  "  it  hurts  nobody :  "  "  Nay," 
said  I,  "the  gentleman  is  wise:"  "Certain," 
said  she,  "  a  wise  gentleman:"  "Nay,"  said  I, 
*'  he  hath  the  tongues  : "  "  That  I  believe,"  said 
she,  "  for  he  swore  a  thing  to  me  on  Monday 
night,  which  he  forswore  on  Tuesday  morning : 
there's  a  double  tongue  ;  there's  two  tongues." 
Thus  did  she,  an  hour  together,  trans-shape  thy 
particular  virtues  ;  yet  at  last  she  concluded 
with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  properest  man  in 

*■*  Claudio. 

For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and  said  she 
cared  not.  _      „   , 

Don  Pedro. 

Yea,  that  she  did ;  but  yet,  for  all  that,  an  if 
»he  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love  him 
dearly.    The  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 
Claudio. 

All.  all ;  and  moreover,  God  saw  him  when  he 
was  hid  in  the  garden. 

Don  Pedro. 

But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull's  horns 
on  the  sensible  Benedicks  head ? 
Claudio. 

Yea,   and  text   underneath,   "  Here   dwells 
Benedick  the  married  man !  " 
Benedick. 

Fare  you  well,  boy :  you  know  my  mind.  I 
will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humour: 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades, 
which,  God  be  thanked,  hurt  not. — My  lord,  for 
your  many  courtesies  1  thank  you  :  I  "must  dis- 
continue your  company.  Your  brother,  the 
bastard,  is  fled  from  Messina :  you  have,  among 
you,  killed  a  sweet  and  innocent  lady.  For  my 
lord  Lack  beard,  there,  he  and  1  sh  '" 
and  till  then,  peace  be  with  him 

Don  Pedro. 
He  is  in  earnest. 

Claudio. 
In  most  profound  earnest;  and,  I'll  warrant 
you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

, 


lall  meet ; 
[Exit  Benedick. 


Don  Pedro. 
And  hath  challenged  thee  ? 

Claudio. 
Most  sincerely. 

Don  Pedro. 
What  a  pretty  thing  man  is,  when  he  goes  in 
his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit  I 
Claudio. 
He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape :  but  then  is  an 
ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 
Don  Pedro. 
But,  soft  you  ;  let  me  be  :  pluck  up,  my  heart, 
and  be  sad  !    Did  he  not  say,  my  brother  was 
fled? 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch, 
with  Conrade  and  Borachio. 

Dogberry. 
Come,  you,  sir :  if  justice  cannot  tame  you, 
she    shall    ne'er  weigh    more  reasons   in    her 
balance.    Nay,  an  you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite 
once,  you  must  be  looked  to. 
Don  Pedro. 
How  now  !  two  of  my  brother's  men  bound  ? 
Borachio,  one  ?         „.      ,. 
Claudio. 

Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord  ! 

Don  Pedro. 
Officers,  what  offence  have  these  men  done  ? 

Dogberry. 
Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  re- 
port ;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths  ; 
secondarily,  they  are  slanders  ;  sixth  and  lastly, 
they  have  belied  a  lady ;  thirdly,  they  have 
verified  unjust  things  ;  and,  to  conclude,  they 
are  lying  knaves.  _  _  , 
'     °  Don  Pedro. 

First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done  ? 
thirdly,  1  ask  thee  what's  their  offence  ?  sixth 
and  lastly,  why  they  are  committed?  and,  to 
conclude,  what  you  lay  to  their  charge? 
Claudio. 
Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well 
suited.  _      „   , 

Don  Pedro. 

Whom  have  you  offended,  masters,  that  you 
are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  ?  this  learned 
constable  is  too  cunning  to  be  understood. 
What's  your  offence  ? 

Borachio. 

Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  farther  to  mine 
answer :  do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count  kill 
me.  I  have  deceived  even  your  very  eyes :  what 
your  wisdoms  could  not  discover,  these  shallow 
fools  have  brought  to  light ;  who,  in  the  night, 
overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man,  how  Don 
John  your  brother  incensed  me  to  slander  the 
lady  Hero;  how  you  were  brought  into  the 
orchard,  and  saw  me  court  Margaret  in  Hero's 
garments ;  how  you  disgraced  her,  when  you 
should  marry  her.  My  villainy  they  have  upon 
record,  which  I  had  rather  seal  with  my  death, 
than  repeat  over  to  my  shame.  The  lady  is 
dead  upon  mine  and  my  master's  false  accusa- 
tion ;  and,  briefly,  I  desire  nothing  but  the 
reward  of  a  villain. 

Don  Pedro. 

Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your 
blood  ? 

Claudio. 

I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  it.  _ 

Don 


Act  v.  Sc.  11. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


1'edro. 
But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  ? 

Bom 
Yea;  and  paid  me  richly  for  the   practice 
of  it. 

Don  1' 
He  is  comnos'd  and  fram'd  of  treachery. — 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villainy. 
Claudio. 
Sweet  Hero !  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  1  loved  it  first. 
Dogberry 


'53 


Leonuto. 
To-morrow,  then.  I  will  expect  your  coming: 
To-night  I  take  my  leave.  —  This  naughty  man 
Shall  Hue  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pact  in  all  this  wrong, 
Ilir'd  to  it  by  your  brother. 
Borachio. 


No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not ; 
j   Nor  knew  not  what  she  did,  when  she  spoke  to 
I  Bui  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous,      [me  ; 
In  any  thing  that  1  do  know  by  her. 
Dogberry. 
Moreover,  sir,  which,  indeed,  is  not  under 
Come  ;  bring  away  the  plaintiffs  :  by  this  time  |  white  and  black,  this  plaintiff  here,  the  offender, 
our  sexton  hath  reformed  signior  Leonato  ol  the  |  did  call  me  ass:  I   beseech  you,  let  it  be  re 


matter.  And  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  place  shall  serve,  that  1  am  an 
ass. 

Verges. 
Here,  here  comes  master  signior  Leonato,  and 
the  sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  and  the  Sexton. 

Leonato. 
Which  is  the  villain  ?     Let  me  see  his  eyes, 
That  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him.     Which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Borachio. 
If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  look  on  me. 

Leonato. 
Art  thou  the  slave,  that  with  thy  breath  hast 
Mine  innocent  child  ?  [kill'd 

Borachio. 

Yea,  even  I  alone. 
Leonato. 
No,  not  so.  villain  ;  thou  beliest  thyself: 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men, 

A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it 

I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death  : 
Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds. 
*Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claudio. 
I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience, 
Yet  1  must  speak.    Choose  your  revenge  your- 

self; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  :  yet  siun'd  I  not, 
But  in  mistaking. 

Don  Pedro. 
By  my  soul,  nor  I ; 
And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leonato. 
I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live  ; 
That  were  impossible  ;  but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess  the  people  in  Messina,  here, 
How  innocent  she  died  :  and.  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention, 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb. 

And  sing  it  to  her  bones:  sing  it  to-night 

To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house, 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son  in-law. 
Be  yet  mv  nephew.    My  brother  hath  a  daugh- 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead,      [ter, 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us : 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her 
And  so  dies  my  revenge.  [cousin, 

Claudio. 

O  !  noble  sir, 
Your  over- kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me. 
I  do  embrace  vour  ofTer,  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 


membered  in  his  punishment.  And  also,  the 
watch  heard  them  talk  of  one  Deformed ;  they 
say,  he  wears  a  key  in  his  ear,  and  a  lock  hang- 
ing by  it,  and  borrows  money  in  God's  name ; 
the  which  he  hath  used  so  long,  and  never  paid, 
that  now  men  grow  hard-hearted,  and  will  lend 
nothing  for  God's  sake.  Pray  you,  examine  him 
upon  that  point 

Leonato. 

I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dogberry. 
Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful  and 
reverend  youth,  and  1  praise  God  for  you. 
Leonato. 
There's  for  thy  pains. 

Dogberry. 
God  save  the  foundation  1 
Leonato, 
Go:  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and  I 
thank  thee. 

Dogberry. 
I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship  : 
which,  I  beseech  your  worship,  to  correct  your- 
self for  the  example  of  others  God  keep  your 
worship  ;  I  wish  your  worship  well :  God  re- 
store you  to  health  I  humbly  give  you  leave  to 
depart,  and  if  a  merry  meeting  may  be  wished, 
God  prohibit  it —  Come,  neighbour. 

[Exeunt  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Watch. 

Leonato. 
Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

Antonio. 
Farewell,    my  lords :  we    look    for    you    to- 
morrow. 

Don  Pedro. 
We  will  not  fail. 

Claudio. 
To-night  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 
[Exeunt  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 
Leonaio. 
Bring  you  these  fellows  on ;  we'll  talk  with 
Margaret, 
How  her  acquaintance  grew    with   this    lewd 
fellow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Leonato's  Garden. 

Eater  Benedick  and  Margaret,  meeting. 

Benedick. 

Pray  thee,  sweet  mistress  Margaret,  deserve 

well  at  my  hands  by  helping  me  to  the  speech  of 

Beatrice. 

Margaret. 
Will  you,  then,  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise  of 
my  beauty  ? 

Benedick. 
In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  over  it : 


truth,  thou  deservest  it. 


for,  in  most  comely 
Margaret. 


*54 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  v.  Sc.  u. 


Margaret. 
To  have  no  man  come  over  me  ?  why  shall  I 
always  keep  below  stairs  ? 

Benedick. 
Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's  mouth ; 
it  catches. 

Margaret. 
And  your's  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils,  which 
hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Benedick. 
A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret;  it  will  not  hurt 
a  woman :  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice.     I 
give  thee  the  bucklers. 

Margaret 
Give  us  the  swords,  we  have  bucklers  of  our 
own. 

Benedick. 
If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put  in 
the  pikes  with  a  vice ;  and  they  are  dangerous 
weapons  for  maids. 

Margaret. 
Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who  I  think, 
hath  legs.  [Exit  Margaret. 

Benedick. 
And  therefore  will  come. 

The  god  of  love,  [Singing. 

That  sits  above. 
And  knows  me,  and  knows  me, 
How  pitiful  I  deserve, — 

I  mean,  in  singing  ;  but  in  loving,  Leaudcr  the 
good  swimmer,  Truilus  the  first  employer  of 
panders,  and  a  whole  book  full  of  these  quondam 
carpet-mongers,  whose  names  yet  run  smoothly 
in  the  even  road  of  a  blank  verse,  why,  they 
were  never  so  truly  turned  over  and  over  as  my 
poor  self,  in  love.  Marry,  1  cannot  show  it  in 
rhyme;  I  have  tried:  I  can  find  out  no  rhyme 
to  •'  lady  "  but  "  baby,"  an  innocent  rhyme  ;  for 
"  scorn,"  "  horn,"  a  hard  rhyme ;  for  "  school," 
"  fool,"  a  babbling  rhyme  —  very  ominous  end- 
ings. No,  1  was  not  born  under  a  rhyming 
planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in  festival  terms" — 


Knter  Beatrice. 


Sweet   Beatrice,  would'st  thou  come  when   I 
called  thee  ? 

Beatrice. 
Yea,  signior  ;  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Benedick. 
O,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

Beatrice. 
"  Then  "  is  spoken  ;  fare  you  well  now:  — and 
yet,  ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  for  ; 
which  is.  with  knowing  what  hath  passed  be- 
tween you  and  Claudio. 

Benedick. 
Only  foul  words ;  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss 
thee. 

Beatrice. 
Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind  is 
but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome ; 
therefore  I  will  depart  unkissed. 
Benedick. 
Thou  hast  frighted  the  word  out  of  his  right 
sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit.     But,  I  must  tell 
thee  plainly,  Claudio  undergoes  my  challenge, 
and  either  I  must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  1 
will  subscribe  him  a  coward.    And,  I  pray  thee 
now,  tell  me,  for  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst 
thou  first  fall  in  love  with  me? 
Beatrice. 
For  them  altogether  ;  which  maintained  so 


politic  a  state  of  evil,  that  they  will  not  admit 
any  good  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But 
for  which  of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  suffer 
love  for  me  ? 

Benedick. 
Suffer  love  !  a  good  epithet.     I  do  suffer  love, 
indeed,  for  1  love  thee  against  my  will. 
Beatrice. 
In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think      Alas,  poor 
heart  I     If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite 
it  for  yours  ;  for  I  will  never  love  that  which 
my  friend  hates. 

Benedick. 
Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beatrice. 
It  appears  not  in  this  confession :  there's  not 
one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise 
himself. 

Benedick. 

An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  lived 
in  the  time  of  good  neighbours.  If  a  man  do  not 
erect,  in  this  age,  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he 
shall  live  no  longer  in  monument,  than  the  bell 
rings,  and  the  widow  weeps. 

Beatrice. 
And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  ? 

Benedick. 
Question:— why  an  hour  in  clamour,  and  a 
quarter  in  rheum  :  therefore  is  it  most  expedient 
for  the  wise,  (if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  find 
no  impediment  to  the  contrary,)  to  be  the  trumpet 
of  his  own  virtues,  as  1  am  to  myself.  So  much 
for  praising  myself,  who,  I  myself  will  bear  wit- 
ness, is  praiseworthy.  And  now  tell  me,  how 
doth  your  cousin  ? 

Beatrice. 
Very  ill. 

Benedick. 
And  how  do  you  ? 

Beatrice. 
Very  ill  too. 

Benedick. 
Serve  God,  love  me,  and  mend.     There  will  I 
leave  you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 
Ursula. 
Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle.  Yon- 
der's  old  coil  at  home :  it  is  proved,  my  lady 
Hero  hath  been  falsely  accused,  the  prince  and 
Claudio  mightily  abused  ;  and  Don  John  is  the 
author  of  all,  who  is  fled  and  gone.  Will  you 
come  presently  ? 

Beatrice. 
Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior  ? 

Benedick. 
I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and   be 
buried  in  thy  eyes  ;  and,  moreover,  I  wi" 
with  thee  to  thy  uncle's. 


.will 
.xeunr 


SCENE   III.    The  Inside  of  a  Church. 

Filter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Attendants,  with 
music  rind  tapers. 

Claudio. 
Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  t 

Attendant. 
It  is,  my  lord, 


Claudio. 
Epitaph. 
Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues 
Was  the  Hero  that  here  lies  : 


[Reads. 


Death 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTJilXC. 


>55 


Death,  in  guerdon  of  her  wrongs, 

(J  ires  her  fame  which  never  dies. 
So  th  •  life,  that  died  with  shame, 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame . 
Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb. 
Trailing  her  when  1  am  dumb — 
Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 
Song. 
Pardon,  gjdd<ss  of  the  night. 
Those  that  Slew  thy  virgin  knight  ; 
For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe. 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 
Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavily,  heavily : 
Graves,  yawn,  and  yield  your  dead, 
Tilt  death  he  uttered, 
Heavily,  heavily. 

Claudio. 

Now,  unto  thy  bones  good  night  ! 
Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite. 

Don  Pedro. 
Good  morrow,  masters :  put  your  torches  out. 
The  wolves  have  prey'd;  and  look,  the  gentle 
day, 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  grey. 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us  :  fare  you  well. 

Claudio. 
Good  morrow,  masters  :  each  his  several  way. 

Don  Pedro. 
Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other  weeds  ; 
And  then  to  Leonato'6  we  will  go. 

Claudio. 
And  Hym-en  now  with  luckier  issue  speeds, 
Than  this,  for  whom  we  render'dup  this  woe  J 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Uoora  in  Leonato's  House.     ' 

Enter   l.eonato,    Antonio,    Benedick,    Beatrice, 
Ursula,  Friar,  and  Hero. 
Friar. 
Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent  ? 

l.eonato. 
So  are  the  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accus'd  her 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  : 
But  Martaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this, 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

Antonio. 
Well,  1  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Benedick. 
And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  faith  enfore'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

Leonato. 
Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  all, 
\\  ithdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yourselves. 
And,  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd  : 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promis'd  by  this  hour 
fo  visit  me  — You  know  your  office,  brother ; 
You  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter, 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.  [lixeunt  Ladies. 

Antonio. 
Which  I  will  do  with  confirm'd  countenance. 

Benedick. 
Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 

Friar. 
To  do  what,  signior  ? 

Benedick. 
To  bind  me,  or  undo  me  ;  one  of  them — 


Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior. 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  of  favour. 

Leonato. 
Th.it  eye  my  daughter  lent  her  :  'tis  most  true. 

Benedick. 
And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 

Leonato. 
The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from  me. 
From  Claudio,  and  the  prince.    But  what's  your 
will  ? 

Benedick. 
Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical: 
But,  lor  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
Mav  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  state  of  honourable  marriage: — 
In  which,  good  friar,  1  shall  desire  your  help. 

Leonato. 
My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 

Friar. 

And  my  help. 
Here  come  the  prince,  and  Claudio. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  with  Attendants. 

Don  Pedro. 
Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

Leonato. 
Good  morrow,  prince ;  good  morrow,  Claudio  : 
We  here  attend  you.     Are  you  yet  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter  ? 

Claudio. 
I'll  hold  my  mind  were  she  an  Ethiop. 

Leonato. 

Call  her  forth,  brother :  here's  the  friar  ready. 

I  Exit  Antonio. 

Don  Pedro. 

Good  morrow,  Beiiedick.    Why,  what's  the 

That  you  have  such  a  Felrruary  face,      [matter, 

So  full  of  frost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness  ? 

Claudio. 
1  think,  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull — 
Tush  !  fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee,  [gold. 

As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Benedick. 
Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ;         [cow, 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leap'd  your  father's 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat, 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Be-enter  Antonio  with  the  Ladies  masked. 

Claudio. 
For  this  1  owe  you  :  here  come  other  reckon- 
Which  is  the  lady  I  must  se;ze  upon  ?        [ings. 

Leonato. 
This  same  is  she,  and  I  do  give  you  her. 

Claudio. 
Why,  then  she's  mine. —  Sweet,  let  me  see 
your  face. 

Leonato. 
N'o,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  this  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claudio. 
Give  me  your  hand  before  this  holy  friar  : 
I  am  your  hubband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero. 

And  when  1  liv'd,  1  wa3  your  other  wife 


And  when  you  lov'd,  you  were 
band." 


[Unmasking, 
my  other  hus- 


Claudio. 


,S6 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv, 


Claudio. 
Another  Hero  t 

Hero. 

Nothing  certainer. 
One  Hero  died  defil'd  ;  but  I  do  live, 
And,  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 
Don  Pedro. 
The  former  Hero !  Hero  that  is  dead  ! 

Leonato. 
She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander  liv'd. 

Friar. 
All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify  ; 
When  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
I'll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death  : 
Mean  time,  let  wonder  seem  familiar, 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 
Benedick. 
Soft  and  fair,  friar. — Which  is  Beatrice  T 

Beatrice. 
I  answer  to  that  name.  [Unmasking.]   What 
is  your  will  ? 

Benedick. 
Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Beatrice. 
Why,  no  ;  no  more  than  reason. 
Benedick. 

Why,  then,  your  uncle,  and  the  prince,  and 
Claudio, 
Have  been  deceived  :  they  swore  you  did. 
Beatrice. 
Do  not  you  love  me  • 

Benedick. 
Troth,  no  ;  no  more  than  reason 

Beatrice. 
Why,  then,  my  cousin,  Margaret,  and  Ursula, 
Are  much  deceiv'd  ;  for  they  did  swear,  you  did. 

Benedick. 

They  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick  for  me. 

Beatrice. 
They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead  for 
me. 

Benedick. 
'Tis  no  such  matter.— Then,  you  do  not  love 
me? 

Beatrice. 
No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leonato. 
Come,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  gentle- 
man. 

Claudio. 
And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't,  that  he  loves  her  ; 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 


Hero. 

And  here's  another, 
Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stol'n  from  hen 
Containing  her  affection  unto  Benedick,  [pocket,  I 
Benedick. 
A  miracle  !  here's  our  own  hands  against  our 
hearts.  —  Come,  I  will  have  thee;  but,  by  this 
light,  I  take  thee  for  pity. 

Beatrice. 
I  would  not  deny  you  ;  -but,  by  this  good  day, 
I  yield  upon  great  persuasion,  and,  partly,  to 
save  your  life,  for  1  was  told  you  were  in  a  con- 
sumption. 

Benedick. 
Peace  I  I  will  stop  your  mouth. 

Don  Pedro. 
How  dost  thou,  Benedick,  the  married  man  ? 

Benedick. 
I'll  tell  thee  what,  prince ;  a  college  of  wit- 
crackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour. 
Dost  thou  think,  I  care  for  a  satire,  or  an  epi- 
gram ?    No :  if  a  man  will  be  beaten  with  brains, 
a'  shall  wear  nothing  handsome  about  him.     In 
brief,  since  1  do  purpose  to  marry,  I  will  think 
nothing  to  any  purpose  that  the  world  can  say 
against  it ;  and  therefore  never  flout  at  me  for 
what  I  have  said  against  it,  for  man  is  a  giddy 
thing,  and  this  is  my  conclusion. —  For  thy  part. 
Claudio,  I  did  think  to  have  beaten  thee  ;  but, 
in  that  thou  art  like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live 
unbruised,  and  love  my  cousin. 
Claudio. 
I  had  well  hoped,  thou  wouldst  have  denied 
Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out 
of  thy  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer  ; 
which,  out  of   question,  thou  wilt    be,  if  my 
cousin  do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 
Benedick. 
Come,  come,  we  are  friends — Let's  have  a 
dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten 
our  own  hearts,  and  our  wives'  heels. 
Leonato. 
We'll  have  dancing  afterward. 

Benedick. 
First,  of  my  word  ;  therefore,  play,  music  !  — 
Prince,  thou  art  sad  ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a 
wife :  there  is  no  staff  more  reverend  than  one 
tipped  with  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 

My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight, 

And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Benedick. 

Think  not  on  him  till  tomorrow:  I'll  devise 

thee  brave  punishments  for  him.— Strike  up 

pipers.  [Djn:6. 


##-#-#4-'#-'#'##'#-# 


Act  i.  Sc.  l 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


•57 


LOVE'S  LABOUK'S  LOST. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

FERDINAND,  King  of  Navarre.  Moth,  Page  to  Armado. 

Biron,          }  i  A  Forester. 

Longaville,  V  Lords,  attending  on  ike  King.  Princess  of  France. 

Dumaine,    J  Rosaline,     1 

Boyet,      )  Lords,  attending  on  the  Princess  of    Maria,         V  Ladies,  attending  on  the  Princess. 

Mercade, )     France.  Katharine,  j 

Don  Adriano  de  Armado,  a  Spaniard.  |  Jaquenetta,  a  country  Wench. 

HolorerS!«'^Sa^,r.  \  <*»*"' and °th™> ^T  °»  *  **" *»* 

Dull,  a  Constable.  Pfincess. 

Costard,  a  Clown.  SCENE,  Navarre. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.  Nararre.  A  Park,  with  a  Palace  in  it. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and 
Dumaine. 
King. 
T  ET  fame,  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  live*, 
-*-*  Live  register'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs, 
And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death  ; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring  time, 
Th'  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honour,  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity.  [edge, 

Therefore,  brave  conquerors !  — for  so  you  are, 
Th;\t  war  against  your  own  affections, 
And  the  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires, — 
Our  late  edict  shall  strongly  stand  in  force. 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world : 
Our  court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  art. 
You  three,  Biron,  Dumaine,  and  Longaville, 
Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to  live  with  me, 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes, 
That  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here : 
Your  oaths  are  past,  and  now  subscribe  your 

names, 
That  his  own  hand  may  strike  his  honour  down, 
That  violates  the  smallest  branch  herein. 
If  you  are  arm'd  to  do,  as  sworn  to  do, 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oaths,  and  keep  it  too. 
Longaville. 
I  am  resolv'd :  'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast. 
The  mind  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine : 
Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates  ;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs, but  bankrupt  quite  the  wits. 


Dumaine. 
My  loving  lord,  Dumaine  is  mortified. 
The  grosser  manner  of  these  world's  delights 
He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves: 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die, 
With  all  these  living  in  philosophy. 
Biron. 
I  can  but  say  their  protestation  over  ; 
So  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,  1  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 

j  And,  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food, 
And  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside, 

j  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. 

I  O  !  these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep, 

I  N  ot  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King. 
I     Your  oath  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these. 

Biron. 
I     Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  and  if  you  please. 
j  I  only  swore  to  study  with  your  grace, 
j  And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 

Longaville. 
I      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  ? 
I  King. 


M« 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  i.  Sc  i 


King. 
Why,  that  to  know  which  else  we  should  not 
know. 

Biron. 
Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from  com- 
mon sense  ? 

King. 
Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense. 

Biron. 
Come  on,  then  :  1  will  swear  to  study  so, 
To  know  the  thing  1  am  forbid  to  know  ; 
As  thus,  — to  study  where  I  well  may  .line, 

When  I  to  feast"expressly  r.m  forbid  ; 
Or  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine, 

When i  nv.stresses  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  1  will  ne'er  say  no. 
King. 
These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite, 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 
Biron. 
Why,  all  delights  are  vain ;  but  that  most 
vain, 
Which,  with  pain  purchas'd,  doth  inherit  pain  : 
As  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book,  [while 

To  seek  the  light  of  truth ;  while  truth  the 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look  : 

Light,  seeking  light,  doth  light  of  light  beguile. 
So,  ere  you  find  where  light  in  darkness  lies. 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 
Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed, 

By  fixing  it  upon  a  fairer  eye  ; 
Who  dazzling  so,  that  eye  shall  be  his  heed. 
And  give  him  light  that  it  was  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun,   [looks  : 
That  will  not  be  deep-search'd  with  saucy 
Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  goifathers  of  heaven's  lights, 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fixed  star, 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights, 
Than  those  that  walk,  and  wot  not  what  they 
are. 
Too  much  to  know  is  to  know  nought  but  fame; 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

King. 
How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against  read- 
ing! 

Dumaine 
Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  proceeding  I 

Longaville. 
He  weeds  the  corn,  and  still  lets  grow  the 
weeding. 

Biron. 
The  spring  is  near,  when  green  geese  are  a 
breeding. 

Dumaine. 
How  follows  that? 

Biron. 
Fit  in  his  place  and  time. 

Dumaine 
In  reason  nothing. 

Biron. 
Something,  then,  in  rhyme. 

King. 
Biron  is  like  an  envious  snoaping  frost, 
That  bites  the  first-born  infants  of  the  spring. 

Biron. 
Well,  say  I  am :  why  should  proud  summer 
boast, 
Before  the  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing  ? 
Why  should  1  joy  in  any  abortive  birth  ? 


I  At  Christmas  I  no  more  desire  a  rose, 
I  Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  shows 
j  But  like  of  each  thing  that  in  season  grows. 
So  you.  to  study  now  it  is  too  late, 
Cliinb  o'er  the  "house  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 
King. 
Well,  sit  you  out :  go  home,  Biron  :  adieu  ' 

Biron. 
No,  my  good  lord  ;  I  have  sworn  to  stay  with 
you : 
And,  though  1  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more. 
Than  for  that  angel  knowledge  you  can  say. 
Yet  confident  111  keep  what  1  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,  [Heads 

Item,  "  That  no  woman  shall  come  within  a 

mile  of  my  court." — Hath  this  been  proclaimed'!' 

Longaville. 
Four  davs  ago. 

Biron. 

Let's  see  the  penalty.  [Reads.]  "  On  pain 
of  losing  her  tongue." — Who  devis'd  this 
penalty  ? 

Longaville. 

Marry,  that  did  I. 

Biron. 
Sweet  lord,  and  why  ? 

Longaville. 
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,— 
I  About  surrender  up  of  Aquitain 

To  her  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father  : 
j  Therefore,  this  article  is  made  in  vain, 
t      Or  vainly  comes  th'  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, 
!t  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should  ; 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'  1  is  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         fspace  ; 
Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years' 
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, 
1  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity — 
So  to  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name ; 

[Subscribes. 
I      And  he,  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree, 
I  Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame. 
Suggestions  are  to  others,  as  to  me  ; 

But, 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


59 


But,  I  believe,  although  I  seem  so  loth, 
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  min  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  those  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny  : 
1  his  child  of  fancy,  that  Armatto  hight, 

For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate 
la  high-born  words  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 
How  you  delight,  my  lords.  I  know  not,  I , 
But,  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie, 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy. 

Biron. 
Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new  words,  fashion's  own  knight. 

Longaville. 
Costard,  the  swain,  and  he  shall  be  our  sport ; 
Aud  so  to  study,  three  years  is  bat  short. 

Enter  Dull,  with  a  letter,  and  Costard. 
Dull. 
Which  is  the  duke's  own  person  ? 

Biron. 
This,  fellow.    What  would'st  ? 

Dull. 

I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I  am 

his  grace's  tharborough  :   but  1  would  see  his 

own  person  in  flesh  and  blood. 

Biron. 

This  is  he. 

Dull. 
Signior  Arm— Arm — commends  you.   There's 
villainy  abroad  :  this  letter  will  tell  you  more. 

Costard. 
Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touching  me. 

Kiiijg. 
A  letter  from  the  magnificent  Armado. 

Biron. 
How  low  soever  the  matter,  I  hope  in  God 
for  high  words. 

Longaville. 
A  high  hope  for  a  low  heaven  :  God  grant  us 
patience ! 

Biron. 
To  hear,  or  forbear  hearing  ? 

Longaville. 
To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  moderately  ; 
or  to  forbear  both. 

Biron. 
Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  us  cause 
to  climb  in  the  merriness. 

Costard. 
The   matter   is    to   me,  sir,   as    concerning 
Jaquenetta.    The  manner  of  it  is,  I  was  taken 
with  the  manner. 

Biron. 


In  what  manner  ? 

Costard. 

In  manner  and  form  follow  ing,  sir  ;  all  those 
three:  1  was  seen  with  her  in  the  manor  house, 
sitting  with  her  upon  the  form,  and  taken  fol- 
lowing her  into  the  park  ;  which,  put  together, 
i»,  in  manner  and  form  following.     Now,  sir,   jto  say  wherewith." 


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  ? 

Costard. 
As  it  shall  follow  In  my  correction  ;  and  God 
defend  the  right  ! 

King. 
Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention  ? 

Biron. 
As  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Costard. 
Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken  after 
the  flesh. 

King.  [Beads. 

"  Great  deputy,  the  welkin's  vicegerent,  and 
I  sole  dominator  of  Navarre,  my  soul's  earth's 
God,  and  body's  fostering  patron, — " 
Costard. 
Not  a  word  of  Costard  yet. 

King. 
1     "  So  it  is,—" 

Costard. 
It  may  be  so ;  but  if  he  say  it  is  so,  he  is,  in 
(telling  true,  but  so, — 

King. 
Peace! 

Costard. 
— be  to  me,  and  every  man  that  dares  not  fight. 

King. 

i     No  words. 

Costard. 
|     —of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 

King, 
i  *'  So  it  is,  besieged  with  sable-coloured  melan- 
choly, I  did  commend  the  black-oppressing 
humour  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,  biids 
best  peck,  and  men  sit  down  to  that  nourishment 
which  is  called  supper.  So  much  for  the  ti  iri  e  w  lien. 
Now  for  the  ground  which;  which,  I  mean,  I 
i walked  upon:  it  is  ycleped  thy  park.  Then  for 
the  place  where  ;  whore,  I  mean,  I  did  encounter 
that  obscene  and  most  preposterous  event,  that 
jdraweth  from  my  snow-white  pen  the  ebon- 
|  coloured  ink,  which  here  thou  vie  west,  beholdest, 
jsurveyest,  or  seest.  But  to  the  place,  where:  — 
'it  standeth  north-north-east  and  by  east  from 
jthe  west  corner  of  thy  curious-knotted  garden  : 
there  did  I  see  that  low-spirited  swain,  that  base 
minnow  of  thy  mirth," 

Costard. 
Me. 

King, 
"—that  unletter'd  small-knowing  soul," 

Costard 
Me. 

King. 
'* — that  shallow  vassal," 

Costard. 
Still  me. 

King. 
"  —which,  as  I  remember,  hight  Costard," 

Costard. 
O  !  me. 

King. 
"  —sorted  and  consortf  d,  contrary  to  thy  esta- 
blished proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon, 
l with—  with,— O  !  with— but  with  this  1  passion 


Costard. 


i6o 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  i.  Ac.  i. 


With  a  wench. 


Costard. 


King. 


"  —with  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve,  a 
female  ;  or,  for  thy  more  sweet  understanding, 
a  woman.  Him  1  (as  my  ever-esteemed  duty 
pricks  me  on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  receive  the 
meed  of  punishment,  by  thy  sweet  grace's  officer, 
Antony  Dull,  a  man  of  good  repute,  carriage, 
bearing,  and  estimation." 

Dull. 
Me,  an't  shall  please  you :  I  am  Antony  Dull. 

King. 
"For  Jaquenetta,  (so  is  the  weaker  vessel 
called)  which  I  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid 
swain,  I  keep  her  as  a  vessel  of  thy  law's  fury ; 
and  shall,  at  the  least  of  thy  sweet  notice,  bring 
her  to  trial.  Thine,  in  all  complements  of  de- 
voted and  heart-burning  heat  of  duty, 

"  Don  Adriano  de  Armado." 

Biron. 
This  is  not  so  well  as  I  looked  for,  but  the 
best  that  ever  I  heard. 

King. 

Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst But,  sirrah,  what 

•ay  you  to  this  ? 

Costard. 
Sir,  I  confess  the  wench. 

King. 
Did  you  hear  the  proclamation  ? 

Costard. 
I  do  confess  much  of  the  hearing  it,  but  little 
of  the  marking  of  it. 

King. 
It  was  proclaimed  a  year's  imprisonment  to  be 
taken  with  a  wench. 

Costard. 
I  was  taken  with  none,  sir  :  I  was  taken  with 
a  damsel. 

King. 
Well,  it  was  proclaimed  damsel. 

Costard. 
This  was  no  damsel  neither,  sir :  she  was  a 
virgin. 

King. 
It  is  so  varied,  too,  for  it  was  proclaimed 
virgin. 

Costard. 
If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity  :  I  was  taken 
with  a  maid. 

King. 
This  maid  will  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 

Costard. 
This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King. 
Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence :  you  shall 
fast  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Costard. 
I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton  and 
porridge. 

King. 
And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper. — 
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,  Longaville,  and  Dwnaine. 

Biron. 
Ill  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat, 

These   oaths   and   laws  will    prove  an  idle 
I  Sirrah,  come  on.  [scorn — 

Costard. 
for  the  truth,  sir :  for  true  it  is,  I  was 


taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a  true 
girl;  and,  therelore,  welcome  the  sour  cup  ol 
prosperity  !  Affliction  may  one  day  smile  again, 
and  till  then,  set  thee  down,  sorrow ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Armado 's  House  in  the  Park. 
Enter  Armado,  and  Moth,  his  page. 

_         ...  Armado. 
Boy,  what  sign  is  it,  when  a  man  of  great  spirit 
grows  melancholy  ? 

Moth. 
A  great  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Armado. 
Why  ?  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-same  thing, 
dear  imp. 

Moth. 
No,  no  ;  O  lord  !  sir,  no. 

Armado. 
How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melancholy, 
my  tender  juvenal  ? 

Moth. 
By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  working, 
my  tough  senior. 

Armado. 
Why  tough  senior  ?  why  tough  senior  ? 

Moth. 
Why  tender  juvenal  ?  why  tender  juvenal  ? 

Armado. 
I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  as  a  congruent  epi- 
theton  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which 
we  may  nominate  tender. 

Moth. 
And  I,  tough  senior,  as  an  appertinent  title  to 
your  old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Armado. 
Pretty,  and  apt. 

Moth. 
How  mean  you,  sir  ?    I  pretty,  and  my  saying 
apt ;  or  1  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Armado. 
Thou  pretty,  because  little. 

Motli. 
Little  pretty,  because  little.    Wherefore  apt  ? 

Armado. 
And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moth. 
Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master  t 

Armado. 
In  thy  condign  praise. 

Moth. 
I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Armado. 
What,  that  an  eel  is  ingenious  ? 

Moth. 
That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Armado. 
I  do  say,  thou  art  quick  in  answers.    Thou 
heatest  my  blood. 

Moth. 
I     I  am  answered,  sir. 

Armado. 
I  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Moth.  [Aside. 

I     He  speaks  the  mere  contrary :  crosses  love  not 
'him? 

Armado. 
I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with  the 
j  duke. 

Moth. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


161 


Moth. 
You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Armado. 
Impossible.  Moth 

How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 

Armado. 
I  am  ill  at  reckoning :  it  fitteth  the  spirit  of  a 
tapster-  Moth. 

You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 
Armado. 
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. 
Armado. 
It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Moth- 
Which  the  base  vulgar  do  call  three. 
Armado. 


True. 


Armado. 
Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions  ? 

Moth. 
As  I  have  read,  sir;  and  the  best  of  them  too. 

Armado. 

Green,  indeed,  is  the  colour  of  lovers  ;  but  to 

have  a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks,  Samson 

had  small  reason  for  it.   He,  surely,  affected  her 

for  her  wit.  ..  A. 

Moth. 

It  was  so,  sir,  for  she  had  a  green  wit. 

Armado. 
My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red. 

Moth. 
Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are  masked 
under  such  colours. 

Armado. 

Define,  define,  well-educated  infant. 

Moth. 
My  father's  wit,  and  my  mother's    tongue, 
assist  me  ! 

.-,  imado 

Sweet  invocation  of  a  child  ;  most  pretty,  and 


Moth. 


pathetical  1 


Moth 


Why,  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study  ?  Now, : 
here  is  three  studied  ere  you'll  thrice  wink  ;  and 
how  easy  it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  three,  and 
study  three  years  in  two  words,  the  dancing; 
horse  will  tell  you. 

An  i,  ado. 


A  most  fine  figure  ! 

Moth. 

To  prove  you  a  cypher, 
Armado. 


.Aside. 


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  humour  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.  Ij 
think  scorn  to  sigh:  methinks,  I  should  out-? 
•wear  Cupid.  Comfort  me,  boy.  What  great; 
men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Hercules,  master. 

Armado. 

Most  sweet  Hercules!  —  More  authority,  dear! 
boy,  name  more  ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let  them 
be  men  of  good  repute  and  carnage. 

Samson,  master  :  he  was  a  man  of  good  car- ' 
riage,  great  carriage  ;  for  he  carried  the  town-! 
gates  on  his  back,  like  a  porter,  and  he  was  in 
love. 

ado. 


If  she  be  made  of  white  or  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, 
Which  native  she  doth  owe. 
A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  against  the  reason 
of  white  and  red 

Armado 

Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and  the 


O  well-knit  Samson !  strong-jointed  Samson  t 
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  t 
Moth. 
A  woman,  master. 

Armado. 
Of  what  complexion  * 

Moth. 
Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two,  or 
one  of  the  four. 

Armado. 

Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion. 

Moth. 
Of  the  sea- water  green,  sir. 


Beggar  ? 


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. 

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  rational  hind 
Costard :  she  deserves  weil. 
Moth 
To  be  whipped  ;  and  yet  a  better  love  than  my 
master. 

Armado. 

Sing,  boy:  my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 

Moth. 
And  that's  great  marvel,  loving  a  light  wench. 

Armado. 
I  say,  sing. 

Moth. 
Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 
Ent<?r  Dull,  Costard,  and  Jaqucnetta. 

Sir,  the  duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep 
Costard  safe :  and  you  must  let  him  take  no  de- 
light, nor  no  penance ;  but  a'  must  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. 

Armado. 
I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing.  —  Maid. 

Jaquenetta. 
Man. 

u  Armado. 


1 62 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


Armado. 
I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 
Jaquenetta. 
That's  hereby. 

Armado. 
I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaquenetta. 
Lord,  how  wise  you  are  ! 

Armado. 
I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaquenetta. 
With  that  face  ? 

Armado. 
1  love  thee. 

Jaquenetta. 
So  I  heard  you  say. 

Armado. 
And  so  farewell. 

Jaquenetta. 
Fair  weather  after  you  ! 
Dull. 
Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[Exeunt  Dull  and  Jaquenetta. 
Armado. 
Villain,  thou  shaft  fast  for  thy  offences,  ere 
thou  be  pardoned. 

Costard. 
Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do  it  on 
a  full  stomach. 

Armado. 
Thou  shaft  be  heavily  punished. 

Costard. 
I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  fellows,  for 
they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 
Armado. 
Take  away  this  villain  :  shut  him  up. 

Moth. 
Come,  you  transgressing  slave :  away ! 

Costard. 
Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir :  I  will  fast,  being 
loose. 

Moth. 
No,  sir ;  that  were  fast  and  loose :  thou  shaft 
to  prison. 

Costard. 
Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of  deso- 
lation that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  see— 
Moth. 
What  shall  some  see  ? 

Costard. 
Nay  nothing,  master  Moth,  but  what  they  look 
upon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  too  silent  in 
their  words  ;  and  therefore  I  will  say  nothing : 
I  thank  God  I  have  as  little  patience  as  another 
man,  and  therefore  I  can  be  quiet. 

[Exeunt  Moth  and  Costard. 
Armado. 


I  do  affect  the  very  ground,  which  is  base, 
ch  Is  baser,  guided  by  ' 
foot,  which  is  basest,  doth  tread.     I  shall  be 


where  her  shoe,  which  Is  baser,  guided  by  her 


forsworn,  (which  is  a  great  argument  of  false- 
hood,) 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. 
I  Yet  was  Samson  so  tempted,  and  he  had  an 
'  excellent  strength  :  yet  was  Solomon  so  seduced, 
'  and  he  had  a  very  good  wit.    Cupid's  butt- shaft 
'  is  too  hard  for  Hercules'  club,  and  therefore 
j  too  much  odds  for  a  Spaniard's  rapier.    The 
!  first  and  second  cause  will  not  serve  my  turn  ; 
the  passado  he  respects  not,  the  duello  he  re- 
gards not :  his  disgrace  is  to  be  called  boy,  but 
his  glory  is,  to  subdue  men.    Adieu,  valour  1 


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  sonneteer.  Devise  wit,  write  pen,  for  I  am 
for  whole  volumes  in  folio.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 

SCHNE  I.    Another  part  of  the  Park.    A 
Pavilion  and  Tents  at  a  distance. 

Enter  the  Princess  of  France,  Rosaline,  Maria, 
Katharine,  Boyet,  Lords,  and  other  Attendants'. 

Boyet. 
|VT  O  W,madam,  summon  up  your  dearest  spirits 
-^  Consider  whom  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  Aquitain,  a  dowry  for  a  queen. 
Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace, 
As  nature  was  in  making  graces  dear, 
When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside, 
And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  you. 
Princess. 
Good  lord  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but  mear 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise  : 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye, 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues. 
I  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth, 
Than  you  much  wifling  to  be  counted  wise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker — Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all- telling  fame 
Doth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hath  made  a  vow, 
Till  painful  study  shall  out-wear  three  years, 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court : 
Therefore  to  us  seem'th  it  a  needful  course, 
Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gates, 
To  know  his  pleasure  ;  and  in  that  behalf, 
Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 
As  our  best  moving  fair  solicitor. 
Tell  him,  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  France, 
On  serious  business,  craving  quick  despatch, 
Importunes  personal  conference  with  his  grace 
Haste,  signify  so  much ;  while  we  attend, 
Like  humble-visag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet. 
Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go.     I  Exit. 

Princess. 

All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  yours  is  so.— 

Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords, 

That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ? 

1  Lord. 

Longaville  is  one. 

Princess. 
Know  you  the  man  ? 
Maria. 
I  know  him,  madam  :  at  a  marriage  feast, 
Between  lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
Of  Jaques  Falconbridge,  solemnized 
In  Normandy,  saw  I  this  Longaville. 
A  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteem'd  ; 
Well  fitted  in  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 


Act  ii.  Sc  i. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


163 


Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,  whose  will  still 

wills 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power. 

Princess. 
Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike  ;  Is't  so  ? 

They  say  so  most  that  most  his   humours 
know. 

Princess. 
Such  short-liv'd  wits  do  wither  as  they  grow. 
\Y  ho  are  the  rest  ? 

Katharine. 
The   young    Dumaine,   a  well-accomplish 'd 
Of  all  that  virtue  love  for  virtue  lov'd :    fjouth, 
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  Alengon's  once  ; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  I  saw 
Is  my  report  to  his  great  worthiness. 

::ie. 
Another  of  these  students  at  that  time 
Was  there  with  him  :  if  I  have  heard  a  truth, 
Biron  they  call  him  ;  but  a  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal. 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest, 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  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. 

Princess. 
God  bless  my  ladies  !  are  they  all  in  love, 
That  every  one  her  own  hath  garnished 
With  such  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Lord- 
Here  comes  Boyet. 

Re-enter  Boyet. 

Now,  what  admittance,  lord  ? 

Bo  vet. 
Navarre  had  notice  or  your  fair  approach  ; 
And  he,  and  his  competitors  in  oath, 
Were  all  address'd  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady, 
Before  1  came.   Marry,  thus  much  I  have  learnt, 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field, 
Like  one  that  comes  here  to  besiege  his  court, 
Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath, 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 
Here  comes  Navarre.  [The  ia(Uea  mask. 

Knter  King,  Longaville,  Dumainr,  Biron, 
and  Attendants. 

Fair  princess,  welcome^  to  the  court  of  Na- 
varre. 

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  fields  too 
base  to  be  mine. 

You  shall  be  welcome,  friadam,  to  my  court. 

Vx  i  11  ccs  Su. 
I  will  be  welcome  then.  '  Conduct  me  thither. 

Hear  me,  dear  lady  :  T  Rave  sworn  an  oath. 

Our  lady  help  my  lordl  ne'll  be  forsworn. 


King. 
Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will. 

Princess. 
Why,  will  shall  break  It ;  will,  and  nothing 
else. 

King. 
Your  ladyship  is  ignorant  what  it  is. 

Princess. 
Were  my  lord  so,  his  Ignorance  were  wise, 
Where  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
j  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. 

[Gives  a  paper. 
King. 
Madam,  I  will,  if  suddenly  I  may. 

Princess. 
You  will  the  sooner  that  I  were  away. 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd,  if  you  make  me  stay. 

Biron. 
Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Did  not  I  dance  witn  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

.,-.,        Biron- 
I  know  you  did. 


Sesame, 
ow  needless  was  it,  then, 
To  ask  the  question  ! 

Biron. 
You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Rosaline. 
"fis    long  of  you,  that  spur  me  with  such 
questions. 

Biron. 
Your  wit's  too  hot,  it  speeds  too  fast,  'twill 
tire. 

Not  till  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire. 

Biron. 
What  time  o'  day  ? 

The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 


Now  fair  befal  your  mask  I 

Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers'! 

.    ,        *  Biron.   , 

And  send  you  many  lovers  ! 

Rosaline. 
Amen,  so  you  be  none. 

Nay,  then  will  I  begone. ' 

Madam,  your  father  nefe  doth  intimate 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  ; 
Being  but  the  one  half  of  an  entire  sum, 
Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wars. 
But  say,  that  he,  or  we,  (as  neither  have,) 
Receiv'd  that  sum,  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  thousand  more ;  in  surety  of  the 
One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us,        [which, 
Although  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth. 
If,  then,  the  king  your  father  will  restore 
But  that  one  half  which  is  unsatisfied, 
We  will  give  up  our  right  in  Aquitain, 
And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 

But 


,64 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  n.  Sc.  l  ;! 


But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth, 

For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 

An  hundred  thousand  crowns  ;  and  not  demands, 

On  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns, 

To  have  his  title  live  in  Aquitain  ; . 

Which  we  much  rather  had  depart  withal, 

And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent, 

Than  Aquitain,  so  gelded  as  it  is. 

Dear  princess,  were  not  his  request  so  far 

From  reason's  yielding,  your  fair  self  should 

make 
A  yielding,  'gainst  some  reason  in  my  breast, 
And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  again. 
Princess. 
You  do  the  king  my  father  too  much  wrong, 
And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name, 
In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 
King. 
I  do  protest,  I  never  heard  of  it : 
And,  if  you  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back, 
Or  yield  up  Aquitain. 

Princess. 

We  arrest  your  word. 
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  interview, 
All  liberal  reason  I  will  yield  unto. 
Mean  time,  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand, 
As  honour,  without  breach  of  honour,  may 
Make  tender  of  to  thy  true  worthiness. 
You  may  not  come,  fair  princess,  in  my  gates  ; 
But  here  without  you  shall  be  so  receiv'd, 
As  you  shall  deem  yourself  lodg'd  in  my  heart, 
Though  so  denied  fair  harbour  in  my  house. 
Your  own  good  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  fare- 
To-morrow  shall  we  visit  you  again.  [well . 
Princes!. 
Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your 
grace  I 

King. 
Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place  I 

[Exeunt  Kmg  and  m»  Train. 

Biron. 
Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  mine  own  heart. 

Rosaline. 
Pray  you,  do  my  commendations  ;  1  would  be 
glad  to  see  it. 

Biron. 
I  would,  you  heard  it  groan. 

Kosaline. 
Is  the  fool  sick  ? 

Biron . 
Sick  at  the  heart. 

Rosaline. 
Alack  !  let  it  blood. 

Biron. 
Would  that  do  it  good  ? 

Rosaline. 
My  physic  says,  ay. 

Biron. 
Will  you  prick't  with  your  eye  ? 

Kosaline. 
No  point,  with  my  knife. 


Biron. 
Now,  God  save  thy  life  ! 

Rosaline. 
And  yours  from  long  living  J 

Biron. 
I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.  [Retiring. 

Dumaine. 
Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word.    What  lady  is  that 
same? 

Boyct. 
The  heir  of  Alenqon,  Rosaline  her  name. 
Dumaine. 
j      A  gallant  lady.    Monsieur,  fare  you  welL., 

Longaville. 
I  beseech  you  a  word.    What  is  she  in  the    I 
white  ? 

Boyet. 

i      A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in  the 
light. 

Longaville. 

!      Perchance,  light  in  the  light.    I  desire  her  H 
name. 

iloyet 
She  hath  but  one  for  herself;  to  desire  that, 
Were  a  shame. 

Longaville 
Pray  you,  sir,  whose  daughter  ? 

Boyet. 
Her  mother's,  I  have  heard. 
Longaville. 
God's  blessing  on  your  beard! 

Boyet 
Good  sir,  be  not  offended. 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridge. 
Longaville. 
Nay,  my  choler  is  ended. 
(  She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 

Boyet. 
Not  unlike,  sir :  that  may  be. 

[Exit  Longaville 
Biron. 
What's  her  name,  in  the  cap  ? 

Boyet. 
Katharine,  by  good  hap. 
Biron. 
Is  she  wedded,  or  no  ? 

Boyet. 
To  her  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Biron. 

0  I  you  are  welcome,  sir.    Adieu.         , 
Boyet. 

Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 

[Exit  Biron.— Ladies  unmask  | 

Maria. 
That  last  is  Biron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord : 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 
Boyet. 

And  every  jest  but  a  word. 
Princess. 
It  was  well  done  of  you  to  take  him  at  his 
word. 

Boyet. 

1  was  as  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to  board. 
Maria . 

Two  hot  sheeps,  marry  I 
Boyet. 

And  wherefore  not  ships  ? 
No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  ou  your 

lipS-  Maria. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


165 


>;  — 
You  sheep,  and  I  pasture:   shall  that  finish 
the  jest  ? 

So  y«  1  grant  pasture  for  me. 

[Offering  to  kits  her. 

Maria. 

Not  so,  gentle  beast. 
My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be. 

Boyet. 
Belonging  to  whom  ? 

Maria. 

To  my  fortunes  and  me. 
Priru 
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. 

Hovet. 
If  my  observation,  (which  very  seldom  lies,) 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetoric,  disclosed  with  eyes, 
Deceive  me  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected. 


With  what  ? 

Boyet. 
With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle,  affected. 


Rosaline. 
Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 
Boyet. 
You  are  too  hard  for  me. 
[Exeunt. 


of  hearing. 
Concolinel . 


Your  reason  ? 


l'rim'e>8 


ACT  in. 

SCENE  I.    Another  part  of  the  same 
Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 
Armado. 
\yARBLE,  child:  make  passionate  my 
of  hearing. 

Moth. 

[Singing. 

Armado. 

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? 

Armado 
How  meanest  thou  ?  brawling  in  French  ? 

Moth. 
No,  my  complete  master ;  but  to  jig  off  a  tune 


Why,  all  his  behaviours  did  make  their  retire 
To  the  court  of  his  eye,  peeping  thorough  desire : 
His  heart,  like  an  agate,  with  your  print  im- 
pressed, 
Proud  with  his  form,  in  his  eye  pride  expressed  : 
His  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see, 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eye-sight  to  be  ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  make  their  repair, 
To  feel  only  looking  on  fairestflsV  fair. 
Methought.all  his  senses  were  fock'd  in  his  eye, 
As  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy  : 
Who,  tend'ring  their  own  worth,  from  where 

they  were  glass'd, 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
His  race's  own  margin  did  quote  such  amazes, 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes. 
I'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his, 
An  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kiss. 

Princess. 
Come  to  our  pavilion :  Boyet  is  dispos'd— 

Boyet. 
But  to  speak  that  in  words,  which  his  eye 
hath  disclos'd.  | 

I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye, 
By  adding  a  tongue,  which  I  know  will  not  lie.    : 
Rosaline. 
Thou  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speak'st 
skilfully. 

Maria - 
He  Is  Cupid's  grandfather,  and  learns  news  of 
him. 

Rosaline. 
Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother,  for  her  ' 
father  is  but  grim. 

Boyet. 
Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  ? 

Maria. 

No. 
Boyet.  j 

What,  then,  do  you  see  ?  j 


at  the  tongue's  end,  canary  to  it  with  your  feet, 
humour  it  with  turning  up  your  eye-lids ;  sigh 
a  note,  and  sing  a  note  ;  sometime  through  the 


throat,  as  if  you  swallowed  love  with  singing 
love  ;   sometime  through  the  nose,  as  if  you  i 
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's  doublet, 
like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit ;  or  your  hands  in  your  . 
pocket,  like  a  man  after  the  old  painting ;  and 
keep  not  too  long  in  one  tune,  but  a  snip  and 
away.    These  are  complements,  these  are  hu-  [ 
mours  ;  these  betray  nice  wenches,  that  would 
be  betrayed  without  these,  and  make  them  men 
of  note,  (do  you  note,  men?)  that  most  are 
affected  to  these. 

Armado. 
How  hast  thou  purchased  this  experience  ? 

Moth. 
By  my  penny  of  observation. 

Armado. 
But  0,— but  O,— 

Moth. 
—  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

Armado. 
Callest  thou  my  love  hobby-horse  ? 

Moth. 
No,  master ;  the  hobby-horse  is  but  a  colt, 
and  your  love,  perhaps,  a  hackney.     But  have 
you  forgot  your  love  ? 

Armado. 
Almost  I  had. 

Moth. 
Negligent  student  I  learn  her  by  heart. 

Armado. 
By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth. 
And  out  of  heart,  master:  all  those  three  I 
will  prove. 

Armado. 
What  wilt  thou  prove  ? 

Moth. 
A  man,  If  I  live :  and  this,  by,  in,  and  without, 
upon 


i66 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  hi.  Sc. 


upon  the  instant :  by  heart  you  love  her,  because 
your  heart  cannot  come  by  her;  in  heart  you 
love  her,  because  your  heart  is  in  love  with  her ; 
and  out  of  heart  you  love  her,  being  out  of  heart 
that  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

1  am  all  these  threet. 

And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet  no- 
thing  at  all.  Armado 

Fetch  hither  the  swain :  he  must  carry  me  a 


letter. 


Moth. 


A  message  well  sympathised:  a  horse  to  be 
ambassador  for  an  ass. 

Armado. 

Ha,  ha  I  what  sayest  thou  ? 
Moth.    ' 

Marry,  sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upon  the 
horse,  for  he  is  very  slow-gaited ;  but  I  go. 
Armado. 

The  way  is  but  short.    Away  ! 
Moth. 

As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Armado. 

Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious  ? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow  ? 

Moth. 

Minime,  honest  master ;  or  rather,  master,  no. 
Armado. 


say,  lead  is  slow. 


Moth. 


You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so  : 
Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fir'd  from  a  gun  ? 
Armado. 

Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric  !  [he :  — 

He  reputes  me  a  cannon  ;  and  the  bullet,  that's 
1  shoot  thee  at  the  swain. 
Moth. 

Thump  then,  and  I  flee.      tExit- 
Armado. 

A  most  acute  ju venal ;  voluble  and  free  of 

grace !  [face: 

By  thy  favour,  sweet  welkin,  I  must  sigh  in  thy 

Most  rude  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 

My  herald  is  return'd. 

lie-cuter  Moth  with  Costard. 
Moth. 
A  wonder,  master  1  here's  a  Costard  broken  in 
a  shin. 

Armado. 

Some  enigma,  some  riddle :  come,  —  thy  Ven- 
voy;— begin. 

Costard. 

No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  V envoy]  no  salve  in 
the  male,  sir  :  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain! 
no  Venvoy,  no  Venvoy;  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plan- 

tain-  Armado. 

By  virtue,  thou  enforcest  laughter  ;  thy  silly 

thought,  my  spleen  ;   the  heaving  of  my  lungs 

provokes  me  to  ridiculous  smiling.     O,  pardon 

me,  my  stars  1     Doth  the  inconsiderate  take 

salve  for  Venvoy,  and  the  word  Venvoy  for  a 

salve?  mm  »u 

Moth. 

Do  the  wise  think  them  other  ?  is  not  Venvoy 
a  salve  ? 

Armado. 

No,  page :  it  is  an  epilogue,  or  discourse,  to 
make  plain 


'Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been 

1 1  will  example  it :  [sain. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 

!  There's  the  moral :  now  the  Venvoy. 

Moth. 

I  will  add  the  Venvoy.    Say  the  moral  again. 
Armado. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 

Moth. 
Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 
And  stay'd  the  odds  by  adding  four. 

Now  will  1  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow 

with  my  Venvoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 

Aimado. 
Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door, 
Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 

A  good  Venvoy,  ending  in  the  goose.  WTou!d 
you  desire  more  ?      . .     .     , 

The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose, 

that's  flat.—  [fat 

Sir,  your  pennyworth  is  good,  an  your  goose  be 
To  sell  a  bargain  well,  is  as  cunning  as  fast  and 

loose : 
Let  me  see,  a  fat  Venvoy  ;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 
Armado, 
Come  hither,  come  hither.    How  did  this  ar- 
gument begin  ; 

Moth. 

By  saying  that  a  Costard  was  broken  in  a 
shin. 
■  Then  call'd  you  for  the  Venvoy. 
Costard. 
True,  and  I  for  a  plantain :  thus  came  your 
argument  in  ;  [bought, 

|  Then  the  boy's  fat  Venvoy,  the  goose  that  you 
!  And  he  ended  the  market. 

Armado. 
;    But  tell  me ;  how  was  there  a  Costard  broken 
in  a  shin  ? 

Moth. 

I  will  tell  you  sensibly. 

Costard . 
Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it,  Moth :  I  will  speak 
that  Venvoy. 

1,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within, 
Fell  over  the  threshold,  and  broke  my  shin. 
Armado. 
We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 

Costard. 
Till  there  be  more  matter  in  the  shin. 

Armado. 

Sirrah  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  thee. 

Costard. 

I     O  !  marry  me  to  one  Frances  ?—  I  smell  some 

j  Venvoy,  some  goose,  in  this. 

I  Armado. 

By  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee  at 
!  liberty,  enfreedoming  thy  person :  thou  wert 
immured,  restrained,  captivated,  bound. 

Costard. 
!     True,  true  ;  and  now  you  will  be  my  purga- 
i  tion,  and  let  me  loose. 

Armado. 
I  give  thee  thy  liberty,  set  thee  from  durance ; 
and,  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  nothing  but 

this: 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


.67 


thi.s :  hear  this  significant  to  the  country  maid 
Jaquenetta.  There  is  remuneration  ;  for  the 
ben  ward  of  mine  honour  is  rewarding  my  de- 
pendents.   Moth,  follow.  [Exit. 

Moth. 
Like  the  sequel,  I — Signior  Costard,  adieu. 

Costard. 
My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh  !  my  incony 
Jew  !—  [Exit  Moth.  I 

Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remune- 
ration 1  O  !  that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  far-  ! 
things:  three  farthings,  remuneration. — "  What's 
the  price  of  this  inkle  ?  a  penny :  —  No,  I'll  give  ' 
you  a  remuneration  : "  why,  it  carries  it.  —  Ke-  I 
muneration  I — why,  it  is  a  fairer  name  than  ] 
French  crown.  1  will  never  buy  and  sell  out  of  ! 
this  word. 

I- nter  Biron. 

Biron.  1 

O,  my  good  knave  Costard!  exceedingly  well  ; 
met. 

Costard , 
Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon  may 
a  man  buy  for  a  remuneration  ? 


What  is  a  remuneration  ? 
Marry,  sir,  half- penny  farthing. 

0  1  why  then,  three-Farthing-worth  of  silk. 

1  thank  your  worship. '  God  be  wi'  you. 

Biron. 
O,  stay,  slave  '  I  must  employ  thee : 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  good  my  knave, 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat. 

When  would  you  haveit  done,  sir  ? 

~ .    , .     <v  Biron. 

O !  this  afternoon. 

Well,  I  will  do  it,  sir. '  Tare  you  well. 

0  1  thou  knowest  not  wn'at  it  Is. 

1  shall  know,  sir,  when  t  have  done  it. 

Why,  villain,  thou  must'know  first. 

1  will  come  to  your  worship  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. 

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: 

8°-  [Gives  him  money. 

Guerdon.  —  O  1  sweet  guerdon  !  better  than 
remuneration ;  eleven  pence  farthing  better. 
Most  sweet  guerdon  !— I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print. 
—Guerdon-  remuneration !  [Exit. 

O  !— And  I,  forsooth,  hi  love !  I,  that  have 
been  love's  whip ; 


A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 

A  critic,  nay,  a  night-watch  constable, 

A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy, 

Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent ! 

This  wimpled,  whining,  purblind,  way  ward  boy; 

This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid  ; 

Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms, 

Th'  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans. 

Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents, 

Dread  prince  of  plackets,  king  of  cod-pieces, 

Sole  imperator,  and  great  general 

Of  trotting  paritors,  (O  my  little  heart !) 

And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field, 

And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoop  I 

What  ?     I  love  !    I  sue  1     I  seek  a  wife  I 

A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock, 

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  perjur'd,  which  is  worst  of  all ; 

And,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all ; 

A  whitely  wanton  with  a  velvet  brow, 

With  two  pitch  balls  stuck  in  her  face  for  eye* ; 

Ay,  and,  by  heaven,  one  that  will  do  the  deed, 

Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard : 

And  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,  groan : 

Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and  some  Joan. 

[1  xit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCEXE  I.    Another  part  of  the  same. 

Enter  the  Princess,  Rosaline,  Maria,  Katharine, 
Boyet,  Lords,  Attendants,  and  a  Forester. 

"VI/"AS  that  the  king,  that  spurr'd  his  horse  so 
TT      hard 
Against  the  ste«p  uprising  of  the  hill  ? 

I  know  not ;  but,  Hhrnk,  it  was  not  he. 

Whoe'er  a'  was,  a  show'd'a  mounting  mind. 
Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  despatch  ; 
On  Saturday  we  will  return  to  France.  — 
Then,  forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush, 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in  ? 

Hereby,  upon  the  edge  of" yonder  coppice  ; 
A  stand  where  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot. 

I  thank  my  beauty,  "I  am  fair  that  shoot, 
And  thereupon  thou  speak'st  the  fairest  shoot. 

Pardon  me,  madam,  for  I  meant  not  so. 

Princess. 

What,  what  ?  first  praise  me,  and  again  say,  no? 

O,  short-liv'd  pride  1    Not  fair  ?  alack  for  woe  I 


Yes,  madam,  fair. 

Princess.  ,  . 

Nay,  never  paint  me  now  : 
Where  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  this  for  telling  true. 

for  foul  words  fs  more  than  due. ' 
Forester. 


Fair  payment 


i63 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Forester. 

Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. 
Princess. 

See,  see  !  my  beauty  will  be  sav'd  by  merit 

O  heresy  in  fair,  fit  for  these  days  !      [praise. 

A   giving  hand,  though  foul,  "shall  have  fair 
But  come,  the  bow  :  —  now  mercy  goes  to  kill, 
And  shooting  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 
Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot ; 
Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't ; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 
That  more  for  praise  than  purpose  meant  to  kill. 
And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes : 
Glory  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes,       [part, 
When,  for  fame's  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart ; 
As  1  for  praise  alone  now  seek  to  spill  [ill. 

The  poor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no 
Boyet. 

Do  not  curst  wives  hold  that  self-sovereignty 
Only  for  praise'  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ? 

Princess. 

Only  for  praise  ;  and  praise  we  may  afford 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  a  lord. 

Enter  Costard- 

Princess. 

Here  comes  a  member  of  the  commonwealth. 

Costard. 
God  dig-you-den  all.    Pray  you,  which  is  the 
head  lady  ? 

Princess. 
Thou  shalt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest  that 
have  no  heads. 

Costai  d. 
Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest  ? 

Princess 
The  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 

Costard. 

The  thickest,  and  the  tallest  ?  it  is  so  ;  truth 

is  truth  [wit, 

An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my 

One  o'  these  maids'  girdles  for  your  waist  should 

be  fit.  [thickest  here. 

Are  not  you  the  chief  woman  ?  you  are  the 

Princess. 
What's  your  will,  sir  ?  what's  your  will  ? 

Costard. 
I  have  a  letter,  from  monsieur  Biron  to  one 
lady  Rosaline. 

Princess. 
O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter !  he's  a  good  friend  of 
mine. 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer. — Boyet,  you  cau  carve ; 
Break  up  this  capon. 

Boyet. 
I  am  bound  to  serve  — 
This  letter  is  mistook  ;  it  importeth  none  here : 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Princess. 

We  will  read  it,  I  swear. 
Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  give 
J  .         ear. 

Boyet.  [Heads. 

,  "  By  heaven,  that  thou  art  fair,  is  most  infal- 
lible ;  true,  that  thou  art  beauteous  ;  truth  itself, 
jthat  thou  art  lovely.  More  fairer  than  fair, 
jbeautifnl  than  beauteous,  truer  than  truth  itself, 
jhave  commiseration  on  thy  heroical  vassal  1 
|The  magnanimous  and  most  illustrate  king  Co- 
phetua  set  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  indubitate 
ibeggar  Penelophon  ;  and  he  it  was  that  might 


rightly  say,  vent,  vidi,  via' ;  which  to  anatomize 

in  the  vulgar,  (O  base  and  obscure  vulgar  !) 

videlicet,  he  came,  saw,  and  overcame :  he  came, 

one  ;  saw,  two ;  overcame,  three.    Who  came  ? 

the  king  ;  Why  did  he  come  ?  to  see  ;  Why  did 

he  see  ?  to  overcome :  To  whom  came  he  ?  to 

the  beggar  ;  What,  saw  he  ?  the  beggar  ;  Whom 

overcame  he?  the  beggar.    The  conclusion  is 

victory  :  on  whose  side  ?  the  king's  :  the  captive 

is  enriched :  on  whose  side?  the  beggar's.     The 

catastrophe  is  a  nuptial :  on  whose  side  ?  the 

kings  ?— no,  on  both  in  one,  or  one  in  both.     I 

am  the  king,  for  so  stands  the  comparison  ;  thou 

the  beggar,  for  so  witnesseth   thy   lowliness. 

1  Shall  I  command  thy  love  ?    I  may.     Shall  I 

j  enforce  thy  love  ?    1  could.    Shall  I  entreat  thy 

j  love  ?    I  will.    What  shalt  thou  exchange  for 

i  rags?  robes;  for  tittles?  titles;  for  thyself? 

me.    Thus,  expecting  thy  reply,  I  profane  my 

i  lips  on  thy  foot,  my  eyes  on  thy  picture,  and  my 

|  heart  on  thy  every  part. 

i     "  Thine,  in  the  dearest  design  of  industry, 

"  Don  Adkiano  de  Aumado." 
"  Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Nemean  lion  roar 

'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his 
I  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." 

Prtaoeu 
What  plume  of  feathers  is  he  that  indited  this 
letter  ? 
What  vane  ?  what  weather-cock  ?  did  you  ever 
hear  better  ? 

Boy*t. 
j     I  am  much  deceiv'd,  but  I  remember    the 
style. 

Princess, 
Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it  ere- 
while. 

BoyK 

This  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps  here  in 

court ; 

A  phantasm,  a  Monarcho,  and  one  that  makes 

To  the  prince,  and  his  book-mates.  [sport 

Prinee-v 

Thou,  fellow,  a  word. 
Who  gave  thee  this  letter  ? 

Costard. 

I  told  you  ;  my  lord. 
Princess. 
;    To  whom  shouhlst  thou  give  it  ? 

Costard. 

From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 
Princess. 
From  which  lord,  to  which  lady  ? 

Costard. 
From  my  lord  Biron,  a  good  master  of  mine, 
;To  a  lady  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Rosaline. 
Princess. 
Thou  hast  mistaken  his  letter.  —  Come,  lords, 
away — 
;Here,  sweet,  put  up  this :  'twill  be  thine  another 
day.  [Exeunt  Princess  and  Train. 

Boyet. 
Who  is  the  suitor  ?  who  is  the  suitor  ? 
Rosaline. 

Shall  I  teach  you  to  know  ? 
Boyet. 
Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 

Rosalinp. 


Act  iv.  5c.  XL 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


169 


Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow. 
Finely  put  off  I 

Boyet 
My   lady   goes    to    Kill    horns  ;  but  if  thou 
marry, 
Hang  me  by  the  neck,  if  horns  that  year  mis- 
Finely  put  on  1  [carry. 

Rosaline. 
Well,  then,  I  am  the  shooter. 

Boyet 

And  who  is  your  deer  ? 
Rosaline. 
If  we  choose  by  the  horns,  yourself:  come  not 
Finely  put  on,  indeed  I —  [near. 

Maria. 
You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she 
strikes  at  the  brow. 

Boyet. 
But  she  herself  is  hit  lower.    Have  I  hit  her 
now? 

Rosaline- 
Shall  I  come  upon  thee  with  an  old  saying, 
that  was  a  man  when  king  Pepin  of  France  was  a 
little  boy,  as  touching  the  hit  it  ? 

Boyet. 
So  I  may  answer  thee  with  one  as  old,  that  was 
a  woman  when  queen  Guinever  of  Britain  was  a 
little  wench,  as  touching  the  hit  it. 

Rosaline. 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  kit  it,  hit  it, 
Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 

.     r  Boyet. 

An  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot, 
An  I  cannot,  another  can. 

[Kxeunt  Rosaline  and  Katharine. 
Costard. 
By  my  troth,  most  pleasant:  how  both  did 
fit  it! 

Maria 
A  mark  marvellous  well  shot,  for  they  both 
did  hit  [it] . 

Bojft.  . 
A  mark  1  O  !  mark  but  that  mark :  a  mark, 
says  my  lady.  [may  be. 

Let  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  mete  at,  if  it 

Maria. 
\\  ide  o'  the  bow  hand :  i'faith  your  hand  is  out. 

.   .     _     ,  Costard. 

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. 
„,  Costard. 

Then  will  she  get  the  upshot  by  cleaving  the 

pin. 

Maria. 
Come,  come,  you  talk    greasily  ;    your  lips 
grow  foul. 

(.'ostard. 
She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir :  challenge 
her  to  bowl. 

Boyet. 
I   fear  too  much   rubbing.     Good  night,  my 
good  owl.  [Kxeunt  Boyet  tn&Maria. 

Costard. 
By  my  soul,  a  swain  !  a  most  simple  clown  1 
Lord,  lord,  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him 
down  !  [vulgar  wit  1 

O    my  troth,  most  sweet  jests !  most  incony 
When  it  comes  so  smoothly  off,  so  obscenely,  as 
it  were,  so  fit.  [man  ! 

Armado  o*  the  one  side,  — O,  a  most  dainty 


:  To  see  him  walk  before  a  lady,  and  to  bear  her 
fan  !  [a'  will  swear  I  — 

;  To  see  him  kiss  his  hand  I  and  how  most  sweetly 
And  his  page  o'  t'  other  side,  that  handful  of 
;  Ah,  heavens,  it  if  a  most  pathetical  nit  1     [wit ! 
'  Sola,  sola  I  [Shouting  within. 

[Exit  Costard. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 

Enter  Holqfernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Nathaniel. 

Very  reverend  sport,  truly ;  and  done  in  the 
testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 

Holofernes. 

The  deer  was.  as  you  know,  sanguis,  —  in 

blood ;  ripe  as  the  pomewater,  who  now  hangeth 

like  a  jewel  in  the  ear  of  ccelo, — the  sky,  the 

welkin,  the  heaven  ;  and  anon  fallcth   like   a 

!  crab,  on  the  face  of  terra,  —  the  soil,  the  land, 

J  the  earth. 

Nathaniel. 
Truly,  master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are 
i  sweetly  varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least :  but 
'  sir,  I  assure  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the  first  head. 

Holofernes. 
Sir  Nathaniel,  haud  credo. 

Dull. 
'Twas  not  a  haud  credo,  'twas  a  pricket. 

Holofernes. 

Most  barbarous  intimation  1  yet  a  kind  of  in- 

i  sinuation,  as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way  of  expli- 

i  cation  ;  facere,  as  it  were,  replication,  or,  rather, 

ostentare,  to  show,  as  it  were,  his  inclination, — 

after  his  undressed,  unpolished,  uneducated,  un- 

;  pruned,  untrained,  or  rather  unlettered,  or,  ra- 

',  therest,  unconfirmed  fashion,— to  insert  again 

my  haud  credo  for  a  deer. 

Dull. 
I  said,  the  deer  was  not  a  haud  credo :  'twas  a 
pricket 

Holofernes. 
Twice  sod  simplicity,  b>'s  coctus ! —  O,  thou 
monster   ignorance,  how  deformed  dost    thou 
look! 

Nathaniel. 
Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are 
;  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it 
1  were ;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink :  his  intellect  is 
j  not  replenished  ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only 
1  sensible  in  the  duller  parts ; 
i  And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us,  that 

we  thankful  should  be 
I  (Which  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those 
parts  that  do  fructify  in  us  more  than  he ; 
For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  in- 
discreet, or  a  fool,  [him  in  a  school : 
So,  were  there  a  patch  set  on  learning,  to  see 
But,  omne  bene,  say  I ;  being  of  an  old  father's 
mind,  [wind. 
Many  can  brook  the  weather,  that  love  not  the 

Dull. 
You  two  are  book  men :  can  you  tell  by  your 
wit,  [not  five  weeks  old  as  yet  ? 

What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain"*  birth,  that's 

Holofernes. 
Dictynna,  good  man  Dull;   Dictynna,  good 
man  Dull. 

Dull. 
What  is  Dictynna  t 

Nathaniel. 
A  title  to  Phoebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 

Holofernes. 


IZ2L 


LOVE'S  LABOUK'S  LOST. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Holofernes. 

The  moon  was  a  month  old  when  Adam  was 

no  more ;  [five-score. 

And  raught  not  to  five  weeks,  when  he  came  to 

The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull. 


ceit  in  a  turf  of  earth  ;  fire  enough  for  a  flint, 

pearl  enough  for  a  swine:  'tis  pretty;  it  is  well. 

Jaquenetta. 


Good  master  parson,  be  so  good  as  read  me 

this  letter :  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and 

sent  me  from  Don  Armado :  I  beseech  you,  read 

Tis  true  indeed:  the  collusion  holds  in  the  '  *'•  u„i„r  ,„„. 

Holofernes. 

Fauste,  precor  gelidd  quando  pecus  omne  sub 
'  umbra 

]  Rwninat,— and  so  forth .  Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  ! 
I  may  speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of 
Venice : 

— Venegia,  Venegia, 
Chi  non  te  vede,  ci  non  te  pregia. 
Old  Mantuan !   old   Mantuan !     Who   under- 
standeth  thee  not,  loves  thee  not.  —  Ut,  re,  sol, 


exchange.  Holofernes. 

God  comfort  thy  capacity  !    I  say,  the  allusion 
holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull. 

And  I  6ay  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 

kill'd.  u  .  . 

Holofernes 


Sir,  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal  |  J*  ™;/^TUnduer  pardo^'  sir«  wl 
epitaph   on   the  death  of  the  deer?   and,  to    contents?  or.  rather,  as  He 
humour  the  ignorant,  I  have  call'd  the  deer  the 
princess  kill'd,  a  pricket. 

Nathaniel. 

Perge,  good  master  Holofernes,  perge;  so  it 
shall  please  you  to  abrogate  scurrility. 
Holofernes. 

I  will  something  affect  the  letter,  for  it  argues    If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I  swear 
facility.  to  love  ? 

The  preyful  princess  piere'd  and  prick'd  a  pretty        Ah>  **".  Jaith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty 


contents  ?  or,  rather,  as  Horace  says  in  his  — 
What,  my  soul,  verses  ? 

Nathaniel. 
Ay,  sir,  and  very  learned. 

Holofernes. 
Let  me  hear  a  staff,  a  stanza,  a  verse:  lege, 
domine. 

Nathaniel. 


pleasing  pricket ;  [sore  with  shooting. 

Some  say,  a  sore  ;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made 

The  dogs  did  yell ;  put  I  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps 

from  thicket ;  [hooting. 

Or  pricket  sore,  or  else  sorel  ;  the  people  fall  a 

If  sore  be  sore,  then  I  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores  ; 

0  sore  I !  [one  more  I. 

Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make,  by  adding  but 

Nathaniel. 


A  rare  talent ! 


Dull. 


If  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  claws  him  i 
with  a  talent.        „  ,  . 

Hololernes. 

This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple ;  a  i 
foolish  extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures, 
■tapes,  objects,  ideas,  apprehensions,  motions,  ! 
revolutions :  these  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of  j 
memory,  nourished  in  the  womb  of  pia  mater, 
and  delivered  upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion. 
But  the  gift  is  good  in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute, 
and  I  am  thankful  for  it. 

Nathaniel. 

Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you,  and  so  may  my 
parishioners  ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutored  by 


vowed!  [prove, 

Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  Til  faithful 

Those  thoughts  to  me  were  oaks,  to  thee  like 

osiers  bowed.  C^^» 

Study  his  bias  leaves,  and  makes  his  book  thine 

Where  all  those  pleasures  live,  that  art  would 

comprehend : 

If  knowledge  be  the  mark,  to  know  thee  shall  st{ffice. 

Well  learned  is  that  tongue,  that  well  can  thee 

commend  ;  [toonder  ; 

All  ignorant  that  soul,  that  sees  thee  without 

Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  I  thy  parts 

admire.  [dreadful  thunder, 

Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his 

Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  music,  and  sweet 

fire. 

Celestial,  as  thou  art,  0 !  pardon,  love,  this  wrong, 

That  sings  heaven's  praise  with  such  an  earthly 

tongue! 

Holofernes. 
You  find  not  the  apostrophes,  and  so  miss  the 
accent:  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.  Here 
are  only  numbers  ratified  ;  but,  for  the  elegancy, 
facility,  and  golden  cadence  of  poesy,  caret. 
Ovidius  Naso  was  the  man :  and  why,  indeed, 
Naso,but  for  smelling  out  the  odoriferous  flowers 


you,  and  their  daughters    profit  very  greatly  I  of  fancy,  the  jerks  of  invention?    Imitari  is 
under  you :  you  are  a  good  member  of  the  com- 
monwealth. ;        ■ 

Holofernes. 
Mehercle!    if  their  sons  be  ingenious,  they 
shall  want  no  instruction :  if  their  daughters  be 
capable,  I  will  put  it  to  them  ;  but,  vir  sapit,  qui 
pauca  loquitur.    A  soul  feminine  saluteth  us. 

Enter  Jaquenella  and  Costard. 

Jaquenetta. 

God  give  you  good  morrow,  master  person. 

Holofernes. 
Master  person, — quasi  pers-on.    An  if  one 
should  be  pierced,  which  is  the  one  ? 
Costard. 
Marry,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  is  likest 
to  a  hogshead. 

Holofernes. 
Of  piercing  a  hogshead  !  a  good  lustre  of  con- 


nothing"  :  so  doth  the  hound  is  master,  the  ape 
his  keeper,  the  'tired  horse  his  rider.  But 
damosella,  virgin,  was  this  directed  to  you  ? 

Jaquenetta. 
Ay,  sir,  from  one  Monsieur  Biron,  one  of  the 
strange  queen's  lords. 

Holofernes 
I  will  overglance  the  superscript.  "  To  the 
snow-white  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady 
Rosaline."  I  will  look  again  on  the  intellect  of  j 
the  letter,  for  the  nomination  of  the  party  writing  I 
to  the  person  written  unto  :  "  Your  ladyship's,  I 
in  all  desired  employment,  Biron."  Sir  Natha- 
niel, this  Biron  is  one  of  the  votaries  with  the  j 
king  ;  and  here  he  hath  framed  a  letter  to  a  se- ! 
quent  of  the  stranger  queen's,  which,  accideu-  I 
tally,  or  by  the  way  of  progression,  hath  mis- ; 

carried Trip  and  go,  my  sweet:  deliver  this 

paper  into  the  royal  hand  of  the  king ;  it  may 
concern 


JLOT1ES  3LAIBOWKS  3L<0>§T. 

Act       ♦.      5c.     3. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


I7i 


concern  much.    Stay  not  thy  compliment ;  II 
forgive  thy  duty :  adieu. 

Jaqucnetta. 
Good  Costard,  go  with  me. —  Sir,  God  sate 
your  life  ! 

Costard. 
Have  with  thee,  my  girl. 

nnt  Costard  and  Jarjuatrtta. 

Nathaniel. 
Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God, 
religiously;    and,    as    a   certain    father 


very 

saith 


Holofernes. 
Sir,  tell  not  me  of  the  father  ;  I  do  fear  colour- 
able colours.    But,  to  return  to  the  verses  :  did 
they  please  you,  sir  Nathaniel  t 

Nathaniel. 
Marvellous  well  for  the  pen. 

Holofernes, 

I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain 
pupil  of  mine ;  where  if  before  repast  it  shall 
please  you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I 
will,  on  my  privilege  I  have  with  the  parents  of 
the  foresaid  child  or  pupil,  undertake  your  ben 
venuto  ;  where  I  will  prove  those  verses  to  be 
very  unlearned,  neither  savouring  of  poetry,  wit, 
nor  invention.     I  beseech  your  society. 

Nathaniel. 
And  thank  you  too  ;  for  society  (saith  the  text) 
is  the  happiness  of  life. 

Holofernes. 
And,  certes,  the  text  most  infallibly  concludes 
it— Sir,  [To  Du!i,"<  I  do  invite  you  too:  you 
shall  not  say  me  nay:  paucaverba.  Away  !  the 
gentles  are  at  their  game,  and  we  will  to  our 
recreation.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  b'iron,  with  a  paper. 

Biron. 
The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer  ;  I  am  cours- 
ing myself :  they  have  pitch'd  a  toil ;  I  am  toil-  ' 
ing  in  a  pitch — pitch  that  defiles.  Defile  ?  a  foul 
word.  Well,  set  thee  down,  sorrow  !  for  so,  j 
they  say,  the  fool  said,  and  so  say  I,  and  I  the  i 
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, 

1  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,  1  do  love,  and  it  hath 
taught  me  to  rhyme,  and  to  be  melancholy ;  and 
here  is  part  of  my  rhyme,  and  here  my  melan- 
choly. Well,  she  hath  oneo'  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  ! 

[Gets  up  into  a  tree 

Eater  the  King,  with  a  paper. 

King. 
Ay  me! 

._     L  .BirJS?n-       .  rAside. 

Shot,  by  heaven!  —  Proceed,  sweet  Cupid: 
!  1  thou  hast  thump'd  him  with  thy  bird-bolt  under 
1    the  left  pap.— In  faith,  secrets  !— 

I  King.  [Beads. 

, ;  So  street  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  [flows : 

The  night  of  dew  that   on  my  cheeks  down 
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  shin'st  in  every  tear  that  I  do  weep ; 
No  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee  ; 

So  ridest  thou  triumphing  in  my  woe. 
Do  but  behold  the  tears  that  swell  in  me, 

And  they  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  show  : 
But  do  not  love  thyself ;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  weep. 
0  queen  of  queens,  how  far  dost  thou  excel! 
No  thought  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. 
How  shall  she  know  my  griefs  ?    I'll  drop  the 

paper. 
Sweet  leaves,  shade  folly.    Who  is  he  comes 
here?  [Steps  aiidc. 

Lnlcr  Longavillc,  with  a  paper. 
[AaMe.1     What,  Longaville!    and  reading? 
listen,  ear. 

Biron.  f  Aside. 

Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool  appear ! 

Longaville 
Ay  me  I  I  am  forsworn. 

Biron.  |  Aside. 

Why,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjurer,  wearing 
papers. 

King.  [Aside. 

In  love,  I  hope.    Sweet  fellowship  in  shame. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name. 

Longaville. 
Am  I  the  first  that  have  been  perjur'd  so  ? 

Biron.  [Aside. 

I  could  put  thee  in  comfort :  not  by  two  that  I 
know.  [society, 

Thou  mak'st  the  triumviry,  the  corner-cap  ol 
The  shape  of  love's  Tyburn,  that  hangs  up  sim- 
plicity. 

Longaville. 
I  fear  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power  to  move. 
O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love  ! 
These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  write  in  prose. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

O !   rhymes  are  guards  on   wanton   Cupid's 

Disfigure  not  his  slop.  [hose  : 

Longaville. 

This  same  shall  go.  — 
[He  reads  the  sonnet. 
Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye, 

'Gainst  whom  the  world  cannot  hold  argument, 
Persuade  my  heart  to  this  false  perjury  ? 

Vows  for  thee  broke  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  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  alldisgrace  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

Then  thou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  dost 
ExhaTst  this  vapour-vow  ;  in  thee  it  is  :    [shine, 

If  broken,  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise. 
To  lose  an  oath,  to  win  a  paradise  ? 

Biron.  [Aside. 

This  is  the  liver  vein,  which  makes  flesh  a 
deity ; 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess :  pure,  pure  Idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend  !  we  are  much  out 
o'  the  way. 

Enter 


i7i 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Enter  Dumaine,  with  a  paper. 

By  whom  shall  I  send  this  ?— Company !  stay. 
[Steps  aside. 
Biron.  [Aside. 

All  hid,  all  hid  ;  an  old  infant  play. 
Like  a  demi-god  here  sit  I  in  the  sky, 
And  wretched  fools'  secrets  heedfully  o'er-eye. 
More  sacks  to  the  mill  I  O  heavens  I  I  have  my 

wish : 
Dumaine  transform 'd  ?  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish ! 

Dumaine. 
O  most  divine  Kate  ! 

Biron.  [Aside. 

0  most  profane  coxcomb  I 

„    .  Dumaine. 

By  heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye! 

Biron.  [Aside. 

By  earth,  she  is  not :— corporal ;  there  you 
lie. 

Dumaine 
Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber  quoted. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

An  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted. 

Dumaine. 
As  upright  as  the  cedar. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

Stoop,  I  say : 
Her  shoulder  is  with  child. 

Dumaine. 

As  fair  as  day. 

Biron-  [Aside. 

Ay,  as  some  days :  but  then  no  sun  must  shine. 

Dumaine. 
O,  that  1  had  my  wish  ! 

[,ongaville.  [Aside. 

And  1  had  mine  ! 

King.  [Aside. 

And  I  mine  too,  good  lord  ! 

Biron.  [Aside. 

Amen,  so   1  had  mine.    Is  not  that  a  good 
word  ? 

Dumaine- 

1  would  forget  her  ;  but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood,  and  will  remember'd  be. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

A  fever  in  your  blood  ?  why,  then  incision 
j  Would  let  her  out  in  saucers:  sweet  misprision  I 

Dumaine. 
Once  more  I'll  read  the  ode  that  I  have  writ. 

Biron.  [Aside. 

Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can  vary  wit. 

Dumaine. 
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,  'gan  passage  find  ; 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish,d  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 
Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow; 
Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so ! 
But  alack !  my  hand  is  sworn, 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn  : 
Vow,  alack !  for  youth  unmeet, 
Youth  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thee  ; 


Thou  for  whom  Jove  would  swear 

Juno  but  an  Ethiop  were  / 

And  deny  htmselffor  Jove, 

Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 
This  will  I  send,  and  something  else  more  plain, 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 

0,  would  the  King,  Biron,  and  Longaville, 
Were  lovers  too  1    111,  to  example  ill, 

Would  from  mv  forehead  wipe  a  perjur'd  note ; 
For  none  offend,  where  all  alike  do  dote. 

Longaville.  [Advancing. 

.     Dumaine,  thy  love  is  far  from  charity, 
That  in  love's  grief  desir'st  society : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  blush,  I  know, 
To  be  o'erheard,  and  taken  napping  so. 

King-  [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, 
I  Nor  never  lay  his  wreathed  arms  athwart 
His  loving  bosom,  to  keep  down  his  heart. 
1  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  bush, 
And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  you  both  did 
blush.  [fashion, 

I    heard   your  guilty   rhymes,   observ'd   your 
Saw   sighs   reek    from    you,  noted  well  your 

passion : 
Ay  me  !  says  one  ;  O  Jove!  the  other  cries ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's 

eyes : 
You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth  ; 

[To  Longaville. 
And  Jove  for  your  love  would  infringe  an  oath. 

[  lo  Dumaine.  i 
What  will  Biron  say,  when  that  he  shall  hear 
Faith  infringed,  which  such  zeal  did  swear  ? 
How  will  he  scorn  !  how  will  he  spend  his  wit ! 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it  1 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  1  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy.  — 

[Descends  from  the  tree,  j 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  thee  pardon  me : 
iGood  heart!   what  grace   hast  thou,  thus  to 

reprove 
These  worms  for  loving,  that  art  most  in  love  ? 
;  Your  eyes  do  make  no  coaches ;  in  your  tears 
!  There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears  : 
j  You'U  not  be  perjur'd,  'tis  a  hateful  thing: 
j  Tush  !  none  but  minstrels  like  of  sonneting. 
But  are  you  not  asham'd  ?  nay,  are  you  not, 
j  All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  much  o'ershot  ? 
;  You  found  his  mote ;  the  king  your  mote  did   • 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  each  of  three.         [see ; 
;  O  !  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  Netfor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys, 
And  critic  Timon  laugh  at  idle  toys  ! 
Where   lies   thy   grief?     0 1    tell  me,   good 

Dumaine : 
And,  gentle  Longaville,  where  lies  thy  pain  ? 
And  where  my  hege's  ?  all  about  the  breast :  — 
A  caudle,  ho  1 

King. 
Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 
Are  we  betrayed  thus  to  thy  over-view  ? 
Biron. 
Not  you  by  me,  but  I  betray'd  to  you  : 

1,  that  am  honest ;  I,  that  hold  it  sin 

To 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


LOVE  S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


171 


To  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in  ; 
1  am  betray'd,  by  keeping  company 
With  men,  like  men  of  strange  inconstancy. 
When  shall  you  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyme  ? 
Or  groan  for  Joan?  or  spend  a  minute's  time 
In  pruning  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  1    Whither  away  so  fast  ? 
A  true  man,  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so  ? 

Biron. 
I  post  from  love ;  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

Kntt-r  Jaquenetta  and  Custard 
Jaquenetta. 
God  bless  the  king  1 

King. 
What  present  hast  thou  there  ? 
Costard. 
Some  certain  treason. 

King. 

What  makes  treason  here  ? 
Oostani . 
Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 
King. 
If  it  mar  nothing  neither, 
The  treason  and  you  go  in  peace  away  together. 
JaqnenetU. 
I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read : 
Our  parson  misdoubts  it ;    'twas  treason,  he 
said. 

King. 
Biron,  read  it  over.     [Biron  reads  the  letter. 
Where  had'st  thou  it? 

Jaquenetta. 
Of  Costard. 

King. 
Where  had'st  thou  it  ? 

t/ostard. 
Of  Dun  Adramadio,  Dun  Adramadio. 

King. 
How  now  !  what  is  in  you  ?  why  dost  thou 
tear  it  ? 

Birou. 
A  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy :  your  grace  needs  not 
fear  it  ? 

tvflle. 
It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore 
let's  hear  it. 

Dumalne. 
It  Is  Biron't  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 
[Picking  up  the  pieces. 
Biron. 
Ah,  you  whoreson  loggerhead  !  [To  Coitard.] 
you  were  born  to  do  me  shame.  — 
Guilty,  my  lord,  guilty  I  I  confess,  1  confess. 
King 
What? 

Blrou. 
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  1  dismiss  this  audience,  and  I  shall  tell  you 
more. 

Dumaiue 
Now  the  number  is  even. 
Biron. 

True,  true ;  we  are  four.  — 
Will  these  turtles  be  gone  ? 


King. 

Hence,  sirs  ;  away  I 
Coitard. 
Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  traitors 
stay.      [l-.xeunt  Costard  and  Jaquenetta. 

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  ? 

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,  stricken  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  inspir'd  thee  now  ? 
My  love,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon, 
She,  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  a  light. 
Biron 
My  eyes  are  then  no  eyes,  nor  I  Biron. 

O  !  but  for  my  love,  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  1     O  1  she  needs  it  not : 
To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs  ; 
She  passes  praise  ;  then  praise  too  short  doth 
blot. 
A  wither'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn, 
Might  shake  off  fifty,  looking  in  her  eye: 
Beauty  doth  varnish  age,  as  if  new-born, 

And  gives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  infancy. 
O  !  'tis  the  sun,  that  maketh  all  things  shine  1 
King. 
By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
BirAD 
Is  ebony  like  her  ?    O  wood  divine  I 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
O  1  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  scowl  of  night ; 
And  beauty's  crest  becomes  the  heavens  well. 
Biron 
Devils  soonest  tempt,  resembling  spirits  of 
light. 
O  1  if  in  black  my  lady's  brows  be  deck'd, 

It  mourns,  that  painting,  and  usurping  hair, 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  false  aspect ; 

And  therefore  is  she  born  to  make  black  fair. 
Her  favour  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. 
DumaiiiP. 
To  look  like  her  are  chimney-sweepers  black,     i 
Longaville. 


»7+ 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m. ! 


Longaville. 
And  since  her  time  are  colliers  counted  bright. 

King. 

And  Ethiops  of  their  sweet  complexion  crack. 
Dumaine. 

Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is  light. 
Biron. 

Your  mistresses  dare  never  come  in  rain, 
For  fear  their  colours  should  be  wash'd  away. 
King. 
Twere  good,  yours   did ;  for,  sir,  to  tell  you 
plain, 
I'll  find  a  fairer  face  not  wash'd  today. 
Biron. 
I'll  prove  her  fair,  or  talk  till  doomsday  here. 
King. 
No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as  she. 
Dumaine. 
I  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuff  so  dear. 
Longaville. 
Look,  here's  thy  love :  my  foot  and  her  face 

6ee.  „. 

Biron. 

O  I  if  the  streets  were  paved  with  thine  eyes, 
Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  tread. 
Dumaine. 
O  vile  !  then,  as  she  goes,  what  upward  lies 
The  street  should  see,  as  she  walk'd  over 
head.  Tr. 

King. 

But  what  of  this  ?    Are  we  not  all  in  love  ? 
Biron. 
O  1  nothing  so   sure  ;  and   thereby  all   for-  j 
sworn. 

King. 

Then  leave  this  chat ;   and,  good  Biron,  now  • 
prove 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn. 
Dumaine. 
Ay,  marry,  there  ;  some  flattery  for  this  evil. 
Longaville. 
O  !  some  authority  how  to  proceed ; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,  how  to  cheat  the; 
devil. 

Oummne 

Some  salve  for  perjury. 
Biron 
O  !  tis  more  than  need.  —  i 
Have  at  you,  then,  affection's  men  at  arms. 
Consider,  what  you  first  did  swear  unto  ;  — 
To  fast,  —  to  study,  —  and  to  see  no  woman : 
Flat  treason  'gainst  the  kingly  state  of  youth. 
Say,  can  you  fast  ?  your  stomachs  are  too  young, 
And  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 
And  where  that  you  have  vow'd  to  study,  lords, 
In  that  each  of  you  hath  forsworn  his  book, 
Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,  and  thereon  look  ? 
For  when  would  you,  my  lord,  or  you,  or  you,    \ 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence,      i 
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 ! 
Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up  [fire,  j 

The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries, 
As  motion,  and  long-during  action,  tires 
The  sinewy  vigour  of  the  traveller. 
Now,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face, 
You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes, 
And  study,  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow  ; 
For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world, 
Teaches  such  beauty  as  a  woman's  eye  ? 


Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  ourself, 
And  where  we  are,  our  learning  likewise  is : 
Then,  when  ourselves  we  see  in  ladies'  eyes, 
With  ourselves, 

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  you,  or  you, 
In  leaden  contemplation  have  found  out 
Such  fiery  numbers,  as  the  prompting  eyes 
Of  beauty's  tutors  have  enrich 'd  you  with  ? 
Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain, 
And  therefore,  finding  barren  practisers, 
Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil ; 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes, 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain, 
But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power, 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 
When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd : 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible, 
Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails  : 
Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  in 
For  valour  is  not  love  a  Hercules,  [taste. 

Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides? 
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  1  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 
And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive : 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  Academes, 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world, 
Else  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent. 
Then,  fools  you  were  these  women  to  forswear, 
Or,  keeping  what  is  sworn,  you  will  prove  fools. 
For  wisdom's  sake,  a  word  that  all  men  love, 
Or  for  love's  sake,  a  word  that  loves  all  men, 
Or  for  men's  sake,  the  authors  of  these  women, 
Or  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men, 
Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths,  to  find  ourselves, 
Or  else  we  lose  ourselves  to  keep  our  oaths. 
It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn  ; 
For  charity  itself  fulfils  the  law, 
And  who  can  sever  love  from  charity  ? 
King. 

Saint  Cupid,  then  !  and,  soldiers,  to  the  field  ! 
Biron. 

Advance  your  standards,  and  upon  them,  lords! 
Pell-mell,  down  with  them  !  but  be  first  advis'd, 
In  conflict  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 
Longaville. 

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 
thitber ; 
Then,  homeward,  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress.     In  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them, 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape  ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  merry  hours, 
Fore-run   fair    Love,   strewing  her  way  with 
flowers. 

Km«. 


lOT  V-    Sc.  I. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


'7* 


King. 
Away,  away  !  no  time  shall  be  omitted. 
That  will  be  time,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 

Biron. 
AUons!  aUons! — Sow'd  cockle  reap'dnocorn; 
And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure: 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  for- 
sworn. 
If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 

9  [Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Halojemes,  Sir  Nathanul,  and  Dull. 
Holofernes. 
OA  TIS  quod  sufficit. 

Nathaniel. 
I  praise  God  for  you,  sir :  your  reasons  at  din- 
ner have  been  sharp  and  sententious  ;  pleasant 
without  scurrility,  witty  without  affection,  au- 
dacious without  impudency,  learned  without 
opinion,  and  strange  without  heresy.  I  did 
converse  this  quondam  day  with  a  companion  of 
the  king's,  who  is  intituled,  nominated,  or  called, 
Don  Adriano  de  Atmado. 

Novi  hominem  tanquam  te:  his  humour  is 
lofty,  his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed, 
his  eye  ambitious,  his  gait  majestical,  and  his 
general  behaviour  vain,  ridiculous,  and  thra- 
sonical. He  is  too  picked,  too  spruce,  too  af- 
fected, too  odd,  as  it  were,  too  perigrinate,  as  I 
may  call  it. 

Nathaniel. 

A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet 

[Draws  out  his  table-book. 

Holofernes. 

He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity 
finer  than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor 
such  fanatical  phantasms,  such  insociable  and 
point-devise  companions ;  such  rackers  of  or- 
thography, 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,  I 
cauf;  half,  hauf;  neighbour  vocatur  nebour  ; 
neigh  abbreviated  ne.  This  is  abhominable,  I 
(which  he  would  call  abominable,)  it  insinuateth 
me  of  insanie :  ne  intetligis  dominef  to  make 
frantic,  lunatic. 

Nathaniel. 

Laus  Deo,  bone  intelligo. 

Holofernes. 
Bone?  —  bone,  for  bene :    Priscian  a  little 
scratch'd ;  'twill  serve. 

Enter  Armado,  Moth,  and  Costard. 

Nathaniel. 
Fidesne  quis  venitf 

Holofernes. 
I      Video,  et  gaudeo. 

Armado. 
Chirrah  I  [To  Moth. 

Holofernes. 
Quare  Chirrah,  not  sirrah  ? 

;  Armado. 

Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 


Holoit  i 
Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Moth. 
They  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages, 
and  stolen  the  scraps. 

Costard. 

0  !  they  have  lived  long  on  the  alms-basket 
of  words.  I  marvel  thy  master  hath  not  eaten 
thee  for  a  word  j  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the 
head  as  honorificabilitudinitattbus ;  thou  art 
easier  swallowed  than  a  flap-dragon. 

Moth. 
Peace !  the  peal  begins. 

Armado. 
Monsieur,  [To  Holofernes.}  are  you  not  let- 
tered ?  3 
Moth. 
Yes,  yes  ;  he  teaches  boys  the  horn-book.— 
What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward  with  the  horn  on 
his  head  ? 

Holofernes. 
Ba,  pueritia,  with  a  horn  added. 
Moth. 

Ba  !  most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn You  hear 

his  learning. 

Holofernes. 
Quis,  quis,  thou  consonant  ? 

Moth. 
The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat 
them;  or  the  fifth,  if  I. 

Holofernes. 

1  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i.— 

Moth. 
The  sheep  :  the  other  two  concludes  it ;  o,  u. 

Armado. 
Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterranean, 
a  sweet  touch,  a  quick  venew  of  wit !  snip,  snap, 
quick  and  home:  it  rejoiceth  my  intellect ;  true 
wit! 

Moth. 
Offer'd  by  a  child  to  an  old  man ;  which  is 
wit-old. 

Holofernes. 
What  is  the  figure  ?  what  is  the  figure  ? 

Moth. 
Horns. 

Holofernes. 
Thou  disputest  like  an  infant:  go,  whip  thy 
gig- 
Moth. 
Lend  me  your  horn  to  make  one,  and  I  will 
whip  about  your  infamy  circum  circd.    A  gig  of 
a  cuckold's  horn  I 

Costard. 
An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world,  thou 
shouldst  have  it  to  buy  gingerbread :  hold,  there 
is  the  very  remuneration  I  had  of  thy  master, 
thou  half-penny  purse  of  wit,  thou  pigeon-egg  of 
discretion.  O  !  an  the  heavens  were  so  pleased, 
that  thou  wert  but  my  bastard,  what  a  joyful 
father  would'st  thou  make  me.  Go  to  ;  thou 
hast  it  ad  dunghill,  at  the  fingers'  ends,  as  they 
say. 

Holofernes. 
O !  I  smell  false  Latin  ;  dunghill  for  unguem. 

Armado. 

Arts-man,  prceambula :    we  will  be  singled 

from  the  barbarous.     Do  you  not  educate  youth 

at  the  charge-house  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ? 

Holofernes. 

Or  mons,  the  hill. 

Armado. 
At  your  sweet  pleasure  for  the  mountain. 

Holofernes. 


*li 


LOVE'S  LABOUli'S  LOST. 


Act  v.  Sc.  l 


Holofernes. 

I  do,  sans  question. 

Armado. 

Sir,  it  is  the  king's  most  sweet  pleasure  and 
affection,  to  congratulate  the  princess  at  her 
pavilion  in  the  posteriors  of  this  day,  which  the 
rude  multitude  call  the  afternoon. 
Holofernes. 

The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous  sir,  is 
liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  the  after- 
noon :  the  word  is  well  cull'd,  chose ;  sweet  and 
apt,  I  do  assure  you,  sir  ;  I  do  assure. 
Armado. 

Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman,  and  my 
familiar,  I  do  assure  you,  very  good  friend. —  I 
For  what  is  inward  between  us,  let  it  pass — I 
do  beseech  thee,  remember  thy  courtesy; — I, 
beseech  thee,  apparel  thy  head :  —  and  among 
other  important  and  most  serious  designs, — and 
of  great  import  indeed,  too,  — but  let  that  pass  ; 

—  for  1  must  tell  thee,  it  will  please  his  grace 
(by  the  world)  sometime  to  lean  upon  my  poor 
shoulder,  and  with  his  royal  finger,  thus  dally 
with  my  excrement,  with  my  mustachio:  but, 
sweet  heart,  let  that  pass.  By  the  world,  1 
recount  no  fable  :  some  certain  special  honours 
it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart  to  Armado,  a 
soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  hath  seen  the 
world  ;  but  let  that  pass — The  very  all  of  all  is, 
—but,  sweet  heart,  1  do  implore  secrecy,  —  that 
the  king  would  have  me  present  the  princess, 
sweet  chuck,  with  some  delightful  ostentation, 
or  show,  or  pageant,  or  antick,  or  fire-work.  I 
Now,  understanding  that  the  curate  and  your  i 
sweet  self  are  good  at  such  eruptions,  and  sudden 
breaking  out  of  mirth,  as  it  were,  I  have  ac- 1 
quainted  you  withal,  to  the  end  to  crave  your 
assistance.  .,  ,  , 

Holofernes 

Sir,  you  shall  present  before  her  the  nineS 
Worthies. —  Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some1 
entertainment  of  time,  some  show  in  the  poste- 
rior of  this  day,  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistance, 

—  the  king's  command,  and  this  most  gallant, 
illustrate,  and  learned  gentleman, — before  the 
princes*,  1  say,  none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  nine 
Worthies. 

Nathaniel 

Where  will  you  find  men  worthy  enough  to 
present  them  1       , ,  .  , 

Holofernes 

Joshua,  yourself ;  myself,  or  this  gallant  gen- 
tleman, Judas  Maccabeus  ;  this  swain,  (because 
of  his  great  limb  or  joint,)  shall  pass  Pompey 
the  great ;  the  page,  Hercules. 
Armado. 
Pardon,  sir ;  error :  he  is  not  quantity  enough 
for  that  worthy's  thumb  :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the 
end  of  his  club. 

Holofernes. 
Shall  I  have  audience  ?  he  shall  present  Her- 
cules in  minority:  his  enter  and  exit  shall  be 
strangling  a  snake ;  and  I  will  have  an  apology 
for  that  purpose       „    . 
r    v  Moth. 

An  excellent  device  1  so,  if  any  of  the  audience  [ 
hiss,  you  may  cry,  "  Well  done,  Hercules  I  now  i 
thou  crustiest  the  snake  1"  that  is  the  way  to 
make  an  offence  gracious,  though  few  have  the  j 
grace  to  do  it. 

Armado. 
For  the  rest  of  the  Worthies  ?— 

Holofernes. 
I  will  play  three  myself. 


Moth. 
Thrice-worthy  gentleman  1 
Armado. 
Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing  ? 

Holofernes. 
We  attend. 

Armado. 
We  will  have,  if  this  fadge  not,  an  antick.    I 
beseech  you,  follow. 

Holofernes. 
Via!  —  Goodman  Dull,  thou  hast  spoken  no 
word  all  this  while. 

Dull. 
Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 

Holofernes. 
AUons !  we  will  employ  thee. 

Dull. 
I'll  make  one  in  a  dance,  or  so  ;  or  I  will  play 
on  the  tabor  to  the  Worthies,  and  let  them  dance 
the  hay. 

Holofernes. 
Most  dull,  honest  Dull    To  our  sport,  away  ! 
r  [exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Another  part  of  the  same.    Before 
the  Princess's  Pavilion. 


Enter  the 


Princess,  Katharine, 
Maria. 


Jlosaline,  and 


Princess. 
Sweet  hearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart, 
If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in  : 
A  lady  wall'd  about  with  diamonds  1  — 
Look  you,  what  I  have  from  the  loving  king. 
Rosaline. 
Madam,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that  ? 

Princess. 
Nothing  but   this  ?   yes ;   as  much  love  in 
rhyme, 
As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper, 
Writ  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  margin  and  all, 
That  he  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid's  name. 
Rosaline. 
That  was  the  way  to  make  his  god-head  wax ; 
For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 
Katharine. 
Ay,  and  a  shrewd  unhappy  gallows  too. 

Rosaline. 
You'll  ne'er  be  friends  with  him:  a'  kill'd 
your  sister. 

Katharine. 
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  a'  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died  ; 
And  so  may  you,  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 
Rosaline. 
What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,  of  this 
light  word  ? 

Katharine. 
A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark. 

Rosaline. 
We  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning  out. 

Katharine. 
You'll  mar  the  light  by  taking  it  in  snuff; 
Therefore,  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 
Rosaline. 
Look,  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'  the  dark. 

Katharine. 
So  do  not  you,  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

'     *        '  6         Rosaline. 


Act  v.  i'c.  u. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


■77 


Rosaline. 
Indeed,  I  weigh  not  you,  and  therefore  light. 

Katharine. 
You  weigh  me  not?— O  !  that's  you  care  not 
for  me. 

Rosaline. 
Great  reason  ;  for,  past  cure  is  still  past  care. 

Princess. 
Well  bandied  both  ;  a  set  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But  Rosaline,  you  have  a  favour  too : 
Who  sent  it  ?  and  what  is  it  ? 
Rosaline. 

I  would  you  knew  : 
An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  your's, 
My  favour  were  as  great :  be  witness  this. 
Nay,  1  have  verses  too,  I  thank  liiron.         [too, 
The  numbers  true ;  and,  were  the  numb'ring 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  ground : 
I  am  compar'd  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O  1  he  hath  drawn  my  picture  in  his  letter. 
Princess. 
Any  thing  like  ? 

Rosaline. 
Much,  in  the  letters,  nothing  in  the  praise. 

Princess. 
Beauteous  as  ink :  a  good  conclusion. 

Katharine. 
Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy-book. 

Rosaline. 
'Ware  pencils !   How  ?  let  me  not  die  your 
debtor, 
My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter : 
O,  that  your  face  were  not  so  full  of  O's  1 
Princess. 
A  pox  of  that  jest  I  and  I  beshrew  all  shrows  ! 
But,  Katharine,  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair 
Dumaine  ? 

Katharine. 
Madam,  this  glove. 

Princess. 

Did  he  not  send  you  twain  ? 
Katharine. 
Yes,  madam  ;  and,  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faithful  lover : 
A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy. 
Vilely  compil'd,  profound  simplicity. 
Maria. 
This,  and  these  pearls  to  me  sent  LongaviUe  : 
The  letter  is  too  long  by  half  a  mile. 
Princess. 
I  think  no  less.    Dost  thou  not  wish  in  heart, 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short  ? 
Maria. 
Ay,  or  I  would  these  hands  might  never  part. 

Princess. 
We  are  wise  girls  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

Rosaline 
They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
That  same  Biron  I'll  torture  ere  1  go. 
O  !  that  I  knew  he  were  but  in  by  the  week  ! 
How  I  would  make  him  fawn,  and  beg,  and  seek, 
And  wait  the  season,  and  observe  the  times, 
And  spend  his  prodigal  wits  in  bootless  rhymes, 
And  shape  his  service  wholly  to  my  behests, 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that 

jests  ! 
So  portent-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state, 
That  he  should  be  my  fool,  and  I  his  fate. 
Princess 
None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are 
catch  *d, 


As  wit  turn'd  fool :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd, 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school, 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fooL 
Rosaline. 
The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  such  excess, 
As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 
Maria. 
Folly  in  fools  bears  not  so  strong  a  note, 
As  foolery  in  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote; 
Since  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply, 
To  prove  by  wit  worth  in  simplicity. 
Enter  Boyet. 
Princess. 
Here  comes  Boyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face. 

Boyet. 
O  !  I  am  stabb'd  with  laughter.    Where's  her 
grace  ? 

Princess. 
Thy  news,  Boyet  t 

Boyet. 

Prepare,  madam,  prepare  I 
Arm,  wenches,  arm  !  encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace.    Love  doth  approach  dis- 

guis'd, 
Armed  in  arguments  :  you'll  be  surpris'd. 
Muster  your  wits  ;  stand  in  your  own  defence, 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 
Princess. 
Saint  Dennis  to  saint  Cupid !   What  are  they, 
That  charge  their  breath  against  us  ?  say,  scout, 
say. 

Boyet. 
Under  the  cool  shade  of  a  sycamore, 
I  thought  to  close  mine  eyes  some  half  an  hour, 
When,  lo  1  to  interrupt  my  purpos'd  rest, 
Toward  that  shade  I  might  behold  addrest 
The  king  and  his  companions  :  warily 
1  stole  into  a  neighbour  thicket  by. 
And  overheard  what  you  shall  overhear  ; 
That  by  and  by  disguis'd  they  will  be  here. 
Their  herald  is  a  pretty  knavish  page, 
That  well  by  heart  hath  conn'd  his  embassage: 
Action,  and  accent,  did  they  teach  him  there; 
"  Thus  must  thou  speak,  and  thus  thy  body 

bear : " 
And  ever  and  anon  they  made  a  doubt 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out ; 
"  For,"  quoth  the  king, "  an  angel  shalt  thou  see ; 
Yet  fear  not  thou,  but  speak  audaciously." 
The  boy  replied,  "  An  angel  is  not  evil ; 
1  should  have  feared  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'dand  swore 
A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before : 
Another,  with  his  tinger  and  his  thumb, 
Ory'd  *'  Via  !   we  will  dot,  come  what  will 
come:"  [well:" 

The  third  he  caper'd,  and  cried,  "  All   goes 
The  fourth  turn'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  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. 
Princess. 
But  what,  but  what,  come  they  to  visit  us  ? 

Boyet. 
They  do,  they  do  ;  and  are  apparel'd  thus,— 
Like  Muscovites,  or  Russians :  as  I  guess, 
Their  purpose  is,  to  parle,  to  court,  and  dance  ; 
And  every  one  his  love-feat  will  advance 
Unto  his  several  mistress  ;  which  they'll  know 
By  favours  several  which  they  did  bestow. 

K  Princess. 


/ 


i/8 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Acr  v.  Sc.  ii. 


Princess. 
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  favour  thou  shalt  wear, 
And  then  the  king  will  court  thee  for  his  dear : 
Hold,  take  thou  this,  my  sweet,  and  give  me 

thine, 
So  shall  Biron  take  me  for  Rosaline.—      [loves 
And  change  you  favours,  too;  so  shall  your 
Woo  contrary,  deceiv'd  by  these  removes. 

Rosaline. 
Come  on  then :  wear  the  favours  most  in  sight. 

Katharine. 
But  in  this  changing  what  is  your  intent  ? 

Princess. 
The  effect  of  my  intent  is,  to  cross  theirs  : 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merriment; 
And  mock  for  mock  is  only  my  intent. 
Their  several  counsels  they  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook ;  and  so  be  mock'd  withal, 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet, 
With  visages  display'd,  to  talk,  and  greet. 

Rosaline. 
But  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  us  to't  ? 

Princess. 

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. 

Princess. 
Therefore  I  do  it ;  and,  I  make  no  doubt, 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  o'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  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumaine, 
in  Russian  habits,  and  masked ;  Moth,  Musi- 
cians, and  Attendants. 

Moth. 
"  All  hail,  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth  ! " 

Biron. 
Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  taffata. 

Moth. 
"  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames, 

[The  Ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him. 
That  ever  lurn'd  their  backs  to  mortal  views  ! " 

Biron. 

"  Their  eyes,"  villain, '« their  eyes." 

Moth. 
"  That  ever  tum'd  their  eyes  to  mortal  views ! 
Out—" 

Boyet. 
True ;  "  out,"  indeed. 

Moth. 
"  Out  of  your  favours,  heavenly  spirits,  vouch- 
Not  to  behold"—  [safe 
Biron. 
"  Once  to  behold,"  rogue. 


Moth. 
"  Once  to  behold  with  your  sun-beamed  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. 

Rosaline. 
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  visitation. 

Rosaline. 
What  would  they,  say  they  ? 

Boyet. 
Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Rosaline. 
Why,  that  they  have ;   and  bid  them  so  be 
gone. 

Boyet. 
She  says,  you  have  it,  and  you  may  be  gone. 

King. 
Say  to  her,  we  have  measur'd  many  miles, 
To  tread  a  measure  with  her  on  this  grass. 
Boyet. 
They  say,  that  they  have  measur'd  many  a 
mile, 
To  tread  a  measure  with  you  on  this  grass. 
Rosaline. 
It  is  not  so :  ask  them  how  many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile  ?  if  they  have  measur'd  many, 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 
Boyet. 
If,  to  come  hither  you  have  measur'd  miles, 
And  many  miles,  the  princess  bids  you  tell, 
How  many  inches  do  fill  up  one  mile. 
Biron. 
Tell  her,  we  measure  them  by  weary  steps. 

Boyet. 
She  hears  herself. 

Rosaline. 
How  many  weary  steps, 
Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'ergone, 
Are  number'd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile  ? 
Biron. 
We  number  nothing  that  we  spend  for  you : 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite, 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face, 
That  we,  like  savages,  may  worship  it. 
Rosaline. 
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  eyne. 
Rosaline. 
O,  vain  petitioner  !  beg  a  greater  matter ; 
Thou   now  request'st   but   moonshine  in  the 
water. 

King. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


i;9 


King. 
Then,  in  our  measure  do  but  youchsafe  one 
change. 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  ;  this  begging  is  not  strange. 

Rosaline. 
Play,  music,  then  I  nay,  you  must  do  it  soon. 
[Music  plays. 
Not  yet;  — no  dance:  — thus  change  I  like  the 
moon. 

King. 
Will  you  not  dance?    How  come  you  thus 
estranged  ? 

Rosaline. 
You  took  the  moon  at  full,  but  now  she's 
changed. 

King. 

Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 

The  music  plays :  vouchsafe  some  motion  to  it. 

Rosaline. 

Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 

King. 

But  your  legs  should  do  it. 
Rosaline. 
Since  you  are  strangers,  and  come  here  by 
chance,  [dance. 

We'll  not  be  nice.    Take  hands :  —  we  will  not 
King. 
Why  take  we  hands  then  ? 
Rosaline. 

Only  to  part  friends 

Court'sy,  sweet  hearts ;  and  so  the  measure  ends. 

King. 

More  measure  of  this  measure :  be  not  nice. 

Rosaline. 
We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 

King. 
Prize  you  yourselves  ?  What  buys  your  com- 
pany? 

Rosaline. 
Your  absence  only. 

King. 

That  can  never  be. 

Rosaline. 

Then  cannot  we  be  bought ;  and  so  adieu. 

Twice  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  you  ! 

King. 

If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chat. 

Rosaline. 
In  private  then. 

King. 

I  am  best  pleas'd  with  that 
[They  converse  apart. 
Biron. 
White-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  word  with 
thee. 

Princess. 
Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar:  there  are  three. 

Biron. 
Nay  then,  two  treys,  (an  if  you  grow  so  nice) 
Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsey. — Well  run,  dice  1 
There's  half  a  dozen  sweets. 

Princess. 

Seventh  sweet,  adieu. 
Since  you  can  cog,  I'll  play  no  more  with  you. 

Biron. 
One  word  in  secret. 

Princess. 

Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

.  Biron. 

Thou  griev'st  my  gall. 


calf? 


Princess. 

Gall  ?  bitter. 

Biron. 

Therefor*  meet. 
[They  converse  apart. 

Dumaine. 
Will   you  vouchsafe  with   me   to  change  a 
word  ? 

Maria. 
Name  it. 

Dumaine. 
Fair  lady,— 

Maria. 

Say  you  so  ?  Fair  lord — 
Take  that  for  your  fair  lady. 

Dumaine. 

Please  it  you, 
As  much  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adieu. 

[They  converse  apart. 

Katharine. 
What,  was  your  visor  made  without  a  tongue? 

Longaville. 
I  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 

Katharine. 
O,  for  your  reason  l  quickly,  sir  ;  I  long. 

Longaville. 
You  have  a  double  tongue  within  your  mask, 
And  would  afford  my  speechless  visor  half. 

Katharine. 
Veal,  quoth  the  Dutchman — Is  not  veal  a 

Longaville. 
A  calf,  fair  lady  ? 

Katharine. 

No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 
Longaville. 
Let's  part  the  word. 

Katharine. 

No  ;  I'll  not  be  your  half : 
Take  all,  and  wean  it :  it  may  prove  an  ox. 
Longaville. 
Look,  how  you  butt  yourself  in  these  sharp 
mocks. 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady  ?  do  not  so. 
Katherine. 
Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 

Longaville. 
One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  I  die. 

Katharine. 
Bleat  softly  then :  the  butcher  hears  you  cry. 
[They  converse  apart. 
Boyet. 
The  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  as  keen 

As  is  the  razor's  edge  invisible, 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen  ; 

Above  the  sense  of  sense,  so  sensible 
Seemeth  their  conference  ;  their  conceits  have 
wings,  [swifter  things. 

Fleeter   than   arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought, 
Rosaline. 
Not  one  word  more,  my  maids:  break  off, 
break  off. 

Biron. 
By  heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff  1 

King. 
Farewell,  mad  wenches:    you   have   simple 
wits. 
[Exeunt  King,  Lords,    Moth,  Music,  and 
Attendant* 

Princess,  j 


Jo 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  v.  Se.  il 


Princess. 
Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen  Muscovites. — 
Are  these  the  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at  ? 
Boyet. 
Tapers   they  are,  with  your  sweet   breaths 
puflF'd  out. 

Rosaline. 
Well-liking  wits  they  have ;  gross,  gross ;  fat, 
fat. 

Princess. 
O,  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout !     [night, 
Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to- 

Or  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Biron  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 
Rosaline. 
They  were  all  in  lamentable  cases  ! 
The  king  was  weeping-ripe  for  a  good  word. 
Princess. 
Biron  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 
Maria. 
Dumaine  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword  : 
No  point,  quoth  I :  my  servant  straight  was 
mute. 

Katharine. 
Lord  Longaville  said,  I  came  o'er  his  heart ; 
And  trow  you,  what  he  call'd  me  ? 
Princess. 

.,    .  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Katharine. 
Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Princess. 

Go,  sickness  as  thou  art ! 
Rosaline. 
Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain  statute- 
caps. 
But  will  you  hear  ?  the  king  is  my  love  sworn. 
Princess. 
And  quick  Biron  hath  plighted  faith  to  me. 
Katharine. 
And  Longaville  was  for  my  service  born. 
Maria. 
Dumaine  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. 
Princess. 
Will  they  return  ? 

Boyet. 
They  will,  they  will,  God  knows  ; 
And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  are  lame  with 
blows :  [pair, 

Therefore,  change  favours  ;  and,  when  they  re- 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 
Princess. 
How  blow  ?  how  blow  ?  speak  to  be  under- 
stood. 

Boyet. 

Fair  ladies,  mask'd,  are  roses  in  their  bud  : 

Dismask'd,  their   damask   sweet   commixture 

shown, 
Are  angels  vailing  clouds  or  roses  blown. 
Princess. 
Avaunt  perplexity  !  What  shall  we  do, 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo  ? 
Rosaline. 
Good  madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd, 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well,  known,  as  dis- 

guis'd. 
Let  us  complain  to  them  what  fools  were  liere, 
Disguis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear  ; 


And  wonder,  what  they  were,  and  to  what  end 
Their  shallow  shows,  and  prologue  vilely  penn'd 
And  their  rough  carriage  so  ridiculous, 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  us. 
Boyet. 
Ladies,  withdraw  :  the  gallants  are  at  hand. 

Princess. 
Whip  to  our  tents,  asroes  run  over  land. 
[Exeunt  Princess,  Rosaline,  Katharine,  and 
Maria. 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Du- 
maine, in  their  proper  habits. 

King. 
Fair  sir,  God  save  you  !    Where  is  the  prin- 
cess? 

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  peas, 
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  he, 
That  kiss'd  away  his  hand  in  courtesy: 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  monsieur  the  nice, 
That,  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 
In  honourable  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  whales  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  Armada's  page  out  of  his  part ! 

Enter  the  Princess,  ushered  by  Boyet ;  Rosa- 
line, Maria%  Katharine,  and  Attendants. 
Biron. 

See  where  it  comes  I  —  Behaviour,  what  wert 

thou,  [now  ? 

Till  this  man  show'd  thee  ?  and  what  art  thou 

King. 
All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of  day  ! 
Princess. 
Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  1  conceive. 
King. 
Construe  my  speeches  better,  if  you  may. 
Princess. 
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. 
Princess. 
This  field  shall  hold  me,  and  so  hold  your  vow: 
Nor  God,  nor  I,  delight  in  perjur'd  men. 
King. 
Rebuke  me  not  for  that  which  you  provoke  ; 
The  virtue  of  your  eve  must  break  my  oath. 
Prmcess. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


181 


Princes*. 
You  nick-name  virtue;  vice  you  should  have 
spoke, 
For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  troth. 
Now,  by  my  maiden  honour,  yet  as  pure 

As  the  unsullied  lily.  I  protest, 
A  world  of  torments  though  I  should  endure, 
I  would  not  yield  to  be  your  house's  guest ; 
So  much  I  hate  a  breaking  cause  to  be 
Of  heavenly  oaths,  vow'd  with  integrity. 
King. 

0  !  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 
Unseen,  un visited  ;  much  to  our  shame. 

Princess. 
Not  so,  my  lord  ;  it  is  not  so,  I  swear : 
We  have  had  pastimes    here,  and  pleasant 
game. 
A  mess  of  Russians  left  us  but  of  late. 
King. 
How,  madaui !  Russians  ? 
Princess. 

Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord  ; 
Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship,  and  of  state. 
Rosaline. 
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  word. 

1  dare  not  call  them  fools  j  but  this  1  think. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  fain  have 

drink. 

Blron. 
This  jest  is  dry  to  me.— Gentle  sweet, 
Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish :  when  we 

greet, 
With  eyes  best  seeing,  heaven's  fiery  eye, 
By  light  we  lose  light:  youi  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature,  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish,  and  rich  things  but 
poor. 

Rosaline. 
This  proves  you  wise  and  rich,  for  in  my 
eye,— 

Biron. 
I  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 

Rosaline. 

But  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belong, 

It  were  a  fault  to  suatch  words  from  my  tongue. 

O  I  I  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess. 

?osaline. 

Biron. 
I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Rosaline. 
Which  of  the  visors  was  it,  that  you  wore  ? 

Blron. 
Where  ?  when  ?  what  visor  ?  why  demand  you 
this  ? 

There,  then,  that  visor ;  that  superfluous  case, 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  show'd  the  better  face. 

We  are  descried :  theyll  mock  us  now  down- 
right. 

Let  us  confess,  an 

Amaz'd,  my  lord  ?    Why  iooks  your  highness 
sad? 


Sumaine. 
turn  it  to  a  jest. 


Rosaline. 
Help  !  hold  his  brows  !  he'll  swoon.    Why 
look  you  pale  ? — 
Sea-sick,  I  think,  coming  from  Muscovy. 

Blron. 
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, 

Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 

0  1  never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  penn'd, 
Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  school -boy's  tongue  ; 

Nor  never  come  in  visor  to  my  friend  ; 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song; 
Taffata  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 

Three-pil'd  hyperboles,  spruce  affection, 
Figures  pedantical :  these  summer  flies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation. 

1  df  forswear  them  ;  and  I  here  protest, 

By  this  white  glove,  (how  white  the  hand,  God 
knows) 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas,  and  honest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  begin, — wench,  so  God  help  me.  la  ! 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  crack  or  flaw. 
Rosaline. 
|      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  "  Loni  have  mercy  on  us  "  on  those  three ; 
They  are  infected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your 

eyes: 
These  lords  are  visited ;  you  are  not  free, 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  1  see. 
Princess. 
No,  they  are  free  that  gave  these  tokens  to  us. 

Biron. 
Our  states  are  forfeit :  seek  not  to  undo  us. 

Rosaline. 
It  is  not  so ;  for  how  can  this  be  true, 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 
Biron. 
Peace  1  for  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Rosaline. 
Nor  shall  not,  if  I  do  as  I  intend. 

Biron. 
Speak  for  yourselves :  my  wit  is  at  an  end. 

King. 
Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude  trans- 
Some  fair  excuse.  [gression. 
Princess. 
The  fairest  is  confession. 
Were  you  not  here,  but  even  now,  disguis'd  ? 
King. 
Madam,  I  was. 

Princesi. 
And  were  you  well  advis'd  ? 
King. 
I  was,  fair  madam. 

Princess. 
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. 


Princess 


1 82 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOS1. 


Act  v.  Sc.  u. 


Princess. 
When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will  reject 
her. 

King. 
Upon  mine  honour,  no. 

Princess. 

Peace  !  peace  S  forbear  : 
Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  not  to  forswear. 
King. 
Despise  me,  when  I  break  this  oath  of  mine. 

Princess. 
I  will ;  and  therefore  keep  it.— Rosaline, 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  ear  ? 
Rosaline. 
Madam,  he  swore,  that  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  eye-sight,  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world :  adding  thereto,  moreover, 
That  he  would  wed  me,  or  else  die  iny  lover. 
Princess. 
God  give  thee  joy  of  him  !  the  noble  lord 
Most  honourably  doth  uphold  his  word. 
King. 
What  mean  you,  madam  ?  by  my  life,  my  troth, 
1  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 
Rosaline. 
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 : 
1  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 
Princess. 
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, 
Knowing  aforehand  of  our  merriment, 
To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy.  [zany, 

Some  carry-tale,  some  please-man,  some  slight 
Some  mumble-news,  some  trencher-knighti  some 
Dick,  [trick 

That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years,  and  knows  the 
To  make  my  lady  laugh  when  she's  dispos'd, 
Told  our  intents  before  ;  which  once  disclos'd, 
The  ladies  did  change  favours,  and  then  we, 
Following  the  signs,  woo'd  but  the  sign  of  she. 
Now,  to  our  perjury  to  add  more  terror, 
We  are  again  forsworn  —in  will,  and  error. 
Much  upon  this  it  is  :— and  might  not  you 

[To  Boyet. 
Forestal  our  sport,  to  make  us  thus  untrue  ? 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  the  squire, 

And  laugh  upon  the  apple  of  her  eye  ? 
And  stand  between  her  back,  sir,  and  the  fire, 

Holding  a  trencher,  jesting  merrily  ? 
You  put  our  page  out :  go,  you  are  allow'd  ; 
Die  when  you  will,  a  smock  shall  be  your  shroud. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  you  ?  there's  an  eye, 
Wounds  like  a  leaden  sword. 
Boyet. 

Full  merrily 
Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 
Biron. 
Lo,  he  is  tilting  straight !  Peace  !  I  have  done. 

Enter  Costard. 
Welcome,  pure  wit !  thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 
Costard. 
O  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know, 
Whether  the  three  Worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 


Biron. 
What,  are  there  but  three  ? 
Costard. 

No,  sir  ;  but  it  is  vara  fine, 
For  every  one  pursents  three. 
Biron. 
And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 
Costard. 
Not  so,  sir  ;  under  correction,  sir,  I  hope,  it  is 
not  so.  [know  what  we  know  : 

You  cannot  beg  us,  sir,  I  can  assure  you,  sir;  we 
I  hope,  sir,  three  times  thrice,  sir, — 
Biron. 

Is  not  nine. 
Costard. 
Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereuntil  it 
doth  amount. 

Biron. 
By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for  nine. 

Costard. 
O  Lord  !  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  get  your 
living,  by  reckoning,  sir. 

Biron. 
How  much  is  it  ? 

Costard. 

0  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  perfect 
one  man, — e'en  one  poor  man  —  Pompion  the 
great,  sir. 

Biron. 
Art  thou  one  of  the  Worthies  ? 

Costard. 
It  pleased  them,  to  think  me  worthy  of  Pom- 
pry  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. 

Costard. 
We  will  turn  it  finely  off,  sir :  we  will  take 
some  care.  [Exit  Costard. 

King. 
Biron,  they  will  shame  us  ;  let  them  not  ap- 
proach. 

Biron. 
We  are  shame-proof,  my  lord ;  and  'tis  some 
policy  [his  company. 

To  have  one  show  worse  than  the  king's  and 
King. 

1  say,  they  shall  not  come. 

Princess. 

Nay,  my  good  lord,  let  me  o'er-rule  you  now. 

That  sport  best  pleases,  that  doth  least  know 

how: 
Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 
Die  in  the  zeal  of  them  which  it  presents, 
Their  form  confounded  makes  most  form  in 
mirth  ;  [birth. 

i  When  great  things  labouring  perish  in  their 
Biron. 
A  right  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 

Enter  Armado. 
Armado. 
Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expense  of  thy 
royal  sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of 
|  words. 

[Armado  converses  with  the  Ktng,  and  de- 
livers a  paper  to  him. 
Princess. 
Doth  this  man  serve  God  ? 

Biron. 
Why  ask  you  ? 

Princess. 


Act  v.  Sc  11. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


«*3 


Princesi. 
He  speaks  not  like  a  man  of  God  his  making. 

Armado. 
That's  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey  monarch  ; 
for,  I  protest,  the  school-master  is  exceeding 
fantastical  ;  too,  too,  vain  ;  too,  too,  vain  :  but 
we  will  put  it,  as  they  say,  to  fortuna  delta  gucrra. 
I  wish  you  the  peace  of  mind,  most  royal  cou- 
plement  1  [Exit  Armado, 


King. 

good  i 

He  presents  Hector  of Troy  ;  the  swain,  Pompey 


Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of  Worthies. 


the  great;  the  parish  curate,  Alexander;  Ar- 
mado's  page,  Hercules  ;  the  pedant,  Judas  Mac- 
cabitts. 

And  if  these  four  Worthies  in  their  first  show 
thrive,  [other  five. 

These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the 
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  :  — 

Abate  throw  at  novum,  and  the  whole  world 

again,  [vein. 

Cannot  pick  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his 

King. 

The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes 

amain. 

Enter  Costard  armed,  for  Pompey. 
Costard. 

"  I  Pompey  am, " 

Boyet. 

t  You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

Costard. 

"  I  Pompey  am, " 

Boyet. 
With  libbard's  head  on  knee. 
Biron. 
Well  said,  old  mocker :  I  must  needs  be  friends 
with  thee. 

Costard. 
"  I    Pompey    am,     Pompeii    surnam'd     the 
big,  —  " 

Dumaine. 
The  great. 

Costard. 

It  is  great,  sir ;— "  Pompey   surnam'd   the 

great ; 

That  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  shield,  did 

make  my  foe  to  sweat :  [by  chance. 

And  travelling  along  this  coast  I  here  am  come 

And  lay  my  arras  before  the  legs  of  this  sweet 

lass  of  France."  [I  had  done. 

If  your  ladyship  would  say,  "  Thanks,  Pompey," 

Princess. 
Great  thanks,  great  Pompey. 

Costard. 
'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  armed,  for  Alexander. 
Nathaniel. 
"  When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the  world's 
commander  ;  [quering  might : 

By  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  I  spread  my  con- 
My  'scutcheon  plain  declares,  that   I  am  Ali- 
sander." 


Boyet. 
Your  nose  says,  no,  you  are  not ;  for  it  stands 
too  right. 

Biron. 
Your  nose  smells,  no,  in  this,  most  tender- 
smelling  knight 

Princess. 
The  conqueror  is  dismay'd.     Proceed,  good 
Alexander. 

Nathaniel. 
"  When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the  world's 
commander ; "  — 

Boyet. 

Most  true  ;  'tis  right :  you  were  so,  Alisander. 

Biron. 

Pompey  the  great, 

Costard. 
Your  servant,  and  Costard. 

Biron. 
Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Ali- 
sander. 

Costard.  % 

O  !  sir  [To  Nathaniel]  you  have  overthrown 
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.  [Nathaniel  retires  .J  There, 
an't  shall  please  j*ou:  a  foolish  mild  man  ;  an 
honest  man,  look  you,  and  soon  dash'd  !  He  is 
a  marvellous  good  neighbour,  faith,  and  a  very 
good  bowler  ;  but,  for  Alisander,  alas  I  you  see, 
how  'tis  ;  —  a  little  o'erparted.  —  But  there  are 
Worthies  a  coming  will  speak  their  mind  in 
some  other  sort. 

Princess. 
Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 

Enter  Holofernes  armed,  for  Judas,  and  Moth 
armed,  for  Hercules. 
Holofernes. 
"  Great  Hercules  is  presented  by  this  imp, 
Whose  club  kill'd  Cerberus,  that  three-headed 
cam's  ; 
And,  when  he  was  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp. 

Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  ma  nut. 
Quoniam,  he  seemeth  in  minority, 
Ergo,  I  come  with  this  apology — 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish. 

[Exit  Moth. 
Holofernes. 
"Judas  I  am,"  — 

Dumaine. 
A  Judas! 

Holofernes. 
Not  Iscariot,  sir.  — 
"  Judas  I  am,  yclep'd  Maccabeus." 
Dumaine. 
Judas  Maccabeus  dipt  is  plain  Judas. 

Biron. 
A   kissing   traitor. —  How   art    thou    prov'd 
Judas? 

Holofernes. 
"Judas  I  am,"  — 

Dumaine. 
The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas. 

Holofernes. 
What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

Bovet. 
To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 

Holofernes. 
Begin,  sir  :  you  are  my  elder. 

Biron. 


J  84 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ti. 


Biron. 
Well  follow  d :  Judas  was  hang'd  on  an  elder. 

Holofernes. 
I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Blron. 
Because  thou  hast  no  face. 
Holofernes. 
What  is  this  ? 

Boyet. 
A  cittern  head. 

Dumaine. 
The  head  of  a  bodkin. 

Biron. 
A  death's  face  in  a  ring. 

Longaville. 
The  face  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce  seen. 

Boyet. 
The  pummel  of  Catsar'a  faulchion. 

Dumaine. 
The  carv'd-bone  face  on  a  flask. 

t  Biron. 

S.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 

Dumaine. 
Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Blron. 
Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer. 
And  now  forward,  for  we  have  put  thee   in 
countenance. 

Holofernes. 
You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 

Biron. 
False :  we  have  given  thee  faces. 

Holofernes. 
But  you  have  out-fae'd  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  I  nay,  why  dost  thou 
stay  ? 

Dumaine. 
For  the  latter  end  of  his  name. 

Biron. 
For  the  ass  to  the  Jude?  give  it  him:—  | 
Jud-as,  away. 

Holofernes. 
This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble 

Boyet. 
A  light  for  monsieur  Judas!  it  grows  dark, 
he  may  stumble. 

Princess. 
Alas,  poor  Maccabeus,  how    hath   he   been 
baited  t 

Enter  Armado  armed,  for  Hector. 
Biron. 
Hide  thy  head,  Achilles :  here  comes  Hector 
in  arms. 

Dumaine. 
Though  my  mocks  come  home  by  me,  I  will 
now  be  merry. 

King. 
Hector  was  but  a  Trojan  in  respect  of  this. 

Boyet. 
But  is  this  Hector  ? 

King. 
I  think  Hector  was  not  so  clean-timber'd. 

Longaville. 
His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector'*. 


Dumaine. 
More  calf,  certain. 

Boyet. 
No  ;  he  is  best  indued  in  the  small. 

Biron. 
This  cannot  be  Hector. 

Dumaine. 
He's  a  god  or  a  painter  :  for  he  makes  faces. 

Armado. 
"  The  armipotent   Mars,  of  lances  the   al- 
Gave  Hector  a  gift,  —  "  [mighty, 

Dumaine. 
A  gilt  nutmeg. 

Blron. 
A  lemon. 

Longaville. 
Stuck  with  cloves. 

Dumaine. 
No,  cloven, 

Armado. 
Peace  ! 
"  The  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  the  almighty, 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  I  lion  ; 
A  man  so  breath'd,  that  certain  he  would  fighf , 
yea, 
From  morn  till  night,  out  of  his  pavilion. 
1  am  that  flower, — " 

Dumaine. 

That  mint. 
Longaville. 

That  columbine. 
Armado. 
Sweet  lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 

Longaville. 
I  must  rather  give  it  the  rein,  for  it  runs 
against  Hector. 

Dumaine. 
Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Armado. 
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  1  will  forward 
with  my  device.  Sweet  royalty,  bestow  on  me 
the  sense  of  hearing.    [Biron  wnispers  Costard. 

Princess. 
Speak,  brave  Hector :  we  are  much  delighted. 

Armado. 
I  do  adore  thy  sweet  grace's  slipper. 

Boyet. 
Loves  her  by  the  foot. 

Dumaine. 
He  may  not  by  the  yard. 

Armado. 
u  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal,"' — 

Costard. 
The  party  is  gone :  fellow  Hector,  she  is  gone ; 
she  is  two  months  on  her  way. 

Armado. 
What  meanest  thou  ? 

Costard. 
Faith,  unless  you  play  the  honest  Trojan,  the 

Eoor  wench  is  cast  away :  she's  quick  ;  the  child 
rags  in  her  belly  already :  'tis  yours. 

Armado. 
Dost  thou  infamonize  me  among  potentates  ? 
Thou  shalt  die. 

Costard. 
Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd  for  Jaquenetta 
that  is  quick  by  him,  and  hang'd  for  Pompey 
that  is  dead  by  him. 

Boyet, 


Act  r.  Sc.  ii. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


185 


Dumaine. 
Most  rare  Pompey ! 

Doyet. 
Renowned  Pompey ! 

Biron. 
Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great  Pom- 
pry  I  Pompey  the  huge  ! 

Dumaine. 
Hector  trembles. 

Biron. 
Pompey  is  moved. — More  Ates,  more  Ates ! 
stir  ihem  on  !  stir  them  on  1 
Dumaine. 
Hector  will  challenge  him. 
Biron. 
Ay,  if  a'  have  no  more  man's  blood  in's  belly 
than  will  sup  a  flea. 

Armado. 
By  the  north  pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Costard. 

I  will  not  fight  with  a  pole,  like  a  northern 

man  :  I'll  slash  ;  I'll  do  it  by  the  sword. — I  pray 

you,  let  me  borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dumaine. 

Room  for  the  incensed  Worthies  ! 

Costard. 
I'll  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Dumaine. 
Most  resolute  Pompey  ! 

Moth. 

Master,  let  me  take  you  a  button-hole  lower. 

Do  you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncasing  for  the 

combat  ?    What  mean  you  ?  you  will  lose  your 

reputation. 

Armado. 
Gentlemen,  and  soldiers,  pardon  me ;  I  will 
not  combat  in  my  shirt. 

Dumaine. 
You  may  not  deny  it :  Pompey  hath  made  the 
challenge. 

Armado. 
Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Biron. 
What  reason  have  you  for't  ? 

Armado. 
The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt.    1  go 
woolward  for  penance. 

Boyet. 
True,  and  it  was  enjoin'd  him  in  Rome  for 
want  of  linen;  since  when,   I'll  be  sworn,  he 
wore  none,  but  a  dish-clout  of  Jaquenettu\  and 
that  a'  wears  next  his  heart  for  a  favour. 

Enter  Monsieur  Mercade,  a  Messenger. 
Mercade. 
God  save  you,  madam. 

Princes*. 
Welcome,  Mercade. 
But  that  thou  interrupt'st  our  merriment. 
Mercade. 
I  am  sorry,  madam,  for  the  news  I  bring 
Is  heavy  in  my  tongue.    The  king  your  father- 
Princess. 
Dead,  for  my  life  ! 

Mercade. 
Even  so  :  my  tale  is  told. 
Biron. 
Worthies,  away  !    The  scene  begins  to  cloud. 

Armado. 
For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breath.     1 


have  seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little 

hole  of  discretion,  and  I  will  right  myself  like  a 

soldier.  [Exeunt  Worthies. 

King. 

How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Princess. 
Boyet,  prepare  :  I  will  away  to-night. 

King. 
Madam,  not  so  ;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 
Princesi. 
I      Prepare,  I  say. — I  thank  you,  gracious  lords, 
i  For  all  your  fair  endeavours ;  and  entreat, 
I  Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
j  In  your  rich  wisdom  to  excuse,  or  hide, 
j  The  liberal  opposition  of  our  spirits : 

If  over-boldly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
I  In  the  converse  of  breath,  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  it.    Farewell,  worthy  lord  I 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  a  humble  tongue. 
Excuse  me  so,  coming  too  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain'd. 
King. 
The  extreme  parts  of  time  extremely  form 
I  All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed ;  , 
:  And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides 
;  That  which  long  process  could  not  arbitrate  : 
j  And  though  the  mourning  brow  of  progeny 
f  Forbid  the  smiling  courtesy  of  love 

The  holy  suit  which  fain  it  would  convince  ; 
1  Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot, 
j  Let  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  jnstle  it  [lost 

From  what  it  purpos'd ;  since,  to  wail  friends 
!  Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome,  profitable, 
j  As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 

Princes*. 
I      I  understand  you  not :  my  griefs  are  double. 

Biron. 
j     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  humours 
Even  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents  ; 
And  what  in  us  hath  seem'd  ridiculous, — 
As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains  ; 
All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping,  and  vain  ; 
Form'd  by  the  eye,  and,  therefore,  like  the  eye, 
Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  forms, 
Varying  in  subjects,  as  the  eye  doth  roll 
To  every  varied  object  in  his  glance: 
Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes, 
Have  misbecome  our  oaths  and  gravities, 
Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults, 
Suggested  us  to  make.    Therefore,  ladies, 
Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 
Is  likewise  yours :  we  to  ourselves  prove  false, 
By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 
To  tho«e  that  make  us  both,— fair  ladies,  you  : 
And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin, 
Thus  purifies  itself,  and  turns  to  grace. 
Princes*. 
We  have  receiv'd  your  letters  full  of  love ; 
Your  favours,  the  ambassadors  of  love ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 
At  courtship,  pleasant  jest,  and  courtesy, 
As  bombast,  and  as  lining  to  the  time. 
But  more  devout  than  this,  in  our  respects 
Have  we  not  been ;  and  therefore  met  your 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment,      [love* 
Dumaine. 
Our  letters,  madam,  show'd  much  more  than 
jest. 

Longaville. 


1*6 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


Act  v.  *5c.  ii. 


Longaville. 
So  did  our  looks. 

Rosaline. 
We  did  not  quote  them  so. 
King. 
Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Princes*. 

A  time,  methinks,  too  short 
To  make  a  world-without-end  bargain  in. 
No,  no,  my  lord,  your  grace  is  perjur'd  much, 
Full  of  dear  guiltiness  ;  and  therefore  this.  — 
If  for  my  love  (as  there  is  no  such  cause) 
You  will  do  aught,  this  shall  you  do  for  me. 
Your  oath  I  will  not  trust ;  but  go  with  speed 
To  some  forlorn  and  naked  hermitage, 
Remote  from  all  the  pleasures  of  the  world  ; 
There  stay,  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  reckoning. 
If  this  austere  insociable  life 
Change  not  your  offer  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  frosts,  and  fasts,  hard  lodging,  and  thin  weeds, 
Nip  not  the  gaudy  blossoms  of  your  love, 
But  that  It  bear  this  trial,  and  last  love  ; 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year,       [deserts, 
Come  challenge   me,   challenge   me  by  these 
And  bv  this  virgin  palm,  now  kissing  thine, 
I  will  be  thine  ;  and,  till  that  instant,  shut 
My  woful  self  up  in  a  mourning  house, 
Raining  the  tears  of  lamentation, 
For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 
If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part, 
Neither  intitled  in  the  other's  heart. 

King. 
If  this,  or  more  than  this,  I  would  deny, 

To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest, 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye. 
Hence  ever  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 

Biron. 
And  what  to  me,  my  love  ?  and  what  to  me  ? 

Rosaline. 
You  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rank: 
You  are  attaint  with  faults  and  perjury  ; 
Therefore,  if  you  my  favour  mean  to  get, 
A  twelvemonth  shall  you  spend,  and  never  rest, 
But  seek  the  weary  beds  of  people  sick. 
Dumaine. 
But  what  to  me,  my  love  ?  but  what  to  me  ? 

Katharine 
A  wife  !  —  A  beard,  fair  health,  and  honesty  ; 
With  three-fold  love  I  wish  you  all  these  three. 
Dumaine. 
O  !  shall  I  say,  I  thank  you,  gentle  wife  ? 

Katharine. 
Not  so,  my  lord.    A  twelvemonth  and  a  day 
I'll  mark  no  words  that  smooth-fae'd  wooers  say : 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come, 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 
Dumaine. 
I'll  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then. 

Katharine. 
Yet  swear  not,  lest  you  be  forsworn  again. 

Longaville. 
What  says  Maria  ? 

Maria. 

At  the  twelvemonth's  end, 
I'll  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 
Longaville. 
I'll  stay  with  patience;  but  the  time  is  long. 

Maria. 
The  likcr  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. 
Rosaline. 
Oft  have  I  heard  of  you,  my  lord  Biron, 
Before  1  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,      [day, 
You  shall  this  twelvemonth  term,  from  day  to 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches ;  and  your  task  shall  he, 
With  all  the  tierce  endeavour  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. 
Rosaline. 
Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit, 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  that  loose  grace, 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools. 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it :  then,  if  sickly  ears, 
Deaf'd  with  the  clamours  of  their  own  dear 

groans, 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  then, 
And  I  will  have  you,  and  that  fault  withal ; 
But,  if  they  will  not,  throw  away  that  spirit, 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault, 
Right  joyful  of  ybur  reformation. 
Biron. 
A  twelvemonth  ?  well,  befal  what  will  befal, 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 
Princess. 
Ay,  sweet  my  lord  ;  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

[To  the  king. 
King. 
No,  madam  ;  we  will  bring  you  on  your  way. 

Biron. 
Our  wooing  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play  ; 
Jack  hath  not  Jill :  these  ladies'  courtesy- 
Might  well  have  made  our  sport  a  comedy. 
King. 
Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
And  then  'twill  end. 

Biron. 

That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Armado. 

Armado. 
Sweet  majesty,  vouchsafe  me,  — 

Princess. 
Was  not  that  Hector  ? 

Dumaine. 
The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 

Armado. 
I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger,  and  take  leave.    I 
am  a  votary :  I  have  vowed  to  Jaquenetta  to  hold 
the  plough  for  her  sweet  love  three  years.    But, 
most  esteemed  greatness,  will  you  hear  the  dia- 
logue 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. 

Armado. 


.V  i  I.  5c.  i. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


i«7 


Arm  ; 
Holla!  approach. 
1". mcr    Holof ernes,   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. 

Song. 
Spring. 
When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-smocks  all  silver-white, 
And  cuckoo-buds  qfyelluw  hue. 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight. 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he  ; 

Cuckoo, 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — 0  word  of  fear  I 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear. 

11. 
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  thus  sings  he  , 

Cuckoo, 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo,— 0  word  of  fear  I 
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  befoul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who, 
Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  mem/  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

IV. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blow, 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parson's  saw, 
And  birds  sit  brooding  in  the  snow, 

And  Marian's  note  looks  red  and  raw  ; 
When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who, 
Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Armado. 
The  words  of  Mercury  are  harsh  after  the 
songs  of  Apollo.    You,  that  way :  we,  this  way. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S    DREAM. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


THESEUS,  Duke  of  Athens. 
Egeus,  Father  to  Hermia. 

temettius ,}  in  love  «*»  Hermia- 

Philostrate,  Master  of  the  Revels  to  Theseus. 

Quince,  a  Carpenter. 

Snug,  a  Joiner. 

Bottom,  a  Weaver. 

Flute,  a  Bellows-mender. 

Snout,  a  Tinker. 

Starveling,  a  Tailor. 

Hippolyta,  Queen  of  the  Amazons. 

Hermia,  in  love  with  Lysander. 

Helena,  in  love  with  Demetrius. 

Oberon,  King  of  the  Fairies. 


Titania,  Queen  of  the  Fairies. 

l'uck,  or  Robin-Goodfellow. 

Peas-blossom,"] 

Cobweb,  I  »_*_£_ 

Moth,  >  Pontes. 

Mustard-seed  J 

Pyramus,    "I 

Thisbe, 

Wall,  >  Characters  in  the  Interlude. 

Moonshine, 

Lion,  J 

Other  Fairies  attending  their  King  and  Queen. 
Attendants  on  Theseus  and  Hippolyta. 

SCENE,  Athens,  and  a  Wrood  not  far  from  it. 


#-#-#-f>-0-#-#-e- 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.    Athens.    A  Room  in  the  Talace  of 
Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostrate,  and 
Attendants. 
Theseus. 
OW,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Draws  on  apace :  ("our  happy  days  bring  in 


N 


Another  moon  ;  but,  oh,  methinks,  how  slow 
This    old  moon   wanes !    she  lingers  my  de- 
sires, 
Like  to  a  step-dame,  or  a  dowager, 
Long  withering  out  a  young  man's  revenue. 
Hippolyta. 
Four  days  will  quickly  steep  themselves  in 
nights ; 
Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time  ; 
And  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  silver  bow 

New 


i88 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  BEE  AM. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


New  bent  tn  heaven,  shall  behold  the  night 
Of  our  solemnities. 

Theseus. 

Go,  Philostrate, 
Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriments ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  mirth : 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals, 
The  pale  companion  is  not  for  our  pomp. — 

[Exit  Philostrate. 
Hippolyta,  I  woo'd  thee  with  my  sword, 
And  won  thy  love  doing  thee  injuries ; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key, 
With  pomp,  with  triumph,  and  with  revelling. 

Enter  Egeus,  with  his  daughter  Hermia, 
Lysander,  and  Demetrius. 
Egeus. 
Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke  ! 

Theseus. 
Thanks,  good  Egeus:  what's  the  news  with 
thee? 

Egeut. 
Full  of  vexation  come  I ;  with  complaint 
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  interchang'd  love-tokens  with  my  child  : 
Thou  hast  by  moon-light  at  her  window  sung, 
With  feigning  voice,  verses  of  feigning  love  ; 
And  stol'n  the  impression  of  her  fantasy    [ceits, 
With  bracelets  of  thy  hair,  rings,  gawds,  con- 
Knacks,  trifles,  nosegays,  sweet- meats  (messen- 
gers 
Of  strong  prevailment  in  unharden'd  youth,) 
With  cunning  hast  thou  filch'd  my  daughter's 

heart ; 
Turn'd  her  obedience,  which  is  due  to  me, 
To  stubborn  harshness. — And,  my  gracious  duke, 
Be  it  so,  she  will  not  here,  before  your  grace, 
Consent  to  marry  with  Demetrius, 
I  beg  the  ancient  privilege  of  Athens, 
As  she  is  mine,  I  may  dispose  of  her, 
Which  shall  be  either  to  this  gentleman, 
Or  to  her  death,  according  to  our  law 
Immediately  provided  in  that  case. 

Theseus. 
What  say  you,  Hermia  ?  be  advis'd,  fair  maid. 
To  you  your  father  should  be  as  a  god ; 
One  that  compos'd  your  beauties  ;  yea,  and  one 
To  whom  you  are  but  as  a  form  in  wax, 
By  him  imprinted,  and  within  his  power 
To  leave  the  figure  or  disfigure  it. 
Demetrius  is  a  worthy  gentleman. 

Hermia. 
So  is  Lysander. 

Theseus. 
In  himself  he  is  ; 
But,  in  this  kind,  wanting  your  father's  voice, 
The  other  must  be  held  the  worthier. 

Hermia. 
I  would,  my  father  look'd  but  with  my  eyes  ! 

Theseus. ■ 

Rather,  your  eyes  must  with  his  judgment 
look. 

Hermia. 
I  do  entreat  your  grace  to  pardon  me. 
I  know  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold, 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty, 
In  such  a  presence  here,  to  plead  my  thoughts  ; 
But  I  beseech  your  grace,  that  I  may  know 


The  worst  that  may  befal  mc  in  this  case, 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

Theseus. 
Either  to  die  the  death,  or  to  abjure 
For  ever  the  society  of  men. 
Therefore,  fair  Hermia,  question  your  desires  ; 
Know  of  your  youth,  examine  well  your  blood, 
Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  father's  choice, 
You  can  endure  the  livery  of  a  nun, 
For  aye  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd, 
To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life, 
Chanting  faint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon. 
Thrice  blessed  they,  that  master  so  their  blood, 
To  undergo  such  maiden  pilgrimage  ; 
But  earthly  happier  is  the  rose  distill'd. 
Than  that  which,  withering  on  the  virgin  thorn, 
Grows,  lives,  and  dies,  in  single  blessedness. 

Hermia. 

So  will  I  grow,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord, 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  virgin  patent  up 
Unto  his  lordship,  whose  unwished  yoke 
My  soul  consents  not  to  give  sovereignty. 

Theseus. 

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. 

Demetrius. 

Relent,  sweet  Hermia ; — and,  Lysander,  yield 
Thy  crazed  title  to  my  certain  right. 

Lysander. 

You  have  her  father's  love,  Demetrius  ; 
Let  me  have  Hernia's  :  do  you  marry  him. 

Egpus. 

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 
1  do  estate  unto  Demetrius. 
Lysander. 

I  am,  my  lord,  as  well  deriv'd  as  he, 
As  well  possess 'd  ;  my  love  is  more  than  his  ; 
My  fortunes  every  way  as  fairly  rank'd, 
(If  not  with  vantage,)  as  Demetrius' '; 
And,  which  is  more  than  all  these  boasts  can  be, 
I  am  belov'd  of  beauteous  Hermia. 
Why  should  not  I  then  prosecute  my  right  ? 
Demetrius,  I'll  avouch  it  to  his  head, 
Made  love  to  Nedar's  daughter,  Helena, 
And  won  her  soul ;  and  she,  sweet  lady,  dotes, 
Devoutly  dotes,  dotes  in  idolatry. 
Upon  this  spotted  and  inconstant  man. 

Theseus. 

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) 
To  death,  or  to  a  vow  of  single  life — 
Come,  my  Hippolyta :  what  cheer,  my  love  ?— 
Demetrius,  and  Egcus,  go  along : 
I  must  employ  you  in  some  business 
Against  our  nuptial,  and  confer  with  you 
Of  something  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves, 

Egeus. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DHEAM. 


189 


Egcus. 
With  dutj  and  desire  we  follow  you. 

t  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  agcus,  Deme- 
■ 
Lys. 
How  now,  my  love  ?    Why  Is  your  cheek  so 
pnle  ? 
How  chance  the  roses  there  do  fade  so  fast* 

Hermia. 
Belike,  for  want  of  rain,  which  I  could  well 
Beteem  them  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eyes. 
Lysander. 
Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  I  could  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,— 
Hermia. 
O  cross  1  too  high  to  be  enthrall'd  to  low  I 

Lysander. 
Or  else  misgraffed,  in  respect  of  years  ; — 

Hermia. 
O  spite  !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  3'oung ! 

Lysander. 
Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends :  — 
Hermia. 
I     O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eyes  ! 
Lysander. 
Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it, 
Making  it  momentany  as  a  sound, 
I  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  ! 
t  The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up : 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

Hermia. 
j      If,  then,  true  lovers  have  been  ever  cross'd, 
I  It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny  ■ 

Then,  let  us  teach  our  trial  patience, 
J  Because  it  is  a  customary  cross, 
'  As  due  to  love  as  thoughts,  and  dreams,  and  sighs, 
j  Wishes,  and  tears,  poor  fancy's  followers. 
Lysander. 
A  good  persuasion  :  therefore,  hear  me,  Her- 
1  have  a  widow  aunt,  a  dowager  [tnia. 

Of  great  revenue,  and  she  hath  no  child : 
From  Athens  is  her  house  remote  seven  leagues  ; 
And  she  respects  me  as  her  only  son. 
I  There,  gentle  Henna,  may  1  marry  thee, 
!  And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us.     If  thou  lov'st  me,  then, 
Steal  forth  thy  father's  house  to-morrow  night, 
I  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. 
Hermia. 

My  good  Lysander ! 
I  swear  to  thee  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow, 
1  By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head, 
;  By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves, 
I  By  that  which  knitteth  souls,  and  prospers  loves, 
I  And  by  that  fire  which  burn'd  the  Carthage 

queen, 
I  When  the  false  Trojan  under  sail  was  seen  ; 
By  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  have  broke. 
In  number  more  than  ever  women  spoke ; 
1  In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
f  To-morrow  truly  will  1  meet  with  thee. 
Lysander. 
Keep  promise, love.   Look, here  comes  Helena. 


Enter  Helena. 
Hermia. 
God  speed  fair  Helena !    Whither  away  ? 
Helena. 

Call  you  me  fair  ?  that  fair  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  your  fair  :  O  happy  fair  1 
{  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  favour  so  1 
Your  words  I  catch,  fair  Hermia  ;  ere  1  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'll  give  to  be  to  you  translated. 
O  !  teach  me  how  you  look,  and  with  what  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 
Hermia. 
I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 

Helena. 
O,  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles 
such  skill  1 

Hermia. 
I  give  him  curses,  yet  he  gives  me  love. 

Helena. 
O,  that  my  prayers  could  such  affection  move  1 

Hermia. 
The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 

Helena. 
The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 
Hermia. 
(     His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Helena. 
None,  but  your  beauty :  would  that  fault  were 
mine! 

Hermia. 
Take  comfort :  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face ;  • 
I  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  into  hell  1 
Lysander. 
Helen,  to  you  our  minds  we  will  unfold. 
To-morrow  night  when  Phoebe  doth  behold 
Her  silver  visage  in  the  wat'ry  glass, 
Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bladed  grass. 
(A  time  that  lovers'  flights  doth  still  conceal,) 
Through  Athens'  gates  have  we  devis'd  to  steal. 
Hermia. 
And  in  the  wood,  where  often  you  and  1 
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  plaj  fellow  :  pray  thou  for  us. 
And  good  luck  grant  thee  thy  Demetrius !  — 
Keep  word,  Lysander :    we  must    starve  our 

sight 
From  lovers'  food,  till  morrow  deep  midnight. 
[Exit  Hermia. 
Lysander. 
I  will,  my  Hermia.  —  Llelena,  adieu  : 
As  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  you. 

[Exit  Lysander. 
Helena. 
How  happy  some,  o'er  other  some  can  be  ! 
Through  Ath-ns  I  am  thought  as  fair  as  she  ; 
But  what  of  that  ?     Demetrius  thinks  not  so  ; 
He  will  not  know  what  all  but  he  do  know  : 

And 


190 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  1.  Sc. 


And  as  he  errs,  doting  on  Hermia's  eyes, 

So  I,  admiring  of  his  qualities. 

Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity, 

Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity. 

Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind,  | 

And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  painted  blind; 

Nor  hath  love's  mind  of  any  judgment  taste ; 

Wings,  and  no  eyes,  figure  unheedy  haste : 

And  therefore  is  love  said  to  be  a  child, 

Because  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguil'd. 

As  waggish  boys  in  game  themselves  forswear, 

So  the  boy  love  is  perjur'd  every  where  ; 

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  dissolv'd,  and  showers  of  oaths  did  melt. 

I  will  go  tell  him  of  fair  Hermia's  flight ; 

Then  to  the  wood  will  he,  to-morrow  night, 

Pursue  her  ;  and  for  this  intelligence 

If  I  have  thanks,  it  is  a  dear  expense: 

But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain, 

To  have  his  sight  thither,  and  back  again. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  in  a  Cottage. 
Enter  Quince,  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout, 
and  Starveling. 
Quince. 
Is  all  our  company  here  ? 
Bottom. 
You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man  by 
man,  according  to  the  scrip. 
Quince 
Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name,  which 
is  thought  fit,  through  all  Athens,  to  play  in  our 
interlude  before  the  duke  and  duchess  on  his 
wedding-day  at  night. 

Bottom. 
First,  good  Peter  Quince,  say  what  the  play 
treats  on  ;  then  read  the  names  of  the  actors,  and 
so  grow  to  a  point. 

Quince. 
Marry,  our  play  is  — The  most  lamentable 
comedy,  and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and 
Thishy. 

Bottom 
A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you,  and 
a  merry.  — Now,  good  Peter  Quince,  call  forth 
your  actors  by  the   scroll.      Masters,   spread 
yourselves.  „   . 

Quince. 
Answer,  as   I  call  you.  —  Nick  Bottom,  the 
weaver.  „ 

Bottom. 
Ready.    Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and  pro. 
ceed.  . 

Quince. 
Yon,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Pyramus. 

Bottom. 
What  is  Pyramus  ?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant  ? 

Quince. 
A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallant  for 
love.  '  4 

Bottom. 
That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  per- 
forming  of  it :  if  I  do  it,  let  the  audience  look 
to  their  eyes  ;  I  will  move  storms  ;  1  will  con- 
dole in  some  measure.  To  the  rest :  —  yet  my 
chief  humour  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." 
This  was  lofty!  —  Now  name  the  rest  of  the 
players.  —  This  is  Ercles'  vein,  a  tyrant's  vein  ; 
a  lover  is  more  condoling. 
Quince. 
Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender. 

Flute. 
Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince. 
You  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 

Flute. 
What  is  Thisby  ?  a  wandering  knight  ? 

Quince. 
It  is  the  lady  that  Pyramus  must  love. 

Flute. 
Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman  :  I  have 
a  beard  coming. 

Quince. 
That's  all  one.    You  shall  play  it  in  a  mask, 
and  you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 
Bottom. 
An  I  may  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisby  too. 
I'll   speak   in    a    monstrous    little    voice:  — 
44  Thisne,    Thisne—  Ah,    Pyramus,    my    lover 
dear  !  thy  Thisby  dear,  and  lady  dear  1 " 
Quince. 
No,  no ;  you  must  play  Pyramus,  and,  Flute% 
you  Thisby. 

Bottom. 
Well,  proceed. 

Quince. 
Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 
Starveling. 
Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince. 
Robin  Starveling,  you    must    play    Thisby'* 
mother.  —  Tom  Snout,  the  tinker. 
Snout. 
Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quince. 
You,  Pyramus's   father ;    myself,    Thisbi/'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. 
Quince. 
You  may  do  it  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing  but 
roaring. 

Bottom 
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  duke  say,  "  Let  him 
roar  again :  let  him  roar  again." 
Quince. 
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. 
That  would  hang  us,  every  mother's  son. 

Bottom. 
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  aggra- 
vate my  voice  so,  that  I  will  roar  you  as  gently 


A.  i  ii.  «S'c.  I. 


midsummer-nights  dream. 


191 


as  any  sucking  dove :  I  will  roar  you  an  'twere 
any  nightingale. 

Quince. 

You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus  ;  for  Py- 
rumus  is  a  sweet-faced  man  ;  a  proper  man,  as 
one  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day,  a  most  lovely, 
gentlemanlike  man  ;  therefore,  you  must  needs 
play  I'yramus. 

Bottom. 

Well,  I  will  undertake  it.  What  beard  were 
I  best  to  play  it  in  ? 

Quince. 

Why,  what  you  will. 

Bottom. 

I  will  discharge  it  in  either  your  straw-colour 
beard,  your  orange-tawny  beard,  your  purple-in- 
grain beard,  or  your  French-crown-colour  beard, 
your  perfect  yellow. 

Quince. 

Some  of  your  French  crowns  have  no  hair  at 
all,  and  then  you  will  play  bare-faced.  —  But 
masters,  here  are  your  parts  ;  and  1  am  to  en- 
treat 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  moon- 
light :  there  will  we  rehearse  ;  for  if  we  meet  in 
the  city,  we  shall  be  dog'd  with  company,  and 
our  devices  known.  In  the  mean  time  I  will 
draw  a  bill  of  properties,  such  as  our  play  wants. 
I  pray  you,  fail  me  not. 

Bottom. 
We  will  meet ;  and  there  we  may  rehearse 
more  obscenely,  and  courageously.   Take  pains ; 
be  perfect ;  adieu. 

Quince. 
At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

Bottom. 
Enough,  hold,  or  cut  bow-strings.     [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Wood  near  Athens. 
Enter  a  Fairy  and  Puck  from  opposite  sides. 
Fuck. 
J_J  O W  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  ? 

Fairy . 
Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  Are, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 
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  ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see. 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favours, 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours  : 

I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  here, 

And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

Farewell,  thou  lob  of  spirits :  I'll  be  gone. 

Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night. 
Take  heed,  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight : 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath, 
Because  that  she,  as  her  attendant,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stol'n  from  an  Indian  king  : 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  changeling  ; 


And  jealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild ; 
But  she,  perforce,  withholds  the  loved  boy, 
Crowns  him  with  flowers,  and  makes  him  all 

her  joy : 
And  now  they  never  meet  In  grove,  or  green, 
By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  star-light  sheen, 
But  they  do  Rquare ;  that  all  their  elves,  for  fear, 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there. 
Fairy. 
Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite, 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 
Call'd  Robin  Good-fellow.    Are  you  not  he, 
That  frights  the  maidens  of  the  villagery  ; 
Skims  milk,  and  sometimes  labours  in  the  quern, 
And  bootless  makes  the  breathless  housewife 

churn  ; 
And  sometime  makes  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm  ; 
Misleads   night-wanderers,    laughing  at   their 

harm? 

Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  and  sweet  Puck, 

You  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good 

Are  not  you  he  ?  [luck. 

Puck. 

Thou  speak'st  aright ; 
I  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  the  night. 
I  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  him  smile, 
When  1  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  dew-lap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt  telling  the  saddest  tale, 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me ; 
Then  slip  1  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  "  tailor  "  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough  ; 
And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips,  and 

laugh,  [swear 

And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  and  sneeze,  and 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. — 
But  room,  Fairy :  here  comes  Oberon. 
Fairy. 
And  here  my  mistress.  —  Would  that  he  were 

gone  I 

Enter  Oberon,  from  one  side,  with  his  train,  and 
Titania,  from  the  other,  with  hers. 
Oberon. 
Ill  met  by  moon-light,  proud  Titania. 

Titania. 
What,  jealous  Oberon !  Fairy,  skip  hence : 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 

Oberon. 
Tarry,  rash  wanton.    Am  not  I  thy  lord  ? 

Titania. 
Then,  I  must  be  thy  lady  ;  but  I  know 
When  thou-  hast  stol'n  away  from  fairy  land, 
And  in  the  shape  of  Corin  sat  all  day, 
Playing  on  pipes  of  corn,  and  versing  love 
To  amorous  Phillida.    Why  art  thou  here, 
Come  from  the  farthest  steep  of  India, 
But  that,  forsooth,  the  bouncing  Amazon, 
Your  buskin'd  mistress  and  your  warrior  love, 
To  Theseus  must  be  wedded  ?  and  you  come 
To  give  their  bed  joy  and  prosperity.  • 

Oberon. 

How  canst  thou  thus,  for  shame,  Titania, 
Glance  at  my  credit  with  Hippolyta, 
Knowing  I  know  thy  love  to  Theseus  ? 
Didst  thou  not  lead  him  through  the  glimmering 
From  Perigenia,  whom  he  ravished  ?        [night 
And  make  him  with  fair  Mglc  break  his  faith, 
With  Ariadne,  and  Anliopa  f 

Titania. 


192 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  11.  Sc.  1. 


Titania. 
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  on  the  beached  margin  of  the  sea, 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind, 
But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  distuib'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, 
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:  and  the  green 

corn 
Hath  rotted,  ere  his  youth  attain'd  a  beard  : 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  held, 
And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  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 : 
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  Hyems'  thin  and  icy  crown, 
An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 
Is,  as  in  mockery,  set.   The  spring,  the  summer, 
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. 
Oberon. 
Do  you  amend  it  then  ;  it  lies  in  you. 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  t 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henchman. 

Titania. 

Set  your  heart  at  rest : 
The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a"  votaress  of  my  order: 
And,  in  the  spiced  Indian  air,  by  night, 
Full  often  hath  she  gossip'd  by  my  side, 
And  sat  with  me  on  Neptune's  yellow  sands, 
Marking  th'  embarked  traders  on  the  flood  ; 
When  we  have  laugh'd  to  see  the  sails  conceive, 
And  grow  big-bellied,  with  the  wanton  wind ; 
Which  she,  with  pretty  and  with  swimming  gait 
Following,  (her  womb,  then  rich  with  my  young 

squire) 
Would  imitate,  and  sail  upon  the  land, 
To  fetch  me  trifles,  and  return  again, 
As  from  a  voyage,  rich  with  merchandize. 
But  she,  being  mortal,  of  that  boy  did  die  ; 
And  for  her  sake  I  do  rear  up  her  boy, 
And  for  her  sake  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

Oberon. 

Htrw  long  within  this  wood  intend  you  stay  ? 

Titania. 

Perchance,  till  after  Theseus'  wedding-day. 
If  you  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round, 
And  see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us  ; 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 

Oberon. 
Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  thee. 


Titania. 

Not  for  thy  fairy  kingdom Faries,  away  ! 

We  shall  chide  downright,  if  I  longer  stay. 

[Exit  Titania,  with  her  train. 
Oberon. 

Well,  go  thy  way :  thou  shalt  not  from  this 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  injury. —        [grove, 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither :  thou  remember'st 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back 
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. 
Pack. 

I  remember. 
Oberon. 

That  very  time  I  saw  (but  thou  could'st  not), 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  arm'd :  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  fair  vestal  throned  by  the  west, 
And  loos'd  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow, 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts : 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quench'd  in  the  chaste  beamsof the  wat'rymoon, 
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.  [once  : 

Fetch  me  that  flower ;  the  herb  I  show'd  thee 
The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eyelids  laid, 
Will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 
Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 
Fetch  me  this  herb  ;  and  be  thou  here  again, 
Ere  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league. 
Puck 

I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Exit  Puck. 

Oberon. 

Having  once  this  juice, 
I'll  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep, 
And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes  : 
The  next  thing  then  she  waking  looks  upon, 
(Be  it  on  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull, 
On  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape,) 
She  shall  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  love  ; 
And  ere  I  take  this  charm  off  from  her  sight, 
(As  I  can  take  it  with  another  herb) 
I'll  make  her  render  up  her  page  to  me. 
But  who  comes  here  ?    I  am  invisible, 
And  I  will  over-hear  their  conference. 

Enter  Demetrius,  Helena  following  him 
Demetrius. 

I  love  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  me  not. 
Where  is  Lysander,  and  fair  Hermiaf 
The  one  I'll  stay,  the  other  stayeth  me. 
Thou  told'st  me  thoy  were  stol'n  into  this  wood, 
And  here  am  I,  and  wood  within  this  wood, 
Because  I  cannot  meet  my  Hermia. 
Hence  !  get  thee  gone,  and  follow  me  no  more. 
Helena. 

You  draw  me,  you  hard-hearted  adamant ; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  iron,  for  my  heart 
Is  true  as  steel :  leave  you  your  power  to  draw, 
And  I  shall  have  no  power  to  follow  you. 
Demetrius. 

Do  I  entice  you  ?    Do  I  speak  you  fair  ? 
Or,  rather,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth 
Tell  you  I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you  ? 
Helen*. 

And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  the  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel  ;  and,  Demetriits, 

The 


Act  11.  Sc.  u. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


»93 


The  more  you  boat  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  1  am,  to  follow  you. 
What  worser  place  can  1  beg  in  your  love, 
(And  yet  a  place  of  high  respect  with  me,) 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  use  your  dog  ? 

Demetrius. 
Tempt  not  too  much  the  hatred  of  my  spirit, 
For  I  am  sick  when  I  do  look  on  thee. 

Helena. 
And  I  am  sick  when  I  look  not  on  you. 

Demetrius. 
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. 

Helena. 
Your  virtue  is  my  privilege  for  that. 
It  is  not  night,  when  1  do  see  your  face, 
Therefore  I  think  I  am  not  in  the  night ; 
Nor  doth  this  wood  lack  worlds  of  company, 
For  you.  in  my  respect,  are  all  the  world. 
Then  how  can  it  be  said,  I  am  alone, 
When  all  the  world  is  here  to  look  on  me  ? 

Demetrius. 
I'll  run  from  thee,  and  hide  me  in  the  brakes, 
And  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of  wild  beasts. 

Helena. 
The  wildest  hath  not  such  a  heart  as  you. 
Run  when  you  will,  the  story  shall  be  chang'd  ; 
Apollo  flies,  and  Daphne  holds  the  chase: 
The  dove  pursues  the  griflin  ;  the  mild  hind 
Makes  speed  to  catch  the  tiger.  Bootless  speed  1 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valour  flies. 

Demetrius. 
I  will  not  stay  thy  questions  :  let  me  go ; 
Or,  if  thou  follow  me,  do  not  believe 
But  I  shall  do  ihee  mischief  in  the  wood. 

Helena. 

Ay,  in  the  temple,  in  the  town,  the  field, 
You  do  me  mischief.    Fie,  Demetrius  I 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  scandal  on  my  sex  : 
We  cannot  fight  for  love,  as  men  may  do  ; 
We  should  be  woo'd,  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 
Fll  follow  thee,  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell, 
To  die  upon  the  hand  I  love  so  well. 

[Kxeunt  Demetrius  and  Helena. 

..     Oberon. 
Fare  thee  well,  nymph :  ere  he  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. 

Oberon. 
I  pray  thee,  give  it  me. 
I  know  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips,  and  the  nodding  violet  grows ; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine: 
There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lull'd  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight ; 
And  there  the  snake  throws  her  enamel  I'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,    [grove : 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 


With  a  disdainful  youth  :  anoint  his  eyes  ; 
But  do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
May  be  the  lady.     Thou  shall  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. 
Titania. 
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  rear-mice  for   their  leathern 
wings,  [back 

To  make  my  small  elves  coats  ;  and  some  keep 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,    and 

wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits.     Sing  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest. 
Fairies'  Song. 

1  Fairy. 

You  spotted  snakes,  wfth  double  tongue, 

Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen. 
Newts,  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong  ; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen : 
Chorus. 
Philomel,  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  : 
Never  harm. 
Nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 
So,  good  night,  with' lullaby. 
II. 

2  Fairy 
Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  ; 

Hence,  you  longlegg'd  spinners,  hence : 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near; 
Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

Chorus. 
Philomel,  with  melody,  &c. 

2  Fairy. 
Hence,  away !  now  all  is  well. 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

[Exeunt  Fairies.    Titania  sleeps. 

Enter  Oberon. 
Oberon. 
What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

[Squeezes  the  flower  on  Titania's  eye-lids. 
Do  it  Tor  thy  true  love  take  ; 
Love,  and  languish  for  his  sake : 
Be  it  ounce,  or  cat,  or  bear, 
Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  hair, 
In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 
When  thou  wak'st,  it  is  thy  dear. 
Wake  when  some  vile  thing  is  near.  [Exit. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Hcrmia. 
Lysander. 
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. 

Hcrmia. 
Be  it  so,  Lysander :  find  you  out  a  bed, 
For  I  upon  this  bank  will  rest  my  head. 

o  Lysander. 


194- 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Lysander. 
One  turf  shall  serve  as  pillow  for  us  both : 
One  heart,  one  bed,  two  bosoms,  and  one  troth. 
Hermia. 
Nay,  good  Lysander :  for  my  sake,  my  dear, 
Lie  further  off  yet :  do  not  lie  so  near. 
Lysander. 
O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocence  ; 
Love  takes  the  meaning  in  love's  conference. 
I  mean,  that  my  heart  unto  yours  is  knit, 
So  that  but  one  heart  we  can  make  of  it : 
Two  bosoms  interchained  with  an  oath  ; 
So  then,  two  bosoms,  and  a  single  troth. 
Then,  by  your  side  no  bed-room  me  deny, 
For,  lying  so,  Hermia,  I  do  not  lie. 
Hermia. 
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. 
Thy  love  ne'er  alter  till  thy  sweet  life  end  I 
Lysander. 
Amen,  amen,  to  that  fair  prayer,  say  I ; 
And  then  end  life,  when  I  end  loyalty  1 
Here  is  my  bed :  sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest ! 
Hermia. 
With  half  that  wish  the  wisher's   eyes   be 
press'd  1  [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  ? 

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  wak'st,  let  love  forbid 

Sleep  his  seat  on  thy  eyelid. 

So  awake  when  I  am  gone, 

For  1  must  now  to  Oberon.  [Exit 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Helena,  running. 

Helena. 

Stay,  though  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Demetrius. 

Demetrius. 
I  charge  thee,  hence ;  and  do  not  haunt  me 
thus. 

Helena. 
O  1  wilt  thou  darkling  leave  me  ?  do  not  so. 

Demetriut. 
Stay,  on  thy  peril :  I  alone  will  go. 

[Exit  Demetrius. 
Helena 
O  !  I  am  out  of  breath  in  this  fond  chase. 
The  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace. 
Happy  is  Hermia,  wheresoe'er  she  lies, 
For  she  hath  blessed  and  attractive  eyes. 
How  came  her  eyes  so  bright  ?    Not  with  salt 

tears : 
If  so,  my  eyes  are  oftener  wash'd  than  her's. 
No,  no,  1  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' %     sphery 

eyne  ?  — 
But  who  is  here  ? — Lysander  on  the  ground  ? 
Dead,  or  asleep  ?  —  I  see  no  blood,  no  wound.  — 
Lysander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 

Lysander. 
And  run  through  fire  I  will,  for  thy  sweet 
sake.  [Waking. 

Transparent  Helena !     Nature  here  shows  art. 
That  through  thy  bosom  makes  me  see  thy 

heart. 
Where  is  Demetrius  ?    O,  how  fit  a  word 
Is  that  vile  name  to  perish  on  my  sword ! 

Helena. 
Do  not  say  so,  Lysander  ;  say  not  so. 
What  though  he  love  your  Hermia  ?     Lord  1 

what  though  ? 
Yet  Hermia  still  loves  you :  then  be  content. 

Lysander. 
Content  with  Hermia  t    No :  I  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  I  with  ber  have  spent. 
Not  Hermia,  but  Helena  I  love. 
Who  will  not  change  a  raven  for  a  dove  ? 
The  will  of  man  is  by  his  reason  sway'd, 
And  reason  says  you  are  the  worthier  maid. 
Things  growing  are  not  ripe  until  their  season  ; 
So,  I  being  young,  till  now  ripe  not  to  reason  ; 
And  touching  now  the  point  of  human  skill, 
Reason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will, 
And  leads  me  to  your  eyes  ;  where  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories,  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

Helena. 

i     Wherefore  was  1  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  1  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can. 
Deserve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye, 
But  you  must  flout  my  insufficiency  ?  [do, 

Good  troth,  you  do  me  wrong  ;  good  sooth,  you 
In  such  disdainful  manner  me  to  woo. 
But  fare  you  well :  perforce  I  must  confess, 
I  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refus'd, 
Should,  of  another,  therefore,  be  abus'd  I  [Exit 
Lysander. 

She  sees  not  Hermia Hermia,  sleep  thou 

there ; 
And  never  may'st  thou  come  Lysander  near  ; 
For,  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings  ; 
Or,  as  the  heresies,  that  men  do  leave, 
Are  hated  most  of  those  they  did  deceive  ; 
So  thou,  my  surfeit,  and  my  heresy, 
Of  all  be  hated,  but  the  most  of  me. 
And,  all  my  powers,  address  your    love  and 

might, 
To  honour  Helen,  and  to  be  her  knight.    [Exit. 

Hermia.  [Starting. 

Help  me,  Lysander,  help  me  !  do  thy  best, 
To  pluck  this  crawling  serpent  from  my  breast. 
Ah,  me,  for  pity  I  —  what  a  dream  was  here  I 
Lysander,  look,  how  I  do  quake  with  fear. 
Methough  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away, 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey.  — 
\  Lysander!  what,  remov'd?  Lysander!  lord  I 
1  What,  out  of  hearing  ?  gone  ?  no  sound,  no 

word? 
1  Alack  !  where  are  you  ?  speak,  an  if  you  hear  ; 
Speak,  of  all  loves  I  I  swoon  almost  with  fear. 
No  ? — then  I  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh : 
Either  death,  or  you,  I'll  find  immediately.  [Exit. 

ACT 


Act  111.  Sc.  l 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


195 


ACT  IIL 

SCENE  I.    The  lame.    The  Queen  of  Fairies 
lying  asleep. 

Enter  Quince,  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout,  and 
Starveling. 
Bottom. 
A  RE  we  all  met  ? 

Quince. 
Pat,  pat ;  and  here's  a  marvellous  convenient 

Elace  for  our  rehearsal.  This  green  plot  shall 
e  our  stage,  this  hawthorn  brake  our  'tiring- 
house  ;  and  we  will  do  it  in  action,  as  we  will 
do  it  before  the  duke. 

Bottom. 
Peter  Quince,— 

What  say'st  thou,  buliy  Bottom  t 

Bottom. 
There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  "  Pyramus 
and  Thisby"  that  will  never  please.  First, 
Pyramus  must  draw  a  sword  to  kill  himself, 
which  the  ladies  cannot  abide.  How  answer 
you  that  ? 

Snout. 
By'rlakin,  a  parlous  fear. 

Starveling. 

I  believe,  we  must  leave  Che  killing  out,  when 
all  is  done. 

Bottom. 

Not  a  whit :  1  have  a  device  to  make  all  well. 
Write  me  a  prologue ;  and  let  the  prologue  seem 
to  say,  we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords, 
and  that  Pyramus  is  not  killed  indeed  :  and,  for 
the  more  better  assurance,  tell  them,  that  I, 
Pyramus,  am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the 
weaver.    This  will  put  them  out  of  fear. 

Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue,  and  it 
shall  ba  written  in  eight  and  six. 

Bottom. 
No,  make  it  two  more:  let  it  be  written  in 
eight  and  eight. 

Snout. 
Will  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  lion  ? 

t  c     :..  i  .Starveling. 

I  fear  it,  1  promise  you. 

Bottom. 
Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  your- 
selves :  to  bring  in,  God  shield  us  1  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  it. 

_  Snout. 

Therefore,  another  prologue  must  tell  he  is 
not  a  lion. 

Bottom. 
Nay,  you  must  name  his  name,  and  half  his 
face  must  be  seen  through  the  lion's  neck  ;  and 
he  himself  must  speak  through,  saying  thus,  or 
to  the  same  defect : — "  Ladies,  or  fair  ladies,  I 
would  wish  you,  or,  I  would  request  you,  or,  I 
would  entreat  you,  not  to  fear,  not  to  tremble : 
my  life  for  yours.  If  you  think  I  come  hither 
as  a  lion,  it  were  pity  of  my  life :  no,  I  am  no 
such  thing:  I  am  a  man  as  other  men  are;" 
and  there,  indeed,  let  him  name  his  name,  and 
tell  them  plainly  he  is  Snug,  the  joiner. 


Quince. 
Well,  it  shall  be  so.    But  there  is  two  hard 
things :  that  is,  to  bring  the  moonlight  into  a 
chamber  ;  for  you  kuow,  Pyramus  and  Thisby 
meet  by  moonlight. 

Snug. 
Doth  the  moon  shineth  at  night  we  play  our 
play? 

Bottom. 
A  calendar,  a  calendar  !  look  in  the  almanack  j 
find  out  moonshine,  find  out  moonshine. 
Quince. 
Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

Bottom. 
Why,  then  you  may  leave  a  casement  of  the 
great  chamber  window,  where  we  play,  open  : 
and  the  moon  may  shine  in  at  the  casement. 
Quince. 
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  moon- 
shine.   Then,  there  is  another  thing :  we  must 
have  a  wall  in  the  great  chamber  ;  for  Pyramus 
and  Thisby  (says  the  story,)  did  taBe  through  the 
chink  of  a  wall. 

Snug. 

You  can  never  bring  in  a  wall What  say 

you,  Bottom  t 

Bottom. 
Some  man  or  other  must  present  wall ;  and 
let  him  have  some  plaster,  or  some  loam,  or 
some  rough-cast  about  him,  to  signify  wall :  or 
let  him  hold  his  fingers  thus,  and  through  that 
cranny  shall  Pyramus  and  Thisby  whisper. 
Quince. 
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. 
Puck. 

What  hempen  home-spuns  have  we  swagger- 
ing here, 
So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  ? 
What,  a  play  toward  ?    I'll  be  an  auditor ; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  1  see  cause. 
Quirxto. 
Speak,  Pyramus.  — Thisby,  stand  forth. 

I 'y  ram  us. 
"  Thisby,    the    flowers    of    odious    savours 
sweet," — 

Quince. 
Odours,  odours. 

Pyramus. 

"  odours  savours  sweet : 

So  hath  thy  breath,  my  dearest  Thisby,  dear.— 
But,  hark,  a  voice  !  stay  thou  but  here  a  while, 
And  by  and  by  I  will  to  thee  appear." 

[Exit. 
Puck. 
A  stranger  Pyramus  than  e'er  play'd  here ! 

I  Exit. 
i'hisbe. 
Must  I  speak  now  ? 

Quince. 
Ay,  marry,  must  you ;  for  you  must  under- 
stand, he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  that  he  heard, 
and  is  to  come  again. 

Thisbe. 
"  Most  radiant  Pyramus,  most  lily-white  of  hue, 
Of  colour  like  the  red  rose  on  triumphant 
brier, 

Most 


196 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  hi.  Sc  t 


[Exeunt  Clowns. 


Most  brisky  juvenal,  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 
As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never 
tire, 
I'll  meet  thee,  Pyramus,  at  Ninny's  tomb." 

Quince. 
Ninus'  tomb,  man.  Why  you  must  not  speak 
that  yet ;  that  you  answer  to  Pyramus.  You 
speak  all  your  part  at  once,  cues  and  all.— 
Pyramus,  enter  :  your  cue  is  past ;  it  is, ••  never 
tire." 

Re-enter  Puck,  and  Bottom  with  an  ass's  head. 
Thisbe. 
O  !— "  As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would 
never  tire." 

Pyramus. 
44  If  I  were,  fair  Thhby,  I  were  only  thine :  "— 

Quince. 
O  monstrous  !  O  strange  !  we  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters  !  fly,  masters  !  help  " 

Puck 

I'll  follow  you,  I'll  lead  you  about  a  round, 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake, 
through  brier : 
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. 
Bottom. 
Why  do  they  run  away  ?  this  is  a  knavery  of 
them,  to  make  me  afearu. 

Re-enter  Snout. 
Snout. 

0  Bottom!  thou  art  changed:  what  do  I  see 
on  thee?  [Exit. 

Bottom. 
What  do  you  see?  you  see  an  ass's  head  of 
your  own,  do  you  ? 

Re-enter  Quince. 

Quince. 

Bless   thee,  Bottom!    bless   thee!   thou   art 

translated.  [Exit. 

Bottom. 

1  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  heal  I  am  not  afraid.  [Sings. 

The  oosel-cock,  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-tawney  bill, 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true, 

The  wren  with  little  quill. 

Tltania. 
What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery  bed  ? 
[Waking. 
Bottom. 
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  ? 

Titania. 
I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again : 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamour'd  of  thy  note, 
So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape ;       [me, 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force,  perforce,  doth  move 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 


Bottom. 
Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little 
reason  for  that :  and  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason 
and  love  keep  little  company  together  now-a- 
days.  The  more  the  pity,  that  some  honest 
neighbours  will  not  make  them  friends.  Nay, 
I  can  gleek  upon  occasion. 

Tltania. 
Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 

Bottom 
Not  so,  neither ;  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to 
get  out  of  this  wood,  I  have  enough  to  serve 
mine  own  turn. 

Titania. 
Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go : 
Thou  shalt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or 
I  am  a  spirit  of  no  common  rate ;  [no. 

The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state, 
And  I  do  love  thee:  therefore,  go  with  me; 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee  ; 
And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep, 
And  sing  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost 

sleep : 
And  1  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 
That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. —    {seed! 
Peas-blossom!    Cobweb!  Moth!   and  Mustard- 


Ready. 


Enter  four  Fairies 
1  Fairy. 


And  I. 


2  Fairy. 

3  Fairjr. 
And  I. 

4  Fairy. 
All. 


And  I. 


Where  shall  we  go  ? 
Titanic. 

Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman : 
Hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in  his  eyes ; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks,  and  dewberries, 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries. 
The  honey  bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees, 
And  for  night  tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise  ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies, 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes. 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 


Hail,  mortal ! 

Hail! 

Hail! 


1  Fairy. 

2  Fairy. 

3  Fairy. 

4  Fairy. 


Hail! 

Bottom. 
I  cry  your  worship's  mercy,  heartily.  —  I  be- 
seech, your  worship's  name. 

Cobweb. 
Cobweb. 

Bottom. 
I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance,  good 
master  Cobweb.   If  I  cut  my  finger,  I  shall  make 
bold  with  you Your  name,  honest  gentleman? 

Peas-blossom. 
Peas-blossom. 

Bottom. 
1  pray  you,  commend  me  to  mistress  Squash, 
your  mother,  and  to  master  Peascod,  your  fa- 
ther. Good  master  Peas-blossom,  I  shall  desire 
you  of  more  acquaintance  too.— Your  name,  1 
beseech  you,  sir  ? 

Mustard- 


Act  in.  Sc.  u. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DKEAM. 


Mustard-seed. 
Mustard  teed. 

Bottom . 
Good  master  Mustard-seed,  I  know  your  pa- 
tience well :  that  same  cowardly,  giant-like  ox- 
bi'i-i  hath  devoured  many  a  gentleman  of  your 
house.  I  promise  you,  your  kindred  hath  made 
my  eye*  water  ere  now.  I  desire  you  more  ac- 
quaintance,  good  master  Mustard-seed. 

Titanla. 
Come,  wait  upon  him :  lead  him  to  my  bower. 
The  moon,  metninks,  looks  with  a  waterv  eye,    j 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower, 
Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 
Tie  up  my  lover's  tongue,  bring  him  silently. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 1 .    Another  part  of  the  Wood- 
Enter  Oberon. 
Obcron. 
1  wonder,  if  Titania  be  awak'd  ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye, 
Which  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 

Here  comes  my  messenger How  now,  mad 

spirit  ? 
What  night-rule  now  about  this  haunted  grove? 

Puck. 

My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  in  love. 
Near  to  her  close  and  consecrated  bower, 
While  she  was  in  her  dull  and  sleeping  hour, 
A  crew  of  patches,  rude  mechanicals, 
That  work  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls, 
Were  met  together  to  rehearse  a  play. 
Intended  for  great  Theseus'  nuptial  day. 
The  shallowest  thick-skin  of  that  barren  sort, 
Who  I'y  ramus  presented  in  their  sport, 
Forsook  his  scene,  and  enter'd  in  a  brake, 
When  I  did  him  at  this  advantage  take  ; 
An  ass's  nowl  I  fixed  on  his  head: 
Anon,  his  Thisbe  must  be  answered,  [spy, 

And  forth  my  mimic  comes.    When  they  him 
As  wild  geese  that  the  creeping  fowler  eye", 
Or  russet -pated  choughs,  many  in  sort, 
Rising  and  cawing  at  the  gun's  report, 
Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sky ; 
So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly, 
And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o'er  and  o'er  one  falls  : 
He  murder  cries,  and  help  from  Athens  calls. 
Their  sense  thus  weak,  lost  with  their  fears  thus 

strong, 
Made  senseless,  things  begin  to  do  them  wrong, 
For  briers  and  thorns  at  their  apparel  snatch, 
Some,  sleeves,  some,   hats,  from    yielders  all 

things  catch. 
I  led  them  on  in  this  distracted  fear, 
And  left  sweet  Pyramus  translated  there  ; 
When  in  that  moment  (so  it  came  to  pass,) 
Titania  wak'd,  and  straightway  lov'd  an  ass. 
Oberon. 

This  falls  out  better  than  1  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  wak'd,  of  force  she  must  be  ey'd. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Hcrmia. 
Oberon. 
Stand  close:  this  Is  the  same  Athenian. 

Tuck. 
This  is  the  woman ;  but  not  this  the  man. 


I97 


iK'imtrius. 

0  !  why  rebuke  you  him  that  loves  you  to  ? 
Lay  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe. 

Hermia. 
Now,   I  but  chide ;  but   I  should  use  thee 
worse, 
For  thou,  I  fear,  hast  given  me  cause  to  curse. 
If  thou  hast  slain  Lysander  in  his  sleep, 
Being  o'er  shoes  in 'blood,  plunge  in  the  deep, 
And  kill  me  too. 

The  sun  was  not  so  true  unto  the  day, 
As  he  to  me.    Would  he  have  stol'n  away 
From  sleeping  Hermia?    I'll  believe  as  soon, 
This  whole  earth  may  be  bor'd,  and  that  the 

moon 
May  through  the  centre  creep,  and  so  displease 
Her  brother's  noon  tide  with  th'  Antipodes. 
It  cannot  be  but  thou  hast  murder'd  him  : 
So  should  a  murderer  look,  so  dead,  so  grim. 
Demetrius. 
So  should  the  murder'd  look,  and  so  should  I, 
Pierc'd    through    the  heart    with   your    stern 

cruelty ; 
Yet  you,  the  murderer,  look  as  bright,  as  clear, 
As  yonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  sphere. 
Hermia. 
What's  this  to  my  Lysander?  where  is  he  ? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  give  him  me  "* 

Demetrius. 

1  had  rather  give  his  carcase  to  my  hounds. 

Hermia. 
Out,  dog  !  out,  cur  !  thou  driv'st  me  past  the 
bounds 
Of  maiden's  patience.  Hast  thou  slain  him  then  ? 
Henceforth  be  never  number 'd  among  men  ! 

0  !  once  tell  true,  tell  true,  e'en  for  my  sake  ; 
Durst  thou  have  look'd  upon  him,  being  awake, 
And  hast  thou  kill'd  him  sleeping?    O  brave 

touch ! 
Could  not  a  worm,  an  adder,  do  so  much  ? 
An  adder  did  it  ;  for  with  doubler  tongue 
Than  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 
Demetrius. 
You  spend  your  passion  on  a  mispris'd  mood : 

1  am  not  guilty  of  Lysander'*  blood, 
Nor  is  he  dead,  for  aught  that  1  can  tell. 

Hermia. 
I  pray  thee,  tell  me,  then,  that  he  is  well. 

Demetrius. 

And,  if  I  could,  what  should  I  get  therefore  ? 

Hermia. 

A  privilege,  never  to  see  me  more 

And  from  thy  hated  presence  part  1  so  ; 
See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be  dead  or  no. 

[Exit. 
Demetrius. 
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. 
Obeion. 
What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistaken 
quite, 
And  laid  ttie  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight : 
Of  thy  misprision  must  perforce  ensue       [true. 
Some  true-love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  turn'd 
i'uek. 
Then  fate  o'er-rules ;  that  one  man  holding 
troth, 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath 


6b 


198 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  11. 


Oberon. 
About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind, 
And  Helena  of  A  (hens  look  thou  find  : 
All  fancy-sick  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer      [dear. 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  blood 
By  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  her  here : 
I'll  charm  his  eyes  against  she  do  appear. 
Puck. 
I  go,  I  go ;  look  how  I  go ; 
Swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow. 

[Exit. 
Oberon. 
Flower  of  this  purple  die, 
Hit  with  Cupid's  archery, 
Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye. 
"When  his  love  he  doth  espy, 
Let  her  shine  as  gloriously 
As  the  Venus  of  the  sky, — 
When  thou  wak'st,  if  she  be  by, 
Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re-enter  Puck. 
Puck. 

Captain  of  our  fairy  band, 
Helena  is  here  at  hand, 
And  the  youth,  mistook  by  me, 
Pleading  for  a  lover's  fee. 
Shall  we  their  fond  pageant  see  ? 
Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be  ! 

Oberon. 
Stand  aside :  the  noise  they  make 
Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 

Puck. 
Then  will  two  at  once  woo  one  ; 
That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 
And  those  things  do  best  please  me, 
That  befal  preposterously. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Helena- 
Lysander. 
Why  should  you  think  that  I  should  woo  in 
scorn  ? 
Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears : 
Look,  when  1  vow  I  weep,  and  vows  so  born, 

In  their  nativity  all  truth  appears. 
How  can  these  things  in  me  seem  scorn  to  you, 
Bearing  the  badge  of  faith  to  prove  them  true  ? 

Helena. 
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  ?  [weigh  : 

Weigh  oath  with  oath,  and  you  will  nothing 
Your  vows,  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales, 
Will  even  weigh,  and  both  as  light  as  tales. 
Lysander. 
I  had  no  judgment,  when  to  her  I  swore. 

Helena. 
Nor  none,  m  my  mind,  now  you  give  her  o'er. 

Lysander. 
Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Demetrius.  [Awaking. 

O  Helen,  goddess,  nymph,  perfect,  divine  ! 
To  what,  my  love,  shall  I  compare  thine  eyne? 
Crystal  is  muddy.     O  !  how  ripe  in  show 
Thy  lips,  those  kissing  cherries,  tempting  grow ! 
That  pure  congealed  white,  high  Taurus  snow, 
Fann'd  with  the  eastern  wind,  turns  to  a  crow, 
When  thou  hold'st  up  thy  hand.    O,  let  me  kiss 
This  princess  of  pure  white,  this  seal  of  bliss  1 
Helena. 
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  iiyury. 


Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do, 
{  But  you  must  join  in  souls  to  mock  me  too  ? 
1  If  you  were  men,  as  men  vou  are  in  show, 
;  You  would  not  use  a  gentle  lady  so  ; 
1  To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  parts, 
I  When,  1  am  sure,  you  hate  me  with  your  hearts. 
;  You  both  are  rivals,  and  love  Hermia, 
i  And  now  both  rivals  to  mock  Helena. 
j  A  trim  exploit,  a  manly  enterprise, 
\  To  conjure  tears  up  in  a  poor  maid's  eyes 
W  ith  your  derision  i  none  of  noble  sort 
Would  so  offend  a  virgin,  and  extort 
A  poor  soul's  patience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 
I.yFnnder. 
You  are  unkind,  Demetrius ;  be  not  so, 
For  you  love  Hermia  ;  this,  you  know,  1  know : 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart, 
In  Hermia's  love  I  yield  yon  up  my  part ; 
And  yours  of  Helena  to  me  bequeath, 
Whom  I  do  love,  and  will  do  till  my  death. 
Helena. 
Never  did  mockers  waste  more  idle  breath. 

Demetrius. 
Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia :  I  will  none : 
If  e'er  I  lov'd  her,  all  that  love  is  gone. 
My  heart  to  her  but  as  guest-wise  sojourn'd, 
And  now  to  Helen  is  it  home  return'd, 
There  to  remain. 

Lysander. 

Helen,  it  is  not  so. 
Demetrius. 
Disparage  not  the  faith  thou  dost  not  know, 
Lest  to  thy  peril  thou  aby  it  dear. — 
Look,  where  thy  love  comes:  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Enter  Hermia. 
Hermia. 
Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function 
takes, 
The  ear  more  quick  of  apprehension  makes  ; 
Wherein  it  doth  impair  the  seeing  sense, 
It  pays  the  hearing  double  recompense. 
Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it,  brought  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  why  unkindly  didst  thou  leave  me  so  ? 
Lysander. 
Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press 
to  go  ? 

Hermia. 
What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my 
side? 

Lysander. 
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. 
The  hate  I  bare  thee  made  me  leave  thee  so  ? 
Hermia. 
You  speak  not  as  you  think :  it  cannot  be. 

Helena. 
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. 
I  Injurious  Hermia!  most  ungrateful  maid  ! 
Have  you  conspir'd,  have  you  with  these  con- 
To  bait  me  with  this  foul  derision  ?  [triv'd 
I  Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shar'd, 
iThe  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
!  When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
iFor  parting  us,— O  !  is  all  forgot  ?          [cence  ? 
I  All    school  days'    friendship,    childhood  inno- 
jWe,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods, 
;  Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower, 

Both 


Act  hi.  Sc  ii. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS  DREAM. 


199 


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  ; 
Two  lovely  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  rend  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. 
Hermia. 

I  am  amazed  at  your  passionate  words. 
I  scorn  you  not :  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 
Helena. 

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  god'tess,  nymph,  divine,  and  rare, 
Precious,  celestial  ?    Wherefore  speaks  he  this 
To  her  he  hates  ?  and  wherefore  doth  Lysander 
Deny  your  love,  so  rich  within  his  soul, 
And  tender  me,  forsooth,  affection, 
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  unlov'd, 
This  you  should  pity,  rather  than  despise. 
Hennla. 

I  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  this. 
Helena. 

Ay,  do,  persever,  counterfeit  sad  looks, 
Make  mouths  upon  me  when  I  turn  my  back  ; 
Wink  at  each  other;  hold  the  sweet  jest  up  : 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled. 
If  you  have  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners, 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
But,  fare  ye  well :  'tis  partly  mine  own  fault, 
Which  death,  or  absence,  soon  shall  remedy. 
Lysander. 

Stay,  gentle  Helena !  hear  my  excuse : 
My  love,  my  life,  my  soul,  fair  Helena  I 
Helena. 

0  excellent  l 

Hennla. 
Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so. 

Demetrius. 
If  she  cannot  entreat,  I  can  compel. 

Lysander. 

Thou  canst  compel  no  more  than  she  entreat: 

Thy  threats  have  no  more  strength,  than  her 

weak  prayers 

Helen,  I  love  thee  ;  by  my  life,  I  do : 
I  swear  by  that  which  I  will  lose  for  thee, 
To  prove  him  false,  that  says  I  love  thee  not. 
Demetrius. 

1  say,  I  love  thee  more  than  he  can  do. 

Lysander. 
If  thou  say  so,  withdraw,  and  prove  it  too. 

Demetrius. 
Quick,  come,— 

Hermia. 
Lysander,  whereto  tends  all  this  ? 
Lysander. 
Away,  you  Ethiop ! 


Demetrius. 
No,  no,  sir, 
Seem  to  break  loose ;  take  on,  as  you  would 

follow  ; 
But  yet  come  not.    You  are  a  tame  man,  go ! 
Lysander. 
Hang  ofT,  thou  cat,  thou  burr  1  vile  thing,  let 
loose, 
Or  I  will  shake  thee  from  me  like  a  serpent. 
Hermia. 
Why  are  you  grown  so  rudo  ?  what  change  Is 
Sweet  love  ?  Ctm*» 

Lysander. 
Thy  love  ?  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out  I 
Out,  loathed  medicine  1   O  hated  poison,  hence  1 
Hermia. 
Do  you  not  jest  ? 

Helena. 

Yes,  'sooth  ;  and  so  do  you. 
Lysander. 
Demetrius,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  thee. 

Demetrius. 

I  would,  I  had  your  bond  ;  for,  I  perceive, 

A  weak  bond  holds  you :  I'll  not  trust  your  word. 

I  Lysander. 

!     What !  should  I  hurt  her,  strike  her,  kill  her 

dead? 
Although  I  hate  her,  I'll  not  harm  her  so. 
Hermia. 
What !  can  you  do  me  greater  harm  than  hate  ? 
Hate  me  I  wherefore  ?    O  me !  what  news,  my 

love? 
Am  not  I  Hermia  t    Are  not  you  Lysander  f 
I  am  as  fair  now,  as  I  was  erewhile.       [left  me: 
Since  night,  you  lov'd  me  ;  yet,  since  night  you 
Why,  then  you  left  me  (O,  the  gods  forbid  !) 
In  earnest,  shall  I  say  ? 

Lysander. 

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, 
That  I  do  hate  thee,  and  love  Helena. 
Hermia. 

0  me  !— you  juggler  !  you  canker-blossom  ! 
You  thief  of  love !  what,  have  you  come  by  night, 
And  stol'n  my  love's  heart  from  him  ? 

Helena. 

Fine,  1'  faith  I 
Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame, 
No  touch  of  bashfulness  ?     What,  will  you  tear 
!  Impatient  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ? 
Fie,  fie  1  you  counterfeit,  you  puppet  you  1 
Hermia. 
Puppet !  why  so  ?     Ay,  that  way  goes  the 
game. 
Now  I  perceive  that  she  hath  made  compare 
Between  our  statures :  she  hath  urg'd  her  height, 
And  with  her  personage,  her  tall  personage, 
Her  height,  forsooth,  she  hath  prevail'd  with 

him 

And  are  you  grown  so  high  in  his  esteem, 
Because  I  am  so  dwarfish,  and  so  low  ? 
How  low  am  I,  thou  painted  maypole  ?  speak  ; 
How  low  am  I  ?     I  am  not  yet  so  low, 
But  that  my  nails  can  reach  unto  thine  eyes. 
Helena. 

1  pray  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentlemen, 
Let  her  not  hurt  me :  I  was  never  curst ; 

1  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. 

Hermia. 


lOO 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Hermia. 

Lower !  hark,  again. 
Helena. 
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, 
1  told  him  of  your  stealth  unto  this  wood. 
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  you  will  let  me  quiet  go, 
To  Athens  will  I  bear  my  folly  back, 
And  follow  you  no  further.    Let  me  go  ; 
You.  see  how  simple  and  how  fond  I  am. 
Hermia. 
Why,  get  you  gone.    Who  is't  that  hinders 
you? 

J  Hdcna. 

A  foolish  heart,  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Hermia. 
What,  with  Lysander  ? 

Helena. 

With  Demetrius. 
Lysander. 
Be  not  afraid :  she  shall  not  harm  thee,  He- 
lena. 

Demetrius. 
No,  sir ;  she  shall  not,  though  you  take  her 
part. 

Helena. 
O  !  when  she  is  angry,  she  is  keen  and  shrewd. 
She  was  a  vixen,  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And,  though  she  be  but  little,  she  is  fierce. 
Hermia. 
Little  again  ?  nothing  but  low  and  little  ?  — 
Why  will  you  suffer  her  to  flout  me  thus? 
Let  me  come  to  her. 

Lysander. 
Get  you  gone,  you  dwarf ; 
You  minimus,  of  hindering  knot-grass  made; 
You  bead,  you  acorn. 

Demetrius. 

You  are  too  officious 
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.  . 

Lysander. 

Now  she  hold's  me  not, 
Now  follow,  if  thou  dar'st,  to  try  whose  right, 
Of  thine  or  mine,  is  most  in  Helena. 
Demetrius. 
Follow  ?  nay,  I'll  go  with  thee,  cheek  by  jowl. 
fExcunt  Lysander  and  Demetrius. 
Hermia. 
You,  mistress,  all  this  coil  is  'long  of  you. 
Nay,  go  not  back. 

Helena. 
T  will  not  trust  you,  I, 
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. 
Hermia. 
I  am  amaz'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 

[Exit. 
Oberon. 
This  is  thy  negligence :  still  thou  mistak'st, 
Or  else  commit'st  tby  knaveries  wilfully. 
Puck. 
Believe  me,  king  of  shadows,  I  mistook. 
Did  not  you  tell  me  I  should  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  had  on  ? 


j  And  so  far  blameless  proves  my  enterprize, 
I  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. 
Oberon. 
Thou  seest,  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight ; 
Hie,  therefore,  Robin,  overcast  the  night ; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
With  drooping  fog,  as  black  as  Acheron  ; 
And  lead  these  testy  rivals  so  astray, 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way. 
Like  to  Lysander  sometime  frame  thy  tongue, 
Then  stir  Demetrius  up  with  bitter  wrong ; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  Demetrius; 
And  from  each  other  look  thou  lead  them  thus, 
Till  o'er  their  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep, 
With  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings,  doth  creep : 
Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye ; 
Whose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property, 
To  take  from  thence  all  error  with  his  might, 
And  make  his  eye-balls  roll  with  wonted  sight. 
When  they  next  wake,  all  this  derision 
Shall  seem  a  dream,  and  fruitless  vision  ; 
And  back  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend, 
With  league,  whose  date  till  death  shall  never 
Whiles  I  in  this  affair  do  thee  employ,        [end. 
I'll  to  my  queen,  and  beg  her  Indian  boy  ; 
And  then  I  will  her  charmed  eye  release  [peace. 
From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be 
Puck. 
My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  haste, 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  the  clouds  full  fast, 
And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  harbinger  ;  [there, 
At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and 
Troop  home  to  church  yards :  damned  spirits 
That  in  cross-ways  and  floods  have  burial,  [all, 
Already  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone  ; 
For  fear  lest  day  should  look  their  shames  upon, 
They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  lif-ht, 
And  must  for  aye  consort  with  black-brow'd 
night.  M 

Oberon. 
But  we  are  spirits  of  another  sort, 
with  the  morning's  love  have  oft  made  sport ; 
And,  like  a  forester,  the  groves  may  tread, 
Even  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery-red, 
Opening  on  Neptune  with  fair  blessed  beams, 
Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streams. 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste ;  make  no  delay : 
We  may  effect  this  business  yet  ere  day. 

C  Exit  Oberon. 
Tuck. 
Up  and  down,  up  and  down  ; 
I  will  lead  them  up  and  down : 
I  am  fear'd  in  field  and  town  ; 
Goblin,  lead  them  up  and  down. 
Here  comes  one. 

Enter  Lysander. 
Lysander. 
Where  art   thou,  proud  Demetrius?   speak 
thou  now. 

Puck. 
Here,  villain!  drawn  and  ready.    Where  art 
thou  ? 

Lysander. 
I  will  be  with  thee  straight. 
Puck. 

Follow  me  then 
To  plainer  ground. 

[Exit  Lysander  as  following  the  voice. 

Enter  Demetrius. 
Demetrius. 
Lysander!  jpeak  again. 

Thou  | 


An  iv.  Sc.  U 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DIIEAM. 


20I 


Thou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thou  fled  ? 
I  I Speak  !    In  some  bush  ?    Where  dost  thou  hide 
thy  head  ? 

i     Thou  coward  1  art  thou  bragging  to  the  stars, 
Telling  the  bushes  that  thou  look'st  for  wars. 
And  wilt  not  come?    Come,  recreant;  come, 
thou  child ; 
t  I'll  whip  thee  with  a  rod  :  he  Is  defil'd, 
That  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 
Demetrius. 

Yen ;  art  thou  there  ? 

Puck. 
Follow  my  voice :  we'll  try  no  manhood  here. 
[Exeunt 
Re-enter  Lysauder. 

Ly sander. 
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.    Come,  thou  gentle  day! 
[Lies  down. 
For  if  but  once  thou  show  me  thy  grey  light, 
I'll  find  Demetrius,  and  revenge  this  spite. 

[Sleeps. 

Re-enter  Puck  and  Demetrius. 

Puck. 

Ho !  ho !  ho !    Coward,  why  com'st  thou  not? 

Demetrius. 
Abide  me,  if  thou  dar'st ;  for  well  I  wot, 
Thou  runn'st  before  me,  shifting  every  place, 
And  dar'st  not  stand,  nor  look  me  in  the  face. 
Where  art  thou  now  ? 

Puck 

Come  hither :  I  am  here. 
Demetrius. 
Nay,  then  thou  mock'st  me.     Thou  shalt  buy 
If  ever  I  thy  face  by  daylight  see:        [this  dear, 
Now,  go  thy  way.     Faihtness  constraineth  me 
To  measure  out  my  length  on  this  cold  bed. 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited. 

[Lies  down  and  sleeps. 

Enter  Helena. 
Helena. 

0  weary  night !  O,  long  and  tedious  night ! 
Abate  thy  hours :   shine,  comforts,  from  the 

That  I  may  back  to  Athens,  by  day-  light,  [east, 

From  these  that  my  poor  company  detest. 
And  sleep,  that  sometimes  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye, 
Steal  me  a  while  from  mine  own  company. 

[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, 
Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

Enter  Ilcrmia. 
Hermia. 
Never  so  weary,  never  so  in  woe, 
Bedabbled  with  the  dew,  and  torn  with  briers : 

1  can  no  farther  crawl,  no  farther  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  ! 
ri-ies  down. 
Puck. 
On  the  ground  sleep  sound : 
I'll  apply  to  your  eye, 


Gentle  lover,  remedy. 

[Squeezing  the  Juice  on  I.ysander**  eye. 
When  thou  wak'st,  thou  tak'st 
True  delight  in  the  sight 
Of  thy  former  lady's  eye : 
And  the  country  proverb  known, 
That  every  man  should  take  his  own. 
In  your  wakii  g  shall  be  shown: 

Jack  shall  have  Jill  ; 

Nought  shall  go  ill ; 
The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again, 
And  all  shall  be  well. 
[Exit  Puck.  — Demetrius,  Helena,  &c.  sleep. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 

Enter  Titania  and  Bottom  ;  Fairies  attending  : 

Oberan  behind  unseen. 

Titania. 

C^OME,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 
J  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. 
Bottom. 
Where's  Peas-blossom  f 

Peas-blossom. 
Ready. 

Bottom. 

Scratch   my  head,  Peas-blossom Where's 

monsieur  Cobweb  ? 

Cobweb. 
Ready. 

Bottom. 
Monsieur  Cobweb;  good  monsieur,  get  your 
weapons  in  your  hand,  and  kill  me  a  red-hipped 
humble-bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle ;  and,  good 
monsieur,  bring  me  the  honey-bag.  Do  not 
fret  yourself  too  much  in  the  action,  monsieur  ; 
and,  good  monsieur,  have  a  care  the  honey -bag 
break  not:  I  would  be  loath  to  have  you  over- 
flown with  a  honey-bag,  signior — Where's  mon- 
sieur Mustard-seed  f 

Mustard-seed. 
Ready. 

Bottom. 
Give  me  your  neif,  monsieur  Mustard-seed. 
Pray  you,  leave  your  courtesy,  good  monsieur. 
Mustard-seed. 
What's  your  will  ? 

Bottom. 

Nothing,  good  monsieur,  but  to  help  cavalery 
Cobweb  to  scratch.  I  must  to  the  barber's, 
monsieur  ;  for,  methinks,  I  am  marvellous  hairy 
about  the  face,  and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if 
my  hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 

Titania. 
What,  wilt  thou  hear  some  music,  my  sweet 
love  ? 

Bottom. 
I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music :  let's 
have  the  tongs  and  the  bones. 

Titania. 
Or,  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desir'st  to  eat. 

Bottom. 

Truly,  a  peck  of  provender :  I  could  munch 

your  good  dry  oats.     Methinks,  1  have  a  great 

desire  to  a  bottle  of  hay :  good  bay,  rreet  hay, 

hath  no  fellow. 

Titania. 


ao* 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


tI 


Titania. 
I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 
The  squirrel's  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  new  nuts. 
Bottom. 
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. 

Titania. 
Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 
Fairies,  he  gone,  and  be  all  ways  away. 
So  doth  the  woodbine,  the  sweet  honeysuckle, 
Gently  entwist :  the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 
O,  how  I  love  thee  1  how  I  dote  on  thee  ! 

(They  sleep. 
Enter  Puck. 
Oberon.  [Advancing. 

Welcome,  good  Rohin.    Seest  thou  this  sweet 
Her  dotage  now  I  do  begin  to  pity  ;         [sight  ? 
For  meeting  her  of  late  behind  the  wood, 
Seeking  sweet  savours  for  this  hateful  fool, 
1  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her  ; 
For  she  his  hairy  temples  then  had  rounded 
With  coronet  of  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers  ; 
And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds  j 
Was  wont  to  swell  like  round  and  orient  pearls,  | 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flow'rets'  eyes, 
Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 
When  I  had  at  my  pleasure  taunted  her, 
And  she  in  mild  terms  begg'd  my  patience, 
I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child, 
Which  straight  she  gave  me  ;  and  her  fairy  sent 
To  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fairy  land. 
And  now  1  have  the  boy,  I  will  undo 
This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes  : 
And,  gentle  Puck,  take  this  transformed  scalp 
From  off  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain, 
That  he,  awaking  when  the  other  do, 
May  all  to  Athens  back  again  repair, 
And  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents, 
But  as  the  fierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 
But  first  I  will  release  the  fairy  queen. 
Be,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be  ; 
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. 

Titania. 
My  Oberon!  what  visions  have  I  seen  I 
Methought,  1  was  enamour'd  of  an  ass. 

Oberon. 

There  lies  your  love. 

Titania. 
How  came  these  things  to  pass  ? 
O,  how  mine  eyes  do  loath  his  visage  now  I 

Oberon. 

Silence,  a  while. — Robin,  take  off  this  head 

Titania,  music  call ;  and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep  of  all  these  five  the  sense. 

Titania. 
Music,  ho  !  music  !  such  as  charmeth  sleq>. 

Puck. 

Now,  when  thou  wak'st,with  thine  own  fool's 
eyes  peep. 

Oberon. 
Sound,  music  1    Come,  my  queen,  take  hands 
with  me, 
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  posterity. 


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. 

Oberon. 
Then,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad, 
Trip  we  after  the  night's  shade  ; 
We  the  globe  can  compass  soon, 
Swifter  than  the  wandering  moon. 

Titania. 
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  sound  within. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus,  and  Train. 

Theseus. 
Go,  one  of  you,  find  out  the  forester  ; 
For  now  our  observation  is  perform'd  : 
And  since  we  have  the  vaward  of  the  day, 
My  love  shall  hear  the  music  of  my  hounds.  — 
Uncouple  in  the  western  valley :  let  them  go  !  — 

Despatch,  I  say,  and  find  the  forester 

We  will,  fair  queen,  up  to  the  mountain's  top, 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 
Hippolyta. 
I  was  with  Hercules,  and  Cadmus,  once, 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta  :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding  ;  for,  besides  the  groves, 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry.     1  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 
Theseus. 
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-kneed,   and   dew-lap'd   like  Thessalian 
bulls ;  [bells, 

Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  mouth   like 
Each  under  each.     A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  halloo'd  to,  nor  cheer'd  with  horn, 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  in  Thessaly  : 
Judge,    when    you    hear.  —  But,    soft!     what 
nymphs  are  these  ? 

Egeus. 
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. 
Theseus. 
No  doubt,  they  rose  up  early,  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May  ;  and,  hearing  our  intent, 
Came  here  in  grace  of  our  solemnity — 
But  speak,  Egeus  ;  is  not  this  the  day 
That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  her  choice? 
Egeus. 
It  is,  my  lord. 

Theseus. 
Go,  bid  the  huntsmen  wake  them  with  their 
horns. 
[Horns,  and  shout  within.    Demetrius,  Ly- 
sander,  Hermia,  and  Helena,  wake  and 
start  up. 

Theseus. 
Good-morrow,  friends.      Saint    Valentine  U 
past; 
Begin  these  wood-birds  but  to  coupi?  now  ? 
Lysander. 
Pardon,  my  lord.  [ lie  and  the  rest  kneel. 

Theseus. 


Act  iv.  5c.  n. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


»Oj 


Theseus. 

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, 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enmity  ? 
Lysamler. 

My  lord,  I  shall  reply  amazedly, 
Half  sleep,  half  waking :  but  as  yet,  I  swear, 
I  cannot  truly  say  how  1  came  here  ; 
But,  as  1  think,  (for  truly  would  I  speak,— 
And  now  1  do  bethink  me,  so  it  is) 
1  came  with  Hermia  hither :  our  intent 
Was  to  be  gone  from  Athens,  where  we  might 
Without  the  peril  of  the  Athenian  law  — 
Egeut. 

Enough,  enough  !  my  lord,  you  have  enough. 
I  beg  the  law,  the  law,  upon  his  head. 
They  would  have  stol'n  away  ;    they  would, 

Demetrius, 
Thereby  to  have  defeated  you  and  me  ; 
You,  of  your  wife,  and  me,  of  my  consent, 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  be  your  wife. 
Demetrius. 

My  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. 
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  gawd, 
Which  in  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon  ; 
And  all  the  faith,  the  virtue  of  my  heart, 
The  object,  and  the  pleasure  of  mine  eye, 
Is  only  Helena.    To  her,  my  lord, 
Was  1  betroth 'd  ere  I  saw  Hermia: 
But,  like  in  sickness,  did  I  loath  this  food  ; 
But,  as  in  health,  come  to  my  natural  taste, 
Now  do  I  wish  it,  love  it,  long  for  it, 
And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

Theseus. 
Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  met. 
Of  this  discourse  we  more  will  hear  anon.— 
Egeus,  I  will  overbear  your  will, 
For  in  the  temple,  by  and  by  with  us, 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit. 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  worn, 
Our  purpos'd  hunting  shall  be  set  aside. 
Away,  with  us,  to  Athens  :  three  and  three, 
We'll  hold  a  feast  in  great  solemnity.  — 
Come,  Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt    Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus,   and 
Train. 

Demetrius. 
These  things  seem  small,  and  undistinguish- 
able, 
Like  far-oflf  mountains  turned  into  clouds. 

Hermia. 
Methinks,  I  see  these  things  with  parted  eye, 
When  every  thing  seems  double. 
Helen. 

So  methinks : 
And  1  have  found  Demetrius,  like  a  jewel, 
Mine  own,  and  not  mine  own. 
Demetrius. 

Are  you  sure 
That  we  are  awake  ?    It  seems  to  me 
That  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream.  —  Do  not  you 

think 
The  duke  was  here,  and  bid  us  follow  him  ? 
Hermia. 
Yea  ;  and  my  father. 


Helena. 

And  Hippolyta. 
Lysander. 
And  he  did  bid  us  follow  to  the  temple. 

Demetrius. 
Why  then,  we  are  awake.    Let's  follow  him ; 
And  by  the  way  let  us  recount  our  dreams. 

[Exeunt. 
Bottom.  [Waking. 

When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will 
i  answer:  —  my  next  is,  "Most  fair  Pyramus." 
j Hey,  ho  I— Peter  Quince!     Flute,  the  bel- 
lows-mender 1    Snout,  the  tinker  !   Starveling  ! 
i  God's  my  life  1  stolen  hence,  and  left  me  asleep. 
j  1  have  had  a  most  rare  vision.     1  have  had  a 
'  dream,  —  past  the  wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream 
j  it  was :  man  is  but  an  ass,  if  he  go  about  to  ex- 
pound this  dream.    Methought  I  was  —  there  is 
!  no  man  can  tell  what.    Methought  I  was,  and 
i  methought  I  had,  —  but  man  is  but  a  patched 
fool,  if  he  will  offer  to  say  what  methought  I 
had.    The  eye  of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of 
man  hath  not  seen,  man's  hand  is  not  able  to 
taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor  his  heart  to 
report,  what  my  dream  was.     I  will  get  Peter 
Quince  to  write  a  ballad  of  this  dream  :  it  shall 
be  called  Bottom's  Dream,  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,  I  shall  sing  it  at  her  death. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  II.    Athens.    A  Room  iu  Quince's 
House. 

Enter  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling. 

Quince. 
Have  you  sent  to  Bottom's  house  ?  is  he  come 
home  yet  ? 

Starveling. 
He  cannot  be  heard  of.    Out  of  doubt,  he  is 
transported. 

Flute. 
If  he  come  not,  then  the  play  is  marred.    It 
goes  not  forward,  doth  it  9 
Quince. 
It  is  not  possible :  you  have  not  a  man  in  all 
Athens  able  to  discharge  Pyramus,  but  he. 
Flute. 
No ;  he  hath  simply  the   best    wit  of  any 
handycraft  man  in  Athens. 
Quince. 
Yea,  and  the  best  person  too ;  and  he  is  a 
very  paramour  for  a  sweet  voice. 
Flute. 
You  must  say,  paragon  :  a  paramour  is,  God 
bless  us  I  a  thing  of  nought. 

Enter  Snug. 

Snug. 

Masters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  the  temple, 

and  there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies  more 

married.     If  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we 

had  all  been  made  men. 

Flute. 
O,  sweet  bully  Bottom!  Thus  hath  he  lost 
sixpence  a-day  during  his  life  ;  he  could  not 
have  'scaped  sixpence  a-day :  an  the  duke  had 
not  given  him  sixpence  a-day  for  playing  Py- 
ramus, I'll  be  hanged  ;  he  would  have  deserved 
it :  sixpence  a-day  in  Pyramus,  or  nothing. 

Enter 


ao4 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM 


Act  iv.   7c.  n. 


Enter  Bottom. 

Bottom. 
Where   are   these    lads  ?    where   are    these 
hearts  ? 

Quince. 
Bottom  !  — .  0  most  courageous  day  I    O  most 
happy  hour  1 

Bottom. 

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  everv  thin?,  right  as 

it  fell  out. 

Quince. 
Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bottom. 
Not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  you  is, 
that  the  duke  hath  dined.  Get  your  apparel  to- 
gether; good  strings  to  your  beards,  new  rib- 
bons to  your  pumps:  meet  presently  at  the 
palace  ;  every  man  look  o'er  his  part ;  for,  the 
short  and  the  long  is,  our  play  is  preferred.  In 
any  case  let  Thisljy  have  clean  linen,  and  let 
not  him  that  plays  the  lion  pare  his  nails,  for 
they  shall  hang  out  for  the  lion's  claws.  And, 
most  dear  actors,  eat  no  onions,  nor  garlick,  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  1  go  ;  away  I  [Exeunt. 


•#-'#####-#-0--#-0- 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  game.    An  Apartment  in  the 
Palace  of  Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostrate,  Lords, . 
and  Attendants. 

Hippolyta. 
"J1  IS  strange,  my   Theseus,  that  these  lovers 
-*      speak  of. 

Theseus. 
More  strange  than  true:  I  never  may  believe 
These  antic  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys. 
Lovers,  and  madmen, have suih  seething  brains, 
Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet, 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact : 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold ; 
That  is,  the  madman:  the  lover,  all  as  frantic, 
Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt : 
The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling. 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth 
And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth       [to  heaven ; 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation,  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination, 
That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy, 
It  comprehends  some  bringer  of  that  joy ; 
Or  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear, 
How  easy  is  a  bush  suppos'd  a  bear  ? 

Hippolyta. 
But  all  the  story  of  the  night  told  over, 
And  all  their  minds  transfigur'd  so  together, 
More  witnesseth  than  fancy's  images, 
And  grows  to  something  ot  great  constancy, 
But,  howsoever,  strange,  and  admirable. 

Theseus. 
Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth. 


Enter  Lysander,  Demetrius,  Hermia,  and 
Helena. 

Joy,  gentle  friends  !  joy,  and  fresh  days  of  love, 
Accompany  your  hearts  1 

Lysander. 

More  than  to  us 
Wait  in  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  your  bed ! 
Theseus. 
Come  now;  what  masks,  what  dances  shall 
we  have, 
To  wear  away  this  long  age  of  three  hours, 
Between  our  after-supper,  and  bedtime? 
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. 

Philostrate. 
Here,  mighty  Theseus. 
Theseus. 
j     Say,    what   abridgment    have   you   for   this 
evening  ? 
What  mask?  what  music?    How  shall  we  be- 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  delight  ?  [guile 
Philostrate. 
There  is  a  brief  how  many  sports  are  ripe ; 
Make  choice  of  which  your  highness  will  see 
first.  [Giving  a  paper. 

Theseus.  [Reads. 

"  The  battle  with  the  Centaurs,  to  be  sung 
By  an  Athenian  eunuch  to  the  harp." 
We'll  none  of  that:  that  have  I  told  my  love, 
In  glory  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 
"  The  riot  of  the  tipsy  Bacchanals, 
Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage." 
That  is  an  old  device;  and  it  was  play'd 
When  1  from  Thebes  came  last  a  conqueror. 
"  The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the 
death 
Of  learning,  late  deceas'd  in  beggary." 
That  is  some  satire,  keen,  and  critical, 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial  ceremony. 

"  A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus, 
And  his  love  Thisbe;  very  tragical  mirth." 
Merry  and  tragical  I    Tedious  and  brief ! 
That  is,  hot  ice,  and  wondrous  strange  snow. 
;  How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord  ? 
Philostrate. 
A  play  there  is,  my  lord,  some  ten  words  long, 
Which  is  as  brief  as  *I  have  known  a  play; 
But  by  ten  words,  my  lord,  it  is  too  long, 
Which  makes  it  tedious ;  for  in  all  the  play 
There  is  not  one  word  apt,  one  player  fitted. 
And  tragical,  my  noble  lord,  it  is. 
For  Pyramus  therein  doth  kill  himself. 
Which,  when  1  saw  rehears'd,  1  must  confess, 
Made  mine  eyes  water ;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed. 
Tbeseut. 
What  are  they,  that  do  play  it  ? 

Philostrate. 
Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Athens  here, 
Which  never  labour'd  in  their  minds  till  now ; 
And  now  have  toil  d  their  unbreath'd  memories 
With  this  same  play,  against  your  nuptial. 
Theseus. 
And  we  will  hear  it. 

Philostrate. 

No,  my  noble  lord ; 
It  is  not  for  you :  I  have  heard  it  over, 
And  it  is  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world, 
Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  their  intents, 
Extremely  stretch'd  and  conn'd  with  cruel  pain. 
To  do  you  service.  _,, 

Theseus. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


205 


These  ik. 
I  will  hear  that  play: 
For  never  any  thing  can  be  amiss, 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
Go,  bring  them  in;— and  take  your  places,  ladies. 
[Exit  Phihstrate. 
Hlppolyta. 
I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'ercharg'd, 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing. 
Thcsem. 
Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  such  thing. 

Hippohta. 
He  says  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kind. 

Theseus. 
The  kinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for  no- 
thing. 
Our  sport  shall  be  to  take  what  they  mistake : 
And  what  poor  duty  cannot  do, 
Noble  respect  takes  it  in  might,  not  merit. 
Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purposed 
To  greet  me  with  premeditated  welcomes ; 
Where  I  have  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale, 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences, 
Throttle  their  practis'd  accent  in  their  fears, 
And,  in  conclusion,  dumbly  have  broke  off, 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome.     Trust  me,  sweet, 
Out  of  this  silence,  yet,  I  pick'd  a  welcome; 
And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much,  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence. 
Love,  therefore,  and  tongue-tied  simplicity, 
In  least  speak  most,  to  my  capacity. 

Enter  P hilost rate 
Phi  lost  rate. 
So  please  your  grace,  the  prologue  is  addrest. 

Theseus. 
Let  him  approach.       [Flourish  of  trumpets. 

Enter  the  Prologue. 
Prologue. 
"  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  our  good  will. 

That  you  should  think,  we  come  not  lo  offend, 
But  with  good-will.    To  show  our  simple  skill, 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Consider  then,  we  come  but  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  you, 
Our  true  intent  is.    All  for  your  delight, 
We  are  not  here.     That  you  should  here 
repent  you, 
The  actors  are  at  hand  ;  and,  by  their  show, 
You  shall  know  all,  that  you  are  like  to  know." 
Theseus. 
This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Lv«ander 
He  hath  rid  his  prologue  like  a  rough  colt; 
he  knows  not  the  stop.   A  good  moral,  my  lord : 
it  is  not  enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 
Hippolyta. 
Indeed,  he  hath  played  on  this  prologue,  like 
a  child  on  a  recorder;  a  sound,  but  not  in 
government. 

Theseu*. 
His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain, 
Nothing  impair'd,  but  all  disordered. 
Who  is  next  ? 

Enter  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Walt,  Afoonshine, 
'  and  Lion,  as  in  dumb  show. 
Prologue. 
**  Gentles,  perchance,  you  wonder  at  this  show  ; 
But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things 
plain. 
This  man  is  Pyramus,  if  you  would  know  ; 
This  beauteous  lady  Thisby  is,  certain. 


This  man,  with  lime  and  rough-cast,  doth  pre- 
sent [sunder ; 

Wall,  that  vile  wall  which  did  these  lovers 
And  through  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are 
content 

To  whisper,  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
This  man,  with  lantern,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 

Presenteth  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, 
Did  scare'away,  or  rather  did  affright ; 
And,  as  she  fled,  her  mantle  she  did  fall, 

Which  lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain. 
Anon  comes  Py ramus,  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. 

Theseus. 
I  wonder,  if  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Demetrius. 
No  wonder,  my  lord : 
One  lion  may,  when  many  asses  do. 
Wall. 
"  In  this  same  interlude,  it  doth  befal, 
That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall ; 
And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
That  had  in  it  a  cranny'd  hole,  or  chink, 
Through  which  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
Did  whisper  often  very  secretly.  [show 

This  lime,  this  rough- cast,  and  this  stone,  doth 
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." 

Theseus. 
Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to   speak 
better  ? 

Demetrius. 
It  is  the  wittiest  partition  that  ever  I  heard 
discourse,  my  lord. 

Theseus. 
Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall :  silence  ! 

Enter  Pyramus. 
Pyramus. 
41  O,  grim -look 'd  night !     O,  night  with  hue  so 
black  ! 

0  night,  which  ever  art,  when  day  is  not ! 
O  night !  O  night!  alack,  alack,  alack  1 

1  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot — 
And  thou,  O  wall  !  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall  ! 

That    stand'st  between  her  father's  ground 
and  mine ; 
Thou  wall,  O  wall !  O  sweet,  and  lovely  wall ! 
Show  me  thy  chink  to  blink   through  with 
mine  eyne.        [  Wall  holds  up  his  lingers. 
Thanks,  courteous  wall:  Jove  shield  thee  well 
for  this  1 
But  what  see  I  ?    No  Thisby  do  I  see. 
O  wicked  wall !  through  whom  I  see  no  bliss  ; 
Curst  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me !  " 

Theseus. 
The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  should 
curse  again. 

Pyramus. 

No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.— "Deceiving 

me," 


ao6 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


me,"  is  Thisby'a  cue  :  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I 
am  to  spy  her  through  the  wall.  You  shall  see, 
it  will  Call  pat  as  I  told  you.— Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Thisbe. 

"  O  wall,  full  often  hast  thou  heard  my  moans, 

For  parting  ray  fair  Py ramus  and  me : 
My  cherry  lips  have  often  kiss'd  thy  stones  ; 
Thy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in 
thee." 

Pyramus. 
"  I  see  a  voice :  now  will  I  to  the  chink. 
To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Tkisby's  face. 
Thisby!" 

Thisbe. 

'•  My  love  1  thou  art  my  love,  I  think." 

Pyramus. 

,c  Think  what  thou  wilt,   I  am  thy  lover's 

And  like  Limander  am  I  trusty  still."     [grace ; 

Thisbe. 

«•  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  fates  me  kill." 

Pyramus. 
44  Not  Shafalus  to  Procrus  was  so  true." 

Thisbe. 
"  As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  I  to  you." 

Pyramus. 
*'  O  !  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile 
wall." 

Thisbe. 
•*  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all." 

Pyramus. 
"  Wilt  thou  at  Ninny\  tomb  meet  me  straight- 
way ?  " 

Thisbe. 
"'Tide  life,  'tide  death,  1  come  without  de- 
lay." 

Wall. 
"  Thus  have  I,  wall,  my  part  discharged  so ;     \ 
And,  being  done,  thus  wall  away  doth  go." 

I  Exeunt  Wall,  Pyramus,  and  Thisbe.  \ 
Theseus. 
Now  is  the  mural  down  between  the  two  j 
neighbours. 

Demetrius. 
No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so  wilful ; 
to  hear  without  warning. 

Hippolyta. 
This  is  the  silliest  stuff  that  e'er  I  heard. 

Theseus. 
The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows ;  and  ' 
the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  imagination  amend 
them. 

Hippolyta. 
It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not ' 
theirs. 

Theseus. 
If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them,  than  they  of 
themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent  men.  j 
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  j 
floor,  [here, 

May  now,  perchance,  both  quake  and  tremble 
When  lion  rough  in  wildest  rage  doth  roar.      | 
Then  know,  that  I,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  : 
For,  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life." 


Theseus. 
A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  conscience. 

Demetrius. 
The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that  e'er  I 
saw. 

Lysander. 
This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 

Theseus. 
True  ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 

Demetrius. 
Not  so,  my  lord  ;  for  his  valour  cannot  carry 
his  discretion,  and  the  fox  carries  the  goose. 
Theseus. 
His  discretion,  I  am  sure,  cannot  carry  his 
valour,  for  the  goose  carries  not  the  fox.     It  is 
well :  leave  it  to  his  discretion,  and  let  us  listen 
to  the  moon. 

Moonshine. 
"  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present ;" 

Demetrius. 
He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  his  head. 

Theseus. 
He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invisible 
within  the  circumference. 

Moonshine. 
"  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon  present ; 
Myself  the  man  i'the  moon  do  seem  to  be." 
Theseus. 
This  is  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest.    The 
man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern :  how  is  it 
else  the  man  i'the  moon  ? 

Demetrius 
He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle ;  for, 
you  see,  it  is  already  in  snuff. 
Hippolyta. 
I  am  aweary  of  this  moon :  would,  he  would 
change ! 

Theseus. 
It  appears  by  his  small  light  of  discretion, 
that  he  is  in  the  wane ;  but  yet,  in  courtesy,  in 
all  reason,  we  must  stay  the  time. 
Lysander. 
Proceed,  moon. 

Moonshine. 
All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you,  that  the 
lantern  is  the  moon  ;  I,  the  man  in  the  moon  ; 
this  thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush  ;  and  this  dog, 
my  dog. 

Demetrius. 
Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lantern  ;  for 
all  these  are  in  the  moon.    But,  silence  !  here 
comes  Thisbe. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Thisbe. 
"  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb.     Where  Is  my 
love?" 

Lion. 
"  Oh—."    [The  Lion  Toars.— Thisbe  runs  off. 

Demetrius. 
Well  roared,  lion. 

Theseus. 
Well  run,  Thisbe. 

Hippolyta. 

Well  shone,  moon Truly,  the  moon  shines 

with  a  good  grace. 

[The  Lion  tears  Thisbe' 's  mantle,  and  exit. 
Theseus. 
Well  moused,  lion. 

Demetrius. 
And  then  came  Fyratnu*. 

Lysander. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DEEAM. 


207 


Lysander. 
And  so  the  lion  vanished. 

Enter  Pyramus. 
Pyramus. 
"  Sweet  moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny  beams  ; 
I    thank    thee,    moon,    for   shining    now  so 
bright. 
For,  bv  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  streams, 
1  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby  sight. 
But  stay  ;— O  spite  1 
But  mark,  poor  knight, 
What  dreadful  dole  is  here  ! 
Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
How  can  it  be  ? 
C  dainty  duck  !  O  dear  ! 
Thy  mantle  good, 
What !  stain'd  with  blood  ? 
Approach,  ye  furies  fell ! 
O  fates  !  come,  come ; 
Cut  thread  and  thrum  ; 
Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell  1" 
Theseus. 
This  passion,  and  the  death  of  a  dear  friend, 
would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 
Ilippolyta. 
Beshew  my  heart,  but  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyramus. 
■  O,  wherefore,  nature,  didst  thou  lions  frame, 
Since  lion  vile  hath  here  deflour'd  my  dear  ? 
Which  is,— no,  no— which  was  the  fairest  dame, 
That  liv'd,  that  lov'd,  that  lik'd,  that  look'd 
with  cheer. 

Come,  tears,  confound ; 
Out.  sword,  and  wound 
The  pap  of  Pyramus  : 
Ay,  that  left  pap. 
Where  heart  doth  hop :  — 
Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus  1 
Now  am  I  dead, 
Now  am  1  fled ; 
My  soul  is  in  the  sky : 

Tongue,  lose  thy  light ! 
Moon,  take  thy  flight  1 
Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die." 

[Dies.— Exit  Moonshine. 
Demetrius. 
No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him ;  for  he  is  but  one. 

Lytander. 
I.ess  than  an  ace,  man,  for  he  is  dead  ;  he  is 
nothing. 

Theseus. 
With  the  help  of  a  surgeon,  he  might  yet  re- 
cover,  and  yet  prove  au  ass. 
Ilippolyta. 
How  chance  moonshine  is  gone,  before  Thisbe 
comes  back  and  finds  her  lover  ? 
Theseus 
She  will  find  him  by  starlight.  — Here  she 
comes,  and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 

Enter  Thithr. 
Hippolyta. 
Methinks.  she  should  nbt  use  a  long  one  for 
such  a  Pyramus  :  1  hope  she  will  be  brief. 
Demetrius 
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. 
I.ysander. 
She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those  sweet 
eyes. 

Demetrius. 
And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet 


ThUbo. 

"  Asleep,  my  love  ? 

What,  dead,  my  dove? 
O  Pyramus !  arise : 

Speak,  speak  !     Quite  dumb  ? 

Dead,  dead  ?    A  tomb 
Must  cover  thy  sweet  eye*. 

These  lily  lips, 

This  cherry  nose, 
These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks. 

Are  gone,  are  gone. 

Lovers,  make  moan  ! 
His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 

O  !  sisters  three, 

Come,  come  to  me, 
With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 

Lay  them  in  gore, 

Since  you  have  shore 
With  shears  his  thread  of  silk. 

Tongue,  not  a  word  :  — 

Come,  trusty  sword  ; 
Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue: 

And  farewell,  friends. — 

Thus  Thisby  ends : 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu." 
Theseus. 


[Dies. 


j     Moonshine  and  lion  are  left  to  bury  the  dead. 
Demetrius. 

;     Ay,  and  wall  too. 

Bottom. 
No,  I  assure  you  ;  the  wall  is  down  that  parted 

!  their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  see  the  epi- 
logue, or  to  hear  a  Bergomask  dance  between 
two  of  our  company  ? 

Theseus. 
No  epilogue,  I  pray  you  ;  for  your  play  needs 
no  excuse.  Never  excuse,  for  when  the  players 
are  all  dead,  there  need  none  to  be  blamed. 
Marry,  if  he  that  writ  it,  had  play'd  Pyramus, 
and  hanged  himself  in  TAisbe's  garter,  it  would 
have  been  a  fine  tragedy  ;  and  so  it  is,  truly,  and 
very  notably  discharged.  But  come,  your  Ber- 
gomask :  let  your  epilogue  alone.         [A  dance. 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve 

Lovers,  to  bed  :  'tis  almost  fairy  time. 
I  fear  we  shall  out-sleep  the  coming  morn, 
As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overwatch'd. 
This  palpable  gross  play  hath  well  be^uil'd 
The  heavy  gait  of  night.  —  Sweet  friends,  to 

•  A  fortnight  hold  we  this  solemnity,  [bed.— 
In  nightly  revels,  and  new  jollity.  I  Exeunt 

94&NB  II. 
Enter  Puck 
Puck. 
Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moo.n  ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores, 

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 

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 : 
1  am  sent  with  broom  before, 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

lata 


2o8 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  h 


Enter  Uberon  and  Titania,  with  all  their  Train. 
Oberon. 
Through  the  house  give  glimmering  light, 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire  ; 
Every  elf,  and  fairy  sprite, 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier  ; 
And  this  ditty  after  me 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

Titania. 
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. 


Oberon. 
Now,  until  the  break  of  day, 
Through  this  house  each  fairy  stray. 
To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we, 
Which  by  us  shall  blessed  be ; 
And  the  issue  there  create 
Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 
So  shall  all  the  couples  three 
Ever  true  in  loving  be ; 
And  the  blots  of  nature's  hand 
Shall  not  in  their  issue  stand  : 
Never  mole,  hare-lip,  nor  scar, 
Nor  mark  prodigious,  such  as  are 


Despised  in  nativity, 

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  ; 

Ever  shall  in  safety  rest, 

And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 

Trip  away  ;  make  no  stay  ; 

Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

[Exeunt  Oberon,  Titania,  and  Train. 

Puck. 
If  we  shadows  have  offended, 
Think  but  this,  and  all  is  mended, 
That  you  have  but  slumber 'd  here, 
While  these  visions  did  appear  ; 
And  this  weak  ani  idle  theme, 
No  more  yielding  but  a  dream, 
Gentles,  do  not  reprehend  : 
If  you  pardon,  we  will  mend. 
Arid,  as  I'm  an  honest  Puck, 
If  we  have  unearned  luck 
Now  to  'scape  the  serpent's  tongue, 
We  will  make  amends  ere  long. 
Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call  : 
So,  good  night  unto  you  all. 
Give  me  your  hands,  if  we  be  friends 
And  Robin  shall  restore  amends. 


l8tExiL 


S*g 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


DUKE  OF  VENICE. 

Antonio,  the  Merchant  of  Venice : 

Bassanio,  his  Friend. 

Gratiano.T 

Salanio,    J-  Friends  to  Antonio  and  Bassanio. 

Salarino,  3 

Lorenzo,  in  love  with  Jessica. 

Shy  lock,  a  Jew  : 

Tubal,  a  Jew,  his  Friend. 

Launcelot  Gobbo,  a  Clown. 


Old  Gobbo,  Father  to  Launcelot. 
Salerio,  a  Messenger. 
Leonardo,  Servant  to  Bassanio. 


Balthazar, ) 


Servants  to  Portia. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.     Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Antonio,  Salarino,  and  Salanio. 
Antonio. 
TN  sooth,  I  know  not  why  1  am  so  sad. 
I       It  wearies  me :  you  say,  it  wearies  you  ; 
I  But  how  I  caught  it,  found  it,  or  came  by  it, 


Stephano 

Portia,  a  rich  Heiress 

Nerissa,  her  Waiting-woman. 

Jessica,  Daughter  to  Shylock. 

Miignificoes  of  Venice,  Officers  of  the  Court  of 

Justice,  Jailors,  Servants,  and  other  Attend- 

ants. 
SCENE,  partly  at  Venice,  and  partly  at  Belmont 


I  What  stuff'tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
!  I  am  to  learn  ; 

j  And  such  a  want-wit  sadness  makes  of  me, 
I  That  I  have  much  ado  to  know  myself. 
Salarino. 
Your  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean, 
|  There,  where  your  argosies  with  portly  sail, 
|  Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  on  the  flood 
I  Or,  as  it  were,  the  pageants  of  the  sea, 


Do 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


209 


Do  overpeer  the  petty  traffickers, 
That  curt'sy  to  them,  do  them  reverence, 
As  they  fly  by  them  with  their  woven  wings. 

•.mt>. 
Believe  me,  sir,  had  I  such  venture  forth, 
The  better  part  of  my  affections  would 
Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.     I  should  be  still 
Plucking  the  grass  to  know  where  sits  the  wind, 
Peering  in  maps  for  ports,  and  piers,  and  roads  ; 
And  every  object  that  might  make  me  fear 
Misfortune  to  my  ventures,  out  of  doubt, 
Would  make  me  sad. 


My  wind,  cooling  my  broth, 
Would  blow  me  to  an  ague,  when  1  thought 
What  harm  a  wind  too  great  might  do  at  sea. 
1  should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run, 
But  1  should  think  of  shallows  and  of  flats, 
And  see  my  wealthy  Andrew  dock'd  in  sand, 
Vailing  her  high  top  lower  than  her  ribs, 
To  kiss  her  burial.     Should  I  go  to  church, 
And  see  the  holy  edifice  of  stone, 
And  not  bethink  me  straight  of  dangerous  rocks, 
Which  touching  but  my  gentle  vessel's  side, 
Would  scatter  all  her  spices  on  the  stream, 
Enrobe  the  roaring  waters  with  my  silks, 
And,  in  a  word,  but  even  now  worth  this, 
And  now  worth  nothing?     Shall   I  have  the 

thought 
To  think  on  this,  and  shall  I  lack  the  thought, 
That  such  a  thing  bechane'd  would  make  me 
But,  tell  not  me:  I  know,  Antonio  [sad  ? 

Is  sad  to  think  upon  his  merchandize. 


Believe  me,  no.     I  thank  my  fortune  for  it, 
My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted, 
Nor  to  one  place ;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year : 
Therefore,  my  merchandize  makes  me  not  sad.   ! 

Salanio 
Why,  then  you  are  in  love. 

Antonio 

Fie,  fie! 
Salanio. 
Not  in  love  neither  ?    Then  let's  say,  you  are 
sad, 
Because  you  are  not  merry  ;  and  'twere  as  easy 
For  you  to  laugh,  and  leap,  and  say,  you  are 
merry,  [Janus, 

Because  you  are  not  sad.  Now,  by  two-headed 
Nature  hath  fram'd  strange  fellows  in  her  time: 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes, 
And  laugh,  like  parrots,  at  a  bag-piper  ; 
And  other  of  such  vinegar  aspect, 
That  they'll  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile, 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughable. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Lorenzo,  and  Gratiano. 

Salanio. 
Here  comes  Bassanio,  vour  most  noble  kins- 
Gratiano,  and  Lorenzo,     rare  you  well :  [man, 
We  leave  you  now  with  better  company. 

Salarino. 
I  would  have  stay'd  till  I  had  made  you  merry, 
If  worthier  friends  had  not  prevented  me. 

Antonio. 
Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 
I  take  it,  your  own  business  calls  on  you, 
And  you  embrace  the  occasion  to  depart. 

Salarino. 
Good  morrow,  my  good  lords. 


Bassanio. 

Good  signiors  both,  when  shall  we  laugh  ? 
Say  when? 
You  grow  exceeding  strange  :  must  it  be  so  ? 
Salarino. 
We'll  make  our  leisures  to  attend  on  yours. 
[Exeunt  Salarino  ami  Salanio. 

Lorenzo. 
My  lord  Bassanio,  since  you  have  found  An- 
tonio, 
We  two  will  leave  you  ;  but  at  dinner-time, 
I  pray  you,  have  in  mind  where  we  must  meet. 
Bassanio. 
I  will  not  fail  you. 

Gratiano. 
You  look  not  well,  signlor  Antonio; 
You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world : 
They  lose  it,  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  chang'd. 
Antonio 
I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gratiano  ; 
A  stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a  part, 
And  mine  a  sad  one. 

Gratiano. 
Let  me  play  the  fool  : 
With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine, 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 
Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within, 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster? 
Sleep  when  he  wakes,  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 
By  being  peevish  ?    I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio,  — 
I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks  ;  — 
There  are  a  sort  of  men,  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle,  like  a  standing  pond, 
And  do  a  wilful  stillness  entertain, 
With  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit; 
As  who  should  say,  "  I  am  Sir  Oracle, 
And,  when  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  bark  ! " 

0  !  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these, 
That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise, 

For  saying  nothing ;  when,  I  am  very  sure, 
If  they  should  speak,  would  almost  damn  those 
ears,  [fools. 

Which,  hearing  them,  would  call  their  brothers 
I'll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  time: 
But  fish  not,  with  this  melancholy  bait, 

For  this  fool -gudgeon,  this  opinion 

Come,  good  Lorenzo. —  Fare  ye  well,  awhile: 
I'll  end  my  exhortation  after  dinner. 
Lorenzo. 
Well,  we  will  leave  you,  then,  till  dinner-time. 

1  must  be  one  of  these  same  dumb  wise  men, 
For  Gratiano  never  lets  me  speak. 

Gratiano. 
Well,  keep  me  company  but  two  vears  more, 
Thou  shalt  not  know  trie  sound  of  thine  own 
tongue. 

Antonio. 
Farewell :  I'll  grow  a  talker  for  this  gear. 

Gratiano. 
Thanks,  i'faith  ;  for  silence  is  only  commend- 
able [ible. 
In  a  neat's  tongue  dried,  and  a  maid  not  vend- 
[  Exeunt  Gratiano  and  Lorenzo. 
Antonio. 
It  is  that :— any  thing  now. 
Bassanio. 
Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing, 
more  than  any  man  in  all  Venice.    His  reasons 
are  as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  j  \ 
chaff:  you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them 


!. 


MEECHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  h 


and  when  you  have  them,  they  are  not  worth 


the  search 


Antonio. 


Well ;  tell  me  now,  what  lady  is  the  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage, 
That  you  to-day  promis'd  to  tell  me  of? 
Bassanio. 

"fis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate, 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance: 
Nor  do  1  now  make  moan  to  be  abridg'd 
From  such  a  noble  rate ;  but  my  chief  care 
Is  to  come  fairly  off  from  the  great  debts, 
Wherein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal, 
Hath  left  me  gaged.     To  you,  Antonio, 
I  owe  the  most,  in  money,  and  in  love  ; 
And  from  your  love  1  have  a  warranty 
To  unburthen  all  my  plots  and  purposes, 
How  to  get  clear  of  all  the  debts  I  owe. 
Antonio. 

I  pray  you,  good  Bassanio,  let  me  know  it ; 
And  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do, 
Within  the  eye  of  honour,  be  assur'd, 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means, 
Lie  all  unlock'd  to  your  occasions. 
Bassanio. 

In  my  school-days,  when  I  had  lost  one  shaft, 
I  shot  liis  fellow  of  the  self-same  flight 
The  self-same  way  with  more  advised  watch. 
To  find  the  other  forth;  and  by  adventuring 

both, 
1  oft  found  both.     I  urge  this  childhood  proof, 
Because  what  follows  is  pure  innocence. 
I  owe  you  much,  and,  like  a  wilful  youth, 
That  which  1  owe  is  lost;  but  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I  do  not  doubt, 
As  1  will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  find  both, 
Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  again, 
And  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  first. 
Antonio. 

You  know  me  well,  and  herein  spend  but  time, 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  circumstance  ; 
And.  out  of  doubt,  you  do  me  now  more  wrong, 
In  making  question  of  my  uttermost, 
Than  if  you  had  made  waste  of  all  I  have: 
Then,  do  but  say  to  me  what  I  should  do, 
That  in  your  knowledge  may  by  me  be  done, 
And  I  am  prest  unto  it :  therefore,  speak. 
Bassanio 

In  Belmont  is  a  lady  richly  left, 
And  she  is  fair,  and,  fairer  than  that  word, 
Of  wondrous  virtues  :  sometimes  from  her  eyes 
1  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages. 
Her  name  is  Portia  ;  nothing  undervalued 
To  Cato's  daughter,  Brutus'  Portia. 
Nor  is  the  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth, 
For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors  ;  and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  her  temples  like  a  golden  fleece  ; 
Which  makes  her  seat  of  Belmont  Colchos'  strand, 
And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 
O,  my  Antonio !  had  I  but  the  means 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  them, 
I  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  thrift, 
That  I  should  questionless  be  fortunate. 
Antonio. 

Thou  know'st.that  all  my  fortunes  are  at  sea; 
Neither  have  I  money,  nor  commodity 
To  raise  a  present  sum :  therefore,  go  forth  ; 
Try  what  my  credit  can  in  Venice  do : 
That  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  the  uttermost, 
To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 


Go  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 

Where  money  is,  and  I  no  question  make. 

To  have  it  of  my  trust,  or  for  my  sake.  TKxeun*- 


SCENE  11.  Belmont.  An  Apartment  in  Portia's 
House. 

Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa. 
Portia. 
By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  aweary 
of  this  great  world.  .,    . 

You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  your  miseries 
were  in  the  same  abundance  as  your  good  for- 
tunes are.  And,  yet,  for  aught  I  see,  they  are 
as  sick,  that  surfeit  with  too  much,  as  they  that 
starve  with  nothing:  it  is  no  mean  happiness, 
therefore,  to  be  seated  in  the  mean  :  superfluity 
comes  sooner  by  white  hairs,  but  competency 
lives  longer.  portia 

Good  sentences,  and  well  pronounced. 
Nerissa. 

They  would  be  better,  if  well  followed. 
Portia. 

If  to  do  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were 
good  to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches,  and  poor 
men's  cottages  princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  good 
divine  that  follows  his  own  instructions  :  I  can 
easier  teach  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done, 
than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own 
teaching.  The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the 
blood  ;  but  a  hot  temper  leapi  o'er  a  cold  decree: 
such  a  hare  is  madness,  the  youth,  to  skip  o'er 
the  meshes  of  good  counsel,  the  cripple.  But 
this  reasoning  is  not  in  the  fashion  to  choose 
me  a  husband.—  O  me  !  the  word  choose !  1  may 
neither  choose  whom  I  wou'd,  nor  refuse  whom 
i  dislike  ;  so  is  the  will  of  a  living  daughter 
curbed  by  the  will  of  a  dead  father — Is  it  not 
hard,  Ne)issa,  that  I  cannot  choose  one,  nor 
refuse  none?  Nerh9a 

Your  father  was  ever  virtuous,  and  holy  men 
at  their  death  have  good  inspirations  ;  therefore, 
the  lottery,  that  he  hath  devised  in  these  three 
chests  of  gold,  silver,  and  lead  (whereof  who 
chooses  his  meaning,  chooses  you),  will,  no 
doubt,  never  be  chosen  by  any  rightly,  but  one 
whom  you  shall  rightly  love.  But  what  warmth 
is  there  in  your  affection  towards  any  of  these 
princely  suitors  that  are  already  come  ? 
Portia. 

I  pray  thee,  over-name  them,  and  as  thou 
namest  them,  I  will  describe  them  ;  and,  ac- 
cording to  my  description,  level  at  my  affection. 
Nerissa. 

First,  there  is  the  Neapolitan  prince. 
Portia. 

Ay,  that's  a  colt,  indeed  for  he  doth  nothing 
but  talk  of  his  horse  ;  and  he  makes  it  a  great 
appropriation  to  his  own  good  parts,  that  he  can 
shoe  him  himself.  I  am  much  afraid,  my  lady 
his  mother  played  false  with  a  smith. 
Nerissa. 

Then,  is  there  the  county  Palatine. 
Portia. 

He  doth  nothing  but  frown,  as  who  should  | 
say,  "  An  you  will  not  have  me,  choose."  He  | 
hears  merry  tales,  and  smiles  not :  I  fear  he  will , 
prove  the  weeping  philosopher  when  he  grows 
old,  being  so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in  his  | 
youth.  I  had  rather  be  married  to  a  death's, 
i head  | 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


an 


head  with  a  bone  in  his  mouth,  than  to  either  uf 
these.    God  defend  me  from  these  two  1 

Ncrlfga. 

How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  Monsieur 
Le  Bonf 

Fort:*. 

God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for 
a  man.  In  truth,  I  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a 
mocker  ;  but,  he  !  why.  he  hath  a  horse  better 
than  the  Neapolitan's ;  a  better  bad  habit  of 
frowning  than  the  count  Palatine :  he  is  every 
man  >n  no  man  ;  if  a  throstle  sing,  he  falls 
straight  a  capering:  he  will  fence  with  his  own 
shadow.  If  I  should  marry  him,  I  should  marry 
twenty  husbands.  If  he  would  despise  me,  I 
would  forgive  him ;  for  if  he  love  me  to  mad- 
ness, I  shall  never  requite  him. 

Nerissa. 
What  say  you,  then,  to  Faulconbridge,  the 
young  baron  of  England  f 

Portia. 

You  know,  I  say  nothing  to  him,  for  he  under, 
stands  not  me,  nor  I  him :  he  hath  neither  Latin, 
French,  nor  Italian  ;  and  you  will  come  into  the 
court  and  swear,  that  I  have  a  poor  penny-worth 
in  the  English.  He  is  a  proper  man's  picture  ; 
but,  alas  !  who  can  converse  with  a  dumb  show  ? 
How  oddly  he  is  suited  1  I  think  he  bought  his 
doublet  in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his 
bonnet  in  Germany,  and  his  behaviour  every 
where. 

Nerissa. 

What  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his 
neighbour  ? 

Portia. 

That  he  hath  a  neighbourly  charity  in  him  ; 
for  he  borrowed  a  box  of  the  ear  of  the  English- 
man, and  swore  he  would  pay  him  again,  when 
he  was  able:  I  think,  the  1-renchman  became 
hit  surety,  and  sealed  under  for  another. 

Nerissa. 

How  like  you  the  young  German,  the  duke  of 
Saxony's  nephew  ? 

Portia. 

Very  vilely  in  the  morning,  when  he  is  sober, 
and  most  vilely  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  is 
drunk :  when  he  is  best,  he  is  a  little  worse  than 
a  man  ;  and  when  he  is  worst,  he  is  little  better 
than  a  beast.  An  the  worst  fall  that  ever  fell,  I 
hope,  I  shall  make  shift  to  go  without  him. 

N  en-la 
If  he  should  offer  to  choose,  and  choose  the 
right  casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your 
father's  will,  if  you  should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

Purtltt. 
Therefore,  for  fear  of  the  worst,  I  pray  thee, 
set  a  deep  glass  of  Rhenish  wine  on  the  con- 
trary casket ;  for,  if  the  devil  be  within,  and  that 
temptation  without,  1  know  he  will  choose  it. 
I  will  do  any  thing,  Nerissa,  ere  1  will  be  mar- 
ried to  a  spunge. 

You  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any  of 
these  lords  :  they  have  acquainted  me  with  their 
determinations  ;  which  is  indeed,  to  return  to 
their  home,  and  to  trouble  you  with  no  more 
suit,  unless  you  may  be  won  by  some  other  sort 
than  your  father's  imposition,  depending  on  the 
caskets. 

If  I  live  to  be  as  old  as  Sibylla,  I  will  die  as 
chaste  as  Diana,  unless  1  be  obtained  by  the 
manner  of  my  father's  will.  I  am  glad  this 
parcel  of  wooers  are  so  reasonable ;  for  there  is 
not  one  among  them  but  I  dote  on  his  very 


absence,  and  I  pray  God  grant  them  a  fair  de- 
parture. 

Nerissa. 

Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's 

time,  a  Venetian,  a  scholar,  and  a  soldier,  that 

came    hither  In  company  of  the    Marquis  of 

Mi)ntfcrrat  t 

Portia. 
Yes,  yes  ;  it  was  Dassanio  :  as  I  think,  so  was 
he  called. 

Nerissa. 
True,  madam  :  he,  of  all  the  men  that  ever 
my  foolish  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best  de- 
serving a  fair  lady. 

Portia. 
I  remember  him  well,  and  I  remember  him 
worthy  of  thy  praise How  now  ?  what  news  ? 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Servant. 
The  four  strangers  seek  for  you  madam,  to 
take  their  leave ;  and  there  is  a  forerunner  come 
from  a  fifth,  the  prince  of  Morocco,  who  brings 
word,  the  prince,  his  master,  will  be  here  to- 
night. 

Portia. 
If  I  could  bid  the  fifth  welcome  with  so  good 
heart,  as  I  can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  1 
should  be  glad  of  his  approach  :  if  he  have  the 
condition  of  a  saint,  and  the  complexion  of  a 
devil,  1  had  rather  he  should  shrive  me  than 
wive  me.  Come,  Nerissa.  —  Sirrah,  go  before. 
—Whiles  we  shut  the  gate  upon  one  wooer, 
;  another  knocks  at  the  door.  [Exeunt. 

SCENKM.    Venice.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Bassanio  and  ShyUick. 

Shylock. 
i      Three  thousand  ducats,— well. 


Eassanio. 


Ay,  sir,  for  three  mon 

Shvlock. 
For  three  months,— well. 

Bassanio. 
For  the  which,  as  I  told  you,  Antonio  shall  be 
bound. 

Shy  lock. 
Antonio  shall  become  bound,— well. 

Itassaniq. 
May  you  stead  me  ?    Will  you  pleasure  me  ? 
Shall  I  know  your  answer  ? 

Three  thousa 
Antonio  bound 


Shylock. 
Three  thousand  ducats  for  three  months,  and 


Bassanio- 
Your  answer  to  that. 

.  Shylock. 
Antonio  is  a  good  mail. 

.  Kmanip. 

Have  you  heard  any  Imputation  to  the  con- 
,  trary  ? 

Shylock 
Ho  !  no,  no,  no,  no :  —  my  meaning,  in  say- 
I  ing  he  is  a  good  man,  is  to  have  you  under- 
stand me,  that  he  is  sufficient ;  yet  his  means 
{  are  in  supposition.     He  hath  an  argosy  bound 
i  to  Tripolis,  another  to  the  Indies  :  I  understand 
j  moreover  upon  the  Rialto,  he  hath  a  third  at 
!  Mexico,  a  fourth  for  England,  and  other  ven- 
1  tures  he  hath  squandered  abroad  ;  but  ships  are 
but  boards,  sailors  but  men  :  there  be  land-rats, 
and  water  rats,  water-thieves, and  land-thieves; 

I  mean, 


212 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


I  mean,  pirates :  and  then,  there  is  the  peril  of 
waters,  winds,  and  rocks.    The  man  is,  notwith- 
standing, sufficient :  three  thousand  ducats. — I 
think,  I  may  take  his  bond. 
Bassanto. 
Be  assured  you  may. 

Shy  lock. 
I  will  be  assured,  1  may  ;  and,  that  1  may  be 
assured,  1  will  bethink  me.    May  I  speak  with 

Antonio  ?  „ 

Bassanio. 

If  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us. 
Shylock. 

Yes,  to  smell  pork ;  to  eat  of  the  habitation 
which  your  prophet,  the  Nazarite;  conjured  the 
devil  into.  I  will  buy  with  you,  sell  with  you, 
talk  with  you,  walk  with  you,  and  so  following  ; 
but  I  will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with  you,  nor 
pray  with  you.  What  news  on  the  Rialto  ?  — 
Who  is  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Antonio. 
Bassanio. 
This  is  signior  Antonio. 

Shylock.  [Aside.  \ 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks  ! 
I  hate  him  for  he  is  a  Christian  ; 
But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity, 
Me  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
1  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation  ;  and  he  rails, 
Rventherewheremerchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest.     Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him  !     _ 

■  Bassanio. 

Shylock,  do  you  hear  ? 

Shylock. 
I  am  debating  of  my  present  store, 
And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 
1  cannot  instantly  raise  up  the  gross 
Of  full  three  thousand  ducats.    What  of  that  ? 
Tubal,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe, 
Will  furnish  me.     But  soft !  how  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ?— Rest  you  fair,  good , signior: . 

Your  worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 
Antonio. 
Shylock,  albeit  I  neither  lend  nor  borrow, 
By  taking,  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wants  of  my  friend, 
I'll  break  a  custom.— Is  he  yet  possess'd, 
How  much  you  would  ? 

Shylock. 
Ay,  ay,  three  thousand  ducats. 
Antonio. 
And  for  three  months. 

-  Shylock. 
I  had  forgot : — three  months  ;  you  told  me  so. 
Well  then,  your  bond;  and  let  me  see— But 

hear  you : 
Methought,  you  said,  you  neither  lend  nor  borrow 
Upon  advantage.     Antonio 

I  do  never  use  it. 
Shylock. 
When  Jacob  graz'd  his  uncle  Laban'a  sheep, 
This  Jacob  from  our  holy  Abraham  was 
(As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  behalf,) 
The  third  possessor ;  ay,  he  was  the  third. 


Antonio. 
And  what  of  him  ?  did  he  take  interest  ? 

Shylock. 
No,  not  take  interest ;  not,  as  you  would  say, 
Directly  interest :  mark  what  Jacob  did. 
When  Laban  and  himself  were  compromis'd, 
That  all  the  eanlings  which  were  streak'd,  and 

pied, 
Should  fall  as  Jacob'shlre,  ths  ewes,  being  rank, 
In  end  of  autumn  turned  to  the  rams  ; 
And  when  the  work  of  generation  was 
Between  these  woolly  breeders  in  the  act, 
The  skilful  shepherd  peel'd  me  certain  wands, 
And,  in  the  doing  of  the  deed  of  kind, 
He  stuck  them  up  before  the  fulsome  ewes, 
Who,  then  conceiving,  did  in  eaning  time, 
Fall   party-coloured   lambs,    and    those   were 

Jacob's. 
This  was  a  way  to  thrive,  and  he  was  blest : 
And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

Antonio. 
This  was  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  serv'd  for  ; 
A  thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 
Butsway'd,  and  fashion'd  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 
Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver,  ewes  and  rams  ? 

Shylock. 
I  cannot  tell :  I  make  it  breed  as  fast — 
But  note  me,  signior. 

Antonio 

Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 
The  devil  ran  cite  scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul,  producing  holy  witness, 
Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek, 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart. 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath  ! 

Shylock . 
Three  thousand  ducats;— 'tis  a  good  round 
sum.  [rate. 

Three  months  from  twelve,  then  let  me  see  the 

Antonio. 
Well,  Shylock,  shall  we  be  beholding  to  you  ? 

Shylock. 
Signior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft, 
In  the  Rialto,  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies,  and  my  usances  : 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug ; 
For  sufferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe. 
You  call  me— misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine, 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
Well  then,  it  now  appears,  you  need  my  help : 
Go  to  then  ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
"  Shylock,  we  would  have  monies  :  "  you  say  so ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 
And  foot  me  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold :  monies  is  your  suit. 
What  should  I  say  to  you  ?    Should  I  not  say, 
"  Hath  a  dog  money  ?    Is  it  possible, 
A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats  ?  "  or 
Shall  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 
With  'bated  breath,  and  whispering  humbleness, 

Say  this: 

"  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  H'ednesday  last ; 
You  spurn'd  me  such  a  day ;  another  time 
You  call'd  me  dog  ;  and  for  these  courtesies 
I'll  lend  you  thus  much  monies  ?  " 

Antonio. 
I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again, 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  friends  ;  for  when  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend  ? 
But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy  ; 

Who 


An  i  M.  Sc.  ii. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


ai3 


Who  if  he  break,  thou  may'st  with  better  face 
Exact  the  penalty. 

Shy! 
Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  ! 
I  would  be  friends  with  you,  and  have  your  love, 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain'd  me  with, 
Supply  your  preseut  wants,  and  take  no  doit 
Of  usance  for  my  monies, 
And  you'll  not  hear  me.    This  is  kind  I  offer. 

Antonio. 
Thi3  were  kindness. 

Shy  lock. 
This  kindness  will  I  show. 
Go  with  me  to  a  notary,  seal  me  there 
Your  single  bond  ;  and,  in  a  merry  sport, 
If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 
In  such  a  place,  such  sum  or  sums  as  are 
Express'd  In  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 
Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  off  and  taken 
In  what  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

Antonio. 
Content,  in  faith  :  I'll  seal  to  such  a  bond, 
And  say  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

Bassanio. 
You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me : 
I'll  rather  dwell  in  my  necessity. 

Antonio. 
Why,  fear  not,  man  ;  I  will  not  forfeit  it : 
Within  these  two  months,  that's  a  month  before 
This  bond  expires,  1  do  expect  return 
Of  thrice  three  times  the  value  of  this  bond. 

Shy  lock. 
O,  father  Abraham!   what  these  Christians 
are, 
Whose  own  hard  dealings  teaches  them  suspect 
The  thoughts  of  others  '  —  Pray  you,  tell  me  this ; 
If  he  should  break  his  day,  what  should  I  gain 
By  the  exaction  of  the  forfeiture  ? 
A  pound  of  man's  flesh,  taken  from  a  man, 
Is  not  so  estimable,  profitable  neither, 
As  flesh  of  muttons,  beefs,  or  goats.     I  say, 
To  buy  his  favour  1  extend  this  friendship : 
If  he  will  take  it,  so  ;  if  not,  adieu  ; 
And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you,  wrong  me  not. 


Ye«,  Shylock,  I  will  seal  unto  this  bond. 

Shyk-ck. 
Then  meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's. 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond, 
A  id  I  will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight ; 
See  to  my  h»use,  left  in  the  fearful  guard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave,  and  presently 
I  will  be  with  you.  [Exit. 

Antonio- 
Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew. 
The  Hebrew  will  turn  Christian  :  he  grows  kind. 

Bassanio. 
I  like  not  fair  terms,  and  a  villain's  mind. 

Antonio. 
Come  on  :  in  this  there  can  be  no  dismay, 
My  ships  come  home  a  month  before  the  day. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I   Belmont.  An  Apartment  in  Portia^ 
House. 

Enter  the  Prince  of  Morocco,  and  his  Fottotoert; 
Portia,  Nerissa,  and  other  of  her  Tratn. 
nourish  Cornets. 

Morocco. 

MlsLIKE  me  not  for  my  complexion. 
The  shadow 'd  livery  of  the  burnish'd  sun, 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour,  and  near  bred. 
Bring  me  the  fairest  creature  northward  born, 
Where  Phabus'  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles, 
And  let  us  make  incision  for  your  love, 
To  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  his,  or  mine. 
I  tell  thee,  lady,  this  aspect  of  mine 
Hath  fear'd  the  valiant :  by  my  love,  I  swear, 
The  best  regarded  virgins  of  our  clime 
Have  lov'd  it  too.     I  would  not  change  this  hue, 
Except  to  steal  your  thoughts,  my  gentle  queen. 
Portia. 
In  terms  of  choice  I  am  not  solely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a  maiden's  eyes  : 
Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  the  right  of  voluntary  choosing  ; 
But,  if  my  father  had  not  scanted  me, 
And  hedg'd  me  by  his  wit,  to  yield  myself 
His  wife  who  wins  me  by  that  means  I  told  you, 
Yourself,  renowned  prince,  then  stood  as  fair, 
As  any  comer  I  have  look'd  on  yet, 
For  my  affection. 

Morocco. 

Even  for  that  I  thank  you  : 
Therefore,  I  pray  you,  lead  me  to  the  caskets, 
To  try  my  fortune.     By  this  scimitar, — 
That  slew  the  Sophy,  and  a  Persian  prince, 
That  won  three  fields  of  Sultan  Soli/man, — 
I  would  out-stare  the  sternest  eyes  that  look, 
Out-brave  the  heart  most  daring  on  the  earth. 
Pluck  the  young  sucking  cubs  from  the  she- 
bear, 
Yea,  mock  the  lion  when  he  roars  for  prey, 
To  win  thee,  lady.     But,  alas  the  while ! 
If  Hercules  and  Lichas  play  at  dice, 
Which  is  the  better  man  ?  the  greater  throw 
May  turn  by  fortune  from  the  weaker  hand : 
So  is  Alcides  beaten  by  his  page  ; 
And  so  may  I,  blind  fortune  leading  me. 
Miss  that  which  one  unworthier  may  attain, 
And  die  with  grieving. 

Portia. 
You  must  take  your  chance; 
And  either  not  attempt  to  choose  at  all, 
Or  swear  before  you  choose,  if  you  choose  wrong, 
Never  to  speak  to  lady  afterward 
In  way  of  marriage :  therefore  be  advis'd. 
Morocco. 
Nor  will  not :  come,  bring  me  unto  my  chance 

Portia. 
First,  forward  to  the  temple :  after  dinner 
Your  hazard  shall  be  made. 
Morocco. 

Good  fortune  then,  [Cornets. 
To  make  me  blest,  or  cursed'st  among  men  1 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Venice.    A  Street. 

Enter  Launcetot  Gobbo. 

Launcelot. 

Certainly,  my  conscience  will  serve  me  to  run 

from  this  Jew,  my  master.   The  fiend  is  at  mine 

elbow, 


*1±. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  il 


elbow,  and  tempts  me.  saying  to  me,  "  Gobbo, 
Launcelot  Gobbo,  good  Launcelot,  or  good 
Gobbo,  or  good  Launcelot  Gobbo,  use  your  legs, 
take  the  start,  run  away  : "  My  conscience  says, 
— "  No;  take  heed,  honest  Launcelot ;  take  heed, 
honest  Gobbo;"  or,  as  aforesaid,  "honest  Laun- 
celot Gobbo  ;  do  not  run ;  scorn  running  with  thy 
heels."  Well,  the  most  courageous  fiend  bids  me 
pack ;  "  Via ! "  says  the  fiend ;  "*  away  I "  says  the 
fiend ; "  for  the  heavens,  rouse  up  a  brave  mind," 
says  thefiend,  "  and  run."  Well,  my  conscience, 
hanging  about  the  neck  of  my  heart,  says  very 
wisely  to  me,  —  "My  honest  friend  Launcelot, 
being  an  honest  man's  son," — or  rather  an  honest 
woman's  son  ; — for,  indeed,  my  father  did  some- 
thing smack,  something  grow  to,  he  had  a  kind 
of  taste:  — well,  my  conscience  says,  "Laun- 
celot, budge  not."  "Budge,"  says  the  fiend: 
"  budge  not,"  says  my  conscience.  Conscience, 
say  I,  you  counsel  well :  fiend,  say  I,  you  counsel 
well :  to  be  ruled  by  my  conscience,  I  should 
stay  with  the  Jew  my  master,  who  (God  bless 
the  mark  !)  is  a  kind  of  devil ;  and,  to  run  away 
from  the  Jew,  I  should  be  ruled  by  the  fiend, 
who,  saving  your  reverence,  is  the  devil  himself. 
Certainly,  the  Jew  is  the  very  devil  incarnation ; 
and,  in  my  conscience,  my  conscience  is  but  a 
kind  of  hard  conscience  to  offer  to  counsel  me 
to  stay  with  the  Jew.  The  fiend  gives  the  more 
friendly  counsel:  I  will  run,  fiend ;  my  heels  are 
at  your  commandment ;   I  will  run. 

Enter  Old  Gobbo,  with  a  Basket. 
Gobbo. 
Master,  young  man,  you ;  I  pray  you,  which  is 
the  way  to  master  Jew >s  1  ,     . , 

Launcelot.  [Aside 

O  heavens  !  this  Is  my  true  begotten  father, 
who,  being  more  than  sand-blind,  high-gravel 
blind,  knows  me  not:  — I  will  try  conclusions 
with  him.  Gobbo 

Master,  young  gentleman,  I  pray  you,  which 
is  the  way  to  master  Jew's? 
Launcelot. 

Turn  up  on  your  right  hand  at  the  next  turn- 
ing, but  at  the  next  turning  of  all  on  your  left  ; 
marry,  at  the  very  next  turning,  turn  of  no  hand, 
but  turn  down  indirectly  to  the  Jew's  house. 
Gobbo. 

By  God's  sonties,  'twill  be  a  hard  way  to  hit. 
Can  you  tell  me  whether  one  Launcelot,  that 
dwells  with  him,  dwell  with  him,  or  no  ? 
Launcelot. 

.  .Talk,  you  of  young  master  Launcelot? — 
lASiae-j  m^v  me  now.  now  will  1  raise  the 
waters.-i  °  "nnTJ  Talk  you  of  young  master 
Launcelot?  Gobbo 

No  master,  sir,  but  a  poor  man's  son:   his 
father,  though  1  say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding 
poor  man;  and,  God  be  thanked,  well  to  live. 
Launcelot. 

Well,  let  his  father  be  what  a'  will,  we  talk  of 
young  master  Launcelot. 

Gobbo. 

Your  worship's  friend,  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

But  I  pray  you,  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I  beseech i 
you,  talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot? 

Of  Launcelot,  an't  please  your  mastership. 
Launcelot. 

Ergo,  master  Launcelot.    Talk  not  of  master 


j  Launcelot,  father;  for  the  young  gentleman 
I  (according  to  fates  and  destinies,  and  such  odd 
j  sayings,  the  sisters  three,  and  such  branches  of 
[  learning,)  is,  indeed,  deceased ;  or,  as  you  would 
■  say,  in  plain  terms,  gone  to  heaven. 
j  TSobbo. 

i      Marry,  God  forbid  !  the  boy  was  the  very  staff 
j  of  my  age,  my  very  prop. 

Launcelot.  [Aside. 

!      Do  I  look  like  a  ,cudgel»  or  a  hovel-post,  a 
staff,  or  a  prop?— i  '  °  him .3    rj0  yOU  kn0w  me, 
1  father?  _  ,, 

Gobbo. 

Alack  the  day !  1  know  you  not,  young  gentle- 
man ;  but,  I  pray  you,  tell  me,  is  my  boy,  (God 
\  rest  his  soul !)  alive,  or  dead? 
Launcelot. 
Do  you  not  know  me,  father? 
Gobbo. 
I      Alack,  sir,  I  am  sand-blind;  I  know  you  not. 
Launcelot. 
Nay,  indeed,  if  you  had  your  eyes,  you  might 
!  fail  of  the  knowing  me:  it  is  a  wise  father  that  j 
I  knows  his  own  child.    Well,  old  man,   I  will  j 
!  tell  you  news  of  your  son.    [Kneels.]     Give  me ' 
!  your  blessing:  truth  will  come  to  light;  murder 
,  cannot  be  hid  long,  a  man's  son  may,  but  in  the 
:  end  truth  will  out.   _  , , 

Gobbo. 

Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up.    I  am  sure  you  are 
I  not  Launcelot,  my  boy. 

Launcelot. 

Pray  you,  let's  have  no  more  fooling  about  it, 

but  give  me  your  blessing:    1  am  Launcelot, 

your  boy  that  was,  your  son  that  is,  your  child 

that  shall  be.  „  . .; 

Gobbo. 

I  cannot  think  you  are  my  son. 

Launcelot. 
I  know  not  what  I  shall  think  of  that ;  but  I 
am  Launcelot,  the  Jew's  man,  and,  1  am  sure, 
Margery,  your  wife,  is  my  mother. 
Gobbo. 
Her  name  is  Margery,  indeed:  I'll  be  sworn, 
if  thou  be  Launcelot,  thou  art  mine  own  flesh 
and  blood.     Lord!    worshipp'd  might  he  be! 
what  a  beard  hast  thou  got:  thou  hast  got  more 
hair  on  thy  chin,  than  Dobbin  my  phill-horse 
has  on  his  tail.      .  ,  . 

Launcelot. 

It  should  seem,  then,  that  Bobbin's  tail  grows 
backward:  I  am  sure  he  had  more  hair  of  his 
tail,  than  I  have  of  my  face,  when  1  last  saw 

him'  Gobbo. 

Lord !  how  art  thou  changed !  How  dost  thou 
and  thy  master  agree?    1  have  brought  him  a 
present.    How  agree  you  now? 
Launcelot. 

Well,  well ;  but,  for  mine  own  part,  as  I  have 
set  up  my  rest  to  run  away,  so  I  will  not  rest 
till  I  have  run  some  ground.  My  master's  a 
very  Jew:  give  him  a  present!  give  him  a 
halter:  1  am  famish'd  in  his  service;  you  may 
tell  every  finger  I  have  with  my  ribs.  Father, 
I  am  glad  you  are  come :  give  me  your  present 
to  one  master  Bassanio,  who,  indeed,  gives  rare 
new  liveries.  If  1  serve  not  him,  1  will  run  as 
far  as  God  has  any  ground.  —  O  rare  fortune ! 
here  comes  the  man:— to  him,  father;  tor  1  am 
a  Jew,  if  1  serve  the  Jew  any  longer. 
Knter  Bassanio,  with  Leonardo,  and  Followers. 
Bassanio. 

You  may  do  so ; — but  let  it  be  so  hasted,  that 
supper] 


Act  il  Sc.  ii. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


supper  be  ready  at  the  farthest  by  five  of  the 
clock.  See  the»e  letters  delivered:  put  the 
liveries  to  making  and  desire  Gratia/to  to  come 
anon  to  my  lodging.  [Kxit  a  Servant. 

_   .,      ___        Launcelot. 
To  him,  father. 


dge  of  a  feather-bed :— here  are  simf} 
W 


rship! 


God  bless  your  woi 

Gramercy.    WouUrst  tnou  aught  with  me  ? 

„      .                  ,  Gobbo.  . 
Here's  my  son,  sir,  a  poor  boy, 

Not  a  poor  boy,  sir,  nut  'the  rich  Jew's  man, 
that  would,  sir,— as  my  father  shall  specify. 

He  hath  a  great  Infection,  sir,  as  one  would 
•ay,  to  serve 

Indeed,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  I  serve  the  ! 
Jew,  and  have  a  desire,  — as  my  father  shall 
specify. 

His  master  and  he  (saving  your  worship's 
reverence,)  are  scarce  cater-cousins. 

To  be  brief,  the  very  truth  is,  that  the  Jew 
having  done  me  wrong,  doth  cause  me, — as  my 
father,  being,  I  hope,  an  old  man,  shall  frutify  : 
unto  you. 

I  have  here  a  dish  ofcloves,  that  I  would  be-  ; 
stow  upon  your  worship;  and  my  suit  is, 

In  very  brief,  the  suit  is  impertinent  to  myself, 
as  your  lordship  shall  know  by  this  honest  old 
man ;  and,  though  1  say  it,  though  old  man,  yet,  j 
poor  man,  my  father. 

One  speak  for  both.  —What  would  you  ? 

Launcelot 
Serve  you,  sir. 

That  is  the  very  defect  o"f  the  matter,  sir. 

1  know  thee  well:  thou' hast  obtain'd  thy  suit. 
ShyVjck,  thy  master,  spoke  with  me  this  day, 
And  hath  preferr'd  thee;  if  it  be  preferment, 
To  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 

The  old  provevbis  very  well  parted  between 
my  masfer  Shylnck  and  you,  sir:  you  have  the 
grace  of  God,  sir,  and  he  hath  enough. 

Thou  speak'st  Uweif.l^Go,  father,  with  thy 
son  — 
Take  leave  of  thy  old  master,  and  inquire 
My  lodging  out.  — Give  him  a  livery 

More  guarded  than  his  fellows:  see  It  done.' 

„  ..        .         .  Launcelot. 
Father,  in.  — I  cannot  get  a  service, —no;  I 
have    ne'er    a   tongue    in    my    head.  —  Well ; 

[Looking, on  his  £alrry]  J(*n2  ™n  in  IMV 
nave  a  Tairer  table,  wnrch  doth  offer  to  swear 
upon  a  book.  —  1  shall  have  good  fortune.  —  Go 
to;  here's  a  simple  line  of  life!  here's  a  small 
trifle  of  wives:  alas!  fifteen  wives  is  nothing: 
eleven  widows,  and  nine  maids,  is  a  simple 
coming-in  for  one  man;  and  then,  to  'scape 
drowning  thrice,  and  to  be  in  peril  of  my  life 


with  the 

'scapes  !  Well,  if  fortune  be  a  woman,  she's 
good  wench  for  this  gear.  — Father,  come;  I'll 
take  my  leave  of  the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eve'  [Exeunt  Launcelot  and  Old  Gobbo. 

I  pray  thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this. 
These  things  being  bought,  and   orderly  be- 
Return  in  haste,  for  I  do  feast  to-night  [stow'd, 
My  best-esteem 'd  acquaintance:  hie  thee;  go. 

My  best  endeavours  shall  be  done  herein. 

Euter  Gratiano. 
Where  i.  your  m^rT0- 

oaai Yonder,  sir,  he  walks. 
[Exit  Isonarda. 
Signior  Bassanio! 

_     ..  Rassanio. 

Grattano. 

. .  ,,.  .     Gratiano 

I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

ssaYou  have  obtain'd  it. 

„  .  .  Gratiano, 

You  must  not  deny  me.    I  must  go  with  you 
to  Belmont. 

Why,  then  you  murt";  but  hear  thee,  Gra- 
tiano. 
Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  voice ; — 
Parts,  that  become  thee  happily  enough. 
And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults ; 
But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  "there  they 

show 
Something  too  liberal.  —  Pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  with  some  cold  drops  ot  modesty 
Thy  skipping  spirit,  lest  through  thy  wild  be- 
haviour, 
I  be  misconstrued  in  the  place  I  go  to, 
And  lose  my  hopes. 

STgnior'  Bassanio,  hear  me : 
If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit, 
Talk  with  respect,  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 
Wear  prayer-books    in    my  pocket,  look   de- 
murely ;  [eyes 
Nay  more,  while  grace  Is  saying,  hood  mine 
Thus  with  my  hat,  and  sigh,  and  say  amen  ; 
Use  all  the  observance  of  civility, 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Well,  we  shall  see  your  bearing. 

Nay,  but  I  bar  tolnight:  you  shall  not  gage 
me 
By  what  we  do  to-night. 

Rassanio-     ..   . 

No,  that  were  pity. 
I  would  entreat  you  rather  to  put  on 
Your  boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 
That  purpose  merriment.     But  fare  you  well, 
I  have  some  business. 

And  I  must  to  Lorenzo,  and  the  rest ; 
But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time.  rRxeunt 
SCENE 


n6 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  ni 


SCENE  1 1 1.    The  same.    A  B  oom  in  Shylock'a 
House. 

Enter  Jessica  and  Launcelot. 

Jessica. 

1  am  sorry,  thou  wilt  leave  my  father  so  : 
Our  house  is  hell,  and  thou,  a  merry  devil, 
Didst  rob  it  of  some  taste  of  tediousness. 
But  fare  thee  well ;  there  is  a  ducat  for  thee. 
And,  Launcelot,  soon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Lorenzo,  who  is  thy  new  master's  guest ; 
Give  him  this  letter ;  do  it  secretly, 
And  so  farewell :  I  would  not  have  my  father 
See  me  in  talk  with  thee. 

Launcelot. 

Adieu  !  —  tears  exhibit  my  tongue.  —  Most 
beautiful  pagan.  —  most  sweet  Jew!  If  a 
Christian  did  not  play  the  knave,  and  get  thee, 
I  am  much  deceived :  but,  adieu  I  these  foolish 
drops  do  somewhat  drown  my  manly  spirit: 
adieu  1  [Exit. 

Jessica. 

Farewell,  good  Launcelot. — 
Alack,  what  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me, 
To  be  asham'd  to  be  my  father's  child  ! 
But  though  I  am  a  daughter  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners.    O  Lorenzo ! 
If  thou  keep  promise,  I  shall  end  this  strife, 
Become  a  Christian,  and  thy  loving  wife.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV.    The  same.    A  Street. 

Enter  Gratiimor  Lorenzo,  Salarino,  and 
Salanio. 

Lorenzo. 
Nay,  we  will  slink  away  in  supper-time, 
Disguise  us  at  my  lodging,  and  return 
All  in  an  hour. 

Gratiano. 
We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 

Salarino. 
We  have  not  spoke  us  yet  of  torch-bearers. 

Salanio. 
'Tis  vile,  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  order'd, 
And  better,  in  my  mind,  not  undertook. 

Lorenzo. 
'Tis  now  but  four  o'clock  :  we  have  two  hours 
To  furnish  us.  — 

Enter  Launcelot,  with  a  letter. 

Friend  Launcelot,  what's  the  news  ? 
Launcelot. 
An  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up  this,  it  shall 
seem  to  signify.  [Giving  a  letter. 

Lorenzo. 
I  know  the  hand  :  in  faith,  'tis  a  fair  hand ; 
And  whiter  than  the  paper  it  writ  on, 
Is  the  fair  hand  that  writ. 

Gratiano. 

Love-news,  in  faith. 
Launcelot. 
By  your  leave,  sir. 

Lorenzo. 
Whither  goest  thou  ? 

Launcelot. 

Marrv,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master,  the  Jew,  to 

sup  to-night  with  my  new  master,  the  Christian. 

Lorenzo. 

Hold  here,  take  this.  —  Tell  gentle  Jessica, 

I  will  not  fail  her  :  —  speak  it  privately  ; 

Go.  —  Gentlemen,  [Exit  Launc  lot. 


Will  j'ou  prepare  you  for  this  masque  to-night 
I  am  provided  of  a  torch- bearer. 

Salarino. 
Ay,  marry,  I'll  be  gone  about  it  straight. 

Salanio. " 
And  so  will  I. 

Lorenzo. 
Meet  me.  and  Gratiano, 
At  Gratiano's  lodging  some  hour  hence. 
Salarino. 
'Tis  good  we  do  so. 

[Exeunt  Salarino  and  Sahinio. 
Gratiano. 
Was  not  that  letter  from  fair  Jessica  t 

Lorenzo. 
I  must  needs  tell  thee  all.    She  hath  directed, 
How  I  shall  take  her  from  her  father's  house  ; 
What  gold,  and  jewels,  she  is  furnish'd  with  ; 
What  page's  suit  she  hath  in  readiness. 
If  e'er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven, 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake  ; 
And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot, 
Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse, 
That  she  is  issue  to  a  faithless  Jew. 
Come,  go  with  me :  peruse  this,  as  thou  goest. 
Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  torch-bearer.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  V.    The  same.    Before  Shylock'a 
House. 

Enter  Shylock  and  Launcelot. 
Shylock. 
Well,  thou  shalt  see ;  thy  eyes  shall  be  thy 
judge, 
The  difference  of  old  Shylock  and  Bassanio.  — 
What,  Jessica  !  —  thou  shalt  not  gormandize, 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me ; —  What,  Jessica ! — 
And  sleep  and  snore,  and  rend  apparel  out.  — 
Why,  Jessica,  I  say  1 

Launcelot. 

Why,  Jessica  I 
Shylock. 
Who  bids  thee  call  ?    I  do  not  bid  thee  call. 

Launcelot , 
Your  worship  was  wont  to  tell  me,  that  I 
could  do  nothing  without  bidding. 

Enter  Jessica. 
Jessica. 
Call  you  ?    What  is  your  will  ? 

Shylock. 
I  am  bid  forth  to  supper,  Jessica :  [go  ? 

There  are  my  keys But  wherefore  should  I 

I  am  not  bid  for  love  ;  they  flatter  me : 
But  yet  I'll  go  in  hate,  to  feed  upon 

The  prodigal  Christian Jessica,  my  girl, 

Look  to  my  house :— I  am  right  loath  to  go. 
There  is  some  ill  a  brewing  towards  my  rest, 
For  I  did  dream  of  money-bags  to-night. 

Launcelot. 
I  beseech  you,  sir,  go :  my  young  master  doth 
expect  your  reproach. 

Shylock. 
So  do  I  his. 

Launcelot. 
And  they  have  conspired  together:  —  I  will 
not  say,  you  shall  see  a  masque  ;  but  if  you  do, 
then  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  my  nose  fell  a 
bleeding  on  black  Monday  last,  at  six  o'clock 
i'the  morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash-  Wed- 
nesday was  four  year  in  the  afternoon. 
Shylock. 
What!  are  there  masques  ?— Hear  you  me 
Jessica : 

And 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vi. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


217 


Lock  up  my  doors  ;  and  when  you  hear  the 

drum, 
And  the  vile  squealing  of  the  wry-neck'd  fife, 
Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then, 
Nor  thrust  your  head  into  the  public  street 
To  gaze  on  Christian  fools  with  varnish'd  faces, 
But  stop  my  house's  ears,  I  mean  my  casements : 
Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house.— My  Jacob's  staff,  1  swear, 
1  have  no  mind  of  feasting  forth  to-night ; 
But  I  will  go— Go  you  before  me,  sirrah : 
Say,  1  will  come. 

Launcelot. 
I  will  go  before,  sir.  —  Mistress,  look  out  at 
window,  for  all  this  ; 
There  will  come  a  Christian  by, 
Will  be  worth  a  Jewess'  eye. 

fExit  Launcelot. 
Shylock. 
What  says  that  fool  of  Hagar's  offspring  ?  hal 

Jessica. 
His  words  were,  farewell  mistress  ;  nothing 
else. 

Shylock. 
The  patch  is  kind  enough  ;  but  a  huge  feeder, 
Snail-slow  in  profit,  and  he  sleeps  by  day    [me ; 
More  than  the  wild  cat:  drones  hive  not  with 
Therefore  I  part  with  him,  and  part  with  him 
To  one  that  1  would  have  him  help  to  waste 
His  borrow 'd  purse. —  Well,  Jessica,  go  in  : 
Perhaps  1  will  return  immediately. 
Do,  as  1  bid  you  ;  shut  doors  after  you : 
Fast  bind,  fast  find, 
A  proverb  never  stale  in  thrifty  mind.        [Exit. 

Jessica. 
Farewell ;  and  if  my  fortune  be  not  crost, 
I  have  a  father,  you  a  daughter,  lost.         [Exit 

SCENE  VI.     The  same. 

Enter  Gratiano  and  Salarino,  masqued. 

Gratiano. 

This  is  the  pent-house,  under  which  Lorenzo 

Desir'd  us  to  make  stand. 

Salarlno. 

His  hour  is  almost  past. 

Gratiano. 
And  it  is  marvel  he  out-dwells  his  hour, 
For  lovers  ever  run  before  the  clock. 

Salarino. 
O  !  ten  times  faster  Venus''  pigeons  fly    [wont 
To  seal  love's  bonds  new-made,  than  they  are 
To  keep  obliged  faith  unforfeited  ! 

Gratiano. 
That  ever  holds :  who  riseth  from  a  feast, 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down  ? 
Where  is  the  horse  that  rloth  un tread  again 
His  tedious  measures,  with  the  unbated  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first?    All  things  that 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy'd.   [are, 
How  like  a  younker,  or  a  prodigal. 
The  scarfed  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
Hugg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 
How  like  a  prodigal  doth  she  return  : 
With  over-weather'd  ribs,  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent,  and  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 

Enter  Lorenzo. 
Salarino. 
Here  comes  Lorenzo :— more  of  this  hereafter. 

Lorenzo. 
Sweet  friends,  your    patience    for    my  long 
abode; 
Not  I,  by  my  affairs  have  made  you  wait : 


When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for 

wives, 
I'll  whate  as  long  for  you  then — Approach  ; 
Here  dwells  my  father  Jew  : — Hoi  who's  within? 

Enter  Jessica  above,  in  boy's  clothes. 

Jessica. 
Who  are  you  ?    Tell  me  for  more  certainty, 
Albeit  I'll  swear  that  I  do  know  your  tongue. 

Lorenzo. 
Lorenzo,  and  thy  love. 

Jessica. 
Lorenzo,  certain  ;  aud  my  love,  indeed, 
For  whom  love  I  so  much  ?    And  now  who 
But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I  am  yours  ?  [knows, 

Lorenzo. 
Heaven,  and  thy  thoughts  are  witness  that 
thou  art. 

Jessica. 
Here,  catch  this  casket:  it  is  worth  the  pains. 
I  am  gvad  'tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me, 
For  1  am  much  asham'd  of  my  exchange  ; 
But  love  is  blind,  and  lovers  cannot  see 
The  pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit ; 
For  if  they  could,  Cupid  himself  would  blush 
To  see  me  thus  transformed  to  a  boy. 

_,  ,  Lorenzo. 

Descend,  for  you  must  be  my  torch-bearer. 

Jessica. 

What !  must  I  hold  a  candle  to  my  shames  ? 

They  in  themselves,  good  sooth,  are  too  too 

Why,  'tis  an  office  of  discovery,  love,         [light 

And  I  should  be  obscur'd. 

Lorenzo. 

So  are  you,  sweel. 
Even  in  the  lovely  garnish  of  a  boy. 
But  Clime  at  once  : 

For  the  close  night  doth  play  the  run -away, 
And  we  are  stay'd  for  at  Bassanio's  feast. 

Jessica. 
I  will  make  fast  the  doors,  and  gild  myself 
J  With   some   more   ducats,   and   be  with   you 
straight.  [Exit,  from  above. 

!      Now,  by  my  hood,V  Gentue,  and  no  Jew. 

1     «    .  Lorenzo.    . 

Beshrew  me,  but  I  love  her  heartily  ; 
j  For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her, 
;  And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true, 
And  true  she  is  as  she  hath  prov'd  herself; 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

Enter  Jessica, 
What,  art  thou  come?— On,  gentlemen;  away! 
Our  masquing  mates  by  this  time  for  us  stay. 

[Exit  with  Jessica  and  Salarino. 

Enter  Antonio. 

Who's  there?      AntonI°' 

Signior  Antonio  f'™m°' 

Antonio. 
Fie,  fie,  Gratiano!  where  are  all  the  rest? 
'Tis  nine  o'clock  •,  our  friends  all  stay  for  you. 
No  masque  to-night:  the  wind  is  come  about, 
Bassanio  presently  will  go  aboard : 
1  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you. 
Gratiano. 
I  am  glad  on't :  I  desire  no  more  delight, 
Than  to  be  under  sail,  and  gone  to-night. 

[Exeunt.  ! 
SCENE  j 


zi8 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vn. 


SCENE  VII.    Bfbnont.    An  Apartment  in 
Portia's  House. 

Enter  Portia,  with  trie  Prince  of  Morocco,  and 
both  their  Trains. 

Portia. 
Go,  draw  aside  the  curtains,  and  discover 
The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  prince — 
Now  make  your  choice. 

Morocco. 
The  first,  of  gold,  who  this  inscription  bears ; 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men 

desire." 
The  second,  silver,  whi'  h  this  promise  carries ; — 
■  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he 


This  third,  dull  lead,  with  warning  all  as  blunt ; — 
"  Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he 

hath." 
How  shall  I  know  if  I  do  choose  the  right  ? 

Poitia. 
The  one  of  them  contains  my  picture,  prince  : 
If  you  choose  that,  then  I  am  yours  withal. 
Morocco. 
Some  god  direct  my  judgment !    Let  me  see, 
I  will  survey  th*  inscriptions  back  again  : 
What  says  this  leaden  casket  ?  [hath." 

"  Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all  he 
Must  give— For  what?  for  lead?   hazard  for 

lead? 
This  casket  threatens :  men,  that  hazard  all, 
Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages : 
A  golden  mind  stoops  not  to  shows  of  dross ; 
I'll  then  nor  give,  nor  hazard,  aught  for  lead. 
What  says  the  sliver,  with  her  virgin  hue? 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he 

deserves." 
As  much  as  he  deserves  ? — Pause  there,  Morocco, 
And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand. 
K  thou  be'st  rated  by  thy  estimation, 
Thou  dost  deserve  enough  ;  and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  so  far  as  to  the  lady  ; 
And  yet  to  be  afeard  of  my  deserving 
Were  but  a  weak  disabling  of  myself. 
As  much  as  1  deserve  ? — Why,  that's  the  lady : 
I  do  in  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes, 
In  graces,  and  in  qualities  of  breeding  ; 
But  more  than  these  in  love  I  do  deserve. 
What  if  I  stray'd  no  farther,  but  chose  here  ? — 
Let's  see  once  more  this  saying  grav'd  in  gold : 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men 

desire." 
Why,  that's  the  lady  ;  all  the  world  desires  her: 
From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come, 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathing  saint. 
The  Hyrcanian  deserts,  and  the  vasty  wilds 
Of  wide  Arabia,  are  as  thorough -fares  now, 
For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia  : 
The  wat'ry  kingdom,  whose  ambitious  head 
Spiti  in  the  face  of  heaven,  is  no  bar 
To  stop  the  foreign  spirits,  but  they  come, 
As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia. 
One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 
Is't  like,  that  lead  contains  her  ?    'Twere  dam- 
nation, 
To  think  so  base  a  thought :  it  were  too  gross 
To  rib  her  cerecloth  in  the  obscure  grave. 
Or  shall  I  think  in  silver  she's  immur'd, 
Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  tried  gold  ? 
O  sinful  thought  1     Never  so  rich  a  gem 
Was  set  in  worse  than  gold     They  have  in 

England 
A  coin  that  bears  the  figure  of  an  angel 
Stamped  in  gold,  but  that's  insculp'd  upon  ; 


But  here  an  angel  in  a  golden  bed 
Lies  all  within— Deliver  me  the  key  : 
Here  do  I  choose,  and  thrive  I  as  I  may  ! 
Portia. 
There,  take  it,  prince ;  and  if  my  form  lie 
Then  I  am  yours.  [there, 

[  He  unlocks  the  golden  casket,. 

Morocco. 
O  hell !  what  have  we  here  ? 
A  carrion  death,  within  whose  empty  eye 
There  is  a  written  scroll.    I'll  read  the  writing. 
"  All  that  glisters  is  not  gold  ; 
Often  have  you  heard  that  told  : 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold, 
But  my  outside  to  behold  : 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  infold. 
Had  you  been  as  wise  as  bold, 
Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old, 
Your  answer  had  not  been  inscroll'd  : 
Fare  you  well ;  your  suit  is  cold." 
Cold,  indeed,  and  labour  lost : 

Then,  farewell,  heat;  and.  welcome,  frost 

Portia,  adieu.    I  have  too  griev'd  a  heart 
To  take  a  tedious  leave :  thus  losers  part. 

[Exit. 
Portia. 
A  gentle  riddance. — Draw  the  curtains :  go. 
Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.     Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Salarino  and  Salanio. 
Salarino. 
Why  man,  I  saw  Bassanio  under  sail : 
With  him  is  Gratiano  gone  along  ; 
And  in  their  ship,  I'm  sure  Lorenzo  is  not. 
Salanio. 
The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  rais'd  the  duke, 
Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio'*  ship. 
Salarino. 
He  came  too  late,  the  ship  was  under  sail . 
But  there  the  duke  was  given  to  understand, 
That  in  a  gondola  were  seen  together 
Lorenzo  and  his  amorous  Jessica. 
Besides,  Antonio  certified  the  duke, 
They  were  not  with  Bassanio  in  his  ship. 
Salanio. 
I  never  heard  a  passion  so  confus'd. 
So  strange,  outrageous,  and  so  variable, 
As  the  dog  Jew  did  utter  in  the  streets  : 
"  My  daughter ! — ()  myducats  ! — O  my  daughter! 
Fled  with  a  Christian  ?— O  my  Christian  ducats ! 
Justice !  the  law  !  my  ducats,  and  my  daughter  ! 
A  sealed  bag,  two  sealed  bags  of  ducats, 
Of  double  ducats,  stol'n  from  mebymy  daughter ! 
And  jewels  !  two  stones,  two  rich  and  precious 

stones, 
Stol'n  by  my  daughter !— Justice  I  find  the  girl ! 
She  hath  the  stones  upon  her,  and  the  ducats  !" 
Salarino. 
Why,  all  the  boys  in  Venice  follow  him. 
Crying,  his  stones,  his  daughter,  and  his  ducats. 
Salanio. 
Let  good  Antonio  look  he  keep  his  day, 
Or  he  shall  pay  for  this. 

Salarino. 
Marry,  well  remember'd. 
I  reason'd  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday, 
Who  told  me,  in  the  narrow  seas  that  part 
The  French  and  English  there  miscarried 
A  vessel  of  our  country,  richly  fraught. 
I  thought  upon  Antonio  when  he  told  me, 
And  wish'd  in  silence  that  it  were  not  his. 

Salanio. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  ix. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


*i9 


Salanio. 

You  were  best  to  tell  Antonio  wh.it  you  hear ; 
Yrt  do  not  suddenly,  for  It  may  grieve  him. 
Salarluo. 

A  kinder  gentleman  treads  not  the  earth. 
1  saw  liassnnio  and  Antonio  part. 
Baasaniu  told  him,  he  would  make  some  speed 
Of  his  return  :  he  answer'd— "  Do  not  so  ; 
Slubber  not  business  for  my  sake,  Basianio, 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time  : 
And  for  the  Jew  s  bond,  which  he  hath  of  me, 
Let  it  not  enter  in  your  mind  of  love. 
Be  merry  ;  and  employ  your  chiefest  thoughts 
To  courtship,  and  such  fair  ostents  of  love 
As  shall  conveniently  become  you  there." 
And  even  there,  his  eye  being  big  with  tears, 
Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  him, 
And  with  affection  wondrous  sensible 
He  wrung  Bassanio's  hand ;  and  so  they  parted. 
Btknlo. 

I  think,  he  only  loves  the  world  for  him. 
I  pray  thee,  let  us  go,  and  find  him  out, 
And  quicken  his  embraced  heaviness 
With  some  delight  or  other. 
Salarlno. 

Do  we  so.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.    Belmont.    An  Apartment  In 
Portia'*  House. 


Enter  Nerissa,  with  a  Servitor. 
Nerissa. 
Quick,  quick,  I  pray  thee;  draw  the  curtain; 
straight. 
The  prince  of  Arragon  hath  ta'en  his  oath, 
And  comes  to  his  election  presently. 

Knter  the  Prince  of  Arragon,  Portia,  and  their 
Trains.    Flourish  cornets, 
rortia. 
Behold,  there  stand  the  caskets,  noble  prince. 
If  you  choose  that  wherein  I  am  contain'd, 
Straight  shall  our  nuptial  rites  be  solemniz'd  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  without  more  speech,  my  lord, 
You  must  be  gone  from  hence  immediately. 
Arragon. 
I  am  enjoln'd  by  oath  to  observe  three  things ; 
First,  never  to  unfold  to  any  one 
Which  casket  'twas  I  chose :  next,  if  I  fail 
Of  the  right  casket,  never  in  my  life 
To  woo  a  maid  in  way  of  marriage :  lastly, 
If  I  do  fail  in  fortune  of  my  choice, 
Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 
Portia. 
To  these  injunctions  every  one  doth  swear, 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 
Arragon. 
And  so  have  I  address'd  me.    Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope  1  —  Gold,  silver,  and  base 
lead.  [he  nath  :  " 

"  Who  chooseth  me  must  give  and  hazard  all 
You  shall  look  fairer,  ere  I  give,  or  hazard. 
What  says  the  golden  chest  r  ha  !  let  me  see :  — 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  gain  what  many  men 
desire."  [meant 

What  many  men  desire:  — that  many  may  be 
By  the  fool  multitude,  that  choose  by  show, 
Not  learning  more  than  the  fond  eye  doth  teach  ; 
Which  pries  not  to  th'  interior,  but,  like  the 

martlet, 
Builds  in  the  weather,  on  the  outward  wall, 
Even  in  the  force  and  road  of  casualty. 
I  will  not  choose  what  many  men  de>ire, 
Because  1  will  not  jump  with  common  spirits 


And  rank  me  with  the  barbarous  multitudes. 
Why,  then  to  thee,  thou  silver  treasure-house  ; 
Tell  me  once  more  what  title  thou  dost  boar  : 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he 

deserves ; " 
And  well  said  too  ;  for  who  shall  go  about 
To  cozen  fortune,  and  be  honourable, 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit  ?  Let  none  presume 
To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity. 

0  !  that  estates,  degrees,  and  offices,       [honour 
Were  not  deriv'd  corruptly  !    and   that  clear 
Were  purchas'd  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer  ! 
How  many  then  should  cover,  that  stand  bare  ; 
How  many  be  commanded,  that  command  : 
How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  glean 'd 
From  the  true  seed  of  honour ;  and  how  much 

honour 
Pick'd  from  the  chaff* and  ruin  of  the  fimes, 
To  be  new  varnish'd  1    Well,  but  to  my  choice : 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  get  as  much  as  he 

deserves." 

1  will  assume  desert :  —  Give  me  a  key  for  this. 
And  instantly  unlock  my  fortunes  here. 

Portia. 
Too  long  a  pause  for  that  which  you  find 
there. 

Arragon. 

What's  here  ?  the  portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot, 
Presenting  me  a  schedule  ?  I  will  read  it. 
How  much  unlike  art  thou  to  Portia  ! 
How  much  unlike  my  hopes,  and  my  deservings  ! 
"  Who  chooseth  me  shall  have  as  much  as  he 

deserves." 
Did  I  deserve  no  more  than  a  fool's  head  ? 
Is  that  my  prize  ?  are  my  deserts  no  better  ? 
Portia. 
To  offend,  and  judge,  are  distinct  offices, 
And  of  opposed  natures. 

Arragon. 

What  is  here  ? 
"  The  fire  seven  times  tried  this  : 
Seven  times  tried  that  judgment  is. 
That  did  never  choose  amiss. 
Some  there  be  that  shadows  kiss  ; 
Such  have  but  a  shadow's  bliss. 
There  be  fools  alive,  I  wis, 
Silver'd  o'er;  and  so  was  this." 
Take  what  wife  you  will  to  bed, 
I  will  ever  be  your  head  : 
So  begone :  you  are  sped." 
Still  more  fool  I  shall  appear 
By  the  time  I  linger  here : 
With  one  fool's  head  I  came  to  woo, 

Bnt  I  go  away  with  two 

Sweet,  adieu.     I'll  keep  my  oath, 
Patiently  to  bear  my  wroth. 

[Exeunt  Arragon,  and  Train 

Portia. 
Thus  hath  the  candle  sing'd  the  moth. 
O.  these  deliberate  fools  1  when  they  do  choose. 
They  have  the  wisdom  by  their  wit  to  lose. 
Nerissa. 
The  ancient  saying  is  no  heresy :  — 
Hanging  and  wiving  goes  by  destiny. 
Portia. 
Come,  draw  the  curtain,  Nerissa. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Wrhere  is  my  lady  ? 

Portia. 

Here  ;  what  would  my  lord  ? 
Messenger. 
Madam,  there  is  alighted  at  your  gate 

A  young 


220 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  lx. 


A  young  Venetian,  one  that  comes  before 
To  signify  the  approaching  of  his  lord. 
From  whom  he  bringeth  sensible  regreets  ; 
To   wit,    (besides   commends,   and    courteous 

breath,) 
Gifts  of  ricli  value  ;  yet  I  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love. 
A  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet, 
To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand. 
As  this  fore-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 
Portia. 
No  more,  T  pray  thee  :  I  am  half  afeard, 
Thou  wilt  say  anon  he  is  some  kin  to  thee, 
Thou  spend'st  such  high-day  wit  in  praising 

him.— 
Come,  come,  Nerissa  ;  for  I  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid' &  post,  that  comes  so  mannerly. 
Kerissa. 
Bassanio,  lord  Love,  if  thy  will  it  be. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 

SCENE  I.    Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Salanio  and  Salarino 
Salanio. 
TV  OVV,  what  news  on  the  Riatto? 

Salarino. 
Why,  yet  it  lives  there  uncheck'd,  th»t  Antonio 
hath  a*  ship  of  rich  lading  wreck'd  on  the  narrow 
seas  ;  the  Goodwins,  1  think  they  call  the  place: 
a  very  dangerous  flat,  and  fatal,  where  the  car- 
casses of  many  a  tall  ship  lie  buried,  as  they  say, 
if  my  gossip,  report,  be  an  honest  woman  of  her 
word. 

Salanio. 
I  would  she  were  as  lying  a  gossip  in  that,  as 
ever  knapped  ginger,  or  made  her  neighbours 
believe  she  wept  for  the  death  of  a  third  husband. 
But  it  is  true,  without  any  slips  of  prolixity,  or 
crossing  the  plain  high-way  of  talk,  that  the 
good  Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio,  —  O.  that  I 
had  a  title  good  enough  to  keep  his  name  com- 
pany 1  — 

Salarino. 
Come,  the  full  stop. 

Salanio. 
Ha!  — what  say'st  thou?  — Why  the  end  is, 
he  hath  lost  a  ship. 

Salarino. 
1  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his  losses. 

Salanio. 
Let  me  say  amen  betimes,  lest  the  devil  cross 
my  prayer ;  for  here  he  comes  in  the  likeness  of 
a  Jew.— 

Enter  Shylock. 

How  now,  Shylock  ?  what  news  among  the  mer- 
chants ? 

Shylock. 
You  knew,  none  so  well,  none  so  well  as  you, 
of  my  daughter's  flight. 

Salarino. 
That's  certain  :  I,  for  my  part,  knew  the  tailor 
that  made  the  wings  she  flew  withal. 
'  Salanio. 
And  Shylock,  for  his  own  part,  knew  the  bird 
was  fledg'd  :  and  then,  it  is  the  complexion  of 
them  all  to  leave  the  dam. 


Shylock. 
She  is  damned  for  it. 

Salarino. 
That's  certain,  if  the  devil  may  be  her  judge. 

Shylock. 
My  own  flesh  and  blood  to  rebel ! 

Salanio. 
Out  upon  it,  old  carrion !  rebels  it  at  these 
years  ? 

Shylock. 
1  say,  my  daughter  is  my  flesh  and  blood. 

Salarino. 
There  is  more  difference  between  thy  flesh 
and  hers,  than  between  jet  and  ivory  ;  more  be- 
tween your  bloods,  than  there  is  between  red 
wine  and  rhenish.  But  tell  us,  do  you  hear 
whether  Antonio  have  had  any  loss  at  sea  or 
no? 

Shylock. 
There  I  have  another  bad  match  :  a  bankrupt, 
a  prodigal,  who  dare  scarce  show  his  head  on 
the  liialto  ; — a  beggar,  that  used  to  come  so 

smug  upon  the  mart Let  him  look  to  his 

bond:  he  was  wont  to  call  me  usurer  ; —  let  him 
look  to  his  bond :  he  was  wont  to  lend  money 
for  a  Christian  courtesy; — let  him  look  to  his 
bond. 

Salarino 
Why,  1  am  sure,  if  he  forfeit,  thou  wilt  not 
take  his  flesh  :  what's  that  good  for  ? 
Shvlock. 
To  bait  fish  withal:  if  it  will  feed  nothing 
else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgraced 
me,  and  hindered  me  half  a  million  ;  laughed  at 
my  losses,  mocked  at  my  gains,  scorned  my  na- 
tion, thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my  friends, 
heated  mine  enemies  ;  and  what's  his  reason  ?  1 
am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  .lew 
hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections, 
passions  ?  fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the 
same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases, 
healed  by  the  same  means,  warmed  and  cooled 
by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as  a  Christian 
is  ?  if  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  if  you 
tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh?  if  you  poison  us, 
do  we  not  die?  and  if  you  wrong  us,  shall 
we  not  revenge?  If  we  are  like  you  in  the 
rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a  Jew 
wrong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility  ?  re- 
venge. If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should 
his  sufferance  be  by  Christian  example?  why, 
revenge.  The  villainy  you  teach  me,  I  will  exe- 
cute ;  and  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  better  the 
instruction. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Servant. 

Gentlemen,  my  master  Antonio  is  at  his  house, 

and  desires  to  speak  with  you  both. 

Salarino. 

We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  him. 

Salanio. 
Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe:   a  third 
cannot  be  matched,  unless  the  devil  himself  turn 
Jew.     [  Exeunt  Salanio,  Salarino,  and  Servant. 

Enter  Tubal. 
Shylock. 
How  now,  Tubal?  what  news  from  Genoa  f 
hast  thou  found  my  daughter  ? 
Tubal. 
I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but  can- 
not find  her. 

Shylock. 
Why  there,  there,  there,  there !  a  diamond 
gone,  cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  Frankfort. 

The 


Act  hi.  Sc.  II. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


The  curie  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now  ; 
I  never  felt  it  till  now  :  — two  thousand  ducats 

in  that ;  and  other  precious,  precious  jewels 

I  would,  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and 
the  jewels  in  her  ear  !  would  she  were  hearsed 
at  my  foot  and  the  ducats  in  her  coffin  1  No 
h.as  of  them  ? — Why,  so;  —  and  1  know  not 
what's  spent  in  the  search  :  Why  thou  -  loss 
upon  loss  !  the  thief  gone  with  so  much,  and  so 
much  to  find  the  thief,  and  no  satisfaction,  no 
revenge;  nor  no  ill  luck  stirring,  but  what  lights 
o'  iny  shoulders  ;  no  sighs,  but  o'  my  breathing ; 
no  tears,  but  o'  my  shedding. 
Tubal. 
Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too.  Antonio,  as 
1  heard  in  Genoa, — 

Shylock. 
What,  what,  what  ?  ill  luck,  ill  luck  ? 

Tubal. 
—  hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from 
Tripoli* . 

Shylock. 
I  thank  God  I  I  thank  God  !  Is  it  true?  is  it 
true? 

Tubal. 
I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  escaped 
the  wreck. 

Shylock. 
I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal.  —  Good  news,  good 
news  !  ha  !  ha  !—  Where  ?  in  Genoa  f 
Tubal. 
Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard, 
one  night,  fourscore  ducats. 
Shylock. 
Thou  stick'st  a  dagger  in  me.     I  shall  never 
see  my  gold  again.    Fourscore  ducats  at  a  sit- 
ting !  fourscore  ducats  I 

There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors  in 
my  company  to  Venice,  that  swear  he  cannot 
choose  but  break. 

1  am  very  glad  of  it.     I'll  plague  him ;  I'll 
torture  him  :  I  am  glad  of  it. 
Tubal 
One  of  them  showed  me  a  ring  that  he  had  of 
your  daughter  for  a  monkey. 
Shylock. 
Out  upon  her  !    Thou  torturest  me,  Tubal; 
it  was  my  turquoise ;  I  had  it  of  Leah,  when 
1  wa*  a  bachelor  :  I  would  not  have  given  it  for 
a  wilderness  of  monkeys. 
Tubal. 
But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone, 

Shylock. 
Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true.  Go,  Tubal, 
fee  me  an  officer ;  bespeak  him  a  fortnight 
l>efore.  I  will  have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he 
forfeit ;  for  were  he  out  of  Venice,  I  can  make 
what  merchandize  I  will.    Go,  Tubal,  and  meet 


me  at  our  synagogue:  go,  good  Tubal^at  our 
synagogue,  Tubai. 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.    Belmont.    An  Apartment  in 
Portia's  House. 

Muter  Bassanio,  Portia,  Gratiano,  Nerissa,  and 
their  Attendants.    The  caskets  set  out. 

Portia. 
I  pray  you  tarry  :  pause  a  day  or  two, 
Before  you  hazard  ;  for,  in  choosing  wrong, 
1  lose  your  company :  therefore,  forbear  a  while. 
There'*  something  tells  me,  (but  it  is  not  love,) 


I  would  not  lose  you,  and  you  know  yourself, 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality. 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well, 
And  yet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought, 
I  would  detain  you  here  some  month  or  two, 
Before  you  venture  for  me.     I  could  teach  you, 
How  to  choose  right,  but  then  1  am  forsworn  ; 
So  will  I  never  be  :  so  may  you  miss  me ; 
But  if  you  do,  you'll  make  me  wish  a  sin, 
That  I  had  been  forsworn.     Beshrewyour  eyes, 
They  have  o'er-look'd  me,  and  divided  me; 
One  half  of  me  is  yours,  the  other  half  yours, — 
Mine  own,  I  would  say  ;  but  If  mine,  then  yours, 
And  so  all  yours  !     O  1  these  naughty  times 
Put  bars  between  the  owners  and  their  rights  ; 
And  so.  though  yours,  not  yours.— Prove  it  so, 
Let  fortune  go  to  hell  for  it, — not  I. 
1  speak  too  long  ;  hut  'tis  to  peize  the  time, 
To  eke  it,  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length, 
To  stay  you  from  election. 
Bassanio. 

Let  me  choose  ; 
For,  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 
Portia 

Upon  the  rack,  Bassanio?  then  confess 
What  treason  there  is  mingled  with  your  love. 
Bassanio 

None,  but  that  ugly  treason  of  mistrust, 
Which  makes  me  fear  th'  enjoying  of  my  love. 
There  may  as  well  be  amity  and  life 
'Tween  snow  and  fire,  as  treason  and  my  love. 
Portia 

Ay,  but,  I  fear,  you  speak  upon  the  rack, 
Where  men  enforced  do  speak  any  thing. 
Bassanio. 

Promise  me  life,  and  I'll  confess  the  truth. 
Portia. 

Well  then,  confess,  and  live. 
Hassanio 

Confess,  and  love, 
Had  been  the  very  sum  of  my  confession. 
O,  happy  torment,  when  my  torturer 
Doth  teach  me  answers  for  deliverance  ! 
But  let  me  to  my  fortune  and  the  caskets, 
rortia 

Away  then.     I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  them  : 
If  you  do  love  me,  you  will  find  me  out. — 
Nerissa,  and  the  rest,  stand  all  aloof. — 
Let  music  sound,  while  he  doth  make  his  choice ; 
Then,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end, 
Fading  in  music:  that  the  comparison   [stream. 
May  stand  more  proper,  my  eye  shall  be  the 
And  watery  death-bed  for  him.     He  may  win, 
And  what  is  music  then  ?  then  music  is 
Kven  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 
To  a  new-crowned  monarch  :  such  it  is, 
As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day, 
That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear. 
And  summon  him  to  marriage.    Now  he  goes, 
With  no  less  presence,  but  with  much  more  love. 
Than  young  Alcidrs,  when  he  did  redeem 
The  virgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 
To  the  sea-monster  :  I  stand  for  sacrifice, 
The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives, 
With  bleared  visages,  come  forth  to  view 
The  issue  of  th'  exploit.    Go,  Hercules ! 
Live  thou,   I   live:  —  with  much,  much  more 

dismay 
I  view  the  fight,  than  thou  that  mak'st  the  fray. 

A  Song,  whilst  Bassanio  comments  on  the  caskets 
to  himself. 


Tell  me,  where  is  fancy  bred, 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head  f 


Hou> 


%%% 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


How  begot,  how  nourished  ? 
Reply,  reply. 

It  is  engendered  in  the  eyes, 

With  gazing  fed  ;  and  fancy  diet 

In  the  cradle  where  it  lies. 
Let  us  all  ring  fancy's  knell ; 

I U  begin  it, Ding,  dong,  bell. 

All. 
Ding,  dong,  bell. 
Bassanio. 
So  may  the  outward  shows  be  least  them- 
selves : 
The  world  is  still  deceiv'd  with  ornament. 
In  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt, 
But,  being  season'd  with  a  gracious  toice, 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil  ?     In  religion, 
What  damned  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it,  and  approve  it  with  a  text, 
Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament  ? 
There  is  no  vice  so  simple,  but  assumes 
Some  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts. 
How  many  cowards,  whose  hearts  are  all  as  false 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  yet  upon  their  chins 
The  beards  of  Hercules,  and  frowning  Mars, 
Who,  inward  search'd,  have  livers  white  as  milk ; 
And  these  assume  but  valour's  excrement, 
To  render  them  redoubted.     Ix>ok  on  beauty. 
And  you  shall  see  'tis  purchas'd  by  the  weight ; 
Which  therein  works  a  miracle  in  nature, 
Making  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it : 
So  are  those  crisped  snaky  golden  locks,  [wind, 
Which  make  such   wanton  gambols  with  the 
Upon  supposed  fairness,  often  known 
To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head, 
The  scull  that  bred  them,  in  the  sepulchre. 
Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiled  shore 
To  a  most  dangerous  sea,  the  beauteous  scarf 
Veiling  an  Indian  beauty  ;  in  a  word, 
The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 
To  entrap  the  wisest.     Therefore,  thou  gaudy 
Hard  food  for  Midas,  I  will  none  of  thee,    [gold, 
Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  common  drudge 
'T ween  man  and  man :  but  thou,  thou  meagre 
lead,  aught, 

Which  rather  threat'nest   than    dost   promise 
Thy  paleness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence, 
And  here  choose  I     Joy  be  the  consequence  1 

Portia. 

How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air, 
As  doubtful  thoughts,  and  rash-embrac'd  de- 
spair, 
And  shuddering  fear  and  green-ey'd  jealousy. 

0  love  !  be  moderate ;  allay  thy  ecstasy  ; 
In  measure  rein  thy  joy  ;  scant  this  excess  : 

1  feel  too  much  thy  blessing ;  make  it  less, 
For  fear  I  surfeit  1 

Bassanio. 
What  find  I  here  ? 
[Ogenlng  the  leaden  casket 
Fair  Portia's  counterfeit !    What  demi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation  ?    Move  these  eyes? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine, 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?    Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath  ;  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends.    Here,  in  her 

hairs, 
The  painter  plays  the  spider,  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  t'  entrap  the  hearts  of  men, 
Faster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs  ;  but  her  eyes  !  — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  ?  having  made 

one,  [his, 

Methinks,  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both 
And  leave  itself  unfurnish'd :  yet  look,  how  far 
The  substance  of  my  praise  doth  wrong  this 

shadow 


In  underprizing  it,  so  far  this  shadow       [scroll, 
Doth  limp  behind  the  substance. —  Here's  the 
The  continent  and  summary  of  my  fortune. 
"  You  that  choose  not  by  the  view, 
Chance  as  fair,  and  choose  as  true  1 
Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content,  and  seek  no  new. 
If  you  be  well  pleas'd  with  this, 
And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss, 
Turn  you  where  your  lady  is, 
And  claim  her  with  a  loving  kiss." 
A  gentle  scroll.  —  Fair  lady,  by  your  leave  ; 
I  come  by  note,  to  give,  and  to  receive. 

[Kissing  tar. 
Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
That  thinks  lie  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes, 
Hearing  applause,  and  universal  shout, 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing,  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no  ; 
So,  thrice  fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so. 
As  doubtful  whether  what  I  see  be  true. 
Until  confirm'd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 
Portia. 
You  see  me,  lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Such  as  I  am  :  though,  for  myself  alone 
I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 
To  wish  myself  much  better ;  yet  for  you 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 

more  rich, 
That  only  to  stand  high  in  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 
Exceed  account :  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  nothing  ;  which,  to  term  in  gross, 
j  Is  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unschool'd,  unpractis'd : 

Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
j  But  she  may  learn  ;  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
I  Happiest  of  all  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
'  Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 
I  As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
j  Myself,  and  what  is  mine,  to  you,  and  yours 
;  Is  now  converted :  but  now  I  was  the  lord 
!  Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants, 
Queen  o'er  myself;  and  even  now,  but  now, 
This  house,  these  servants,  and  this  same  my- 
self. 
Are  yours,  my  lord.    I  give  them  with  this  ring. 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away, 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 
Bassanio. 
Madam,  you  have  bereft  me  of  all  words  : 
Only  my  blood  speaks  to  you  in  my  veins  ; 
And  there  is  such  confusion  in  my  powers. 
As  after  some  oration,  fairly  spoke 
I  By  a  beloved  prince,  there  doth  appear 
i  Among  the  buzzing  pleased  multitude ; 
Where  every  something,  being  blent  together, 
Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothing,  save  of  joy, 
:  Express'd,  and  not  express'd.    But  when  this 
ring  [hence : 

I  Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts   life   from 
!  O  1  then  be  bold  to  say,  Bassanio's  dead. 

Nerissa 
j      My  lord  and  lady,  it  is  now  our  time, 
;  That  have  stood  by,  and  seen  our  wishes  prosper 
j  To  cry,  good  joy.    Good  joy,  my  lord,  and  lady 

Gratiano. 
!      My  lord  Bassanio,  and  my  gentle  lady, 
i  1  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish, 
For,  I  am  sure,  you  can  wish  none  from  me  ; 
And,  when  your  honours  meau  to  solemnize 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  I  do  beseech  you, 
Even  at  that  time  I  may  be  married  too. 

Bassanio. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  h. 


MEKCIIANT  OF  VENICE. 


Bassanio. 

With  all  my  heart,  10  thou  can'st  get  a  wife. 
GraUaao. 

1  thank  your  lordship,  you  have  got  me  one. 
Mv  eves,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours: 
You  saw  the  mistress.  I  beheld  the  maid  ; 
You  lov'd,  I  lov'd  ;  for  intermission 
No  more  ptttthll  to  mc,  my  lord,  than  you. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  caskets  there, 
And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls  ; 
For  wooing  here,  until  1  sweat  again. 
And  swearing,  till  my  very  roof  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love,  at  last,  if  promise  last, 
I  got  a  promise  of  this  fair  one  here, 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achiev'd  her  mistress. 

Portia. 

I»  this  true,  Nernsa  ? 
Nerissa. 
,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleas'd  withal. 
Bassanio. 
And  do  you,  Gratiano,  mean  good  faith  ? 

Gratiauo. 
Yes,  'faith,  my  lord. 

Bassanio. 
Our  feast  shall  be  much  honoured  in  your 
marriage. 

Gratiano. 

We'll  play  with   them   the  first  boy  for   a 
thousandilucata,      „,    , 

^  Nerissa. 

What !  and  stake  down  ? 
Gratiano. 
No ;    we  shall  ne'er  win  at  that  sport,  and 

stake  down 

But  who  comes  here?    Lorenzo,  and  his  in- 
fidel? 
What !  and  my  old  Venetian  friend,  Salerio  ? 
Knter  Lorenzo,  Jetsicat  and  Salerio. 
Bassanio. 
Lorenzo,  and  Salerio,  welcome  hither, 
If  that  the  youth  of  my  new  interest  here 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome.  —  By  your 

leave 
I  bid  my  very  friends  and  countrymen, 
Sweet  Portia,  welcome. 

Portia. 

So  do  I,  my  lord : 
They  are  entirely  welcome, 
Lorenxo. 
I  thank  your  honour.  —  For    my  part,    my, 
lord, 
My  purpose  was  not  to  huve  seen  you  here, 
But  meeting  with  Salerio  by  the  way, 
He  did  entreat  me,  past  all  saying  nay, 
To  come  with  him  along. 
Sal-' 

I  did,  my  lord. 
And  I  have  reason  for  it.  Siguior  Antonio 
Commends  him  to  you. 

[Gives  Bananio  a  letter 

Bassanio. 

Ere  I  ope  his  letter, 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  how  my  good  friend  doth. 
Salerio. 
Not  sick,  my  lord,  unless  it  be  in  mind ; 
Nor  well,  unless  in  mind :  his  letter  there 
Will  show  you  his  estate. 

Gratiano. 
AVrwj.i,  cheer  yon  stranger ;  bid  her  welcome, 


Your   hand,  Salerio:    what's   the   news   f\ 

V  en  ice  t 
How  doth  that  royal  merchant,  good  Antonio  t 
I  know,  he  will  be  glad  of  our  success : 
We  are  the  Jasons,  we  have  won  the  fleece. 
8alerio. 
1  would  you  had  won  the  fleece  that  he  hath 
lost! 

Portia. 
There  are  some  shrewd  contents  in  yon  same 
paper. 
That  steal  the  colour  from  Bassanio's  cheek : 
Some  d.-ar  friend  dead,  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 
Of  any  constant  m.in.   V\  hat.  worse  and  worse? — 
With  leave,  Hassanio ;   I  am  half  yourself, 
And  I  must  freely  have  the  half  of  any  thing 
That  this  same  paper  brings  you. 
Bassanio. 

O  sweet  Portia  t 
Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasant'st  words 
That  ever  blotted  paper.    Gentle  lady, 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
1  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Ran  in  my  veins  — I  was  a  gentleman: 
And  then  I  told  you  true,  and  yet,  dear  lady, 
Rating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  much  1  was  a  braggart.     When  I  told  you 
My  state  was  nothing,  I  should  then  have  told 

fou, 
was  worse  than  nothing ;  for,  indeed, 
1  have  engag'd  myself  to  a  dear  friend, 
Engag'd  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy, 
To  feed  my  means.     Here  is  a  letter,  lady; 
The  paper  as  the  body  of  my  friend, 
And  every  word  in  it  a  gaping  wound, 
Issuing  life-blood.  — But  is  it  true,  Salerio  f 
Have  all  his  ventures  fail'd  ?  What,  not  one  hit  ? 
From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico,  and  England, 
From  Lisbon,  Barbary,  and  India? 
And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  ? 
Balerip, 

Not  one,  my  lord. 
Besides,  it  should  appear,  that  if  he  had 
The  present  money  to  discharge  the  Je*, 
He  would  not  take  it.    Never  did  1  know 
A  creature,  that  did  bear  the  shape  of  man, 
So  keen  Hnd  greedy  to  confound  a  man. 
He  plies  the  duke  at  morning,  and  at  night. 
And  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  the  state, 
If  they  deny  him  justice:  twenty  merchants, 
The  duke  himself,  and  the  magnificoes 
Of  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him. 
But  none  Gin  drive  him  from  the  envious  plea 
Of  forfeiture,  of  justice,  and  bis  bond. 
Jessica. 
When  I  was  with  him  I  have  heard  him  swear 
To  Tubal,  and  to  Cbus,  his  countrymen. 
That  he  would  rather  have  Antonio's  flesh, 
Than  twenty  time-  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him  ;  and  I  know,  my  lord, 
If  law,  authority,  and  power  deny  not, 
It  will  go  hard  with  poor  Antonio. 
Portia. 
Is  it  your  dear  friend  that  is  thus  in  trouble  ? 

Hassanio. 
The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  best  condition'd  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies  ;  and  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honour  more  appears, 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  iu  Italy. 
Portia. 
What  sum  owes  he  the  Jew  ? 


224- 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  11. 


Bassanio. 
For  me,  three  thousand  ducats. 
Portia. 

What,  no  more? 
Pay  him  six  thousand,  and  deface  the  bond : 
Double  six  thousand,  and  then  treble  that, 
Before  a  friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a  hair  through  Bassanio's  fault. 
First,  go  with  me  to  church,  and  call  me  wife, 
And  then  away  to  Venice  to  your  friend ; 
For  never  shall  you  lie  by  Portia's  side 
With  an  unquiet  soul.    You  shall  have  gold 
To  pay  the  petty  debt  twenty  timps  over. 
When  it  is  paid,  bring  your  true  friend  along. 
My  maid  Nerissa  and  myself,  mean  time, 
Will  live  as  maids  and  widows.    Come,  away  1 
For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  wedding-day. 
Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a  merry  cheer ; 
Since  you  are  dear  bought,  I  will  love  you  dear.— 
But  let  me  hear  the  letter  of  your  friend. 

Bassanio.  [Heads. 

"  Sweet  Bassanio,  my  ships  have  all  mis- 
carried, my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estate  is 
very  low,  my  bond  to  the  Jew  is  forfeit;  and 
since  in  paying  it  it  is  impossible  I  should  live, 
all  debts  are  cleared  between  you  and  I,  if  I 
might  but  see  you  at  my  death.  Notwith- 
standing, use  your  pleasure :  if  your  love  do  not 
persuade  you  to  come,  let  not  my  letter." 
Portia. 

0  love !  despatch  all  business,  and  begone. 

Bassanio. 
Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 

1  will  make  haste ;  but  till  I  come  again, 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  guilty  of  my  stay, 

Nor  rest  be  interposer  'twixt  us  twain. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE  III.    Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Shylock,  Salanio,  Antonio,  and  Jailor 

Shylock. 
Jailor,  look  to  him  :  tell  not  me  of  mercy.— . 

This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis 

Jailor,  look  to  him. 

Antonio. 

Hear  me  yet,  good  Shylock. 
Shylock. 
I'll  have  my  bond ;  speak  not  against  my  bond : 
I  have  sworn  an  oath  th.it  I  will  have  my  bond. 
Thou  call'dst  me  dog  before  thou  hadst  a  cause, 
But,  since  I  am  a  dog,  beware  my  fangs. 
The  duke  shall  grant  me  justice. — I  do  wonder, 
Thou  naughty  jailor,  that  thou  art  so  fond 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  request. 
Antonio. 
I  pray  thee,  hear  me  speak. 

Shylock. 
I'll  have  my  bond ;  1  will  not  hear  thee  speak  : 
I'll  have  my  bond,  and  therefore  speak  no  more. 
I'll  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-ey'd  fool, 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.     Follow  not ; 
I'll  have  no  speaking:  I  will  have  my  bond. 

[Exit  Shylock. 
Salanio. 
It  is  the  most  impenetrable  cur, 
That  ever  kept  with  men. 
Antonio. 

Let  him  alone : 
I'll  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 
He  seeks  my  life  ;  his  reason  well  I  know. 
I  oft  deliver'd  from  his  forfeitures 


Many  that  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me : 
Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Salanio. 

I  am  sure,  the  duke 
Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 
Antonio. 
The  duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law ; 
For  the  commodity  that  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied, 
Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  the  state  ; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  profit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations.     Therefore,  go : 
These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  'bated  me, 
That  1  shall  hardly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh 
To-morrow  to  my  bloodv  creditor. — 
Well,  j  lilor,  on — Pray  God,  Bassanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  his  debt,  and  then  1  care  not ! 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.     Belmont.     A  Room  in  Portia's 
House. 

Enter  Portia,  Nerissa,  Lorenzo,  Jessica,  and 

Balthazar, 

Lorenzo. 

Madam,  although  I  speak  it  in  your  presence 
You  have  a  noble  and  a  true  conceit 
Of  god-like  amity ;  which  appears  most  strong. 
In  bearing  thus  the  absence  of  your  lord. 
But,  if  you  knew  to  whom  you  show  this  honou 
How  true  a  gentleman  you  send  relief, 
How  dear  a  lover  of  my  lord,  your  husband, 
I  know,  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work, 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 
Portia. 

I  never  did  repent  for  doing  good, 
Nor  shall  not  now :  for  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  together, 
Whose  souls  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love, 
There  must  be  needs  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners,  and  of  spirit ; 
Which  makes  me  think,  that  this  Antonio, 
Being  the  bosom  lover  of  my  lord, 
Must  needs  be  like  my  lord.     If  it  be  so, 
How  little  is  the  cost  I  have  bestow'd. 


In  purchasing  the  semblance  of  my  soul 
From  out  the  state  of  hellish  cruelty  1 
This  comes  too  near  the  praising  of  myself, 


Therefore,  no  more  of  it:  hear  other  things. — 

Lorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 

The  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house, 

Until  my  lord's  return:  for  mine  own  part, 

I  have  toward  heaven  breath'd  a  secret  vow 

To  live  in  prayer  and  contemplation, 

Only  attended  by  Nerissa  here, 

Until  her  husband  and  my  lord's  return. 

There  is  a  monastery  two  miles  off, 

And  there  we  will  abide.     I  do  desire  you 

Not  to  deny  this  imposition, 

The  which  my  love,  and  some  necessity, 

Now  lays  upon  you. 

Lorenzo. 

Madam,  with  all  my  heart 
I  shall  obey  you  in  all  fair  commands. 
Portia. 
My  people  do  already  know  my  miud, 
And  will  acknowledge  you  and  Jessica 
In  place  of  lord  Bassanio  and  myself. 
So  fare  you  well,  till  we  shall  meet  again. 
Lorenzo. 
Fair  thoughts,  and  happy  hours,  attend  an 
you  1 

Jessica. 
I  wish  your  ladyship  all  heart's  content. 

'  '      K  Portia. 


Act  in.  Sc.  v. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


**5 


FortU. 
I  thank  you  for  your  wish,  and  am  well  pleas'd 
To  wish  it  back  on  you:  fare  you  well,  Jestka — 
i  Jessica  and  Lorenzo. 
i  Now,  Balthazar, 

■  As  I  have  ever  found  thee  honest,  true, 
;  So  let  rae  find  thee  still.    Take  this  same  letter, 
I  And  use  thou  all  the  endeavour  of  a  man, 
;  In  speed  to  Padua  :  see  thou  render  this 
Into  my  cousin's  haud,  doctor  Bcilario  ; 
And,  look,  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth 

give  thee, 
j  Bring  them,  1  pray  thee,  with  imagin'd  speed 
'  Unto  the  Tranect,  to  the  common  ferry 
Which  trades  to   Venice.     Waste  no  time  in 

words, 
But  get  thee  gone :  I  shall  be  there  before  thee. 
Bait! 
Madam,  I  go  with  all  convenient  speed. 

[Fxlt. 

I'Ortij 

Come  on,  Nerissa :  I  have  work  in  hand, 
That  you  yet  know  not  of.    We'll  see  our  hus- 
Before  they  think  of  us.  [bands, 

Nerissa. 

Shall  they  see  us  ? 

Portia 
They  shall.  Nerissa :  but  in  such  a  habit, 
That  they  shall  think  we  are  accomplished 
With  that  we  lack.    1*11  hold  thee  any  wager, 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 
I'll  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace  ; 
And  speak  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy, 
With  a  reed  voice  ;  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride  ;  and  speak  of  frays, 
Like  a  fine  bragging  youth  ;  and  tell  quaint  lies, 
How  honourable  ladies  >ought  my  love, 
Which  1  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died  ; 
I  could  not  do  withal : — then,  I'll  repent. 
And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I  had  not  kill'd  them. 
And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  I'll  tell, 
That  men   shall   swear,'  I  have   discontinued 

school 
Above  a  twelvemonth.     I  have  within  my  mind 
A  thousand  raw  tricks  of  these  bragging  Jacks, 
Which  I  will  practise. 

Nerissa. 
Why,  shall  we  turn  to  men  ? 

Portia. 
Fie  !  what  a  question's  that. 
If  thou  wert  near  a  lewd  Interpreter. 
But  come  :  I'll  tell  thee  all  my  whole  device 
When  I  am  in  my  coach,  which  stays  for  us 
At  the  park  gate  ;  and  therefore  haste  away, 
For  we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day. 

flsxeunt. 

SCENE  V.    The  tame.    A  Garden. 
F.ntcr  Launcelot  and  Jessica. 
Launcelot. 
Yes,  truly;  for,  look  you,  the  sins  of  the 
father  are  to  be  laid  upon  the  children  ;  there- 
fore, I  promise  you,  I  fear  you.     I  was  always 
plain  with  you,  and  so  now  1  speak  my  agitation 
of  the  matter :  therefore,  be  of  good  cheer ;  for, 
trulv,  I  think,  you  are  damned.     There  is  but 
one  hope  in  it  that  can  do  you  any  good,  and 
that  is  but  a  kind  of  bastard  hope  neither. 
Jessica. 
And  what  hope  is  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Launcelot. 
Marry,  you  may  partly  hope  that  your  father 


got  you  not ;  that  you  are  not  the  Jew's  daugh- 
ter. 

Jessica. 

That  were  a  kind  of  bastard  hope,  indeed  :  so 
the  sins  of  my  mother  should  be  visited  upon 
me. 

launcelot. 

Truly,  then,  I  fear  you  are  damned  both  by 
father  and  mother:  thus  when  I  shun  Scylla, 
your  father,  I  fall  into  Charybdit,  your  mother. 
Well,  you  are  gone  both  ways. 

•lea. 

I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband ;  he  hath  made 
me  a  Christian. 

l.'umcelot. 

Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he :  we  were  Chris- 
tians enow  before ;  e'en  as  many  as  could  well 
live  one  by  another.  This  making  of  Christians 
will  raise  the  price  of  hogs  :  if  we  grow  all  to  be 
pork- eaters,  we  shall  not  shortly  have  a  rasher 
on  the  coals  for  money. 

Filter  LorcnxH. 

Jessica. 
I'll  tell  my  husband,  Launcelot,  what  you  say: 
here  he  comes. 

Lorenzo. 
I  shall  grow  jealous  of  you  shortly,  Launcelot, 
if  you  thus  get  my  wife  into  corners. 

Jessica. 
Nay.  you  need  not  fear  us,  Lorenzo :  Launcelot 
and  I  are  out.  He  tells  me  flatly,  there  is  no 
mercy  for  me  in  heaven,  because  I  am  a  Jew's 
daughter;  and  he  says, you  are  no  good  member 
of  the  commonwealth,  for  in  converting  Jews  to 
Christians  you  raise  the  price  of  pork. 

Loren 10. 
I  shall  answer  that  better  to  the  common- 
wealth, than  you  can  the  getting  up  of  the 
negro's  belly :  the  Moor  is  with  child  by  you, 
Launcelot. 

Launcelot. 
It  is  much,  that  the  Moor  should  be  more  than 
reason  ;  but  if  she  be  less  than  an  honest  woman, 
she  is,  indeed,  more  than  I  took  her  for. 

Lorenzo. 
How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  word !  I 
think,  the  best  grace  of  wit  will  shortly  turn  into 
silence,  and  discourse  grow  commendable  in 
none  only  but  parrots. — Go  in,  sirrah  :  bid  them 
prepare  for  dinner. 

Launcelot. 
That  is  done,  sir  ;  they  have  all  stomachs. 

Lorenzo. 

Goodly  lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you  ! 

then,  bid  them  prepare  dinner. 

Launcelot. 

That  is  done  too,  sir ;  only,  cover  is  the  word. 

Lorenzo. 
Will  you  cover  then,  sir  ? 

Launcelot. 
Not  so,  sir,  neither  ;  I  know  my  duty. 

Lorenso. 
Yet  more  quarrelling  with  occasion  ?  Wilt 
thou  show  the  whole  wealth  of  thy  wit  in  an 
instant  ?  I  pray  thee,  understand  a  plain  man 
in  his  plain  meaning:  go  to  thy  fellows,  bid 
them  cover  the  table,  serve  in  the  meat,  and  we 
will  come  in  to  dinner. 

Launcelot. 
For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in  ;  for  the 
meat,  sir,  it  shall  be  covered  ;  for  your  coming 


226 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


1  in  to  dinner,  sir,  why,  let  it  be,.as  humours  and 
:  conceits  shall  govern.  LExit  XaunceJot. 

Lorenzo. 
O,  dear  discretion,  how  his  words  are  suited  I 
;  The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words ;  and  1  do  know 
A  many  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Garni  sh'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter.    How  cheer'st  thou,  Jessica  t 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thy  opinion  ; 
How  dost  thou  like  the  lord  Bassanio's  wife  ? 
Jessica. 
Past  all  expressing.    It  is  very  meet, 
The  lord  Bassanio  live  an  upright  life, 
For,  having  such  a  blessing  in  his  lady, 
He  finds  the  joys  of  heaven  here  on  earth  ; 
And,  if  on  earth  he  do  not  mean  it,  then, 
In  reason  he  should  never  come  to  heaven. 
Why,  if  two  gods  should  play  some  heavenly 

match, 
And  on  the  wager  lay  two  earthly  women. 
And  Portia  one,  there  must  be  something  else 
Pawn'd  with  the  other,  for  the  poor  rude  world 
Hath  not  her  fellow. 

Lorenzo. 

Even  such  a  husband 
Hast  thou  of  me,  as  she  is  for  a  wife. 
Jessica. 
Nay,  but  ask  my  opinion,  too,  of  that. 

Lorenzo. 
I  will  anon  ;  first,  let  us  go  to  dinner. 

Jessica. 
Nay,  let  me  praise  you,  while  I  have  a  stomach. 

Lorenzo. 
No,  pray  thee,  let  it  serve  for  table-talk  ; 
Then,    howsoe'er  thou  speak'st,  'mong  other 


I  shall  digest  it. 


Jessica. 


[things 


Well,  I'll  set  you  forth.    [IBwanL 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    Venice.    A  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  the  Duke ;  the  Magn\ficoes  ;  Antonio, 
Bassanio,  Gratiano,  Salarino,  Salanio,  and 
others. 

Duke. 
"Y^HAT,  is  Antonio  here  ? 
Antonio. 
Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Duke. 
1  am  sorry  for  thee  :  thou  art  come  to  answer 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  dram  of  mercy. 

Antonio. 

I  have  heard, 
Your  grace  hath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course ;  but  since  he  stands  ob- 
durate, 
And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy's  reach,  I  do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury,  and  am  arm'd 
To  suffer  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 
Duke. 
Go  one,  and  call  the  Jew  into  the  court. 


Salanio. 

He's  ready  at  the  door.    He  comes,  my  lord. 
Enter  Shylock. 
Duke. 
Make  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our 
face. — 
;  Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too, 
|  That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
;  To  the  last  hour  of  act ;  and  then,  'tis  thought, 
Thou'lt  show  thy  mercy  and  remorse,  more 

strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty  ; 
And  where  thou  now  exact'st  the  penaltv, 
Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh, 
Thou  wilt  not  only  loose  the  forfeiture, 
But,  touch'd  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 
Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal ; 
Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 
That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back, 
Enow  to  press  a  royal  merchant  down, 
And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 
From  brassy  bosoms,  and  rough  hearts  of  flint, 
From  stubborn  Turks  and  Tartars,  never  train 'd 
To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 
We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 
Shylock. 
I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  I  purpose ; 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond : 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter,  and  your  city's  freedom. 
You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  flesh,  than  to  receive 
i  Three  thousand  ducats  ?    I'll  not  answer  that : 
1  But,  say,  it  is  my  humour :  is  it  answer'd  ? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat, 
And  I  be  pleas'd  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  baned  ?  What,  are  you  answer'd  yet  ? 
Some  men  there  are  love  not  a  gaping  pig  ; 
Some,  that  are  mad  if  they  behold  a  cat ; 
And  others,  when  the  bag-pipe  sings  i'  the  nose, 
Cannot  contain  their  urine ;  for  affection, 
Master  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 
Of  what  it  likes,  or  loaths.    Now,  for  your 

answer: 
As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render 'd, 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig ; 
Why  he,  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 
Why  he,  a  woollen  bag-pipe ;  but  of  force 
Must  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame, 
As  to  offend,  himself  being  offended, 
So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  not, 
More  than  a  lodg'd  hate,  and  a  certain  loathing, 
I  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 
A  losing  suit  against  him.    Are  you  answer'd  ? 
Bassanio. 
This  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 
Shylock. 
I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my  answer. 

Bassanio. 
Do  all  men  kill  the  things  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shylock. 
Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill  ? 

Bassanio. 
Every  offence  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

Shylock. 
WThat  !   would'st  thou  have  a  serpent  sting 
thee  twice  ? 

Antonio. 
I  pray  you,  think  you  question  with  the  Jew. 
You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach, 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bate  his  usual  height ; 

You 


MEmCHAHTr  OIF  V3EWECE. 

Act      *      Sc     1. 


Aci  iv.  Sc.  l. 


MEKUIIANT  OF  VENICE. 


227 


You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf, 
win  be  bath  made  th<-  ewe  ule.it  tor  the  lamb; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tons,  ami  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  lietten  with  tin;  gu>ts  of  heaven; 
You  may  as  well  do  any  thing  most  hard, 
As   seek   to    soften   that   (than  which  what's 
harder?) 

His  Jewish  heart Therefore,  I  do  beseech  you, 

Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  farther  means, 
Hut  with  all  brief  and  plain  convenlency, 
Let  me  have  judgment,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 
Bassanio. 
For  tby  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six. 

Shy lock. 
If  every  ducat  In  six' thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them  :  1  would  have  my  bond. 
Duke. 
How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rendering 
none? 

Shylock. 
What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong? 
/ou  have  among  you  many  a  purchas'd  slave, 
Which,  like  your  asses,  and  your  dogs,  and 
i  ou  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts,    [mules, 
Because  you  bought  them  : — shall  I  say  to  you, 
Let  them  be  free  ;  marry  them  to  your  heirs  ? 
Why  sweat  they  under  burdens  ?  let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  and  let  their  palates 
Be  season'd  with  such  viands?    You  will  an- 
swer, 
The  slaves  are  ours.  —  So  do  I  answer  you : 
The  pound  of  flesh,  which  I  demand  of  him, 
Is  dearly  bought,  'tis  mine,  and  1  will  have  it. 
If  you  deny  me,  fie  upon  your  law  1 
There  is  no  force  in  the  decrees  of  Venice. 
I  stand  for  judgment :  answer  ;  shall  I  have  it  ? 
Duke. 
Upon  my  power  I  may  dismiss  this  court, 
Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor, 
Whom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this, 
Come  here  to-day. 

Salarino. 

My  lord,  here  stays  without 
A  messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor, 
New  come  from  Padua. 

Duke. 
Bring  us  the  letters :  call  the  messenger. 

Bassanio. 
Good  cheer,  Antonio!    What  man,  courage 
yet !  [all, 

The  Jew  shall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones,  and 
Ere  thou  shalt  lose  for  me  one  drop  of  blood. 
Antonio. 
I  am  a  tainted  wether  of  the  flock, 
Meetest  for  death :  the  weakest  kind  of  fr  uit 
Drops  earliest  to  the  ground,  and  so  let  me. 
You  cannot  better  be  employ'd,  Bassanio, 
Than  to  live  still,  and  write  mine  epitaph. 
Knter  Xeritsa,  dressed  like  a  lawyer's  clerk. 

Duke. 
Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario  T 

Nerissa. 
From  both,  my  lord.    Bellario  greets  your 
grace.  [Presents  a  letter. 

Bassanio. 
Why  dost  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  earnestly  ? 

Shylock. 
To  cut  the  forfeiture    from    that   bankrupt 
there. 


Ciratiano. 
Not  on  thy  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  harsh  Jew, 
Thou  mak'st  thy  knife  keen  ;  but  no  inetal  can, 
No,  uot  the  hangman's  axe,  hear  half  the  keen- 
ness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.  Can  no  prayers  pierce  thee  ? 
Shylock. 
No,  none  that  thou  hast  wit  enough  to  make. 

Gratiauo. 
O,  be  thou  damn'd,  inexorable  dog, 
And  for  thy  life  let  justice  be  accus'd  ! 
Thou  almost  mak'st  me  waver  in  my  faith. 
To  hold  opinion  with  Pythanoras, 
That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Intotho  trunks  of  men:  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern'd    a    wolf,    who,    hang'd    for    human 

slaughter, 
Even  from  the  gallows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet, 
And  whilst  thou  lay'st  in  thy  unhallow"d  dam, 
Infus'd  itself  in  thee  ;  for  thy  desires 
Are  wolfish,  bloody,  starv'd,  and  ravenous. 

Shylock. 
Till  thou  canst  rail  the  seal  from  off  my  bond, 
Thou  but  offend'st  thy  lungs  to  speak  so  loud. 
Repair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin I  stand  here  for  law. 

Duke. 
This  letter  from  Bellario  doth  commend 
A  young  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court.— 
Where  is  he  ? 

Nerissa. 
lie  attendeth  here  hard  by, 
To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him. 

Duke. 

With  all  my  heart :— some  three  or  four  of  you, 
Go  give  him  courteous  conduct  to  this  place.— 
Mean  time,  the  court  shall  hear  Bellario'a  letter. 

[Clerk  reads.]  "  Your  grace  shall  understand, 
that  at  the  receipt  of  your  letter  I  am  very  sick ; 
but  in  the  instant  that  your  messenger  came,  in 
loving  visitation  was  with  me  a  young  doctor  of 
Rome ;  his  name  is  Balthazar.  I  acquainted 
him  with  the  cause  in  controversy  between  the 
Jew  and  Antonio,  the  merchant:  we  turned 
o'er  many  books  together  :  he  is  furnish'd  with 
my  opinion  ;  which,  better'd  with  his  own  learn- 
ing, the  greatness  whereof  I  cannot  enough 
commend,  comes  with  him,  at  my  importunity, 
to  fill  up  your  grace's  request  in  my  stead.  I 
beseech  you,  let  his  lack  of  years  be  no  impedi- 
ment to  let  him  lack  a  reverend  estimation,  for 
1  never  knew  so  young  a  body  with  so  old  a 
head.  I  leave  him  to  your  gracious  acceptance, 
whose  trial  shall  better  publish  his  commenda- 
tion." 

Duke. 

You    hear    the    learn'd    Bellario,    what    he 
writes : 
And  here,  I  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come.  — 

Enter  Portia,  dressed  like  a  doctor  of  laws. 

Give  me  your  hand.    Came  you  from  old  Bel- 
lario t 

Portia. 
I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
You  are  welcome :  take  your  place. 
Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  ? 
I'ortia. 
I  am  informed  throughly  of  the  cause.  — 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the 
Jew? 

Duke. 


128 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  h 


Duke. 
Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

Portia. 
Is  your  name  Shylock  t 

Shylock. 

Shylock  is  my  name. 
Portia. 
Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow  ; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you,  as  you  do  proceed — 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  ? 


Ay,  so  he  says. 


I  do. 


MM, 
Antonio. 

Portia. 
Do  you  confess  the  bond  ? 
Antonio. 


Portia. 

Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 
Shylock. 
On  what  compulsion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that 

Portia. 
The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd, 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  :  it  is  twice  bless'd ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
Ttie  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 
"Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings ; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway  : 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself, 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.     Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, — 
That  in  the  course  of  justice  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation :  we  do  pray  for  mercy. 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach   us   all  to 

render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.    I  have  spoke  thus  much, 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea, 
Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant 
there. 

Shylock. 
My  deeds  upon  my  head.     I  crave  the  law  ; 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 
Portia. 
Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money  ? 

Bassanio. 
Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court ; 
Yea,  twice  the  sum  :  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart. 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 
That  malice  bears  down  truth  :  and,  I  beseech 
Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority :        [you, 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong, 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Portia. 
It  must  not  be.    There  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established  : 
•Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent, 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example, 
Will  rush  into  the  state.    It  cannot  be. 

Shylock. 
A  Daniel  come  to  judgment !  yea,  a  Daniel!— 
O,  wise  youug  judge,  how  do  I  honour  thee  I 

Portia. 
I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 


Shylock. 
Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor  ;  here  it  is. 

Portia. 
Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee. 

Shylock. 
An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven : 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul  ? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Portia. 

Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit, 
And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  off 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.  —  Be  merciful ; 
Take  thrice  thy  money :  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 
Shy  lock. 
When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenour.  — 
It  doth  appear  you  are  a  worthy  judge  ; 
You  know  the  law  ;  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound :  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar, 
Proceed  to  judgment.    By  my  soul  I  swear, 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me.    I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 
Antonio. 
Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 

Portia. 

Why  then,  thus  it  is :  — 
You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 
Shylock. 
O,  noble  judge  I    O,  excellent  young  man  I 

Portia. 
For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law, 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 
Shylock. 
'Tis  very  true.     O,  wise  and  upright  judge  ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks  ! 
Portia. 
Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 
Shylock. 

Ay,  his  breast ; 
So  says  the  bond:  —  doth  it  not,  noble  judge? — 
Nearest  his  heart :  those  are  the  very  words. 
Portia. 
It  is  so.    Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shylock. 
I  have  them  ready. 
Portia. 
Have  by  some   surgeon,   Shylock,   on   your 
charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 
Shylock. 
Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 

Portia. 
It  is  not  so  express'd  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 
Shylock. 
I  cannot  find  it :  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Portia. 
You,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say  ? 

Antonio. 

But  little :  I  am  arm'd,  and  well  prepar'd.  — 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio  :  fare  you  well. 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you, 
For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom  :  it  is  still  her  use 
To  let  the  wretched  man  out-live  his  wealth, 
To  view  with  hollow  eye,  and  wrinkled  brow, 
An   age   of  poverty ;    from    which    lingering 

penance 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


229 


Of  such  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Commend  mc  to  your  honourable  wife : 
Tell  li<r  tlic  process  of  Antonio's  end ; 
8ay.  how  I  lov'd  you,  speak  me  fair  In  death  ; 
A  inl,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge, 
Whether  Bat*ank)  had  not  once  a  love. 
Repent  not  you  ih;it  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 
And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt, 
For,  If  the  Jew  do  cut  hut  deep  enough, 
I'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 
Bassanlo. 

Antonio,  1  am  married  to  a  wife, 
"Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world, 
Are  not  with  me  esteem'd  above  thy  life : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all, 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you. 
Portia. 

Your  wife  would  give  you  little  thanks  for 
If  she  were  by  to  hear  you  make  the  offer,  [that, 
Gratiano. 

I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love: 
1  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew. 
Nerissa. 

'Tis  well  you  offer  it  behind  her  back  : 
The  wish  would  make  else  an  unquiet  house. 
Shylock. 

These  be  the  Christian  husbands  !     I  have  a 
Would  any  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas  [daughter  ; 
Had  been  her  husband,  rather  than  a  Christian  ! 
We  trifle  time  ;  1  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 
Portia. 

A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine : 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 

Most  rightful  judge! 

Portia. 
And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast : 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 
Shylock. 
Most  learned  judge  f— A  sentence  !  come,  pre- 
pare 1 

Portia. 
Tarry  a  little :  there  is  something  else — 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood  ; 
The  words  expressly  are.  a  pound  of  flesh  : 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed     [flesh  ; 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are  by  the  laws  of  Venice  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Gratiano. 
O  upright  judge!  — Mark,  Jew:— O  learned 
judge ! 

Shylock. 
Is  that  the  law  ? 

Portia. 

Thyself  shalt  sec  the  act ; 
For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assur'd, 
Thou  shalt  have  justice, more  than  thou  desirest. 
Gratiano. 

0  learned  judge!— Mark,  Jew:— a  learned 

judge  ! 

Shylock. 

1  take  this  offer  then  :  pay  the  bond  thrice, 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bassanio. 

Here  is  the  money. 
Portia. 
Soft!  [haste:  — 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice;  —  soft  I  —  no 
le  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 


Gratiano. 

0  Jew  !  an  upright  Judge,  a  learned  judge  I 

Portia. 
Therefore,  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood  ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more, 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh  :  if  thou  tak'st  more. 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound,— be  It  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light,  or  heavy,  in  the  substance, 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  ;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair. 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gratiano. 
A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew  ! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 

Portia. 
Why  doth  the  Jew  pause  ?  take  thy  forfeiture. 

Shylock. 
Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bassanio. 

1  have  it  ready  for  thee:  here  it  is. 

Portia. 
He  hath  refus'd  it  in  the  open  court : 
He  shall  have  merely  justice,  and  his  bond. 
Gratiano. 
A  Dnniel,  still  say  I ;  a  second  Daniel ! — 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 
Shylock. 
8hall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal  ? 

Portia. 
Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 
Shylock. 
Why  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it. 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 
Portia. 

Tarry,  Jew : 
The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  prov'd  against  an  alien, 
That  by  direct,  or  indirect  attempts, 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 
The  party,  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive, 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods  :  the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state ; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand'st : 
For  it  appears  by  manifest  proceeding,  * 

That,  indirectly,  and  directly  too, 
Thou  hast  contriv'd  against  the  very  life 
Of  the  defendant,  and  thou  hast  incurr'd 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehears'd. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Gratiano. 
Beg,  that  thou  may'st  have  leave  to  hang 
thyself; 
And  y<  t,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state, 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord,   [charge. 
Therefore,  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  state's 
Duke. 
That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it.  [spirit, 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio'* : 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state, 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  unto  a  fine. 

Portia. 
Ay,  for  the  state  ;  not  for  Antonio. 

Sliylock. 

Nay,  take  my  life  and  all ;  pardon  not  that: 

You  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prop 

That 


23° 


MEKCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


That  doth  sustain  my  house ;  you  take  my  life, 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  five. 
Portia. 
What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio  t 

Gratiano. 
A  halter  gratis  ;  nothing  else,  for  God's  sake  ! 

Antonio. 
So  please  my  lord  the  duke,  and  all  the  court, 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods, 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use,  to  render  it, 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter :  [favour, 

Two   things  provided   more,  — that,   for    this 
He  presently  become  a  Christian  ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift, 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd, 
Unto  his  son  Lorenzo.,  and  his  daughter. 
Duke. 
He  shall  do  this,  or  else  I  do  recant 
The  pardon,  that  I  late  pronounced  here. 
Portia. 
Art  thou  contented,  Jew  ?  what  dost  thou  say  ? 

Shylock. 
1  am  content.         „ 

Portia. 
Clerk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 
Shylock. 
I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence. 
I  am  not  well.    Send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  1  will  sign  it. 

Duke. 

Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 
Gratiano. 
In  christening  thou  shalt  have  two  godfathers: 
Had  I  been  judge,  thou  should'st  have  had  ten 

more, 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font. 

[Exit  Shylock. 
Duke. 
Sir,  1  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dinner. 

Portia. 
I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon : 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth. 
Duke. 
I  am  sorry,  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
4ntonio,  gratify  this  gentleman, 
For,  in  my  mind,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 
[Exeunt  Duke,  Magnificoet,  and  Train. 
Bassanlo. 
Most  worthy  gentleman,  I  and  my  friend 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties  ;  in  lieu  whereof, 
Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 
We  freely  cope  your  courteous  pains  withal. 

Antonio. 
And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above, 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore. 

Portia. 
He  is  well  paid,  that  is  well  satisfied ; 
And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied. 
And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid: 
My  mind  was  never  yet  more  mercenary. 
1  pray  you,  know  me,  when  we  meet  again : 
I  wish  you  well,  and  so  1  take  my  leave. 

Bassanlo. 
Dear  sir,  of  force  I  must  attempt  you  farther : 
Take  some  remembrance  of  us,  as  a  tribute, 
Not  as  a  fee.    Grant  me  two  things,  I  pray  you ; 
Not  to  deny  me,  and  to  pardon  me. 


Portia. 

You  press  me  far,  and  therefore  I  will  yield. 

Give  me  your  gloves,  I'll  wear  them  for  your 

sake ;  [y°u- — 

And,  for  your  love,   1*11  take  this  ring  from 

Do  not  draw  back  your  hand  ;  I'll  take  no  more, 

j  And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this. 

Bassanio. 
i      This  ring,  good  sir  ?— alas,  it  is  a  trifle ; 
I  I  will  not  shame  myself  to  give  you  this. 
Portia. 
I  will  have  nothing  else  but  only  this  ; 
And  now,  methinks,  1  have  a  mind  to  it. 
Bassanio. 
There's  more  depends  on  this,  than  on  the 
value. 
The  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  I  give  you, 
And  find  it  out  by  proclamation  ; 
Only  for  this,  I  pray  you,  pardon  me. 
Portia. 
I  see,  sir,  you  are  liberal  in  offers : 
You  taught  me  first  to  beg,  and  now,  methinks, 
You  teach  me  how  a  beggar  should  be  answer'd. 
Bassanio. 
Good  sir,  this  ring  was  given  me  by  my  wife ; 
And  when  she  put  it  on  she  made  me  vow, 
That  I  should  neither  sell,  nor  give,  nor  lose  it. 
Portia. 
That  'scuse  serves  many  men  to  save  their 
An  if  your  wife  be  not  a  mad  woman,         [gifts. 
And  know  how  well  1  have  deserv'd  this  ring, 
She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  for  ever, 
For  giving  it  to  me.    Well,  peace  be  with  you. 
[Exeunt  Portia  and  Nerissa 
Antonio. 
My  lord  Bassanio,  let  him  have  the  ring : 
Let  his  deservings,  and  my  love  withal, 
Be  valued  'gainst  your  wife's  commandment. 
Bassanio. 
Go,  Gratiano  ;  run  and  overtake  him, 
Give  him  the  ring,  and  bring  him,  if  thou  can'st, 
Unto  Antonio's  house — Away  !  make  haste. 

[Exit  Gratiano. 
Come,  you  and  I  will  thither  presently, 
And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  both 
Fly  toward  Belmont.    Come,  Antonio. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Street 
Enter  Pontia  and  Nerissa. 
Portia. 
Inquire  the  Jew's  house  out,  givehim  this  deed, 
And  let  him  sign  it.     We'll  away  to-night, 
And  be  a  day  before  our  husbands  home. 
This  deed  will  be  well  welcome  to  Lorenzo. 

Enter  Gratiano. 
Gratiano. 
Fair  sir,  you  are  well  o'erta'en. 
My  lord  Bassanio,  upon  more  advice, 
Hath  sent  you  here  this  ring,  and  doth  entreat 
Your  company  at  dinner. 
Portia. 

That  cannot  be. 
His  ring  I  do  accept  most  thankfully, 
And  so,  I  pray  you,  tell  him :  furthermore, 
I  pray  you,  show  my  youth  old  Shylock's  house. 
Gratiano. 
That  will  I  do 

Nerissa. 
Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you.— 
[To  Portia. 
I'll  see  if  I  can  get  my  husband's  ring, 
i  Which  I  did  make  him  swear  to  keep  for  ever. 

Portia 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


231 


Portia. 
Thou  mny'st,  I  warrant.    We  shall  have  old 
•wearing, 
I  That  thrv  did  give  the  rings  away  to  men  ; 
But  we'll  outface  them,  and  outswear  them  too. 
Away!  make  haste:  thou  know'st  where  I  will 
tarry. 

Nerissa. 
Come,  good  sir;  will  you  show  me  to  this 
house?  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Belmont.    The  Avenue  to  Portia't 
Houm. 

Enter  Lorenzo  and  Jessica. 


Lorenzo. 

bright In  such  a  night . 


THE  moon  shines 
this, 

When  the  sweet  wind  did  gentjy  kiss  the  trees, 
And  they  did  make  no  noise;  in  such  a  night, 
Ttotftu,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls, 
And  sigh'd  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night. 

Jessica.    . 

In  such  a  night, 
Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o'ertrip  the  dew ; 
And  saw  the  lion's  shadow  ere  himself, 
And  ran  dismay'd  away. 

Lorenzo.        .        ,  , 

In  such  a  night, 
Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea-banks,  and  wav'd  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

Jessica. 

In  such  a  night, 
Medea  gather'd  the  enchanted  herbs 
That  did  renew  old  JEson. 

Lorenzo. 

In  such  a  night, 
Did  Jessica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew, 
And  with  an  unthrift  love  did  run  from  Venice, 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jessica. 
In  such  a  night, 
Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  lov'd  her  well, 
Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith, 
And  ne'er  a  true  one. 

Lorenzo. 

In  such  a  night, 
Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew, 
Slander  her  love,  and  he  forgave  it  her. 

Jessica. 
I  would  out-night  you,  did  no  body  come  ; 
But,  hark,  1  hear  the  footing  of  a  man. 

Enter  Stephana 
Lorenzo. 
Who  comes  so  fast  in  silence  of  the  night  ? 

Stcphano. 
A  friend. 

Lorenzo. 
A  friend?  what  friend?  your  name,  I  pray 
you,  friend  ? 

Stephano. 
Slephano  is  my  name  ;  and  I  bring  word, 
.  My  mistress  will  before  the  break  of  day 


Be  here  at  Bdmont :  she  doth  stray  about 
By  holy  crosses,  where  she  kneels  and  prays 
For  happy  wedlock  hours. 

Lorenzo. 

Who  comes  with  her  ? 

Stephano. 
None,  but  a  holy  hermit,  and  her  maid. 
I  pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  return'd  ? 

Lorenzo. 
He  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  heard  from  him.— 
But  go  we  in,  I  pray  thee,  Jessica, 
And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 
Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Enter  Launcelot. 

Launcelot. 
Sola,  sola  !  wo  ha,  ho  2  sola,  sola  1 

Lorenzo. 
Who  calls  ? 

Launcelot. 
Sola  I  did  you  see  master  Lorenzo,  and  mis- 
tress Lorenzo  f  sola,  sola  1 

Leave  hallooing,  man ;  here. 

Launcelot. 
Sola !  where  ?  where  ? 

Lorenzo. 
Here. 

Launcelot. 

Tell  him,  there's  a  post  come  from  my  master, 

with  his  horn  full  of  good  news:  my  master  will 

be  here  ere  morning.  [Exit. 

Lorenzo. 
Sweet  soul,  let's  In,  and  there  expect  their 

coming. 
And  yet  no  matter ; — why  should  we  go  in  ? 
My  friend  Stephano,  signify,  I  pray  you, 
Within  the  house,  your  mistress  is  at  hand  ; 
And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. — 

[Exit  Stephano. 
How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps   upon   this 

bank  1 
Here  we  will  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears :  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica  :  look,  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold  ; 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  be- 

hold'st, 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-ey'd  cherubins : 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it. 

Enter  Musicians. 
Come,  ho  I  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn : 
With  sweetest  touches  pierce  your  mistress'  ear, 
And  draw  her  home  with  music.  [Music. 

Jessica. 
I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music. 

Lorenzo. 
The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive : 
I  For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 
j  Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing  and  neighing 

loud, 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood, 
!  If  they  but  hear,  perchance,  a  trumpet  sound, 
Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 
You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  tc  a  modest  gaze, 

By 


a  32 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  t.  Sc. 


!   By  the  sweet  power  of  music:  therefore,  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and 

floods, 
Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage, 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  : 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus. 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted.  —  Mark  the  music. 
Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa,  at  a  dis  tance. 
Portia. 
That  light  we  see  is  burning  in  my  hall. 
How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams  1 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 
Nerissa. 
When  the  moon  shone,  we  did  not  see  the 
candle. 

Portia. 
So  doth  the  greater  glory  dim  the  less : 
A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king, 
Until  a  king  be  by  ;  and  then  his  state 
Empties  itself,  as  doth  an  inland  brook 
Into  the  main  of  waters.    Music  !  hark  ! 
Nerissa. 
It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 

Portia. 

Nothing  is  good,  1  see,  without  respect : 

Methinks,  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day. 

Nerissa. 

Silence  bestows  that  virtue  on  it,  madam. 

Portia. 
The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark, 
When  neither  is  attended  ;  and,  1  think, 
The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day, 
When  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 
How  many  things  by  season  season'd  are 
To  their  right  praise,  and  true  perfection  !  — 
Peace  !  how  the  moon  sleeps  with  Endumion, 
And  would  not  be  awak'd  !  [Music  ceases. 

Lorenzo. 

That  is  the  voice, 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  of  Portia. 
Portia. 
He  knows  me,  as  the  blind  man  knows  the 


By  the  bad  voice. 


[cuckoo, 


Lorenzo. 
Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 
Portia. 
We  have  been  praying  for  our  husbands'  wel- 
fare, 
Which  speed,  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words. 
Are  they  return 'd  ? 

Lorenzo. 

Madam,  they  are  not  yet ; 
But  there  is  come  a  messenger  before, 
To  signify  their  coming. 

Portia. 

Go  in,  Nerissa  ; 
Give  order  to  my  servants,  that  they  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  being  absent  hence  ;  — 
Nor  you,  Lorenzo : —Jessica,  nor  you.         ,    , 
'  [A  tucket  sounded. 

Lorenzo. 
Your  husband  is  at  hand :  I  hear  his  trumpet. 
We  are  no  tell-tales,  madam  ;  fear  you  not. 
Portia. 
This  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  daylight  sick ; 
It  looks  a  little  paler :  'tis  a  day, 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 


Enter  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Gratiano,  and  their 
Followers. 
Bassanio 
We  should  hold  day  with  the  Antipodes, 
If  you  would  walk  in  absence  of  the  sun. 
Portia. 
Let  me  give  light,  but  let  me  not  be  light ; 
For  a  light  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  husband, 
And  never  be  Bassanio  so  for  me  :  [lord. 

But  God  sort  all !  —  You  are  welcome  home,  my 
Bassanio. 
I  thank  you,  madam.    Give  welcome  to  my 
This  is  the  man,  this  is  Antonio,  [friend : 

To  whom  I  am  so  infinitely  bound. 
Portia. 
You  should  in  all  sense  be  much  bound  to  him, 
For,  as  I  hear,  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 
Antonio. 
No  more  than  I  am  well  acquitted  of. 

Portia. 
Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house: 
It  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words, 
Therefore,  I  scant  this  breathing  courtesy. 

*  Gratiano.  C  To  Nerissa. 

By  yonder  moon,  I  swear,  you  do  me  wrong  ; 
In  faith,  I  gave  it  to  the  judge's  clerk  : 
Would  he  were  £elt  that  had  it,  for  my  part, 
Since  you  do  take  it,  love,  so  much  at  heart. 
Portia. 
A  quarrel,  ho,  already  !  what's  the  matte'  n 

Gratiano. 
About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  paltry  ring 
That  she  did  give  me  ;  whose  poesy  was 
For  all  the  world,  like  cutlers'  poetry 
Upon  a  knife,  "  Love  me,  and  leave  me  not." 
Nerissa. 
What  talk  you  of  the  poesy,  or  the  value  ? 
You  swore  to  me,  when  I  did  give  it  you, 
That  you  would  wear  it  till  your  hour  of  death, 
And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave : 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  vehement  oaths. 
You  should  have   been  respective,  and   have 

kept  it. 
Gave  it  a  judge's  clerk  !  no,  God's  my  judge, 
The  clerk  will  ne'er  wear  hair  on's  face,  that 
had  it. 

Gratiano. 

He  will,  an  if  he  live  to  be  a  man. 
Nerissa. 

Ay,  if  a  woman  live  to  be  a  man. 
Gratiano. 

Now,  by  this  hand,  I  gave  it  to  a  youth, 
A  kind  of  boy ;  a  little  scrubbed  boy. 
No  higher  than  thyself,  the  judge's  clerk  ; 
A  prating  boy,  that  begg'd  it  as  a  fee: 
I  could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him. 
Portia. 

You  were  to  blame.  I  must  be  plain  with  you, 
To  part  so  slightly  with  your  wife's  first  gift ; 
A  thing  stuck  on  with  oaths  upon  your  finger, 
And  so  riveted  with  f.iith  unto  your  flesh. 
I  gave  my  love  a  ring,  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it ;  and  here  he  stands : 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him,  he  would  not  leave  it, 
Nor  pluck  it  from  his  finger  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.    Now,  in  faith,  Gra~ 

tiano, 
You  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a  cause  of  grief: 
An  'twere  to  me,  I  should  be  mad  at  it. 

Bassanio.  [Aside. 

Why,  I  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off, 
And  swear  I  lost  the  ring  defending  it. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


*33 


Gratiano. 
My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg'd  it,  and,  indeed, 
Deserv'd  it  too;  and  then  the  buy,  his  clerk, 
That  took  some  pains   in  writing,  he  begg'd 

mine; 

And  neither  man,  nor  master,  would  take  aught 
But  the  two  rings. 

Portia. 

What  ring,  gave  you,  my  lord  ? 
Not  that,  I  hope,  which  you  rccciv'd  of  me. 
Bassanlo. 
If  I  could  add  a  lie  unto  a  fault. 
1  would  deny  it ;  but  you  see,  my  finger 
Hath  not  the  ring  upou  it :  it  is  gone. 
Portia. 
Even  so  void  is  your  false  heart  of  truth. 
By  heaven,  1  will  ne'er  come  in  your  bed 
Until  I  see  the  ring. 

Nerissa. 

Nor  I  in  yours, 
Till  I  again  see  mine. 

Bassanio. 

Sweet  Portia, 
If  you  did  know  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring, 
If  you  did  know  for  whom  I  f?ave  the  ring, 
And  would  conceive  for  what  I  gave  the  ring, 
And  how  unwillingly  I  left  the  ring, 
When  naught  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring, 
You  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  displea- 
sure. „      , 
Portia. 
If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring, 
Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring, 
Or  your  own  honour  to  contain  the  ring, 
You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  ring. 
What  man  is  there  so  much  unreasonable, 
If  you  had  pleas'd  to  have  defended  it 
With  any  terms  of  zeal,  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a  ceremony  ? 
Nerissa  teaches  me  what  to  believe : 
I'll  die  for't,  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 
Bassanio. 
No,  by  mine  honour,  madam,  by  my  soul, 
No  woman  had  it ;  but  a  civil  doctor, 
Which  did  refuse  three  thousand  ducats  of  me, 
And  begg'd  the  ring,  the  which  I  did  deny  him, 
And  suffer'd  him  to  go  displeas'd  away, 
Even  he  that  had  held  up  the  very  li:e      [lady  ? 
Of  my  dear  friend.    What  should  I  say,  sweet 
1  was  enfore'd  to  send  it  after  him  : 
I  was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy  ; 
My  honour  would  not  let  ingratitude 
So  much  besmear  it.    Pardon  me,  good  lady, 
For,  by  these  blessed  candles  of  the  night. 
Had  you  been  there,  I  think,  you  would  have 

begg'd 
The  ring  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 
Portia. 
Let  not  that  doctor  e'er  come  near  my  house, 
Since  he  hath  gut  the  jewel  that  I  lov'd, 
And  that  which  you  did  swear  to  keep  for  me, 
I  will  b.  come  as  liberal  as  you : 
I'll  not  deny  him  anything  I  have  ; 
No,  not  my  body,  nor  my  husband's  bed. 
Know  him  I  shall,  I  am  well  sure  of  it: 
Lie  not  a  night  from   home ;  watch  me  like 
If  you  do  not,  if  1  be  left  alone,  [Argus 

Now.  by  mine  honour,  which  is  yet  mine  own, 
I'll  have  that  doctor  for  my  bedfellow. 
Nerissa. 
And  I  his  clerk  ;  therefore,  be  well  advis'd 
How  you  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 


Gratiano. 

Well,  do  you  so :  let  not  me  take  him  then  ; 
For,  if  I  do,  I'll  mar  the  young  clerk's  pen. 
Antonio. 
I  am  th'  unhappy  subject  of  these  quarrels. 

Portia. 
Sir,  grieve  not  you ;  you  are  welcome  not- 
withstanding. 

Bassanio. 
Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforced  wrong ; 
And  in  the  hearing  of  these  many  friends 
1  swear  to  thee,  even  by  thine  own  fair  eyes, 

Wherein  I  see  myself,— 

Portia. 

Mark  you  but  that  I 
In  both  my  eyes  he  doubly  sees  himself; 
In  each  eye,  one :— swear  by  your  double  self, 
And  there's  an  oath  of  credit. 
Bassanio. 

Nay,  but  hear  ma 
Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
I  never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  thee. 
Antonio. 
I  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth. 
Which,  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband's  ring 
Had  quite  miscarried:  1  dare  be  bound  again, 
My  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 
Portia. 
Then,  you  shall  be  his  surety.    Give  him  this. 
And  bid  nira  keep  it  better  than  the  other. 
Antonio. 
Here,  lord  Bassanio;  swear  tokeep  this  ring. 

Bassanio. 
By  heaven  I  it  is  the  same  I  gave  the  doctor. 

Portia. 
I  had  it  of  him  :  pardon  me,  Bassanio, 
For  by  this  ring  the  doctor  lay  with  me. 
Nerissa. 
And  pardon  me,  my  gentle  Gratiano, 
For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor's  clerk, 
In  lieu  of  this  last  night  did  lie  with  me. 
Gratiano. 
Why,  this  is  like  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  where  the  ways  are  fair  enough. 
What !  are  we  cuckolds,  ere  we  have  deserv'd  it  ? 
Portia. 
Speak  not  so  grossly — You  are  all  amaz'd : 
Here  is  a  letter,  read  it  at  your  leisure ; 
It  comes  from  Padua,  from  Bellario: 
There  you  shall  find,  that  Portia  was  the  doctor 
Nerissa  there,  her  clerk.    Lorenzo,  here, 
Shall  witness  1  set  forth  as  soon  as  you, 
And  even  but  now  return'd :  I  have  not  yet 
Enter'd  my  house. — Antonio,  you  are  welcome ; 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you. 
Than  you  expect :  unseal  this  letter  soon  ; 
There  you  shall  find,  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly. 
You  shall  not  know  by  what  strange  accident 
I  chanced  on  this  letter. 

Antonio. 

I  am  dumb. 
Bassanio. 
Were  you  the  doctor,  and  I  knew  you  not  ? 

Gratiano. 
Were  you    the   clerk,  that  is  to  make   me 
cuckold  i 

Nerissa. 
Ay ;  but  the  clerk  that  never  means  to  do  it, 
Unless  he  live  until  he  be  a  man. 

Bassanio. 


*34 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  t.  Sc.  i. 


Bassanio. 
Sweet  doctor,  you  shall  be  my  bedfellow: 
When  I  am  absent,  then,  lie  with  my  wife. 
Antonio. 
Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life,  and  living, 
For  here  I  read  for  certain  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Portia. 

How  now,  Lorenzo  f 
My  clerk  hath  some  good  comforts,  too,  for  you. 
Nerissa. 
Ay,  and  I'll  give  them  him  without  a  fee.— 
There  do  I  give  to  you  and  Jessica, 
From  the  rich  Jew,  a  special  deed  of  gift, 
After  his  death,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd  of. 
Lorenzo. 
Fair  ladies,  you  drop  manna  in  the  way 
Of  starved  people. 


Portia. 

It  is  almost  morning, 

!  And  yet,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  satisfied 

Of  these  events  at  full.    Let  us  go  in ; 

And  charge  us  there  upon  inter'gatories, 

And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

(iratiano. 
Let  it  be  so :  the  first  inter'gatory, 
,  That  my  Nerissa  shall  be  sworn  on,  is, 
;  Whether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  stay, 

Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  hours  to  day  ? 
|  But  were  the  day  come,  I  should  wish  it  dark, 
!  Till  I  were  couching  with  the  doctor's  clerk. 
I  Well,  while  I  live,  I'll  fear  no  other  thing 
I  So  sore,  as  keeping  safe  Nerissa's  ring. 

[Exeunt. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


DUKE,  Senior,  living  in  exile. 

Frederick,  his  Brother,  usurper  of  his  dominions. 

Jaques5'  \  Lords  attendinS  upon  the  exiled  Duke. 

Le  Beau,  a  Courtier. 

Charles,  a  Wrestler. 

Oliver,     } 

Jaques,    [Sons  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois. 

Orlando,  3 

Dennis  J  Servants  to  Oliver. 

Touchstone,  a  Clown. 

Sir  Oliver  Mar-Text,  a  Vicar. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    An  Orchard,  near  Oliver's  House. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orlando. 

AS  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fa- 
shion bequeathed  me  by  will,  but  a  poor 
thousand  crowns ;  and,  as  thou  say'st,  charged 
my  brother  on  his  blessing  to  breed  me  well : 
and  there  begins  my  sadness.  My  brother 
Jaques  he  keeps  at  school,  and  report  speaks 
goldenly  of  his  profit :  for  my  part,  he  keeps  me 
rustically  at  home,  or,  to  speak  more  properly, 
•tays  me  here  at  home  unkept ;  for  call  you  that 


William,  a  Country  Fellow,  in  love  with  Audrey. 

Hymen. 

Rosalind,  Daughter  to  the  exiled  Duke. 

Celia,  Daughter  to  Frederick. 

Phebe,  a  Shepherdess. 

Audrey,  a  Country  Wench. 

Lords  ;  Pages,  Foresters,  and  Attendants. 
The  SCENE  lies,  first,  near  Oliver's  House  ; 
afterwards,  in  the  Usurper's  Court,  and  in  the 
Forest  of  Arden. 


i  keeping  for  a  gentleman  of  my  birth,  that  differs 
i  not  from  the  stalling  of  an  ox  ?  His  horses  are 
!  bred  better  ;  for,  besides  that  they  are  fair  with 
1  their  feeding,  they  are  taught  their  manage,  and 
J  to  that  end  riders  dearly  hired :  but  I,  his  bro- 
I  ther,  gain  nothing  under  him  but  growth,  for 
j  the  which  his  animals  on  his  dunghills  are  as 
j  much  bound  to  him  as  I.  Besides  this  nothing 
i  that  he  so  plentifully  gives  me,  the  something 
J  that  nature  gave  me,  his  countenance  seems  to 
take  from  me :  he  lets  me  feed  with  his  hinds, 
>  bars  me  the  place  of  a  brother,  and,  as  much  as 
i  in  him  lies,  mines  my  gentility  with  my  educa- 
i  tion.  This  is  it,  Adam,  that  grieves  me  ;  and 
!  the  spirit  of  my  father,  which  I  think  is  within 

me, 


Act  i.  8c.  i. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


*35 


mo,  begm*  to  mutiny  against  this  servitude.    I  I  become  a  gentleman,  or  give  me  the  poor  allot- 

vill  do  longer  endure  it,  though  yet  I  know  no  I  tery  my  father  left  me  by  testament:  with  that 

rdy  how  to  avoid  it.  '  I  will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

Adam.  Oliver. 

Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother.  J      And  what  wilt  thou  do?  leg,  when  that  is 

Orlando  j  •pent  ?    Well,  sir,  get  you  in:  1  will  not  long 

r.  „„„_»    W/mi  „/jt.n„    .    ..  .  _  . .     i  be  troubled  with  you  ;  you  shall  have  some  part 

ar  how  he    of  Jour  win.    j  pfay  fa  i^g  me# 

Orlando. 


will  shake  me  up. 


Enter  Oliver. 
Oliver. 
Now,  sir  1  what  make  you  here  ? 

Orlando. 
Nothing :  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any  thing. 

Oliver. 

What  mar  you  then,  sir  ? 

Orlando. 

Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that  which 

God  made,  a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours, 

with  idleness. 

Oliver. 
Marry,  sir,  be  better  employed,  and  be  naught 
awhile. 

Orlando. 

Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with 

them  ?    What  prodigal  portion  have  1  spent, 

that  I  should  come  to  such  penury  ? 

Oliver. 

Know  you  where  you  are,  sir  ? 

Orlando. 
O  !  sir,  very  well :  here,  in  your  orchard. 

Oliver. 
Know  you  before  whom,  sir  ? 

Orlando. 
Ay,  better  than  he  I  am  before  knows  me.    I 


know,  you  are  my  eldest  brother ;  and,  in  the 
gentle  condition  of  blood,  you  should  so  know 
me.  The  courtesy  of  nations  allows  you  my 
better,  in  that  you  are  the  first-born  ;  but  the 
same  tradition  takes  not  away  my  blood,  were 
there  twenty  brothers  betwixt  us.  I  have  as 
much  of  my  father  in  me,  as  you,  albeit,  I  con- 
fess,  your  coming  before  me  is  nearer  to  his 
reverence. 

Oliver. 

What,  boy  1 

Orlando. 

Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too  young 
in  this. 

Oliver. 

Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain  ? 
Orlando. 

1  am  no  villain  :  I  am  the  youngest  son  of  sir 
Rowland  de  Lots;  he  was  my  father,  and  he  is  i      0  I  no  ;  for  the  duke's  daughter,  her  cousir 
thrice  a  villain,  that  says,  such  a  father  begot  j  g0  love8  her,  being  ever  from  their  cradles  breo. 

r?n,S\u-  1  i1?"  no.tumZbrotfetI.woi?ld  !  together,  that  she  would  have  followed  her 
not  take  this  hand  from  thy  throat,  till  this  other  exile,  0r  have  died  to  stay  behind  her.  She  is 
had  pulled  out  thy  tongue  for  saying  so:  thou    at  the  court,  and  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle 


I  will  no  Airther  offend  you,  than  becomes  me 
for  my  good. 

Oliver. 
Get  you  with  him,  you  old  dog. 

Adam. 
Is  old  dog  my  reward  ?    Most  true,  I  have 
lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. — God  be  with  my 
old  master  1  he  would  not  have  spoke  such  a 
word.  [Exeunt  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Oliver. 
Is  it  even  so  ?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  me  ? 
I  will  physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no 
thousand  crowns  neither.    Hola,  Dennis  I 

Enter  Dennis. 
Dennis. 
Calls  your  worship  ? 

Oliver. 
Was  not  Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler,  here  to 
speak  with  me  ? 

Dennis. 
So  please  you,  he  Is  here  at  the  door,  and  im- 
portunes access  to  you. 

Oliver. 
Call  him  In*    [Exit  D<7in<j.]_'Twill  be  a 
good  way ;  and  to-morrow  the  wrestling  is. 

Enter  Charts. 
Charles. 
Good  morrow  to  your  worship. 

Oliver. 
Good  monsieur  Charles,  what's  the  new  news 
at  the  new  court  ? 

Charles. 
There's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the  old 
news :  that  is,  the  old  duke  is  banished  by  his 

Jrounger  brother  the  new  duke,  and  three  or 
bur  loving  lords  have  put  themselves  into  vo- 
luntary exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and  reve- 
nues enrich  the  new  duke ;  therefore,  he  gives 
them  good  leave  to  wander. 
Oliver. 
Can  you  tell,  if  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daughter, 
be  banished  with  her  father  ? 
Charles. 


hast  railed  on  thyself. 

Adam.      [Coming  forward. 
Sweet  masters,  be  patient :  for  your  father's 
remembrance,  be  at  accord. 
Oliver. 
Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orlando. 
I  will  not,  till  I  please:  you  shall  hear  me 


than  his  own  daughter ;  and  never  two  ladies 
loved  as  they  do. 

Oliver. 
Where  will  the  old  duke  live  ? 

Charles. 
They  say,  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden, 
I  and  a  many  merry  men  with  him  ;  and  there 
they  live  like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England. 
My  father  charged  "you  in  his  will  to  give  me  They  »y»  many  voung  gentlemen  flock  to  him 
good  education  :  you  have  trained  me  like  a  *™r7  day,  and  fleet  the  time  carelessly,  as  they 
peasant,  obscuring  and  hiding  from  me  all  dld  in  the  golden  world, 
gentleman-like  qualities:  the  spirit  of  my  father  Oliver. 

grows  strong  in  me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure        What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the  new 
;  therefore,  allow  me  such  exercises  as  may    duke  ? 

Charl«*. 


2$6 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  i.  Sc 


Charles. 

Marry,  do  I,  sir  ;  and  I  came  to  acquaint  you 
with  a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  un- 
derstand, that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando, 
hath  a  disposition  to  come  in  disguised  against 
me  to  try  a  fall.  To-morrow,  sir,  I  wrestle  for 
my  credit,  and  he  that  escapes  me  without  some 
broken  limb  shall  acquit  him  well.  Your  bro- 
ther is  but  young,  and  tender;  and,  for  your 
love,  I  would  be  loath  to  foil  him,  as  I  must  for 
my  own  honour  if  he  come  in :  therefore,  out  of 
my  love  to  you  1  come  hither  to  acquaint  you 
withal,  that  either  you  might  stay  him  from  his 
intendment,  or  brook  such  disgrace  well  as  he 
shall  run  into,  in  that  it  is  a  thing  of  his  own 
search,  and  altogether  against  my  will. 
Oliver. 

Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me, 
which,  thou  shalt  find,  I  will  most  kindly  re- 
quite. I  had  myself  notice  of  my  brother's 
purpose  herein,  and  have  by  underhand  means 
laboured  to  dissuade  him  from  it ;  but  he  is  re- 
solute. I'll  tell  thee,  Charles:  it  is  the  stub- 
bornest  young  fellow  of  France;  full  of  ambition, 
an  envious  emulator  of  every  man's  good  parts, 
a  secret  and  villanous  contriver  against  me  his 
natural  brother:  therefore,  use  thy  discretion. 
I  had  as  lief  thou  didst  break  his  neck  as  his 
finger :  and  thou  wert  best  look  to't ;  for  if  thou 
dost  him  any  slight  disgrace,  or  if  he  do  not 
mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will  practise 
against  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  by  some 
treacherous  device,  and  never  leave  thee  till  he 
hath  ta'en  thy  life  by  some  indirect  means  or 
other  ;  for,  I  assure  thee  (and  almost  with  tears 
I  speak  it)  there  is  not  one  so  young  and  so  vil- 
lanous this  day  living.  I  speak  but  brotherly  of 
him  ;  but  should  I  anatomize  him  to  thee  as  he 
is,  I  must  blush  and  weep,  and  thou  must  look 
pale  and  wonder. 

Charles, 

I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hither  to  you.  If 
he  come  to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  payment : 
if  ever  he  go  alone  again,  I'll  never  wrestle  for 
prize  more ;  and  so,  God  keep  your  worship  1 

[Exit. 
Oliver. 

Farewell,  good  Charles — Now  will  I  stir  this 
gamester.  1  hope,  I  shall  see  an  end  of  him ; 
for  my  soul,  yet  1  know  not  why,  hates  nothing 
more  than  he :  yet  he's  gentle ;  never  schooled, 
and  yet  learned  ;  full  of  noble  device ;  of  all  sorts 
enchantingly  beloved,  and,  indeed,  so  much  in 
the  heart  of  the  world,  and  especially  of  my  own 
people,  who  best  know  him,  that  I  am  altogether 
misprised.  But  it  shall  not  be  so  long ;  this 
wrestler  shall  clear  all:  nothing  remains,  but 
that  I  kindle  the  boy  thither,  which  now  I'll  go 


about. 


[E 


l  go 
xlt. 


SCENE  II.    A  Lawn  before  the  Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter  Rosalind  and  Cclia. 
Celia. 
I  pray  thee,  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Rosalind. 
Dear  Celia,  I  show  more  mirth  than  I  am 
mistress  of,  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier  ? 
Unless  you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished 
father,  you  must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember 
any  extraordinary  pleasure. 
Celia. 
Herein,  I  see,  thou  lovest  me  not  with  the  full 
weight  that  I  love  thee.    If  my  uncle,  thy  ba- 


nished father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  duke 
my  father,  so  thou  hadst  been  still  with  me,  I 
could  have  taught  my  love  to  take  thy  father  for 
mine:  so  wouldst  thou,  if  the  truth  of  thy  love 
to  me  were  so  righteously  tempered,  as  mine  is 
to  thee. 

Rosalind. 

Well,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my  estate, 
to  rejoice  in  yours. 

Celia. 

You  know,  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I,  nor 
none  is  like  to  have;  and,  truly,  when  he  dies, 
thou  shalt  be  his  heir  :  for  what  he  hath  taken 
away  from  thy  father,  perforce,  I  will  render 
thee  again  in  affection  :  by  mine  honour,  I  will ; 
and  when  I  break  that  oath  let  me  turn  monster. 
Therefore,  my  sweet  Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be 
merry. 

Rosalind. 

From  henceforth  T  will,  coz,  and  devise  sports. 
Let  me  see  ;  what  think  you  of  falling  in  love  ? 
Celia. 
Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal ; 
but  love  no  man  in  good  earnest ;  nor  no  fur- 
ther in  sport  neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pure 
blush  thou  may'st  in  honour  come  off  again. 
Rosalind. 
What  shall  be  our  sport  then  ? 

Celia. 
Let  us  sit,  and  mock  the  good  housewife, 
Fortune,  from  her   wheel,  that  her  gifts  may 
henceforth  be  bestowed  equally. 
Rosalind. 
I  would,  we  could  do  so  ;  for  her  benefits  are 
mightily  misplaced,  and  the  bountiful  blind  wo- 
man doth  most  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 
Celia. 
'Tis  true,  for  those  that  she  makes  fair,  she 
scarce  makes  honest ;  and  those  that  she  makes 
honest,  she  makes  very  ill-favouredly. 
Rosalind. 
Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortune's  office  to 
nature's :  fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world, 
not  in  the  lineaments  of  nature. 

Enter  Touchstone. 
Celia. 
No :  when  nature  hath  made  a  fair  creature, 
may  she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  the  fire  ? — 
Though  nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  flout  at 
fortune,  hath  not  fortune  sent  in  this  fool  to  cut 
off  the  argument  ? 

Rosalind. 
Indeed,  there  is  fortune  too  hard  for  nature, 
when  fortune  makes  nature's  natural  the  cutter 
off  of  nature's  wit 

Celia. 
Peradventure,  this  is  not  fortune's  work  nei- 
ther, but  nature's  ;  who,  perceiving  our  natural 
wits  too  dull  to  reason  of  such  goddesses,  hath 
sent  this  natural  for  our  whetstone  :  for  always 
the  dulness  of  the  fool  is  the  whetstone  of  the 
wits.  —  How  now,  wit  ?  whither  wander  you  ? 
Touchstone. 
Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your  father. 

Celia. 
Were  you  made  the  messenger  ? 

Touchstone. 
No,  by  mine  honour ;  but  I  was  bid  to  come 
for  you. 

Rosalind. 

Where  learned  vou  that  oath,  foqL?     ,   . 

Touchstone. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


2 


Touch»tOllC. 
Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his  honour 
they   were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his 
honour  the  mustard  was  naught;  now,  I'll  stand 
to  it,  the  pancakes  were  naught,  and  the  mustard 
was  good,  and  yet  was  not  the  knight  forsworn, 
j 
How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  of  your 
knowledge? 

b  Rosalind. 

Ay,  marry :  now  unmuzzle  your  wisdom. 

Touchstone. 
Stand  you  both  forth  now  :  stroke  your  chins, 
and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 
Celia. 
By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

rottchstOMi 
By  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it,  then  I  were ;  but 
if  you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not 
forsworn:  no  more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by 
his  honour,  for  he  never  had  any  ;  or  if  he  had, 
he  had  sworn  it  away  before  ever  he  saw  those 
pancakes,  or  that  mustard, 
telia. 
Pr'ythee,  who  is't  that  thou  mean'st  ? 

Touchstone. 
One  that  old  Frederick,  your  father,  love*  I 

Rosalind. 
My  father's  love  is  enough  to  honour  him 
enough.      Speak  no  more  of  him :   you'll  be 
whipped  for  taxation,  one  of  these  days. 
Touchstone 
The  more  pity,  that   fools   may  not   speak 
wisely,  what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 
Celia. 
By  my  troth,  thou  say'st  true ;  for  since  the 
little  wit  that  fools  have  was  silenced,  the  little 
foolery  that  wise  men  have  makes  a  great  show. 
Here  comes  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Knter  Le  Beau 
Rosalind. 
With  his  mouth  full  of  news. 

Celia. 
Which  he  will  put  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed  their 
young. 

Rosalind. 
Then  shall  we  be  news-crammM. 

Cclia. 
All  the  better  ;  we  shall  be  the  more  market- 
able.    Bon  jour,  Monsieur  Le  Beau  :  what's  the 
news? 

Le  Beau. 
Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good  sport. 

Celia. 
Sport  ?    Of  what  colour  ? 

Le  Beau. 
What  colour,  madam  ?    How  shall  1  answer 
you  ? 

Rosalind. 
As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Touchstone. 
Or  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Celia. 
Well  said :  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

Touchstone. 
Nay,  if  I  keep  not  my  rank,  — 

Rosalind. 
Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 
Le  Beau. 
You  amaze  me,  ladies  :  1  would  have  told  you 


of  good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  the  sight 
°f"  Rosalind. 

Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

!.<■  Reau. 
I  will  tell  you  the  beginning ;  and,  if  It  please 
your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end,  for  the 
best  is  yet  to  do  :  and  here,  where  you  are,  they 
are  coming  to  perform  it 
Cclia 
Well,  — the    beginning,    that    is   dead     and 
buried.  . 

Le  li' 

There  comes  an   old   man,   and   his   three 

sons, 

Celia 

could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old 
Le  Beau. 

Three  proper  young  men,  of  excellent  growth 
and  presence ;  — 

Rosalind. 
With  bills  on  their  necks,  — "Be  it  known 

unto  all  men  by  these  presents," 

Le  Beau 
The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with  Charles, 
the  duke's  wrestler  ;  which  Charles  in  a  moment 
threw  him,  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs,  that 
there  is  little  hope  of  life  in  him  :  so  he  served 
the  second,  and  so  the  third.  Yonder  they  lie, 
the  poor  old  man,  their  father,  making  such 
pitiful  dole  over  them,  that  all  the  beholders 
take  his  part  with  weeping, 
aline" 


tale. 


Alas! 


Rosalind. 
Touchstone. 


But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the 
ladies  have  lost  ?     ,     _ 

Le  Beau. 

Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touchstone. 
Thus  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  !  it  Is 
the  first  time  that  ever  I  heard  breaking  of  ribs 
was  sport  for  ladies. 

Celia. 
Or  I,  I  promise  thee. 

Rosalind. 
But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken 
music  in  his  sides  ?  is  there  yet  another  dotes 
upon  rib-breaking  ?— Shall  we  see  this  wrestling, 
cousin  ?  _     _ 

Le  Beau. 

You  must,  if  you  stay  here ;  for  here  is  the 
place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they  are 
ready  to  perform  it.    _  .. 

Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming :  let  us  now 
stay  and  see  it. 

Flourish.    Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords, 
Orlando,  Charles,  and  Attendants. 
Duke  Frederick. 
Come  on:    since  the  youth  will  not  be  en- 
treated, his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 
Rosalind. 

Is  yonder  the  man  ? 

Le  Beau. 

Even  he,  madam.    _  ,. 
Celia. 

Alas  !  he  is  too  young :  yet  he  looks  sue* 

cosfully.  Duke  Frederick. 

How  now,  daughter,  and  cousin  !  are  you 
crept  hither  to  see  the  wrestling?  _      ... 


«3S 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Rosalind. 
Ay,  my  liege,  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duke  Frederick. 

You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can  tell 

yon,  there  is  such  odds  in  the  man.     In  pity  of 

the  challenger's  youth    I   would  fain  dissuade 

him,  but  he  will  not  be  entreated:  speak  to 

him,  ladies ;  see  if  you  can  move  him. 

Celia. 

Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

Duke  Frederick. 
Do  so  :  I'll  not  be  by.  {.Duke  goes  apart 

Le  Beau. 
Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  princess  calls  for 
you. 

Orlando. 
I  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  duty 

Rosalind. 
Young  man,  have  you  challenged  Charles  the 
wrestler  ?  _. 

Orlando. 

No,  fair  princess  ;  he  is  the  general  challenger : 
I  come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him  the 
strength  of  my  youth. 

Celia. 

Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold 
for  your  years.  You  have  seen  cruel  proof  of 
this  man's  strength  :  if  you  saw  yourself  with 
your  eyes,  or  knew  yourself  with  your  judgment, 
the  fear  of  your  adventure  would  counsel  you 
to  a  more  equal  enterprise.  We  pray  you,  for 
your  own  sake,  to  embrace  your  own  safety,  and 
give  over  this  attempt. 

Rosalind. 

Do,  young  sir :  your  reputation  shall  not 
therefore  be  misprised.  We  will  make  it  our 
suit  to  the  duke,  that  the  wrestling  might  not  go 
forward. 

Orlando. 

I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts,  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty,  to 
deny  so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  any  thing.  But 
let  your  fair  eyes,  and  gentle  wishes,  go  with  me 
to  my  trial :  wherein  if  I  be  foiled,  there  is  but 
one  shamed  that  was  never  gracious  ;  if  killed, 
but  one  dead  that  is  willing  to  be  so.  I  shall  do 
my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament 
me;  the  world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  no- 
thing ;  only  in  the  world  I  fill  up  a  place,  which 
may  be  better  supplied  when  I  have  made  it 
empty. 

Rosalind. 

The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it 
were  with  you.  _  „ 

*  Celia. 

And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 
Rosalind. 
Fare  you  well.   Pray  heaven,  I  be  deceived  in 


you  I 


Celia. 


Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you. 

Charles. 
Come  ;  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  is  so 
desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 
Orlando. 
Ready,  sir ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a  more 
modest  working. 

Duke  Frederick. 
You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 
Charles. 
No,  I  warrant  your  grace,  you  shall  not  en- 
treat him  to  a  second,  that" have  so  mightily 
persuaded  him  from  a  first. 


Orlando. 
You  mean  to  mock  me  after :  you  should  not 
have  mocked  me  before  ;  but  come  your  ways. 

Rosalind. 
Now,  Hercules  be  thy  speed,  young  man  ! 
Celia. 
I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong 
fellow  by  the  leg.  [Charles  and  Orlando  wrestle. 

Rosalind. 
O,  excellent  young  man  1 
Celia. 
If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in   mine   eye,    I  can 
tell  who  should  down. 

[Charles  is  thrown.    Shout. 

Duke  Frederick, 
No  more,  no  mora 

Orlando. 
Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace  :  I  am  not  yet  well 
breathed. 

Duke  Frederick. 
How  dost  thou,  Charles  t 
Le  Beau. 
He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Duke  Frederick. 
Bear  him  away.  [Charles  is  borne  out. 

What  is  thy  name,  young  man  ? 
Orlando. 
Orlando,  my  liege :  the  youngest  son  of  sir 
Rowland  de  Bois. 

Duke  Frederick. 
I  would,  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some  man 
else. 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honourable, 
But  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy :         [deed. 
Thou  shouldst  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth. 
1  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 
[Exeunt  Duke  Frederick,  Train,  and  Le 
Beau. 

Celia. 
Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 

Orlando. 
I  am  more  proud  to  be  sir  Rowland's  son, 
His  youngest  son,  and  would  not  change  that 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick.  [calling, 

Rosalind. 
My  father  lov'd  sir  Rowland  as  his  soul, 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  father's  mind. 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  man  his  son, 
I  should  have  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties, 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventured. 
Celia. 

Gentle  cousin, 
Let  us  go  thank  him  and  encourage  him : 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart. —  Sir,  you  have  well  de- 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love      [serv'd : 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  all  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 
Rosalind. 

Gentleman, 
[Giving  him  a  chain  from  her  neck 
Wear  this  for  me,  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune, 
That  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks 
Shall  we  go,  coz  ?  [means.  — 

Celia. 
Ay.  —  Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 
Orlando. 
Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you  ?    My  better  parts 

Are 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


239 


Are  all  thrown  down,  and  that    which   here 

stands  up 
Is  but  a  quintaine,  a  mere  lifeless  block. 

He  calls  us  back.    My  pride  fell  with  my  for- 
tunes  ;  [sir  ?— 

I'll  ask   him  what  he  would.  — Did  you   call, 
Sir,  jaa  have  wrestled  well,  aud  overthrown 
More  than  your  enemies. 
Celia. 

Will  you  go,  coz  ? 
Rosalind. 
Have  with  you.-Fa^ou  flg^ jrf  ^  frf  <{ 

Orlardo. 

What  passion  hangs  these  weights  upon  my 
tongue  ? 
1  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 
Re  -enter  Le  R,nu. 

O,  poor  Orlando!  thou  art  overthrown. 
Or  Charles,  or  something  weaker,  masters  thee. 
Le  Beau. 

Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place.    Albeit  you  have  deserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause,  and  love, 
Yet  such  is  now  the  duke's  condition, 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous  :  what  he  is,  indeed, 
More  suits  you  to  conceive,  than  me  to  speak  of. 
Orlando. 

I  thank  you,  sir ;  and,  pray  you,  toll  me  this : 
Which  of  "the  two  was  daughter  of  the  duke, 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling  ? 
Le  Beau. 

Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by  manners  ; 
But  yet,  indeed,  the  smaller  is  his  daughter : 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish'd  duke, 
And  here  detain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle, 
To  keep  his  daughter  company  ;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you,  that  of  late  this  duke 
Hath  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece, 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument, 
But  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake  ; 
And,  on  my  life,  his  malice  'gainst  the  lady 
Will  suddenly  break  forth.  —Sir,  fare  you  well : 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 
Orlando. 

I  rest  much  bounden  to  you :  fare  you  well. 

Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother  ; 
From  tyrant  duke,  unto  a  tyrant  brother.— 
But  heavenly  Rosalind  I  P»*- 

SCENE  HI.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 
Celia. 
Why,  cousin  ;  why,  Rosalind.  —  Cupid  have 
mercy  ! — Not  a  word? 

Rosalind. 
Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Celia. 
No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast  away 
upon  curs,  throw  some  of  them  at  me :  come, 
lame  me  with  reasons. 

Rosalind. 
Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up,  when  the 
one  should  be  lamed  with  reasons,  and  the  other 
mad  without  any. 


Celia. 
But  is  all  this  for  your  father  ? 

Rosalind. 
No,  some  of  It  for  my  father's  child.    O,  how 
full  of  briars  is  this  working-day  world  ! 
Celia. 
They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee 
In  holiday  foolery:  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden 
paths,  our  very  petticoats  will  catch  them. 
Rosalind. 
I  could  shake  them  off  my  coat :  these  burg 
are  in  my  heart.  .  ,. 

Celia. 

Hem  them  away. 

Rosalind. 
I  would  try,  if  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have  him. 

Celia. 
Come,  come ;  wrestle  with  thy  affections. 

Rosalind. 
O  !  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler 
than  myself. 

(.elia. 

O,  a  good  wish  upon  you  !  you  will  try  in  time, 
in  despite  of  a  fall —But,  turning  these  jests  out 
of  service,  let  us  talk  in  good  earnest.  Is  it 
possible,  on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into 
so  strong  a  liking  with  old  sir  Rowland's  young- 
est son  ? 

Rosalind. 

The  duke  my  father  lov'd  his  father  dearly. 

Celia. 
Doth  it  therefore  ensue,  that  you  should  love 
his  son  dearly  ?    By  this  kind  of  chase,  I  should 
hate  him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly  ; 
yet  I  hate  not  Orlando. 

Rosalind. 
No  'faith,  hate  him  not,  for  my  sake. 

Celia. 
Why  should  I  not  ?  doth  he  not  deserve  well  ? 

Rosalind. 
Let  me  love  him  for  that ;  and  do  you  love 
him,  because  I  do — 

Enter  Duke  Frederick  with  Lords. 

Look,  here  comes  the  duke. 
Celia. 
With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Duke  Frederick. 
Mistress,  dispatch  you  with  your  safest  haste, 
And  get  you  from  our  court. 
Rosalind. 

Me,  uncle  ? 
Duke  Frederick. 

You,  cousin : 
Within  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it.    „      „   M 
Rosalind. 

1  do  beseech  your  grace, 
Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me. 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelligence, 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires, 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic, 
(As  I  do  trust  I  am  not)  then,  dear  uncle, 
Never  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn 
Did  I  offend  your  highness. 

Duke  Frederick. 

Thus  do  all  traitors  : 
If  their  purgation  did  consist  in  words, 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself. 
Let  it  suffice  thee,  that  I  trust  thee  not- 


140 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  1.  Sc.  in. 


Rosalind. 

Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor. 
Tell  me,  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  Frederick. 

Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter;  there's  enough. 

Rosalind. 
So  was  I  when  your  highness  took  his  duke- 
dom ; 
So  was  I  when  your  highness  banish'd  him. 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends. 
What's  that  to  me?  my  father  was  no  traitor. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much, 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

CeUa 

Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

UiiUe  Ferdinatu! 
Ay,  Celia  :  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake ; 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  rang'd  along. 

Celia. 
I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay : 
It  was  your  pleasure,  ;md  your  own  remorse. 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her, 
But  now  1  know  her :  if  she  be  a  traitor, 
Why  so  am  I ;  we  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together  ; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 

Duke  Frederick. 
She  is  too  subtle  for  thee ;  and  her  smooth- 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience,  [ness, 

Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
Thou  art  a  fool :  she  robs  thee  of  thy  name ; 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright,  and  seem  more 

virtuous, 
When  she  is  gone.    Then,  open  not  thy  lips : 
Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 
Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her.  She  is  banish'd. 

Celia. 

Pronounce  that  sentence,  then,  on  me,  my 

I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company.  [liege : 

Duke  Frederick. 
You  are  a  fool. — You,  niece,  provide  yourself: 
If  you  out-stay  the  time,  upon  mine  honour, 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Frederick  and  Lords. 

Celia. 

O,  my  poor  Rosalind!  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 

Wilt  thou  change  fathers?   I  will  give  thee  mine. 

I  charge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  griev'd  than 

fain. 

Rosalind. 
I  have  more  cause. 

Celia. 
Thou  hast  not,  cousin. 
Fr'ythee,  be  cheerful:  know'st  thou  not,  the 

duke 
Hath  banished  me,  his  daughter  ? 
Rosalind. 

That  he  hath  not. 
Celia. 
No?  hath  not?  Rosalind  lacks,  then,  the  love, 
Which  teacheth  thee  that  thou  and  I  am  one. 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl  ? 
No :  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore,  devise  with  me  how  we  may  fly, 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us  : 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  upon  you, 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out ; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale, 
Say  what  thou  canst,  I'll  go  along  with  thee. 
Rosalind, 
Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 


Celia. 


In  the  forest  of  Arden. 


To  seek  my  uncle 


Rosalind. 
Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ! 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Celia. 
I'll  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  smirch  my  face. 
The  like  do  you :  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Hosalind. 

Were  it  not  better, 
Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall, 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  curtle-ax  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and,  in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will, 
We'll  have  a  swashing  and  a  martial  outside  ; 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have, 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Celia. 
What  shall  I  call  thee,  when  thou  art  a  man  ? 

Rosalind. 
I'll  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own 
page, 
And  therefore  look  you  call  me  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  call'd  ? 

Celia. 

Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state : 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 

Rosalind. 
But,  cousin,  what  if  we  essay'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court  ? 
WTould  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Celia. 
He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me  ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him.    Let's  away, 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together, 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight.    Now  go  we  in  content 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment.       [Exeunt . 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 

Enter  Duke,  Senior,  Amiens,  and  other  Lords, 
like  Foresters. 

Duke,  Senior. 
IV  O  W,  my  co-mates,  and  brothers  in  exile, 
-1"    Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more 

sweet,  [woods 

Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ?    Are  not  these 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  ? 
Here  feel  we  not  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons'  difference  ;  as,  the  icy  fang, 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind, 
Which  when  it  bites,  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile,  and  say, 
This  is  no  flattery :  these  are  counsellors 
That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 
And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running 

brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing. 

Amiens. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


M_. 


Amiens. 
I  would  not  change  it.     Happy  is  your  grace, 
That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 
Duke,  Sei:- 
Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison  ? 
And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappled  fools, 
Being  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city, 
Should,  in  their  own  confines,  with  forked  heads, 
Have  their  round  haunches  gor'd. 
!  Lord. 

Indeed,  my  lord, 
The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To-day,  my  lord  of  Amiens  and  myself 
Did  steal  behind  him,  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood  ; 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter  s  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish  :  and,  indeed,  my  lord, 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  forth  such  groans, 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting  ;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours'd  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase:  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke,  Senior. 

But  what  said  Jaques  f 
Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle  ? 
I  Lord. 
O  !  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  into  the  needless  stream  ; 
"  Poor  deer,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  mak'st  a  testa- 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more  [ment 
To  that  which  had  too  much."    Then,  being 

there  alone, 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  friend  ; 
"  *Tis  right,"  quoth  he ;  "  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company."    Anon,  a  careless  herd, 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him, 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him :   "  Ay,"  quoth 

Jaques, 
M  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens  ; 
'Tis  just  the  fashion :  wherefo're  do  you  look 
Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ?  " 
Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 
The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court, 
Yea,  and  of  this  our  life,  swearing,  that  we 
Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse, 
To  fright  the  animals,  and  to  kill  them  up 
In  their  assign'd  and  native  dwelling  place. 
Duke,  Senior. 
And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contemplation  ? 

9  Lord. 
We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  commenting 
Upon  the  sobbing  deer. 

Duke,  Senior 

Show  me  the  place. 
I  love  to  cope  him  in  these  sullen  fits, 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 
3  Lord. 
1*11  bring  you  to  him  straight.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  In  the  Palace. 
Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Duke  Frederick. 
Can  It  be  possible  that  no  man  saw  them  ? 
It  cannot  be :  some  villains  of  my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this. 


1  Lord. 

I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber, 
Saw  her  a-bed  ;  and  in  the  morning  early 
They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mis- 

treM'  2  Lord. 

My  lord,  the  roynish  clown,  at  whom  so  oft 
Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
'  Hesperia,  the  princess*  gentlewoman, 
]  Confesses  that  she  secretly  o'er-heard 
'  Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
j  The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler, 
i  That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles  ; 
I  And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone, 
I  That  youth  is  surely  in  their  company. 
Duke  Frederick. 

Send  to  his  brother :  fetch  that  gallant  hither ; 
I  If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me, 
;  I'll  make  him  find  him.    Do  this  suddenly, 

And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail 
|  To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways-.,.         . 

SCENE  III.    Before  Oliver's  House. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,  meeting. 

Orlando. 

Who's  there  ? 

Adam. 

What!  my  young  master?  — O,  my  gentle 
master  1 
O,  my  sweet  master  1  O,  you  memory 
Of  old  sir  Rowland !  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  you  virtuous  ?    Why  do  people  love 
you  ?  [liant  ? 

And  wherefore  are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  va- 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome 
i  The  bony  priser  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
!  Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before 

you. 
j  Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
I  Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 

No  more  do  yours :  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
:  Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
O,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it  1 
Orlando. 
Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Adam. 

O,  unhappy  youth  I 
Come  not  within  these  doors  :  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives. 
Your  brother — (no,  no  brother  ;  yet  the  son — 
Yet  not  the  son— I  will  not  call  him  son  — 
j  Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father,)— 
1  Hath  heard  your  praises,  and    this   night  he 

means 
i  To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  use  to  lie, 
And  you  within  it :  if  he  fail  of  that, 
He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off*: 
'  I  overheard  him,  and  his  practices. 
!  This  is  no  place;  this  house  is  but  a  butchery: 
,  Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 
Orlando. 
Why,  whither,  Adam,  would'6t  thou  have  me 
go? 

Adam. 

No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orlando. 
What !  would'st  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my 
food, 
Or  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do ; 

R  Yet 


in 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  m. 


Yet  this  I  will  not  do.  do  how  I  can. 
I  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,  and  bloody  brother. 
Adam. 

But  do  not  so.    I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  sav'd  under  your  father, 
Which  1  did  store,  to  be  my  foster-nurse 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame, 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  thrown. 
Take  that ;  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow, 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !    Here  is  the  gold : 
All  this  I  give  you.    Let  me  be  your  servant : 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  1  am  strong  and  lusty  ; 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood  ; 
Nor  did  not  with  tmbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility: 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly.    Let  me  go  with  you : 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 
Orlando. 

O,  good  old  man  !  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed  ! 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  these  times, 
Where  none  will  sweat  but  for  promotion, 
And  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  having :  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  lieu  of  all  thy  pains  and  husbandry. 
But  come  thy  ways :  we'll  go  along  together, 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent, 
We'll  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 
Adam. 

Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp  with  truth  and  loyalty. 
From  seventeen  years,  till  now  almost  fourscore, 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek  ; 
But  at  fourscore  it  is  too  late  a  week  : 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better, 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor, 
ffixeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 

Enter  Rosalind  for  Ganymede,  Celia  for  Aliena, 
and  Clown,  alias  Touchstone. 

Rosalind. 

0  Jupiter  I  how  weary  are  my  spirits  I 

Touchstone. 

1  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were  not 
weary. 

Rosalind. 
I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my  man's 
apparel,  and  to  Cry  like  a  woman  ,  but  I  must 
comfort  the  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose 
ought  to  show  itself  courageous  to  petticoat : 
therefore,  courage,  good  Aliena. 
Celia. 
I  pray  you,  bear  with  me :  I  can  go  no  farther. 

Touchstone. 
For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you,  than 
bear  you :  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross,  if  I  did 
bear  you,  for,  I  think,  you  have  no  money  in 
your  purse. 

™  Rosalind. 

Well,  this  Is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Touchstone. 
Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden ;  the  more  fool  I : 


when  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a  better  place,  but 
travellers  must  be  content. 
Rosalind. 
Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone. — Look  you  ;  who 
comes  here  ?  a  young  man,  and  an  old,  in  solemn 
talk. 

Enter  Covin  and  Silvius. 

Corin. 

That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still. 

Silvius. 

0  Corin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her  ! 

Corin. 

1  partly  guess,  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

Silvius. 
No,  Corin ;  being  old,  thou  canst  not  guess. 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  pillow : 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine, 
As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so, 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy  ? 
Corin. 
Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 
Silvius. 

0  !  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily. 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd : 

Or  if  thou  hast  not  sat,  as  I  do  now, 
Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  : 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company, 
Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd. 

0  Phebe,  Phebe,  Phebe!  [Exit  Silvius. 

Rosalind. 
Alas,  poor  shepherd  !  searching  of  thy  wound, 

1  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

Touchstone. 
And  I  mine.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  love 
I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid  him 
take  that  for  coming  a-night  to  Jane  Smile :  and 
I  remember  the  kissing  of  her  batler,  and  the 
cow's  dugs  that  her  pretty  chapped  hands  had 
milked :  and  I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peas- 
cod  instead  of  her  ;  from  whom  I  took  two  cods, 
and,  giving  her  them  again,  said  with  weeping 
tears,  "  Wear  these  for  my  sake."  We,  that 
are  true  lovers,  run  into  strange  capers  ;  but  as 
all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature  in  love 
mortal  in  folly. 

Rosalind. 
Thou  speakest  wiser  than  thou  art  'ware  of. 

Touchstone. 
Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  'ware  of  mine  own  wit, 
Till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Rosalind. 
Jove,  Jove  !  this  shepherd's  passion 
Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 

Touchstone. 
And  mine ;  but  it  grows  something  stale  with 
me. 

Celia. 

1  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond'  man, 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food : 

I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touchstone. 
Holla,  you  clown  I 

Rosalind. 
Peace,  fool:  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 
Corin. 
Who  calls? 

Touchstone. 


r.Stolh«raH-A 


AS  YOU   JUCKE   ICTT. 

S  c.       *  . 


Act  il  Sc.  vi. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


*43 


Touchstone, 
Your  betters,  sir. 

El»e  are  they  very  wretched. 
Rosalind. 

Peace,  I  say.— 
Good  even  to  you,  friend. 
Corin. 
And  to  you,  gentle  tir ;  and  to  you  all. 

Rosalind. 
I  pr'ythee,  shepherd,  if  that  love,  or  gold, 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring  us  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  feed. 
Here rsa  young  maid,  with  travel  much  oppress'd, 
And  faints  for  succour. 

Corin. 

Fair  sir,  I  pity  her, 
And  wish,  for  her  sake  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her  ; 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man, 
And  do  not  shear  the  fleeces  that  I  graze : 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality. 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  docks,  and  bounds  of  feed, 
Are  now  on  sale  ;  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on ;  but  what  is,  come  see, 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 
Rosalind. 
What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pasture  ? 

Corin. 
That  young  swain  that  you  saw  here  but  ere- 
while, 
That  little  cares  for  buying  any  thing. 
Rosalind. 
I  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  flock, 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 
Celia. 
And  we  will  mend  thy  wages.   I  like  this  place, 
And  willingly  could  waste  my  time  in  it. 
Corin. 
Assuredly,  the  thins  is  to  be  sold 
Go  with  me:  if  you  like,  upon  report, 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be, 
And  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly. 

[Exeunt. 

SCESE  V.    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  Amiens,  Jaques,  and  others. 

BONG. 

Amiens. 
Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  turn  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 

Here  shall  he  see  no  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 
Jaques. 
More,  more  I  I  pr'ythee,  more. 

Amiens. 
It  wiU  make  you  melancholy,  monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaques. 
I  thank  it.    More !  I  pr'ythee,  more.     I  can 
suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sucks 
eggs.    More  !    I  pr'ythee,  more. 
Am: 
My  voice  is  ragged  ;  I  know  I  cannot  please 
you. 


,ues. 
1  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me ;  1  do  desire 
you  to  sing.     Come,  more ;   another  stanza. 
Call  you  'urn  stanzas  ? 

Amiens. 
What  you  will,  monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaques. 
Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names ;  they  owe  me 
nothing.    Will  you  sing  ? 

Amiens. 
More  at  your  request,  than  to  please  myself. 

Jaques. 
Well  then,  if  ever  1  thank  any  man,  I'll  thank 
you :  but  that  they  call  compliment  is  like  the 
encounter  of  two  dog-apes ;  and  when  a  man 
thanks  me  heartily,  methinks,  1  have  given  him 
a  penny,  and  he  renders  me  the  beggarly  thanks. 
Come,  sing ;  and  you  that  will  not,  hold  your 
tongues. 

Amiens. 
Well,  I'll  end  the  song. —  Sirs,  cover   the 
while;  the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree.— 
He  hath  been  all  this  day  to  look  you. 
Jaques. 
And  I  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him. 
He  is  too  disputable  for  my  company :  1  think 
of  as  many  matters  as  he.  but  I  give  heaven 
thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  them.    Come, 
warble ;  come. 

song.    [All  together  here. 
Who  doth  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleas' d  with  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 
Here  shall  he  see,  &c. 
Jaques. 
I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note,  that  I  made 
yesterday  in  despite  of  my  invention. 
Amiens. 
And  I'll  sing  it. 

Jaques. 
Thus  it  goes:— 

Jf  it  do  come  to  pass, 
That  any  man  turn  ass, 
Leaving  his  wealth  and  ease, 
A  stubborn  will  to  please, 
Ducdame,  ducdame,  ducdame : 

Here  shall  he  see,  gross  fools  as  he, 
An  if  he  will  come  to  me. 
Amiens. 
What's  that  ducdame  f 

Jaques. 
'Tis  a  Greek  invocation  to  call  fools  into  a 
circle.  I'll  go  sleep  if  1  can ;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail 
against  all  the  first-born  of  Egypt. 
Amiens. 
And  I'll  go  seek  the  duke :  his  banquet  is 
prepared.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  VI.    The  same. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 
Adam. 
Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  farther :  O  1  I  dlo 
for  food,    Here  lie  1  down,  and  measure  out  my 
grave.    Farewell,  kind  master.' 
Orlando. 
Why,  how  now,  Adam !  no  greater  heart  in 
thee  ?    Live  a  little  ;  comfort  a  little ;  cheer 
thyself  a  little.     If  this  uncouth  forest  yield  any 
thing  savage,  I  will  either  be  food  for  it,  or  bring 

it 


»44 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vi. 


it  for  food  to  thee.  Thy  conceit  is  nearer  death 
than  thy  powers.  For  my  sake  be  comfortable  ;t 
hold  death  awhile  at  the  arm's  end.  1  will  herej 
be  with  thee  presently,  and  if  I  bring  thee  not! 
something  to  eat,  I  will  give  thee  leave  to  die  ;| 
but  if  thou  diest  before  I  come,  thou  art  a! 
mocker  of  my  labour.  Well  said!  thou  look'st 
cheerily;  and  I'll  be  with  thee  quickly. —  Yetj 
thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air :  come,  I  will  bear' 
thee  to  some  shelter,  and  thou  shalt  not  die  fori 
lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  any  thing  in  this | 
desert.    Cheerly,  good  Adam.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.    The  same. 

A  Table  set  out.    Enter  Duke,  Senior,  Amiens. 
Lords,  and  others. 

Duke,  Senior. 
I  think  he  be  transform'd  into  a  beast, 
For  I  can  no  where  find  him  like  a  man. 


1  Lord. 

My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence : 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 
Duke,  Senior. 

If  he,  compact  of  jars,  grow  musical, 
We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres. — 
Go,  seek  him:  tell  him,   I  would  speak  with 
him. 

Enter  J  a  que  s. 
1  Lord. 

He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  approach. 
Duke,  Senior. 

Why,  how  now,  monsieur  I  what  a  life  is  this, ; 
That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  l  j 
What,  you  look  merrily. 
Jaques 

A  fool,  a  fool ! 1  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest,     j 

A  motley  fool ;  (a  miserable  world  !) 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool, 
Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 
And  rail'd  on  lady  Fortune  in  good  terms, 
In  good  set  terms,  —  and  yet  a  motley  fool. 
"Good-morrow,  fool,"  quoth   it    "No,  sir," 
quoth  he,  [fortune." 

M  Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  hath  sent  me 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke, 
And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye, 
Says  very  wisely,  "  It  is  ten  o'clock :         [wags :  j 
Thus  may  we  see,"  quoth  he,  "how  the  world! 
'Tis  but  an  hour  ago  since  it  was  nine, 
And  after  one  hour  more  'twill  be  eleven  ; 
And  so  from  hour  to  hour  we  ripe  and  ripe, 
And  then  from  hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot ; 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."    When  1  did  hear 
The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time, 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep  contemplative  ; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission, 
An  hour  by  his  dial.—  O,  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool  1    Motley's  the  only  wear. 

Duke,  Senior. 
What  fool  is  this  ? 

Jaques. 
O,  worthy  fool ! — One  that  hath  been  a  cour- 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair,    [tier, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it;  and  in  his  brain, 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
A  fter  a  voyage,  he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms.  —  O,  that  I  were  a  fool  1 
1  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 

„,,        ,    ,   ,   Duke,  Senior. 
Thou  shalt  have  one. 


Jaques. 

It  is  my  only  suit ; 
Provided,  that  you  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them, 
That  I  am  wise.     I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please  ;  for  so  fools  have : 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly, 
They  most  must  laugh.    And  why,  sir,  must 

they  so  ? 
The  why  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church : 
He,  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart, 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob  ;  if  not, 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomiz'd, 
Even  by  the  squandering  glances  of  the  fool. 
Invest  me  in  my  motley :  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  mind,  and   I  will  through  and 

through 
Cleanse  the  foul  body  of  th'  infected  world, 
If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine. 
Duke,  Senior. 

Fie  on  thee  1   I  can  tell  what  thou  wouldst  do. 
Jaques. 

What,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do,  but  good  ? 
Duke,  Senior. 

Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin: 
For  thou  thyself  hast  been  a  libertine, 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself; 
And  all  th'  embossed  sores,  and  headed  evils, 
That  thou  with  licence  of  free  foot  hast  caught, 
Would'st  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 
Jaques. 

Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride, 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party  ? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  the  sea, 
Till  that  the  weary  very  means  do  ebb  ? 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name, 
When  that  I  say,  the  city-woman  bears 
The  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  ? 
Who  can  come  in,  and  say,  that  I  mean  her, 
When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbour  ? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function. 
That  says,  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost, 
Thinking  that  I  mean  him,  but  therein  suits 
His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 
There  then  ;  how  then  ?  what  then  ?    Let  me 

see  wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him:  if  it  do  him  right, 
Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself;  if  he  be  free, 
Why  then,  my  taxing  like  a  wild  goose  flies, 
Unclaim'd  of  any  man. — But  who  comes  here? 

Enter  Orlando,  with  his  sword  drawn. 
Orlando. 
Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 

Janies. 

Why,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 
Orlando. 

Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 

Jaques. 
Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of? 

Duke,  Senior. 

Art  thou  thus  bolden'd,  man,  by  thy  distress, 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners, 
That  in  civility  thou  seemst  so  empty  ? 

Orlando. 
You  touch'd  my  vein  at  first :   the  thorny 
point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility;  yet  am  I  inland  bred, 
And  know  some  nurture.     But  forbear,  I  say: 
He  dies,  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit, 
Till  I  and  my  affairs  are  answered. 

Jaques. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


*+S 


Jaques 
An  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason, 
I  must  die. 

Duke,  Senior. 
What  would    you   have?      Your  gentleness 
shall  tone, 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 
Orlando. 
I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 

Duke,  Senior. 
Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our  table. 

Orlando. 
Speak  you  so  gently  ?  Pardon  me,  I  pray  you : 
I  thought,  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here, 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment.    But  whate'er  you  are, 
That,  in  this  desert  inaccessible. 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time, 
If  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days, 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoll'd  to  church, 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast, 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wip'd  a  tear, 
And  know  what  'tis  to  pity,  and  be  pitied, 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be. 
In  the  which  hope,  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 
Duke,  Senior. 
True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days. 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church, 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts,  and  wip'd  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd  ; 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness, 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  minister'd. 
Orlando. 
Then,  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while, 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn, 
And  give  it  food.     There  is  an  old  poor  man, 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limp'd  in  pure  love :  till  he  be  first  suffie'd, 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger, 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke,  Senior. 

Go  find  him  out, 
And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  you  return. 
Orlando. 
I  thank  ye  ;  and  be  bless'd  for  your  good  com- 
fort I  PfJut. 
Duke,  Senior. 
Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy: 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woful  pageants,  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  iu. 

Jaques. 
All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players : 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances, 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.    At  first,  the  infant, 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms. 
:  Then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
I  Unwillingly  to  school.    And  then,  the  lover, 
■  Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 

Made  to  his  mistress' eye-brow.    Then,  a  soldier, 
1 1 Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
J  Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation  [justice, 

Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth.     And  then,  the 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  liu'd, 
W  ith  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances  ; 
And  so  he  plays  his  part.    The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon, 


With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side  ; 
His  youthful  hose,  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank,  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound.     Last  scene  of  all, 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every 
thing. 

lie-enter  Orlando,  with  Adam, 

Duke,  Senior. 

Welcoma    Set  down  your  venerable  burden, 

And  let  him  feed.     _  .      . 

Orlando. 

I  thank  you  most  for  him. 
Adam. 
So  had  you  need  ; 
I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 
Duke,  Senior. 
Welcome ;  fall  to :  I  will  not  trouble  you 
As  yet  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes. 
Give  us  some  music  ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

BONO. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh,  ho!  sing,  heigh,  ho!  unto  the  green  holly: 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere 
Then,  heigh,  ho !  the  holly!  [folly' 

This  life  is  most  jolty. 
Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp, 
As  friend  remembered  not. 
Heigh,  ho !  sing,  &c. 

Duke,  Senior. 
j     If  that  you  were  the  good  sir  Rowland's  son, 
,  As  you  have  whisper'd  faithfully,  you  were, 
;  And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  limn'd,  and  living  in  your  face, 
!  Be  truly  welcome  hither.     I  am  the  duke, 
That  lov'd  your  father.     The  residue  of  your 

fortune, 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old  man, 
<  Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is. 
: Support  him  by  the  arm. — Give  me  your  hand, 


And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand*. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Oliver,  Lords,  and 
Attendants. 
Duke  Frederick 
TV"  OT  see  him  since  ?    Sir,  sir,  that  cannot  be : 
■*- *    But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present.     Put  look  to  it : 
Find  out  thy  brother,  wheresoe'er  he  is ;  [living, 
Seek  him   with    candle:    bring   him,  dead  or 
Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  no  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory.  [thine, 

Thy  lands,  and  all  tilings  that  thou  dost  call 
Worth  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands, 

Till 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Till  thou  canst  quit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth 
Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 
Oliver. 
O,  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this  ! 
I  never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 
Duke  Frederick. 
More  villain  thou — Well,  push  him  out  of 
And  let  my  officers  of  such  a  nature         [doors  ; 
Make  an  extent  upon  his  house  and  lands. 
Do  this  expediently,  and  turn  him  going. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 1.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 
Enter  Orlando,  with  a  paper. 
Orlando. 
Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love: 
And   thou,  thrice-crowned  queen  of  night, 
survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 
Thy  huntress*  name,  that  my  full  life  doth 
sway. 

0  Rosalind  !  these  trees  shall  be  my  books, 
And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character, 

That  every  eye,  which  m  this  forest  looks, 

Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where. 
Run,  run,  Orlando  :  carve  on  every  tree, 
The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive  she. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Corin  and  Touchstone. 
Cor  in. 
And  how  like  you  this  shepherd's  life,  master 
Touchstone? 

Touchstone. 
Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is  a 

{rood  life ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's 
ife,  it  is  naught.    In  respect  that  it  is  solitary, 

1  like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is 

£rivate,  it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now,  in  respect  it 
l  in  the  fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well;  but  in 
respect  it  is  not  in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it 
is  a  spare  life,  look  you,  it  fits  my  humour  well ; 
but  as  there  is  no  more  plenty  in  it,  it  goes 
much  against  my  stomach.  Hast  any  philosophy 
in  thee,  shepherd  ? 

Corin. 
No  more,  but  that  I  know  the  more  one 
sickens,  the  worse  at  ease  he  is ;  and  that  he 
that  wants  money,  means,  and  content,  is  with- 
out  three  good  friends ;  that  the  property  of 
rain  is  to  wet,  and  fire  to  burn;  that  good 
pasture  makes  fat  sheep,  and  that  a  great  cause 
of  the  night,  is  lack  of  the  sun  ;  that  he,  that 
hath  learned  no  wit  by  nature  nor  art,  may 
complain  of  good  breeding,  or  comes  of  a  very 
dull  kindred. 

Touchstone. 
Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher.    Wast 
ever  in  court,  shepherd  ? 
Corin. 
No,  truly.         — 

Touchstone. 
Then  thou  art  damned. 

Corin. 
Nay,  I  hope,— 

Touchstone. 
Truly,  thou  art  damned,  like  an  ill-roasted 
egg,  all  on  one  side. 

Corin. 
For  not  being  at  court  ?    Your  reason. 

Touchstone. 
Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou  never 
saw'st  good  manners ;  if  thou  never  savv'st  good 
manners,  then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked  ; 


and  wickedness  is  sin,  and  sin  is  damnation. 
Thou  art  in  a  parlous  state,  shepherd. 
Corin. 

Nor  a  whit,  Touchstone  ;  those  that  are  good 
manners  at  the  court  are  as  ridiculous  in  the 
country,  as  the  behaviour  of  the  country  is  most 
mockable  at  the  court.  You  told  me,  you  salute 
not  at  the  court,  but  you  kiss  your  hands :  that 
courtesy  would  be  uncleanly,  if  courtiers  wers 
shepherds. 

Touchstone. 

Instance,  briefly  ;  come,  instance. 
Corin. 

Why,  we  are  still  handling  our  ewes,  and  their 
fells,  you  know,  are  greasy. 

Touchstone. 
Why,  do  not  your  courtier's  hands  sweat? 
and  is  not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  wholesome 
as  the  sweat  of  a  man  ?    Shallow,  shallow.    A 
better  instance,  I  say  ;  come. 
Corin. 
Besides,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Touchstone. 

Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner  ;  shallow 
again.    A  more  sounder  instance  ;  come. 
Corin. 

And  they  are  often  tarred  over  with  the 
surgery  of  our  sheep ;  and  would  you  have  us 
kiss  tar?  The  courtier's  hands  are  perfumed 
with  civet. 

Touchstone. 

Most  shallow  man!  Thou  worms-meat,  in 
respect  of  a  good  piece  of  flesh,  indeed  1—  Learn 
of  the  wise,  and  perpend :  civet  is  of  a  baser  birth 
than  tar ;  the  very  uncleanly  flux  of  a  cat. 
Mend  the  instance,  shepherd. 
Corin. 

You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me:  I'll  rest. 
Touchstone. 

Wilt  thou  rest  damned?  God  help  thee, 
shallow  man !  God  make  incision  in  thee  !  thou 
art  raw. 

Corin. 

Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer :  I  earn  that  I  eat, 
get  that  I  wear ;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no 
man's  happiness  ;  glad  of  other  men's  good,  con- 
tent with  my  harm ;  and  the  greatest  of  my 
pride  is,  to  see  my  ewes  graze,  and  my  lambs 
suck.  / 

Touchstone. 

That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you ;  to  bring 
the  ewes  and  the  rams  together,  and  to  offer  to 
get  your  living  by  the  copulation  of  cattle  ;  to 
be  bawd  to  a  bell-wether,  and  to  betray  a  she- 
lamb  of  a  twelve-month,  to  a  crooked -pated,  old, 
cuckoldy  ram,  out  of  all  reasonable  match.  If 
thou  be  st  not  damned  for  this,  the  devil  himself 
will  have  no  shepherds :  I  cannot  see  else  how 
thou  shouldst  'scape. 

Corin. 

Here  comes  young  master  Ganymede,  my  new 
mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  reading  a  paper. 
%^  Rosalind. 

From  the  east  to  western  Ind,  - 
No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 
Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 
Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 
All  the  pictures,  fairest  lin'd. 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no/ace  be  kept  in  mind, 
But  the/air  of  Rosalind. 

Touchstone. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


H7 


Touchstone. 
Ill  rhyme  yon  so,  eight  years  together,  din- 
ners, and  suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted: 
it  is  the  right  butter-women's  rank  to  market. 
Rosalind. 

Out,  fool  I  _ 

Touchstone. 

For  a  taste : 

*'  If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 
Let  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 
If  the  cat  will  alter  kind, 
So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind. 
Wintred  garments  must  be  lin'd, 
So  must  slender  Rosalind. 
They  that  reap  must  sheaf  and  bind, 
Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 
Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind, 
Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 
He  that  sweetest  rose  will  find, 
Must  find  love's  prick,  and  Rosalind." 
This  Is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses :  why  do 
you  infect  yourself  with  them. 
Rosalind. 
Peace !  you  dull  fool :  1  found  them  on  a  tree. 

Touchstone. 
Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 

Rosalind. 
I'll  graft"  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  graff  it 
with  a  medlar :  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit 
i'  the  country ;  for  you'll  be  rotten  ere  you  be 
half  ripe,  and  that's  the  right  virtue  of  the 
medlar. 

Touchstone. 
You  have  said  ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no,  let 
the  forest  judge. 

Enter  Celia,  reading  a  paper. 
Rosalind. 
Peace ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading :  stand  aside. 
Cella. 
Why  should  this  a  desert  be  f 
For  it  is  unpeopled  t    No  ; 
Tongues  Til  hang  on  every  tree. 
That  shall  civil  sayings  show  : 
Some,  hoto  brief  the  life  of  man 
Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage, 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 
Ruckles  in  his  sum  of  age. 
Some,  qf  violated  vows 

'Twizi  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend: 
But  upon  the  fairest  boughs. 
Or  at  every  sentence'  end, 
Will  I  Rosalinda  write  ; 

Teaching  all  that  read  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaven  would  in  little  show. 
Therefore  heaven  Nature  charged 

That  one  body  should  bcfill'd 
With  all  graces  wide  enlarged  : 

Nature  presently  distill' d 
Helen's  cheek,  but  not  her  heart, 

Cleopatra's  majesty, 
Atalanta's  better  part. 

Sad  Lucretia's  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  was  deeis'd, 
Of  many  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts, 
To  have  the  touches  dearest  prrz'd. 
Heaven  would  that  she  these  gifts  should  hare, 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 
Rosalind. 
O,  most  gentle  Jupiter  /—what  tedious  homily 


of  love  have  you  wearied  your  parish  loners  withal, 
and  never  cried,  "  Have  patience,  good  people ! " 
Celia. 
How  now?  back,  friends.— Shepherd,  go  oflf  a 
little :— go  with  him,  sirrah. 
Touchstone. 
Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honourable 
retreat ;  though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet 
with  scrip  and  scrippage. 

[Exeunt  Corin  and  Touchstone. 

Celia. 
Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 
Rosalind. 

0  I  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too  ;  for 
some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the 
verses  would  bear. 

Celia. 
That's  no  matter:  the  feet  might  bear  the 
verses.  _      „    . 

Rosalind. 
Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not  bear 
themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore  stood 
lamely  in  the  verse. 

Celia. 
Rut  didst  thou  hear  without  wondering,  how 
thy  name  should  be  hanged  and  carved  upon 
these  trees  ? 

Rosalind. 

1  was  seven  of  thene  days  out  of  the  wonder, 
before  you  came  ;  j|jMook  here  what  I  found  on 
a  palm-tree :  1  was^never  so  be-rhymed  since 
Pythagoras'  time,  that  I  was  an  Irish  rat,  which 
I  can  hardly  remember. 

Celia. 
Trow  you,  who  hath  done  this  ? 

Rosalind. 
Is  it  a  man  ? 

Celia. 
And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his 
neck  ?    Change  you  colour  ? 
Rosalind. 
I  pr'ythee,  who  ? 

Celia. 
O  lord,  lord !  It  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends  to 
meet ;  but  mountains  may  be    removed    with 
earthquakes,  and  so  encounter. 
Rosalind 
Nay,  but  who  is  it  t 

Celia. 
Is  it  possible  ? 

Rosalind. 
Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  now,  with  most  petitionary 
vehemence,  tell  me  who  it  is. 
Celia. 
O,  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful 
wonderful  I  and  yet  again  wonderful,  and  after 
that,  out  of  all  whooping  I 

Rosalind. 
Good  my  complexion  I  dost  thou  think, 
though  1  am  caparison'd  like  a  man,  I  have  a 
doublet  and  hose  in  my  disposition  ?  One  inch 
of  delay  more  is  a  South-sea  of  discovery  ; 
I  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  Who  is  it  quickly ;  and 
speak  apace.  I  would  thou  couldst  stammer, 
that  thou  might'st  pour  this  concealed  man  out 
of  thy  mouth,  as  wine  comes  out  of  a  narrow- 
mouth'd  bottle;  either  too  much  at  once,  or 
none  at  all.  I  pr'ythee  take  the  cork  out  of 
thy  mouth,  that  I  may  drink  thy  tidings. 
Celia. 

So  vou  may  put  a  man  in  your  belly.     ■  ■ 

Rosalind. 


14-8 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  11. 


Rosalind. 
Is  he  of  God's  making?     What  manner  of 
man  ?    Is  his  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin 
worth  a  beard  ? 

Celia. 
Nay,  he  hath  but  a  little  beard. 

Rosalind. 
Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will  be 
thankful.    Let  me  stay  the  growth  of  life  beard, 
if  thou  delay  me  not  the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 
Celia. 
It  is  young  Orlando,   that   tripp'd   up   the 
wrestler  s  heels  and   your  heart,  both  in  an 
instant. 

Rosalind. 
Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking :  speak  sad 
brow,  and  true  maid. 

Celia. 
I'faith,  coz,  'tis  he. 

Rosalind. 
Orlando  ? 

Celia. 
Orlando. 

Rosalind. 
Alas  the  day !  what  snail  I  do  with  my  doublet 
and  hose?  — What  did  he,  when  thou  saw'st 
him?     What    said    he?      How    look'd    he? 
Wherein  went  he?     What   makes  he  here? 
Did  he  ask   for   me?      Where   remains   he? 
How  parted  he  with  thee,  and  when  shalt  thou 
see  him  again  ?    Answer  me  in  one  word. 
Celia. 
You  must  borrow  me  Garagantua's  mouth 
first :  'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of 
this  age's  size.    To  say,  ay,  and  no,  to  these 
particulars  is  more  than  to  answer  in  a  cate- 
chism. 

Rosalind. 
But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest,  and 
in  man's  apparel  ?    Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he 
did  the  day  he  wrestled  ? 
Celia. 
It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies,  as  to  resolve 
the  propositions  of  a  lover:  but  take  a  taste  of 
*my  finding  him,  and  relish  it  with   good  ob- 
servance.   I  found  him  under  a  tree,  like  a 
dropped  acorn. 

Rosalind. 
It  may  well  be  call'd  Jove's  tree,  when  it  drops 
forth  such  fruit. 

Celia. 
Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Rosalind. 
Proceed. 

Celia. 
There  lay  he,  stretched  along  like  a  wounded 
knight. 

Rosalind. 
Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it  well 
becomes  the  ground. 

Celia. 
Cry,  holla!    to  thy  tongue,  I  pr'ythee;   it 
curvets  unseasonably.    He  was  furnish'd  like  a 
hunter. 

Rosalind. 

0  ominous  I  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Celia. 

1  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden : 
thou  bring'st  me  out  of  tune. 

Rosalind. 
Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  when  I 
think,  I  must  speak.    Sweet,  say  on. 


Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques. 

Celia. 
You  bring  me   out.-^oft!    comes   he   net 
here  ?  * 

Rosalind. 
'Tis  he  :  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

[Rosalind  and  Celia  retire. 

Jaques. 
I  thank  you  for  your  company  ;  but,  good 
faith,  I  had  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orlando. 
And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion  sake,  I 
thank  you  too  for  your  society. 

Jaques. 
Good  bye,  you  :  let's  meet  as  little  as  we  can. 

Orlando. 
1  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaques. 
I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing 
love-songs  in  their  barks. 

Orlando. 
I  pray  you  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with 
reading  them  ill-favouredly. 

Jaques. 
Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orlando. 
Yes,  just. 

Jaques. 
I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orlando. 
There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you,  when 
she  was  christened. 

Jaques. 
What  stature  is  she  of? 

Orlando. 
Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaques. 
You  are  full  of  pretty  answers.    Have  you  not 
been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and 
conn'd  them  out  of  rings  ? 

Orlando. 
Not  so  ;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth, 
from  whence  you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaques. 
You  have  a  nimble  wit :  I  think  'twas  made 
of  Atalanta\  heels.     Will  you  sit  down  with 
me  ?  and  we  two  will  rail  against  our  mistress 
the  world,  and  all  our  misery. 

Orlando. 
I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world,  but 
myself,  against  whom  1  know  most  faults. 

Jaques. 
The  worst  fault  you  have  is  to  be  in  love. 

Orlando. 
'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best 
virtue.    I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jaques. 
By  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool  when  I 
found  you. 

Orlando.  ... 

He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook :  look  but  in,  and 
you  shall  see  him. 

Jaques. 
There  I  shall  see  mine  own  figure. 

Orlando. 
Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool,  or  a  cypher. 

I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you.    Farewell,  good  j 
signior  love. 

Orlando. 


Act  in.  Sc.  u. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT 


149 


Orlamlu. 
1  am  glad  of  your  departure.    Adieu,  good 
monsieur  melancholy 

[Exit  Jaques.  —  Rosattnd  and  Celia  como 
forward. 

Rosalind.       [Aside  to  Celia. 
1  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lackey,  and 
under  that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him.    [To 
him .]    Do  you  hear,  forester  ? 

Orlando. 
Very  well :  what  would  you  ? 

l: 


1  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock  ? 

Orlando. 
You  should  ask  me,  what  time  o'day :  there's 
no  clock  in  the  forest. 

Rosalind. 

Then,  there  Is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest ; 

else  sighing  every  minute,  and  groaning  every 

hour,  would  detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time  as  well 

as  a  clock. 

Orlando. 
And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  time  ?  had  not 
that  been  as  proper  ? 

Rosalind. 
By  no  means,  sir.  Time  travels  in  divers 
paces  with  divers  persons.  I'll  tell  you  who 
Time  ambles  withal,  who  Time  trots  withal, 
who  Time  gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands 
still  withal. 

Orlando. 
I  pr'ythee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Rosalind. 
Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  maid,  be- 
tween the  contract  of  her  marriage,  and  the  day 
it  is  solemnized :  if  the  interim  be  but  a  se'n- 
night,  Time's  pace  is  so  hard  that  it  seems  the 
length  of  seven  years. 

Orlando. 
Who  ambles  Time  withal? 

Rosalind. 
With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich 
man  that  hath  not  the  gout ;  for  the  one  sleeps 
easily,  because  he  cannot  study;  and  the  other 
lives  merrily,  because  he  feels  no  pain  :  the  one 
lacking  the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning, 
the  other  knowing  no  burden  of  heavy  tedious 
penury.    These  Time  ambles  withal. 

Orlando. 
Who  doth  he  gallop  withal  ? 

Rosalind. 
With  a  thief  to  the  gallows ;  for  though  he  go 
as  softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too 
soon  there. 


It  still  withaf  ?' 


Who  stays 

Rosalind. 
With  lawyers  in  the  vacation  ;  for  they  sleep 
between  term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive 
not  how  time  moves. 

Orlando. 
Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ? 

Rosalind. 

With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister;  here  in  the 

skirts  of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat. 

Orlando. 
Are  you  native  of  this  place  ? 

,      ,  ,    Rosalind. 

A?  the  coney,  that  you  see  dwell  where  sne  is 

kindiuu. 


Orlando. 
Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you  could 
purchase  in  so  removed  a  dwelling. 

Rosalind. 
I  have  been  told  so  of  many :  but.  Indeed,  an 
old  religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak, 
who  was  in  his  youth  an  inland  man  ;  one  that 
knew  courtship"  too  well,  for  there  he  fell  in 
!  love.  I  have  heard  him  read  many  lectures 
i  against  it ;  and  I  thank  God,  I  am  not  a  woman, 
to  be  touched  with  so  many  giddy  offences,  as 
he  hath  generally  taxed  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orlando. 
Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils 
that  he  laid  to  the  charge  of  women  ? 

Rosalind. 
I     There  were  none  principal:  they  were  all 
i  like  one  another,  as  half-pence  are  ;  every  one 
I  fault  seeming  monstrous,  till  his  fellow  fault 
|  came  to  match  it. 

Orlando. 
I  pr'ythee,  recount  some  of  them. 

Rosalind. 
i  No  ;  I  will  not  cast  away  my  physic,  but  on 
I  those  that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the 
'  forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving 
Rosalind  on  their  barks  ;  hangs  odes  upon  haw- 
i  thorns,  and  elegies  on  brambles  ;  all,  forsooth, 
deifying  the  name  of  Rosalind:  if  I  could  meet 
that  fancy-monger  I  would  give  him  some  good 
counsel,  for  he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of 
love  upon  him. 

Orlando. 
I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked.    I  pray  you, 
,  tell  me  your  remedy. 

I     r™.       •  Rosalind. 

There  is  none  of  my  uncle  s  marks  upon  you: 
he  taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love";  in 
which  cage  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not 
J  prisoner. 

Orlando. 
What  were  his  marks  ? 

Rosalind. 
A  lean  cheek,  which  you  have  not ;  a  blue 
eye,  nnd  sunken,  which  you  have  not ;  an  un- 
questionable spirit,  which  you  have  not ;  a  beard 
neglected,  which  you  have  not :  —  but  1  pardon 
you  for  that,  for,  simply,  your  having  in  beard 
is  a  younger  brother's  revenue.  —  Then,  your 
hose  should  be  ungarter'd,  your  bonnet  un- 
handed, your  sleeve  unbuttoned,  your  shoe  un- 
tied, and  every  thing  about  you  demonstrating 
a  careless  desolation.  But  you  are  no  such 
man  :  you  are  rather  point-device  in  your  ac- 
coutrements ;  as  loving  yourself,  than  seeming 
the  lover  of  any  other. 

Fair  youth,  I  would  Icould  make  thee  believe 
I  love. 

__'  „  .  «.  Rosalind. 
Me  believe  it?  you  may  as  soon  make  her 
that  you  love  believe  it ;  which,  I  warrant,  she 
is  aptcr  to  do,  than  to  confess  she  does :  that  is 
one  of  the  points  in  the  which  women  still  give 
the  lie  to  their  consciences.  But,  in  good  sooth, 
j  are  you  he  that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees, 
'  wherein  Rosalind  is  so  admired* 

|      I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of 
j  Rosalind,  I  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

„  .  Rosalind. 

;     But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rbymes 
' speak  ? 

Orlando. 


i*5° 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


Orlando. 

Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how 
much. 

Rosalind. 

Love  is  merely  a  madness,  and,  I  tell  you, 
deserves  as  well  a  dark  house,  and  a  whip,  as 
madmen  do  ;  and  the  reason  why  they  are  not 
so  punished  and  cured,  is,  that  the  lunacy  is  so 
ordinary,  that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too. 
Yet  I  profess  curing  it  by  counsel. 
Orlando. 

Did  you  ever  cure  any  so  ? 
Rosalind. 

Yes,  one ;  and  in  this  manner.  He  was  to 
imagine  me  his  love,  his  mistress,  and  I  set  him 
every  day  to  woo  me :  at  which  time  would  I, 
being  but  a  moonish  youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate, 
changeable,  longing,  and  liking  ;  proud,  fantas- 
tical, apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of  tears, 
full  of  smiles ;  for  every  passion  something,  and 
for  no  passion  truly  any  thing,  as  boys  and 
women  are,  for  the  most  part,  cattle  of  this 
colour :  would  now  like  him,  now  loathe  him  ; 
then  entertain  him,  then  forswear  him  ;  now 
weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him ;  that  I  drave 
my  suitor  from  his  mad  humour  of  love,  to  a 
loving  humour  of  madness  ;  which  was,  to  for- 
swear the  full  stream  of  the  world,  and  to  live 
in  a  nook,  merely  monastic.  And  thus  I  cured 
him  ;  and  this  way  will  I  take  upon  me  to  wash 
your  liver  as  clean  as  a  sound  sheep's  heart, 
that  there  shall  not  be  one  spot  of  love  in't. 

Orlando. 
I  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Rosalind. 
I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me 
Rosalind,  and  come  every  day  to  my  cote,  and 
woo  me. 

Orlando. 
Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will.    Tell  me 
where  it  is. 

Rosalind. 
Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I'll  show  it  you  ;  and, 
by  the  way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest 
you  live.    Will  you  go  ? 

Orlando. 
With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Rosalind. 
Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind.  — .  Come, 
•ister,  will  you  go  ?  [Exeunt 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey;  Jaques  behind, 

observing  them. 

Touchstone. 

Come  apace,  good  Audrey:    I  will  fetch  up 

your  goats,  Audrey.     And  how,  Audrey  ?  am  I 

the  man  yet  ?    Doth  my  simple  feature  content 

you? 

Audrey. 
Your  features  ?    Lord  warrant  us  I  what  fea- 
tures? 

Touchstone. 
I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the 
most  capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among 
the  Goths. 

Jaques.  [Aside. 

O  knowledge  ill-Inhabited  !  worse  than  Jove 
in  a  thatch  d  house  1 

Touchstone. 
When  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  understood, 
nor  a  man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  forward 


child,  understanding,  it  strikes  a  man  more  dead 
than  a  great  reckoning  in  a  little  room. — Truly, 
I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 
Audrey. 

I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is.     Is  it  honest 
in  deed,  and  word  ?     Is  it  a  true  thing  ? 
Touchstone. 

No,  truly,  for  the  truest  poetry  is  the  most 
feigning ;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry,  and 
what  they  swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said,  as 
lovers  they  do  feign. 

Audrey. 
Do  you  wish,  then,  that  the  gods  had  made 
me  poetical  ? 

Touchstone 
I  do,  truly  ;  for  thou  swear'st  to  me,  thou  art 
honest :  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have 
some  hope  thou  didst  feign. 
Audrey. 
Would  you  not  have  me  honest  ? 

Touchstone. 
No  truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard-favour'd  ;  for 
honesty  coupled  to  beauty,  is  to  have  honey  a 
sauce  to  sugar. 

Jaques.  [Aside. 

A  material  fool. 

Audrey. 
Well,  I  am  not  fair,  ana  therefore  I  pray  the 
gods  make  me  honest  I 

Touchstone. 

Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a  foul 

slut  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Audrey. 

I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods  I  am 
foul. 

Touchstone. 

Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thv  foulness  : 
sluttishness  may  come  hereafter  B"ut  be  it  as 
it  may  be,  I  will  marry  thee  ;  and  to  that  end,  I 
have  been  with  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of 
the  next  village,  who  hath  promised  to  meet  me 
in  this  place  of  the  forest,  and  to  couple  us. 

Jaques.  [Aside. 

I  would  fain  see  this  meeting. 

Audrey. 
Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy  ! 

Touchstone. 
Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fearful 
heart,  stagger  in  this  attempt ;  forhere  we  have 
no  temple  but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but  horn- 
beasts.  But  what  though  ?  Courage !  As 
horns  are  odious,  they  are  necessary.  It  is  said, 
—many  a  man  knows  no  end  of  his  goods:  right; 
many  a  man  has  good  horns,  and  knows  no  end 
of  them.  Well,  that  is  the  dowry  of  his  wife: 
'tis  none  of  his  own  getting.  Horns  ?  Even  so : 
—Poor  men  alone? — No,  no;  the  noblest  deer 
hath  them  as  huge  as  the  rascal.  Is  the  single 
man  therefore  blessed  ?  No :  as  a  wall'd  town 
is  more  worthier  than  a  village,  so  is  the  fore- 
head of  a  married  man  more  honourable  than 
the  bare  brow  of  a  bachelor  ;  and  by  how  much 
defence  is  better  than  no  skill,  by  so  much  is  a 
horn  more  precious  than  to  want. 

Enter  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text. 
Here  comes  Sir  Oliver — Sir  Oliver  Mar -text, 
you  are  well  met:  will  you  dispatch  us  here 
under  this  tree,  or  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your 
chapel  ? 

Sir  Oliver. 
Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman  r 

Touchstone. 


\ 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


AS  YOU  LUCE  IT. 


*5» 


Touchstone 
I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 

Truly,  she  must  be  glTen,  or  the  marriage  is 
not  lawful. 

Jaqucs. 

rooming  forward. 
Proceed,  proceed :  I'll  give  her. 

Touchstone. 
Good  even,  good  Mr.  What-ye-call't :  how  do 
you,  sir  ?  You  are  very  well  met :  God'ild  you 
for  your  last  company.  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you:  —  even  a  toy  in  hand  here,  sir — Nay; 
pray,  be  cover'd. 

Jaques. 
Will  you  be  married,  motley  ? 

Touchstone. 
As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,  sir,  the  horse  his  curb, 
and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his  de- 
sires ;  and  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be 
nibbling. 

Jaqucs. 
And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your'  breeding, 
be  married  'under  a  bush,  like  a  beggar  ?  Get 
you  to  church,  and  have  a  good  priest  that  can 
tell  you  what  marriage  is  :  this  fellow  will  but 
join  you  together  as  they  joiu  wainscot ;  then, 
one  of  you  will  prove  a  shrunk  paunel,  and,  like 
green  timber,  warp,  warp. 

Touchstone. 
I  am  not  in  the  mind,  but  I  were  better  to  be 
married  of  him  than  of  another ;  for  he  is  not 
like  to  marry  me  well,  and  not  being  well  mar- 
ried, it  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  me  hereafter  to 
leave  my  wife. 

Jaques. 
Go  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 

Touchstone. 
Come,  sweet  Audrey : 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 
Farewell,  good  master  Oliver  I     Not 
O  sweet  Oliver  I 
O  brave  Oliver  ! 
Leave  me  not  behind  thee : 
But  wind  away, 
Begone.  I  say. 
I  will  not  to  wedding  with  thee. 
[Exeunt  Jaqucs,  Touchstone,  and  Audrey. 

Sir  Oliver. 
•Tis  no  matter:  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave  of 
them  all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    Before  a  Cottage. 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 
Rosalind. 
Never  talk  to  me :  I  will  weep. 

Celia. 
Do,  I  pr'ythee ;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to  con- 
sider, that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 

Rosalind. 
But  have  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 

Celia. 
As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire :  therefore 
weep. 

Rosalind. 
His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  colour. 

Celia. 
Something  browner  than  Judas' 's.   Marry,  his 
kisses  are  Judas's  own  children. 
Rosalind. 
I'faith,  his  hair  is  of  a  good  colour. 


Celia. 
]      An  excellent  colour :  your  chestnut  was  ever 
the  only  colour. 

Rosalind. 
And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the 
touch  of  holy  bread. 

Celia. 
He  hath  bought  a  pair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana  : 
a  nun  of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more 
religiously ;  the  very  ice  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Rosalind. 
But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this 
morning,  and  comes  not  ? 

Celia. 
Nay,  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Rosalind. 
Do  you  think  so  ? 

Celia. 
Yes :   I  think  he  is  not  a  pick-purse,  nor  a 
horse-steal er ;  but  for  his  verity  in  love,  I  do 
think  him  as  concave  as  a  covered  goblet,  or  a 
worm-eaten  nut. 

Rosalind. 
Not  true  in  love  ? 

Celia. 
Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but,  I  think  he  is  not  In. 

Rosalind. 

You  have  heard  him  swear  downright,  he 
was. 

Celia. 

Was  is  not  is:  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover  is 
no  stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster  ;  they  are 
both  the  confirmers  of  false  reckonings.  He 
attends  here  in  the  forest  on  the  duke  your 
father. 

Rosalind. 

I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much 
question  with  him.  He  asked  me,  of  what 
parentage  I  was  ?  I  told  him,  of  as  good  as 
he ;  so  ne  laughed,  and  let  me  go.  But  what 
talk  we  of  fathers,  when  there  is  such  a  man  as 
Orlando  t 

Celia. 

O,  that's  a  brave  man !  he  writes  brave  verses, 
speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths,  and 
breaks  them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart 
the  heart  of  his  lover ;  as  a  puny  tilter,  that 
spurs  his  horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  his  staff 
like  a  uoble  goose.  But  all's  brave,  that  youth 
mounts,  and  folly  guides Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Cor  in. 


Mistress,  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquir'd 
After  the  shepherd  that  complain'd  of  love, 
Who  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf, 
Praising  the  proud  disdainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Celia. 

Well ;  and  what  of  him  ? 
Corin. 
If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play'd, 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love, 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  little,  and  I  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Rosalind. 

O  I  come,  let  us  remove 
The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love.  — 
Bring  us  to  this  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


*5* 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper, 

Than  any  of  her- lineaments  can  show  her 

But,  mistress,  know  yourself:  down  on  your 

knees, 
And  thank  heaven  fasting  for  a  good  man's  love ; 
For  1  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, 
Sell  when  you  can:  you  are  not  for  all  markets. 
Cry  the  man  mercy  ;  love  him ;  take  his  ofTer : 
Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scoffer. 
So,  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd.  — Fare  you  well. 
Phebe. 
Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  to- 
gether : 
I  had  rather  hear  you  chide,  than  this  man  woo. 
Rosalind. 
He's  fallen  in  love  with  your  foulness,  and 
she'll  fall  in  love  with  my  anger.     If  it  be  so,  as 
fist  as  she  answers  thee  with  frowning  looks, 
I'll  sauce  her  with  bitter  words.  — Why  look 
you  so  upon  me  ? 

Phebe. 
For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Rosalind. 
I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine : 
Besides,  I  like  you  not.  — If  you  will  know  my 

house, 
Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives,  here  hard  by.— 
Will  you  go,  sister  ?—  Shepherd,  ply  her  hard.— 
Come,  sister —  Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better, 
And  be  not  proud :  though  all  the  world  could 
None  could  be  so  abus'd  in  sight  as  he.  [see, 
I  Come,  to  our  flock. 

T  Exeunt  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Covin. 

Phebe. 

Dead  shepherd  !  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might ; 

"  Who  ever  lov'd,  that  lov'd  not  at  first  sight  ?  " 

Silvio*. 

Sweet  Phebe,— 

Phebe. 
Ha  !  what  say'st  thou,  Silvhts  ? 
Silvius. 
Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phebe. 
Why,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvius. 

Silvius. 
Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be : 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love, 
By  giving  love,  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extermin'd. 

Phebe. 
Thou  hast  my  love :  is  not  that  neighbourly  ? 

Silvius. 
I  would  have  you. 

Phebe. 
Why,  that  were  covetousness. 
rilvius,  the  time  was  that  I  hated  thee, 
Why  do  you  look  on    Aud  ?e»t  it ,,  not  that  j  bear  thee  ]ove| 

But  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well, 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
1  will  endure,  and  I'll  employ  thee  too  ; 
But  do  not  look  for  farther  recompense, 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  employ'd. 
Silvius. 
So  holy,  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 


SCENE  V.    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 

Silvius. 

Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me ;  do  not,  Phebe  : 

Say  that  you  love  me  not ;  but  say  not  so 

In  bitterness.    The  common  executioner, 

Whose   heart  th'  accustom'd  sight   of  death 

makes  hard, 
Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck, 
But  first  begs  pardon  :  will  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops  ? 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Conn,  behind  f 
Phebe.  ^~ 

I  would  not  be  thy  executioner : 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
!  Thou  tell'st  me,  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye : 
'Tis  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable, 
That  eves,  that  are  the  frail'st  and  softest  things, 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies, 
Should  be  call'd  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers  ! 
Now  I  do  frown  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ; 
And,  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill 

thee; 
Now  counterfeit  to  swoon  ;  why,  now  fall  down ; 
Or,  if  thou  canst  not,  O,  for  shame,  for  shame  I 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eye?  are  murderers. 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  hath  made  in 

thee: 
Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 
Some  scar  of  it ;  lean  but  upon  a  rush, 
The  cicatrice  and  capable  impressure         [eyes, 
Thy  palm  some  moment  keeps,  but  now  mine  I 
Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  not, 
Nor,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 
That  can  do  hurt. 

Silvius. 

O  !  dear  Phebe, 
If  ever,  (as  that  ever  may  be  near,) 
You  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy, 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make.  - 
Phebe. 

But  till  that  time 
Come  not  thou  near  me ;  and  when  that  time 
Afllict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not,  [comes 
As  till  that  time  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Rosalind  [Advancing 

And  why,  I  pray  you  ?    Who  might  be  your 
mother, 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once, 
Over  the  wretched  ?    What  though  you  have 

no  beauty, 
As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed, 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  ? 
Why,  what  means  this 

me? 
I  see  no  more  in  you,  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature's  sale-work  :  —  Od's  my  little  life  I 

think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too. 
No,  'faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it : 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black- silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 

That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  worship. 

You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow     A,nd  '  in  sucn  a  Poverty  of  grace, 


her, 

Like  foggy  south,  puffing  with  wind  and  rain  ? 
You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man, 
Than  she  a  woman  :  'tis  such  fools  as  you, 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-favour'd  chil- 
dren. 
Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  that  flatters  her ; 


That  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteous  crop 
To  glean  the  broken  ear?  after  the  man 
That  the  main  harvest  reaps :  loose  now  and  then 
A  scatter'd  smile,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 
Phebe. 
Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me  ere 
while? 

Silvius. 


X 


\ 


i  Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


*53 


Silviui. 
Not  rery  well,  but  1  have  met  him  oft  ; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cotUge,  and  the  bounds, 
That  the  old  carlot  once  was  master  of. 

Think  not  1  love  him,  though  I  ask  for  him. 
Tis  but  a  peevish  boy  ;— yet  he  talks  well  :— 
But  what  care  1  lor  words?  yet  words  do  well,   j 
When  he  that  speaks  them  pleases  those  that 

he.ir. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  :— not  very  pretty :       [him. 
But,  sure,  he's  proud;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes 
He'll  make  a  proper  man:  the  best  thing  in  hira 
Is  his  complexion  ;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  make  offence,  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  very  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall. 
His  leg  is  but  so  so  ;  and  yet  'tis  well : 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip ; 
A  little  riper,  and  more  lusty  red  [ference 

Than  that  mix'd  In  his  check :  'twas  just  the  dif- 
Betwixt  the  constant  red,  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Siivius,  had  they  mark'd 

him 
In  parcels,  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him  ;  but  for  my  part 
I  love  him  not,  nor  hate  him  not,  and  yet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him ; 
For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me  ? 
He  said  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black ; 
And,  now  I  am  remember'd,  scorn'd  at  me : 
I  marvel  why  I  answer'd  not  again : 
But  that's  all  one  ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 
I'll  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter. 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it ;  wilt  thou,  Siivius  t 
Siivius. 

Phcbe,  with  all  my  heart. 
Phebe. 

I'll  write  it  straight ; 
The  matter's  in  my  head,  and  in  my  heart : 
1  will  be  bitter  with  him,  and  passing  short. 
Go  with  me,  Siivius.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Forest  of  Arden. 

Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Jaques. 

Jaques. 

T  PR'YTHEE.  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better! 

acquainted  with  thee. 

Rosalind. 
They  say,  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

Jaques. 
I  am  so :  I  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Rosalind. 

Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  either  are; 

abominable  fellows,  and  betray  themselves  to; 

every  modern  censure  worse  than  drunkards. 

Jaques. 

Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Rosalind. 
Why  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  poet. 

Jaques. 
I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy,  which 
is  emulation  ;  nor  the  musician's,  which  is  fan- 
tastical ;  nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud;  nor 
the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious;  nor  the 
lawyer's,  which  is  politic ;  nor  the  lady's,  which 
is  nice ;  nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these  ;  but 


it  is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded  of 
many  simples,  extracted  from  many  objects,  and, 
indeed,  the  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels  ; 
which,  by  often  rumination,  wraps  me  in  a  most 
humorous  sadness. 

Rosalind. 
A  traveller  I  By  my  faith,  you  have  great 
reason  to  be  sad.  1  fear,  you  have  sold  your  own 
lands,  to  see  other  men's ;  then,  to  have  seen 
much,  and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes 
and  poor  hands. 

Jaquet. 
Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 
Enter  Orlando. 
4  Rosalind. 

And  your  experience  makes  you  sad.  I  had 
rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry,  than  ex- 
perience to  make  me  sad.  And  to  travel  for  it 
tool 

Orlando. 
Good  day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind. 

Jaques. 
Nay  then,  God  be  wi'  you,  an  you  talk  in  blank 
verse.  [Exit. 

Rosalind. 
Farewell,  monsieur  traveller:  look  you  lisp, 
and  wear  strange  suits  ;  disable  all  the  benefits 
of  your  own  country  ;  be  out  of  love  with  your 
nativity,  and  almost  chide  God  for  making  you 
that  countenance  you  are,  or  I  will  scarce  think 
you  have  swam  in  a  gondola.  — Why,  how  now, 
Orlando!  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  v 
You  a  lover  ?— An  you  serve  me  such  another 
trick,  never  come  in  my  sight  more. 
Orlando. 
My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of 
my  promise. 

Rosalind. 
Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  !    He  that 
will  divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and 
break  but  a  part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a 
minute  in  the  affairs  of  love,  it  may  be  said  of 
him,  that  Cupid  hath  clapped  him  o'the  shoulder, 
but  I'll  warrant  him  heart-whole. 
Orlando. 
Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind. 
Rosalind. 
Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in  my 
light :  I  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snail. 
Orlando. 
Of  a  snail? 

Rosalind. 
Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly, 
he  carries  his  house  on  his  head,  a  better  join- 
ture, I  think,  than  you  make  a  woman.   Besides, 
he  brings  his  destiny  with  him. 
Orlando. 
What's  that  ? 

Rosalind. 
Why.  horns  ;  which  such  as  you  are  fain  to  be 
beholden  to  your  wives  for :  but  he  comes  armed 
in  his  fortune,  and  prevents  the  slander  of  his 
wife. 

Orlando. 
Virtue  is  no  horn-maker,  and  my  Rosalind  is 
virtuous. 

Rosalind. 
And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 
Celia. 
It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so  ;  but  he  hath  a 
Rosalind  of  a  bitter  leer  than  you. 
Rosalind. 
Come,  woo  me,  woo  ree ;  for  now  I  am  In  a 
holiday 


*54 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  u 


holiday  humour,  and  like  enough  to  consent 

What  would  you  say  to  me  now,  an  I  were  your 
very  very  Rosalind  t 

Orlando. 
I  would  kiss  before  I  spoke. 

Rosaliud. 
Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first ;  and  when 
you  were  gravelled  for  lack  of  matter,  you  might 
take  occasion  to  kiss.  Very  good  orators,  when 
they  are  out,  they  will  spit ;  and  for  lovers, 
lacking  (God  warn  us !)  matter,  the  cleanliest 
shift  is  to  kiss. 

Orlando. 
How  if  the  kiss  be  denied? 
Rosaliud. 
Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there  be- 
gins  new  matter. 

Orlando. 
Who  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved 
mistress  ? 

Rosalind. 
Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  your  mis- 
tress, or  I  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  than 
my  wit. 

Orlando. 
What,  of  my  suit? 

Rosalind. 
Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of  your 
suit.    Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 
Orlando. 
I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I 
would  be  talking  of  her. 

Rosalind. 
Well,  in  her  person,  I  say— I  will  not  have 
you. 

Orlando. 
Then,  in  mine  own  person,  I  die. 

Rosalind. 
No,  'faith,  die  by  attorney.    The  poor  world 
is  almost  six  thousand  years  old,  and  in  all  this 
time  there  was  not  any  man  died  in  his  own 

Eerson,  videlicet,  in  a  love-cause.  Troilus  had 
is  brains  dashed  out  with  a  Grecian  club  i  yet 
he  did  what  he  could  to  die  before,  and  he  is 
one  of  the  patterns  of  love.  Leander,  he  would 
have  lived  many  a  fair  year,  though  Hero  had 
turned  nun,  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  hot  mid. 
summer  night ;  for,  good  youth,  he  went  but 
forth  to  wash  him  in  the  Hellespont,  and,  being 
taken  with  the  cramp,  was  drowned,  and  the 
foolish  chroniclers  of  that  age  found  it  was  — 
Hero  of  Sestos.  But  these  are  all  lies  :  men  have 
died  from  time  to  time,  and  worms  have  eaten 
them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orlando. 
1  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this 
mind,  for,  1  protest,  her  frown  might  kill  me. 

Rosaliud. 

By  this  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  fly.  But  come, 
now  I  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more  coming- 
on  disposition,  and  ask  me  what  you  will,  I  will 
grant  it. 

_       .  Orlando. 

Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Rosalind. 
Yes,  faith  will  I  ;  Fridays,  and  Saturdays,  and 
all. 

Orlando. 
And  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Rosalind. 
Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orlando. 
What  say'st  thou  ? 


Rosalind. 
Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orlando. 
I  hope  so. 

Rosalind. 
Why,  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  ?— Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest, 
and  marry  us— Give  me  your  hand,  Orlando— 
What  do  you  say,  sister  ? 

Orlando. 
Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Celia. 
I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Rosaliud. 
You  must  begin,  —  u  Will  you,  Orlando,"^ 

Celia. 
Go  to.  —Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife  this 
Rosalind  f 

Orlando. 
I  will. 

Rosalind. 
Ay,  but  when  ? 

Orlando. 
Why  now  ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Rosalind. 
Then  you  must  say,—"  I  take  thee,  Rosalind, 
for  wife/' 

Orlando. 
I  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Rosaliud. 
I  might  ask  you  for  your  commission  ;  but. — I 
do  take  thee,  Orlando,  for  my  husband :— there's 
a  girl,  goes  before  the  priest ;  and,  certainly,  a 
woman's  thought  runs  before  her  actions. 

Orlando. 
So  do  all  thoughts  :  they  are  winged. 

Rosalind. 
Now  tell  me,  how  long  you  would  have  her, 
after  you  have  possessed  her  ?., 

Orlando. 

For  ever,  and  a  day. 

Rosaliud. 

Say  a  day,  without  the  ever.  No,  no,  Or- 
lando :  men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December 
when  they  wed :  maids  are  May  when  they  are 
maids,  but  the  sky  changes  when  they  are  wives. 
I  will  be  more  jealous  of  thee  than  a  Rarbary 
cock-pigeon  over  his  hen  ;  more  clamorous  than 
a  parrot  against  rain ;  more  new-fangled  than  an 
ape  ;  more  giddy  in  my  desires  than  a  monkey: 
I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana  in  the  foun- 
tain, and  I  will  do  that  when  you  are  disposed 
to  be  merry  ;  I  will  laugh  like  a  hyen,  and  that 
when  thou  art  inclined  to  sleep. 
Orlando. 

But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Rosalind. 
By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orlando. 
O  !  but  she  is  wise. 

Rosalind. 
Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do  this : 
the  wiser,  the  waywarden  Make  the  doors  upon 
a  woman's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  casement ; 
shut  that,  and  'twill  out  at  the  key-hole ;  stop 
that,  'twill  fly  with  the  smoke  out  at  the  chim- 
ney. 

Orlando. 
A  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he 
might  say,—44  Wit,  whither  wilt  ?  " 

Rosalind. 


Act  iv.  Sr.  in. 


AS  YOU  LIKK  IT. 


*55 


Nay,  yon  might  keep  that  check  for  it,  till  you 
met  vour  wifevs  wit  going  to  your  neighbour*! 
bed. 

Orlando. 
And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse  that  ? 

Rosalind. 
Marry,  to  gay,— she  came  to  seek  you  there. 
You  shall  nev.  r  take  her  without  her  answer, 
unless  you  take  her  wiihout  her  tongue.     O! 
that  woman  that  cannot  make  her  Fault  her 
husband's  occasion,  let    her  never  nurse   her 
child  herself,  for  she  will  breed  it  like  a  fool. 
Orlando. 
For  these  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave 
thee. 

Rosalind. 
Alas,  dear  love  1  I  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orlando. 
I  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner:  by  two 
o'clock  1  will  be  with  thee  again. 

Rosalind. 
Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways.  — I  knew 
what  you  would  prove ;  my  friends  told  me  as 
much,  and  I  thought  no  less:  — that  flattering 
tongue  of  yours  won  me :  —  'tis  but  one  cast 
away,  and  so,  —  come,  death  1  —  Two  o'clock  is 
your  hour  ? 

Orlando. 
Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Rosalind. 
By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so  God 
mend  me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not 
dangerous,  if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise, 
or  come  one  minute  behind  your  hour,  I  will 
think  you  the  most  pathetical  break-promise, 
and  the  most  hollow  lover,  and  the  most  un- 
worthy of  her  you  call  Rosalind,  that  may  be 
chosen  out  of  the  gross  band  of  the  unfaithful. 
Therefore,  beware  my  censure,  and  keep  your 
promise. 

Orlando. 
With  no  less  religion,  than  if  thou  wert  indeed 
my  Rosalind :  so,  adieu. 

Rosalind. 
Well,  time  is  the  old  justice  that  examines  all 
such  offenders,  and  let  time  try.    Adieu  1 

[Exit  Orlando. 

Celia. 

You  have  simply  misused  our  sex  in  your 

love-prate.    We  must  have  your  doublet  and 

hose  plucked  over  your  head,  and  show  the 

world  what  the  bird  hath  done  to  her  own  nest. 

Rosalind. 
O  !  cox,  coi,  co«,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that 
thou  didst  know  how  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in 
love  I  But  it  cannot  be  sounded :  my  affection 
hath  an  unknown  bottom,  like  the  bay  of  Por- 
tugal. 

Celia. 
Or,  rather,  bottomless ;  that  as  fast  as  you 
pour  affection  in,  it  runs  out. 

Rosalind. 

No  ;  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus,  that 
was  begot  of  thought,  conceived  of  spleen,  and 
born  of  madness  ;  that  blind  rascally  boy,  that 
abuses  every  one's  eyes,  because  his  own  are 
out,  let  him  be  judge  how  deep  I  am  in  love. — 
I'll  tell  thee,  Aliena,  I  cannot  be  out  of  the  sight 
of  Orlando.  I'll  go  find  a  shadow,  and  sigh  till 
he  come. 

Celia. 

And  I'll  sleep.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Jaques,  and  Lords,  like  Foresters. 

Jaques. 
Which  Is  he  that  killed  the  deer  ? 

1  Lord. 
Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaques. 

Let's  present  him  to  the  duke,  like  a  Roman 

conqueror ;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  the  deer's 

horns  upon  his  head  for  a  branch  of  victory. — 

Have  you  no  song,  forester,  for  this  purpose  ir 

2  Lord. 
Yes,  sir. 

Jaques. 
Sing  it :  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune,  so  it 
make  noise  enough. 

BONO. 

What  shall  he  have,  that  kill'd  the  deer  f 
His  lea/her  skin,  and  horns  to  wear. 
Take  thou  no  scorn,  to  wear  the  horn ;  l 
J*  was  a  crest  ere  thou  wast  born.      J     IThen  ting 
Thy  father's  father  wore  it,   l^   home: 
And  thy  father  bore  it : 
The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn,     J  buraen.J 
Is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  to  scorn.     J 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  Forest 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Rosalind. 
How  say  you  now  ?    Is  it  not  past  two  o'clock  ? 
And  here  much  Orlando  I 

Celia. 
I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love,  and  troubled 
brain.  [forth  — 

He  hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  is  gone 
To  sleep.    Look,  who  comes  here. 

.Enter  Silvius. 

Silvius. 
My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth — 
My  gentle  Phebe  did  bid  me  give  you  this : 

[Giving  a  letter.- 
I  know  not  the  contents ;  but  as  I  guess, 
By  the  stern  brow,  and  waspish  action, 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  of  it, 
It  bears  an  angry  tenour.    Pardon  me, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Rosalind. 
Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter, 
And  play  the  swaggerer:  bear  this,  bear  all. 
She  says,  I  am  not  fair ;  that  I  lack  manners  ; 
She  calls  me  proud,  and  that  she  could  not  love 

me, 
Were  men  as  rare  as  Phoenix.    Od's  my  will  ! 
Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  I  do  hunt :    [well ; 
Why  writes  she  so  to  me?— Well,  shepherd. 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device. 

Silvius. 
No,  I  protest ;  I  know  not  the  contents : 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Rosalind. 

Come,  come,  you  are  a  fool, 
And  turn'd  Into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand :  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  freestone-colour'd  hand :  I  verily  did  think 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her 

hands: 
She  has  a  housewife's  hand ;  but  that's  no  matter. 
I  say,  she  never  did  invent  this  letter  ; 
This  is  a  man's  invention,  and  his  hand. 

Silvius. 


*56 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Silvius. 

Sure,  it  is  hers. 

Rosalind. 
Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers :  why,  she  defies  me, 
Like  Turk  to  Christian.    Woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention, 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance.    Will  you  hear  the 
letter  ? 

Silvius. 
So  please  you  ;  for  1  never  heard  it  yet, 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Pkebe's  cruelty. 
Rosalind. 
She  Phebes  me.    Mark  how  the  tyrant  writes. 
"  Art  thou  god  to  shepherd  turn'd, 
That  a  maiden's  heart  hath  burn'd  ?"— 
Can  a  woman  rail  thus  ? 

Silvius. 
Call  you  this  railing  ? 

Rosalind. 
"  Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 
Warr'st  thou  with  a  woman's  heart?" 

Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing  ? — 

"  Whiles  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me, 
That  could  do  no  vengeance  to  me."— 

Meaning  me  a  beast — 

"  If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne 
Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine, 
Alack  !  in  me  what  strange  effect 
Would  they  work  in  mild  aspect  ? 
Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love ; 
How  then  might  your  prayers  move  ? 
He  that  brings  this  love  to  thee, 
Little  knows  this  love  in  me  : 
And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind  ; 
Whether  that  thy  youth  and  kind 
Will  the  faithful  offer  take 
Of  me,  and  all  that  I  can  make ; 
Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny, 
And  then  I'll  study  how  to  die." 

Silvius. 
Call  you  this  chiding  ? 

Cella. 
Alas,  poor  shepherd ! 

Rosalind. 

Do  you  pity  him  ?  no ;  he  deserves  no  pity 

Wilt  thou  love  such  a  woman  ?  —  What,  to 
make  thee  an  instrument,  and  play  false  strains 
upon  thee  ?  not  to  be  endured  !  —  Well,  go 
your  way  to  her,  (for  I  see,  love  hath  made  thee 
a  tame  snake,)  and  say  this  to  her  :  —  that  if  she 
love  me,  I  charge  her  to  love  thee  ;  if  she  will 
not,  I  will  never  have  her,  unless  thou  entreat 

for  her If  you  be  a  true  lover,  hence,  and  not 

a.  word,  for  here  comes  more  company. 

[Exit  Silvius. 
Enter  Oliver. 
Oliver. 
Good  morrow,  fair  ones.    Pray  you,  if  you 
know, 
Where  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest  stands 
A  sheep-cote,  fenc'd  about  with  olive-trees  ? 

Celia. 
West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighbour 
bottom : 
The  rank  of  osiers,  by  the  murmuring  stream, 
Left  on  your  right  hand,  brings   you  to  the 

place. 
But  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself; 
There's  none  within. 

"  ,  Oliver. 

If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue, 


Then  should  I  know  you  by  description  ;    [fair, 
Such  garments,  and  such  years  :  —  "  The  boy  is 
Of  female  favour,  and  bestows  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister :  the  woman  low. 
And  browner  than  her  brother."    Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for  ? 
Cella. 
It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say,  we  are. 

Oliver. 

Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both  ; 

And  to  that  youth,  he  calls  his  Rosalind, 

He  sends  this  bloody  napkin.    Are  you  he  ? 

Rosalind. 

I  am.    What  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 

Oliver. 

Some  of  my  shame  ;  if  you  will  know  of  me 

What  man  I  am,  and  how,  and  why,  and  where 

This  handkerchief  was  stain'd. 

Celia. 

I  pray  you,  tell  it. 

Oliver. 

When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from 

He  left  a  promise  to  return  again  [you, 

Within   an   hour;    and,   pacing   through  the 

forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befel !  he  threw  his  eye  aside, 
And,  mark,  what  object  did  present  itself  1 
Under  an  old  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd 

with  age, 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair, 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  back :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath 'd  itself, 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,   ap- 

proach'd 
The  opening  of  his  mouth  ;  but  suddenly, 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself, 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush  ;  under  which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry, 
Lay  couching,  head  on   ground,  with  catlike 

watch, 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir ;  for  'tis 
The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast, 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead. 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man, 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 
Cella. 
O  !   I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same 
brother ; 
And  he  did  render  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  liv'd  'mongst  men. 

Oliver. 
And  well  he  might  so  do, 
For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 
Rosalind. 
But,  to  Orlando.  —  Did  he  leave  him  there, 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness  ? 
Oliver. 
Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purpos'd  so ; 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge, 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness, 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him  :  in  which  hurtling 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awak'd. 
Celia. 
Are  you  his  brother  ? 

Rosalind. 

Was  it  you  he  rescu'd  ?  I 
Celia. 
Was't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill 
him? 

Oliver, 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


*57 


Oliver. 
'Twas  I ;  but  'tls  not  I.    I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  wai,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  1  am. 
ROMlfod 
But,  for  the  bloody  napkin  ? 
Oliver. 

By  and  by. 
When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two, 
Tears    our    recountment*    had    most    kindly 

bath'd, 
As,  bow  I  came  into  that  desert  place:  — 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke, 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array,  and  entertainment,     | 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love: 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave, 
There  stripp'd  himself;    and  here,  upon  hit  ! 
The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away,        [arm,  I 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled;  and  now  he  :' 
And  cried  in  fainting  upon  Rosalind,     [fainted,  j 
Brief,  I  recover'd  him,  bound  up  his  wound  ; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  1  am,        [heart, 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise  ;  and  to  give  this  napkin, 
Dyed  in  his  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 
OMb. 


ACT  V. 

SCESE  I.    The  Forest  of  Ardcn. 

hitter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Touchstone. 

WB  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey,    patience, 
gentle  Audrey. 

Audrey. 
'Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all  the 
old  gentleman's  saying. 

Touchstone. 
A  most  wicked  sir  Oliver,  Audrey;  a  most 
vile  Mar-text.    But,  Audrey  ;  there  is  a  youth 
here  in  the  forest  lays  claim  to  you. 
Audrey. 
Ay,  I  know  who  'tis :  he  hath  no  Interest  in 
me  in  the  world.    Here  comes  the  man  you 
mean. 

Enter  William. 


Why, how  now,  Ganymede?  sweet  Ganymede  I 
[Rosalind  swoons. 
Oliver. 
Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood. 


There  is  more  in  it.  —  Cousin  I  ■ 

Oliver. 
Look,  he  recovers. 

Rosalind. 
I  would  I  were  at  home. 
Celia. 
We'll  lead  yon  thither.  —  ' 
I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm  ? 
Oliver. 
Be  of  good  cheer,  youth.  —  You  a  man?  You; 
A  man's  heart.  [lack  ; 

Rosalind. 
I  do  so,   I  confess  it.    Ah,  sirrah  !  a  body 
would  think  this  was  well  counterfeited.     I  pray  ; 
you,  tell  your  brother  how  well  I  counterfeited. 
Heigh  ho  I  — 

Oliver. 
This  was  not  counterfeit :  there  is  too  great 
testimony  in  your  complexion,  that  it  was  a  \ 
;     passion  of  earnest. 

Rosalind. 
Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 
Oliver. 
Well  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  counterfeit ! 
i  to  be  a  man. 

Rosalind. 
So  I  do;  but,  i'faith,  I  should  have  been  a 
woman  by  right. 

Celia. 
Come ;  you  look  paler  and  paler :  pray  you, 
draw  homewards,  —  Good  sir,  go  with  us. 
Oliver. 
That  will  I,  for  I  must  bear  answer  back, 
How  you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 
Rosalind. 
1  shall  devise  something.    But,  I  pray  you, 
commend  my  counterfeiting  to  him.  —.Will  you 


go? 


Touchstone. 
It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown. 
By  my  troth,  we  that  have  good  wits  have  much 
to  answer  for :  we  shall  be  flouting ;  we  cannot 
hold. 

William. 
Good  even,  Audrey. 

Audrey. 
Ganymede!  \      God  ye  good  even,  William. 
William. 
And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touchstone. 
Good  even,  gentle  friend.    Cover  thy  head, 
cover  thy  head :  nay,  pr'ythee,  be  covered.  How 
old  are  you,  friend  ? 

William. 
Five  and  twenty,  sir. 

Touchstone. 
A  ripe  age.     Is  thy  name  William  t 

William. 
William,  sir. 

Touchstone. 
A  fair  name.    Wast  born  i'the  forest  here  t 

William. 
Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touchstone. 
Thank  God  ;— a  good  answer.    Art  rich  ? 

William. 
'Faith,  sir,  so,  so. 

Touchstone. 
So,  so,  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent  good: 
—and  yet  it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so  so.    Art  thou 
wise? 

William. 
Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touchstone.  • 
Why,  thou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  remember 
a  saying ;  ■  The  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise,  but 
the  wise  man  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool."  The 
heathen  philosopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to 
eat  a  grape,  would  open  his  lips  when  he  put  it 
into  his  mouth,  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes 
were  made  to  eat,  and  lips  to  open.  You  do 
love  this  maid  ? 

William. 
I  do,  sir. 

I  Touchstone. 


[Exeunt. 


*5* 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  v.  Sc.  L 


Touchstone. 
Give  me  your  hand.    Art  thou  learned  ? 
William. 

No,  sir.  _      .  . 

Touchstone. 

Then  learn  this  of  me.  To  have,  is  to  have  ; 
for  it  is  a  figure  in  rhetoric,  that  drink,  being 
poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  filling  the 
one  doth  empty  the  other ;  for  all  your  writers 
do  consent,  that  ipse  is  he:  now,  you  are  not 
ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

William. 
Which  he,  sir  ? 

Touchstone. 
He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman.    There- 
fore,  you  clown,  abandon,— which  is  in  the  vulgar, 
leave,— the  society, — which  in  the  boorish  is, 
company,— of  this  female,— which  inthecommon 
ls,_woman  ;   which  together  is,  abandon  the 
society  of  this  female,  or,  clown  thou  perishest ; 
or,  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest ;  or,  to  wit, 
I  kill  thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life 
into  death,  thy  liberty  into  bondage.     I  will  deal  j 
in  poison  with  thee,  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  steel : 
I  will  bandy  with  thee  in  faction  ;  I  will  o'er- 
run  thee  with  policy  ;  I  will  kill  thee  a  hundred 
and  fifty  ways  :  therefore  tremble,  and  depart. 
Audrey. 
Do,  good  William. 

William. 
God  rest  you  merry,  sir.  [Exit. 

Enter  Corin. 
Corin. 
Our  master  and  mistress  seek  you:    come, 
away,  away  1        „, 

Touchstone. 

Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey. — I  atte 
tend. 

SCENE  II.    The  tame. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Oliver, 

Orlando. 

Is't  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance  you 
should  like  her  ?  that,  but  seeing,  you  should 
love  her ;  and,  loving,  woo ;  and,  wooing,  she 
should  grant  ?  and  will  you  persever  to  enjoy 

her?  Oliver. 

Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question, 
the  poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my 
sudden  wooing,  nor  her  sudden  consenting ;  but 
say  with  me,  I  love  Aliena  ;  say  with  her,  that 
she  loves  me  ;  consent  with  both,  that  we  may 
enjoy  each  other  :  it  shall  be  to  your  good ;  for 
my  father's  house,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was 
old  sir  Rowland's,  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and 
here  live  and  die  a  shepherd. 
Orlando. 

You  have  my  consent. 
Let  your  wedding  be  to-morrow :  thither  will  I 
Invite  the  duke,  and  all's  contented  followers. 
Enter  Rosalind. 

Go  you,  and  prepare  Aliena  ;  for,  look  you, 
Here  comes  my  Rosalind. 
Rosalind. 
God  save  you,  brother. 

Oliver 
And  you,  fair  sister.  [Exit. 

Rosalind. 
O  !  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to 
see  thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf. 


J,  I  at- 
ixeunt. 


Orlando. 
It  is  my  aim.        _      ,.    . 
Rosalind. 
I  thought  thy  heart  had  been  wounded  with 
the  claws  of  a  lion. 

Orlando. 
Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Rosalind 
Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counterfeited 
to  swoon,  when  he  showed  me  your  handker- 
chief? 

Orlando, 
Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 
Rosaljnd. 

0  !  I  know  where  you  are. — Nay,  'tis  true : 
there  was  never  any  thing  so  sudden,  but  the 
fight  of  two  rams,  and  C&sar'a  thrasonical  brag 
of—"  I  came,  saw,"  and  "overcame:  "  for  your 
brother  and  my  sister  no  sooner  met,  but  they 
looked  ;  no  sooner  looked,  but  they  loved  ;  no 
sooner  loved,  but  they  sighed  ;  no  sooner  sighed, 
but  they  asked  one  another  the  reason  ;  no 
sooner  knew  the  reason,  but  they  sought  the  re- 
medy:  and  in  these  degrees  have  they  made  a 
pair  of  stairs  to  marriage,  which  they  will  climb 
incontinent,  or  else  be  incontinent  before  mar- 
riage. They  are  in  the  very  wrath  of  love,  and 
they  will  together:  clubs  cannot  part  them. 

Orlando. 
They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I  will 
bid  the  duke  to  the  nuptial.     But,  () !   how 
bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through 
another  man's  eyes  1    By  so  much  the  more 
shall  1  to-morrow  be  at  the  height  of  heart- 
heaviness,  by  how  much  I  shall  think  my  brother 
happy  in  having  what  he  wishes  for. 
Rosalind. 
Why  then,  to-morrow  1  cannot  serve  your 
turn  for  Rosalind. 

Orlando. 

1  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Rosalind. 
I  will  weary  you,  then,  no  longer  with  idle 
talking.  Know  of  me,  then,  (for  now  I  speak  to 
some  purpose,)  that  1  know  you  are  a  gentleman 
of  good  conceit.  I  speak  not  this,  that  you  should 
bear  a  good  opinion  of  my  knowledge,  insomuch, 
I  say,  I  know  you  are ;  neither  do  I  labour  for 
a  greater  esteem  than  may  in  some  little  measure 
draw  a  belief  from  you.  to  do  yourself  good,  and 
not  to  grace  me.  Believe  then,  if  you  please, 
that  I  can  do  strange  things.  I  have,  since  I 
was  three  years  old,  conversed  with  a  magician, 
most  profound  in  his  art,  and  yet  not  damnable. 
If  you  do  love  Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as 
your  gesture  cries  it  out,  when  your  brother 
marries  Aliena,  shall  you  marry  her.  I  know 
into  what  straits  of  fortune  she  is  driven  ;  and  it 
is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it  appear  not  incon- 
venient to  you,  to  set  her  before  your  eyes  to- 
morrow, human   as  she  is,  and  without   any 

danger'  Orlando. 

Speak'st  thou  in  sober  meanings  ? 

Rosalind. 
By  my  life,  I  do  ;  which  I  tender  dearly, 
though  1  say  I  am  a  magician.  Therefore,  put 
you  in  your  best  array,  bid  your  friends,  for  if: 
you  will  be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall,  and 
to  Rosalind,  if  you  will. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 

Look  ;  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover 
of  hers.  _.    . 

Phebe. 


Sc,  iv. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


159 


Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentleneM, 
I  To  show  the  letter  that  1  writ  to  you. 
•ml. 
1  care  not,  If  I  have :  It  is  my  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you. 
You  are  there  followed  by  a  faithful  shepherd  : 
Look  upon  him,  love  him  ;  he  worships  you. 

•be. 
Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to 
love. 

Silvius. 
It  if  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears  ; 
And  so  am  1  for  Phebe. 

Phebo. 
And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orlando. 
And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind. 
And  I  for  no  woman. 

Silviui. 
It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service } 
And  so  am  1  for  Phebe. 

Phebe. 
And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orlando. 
And  1  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind. 
And  I  for  no  woman. 

Silvias. 
It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy, 
All  made  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes  ; 
All  adoration,  duty,  and  observance  ; 
All  humbleness,  all  patience,  and  impatience; 
All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance ; 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phebe. 
And  so  am  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orlando. 
And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rosalind. 
And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phebe.  [To,  ltosalind. 

If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Sllvlus.  [To  Phebe. 

If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Orlando. 
If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you  ? 

Rosalind. 

Why  do  you  speak,  too,  "  why  blame  you  me 
to  love  you?" 

Orlando. 
To  her,  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear. 

I 
Pray  you,  no  more  of  this :  'tis  like  the  howl-i 
ing  of  Irish  wolves  against  the  moon — I  will 
help  you,f  To  SiMmt]  if  I  can  :—  I  would  love 
you,*  '      -  if  I  could.  — To-morrow  meeti 

me  all  together.—  I  will  marry  you,[To  Phebe}  '' 
if  ever  1  marry  woman,  and  I  11  be  married  to- 
morrow :— I  will  satisfy  you,  |  ;,uL>l  If 
ever  1  satisfied  man,  and  you  shall  be  married 
to-moirow:—  I  will  content  you.i  To  Silviy\)  M 
what  pleases  you  contents  you,  and  you  shall  be 
married  to-morrow.  —  As  you  [To  Orlando] 
love  Rosalind,  meet ;  —  as  you;  r0  Silvmsl   »ov 


Orlando 


Nor  I.       [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    The  tame. 
Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 


is  the'Yovim'cfay, 
e  bo  married. 


ay,  Audrey:  to- 


i'llr 


Phebe,  meet ;  and  as  1  love  no  woman.  I  llmeet. 
—So,  fare  you  well :  I  have  left  you  commands, 

Silvius. 
I'll  not  fail,  if  I  live. 


To-morrow 
morrow  will  we 

I  do  desire  it  with  all  my^heart,  and  I  hope  it 
is  no  dishonest  desire,  to  desire  to  be  a  woman 
of  the  world.  Here  come  two  of  the  banish'd 
duke's  pages. 

Enter  two  Pages. 
Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 

By  my  troth,  weUmet.*  °(Some,  sit ;  sit,  and  a 
song. 

We  are  for  you :  sit  F  the'  middle. 

I  Page 
Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without  hawking, 
or  spitting,  or  saying  we  are  hoarse,  which  are 
the  only  prologues  to  a  bad  voice  ? 

1'faith,  i'faith  ;  and  WJifi  in  a  tune,  like  two 
gypsies  on  a  horse. 

■OHO: 

It  was  a  lover,  and  his  lass, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-field  did  pass 

In  the  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ring  time, 
When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding  ; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 
Between  the  acres  of  the  rye, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
These  pretty  countryfolks  would  lie, 

In  spring  time,  Sgc. 
This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
How  that  a  life  was  but  a  flower 

In  spring  time,  8fC 
And  therefore  take  the  present  time, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
For  love  is  crowned  with  the  prime 

In  spring  time,  %c. 

Truly,  young  genttemeni 
great  matter  In  the  ditty,  yet  the  note  was  very 
untuneable. 

You  are  deceived,'  slrV 'we  kept  time ;  we  lost 
not  our  time. 

By  my  troth,  yes"1!  count  it  but  time  lost  to 
hear  such  a  foolish  6ong.  God  be  wi'  you  ;  and 
God  mend  your  voices.    Come,  Audrey. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 V .    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Duke,  Senior,  Amiens,  Jaques,  Orlando, 
Oliver,  and  Celta. 

Dost  thou  believe'  Orlando,  that  the  toy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised  ? 

Orlando. 


»6o 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  v.  Sc.  it. 


Orlando. 
1  sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do  not, 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

Enter  Rosalind,  Silvius,  and  Phebe. 

Rosalind. 

Patience  once  more,  whiles  our  compact  is 

urg'd. —  [Rosalind, 

[To  the  Duke.]  You  gay,  if  I  bring  in  your 

You  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here  ? 

Duke,  Senior. 

That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give  with  her. 

Rosalind.  [To  Orlando. 

And  you  say,  you  will  have  her,  when  I  bring 
her? 

Orlando. 
That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

Rosalind.  [To  Phebe. 

You  say,  you'll  marry  me,  if  I  be  willing  ? 

Phebe. 
That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 

Rosalind. 

But  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me,         [herd  ? 

You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  faithful  shep- 

Phebe. 

So  is  the  bargain. 

Rosalind .  [  To  Silvius. 

You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phebe,  if  she  will  ? 

Silvius. 
Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one 
thing. 

Rosalind. 

I  have  promis'd  to  make  all  this  matter  even. 

Keep  you  your  word,  O  duke  1  to  give  your 

daughter;— 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter:  — 
Keep  you  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you'll  marry 

me; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd :  — 
Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her. 
If  she  refuse  me :  —and  from  hence  I  go, 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  and  Celia. 
Duke,  Senior. 
I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd-boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughter's  favour. 
Orlando. 
My  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him, 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter : 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born, 
And  hath  been  tutorM  in  the  rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  studies  by  his  uncle, 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician, 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Jaques. 

There  is,  sure,  another  flood   toward,   and 

these  couples  are  coming  to  the  ark.      Here 

comes  a  pair  of  very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all 

tongues  are  called  fools. 

Touchstone. 
Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all. 

Jaques.  ! 

Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome.    This  is  the 

motley-minded  gentleman,  that  I  have  so  often 

met  in  the  forest :  he  hath  been  a  courtier,  he 

swears. 

Touchstone. 
If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my 
purgation.    I  have  trod  a  measure  ;  I  have  flat- 
tered a  lady  ;  I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend, 


|  smooth  with  mine  enemy  ;  I  have  undone  three 
tailors  ;  I  have  had  four  quarrels,  and  like  to 
have  fought  one. 

Jaaues. 
And  how  was  that  ta  en  up  ? 

Touchstone. 
'Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was 
upon  the  seventh  cause. 

How  seventh  cause? — Good  my  lord,  like 
;  this  fellow. 

Duke,  Senior. 
I  like  him  very  well. 

Touchstone. 
j     God'ild  you,  sir ;  I  desire  you  of  the  like.    I 
I  press  in  here,  sir,  amongst  the    rest    of  the 
j  country  copulatives,  to  swear,  and  to  forswear, 
I  according  as  marriage  binds,  and  blood  breaks. 

—  A  poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favoured  thing,  sir, 

but  mine  own  :  a  poor  humour  of  mine,  sir,  to 
:  take  that  that  no  man  else  will.     Rich  honesty 

dwells  like  a  miser,  sir,  in  a  poor-house,  as  your 

pearl  in  your  foul  oyster. 

Duke,  Senior. 
By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sententious. 

Touchstone. 
According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such 
dulcet  diseases. 

Jaques. 
But,  for  the  seventh  cause  ;  how  did  you  find 
the  quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause  ? 

Touchstone. 

Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed Bear  your 

body  more  seeming,  Audrey.  —  As  thus,  sir.  I 
did  dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard  : 
he  sent  me  word,  if  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut 
well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was :  this  is  called 
the  "  retort  courteous."  If  I  sent  him  word 
again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  send  me 
word,  he  cut  it  to  please  himself:  this  is  called 
the  "  quip  modest."  If  again,  it  was  not  well 
cut,  he  disabled  my  judgment:  this  is  called  the 
"  reply  churlish."  If  again,  it  was  not  well  cut, 
he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true :  this  is  called 
the  "  reproof  valiant."  If  again,  it  was  not  well 
cut,  he  would  say,  I  lie :  this  is  called  the  "  coun- 
tercheck quarrelsome ; "  and  so  to  the  "  lie  cir- 
cumstantial," and  the  "  lie  direct." 

Jaques. 
And  how  oft  did  you  say,  his  beard  was  not 
well  cut  ? 

I  durst  go  no  farther  than  the  "lie  circum- 


stantial, 
direct ; ' 
parted. 


nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  "lie 
and   so   we   measured    swords   and 


Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees 


you 
of  the  lie. 

Touchstone.  ,  , 
O  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book,  as  you 
have  books  for  good  manners :  I  will  name  you 
the  degrees.  The  first,  the  retort  courteous ; 
the  second,  the  quip  modest;  the  third,  the 
reply  churlish  ;  the  fourth,  the  reproof  valiant; 
the  fifth,  the  countercheck  quarrelsome;  the 
sixth,  the  lie,  with  circumstance ;  the  seventh, 
the  lie  direct.  All  these  you  may  avoid,  but  the 
lie  direct ;  and  you  may  avoid  that  too,  with  an 
jf.  I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  take 
up  a  quarrel ;  but  when  the  parties  were  met 
themselves,  one  of  them  thought  but  of  an  if,  as 
If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so  ;  and  they  shook 
hands  and  swore  brothers.    Your  if  is  the  only1 


peace-maker  ;  much  virtue  in  if. 


Jaques 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


261 


Jaques. 
Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord?  he's  as 
good  at  any  thing,  and  yet  a  fool. 

•bui 

He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse,  and 
under  the  presentation  of  tint,  he  shoots  hit 
».t. 

Kilter  Hymen,  leading  Rosalind  in  woman's 

clothes;  and  Cilia. 

Still  Music. 

Hymen. 

Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven. 

When  earthly  things  made  even 

Atone  together. 
Good  duke,  receive  thy  daughter, 
Hymen/Vein  heaven  brought  her, 

Yea,  brought  her  hither, 

That  thou  might'stjoin  her  hand  with  his, 

Whose  heart  within  her  bosom  is. 

Rosalind. 

[To  Duke,  Senior.]  To  you  I  give  myself,  for 

r_,      I  am  yours.  [yours. 

[To  Orlando.]   To  you  I  give  myself,  lor  I  am 

Duke,  Senior. 

If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  daughter. 

Orlando. 
If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rotalind. 

Thebe. 
If  sight  and  shape  be  true, 
Why  then,  my  love  adieu  I 
Rosalind. 
[To  Duke,  Senior.]   m  nave  no  father,  if  you 

[To  Orlando*    fa  bave  no  husband,  if  you  be 

rrp     fnothe:—  [not  she. 

[To  Pncle.  J   Nor  ne-er  wed  woman,  if  you  be 

Hymen. 

Peace,  ho  1  I  bar  confusion. 

'Tis  1  must  make  conclusion 

Of  these  most  strange  events  : 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands, 
To  join  in  Hymen' a  bands, 

If  truth  holds  true  contents. 
[  To  Otlando  and  Rosalinda]    you  ana-  you 

J    You  and  you  are 


I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly. — 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Addrcss'd  a  mighty  power,  which  were  on  foot 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here,  and  put  him  to  the  sword. 
;  And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came. 
Where,  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man, 
;  After  some  question  with  him.  was  converted 
Both  from  his  enterprize,  and  from  the  world  ; 
His  crown  bequeathing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  Lmds  restor'd  to  them  again. 
That  were  with  him  exil'd.     This  to  be  true, 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke,  Senior. 

Welcome,  young  man  ; 
;  Thou  ofler'st  fairly  to  thy  brothers*  wedding  : 
■  To  one,  his  lands  withheld  ;  and  to  the  other, 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest,  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  here  were  well  begun,  and  well  begot ; 
j  And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number,  [us, 

I  That  have  endur'd  shrewd  days  and  nights  with 
1  Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune, 
I  According  to  the  measure  of  their  'states. 
,  Meantime,  forget  this  new-fall'n  dignity, 
And  fall  Into  our  rustic  revelry. — 
Play,  music  2  and  you  brides  and  bridegrooms 
all,  [fall. 

With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures 
Jaques . 
Sir,  by  your  patience. — If  I  heard  you  rightly 
i  The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life, 
I  And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court  ? 
2  Brother. 
He  hath. 

Jaques. 
To  him  will  I :  out  of  these  convertites 
'  There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  learn'd. — 
j  You  [To  Duke,  Senior]  to  your  former  honour 


1  bequeath  ;  [it :  — 

Your  patience,  and  your  virtue,  well  deserve 
You  [To  Ortana\>]  to  a  love,  that  your  true  faith 


[To 
[To 


hear  tin  heart: 

"hebe.}    you  to  his  love  must  accord, 
Or  have  a.  woman  to  your  lord : 
[To  Touchstone  and  Audrey.]  you  and  you 

are  sure  together, 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing, 
l\^d  yourselves  with  questioning, 
That  reason  wonder  may  diminish, 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

BONO. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno'*-  crown  : 

O,  blessed  bond  1/ board  and  bed  I 
'Tis  Hymen  peoples  every  town  ; 

High  wedlock,  then,  be  honoured : 
Honour,  high  honour,  and  lenown, 
To  Hymen,  god  qf  every  town  1 
Duke,  Senior. 
O,  my  dear  niece !  welcome  thou  art  to  me : 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  degree. 

[To  Siliius.]     1  wni  not  eat  my  Word,  now 
thou  art  mine : 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine. 
Enter  Second  Brctker. 
t  Brother. 
Lei  me  have  audience  for  a  word  or  two. 


erit :  —  [great  allies 

j  You  [To  Oliver]  to  your  land,  and  love,  and 
1  You   [To  Silvtus]  to  a  long  and  well  deserved 
bed :  —  [thy  loving  voyage 

i  And  you   [To   Touchstone]  to  wrangling  .   for 
Is  but  for  two  months  victuall'd — So,  to  your 
pleasures : 
I  I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 
Duke,  Senior. 
Stay,  Jaques,  stay. 

Jaques. 
To  see  no  pastime,  I: — what  you  would  have, 
I'll  stay  to  know  at  your  abandon'd  cave. 

[Exit. 
Duke,  Senior. 
Proceed,  proceed  :  we  will  begin  these  rites, 
As  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights. 

EPILOGUE. 
Rosalind. 

It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the  epi- 
logue ;  but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome,  than  to 
see  the  lord  the  prologue.  If  it  be  true,  that 
I  good  wine  needs  no  bush,  'tis  true  that  a  good 
play  needs  no  epilogue  ;  yet  to  good  wine  th>  y 
do  use  good  bushes,  and  good  plays  prove  the 
better  by  the  help  of  good  epilogues.  What  a  I 
case  am  I  in,  then,  that  am  neither  a  good  epi-  ! 
logue,  nor  cannot  insinuate  with  you  in  the 
behalf  of  a  good  play  ?  I  am  not  furnished  like 
a  beggar,  therefore  to  bog  will  not  become  me: 

J >«yj 


»6a 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW 


INDUCTION. 


my  way  is,  to  conjure  you  ;  and  I'll  begin  with  ' 
the  women.  I  charge  you,  O  women  !  for  the 
love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much  of  this 
play  as  please  you :  and  I  charge  you,  O  men  1 
for  the  love  you  bear  to  women,  (as  I  perceive  \ 
by  your  simpering  none  of  you  hates  them,)  that 
between  you  and  the  women,   the   play  may 


please.  If  I  were  a  woman,  I  would  kiss  asi 
many  of  you  as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,! 
complexions  that  liked  me,  and  breaths  that  I ; 
defied  not;  and,  I  am  sure,  as  many  as  havei 
good  beards,  or  good  faces,  or  sweet  breaths,! 
will,  for  my  kind  offer,  when  I  make  curtsey, 
bid  me  farewell.  [Exeunt  ■ 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


A  Lord,  -) 

Christopher  Sly,  a  Tinker.  Hos-  f  Persons  in  the 

tess,  Page,  Players,  Hunts- 1     Induction. 

men,  and  Servants.  J 

Baptista,  a  rich  Gentleman  of  Padua. 
Vincentio,  an  old  Gentleman  of  Pisa. 
Lucentio,  Son  to  Vincentio. 
Petruchio,  a  Gentleman  of  Verona. 

gyP1*.     I  Suitors  to  Bianca.. 
Biondello,  j ' 


CurSs',0'}  Servants  *°  Petruchio. 

The  Pedant. 

^^^'iDauskterstoBwtMa. 

;  Widow. 

Tailor,  Haberdasher,  and  Servants  attending  on 
Baptista  and  Petruchio. 

SCENE,  sometimes  in  Padua;  and  sometimes 
'  in  Petruchio's  House  in  the  Country. 


©■4gk*"#--0-*-#-0- 


INDUCTION. 

SCENE  I.    Before  an  Alehouse  on  a  Heath. 
Enter  Hostess  and  Sly. 
Sly. 
"I  'LL  pheese  you,  in  faith. 
•*  Hostess. 

A  pair  of  stocks,  you  rogue. 

Sly. 

Y'are  a  baggage :  the  Slys  are  no  rogues  ;  look 
in  the  chronicles,  we  came  in  with  Richard  Con~ 
queror.  Therefore,  paucas  pallabris  ;  let  the 
world  slide.    Sessa  I 

Hostess. 

You  will  not  pay  for  the  glasses  you  have 
burst?  SJy 

No,  not  a  denier.    Go,  by  S.  Jeronimy  : 
Go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee. 
Hostess. 
I  know  my  remedy  ;  I  must  go  fetch  the  third- 


borough. 


Sly. 


[Exit. 


Third,  or  fourth,  or  fifth  borough,  I'll  answer 
him  by  law.  I'll  not  budge  an  inch,  boy :  let 
him  come,  and  kindly. 

[Lies  down  on  the  ground,  and  tails  asleep. 


Wind  Horns.   Enter  a  Lord  from  hunting,  with 
Huntsmen  and  Servants. 

Lord. 
Huntsman,  I  charge  thee,  tender  well  my 
hounds : 
Brach  Merriman,— the  poor  cur  is  emboss'd, 
And  couple  Clowder  with   the   deep-mouth'd 

brach. 
Saw'st  thou  not,  boy,  how  Silver  made  it  good 
At  the  hedge  corner,  in  the  coldest  fault  ? 
I  would  not  lose  the  dog  for  twenty  pound. 

1  Huntsman. 
|      Why,  Belman  is  as  good  as  he,  my  lord  ; 
1  He  cried  upon  it  at  the  merest  loss, 
i  And  twice  to-day  pick'd  out  the  dullest  scent : 
j  Trust  me,  I  take  him  for  the  better  dog. 
Lord. 
Thou  art  a  fool :  if  Echo  were  as  fleet, 
I  I  would  esteem  him  worth  a  dozen  such. 
!  But  sup  them  well,  and  look  unto  them  all : 
To-morrow  I  intend  to  hunt  again. 
I  Huntsman. 

;     I  will,  my  lord. 

Lord. 


What's  here?  one  dead,  or  drunk  ?   See, doth 


he  breathe  ? 


2  Huntsman. 


isnrcriMN. 


TAMIMJ   OF  TilK  MIKKW. 


»6j 


2  Huntsman. 
He  breathes,  my  lord      Were  he  not  warm 'd 
with  .ilo, 
This  were  a  bed  but  cold  to  sleep  so  soundly. 

Lord. 

O,  monstrous  beast !  how  like  a  swine  he  lies. 
Grim  death,  how  foul  and  loathsome  is  thine 

image ! 
Sirs,  1  will  practise  on  this  drunken  man. 
What  think  you.  if  he  were  convey'd  to  bed, 
Wrapp'd  in  sweet  cjothes,  rings  put  upon  his 

fingers, 
A  most  delicious  banquet  by  his  bed, 
And  brave  attendants  near  him  when  he  wakes, 
Would  not  the  beggar  then  forget  himself  V 

1  Huntsman. 

Believe  me,  lord,  I  think  he  cannot  choose. 

2  Huntsman. 

It  would  seem  strange  unto  him  when  he 
wak'd. 

Lord. 

Even  as  a  flattering  dream,  or  worthless  fancy. 
Then  take  him  up,  and  manage  well  the  jest. 
Carry  him  gently  to  my  fairest  chamber, 
And  hang  it  round  with  all  my  wanton  pictures ; 
Balm  his  foul  head  with  warm  distilled  waters, 
And  burn  sweet  wood  to  make  the  lodging  sweet : 
Procure  me  music  ready  when  he  wakes, 
To  make  a  dulcet  and  a  heavenly  sound  ; 
And  if  he  chance  to  speak,  be  ready  straight, 
And,  with  a  low  submissive  reverence, 
Say, — what  is  it  your  honour  will  command  ? 
Let  one  attend  him  with  a  silver  bason, 
Full  of  rose-water,  and  bestrew'd  with  flowers  ; 
Another  hear  the  ewer,  the  third  a  diaper, 
And  say,— will't  please  your  lordship  cool  your 
Some  one  be  ready  with  a  costly  suit,     [hands  ? 
And  ask  him  what  apparel  he  will  wear ; 
Another  tell  him  of  his  hounds  and  horse, 
And  that  his  lady  mourns  at  his  disease. 
Persuade  him,  that  he  hath  been  lunatic  ; 
And,  when  he  says  he  is—,  say,  that  he  dreams, 
For  he  is  nothing  but  a  mighty  lord. 
This  do,  and  do  it  kindly,  gentle  sirs : 
It  will  be  pastime  passing  excellent, 
If  it  be.  husbanded  with  modesty. 

I  Huntsman. 

My  lord,  I  warrant  you,  we  will  play  our  part, 
As  he  shall  think,  by  our  true  diligence, 
He  is  no  less  than  what  we  say  he  is. 
Lord. 
Take  him  up  gently,  and  to  bed  with  him, 
And  each  one  to  his  office  when  he  wakes.— 

[Sty  is  borne  out.    A  trumpet  sounds. 

Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet  'tis  that  sounds :  — 

[Exit  Servant. 

Belike,  some  noble  gentleman,  that  means, 

Travelling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  here. — 

Re-enter  Servant. 

How  now?  who  is  it? 

Servant. 

An  it  please  your  honour, 
Players  that  offer  service  to  your  lordship. 

Lord. 

Bid  them  come  near. 

Enter  Playert. 

Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome. 
Players. 
We  thank  your  honour. 


Lord. 

Do  you  intend  to  stay  with  me  to-night  ? 

2  Player. 
So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our  duty. 

Lord. 

With  all  my  heart — This  fellow  I  remember, 
Since  once  he  play'd  a  farmer's  eldest  son  :— 
'Twas  where  you  woo'd  the  gentlewoman  so 

well. 
I  have  forgot  your  name  ;  but,  sure,  that  part 
Was  aptly  fitted,  and  naturally  perform'd. 

I  Player 
I  think,  'twas  Soto  that  your  honour  means. 

Lord. 

'Tis  very  true:  thou  did'st  it  excellent. 
j  Well,  you  are  come  to  me  in  happy  time, 
i  The  rather  for  1  have  some  sport  in  hand, 
1  Wherein  your  cunning  can  assist  me  much. 
There  is  a  lord  will  hear  you  play  to-night ; 
But  I  am  doubtful  of  your  modesties, 
Lest,  over-eying  of  his  odd  behaviour, 
(For  yet  his  honour  never  heard  a  play,) 
You  break  into  some  merry  passion, 
!  And  so  offend  him  ;  for  1  tell  you,  sirs, 
I  If  you  should  smile  he  grows  impatient. 

1  Player 

Fear  not,  my  lord :  we  can  contain  ourselves, 
j  Were  he  the  veriest  antic  in  the  world. 

Lord. 
!      Go.  sirrah,  take  them  to  the  buttery, 
And  give  them  friendly  welcome  every  one : 
Let  them  want  nothing  that  my  house  affords — 
{Exeunt  Servant  and  Playert. 
[To  a  Servant. 1  Sirrah,  go  you  to  Bartholmew 

my  page, 
And  see  him  dress'd  in  all  suits  like  a  lady : 
That  done,  conduct    him    to   the   drunkard's 

chamber ; 
And  call  him  madam,  do  him  obeisance  : 
.  Tell  him  from  me,  as  he  will  win  my  love, 
1  He  bear  himself  with  honourable  action, 
Such  as  he  hath  observ'd  in  noble  ladies 
Unto  their  lords  by  them  accomplished: 
Such  duty  to  the  drunkard  let  him  do, 
With  soft  low  tongue,  and  lowly  courtesy  ; 
And  say, — what  is't  your  honour  will  command. 
Wherein  your  lady,  and  your  humble  wife 
May  show  her  duty,  and  make  known  her  love  ? 
And  then,  with  kind  embracements,  tempting 

kisses, 
And  with  declining  head  into  his  bosom, 
Bid  him  shed  tears,  as  being  overjoy'd 
To  see  her  noble  lord  restor'd  to  health, 
Who  for  this  seven  years  ha  h  esteemed  him 
No  better  than  a  poor  and  loathsome  beggar. 
And  if  the  boy  have  not  a  woman's  gift, 
To  rain  a  shower  of  commanded  tears, 
An  onion  will  do  well  for  such  a  shift, 
Which,  in  a  napkin  being  close  convey'd, 
Shall  in  despite  enforce  a  watery  eye. 
See  this  despatch'd  with  all  the  haste  thou  canst : 
Anon  I'll  give  thee  more  instructions. 


[Exit  Servant. 
the 


I  know,  the  boy  will  well  usurp  the  grace 
Voice,  gait,  and  action  of  a  gentlewoman  : 
I  long  to  hear  him  call  the  drunkard  husband, 
And  how  my  men  will  stay  themselves  from 

laughter, 
When  they  do  homage  to  this  simple  peasant. 
I'll  in  to  counsel  them  :  haply,  my  presence 
May  well  abate  the  over-merry  spleen, 
Wliich  otherwise  would  grow  into  extremes. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


*64 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


INDUCTION. 


SCENE  II.   A  Bedchamber  in  the  Lord's  House. 

Sly  is  discovered,  with  Attendants;  some  with 
apparel,  others  with  bason,  ewer,  and  appur- 
tenances. Enter  Lord,  dressed  like  a  Servant. 


For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale. 

1  Servant. 

Willt  please  your  lordship  drink  a  cup  of 

2  Servant. 

Willt  please  your  honour  taste  of  these  con- 
eerves  ? 

3  Servant. 

What  raiment  will  your  honour  wear  to-day  ? 
Sly. 

1  am  Christophero  Sly ;  call  not  me  honour, 
nor  lordship :  I  ne'er  drank  sack  in  my  life ;  and 
if  you  give  me  any  conserves,  give  me  conserves 
of  beet  Ne'er  ask  me  what  raiment  I'll  wear, 
for  I  have  no  more  doublets  than  backs,  no  more 
stockings  than  legs,  nor  no  more  shoes  than 
feet ;  nay,  sometime,  more  feet  than  shoes,  or 
such  shoes  as  my  toes  look  through  the  over- 
leather. 

Lord. 

Heaven  cease  this  idle  humour  in  your  honour  I 
O !  that  a  mighty  man,  of  such  descent, 
Of  such  possessions,  and  so  high  esteem, 
Should  be  infused  with  so  foul  a  spirit  I 
Sly. 

What !  would  you  make  me  mad  ?  Am  not  I 
Christopher  Sly,  old  Sly's  son,  of  Burton-heath; 
by  birth  a  pedlar,  by  education  a  card-maker, 
by  transmutation  a  bear-herd,  and  now  by  present 
profession  a  tinker?  Ask  Marian  Hacket,  the 
fat  alewife  of  Wincot,  if  she  know  me  not :  if 
she  say  I  am  not  fourteen  pence  on  the  score  for 
sheer  ale,  score  me  up  for  the  lyingest  knave  in 
Christendom.  What  1  I  am  not  bestraught. 
Here's — 

1  Servant. 

O  !  this  it  is  that  makes  your  lady  mourn. 

2  Servant. 

O  1  this  it  is  that  makes  your  servants  droop. 

Lord 
Hence  comes  it  that  your  kindred  shun  your 
As  beaten  hence  by  your  strange  lunacy,  [house, 
O,  noble  lord  I  bethink  thee  of  thy  birth  ; 
Call  home  thy  ancient  thoughts  from  banish- 
ment, 
And  banish  hence  these  abject  lowly  dreams. 
Look  how  thy  servants  do  attend  on  thee, 
Each  in  his  office  ready  at  thy  beck : 
Wilt  thou  have  music  P  hark  1  Apollo  plays, 

[Music. 
And  twenty  caged  nightingales  do  sing : 
Or  wilt  thou  sleep  ?  we'll  have  thee  to  a  couch, 
Softer  and  sweeter  than  the  lustful  bed 
On  purpose  trimm'd  up  for  Semiramis. 
Say  thou  wilt  walk,  we  will  bestrew  the  ground: 
Or  wilt  thou  ride,  thy  horses  shall  be  trapp'd, 
Their  harness  studded  all  with  gold  and  pearl. 
Dost  thou  love  hawking  ?  thou  hast  hawks  will 

soar 
Above  the  morning  lark :  or  wilt  thou  hunt  ? 
Thy  hounds  shall   make   the   welkin   answer 

them, 
And  fetch  shrill  echoes  from  the  hollow  earth. 

1  Servant. 
Say  thou  wilt  course,  thy  greyhounds  are  as 
swift 
As  breathed  stags,  ay,  fleeter  than  the  roe. 


2  Servant. 

Dost  thou  love  pictures  ?  we  will  fetch  thee 
Adonis  painted  by  a  running  brook,       [straight 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid, 
Which  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with   her 

breath, 
Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind. 
Lord. 

We'a  show  thee  Io  as  she  was  a  maid, 
And  how  she  was  beguiled  and  surpris'd, 
As  lively  painted  as  the  deed  was  done. 

3  Servant. 

Or  Daphne  roaming  through  a  thorny  wood, 
Scratching  her  legs,  that  one  shall  swear  she 

bleeds ; 
And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weep, 
So  workmanly  the  blood  and  tears  are  drawn. 
Lord. 
Thou  art  a  lord,  and  nothing  but  a  lord : 
Thou  hast  a  lady,  far  more  beautiful 
Than  any  woman  in  this  waning  age. 

1  Servant. 

And,  till  the  tears  that  she  hath  shed  for  thee, 
Like  envious  floods,  o'er-ran  her  lovely  face, 
She  was  the  fairest  creature  in  the  world ; 
And  yet  she  is  inferior  to  none. 
Sly. 

Am  I  a  lord  ?  and  have  I  such  a  lady  ? 
Or  do  I  dream  ?  or  have  I  dream'd  till  now  ? 
I  do  not  sleep  ;  I  see,  I  hear,  I  speak : 

I  smell  sweet  savours,  and  I  feel  soft  things 

Upon  my  lite,  I  am  a  lord,  indeed, 
And  not  a  tinker,  nor  Christopher  Sly.  — 
Well,  bring  our  lady  hither  to  our  sight ; 
And  once  again,  a  pot  o'the  smallest  ale. 

2  Servant. 

Will't  please  your  mightiness  to  wash  your 
hands  ? 

[Servants  present  an  ewer,  bason,  and 
napkin. 
O,  how  we  joy  to  see  your  wit  restor'd  ! 
O,  that  once  more  you  knew  but  what  you  are  1 
These  fifteen  years  you  have  been  in  a  dream, 
Or,  when  you  wak'd,  so  wak'd  as  if  you  slept. 
Sly. 
These  fifteen  years  !  by  my  fay,  a  goodly  nap. 
But  did  I  never  speak  of  all  that  time  ? 
1  Servant. 
O  1  yes,  my  lord,  but  very  idle  words  ;  — 
For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber, 
Yet  would  you  say.  ye  were  beaten  out  of  door, 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house. 


And  say  you  would  present  her  at  the  leet 
Because  she  brought  stone  jugs 


no  seal'd 


quarts. 

Sometimes  you  would  call  out  for  Cicely  Hacket. 
Sly. 
Ay,  the  woman's  maid  of  the  house. 

3  Servant. 
Why,  sir,  you  know  no  house,  nor  no  such 
maid, 
Nor  no  such  men,  as  you  have  reckon'd  up,  — 
As  Stephen  Sly,  and  old  John  Naps  of  Greece, 
And  Peter  Turf,  and  Henry  Pimpernell, 
And  twenty  more  such  names  and  men  as  these, 
Which  never  were,  nor  no  man  ever  saw. 
Sly. 
Now,  Lord  be  thanked  for  my  good  amends  ! 

All. 
Amen. 

Sly. 
I  thank  thee ;  thou  shaft  not  lose  by  It. 

Enter 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SIIKI.W. 


•65 


Enter  the  Page,  m  a  Lady,  with  Attendants. 

How  fare*  my  noble  lord  ? 

Sly. 
Marry,  I  fare  well ;  for  here  Is  cheer  enough. 
\Y here  is  my  wife? 

Here,  noble  lord :  what  Is  thy  will  with  her  * 

Are  you  my  wife,  and  will  not  call  me  hus- 
band ?  [man. 
My  men  should  call  me  lord  :  I  am  your  good- 
l'a;*o. 
My  husband  and  my  lord,  my  lord  and  hus- 
I  am  your  wife  in  all  obedience.                 [band ; 
Sly. 
I  know  it  well.  —  What  must  I  call  her  ? 
Lord. 

Madam. 

Sly. 

ATce  madam,  or  Joan  madam  V 

Lord. 
Madam,  and  nothing  else  :  so  lords  call  ladies. 

Sly. 
Madam  wife,  they  say  that  I  have  dream'd, 
And  slept  above  some  fifteen  year  and  more. 
Page. 
Ay,  and  the  time  seems  thirtv  unto  me, 
Being  all  this  time  abandon'd  from  your  bed. 

'Tis  much — Servants,  leave   me  and   her 
alone.  — ' 
Madam,  undress  you,  and  come  now  to  bed. 
Page. 

Thrice  noble  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you 
To  pardon  me  yet  for  a  night  or  two  ; 
Or  if  not  so,  until  the  sun  be  set, 
For  your  physicians  have  expressly  charg'd, 
In  peril  to  incur  your  former  malady, 
That  I  should  yet  absent  me  from  your  bed. 
I  hope  this  reason  stands  for  my  excuse. 
Sly. 

Ay,  it  stands  so,  that  I  may  hardly  tarry  so 
long ;  but  I  would  be  loath  to  fall  into  my 
dreams  again  :  1  will  therefore  tarry,  in  despite 
of  the  flesh  and  the  blood. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Servant. 
Your  honour's  players,  hearing  your  amend- 
ment, 
Are  come  to  play  a  pleasant  comedy  ; 
For  so  your  doctors  hold  it  very  meet, 
Seeing  too  much  sadness  hath  congeal'd  your 
And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  of  frenzy  :    [blood, 
Therefore,  they  thought  it  good  you  hear  a 

play, 
And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment, 
Which  bars  a  thousand  harms,  and  lengthens 
life. 

Sly. 
Marry,  1  will  let  them  play  it.    Is  not  a  com- 
monty  a  Christmas  gambol,  or  aturabling-trick? 

No,  my  good  lord :  it  is  more  pleasing  stuff. 

Sly. 
What,  household  stuff? 
Page. 
It  is  a  kind  of  history. 

Well,  we'll  see't.    Come,  madam  wife,  sit  by 

my  side,  [younger. 

And  let  the  world  slip:    we   shall   ne'er   be 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Padua.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Lucenlio  and  Tranio. 
Luccntlo. 
rjiRANIO,  since,  for  the  great  desire  I  had 
I  -*  To  see  fair  Padua,  nursery  of  arts, 
!  1  am  arrlv'd  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
!  The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy  ; 
!  And,  by  my  father's  love  and  leave,  am  arm'd 
With  his  good  will,  and  thy  good  company, 
'  My  trusty  servant,  well  approv'd  in  all, 
Here  let  us  breathe,  and  haply  institute 
A  course  of  learning,  and  ingenious  studies. 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens, 
Gave  me  my  being ;  and  my  father,  first 
A  merchant  of  great  traffic  through  the  world, 
Fincentio's  come  of  the  Bcntivolii. 
j  Fincentio't  son,  brought  up  in  Florence, 
!  It  shall  become,  to  serve  all  hopes  conceiv'd, 
To  deck  his  fortune  with  his  virtuous  deeds : 
And  therefore,  Tranio,  for  the  time  I  study 
Virtue,  and  that  part  of  philosophy 
Will  I  apply,  that  treats  of  happiness 
By  virtue  specially  to  be  achiev'd. 
Tell  me  thy  mind  ;  for  1  have  Pisa  left, 
And  am  to  Padua  come,  as  he  that  leaves 
A  shallow  plash,  to  plunge  him  in  the  deep, 
And  with  satiety  seeks  to  quench  his  thirst. 
Tranio. 

Mi perdonate,  gentle  master  mine, 
I  am  in  all  affected  as  yourself, 
Glad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve, 
To  suck  the  sweets  of  sweet  philosophy  : 
Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
This  virtue,  aud  this  moral  discipline, 
Let's  be  no  stoics,  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray  ; 
Or  so  devote  to  Aristotle's  checks. 
As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjur'd. 
Balk  logic  with  acquaintance  that  you  have, 
And  practise  rhetoric  in  your  common  talk : 
Music  and  poesy  use  to  quicken  you  : 
The  mathematics,  and  the  metaphysics,      [you. 
Fall  to  them  as  you  find  your  stomach  serve* 
No  profit  grows,  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'en  :  — 
In  brief,  sir,  study  what  you  most  affect. 
Lucentio. 

Gramercies,  Tranio,  well  dost  thou  advise. 
If,  Biondello,  thou  wert  come  ashore, 
We  could  at  once  put  us  in  readiness, 
And  take  a  lodging  fit  to  entertain 
Such  friends  as  time  in  Padua  shall  beget. 
But  stay  awhile  :  what  company  is  this  ? 
Tranio. 

Master,  some  show,  to  welcome  us  to  town. 
Enter  Baptista,   Katharina,  Bianco,    Gremio, 

and  Hortensio.    Lucentio  and  Tranio  stand 

aside. 

Baptista. 

Gentlemen,  importune  me  no  farther, 
For  how  I  firmly  am  resolv'd  you  know  ; 
That  is,  not  to  bestow  my  youngest  daughter, 
Before  1  have  a  husband  for  the  elder. 
If  either  of  you  both  love  Katharina, 
Because  I  know  you  well,  and  love  you  well. 
Leave  shall  you  have   to   court  her  at  your 
pleasure. 

Gremio. 

To  cart  her  rather  :  she's  too  rough  for  me 

There,  thorp,  Hortcmio*  will  you  any  wife  ? 

Katharina. 


z66 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Katharina.         [To  Baptista. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  is  it  your  will 
To  make  a  stale  of  me  amongst  these  mates  ? 
Hortensio. 
Mates,  maid  !  how  mean  you  that  ?  no  mates 
for  you, 
Unless  you  were  of  gentler,  milder  mould. 
Katharina. 
I'faith,  sir,  you  shall  never  need  to  fear: 
I  wis,  it  is  not  half  way  to  her  heart; 
But,  if  it  were,  doubt  not  her  care  should  be 
To  comb  your  noddle  with  a  three-legg'd  stool, ; 
And  paint  your  face,  and  use  you  like  a  fool. 
Hortensio. 
From  all  such  devils,  good  Lord,  deliver  us !    . 

Gremio. 
And  me  too,  good  Lord  ! 
Tranio. 
Hush,  master!  here  is  some  good  pastime 
toward : 
That  wench  is  stark  mad,  or  wonderful  froward. 
Lucentio. 
But  in  the  other's  silence  do  I  see 
Maids'  mild  behaviour,  and  sobriety. 
Peace,  Tranio!        _      , 
Tranio. 

Well  said,  master :  mum  !  and  gaze  your  fill. 

Baptista. 
Gentlemen,  that  I  may  soon  make  good 
What  I  have  said,- -Bianco,  get  you  in  : 
And  let  it  not  displease  thee,  good  Bianca, 
For  I  will  love  thee  ne'er  the  less,  my  girl. 
Katharina. 
A  pretty  peat !  it  is  best 
Put  finger  in  the  eye, —  an  she  knew  why. 
Blanca. 
Sister,  content  you  in  my  discontent — 
Sir,  to  your  pleasure  humbly  I  subscribe : 
My  books,  and  instruments,  shall  be  my  com- 
On  them  to  look,  and  practise  by  myself,  [pany, 
Lucentio. 
Hark,   Tranio!    thou  may'st  hear   Minerva 
speak. 

Hortensio. 
Signior  Baptista,  will  you  be  so  strange  ? 
Sorry  am  1,  that  our  good  will  effects 
Bianca's  grief.         _ 

Gremio. 
Why,  will  you  mew  her  up, 
Signior  Baptista,  for  this  fiend  of  hell, 
And  make  her  bear  the  penance  of  her  tongue  ? 
Baptista. 
Gentlemen,  content  ye  ;  I  am  resolv'd.— 
Go  in,  Bianca.  l>*it  Bianca. 

And  for  I  know,  she  taketh  most  delight 
In  music,  instruments,  and  poetry, 
Schoolmasters  will  I  keep  within  my  house, 
Fit  to  instruct  her  youth.  —  If  you,  Hortensio, 
Or  signior  Gremio,  you,  know  any  such, 
Prefer  them  hither  •,  for  to  cunning  men 
I  will  be  very  kind,  and  liberal 
To  mine  own  children  in  good  bringing-up ; 
And  so  farewell.    Katharina,  you  may  stay, 
For  I  have  more  to  commune  with  Bianca. 

Katharina. 

Why,  and  I  trust,  I  may  go  too  ;  may  I  not  ? 

What !  shall  I  be  appointed  hours,  as  though, 

belike, 
I  knew  not  what  to  take,  and  what  to  leave  ? 
Ha!  „       ,  [Exit. 

Gremio- 
You  may  go  to  the  devil's  dam :  your  gifts 


are  so  good,  here's  none  will  hold  you.  Their 
love  is  not  so  great,  Hortensio,  but  we  may  blow 
our  nails  together,  and  fast  it  fairly  out :  our 
cake's  dough  on  both  sides.  Farewell :  —  yet, 
for  the  love  I  bear  my  sweet  Bianca,  if  I  can 
by  any  means  light  on  a  fit  man  to  teach  her 
that  wherein  she  delights,  I  will  wish  him  to 
her  father.  __•.  - 

Hortensio. 

So  will  I,  signior  Gremio:  but  a  word,  I  pray. 
Though  the  nature  of  our  quarrel  yet  never 
brook'd  parle,  know  now  upon  advice,  it  touch- 
eth  us  both,  that  we  may  yet  again  have  access 
to  our  fair  mistress,  and  be  happy  rivals  in 
Bianca's  love,  to  labour  and  effect  one  thing 
'specially.  „ 

Gremio. 

What's  that,  I  pray  ? 

Hortensio. 
Marry,  sir,  to  get  a  husband  for  her  sister. 

Gremio. 
A  husband !  a  devil. 

Hortensio. 
I  say,  a  husband. 

Gremio. 
I   say,  a   devil.    Think'st    thou,    Hortensio, 
though  her  father  be  very  rich,  any  man  is  so 
very  a  fool  to  be  married  to  hell  ? 
Hortensio. 
Tush,  Gremio  !  though  it  pass  your  patience, 
and  mine,  to  endure  her  loud  alarums,  why, 
man,  there  be  good  fellows  in  the  world,  an  a 
man  could  light  on  them,  would  take  her  with 
all  faults,  and  money  enough. 
Gremio. 
I  cannot  tell,  but  I  had  as  lief  take  her  dowry 
with  this  condition, — to  be  whipped  at  the  high- 
cross  every  morning. 

Hortensio. 
'Faith,  as  you  say,  there's  small  choice  in 
rotten  apples.  But,  come  ;  since  this  bar  in  law 
makes  us  friends,  it  shall  be  so  far  forth  friendly 
maintained,  till  by  helping  Baptista' 8  eldest 
daughter  to  a  husband,  we  set  his  youngest  free 
for  a  husband,  and  then  have  to't  afresh. — Sweet 
Bianca !  —  Happy  man  be  his  dole  1  He  that 
runs  fastest  gets  the  ring.  How  say  you,  signior 
Gremio  ? 

Gremio. 
I  am  agreed :  and  'would  I  had  given  him  the 
best  horse  in  Padua  to  begin  his  wooing,  that 
would  thoroughly  woo  her,  wed  her,  and  bed 
her,  and  rid  the  house  of  her.    Come  on. 

[Exeunt  Gremio  and  Hortensio. 

Tranio.  [Advancing. 

I  pray,  sir,  tell  me,  is  it  possible 
That  love  should  of  a  sudden  take  such  hold? 
Lucentio. 

O,  Tranio!  till  I  found  it  to  be  true, 
I  never  thought  it  possible,  or  likely  ; 
But  see  !  while  idly  I  stood  looking  on, 
I  found  the  effect  of  love  in  idleness  ; 
And  now  in  plainness  do  confess  to  thee, — 
That  art  to  me  as  secret,  and  as  dear, 
As  Anna  to  the  Queen  of  Carthage  was, — 
Tranio,  I  burn,  I  pine;  I  perish,  Tranio, 
If  I  achieve  not  this  young  modest  girl. 
Counsel  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  canst : 
Assist  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  wilt. 
Tranio 

Master,  it  is  no  time  to  chide  you  now  ; 
Affection  is  not  rated  from  the  heart : 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW 


*«7 


If  lc.ve  have  touch'd  you,  nought  remains  but 
Rcdime  te  captum,  quam  queas  minimo.     [10, — 

Cramcrdes,  lad  ;  go  forward :  this  contents  ; 
The  rest  will  comfort,  for  thy  counsel's  sound. 
Tranio. 
Master,  you  look'd  so  longly  on  the  maid, 
Perhaps  you  mark'd  not  what's  the  pith  of  all. 
Lucentio 

0  !  yes,  I  saw  sweet  beauty  In  her  face, 
Such  as  the  daughter  of  Agenor  had, 

That  made  great  Jove  to  humblehim  to  her  hand, 
\\  luu  with  his  knees  he  kiss  d  the  Cretan  strand. 
Tranio 
Saw  you  no  more  ?  mark'd  you  not,  how  her 
sister 
Began  to  scold,  and  raise  up  such  a  storm, 
That  mortal  ears  might  hardly  endure  the  din  ? 
mtta 
Tranio,  I  saw  her  coral  lips  to  move, 
And  with  her  breath  she  did  perfume  the  air  : 
Saercd,  and  sweet,  was  all  I  saw  in  her. 
Trmi  In. 
Nay,  then,  'tis  time  to  stir  him  from   his 
trance.  — 
1  pray,  awake,  sir:  if  you  love  the  maid, 
Bend  thoughts  and  wits  to  achieve  her.     Thus 

it  stands : 
Her  elder  sister  is  so  curst  and  shrewd, 
That,  till  the  father  rid  his  hands  of  her, 
Master,  your  love  must  live  a  maid  at  home  ; 
And  therefore  has  he  closely  mew'd  her  up, 
Because  she  will  not  be  annoy'd  with  suitors. 
Lucentio. 
Ah,  Tranio,  what  a  cruel  father's  he  1 
But  art  thou  not  advis'd,  he  took  some  care 
To  get  her  cunning  schoolmasters  to  instruct 
her?  . 

J  ranio. 

Ay,  marry,  am  I,  sir ;  and  now  'tis  plotted. 
Lucentio. 

1  have  it,  Tranio. 

Tranio. 

Master,  for  my  hand. 
Both  our  inventions  meet  and  jump  in  one. 
Lucentio. 
Tell  me  thine  first. 

Tranio. 
You  will  be  schoolmaster, 
And  undertake  the  teaching  of  the  maid  : 
That's  your  device. 

Lucentio. 

It  is :  may  it  be  done  ? 

Tranio. 

Not  possible  ;  for  who  shall  bear  your  part, 

And  be  in  Padua,  here,  Vincentio't  son  ; 

Keep  house,  and  ply   his  book;  welcome  his 

friends ; 
Visit  his  countrymen,  and  banquet  them  ? 
Lucentio. 
Basta  ;  content  thee  ;  for  I  have  it  full. 
]  We  have  not  yet  been  seen  in  any  house, 
Nor  can  we  be  distinguished  by  our  faces, 
For  man,  or  master :  then,  it  follows  thus  ; 
!  Thou  shalt  be  master,  Tranio,  in  my  stead, 
Keep  house,  and  port,  and  servants,  as  I  should. 
I  will  some  other  be  ;  some  Florentine, 
Some  Neapolitan,  or  meaner  man  of  Pisa. 
'  1'is  hatch  d,  and  shall  be  so  :  —  Tranio.  at  once 
Uncase  thee  ;  take  my  colour'd  hat  and  cloak : 
When  Biondcllo  comes,  he  waits  on  thee, 
But  I  will  charm  him  first  to  keep  his  tongue. 


Tranio. 
So  had  you  need.         [  'I  hejr  exchange  habits. 
In  brief,  sir,  sith  it  your  pleasure  Is, 
And  I  am  tied  to  be  obedient ; 
( For  so  your  father  charg'd  me  at  our  parting  ; 
"  Be  serviceable  to  my  son,"  quoth  he, 
Although,  I  think,  'twas  in  another  sense,) 
1  am  content  to  be  Lucentio, 
Because  so  well  1  love  Lucentio. 
Lucentio. 
Tranio,  be  so,  because  Lucentio  loves, 
And  let  me  be  a  slave,  t*  achieve  that  maid 
Whose  sudden  sight  hath  thrall'd  my  wounded 
eye. 

Enter  BiondeUo. 

Here  comes  the  rogue. — Sirrah,  where  have  you 
been?  _,      .  _ 

BiondeUo 

Where  have  I  been  ?    Nay,  how  now  ?  where 
are  you  ? 
Master,  has  my  fellow  Tranio  stol'n  your  clothes, 
Or  you  stol'n  his,  or  both  ?  pray,  what's  the 
news  ? 

Lucentio. 

Sirrah,  come  hither:  'tis  no  time  to  jest, 
And  therefore  frame  your  manners  to  the  time. 
Your  fellow  Tranio,  here,  to  save  my  life. 
Puts  my  apparel  and  my  countenance  on, 
And  I  for  my  escape  have  put  on  his  ; 
For  in  a  quarrel,  since  I  came  ashore, 
I  kill'd  a  man,  and  fear  I  was  descried. 
Wait  you  on  him,  I  charge  you,  as  becomes, 
While  I  make  way  from  hence  to  save  my  life. 
You  understand  me  ? 

BiondeUo. 

I,  sir  ?  ne'er  a  whit. 
Lucentio. 
And  not  a  jot  of  Tranio  m  your  mouth : 
Tranio  is  chang'd  into  Lucentio. 
BiondeUo* 
The  better  for  him  ;  'would  I  were  so  too  I 

Tranio. 
So  would  I,  'faith,  boy,  to  have  the  next  wish 
after,  [daughter. 

That  Lucentio,  indeed,  had  Baptistd'i  youngest 
1  But,  sirrah,  not  for  my  sake,  but  your  master's, 
I  advise  [companies : 

You  use  your  manners  discreetly  In  all  kind  of 
When  1  am  alone,  why,  then  I  am  Tranio  ; 
But  in  all  places  else,  your  master,  Lucentio. 
Lucentio 
Tranio,  let's  go.— 
One  thing  more  rests,  that  thyself  execute  ; 
To  make  one  among  these  wooers  :  if  thou  ask 

me  why, 
Sufficeth,  my  reasons  are  both  good  and  weighty. 

1  Servant. 
My  lord,  you  nod  ;  you  do  not  mind  the  play. 

Yes,  by  saint  Anne,  do  I.    A  good  matter, 
surely :  comes  there  any  more  of  it  ? 
Page. 
My  lord,  'tis  but  begun. 
Sly. 
'Tis  a  very  excellent  piece  of  work,  madam 
lady  ;  would  'twere  done  1 

SCENE  II.     The  same     Before  Hortensio't 
House. 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Grumio. 
Petruchio. 
Verona,  for  a  while  I  take  my  leave, 
To| 


*6S 


TAMING  OF  THE  SI1REW. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


j  iTo  see  ray  friends  in  Padua  ;  but,  of  all, 
My  best  beloved  and  approved  friend, 
Hortensio  ;  and,  I  trow,  this  is  his  house. — 
Here,  sirrah  Grumiol  knock,  I  say. 
Grumio. 
Knock,  sir !  whom  should  I  knock  ?  is  there 
any  man  has  rebused  your  worship  ? 
Petruchio. 
Villain,  I  say,  knock  me  here  soundly. 

Grumio. 
Knock  you  here,  sir  ?  why,  sir,   what  am  I, 
sir,  that  1  should  knock  you  here,  sir? 
Petruchio. 
Villain,  1  say,  knock  me  at  this  gate ; 
And  rap  me  well,  or  I'll  knock  your  knave's  pate. 
Grumio. 
My  master  is  grown  quarrelsome.  — 1  should 
knock  you  first, 
And  then  I  know  after  who  comes  by  the  worst. 
Petruchio. 
Will  it  not  be  ? 
'Faith,  sirrah,  an  you'll  not  knock,  I'll  wring  it: 
Pll  try  how  you  can  sol-fa,  and  sing  it. 

{He  wrings  Grumto  by  the  ears. 

Grumio. 
Help,  masters,  help  !  my  master  is  mad. 

Petruchio. 
Now,  knock  when  1  bid  you :  sirrah  !  villain  ! 
Enter  Hortensio. 
Hortensio. 
How   now!    what's   the   matter?— My   old 
friend  Grumio,  and  ray  good  friend  Petruchio  I 
—How  do  you  all  at  Verona  t 
Petruchio. 
Signior  Hortensio,  come  you  to  part  the  fray  ? 
Con  tutto  il  core  ben  trovato,  may  I  say. 
Hortensio. 
Alia  nostra  casa  ben  venuto,  motto  honorato 
signior  mio  Petruchio.  [quarrel. 

Rise,  Grumio,  rise:  we  will  compound  this 
Grumio. 
Nay,  'tis  no  matter,  sir,  what  he  'leges  in 
Latin.  —  If  this  be  not  a  lawful  cause  for  me  to 
leave  his  service,  — look  you,  sir,  — he  bid  me 
knock  him,  and  rap  him  soundly,  sir :  well,  was 
it  fit  for  a  servant  to  use  his  master  so ;  being, 
perhaps,  (for  aught  I  see)  two  and  thirty, -a  pip 
out? 

Whom, 'would  to  God,  I  had  well  knock 'd  at  first, 
Then  had  not  Grumio  come  by  the  worst. 
Petruchio. 
A  senseless  villain  !  — Good  Hortensio, 
I  bade  the  rascal  knock  upon  your  gate, 
And  could  not  get  him  for  my  heart  to  do  it. 
Grumio. 
Knock  at  the  gate  ?-  O  heavens  !   Spake  you 
not  these  words  plain,—"  Sirrah,  knock    me 
here  ;  rap  me  here,  knock  me  well,  and  knock 
me    soundly?"     And   come    you    now    with 
knocking  at  the  gate  ? 

Petruchio. 
Sirrah,  be  gone,  or  talk  not,  I  advise  you. 

Hortensio. 

Petruchio,  patience:  1  am  Grumio's  pledge. 

Why  this  ?  a  heavy  chance  'twixt  him  and  you; 

Your  ancient,  trusty,  pleasant  servant  Grumio. 

And  tell  me  now,  sweet  friend,  what  happy 

gale 
Blows  you  to  Padua,  here,  from  old  Verona  T 


Petruchio. 
i    Such  wind  as  scatters  young  men  through  the 

world, 
|To  seek  their  fortunes  farther  than  at  home, 
[Where  small  experience  grows,  but  in  a  few. 
iSignior  Hortensio,  thus  it  stands  with  me: 
[Antonio,  my  father,  is  deceas'd, 
And  I  have  thrust  myself  into  this  maze, 
Haply  to  wive,  and  thrive,  as  best  1  may, 
Crowns  in  my  purse  I  have,  and  goods  at  home, 
And  so  am  come  abroad  to  see  the  world. 
Hortensio. 
Petruchio,  shall  I  then  come  roundly  to  thee, 
And  wish  thee  to  a  shrewd  ill-favoured  wife  ? 
Thou'dst  thank  me  but  a  little  for  my  counsel ; 
And  yet  I'll  promise  thee  she  shall  be  rich, 
And  very  rich  :— but  thou'rt  too  much  my  friend, 
And  I'll  not  wish  thee  to  her. 
Petruchio. 
Signior  Hortensio,  'twixt  such  friends  as  we 
Few  words  suffice;  and  therefore  if  thou  know 
One  rich  enough  to  be  Pelruchio's  wife, 
(As  wealth  is  burthen  of  my  wooing  dance) 
Be  she  as  foul  as  was  Florentius''  love, 
As  old  as  Sybil,  and  as  curst  and  shrewd 
As  Socrates'  Xantippe,  or  a  worse, 
She  moves  me  not,  or  not  removes,  at  least, 
Affection's  edg*  in  me.    Were  she  as  rough 
As  are  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas, 
I  come  to  wive  it  wealthily  in  Padua, 
If  wealthily,  then  happily  in  Padua. 
Grumio. 
Nay,  look  you,  sir,  he  tells  you  flatly  what  his 
'mind  is  :  why,  give  him  gold  "enough  and  marry 
,  him  to  a  puppet,  or  an  aglet-baby  ;  or  an  old  trot 
{with  ne'er  a  tooth  in  her  head,  though  she  have 
!as  many  diseases  as  two  and  fifty  horses.    Why, 
(nothing  comes  amiss,  so  money  comes  withal. 

Hortensio. 
i     Petruchio,  since  we  are  stepp'd  thus  far  in, 
1 1  will  continue  that  I  broach'd  in  jest. 
1 1  can,  Petruchio,  help  thee  to  a  wife 
;  With  wealth  enough,  and  young,  and  beauteous  ; 
Brought  up,  as  best  becomes  a  gentlewoman  : 
Her  only  fault,  and  that  is  faults  enough, 
j  Is,  that  she  is  intolerable  curst, 
'  And  shrewd.and  froward ;  sobeyond  all  measure, 
;  That,  were  my  state  far  worser  than  it  is, 
j  I  would  not  wed  her  for  a  mine  of  gold. 
Petruchio. 
Hortensio,  peace  !   thou  know'st  not  gold's 
effect.— 
Tell  me  her  father's  name,  and  'tis  enough, 
For  I  will  board  her,  though  she  chide  as  loud 
As  thunder,  when  the  clouds  in  autumn  crack. 
Hortensio. 
Her  father  is  Baptisla  Mhwla, 
An  affable  and  courteous  gentleman : 
Her  name  is  Katharina  Minoln, 
Itenown'd  in  Padua  for  her  scolding  tongue. 
Petruchio. 
I  know  her  father,  though  I  know  not  her, 
And  he  knew  my  deceased  father  well. 
I  will  not  sleep,  Hortensio,  till  I  see  her  ; 
And  therefore  let  me  be  thus  bold  with  you, 
To  give  you  over  at  this  first  encounter, 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither. 
Grumio. 
I  pray  you.  sir,  let  him  go  while  the  humour 
lasts.     O'  my  word,  an  she  knew  him  as  well  as 
I  do,  she  would  think  scolding  would  do  little 
good  upon  him.    She  may,  perhaps,  call  him 
half  a  score  knaves,  or  so;  why,  that's  nothing: 
an  ho  begin  once,  he'll  rail  in  his  rope-tricks. 


Act  i.  Sc.  11. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHBEW. 


169 


I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,- an  she  stand  him  but  a 
little,  he  will  throw  a  figure  In  her  face,  and  so 
disfigure  her  with  it,  that  she  shall  have  no 
more  eyes  to  see  withal  than  a  cat.  You  know 
him  not,  sir.  ,,     . 

Hortensio 

Tarry,  Petruchio,  I  must  go  with  thee. 
For  in  Baptista's  keep  my  treasure  is : 
He  hath  the  jewel  of  my  life  in  hold, 
Hit  youngest  daughter,  beautiful  Bianca, 
A  nd  her  withholds  from  me,  and  other  more 
Suitors  to  her,  and  rivals  in  my  love ; 
Supposing  it  a  thing  impossible, 
For  those  defects  I  have  before  rehears'd, 
That  ever  Katharina  will  be  woo'd  : 
Therefore  this  order  hath  Baptista  ta'en, 
That  none  shall  have  access  unto  Bianca, 
Till  Katharine  the  curst  have  got  a  husband. 
Grumio. 

Katharine  the  curst ! 
A  title  for  a  maid  of  all  titles  the  worst. 
Horti 

Now  shall  my  friend  Petruchio  do  me  grace, 
And  offer  me,  disguis'd  in  sober  robes, 
To  old  Baptista  as  a  school-master 
Well  teen  in  music,  to  instruct  Bianca; 
That  so  I  may  by  this  device,  at  least 
Have  leave  and  leisure  to  make  love  to  her, 
And  unsuspected  court  her  by  herself. 

Enter  Gremio,  and  I.ucentio  disguised,  with 

books  under  his  arm. 

Grumio. 

Here's  no  knavery  I    See,  to  beguile  the  old 

folks,  how  the   young   folks   lay  their   heads 

together  !     Master,  master,  look   about  you  :  j 

who  goes  there  ?  ha  1 

Hortensio. 
Peace,  Grumto :  'tis  the  rival  of  my  love. 
Petruchio,  stand  by  a  while. 
Grumio. 
A  proper  stripling,  and  an  amorous 1 

Gremio. 
O  I  very  well ;  I  have  perus'd  the  note. 
Hark  you,  sir  ;  I'll  have  them  very  fairly  bound : 
All  books  of  love,  see  that  at  any  hand, 
And  see  you  read  no  other  lectures  to  her. 
You  understand  me. — Over  and  beside 
Signior  Baptista'*  liberality,  [too, 

I'll  mend  it  with  a  largess. — Take  your  papers, 
And  let  me  have  them  very  well  perfum'd, 
For  she  is  sweeter  than  perfume  itself, 
To  whom  they  go.     What  will  you  read  to  her  P 
I.ucentio. 
Whate'er  I  read  to  her,  I'll  plead  for  you, 
As  for  my  patron,  stand  you  so  assur'd, 
As  firmly  as  yourself  were  still  in  place- 
Yea,  ana  perhaps  with  more  successful  words 
Than  you,  unless  you  were  a  scholar,  sir. 
Gremio. 
O,  this  learning  1  what  a  thing  it  is  1 

Grumio. 
O,  this  woodcock  !  what  an  ass  it  is  ! 
Petruchio. 

Peace,  sirrah  !    , , 

Hortensio. 
Gi-umio,   mum!-[Co,nin8    forward]  _  Cod 
save  you,  signior  Gremio  I 
mio. 
And  you  are  well  met,  signior  Hortensio. 
Trow  you,  whither  I  sun  going?— To  Bapthta 
I  promis'd  to  inquire  carefully  [Minola. 

About  a  schoolmaster  for  the  fair  Bianca : 


And,  by  good  fortune,  I  have  lighted  well 
On  this  young  man ;  for  learning, and  behaviour, 
Fit  for  her  turn  ;  well  read  in  poetry, 
And  other  books,— good  ones,  I  warrant  ye. 
Hortcusio. 

•Tis  well :  and  I  have  met  a  gentleman 
Hath  promis'd  me  to  help  me  to  another, 
A  fine  musician  to  instruct  our  mistress  : 
So  shall  I  no  whit  be  behind  in  duty 
To  fair  Bianca,  so  belov'd  of  me. 
Gremio. 

Belov'd  of  me,  and  that  my  deeds  shall  prove. 
Grumio. 

And  that  his  bags  shall  prove. 
Horn 

Gremio,  'tis  now  no  time  to  vent  our  love. 
Listen  to  me,  and  if  you  speak  me  fair, 
I'll  tell  you  news  indifferent  good  for  either. 
Here  is  a  gentleman,  whom  by  chance  I  met, 
Upon  agreement  from  us  to  his  liking, 
Will  undertake  to  woo  curst  Katharine; 
Yea,  and  to  marry  her,  if  her  dowry  please. 


So  said,  so  done,  is  well 

Hortensio,  have  you  told  him  all  her  faults  ? 
Petruchio. 
I  know,  she  is  an  irksome,  brawling  scold: 
If  that  be  all,  masters,  I  hear  no  harm. 
Gremio. 
No,  say'st  me  so,  friend  ?    What  countryman  ? 

Petruchio. 
Born  in  Verona,  old  Antonio'*  son : 
My  father  dead,  my  fortune  lives  for  me ; 
And  I  do  hope  good  days,  and  long,  to  see. 
Gremio. 
01  sir,  such  a  life,  with  such  a  wife,  were 
strange ; 
But  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to't  o'God's  name: 
You  shall  have  me  assisting  you  in  all. 
But  will  you  woo  this  wild  cat  ? 
Petruchio. 

Will  I  live? 
Grumio. 

Will  he  woo  her  ?  ay,  or  I'll  hang  her. 

Petruchio 
Why  came  I  hither,  but  to  that  intent  ? 
Think  you,  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears  ? 
Have  I  not  in  my  time  heard  lions  roar  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sea,  puff'd  up  with  winds, 
Rage  like  an  angry  boar,  chafed  with  sweat  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  great  ordnance  in  the  field, 
And  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ? 
Have  I  not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard        [clang  ? 
Loud  'larums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets' 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's  tongue, 
That  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  hear, 
As  will  a  chestnut  in  a  farmer's  fire? 
Tush  I  tush  1  fear  boys  with  bugs. 
Grumio 

For  he  fears  none. 
Gremio. 
Hortensio,  hark. 
This  gentleman  is  happily  arriv'd, 
My  mind  presumes,  for  his  own  good,  and  yours. 
Hortensio. 
I  promis'd  we  would  be  contributors, 
And  bear  his  charge  of  wooing,  whatsoe'er. 
Gremio. 
And  so  we  will,  provided  that  he  win  her. 
Grumio. 


I  would,  I  were  as  sure  of  a  good  dinner 


ntet 


170 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Enter  Tranio,  bravely  apparelled ;  and  Biondello.  Petruchio. 

Tranio.  !      s""»  understand  you  this  of  me :  insooth, 

Gentlemen,  God  save  you  !    If  I  may  be  bold,  ,  The  youngest  daughter,  whom  you  hearken  for 
Tell  me,  1  beseech  you,  which  is  the  readiest    Her  father  keeps  from  all  access  of  suitors, 
To  the  house  of  signior  Baptista  Minula  t  [way    And  wil1  not  promise  her  to  any  man, 
Biondello. 
He  that  has  the  two  fair  daughters  :  — is't  he  \ 
you  mean  ? 

Tranio. 
Even  he,  Biondello. 


Gremio. 
Hark  you,  sir :  you  mean  not  her  to— 

Tranio. 
Perhaps,  him  and  her,  sir :  what  have  you  to 
do? 

Petruchio. 
Not  her  that  chides,  sir,  at  any  hand,  I  pray. 

Tranio. 
1  love  no  chiders,  sir .—Biondello,  let's  away. 

Lucentio.  f  Aside. 

Well  begun,  Tranio. 

Hortensio. 
Sir,  a  word  ere  you  go.  fno  ? 

Are  you  a  suitor  to  the  maid  you  talk  of,  yea,  or 
Tranio. 
An  if  I  be,  sir,  is  it  any  offence  ? 

Gremio. 
No ;  if  without  more  words  you  will  get  you 


Tranio. 
Why,  sir,  I  pray,  are  not  the  streets  as  free 
For  me,  as  for  you  ? 

Gremio. 

But  so  is  not  she. 
Tranio. 
For  what  reason,  I  beseech  you  ? 

Gremio. 
For  this  reason,  if  you'll  know, 
That  she's  the  choice  love  of  signior  Gremio. 
Hortensio. 
That  she's  the  chosen  of  signior  Hortensio. 

Tranio. 
Softly,  my  masters  !  if  you  be  gentlemen, 
Do  me  this  right ;  hear  me  with  patience. 
Baptista  is  a  noble  gentleman, 
To  whom  my  father  is  not  all  unknown, 
And  were  his  daughter  fairer  than  she  is, 
She  may  more  suitors  have,  and  me  for  one. 
Fair  Leda's  daughter  had  a  thousand  wooers  ; 
Then,  well  one  more  may  fair  Bianca  have, 
And  so  she  shall.    Lucentio  shall  make  one, 
Though  Paris  came  in  hope  to  speed  alone. 
Gremio. 
What !  this  gentleman  will  out-talk  us  all. 

Lucentio. 
Sir,  give  him  head :  I  know,  he'll  prove  a  jade. 

Petruchio. 
Hortensio,  to  what  end  are  all  these  words  ? 

Hortensio. 
Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold  as  ask  you, 
Did  you  yet  ever  see  Baptista'6  daughter  ? 
Tranio. 
No,  sir  ;  but  hear  I  do,  that  he  hath  two, 
The  one  as  famous  for  a  scolding  tongue, 
As  is  the  other  for  beauteous  modesty. 
Petruchio. 
Sir,  sir,  the  first's  for  me ;  let  her  go  by. 

Gremio. 
Yea,  leave  that  labour  to  great  Hercules, 
And  let  it  be  more  than  Alcides'  twelve. 


Until  the  eider  sister  first  be  wed  ; 
The  younger  then  is  free,  and  not  before. 
Tranio. 
If  it  be  so,  sir,  that  you  are  the  man 
Must  stead  us  all,  and  me  among  the  rest ; 
And  if  you  break  the  ice,  and  do  this  seek, 
Achieve  the  elder,  set  the  younger  free 
For  our  access,  whose  hap  shall  be  to  have  her 
Will  not  so  graceless  be,  to  be  ingrate. 
Hortensio. 
Sir,  you  say  well,  and  well  you  do  conceive  ; 
And  since  you  do  profess  to  be  a  suitor, 
You  must,  as  we  do,  gratify  this  gentleman, 
To  whom  we  all  rest  generally  beholding. 
Tranio. 
Sir,  I  shall  not  be  slack  :  in  sign  whereof, 
Please  ye  we  may  contrive  this  afternoon, 
And  quaff  carouses  to  our  mistress'  health  ; 
And  do  as  adversaries  do  in  law, 
Strive  mightily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 
Grumio  and  Biondello. 
O,  excellent  motion  1    Fellows,  let's  begone. 

Hortensio. 
The  motion's  good  indeed,  and  be  it  so.— 
Petruchio,  I  shall  be  your  ben  venuto. 

[Exeunt. 


'  ACT  II. 

SCENJS  I.    The  tame.    A  Room  In  Baptista'* 
House. 

Enter  Katharina  and  Bianca. 

Bianca. 

GOOD  sister,  wrong  me  not,  nor  wrong  your- 
self 
j  To  make  a  bondmaid,  and  a  slave  of  me : 
■  That  1  disdain  ;  but  for  these  other  gawds, 
;  Unbind  my  hands,  I'll  put  them  off  myself, 
j  Yea,  all  my  raiment,  to  my  petticoat ; 

Or  what  you  will  command  me  will  I  do, 
,  So  well  I  know  my  duty  to  my  elders. 
Katharina. 
Of  all  thy  suitors,  here  I  charge  thee,  tell 
Whom  thou  lov'st  best :  see  thou  dissemble  not. 
Bianca. 
Believe  me,  sister,  of  all  the  men  alive, 
I  I  never  yet  beheld  that  special  face 
i  Which  1  could  fancy  more  than  any  other. 
Katharina. 
Minion,  thou  liest.    Is't  not  Hortensio? 

Bianca. 
If  you  affect  him,  sister,  here  I  swear, 
j  I'll  plead  for  you  myself,  but  you  shall  have  him. 
Katharina. 
O  1  then,  belike,  you  fancy  riches  more : 
You  will  have  Gremio  to  keep  you  fair. 
Bianca. 
Is  it  for  him  you  do  envy  me  so  ? 
i  Nay  then,  you  jest ;  and  now  I  well  perceive, 
|  You  have  but  jested  with  me  all  this  while. 
j  1  pr'ythee,  sister  Kate,  untie  my  hands. 

Katharina.  j 


Aei  ii.  Se.  i. 


TAMING  <>l-  THE  SHBEW. 


271 


i..:.:      . 
If  that  be  jest,  then  all  the  re*t  «u  so. 

[Strike*  her. 
r  Baptista. 

Why,  how  now,  dame  !   whence  grows   this 

insolence  ?— 
Bianca,  stand  aside:— poor  girl !  she  weeps — 
Go  ply  thy  needle  ;  meddle  not  with  her.— 
For  shame,  thou  hilding  of  a  devilish  spirit, 
Why  dost  thou  wrong  her  that  did  ne'er  wrong 

thee? 
When  did  she  cross  thee  with  a  bitter  word  ? 

Katharina. 
Her  silence  flouts  me,  and  I'll  be  reveng  d. 
[.Flies  after  Bianca. 


What  1  In  my  sight 


Baptista. 

ht?-; 


Bianca,  get  thee  in. 

[F.xit  Bianca. 
Katharina. 
What !  will  you  not  suffer  me  ?    Nay,  now  I 
see, 
She  is  your  treasure,  she  must  have  a  husband  ; ! 
1  must  dance  barefoot  on  her  wedding-day, 
And  for  your  love  to  her  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Talk  not  to  me:  I  will  go  sit  and  weep, 
Till  I  can  find  occasion  of  revenge. 

[Exit  Katharina.  I 
•.•tista. 
Was  ever  gentleman  thus  griev'd  as  I  ? 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Gremio,  with  Lucentio  in  a  mean  habit ;  J 
Petruchio,  with  Hortentio  as  a  Musician  ;  and  j 
Tranio,  with  Biondello  bearing  a  lute  and  j 
books. 

Gremio. 
Good-morrow,  neighbour  Baptista. 

B:lptivU. 

Good-morrow,  neighbour  Gremio.    God  save 
you,  gentlemen  1 

Petruchio.  I 

And  you,  good  sir.    Pray,  have  you  not  a 
daughter, 
Call'd  Katharina,  fair,  and  virtuous  ? 

Baptista. 
I  have  a  daughter,  sir,  call'd  Katharina. 

Gremio 
You  are  too  blunt :  go  to  it  orderly. 

Petruchio. 
You  wrong  me,  signior  Gremio:    give  me 

leave. — 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  Verona,  sir, 
That,  hearing  of  her  beauty,  and  her  wit, 
Her  affability,  and  bashful  modesty, 
Her  wondrous  qualities,  and  mild  behaviour, 
Am  bold  to  show  myself  a  forward  guest 
Within    your  house,  to  make   mine    eye  the 

witness 
Of  that  report  which  I  so  oft  have  heard. 
And,  for  an  entrance  to  my  entertainment, 
I  do  present  you  with  a  man  of  mine, 

l  Presenting  fiortentw.  \ 
Cunning  in  music,  and  the  mathematics, 
To  instruct  her  fully  in  those  sciences, 
Whereof,  I  know,  she  is  not  ignorant. 
Accept  of  him,  or  else  you  do  me  wrong : 
His  name  is  Liciu,  born  in  Mantua. 

Baptista. 
You're  welcome,  sir,  and  he,  for  your  good 
sake. 
But  for  my  daughter  Katharine,  this  1  know, 
She  is  not  for  jour  turn,  the  more  my  grief. 


Petruchio. 
I  see,  you  do  not  mean  to  part  with  her, 
Or  else  you  like  not  of  my  company. 
Baptista. 
Mistake  me  not ;  I  speak  but  as  I  find. 
Whence  are  you,  sir?  what  may  I  call  your 
name  ? 

Petruchio. 
Petruchio  Is  my  name,  Antonio'a  son  ; 
A  man  well  known  throughout  all  Italy. 
Baptista. 

I  know  him  well:  you  are  welcome  for  his 
sake. 

Gremio. 
Saving  your  tale,  Petruchio,  I  pray, 
Let  us,  that  are  poor  petitioners,  speak  too. 
Backare  :  you  are  marvellous  forward. 
Petruchio. 

0  !  pardon  me,  signior  Gremio  ;  1  would  fain 

be  doing. 

Hremio. 

1  doubt  it  not,  sir ;  but  you  will  curse  your 

wooing. — 

Neighbour,  this  is  a  gift  very  grateful,  1  am  sure 
of  it.  To  express  the  like  kindness  myself,  that 
have  been  more  kindly  beholding  to  you  than 
any,  I  freely  give  unto  you  this  young  scholar, 
[Presenting  Lucentio,]  that  hath  been  long 
studying  at  Rheims;  as  cunning  in  Greek,  La- 
tin, and  other  languages,  as  the  other  in  music 
and  mathematics.  His  name  is  Cumbio:  pray 
accept  his  service. 

Baptists. 

A  thousand  thanks,  signior  Gremio :  welcome, 

good  Cambio.  —  But,  gentle  sir,  [To  Tranio,') 

methinks,  you  walk  like  a  stranger :  may  I  be 

so  bold  to  know  the  cause  of  your  coming  ? 

Tranio. 

Pardon  me,  sir,  the  boldness  is  mine  own, 
That,  being  a  stranger  in  this  city  here. 
Do  make  myself  a  suitor  to  your  daughter, 
Unto  Bianca,  fair,  and  virtuous. 
Nor  is  your  firm  resolve  unknown  to  me, 
In  the  preferment  of  the  eldest  sister. 
This  liberty  is  all  that  I  request,— 
That,  upon  knowledge  of  my  parentage, 
I  may  have  welcome  'mongst  the  rest  that  woo, 
And  free  access  and  favour  as  the  rest : 
And,  toward  the  education  of  your  daughters, 
I  here  bestow  a  simple  instrument, 
And  this  small  packet  of  Greek  and  I^atin  books : 
If  you  accept  them,  then  their  worth  is  great. 

Baptista. 
Lucentio  is  your  name  ?  of  whence,  I  pray  ? 

1  ranio. 
Of  Pisa,  sir ;  son  to  Vincentio. 

Baptiitn. 
A  mighty  man  of  Pisa  :  by  report 
I  know  him  weU.    You  are  very  welcome,  sir.—. ' 
Take  you  [To  Hortmnio}  the  lute,  and  you  rTo  ' 

,    !  the  set  of  books ; 
You  shall  go  see  your  pupils  presently. 
Holla,  within  I 

Bntei  a  Servant. 
Sirrah,  lead  these  gentlemen 
To  my  daughters  ;  and  tell  them  both, 
These  are  their  tutors :  bid  them  use  them  well. 
"Rxit  Servant,  with  Hortensio,  Lucentio,  ' 
ndello. 
We  will  go  walk  a  little  in  the  orchard, 
And  then  to  dinner.     You  are  passing  welcome, 
And  so  I  pray  you  pjl  to  think  yourselves. 
Petruchio. 
Signior  Baptista,  my  business  asketh  haste, 

And 


27* 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  l 


And  every  day  I  cannot  come  to  woo. 
You  knew  my  father  well,  and  in  him,  me, 
Left  solely  heir  to  all  his  lands  and  goods, 
Which  I  have  better'd  rather  than  decreas'd: 
Then,  tell  me,  —  if  I  get  your  daughter's  love, 
What  dowry  shall  I  have  with  her  to  wife  ? 
Baptista. 
After  my  death,  the  one  half  of  my  lands, 
And  in  possession,  twenty  thousand  crowns. 
Petruchio. 
And,  for  that  dowry,  I'll  assure  her  of 
Her  widowhood,  be  it  that  she  survive  me, 
In  all  my  lands  and  leases  whatsoever. 
Let  specialties  be  therefore  drawn  between  us, 
That  covenants  may  be  kept  on  either  hand. 
Baptista. 
Ay,  when  the  special  thing  is  well  obtain'd, 
That  is,  her  love;  for  that  is  all  in  all. 
Petruchio. 
Why,  that  is  nothing  ;  for  I  tell  you,  father, 
I  am  as  peremptory  as  she  proud-minded ; 
And  where  two  raging  fires  meet  together, 
They  do  consume  the  thing  that  feeds  their  fury, 
Though  little  fire  grows  great  with  little  wind, 
Yet  extreme  gusts  will  blow  out  fire  and  all ; 
So  I  to  her,  and  so  she  yields  to  me, 
For  I  am  rough,  and  woo  not  like  a  babe. 
Baptista. 
Well   may'st  thou  woo,  and  happy  be  thy 
speed ! 
But  be  thou  arm'd  for  some  unhappy  words. 
Petruchio. 
Ay,  to  the  proof;  as  mountains  are  for  winds, 
That  shake  not,  though  they  blow  perpetually. 

Re-enter  Hortensio,  with  his  head  broken. 

Baptista. 
How  now,  my  friend  1  why  dost  thou  look  so 
pale? 

Hortensio. 
For  fear,  I  promise  you,  if  I  look  pale. 

Baptista. 
What,  will  my  daughter  prove  a  good  mu- 
sician ? 

Hortensio. 
I  think,  she'll  sooner  prove  a  soldier: 
Iron  may  hold  with  her,  but  never  lutes. 
Baptista. 
Why,  then  thou  can  st  not  break  her  to  the 
lute  ? 

Hortensio. 
Why  no,  for  she  hath  broke  the  lute  to  me. 
I  did  but  tell  her  she  mistook  her  frets, 
And  bow'd  her  hand  to  teach  her  fingering, 
When,  with  a  most  impatient,  devilish  spirit, 
•*  Frets,  call  you  these  ?"  quoth  she :  "  I'll  fume 

with  them  : " 
And  with  that  word  she  struck  me  on  the  head, 
And  through  the  instrument   my  pate  made 
And  there  I  stood  amazed  for  a  while,      [way  ; 
As  on  a  pillory  looking  through  the  lute, 
While  she  did  call  me  rascal  fiddler,        [terms, 
And  twangling  Jack;  with  twenty  such  vile 
As  had  she  studied  to  misuse  me  so. 
Petruchio. 
Now,  by  the  world,  it  is  a  lusty  wench  1 
I  love  her  ten  times  more  than  e'er  I  did : 
O,  how  I  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her  t 
Baptista. 
Well,  go  with  me,  and  be  not  so  discomfited : 
Proceed  in  practice  with  my  younger  daughter  ; 
She's   apt   to    learn,  and    thankful   for   good 


Signior  Petruchio,  will  you  go  with  us, 
Or  shall  I  send  my  daughter  Kate  to  you  ? 
Petruchio. 
I  pray  you  do  ;  I  will  attend  her  here, 

[Exeunt  Baptista,  Gremio,  Tranio, 
and  Hortensio. 
And  woo  her  with  some  spirit  when  she  comes. 
Say,  that  she  rail ;  why,  then  I'll  tell  her  plain, 
She  sings  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale : 
Say,  that  she  frown  ;  I'll  say,  she  looks  as  clear 
As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew : 
Say,  she  be  mute,  and  will  not  speak  a  word ; 
Then  I'll  commend  her  volubility, 
And  say,  she  uttereth  piercing  eloquence: 
If  she  do  bid  me  pack,  I'll  give  her  thanks, 
As  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week : 

I   If  she  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day      [ried 

'  When  I  shall  ask  the  banns,  and  when  be  mar- 

j  But  here  she  comes ;  and  now,  Petruchio,  speak. 

Enter  Katharina. 

Good-morrow,  Kate,  for  that's  your  name,  I 

hear. 

Katharina. 
Well  have  you  heard,  but  something  hard  of 
hearing : 
They  call  me  Katharine,  that  do  talk  of  me. 
Petruchio. 
You  lie,  in  faith ;  for  you  are  call'd  plain  Kate, 
And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst ; 
But  Kate ,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom  ; 
Kate  of  Kate-Hall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  cates  :  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation  :  — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  prais'd  in  every  town, 
Thy  virtues  spoke  of,  and  thy  beauty  sounded, 
Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs, 
Myself  am  mov'd  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 
Katharina. 
Mov'd  !  in  good  time:  let  him  that  mov'd  you 
hither, 
Remove  you  hence.    I  knew  you  at  the  first, 
You  were  a  moveable. 

Petruchio. 

Why,  what's  a  moveable  ? 
Katharina. 
A  joint-stool. 

Petruchio. 
Thou  hast  hit  it :  come,  sit  on  me. 
Katharina. 
Asses  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 

Petruchio. 
Women  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 

Katharina. 
No  such  jade  as  you,  if  me  you  mean. 

Petruchio. 
Alas  good  Kate !  I  will  not  burden  thee  ; 
For,  knowing  thee  to  be  but  young  andj  light, — 
Katharina. 
Too  ight  for  such  a  swain  astyou  to  catch, 
And  yejt  as  heavy  as  my  weight  should  be. 
Pfttruchio.   \ 
Should  be?  should  buz. 

Katharina.     \ 
Well  ta'en,  and  like  a  buzzard. 
\  Petruchio.      I 

O,  sfow-wing'd  turtle  1  shall  a  buzzard  take 
tiee?  V 

Katharina. 
Ay,  »>r  a  tukle,  as  he  takes  a  buzzard. 

Pettuchio.        » 
Come,  come,  you  wasp ;  1'faith,  you  are  too 

Katharina. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


173 


Katbarina. 
If  I  be  waspish,  best  beware  my  sting. 

Petruchio. 
My  remedy  is,  then,  to  pluck  it  out. 

K.it! 
Ay,  if  the  fool  could  find  it  where  it  Ilea. 

Who  knows  not  where  a  wasp  does  wear  his 
in  his  tail  [sting  ? 

I  Katharina. 

[In  his  tongue:. 

Petruchio. 

Whose  tongue  ? 
irjna. 
rours,  if  Jou  talk  of  tails ;  and  so  farewell. 
Pctruc|io. 
th  my  tongue  in  your  tail  ?  nay, 
am  a  gentleman.         [come  again  : 
Katharina. 
That  I'll  try.       [Striking  him 
Petruchio. 
I  swear  I'll  cuff  you,  if  you  strike  again. 

Katharina. 
So  may  you  lose  your  arms  : 
If  you  strike  me  you  are  no  gentleman, 
And  if  no  gentleman,  why,  then  no  arms. 
Petruchio. 
A  herald,  Kale  f    0  !  put  me  in  thy  books. 

Katharina. 
What  is  your  crest  ?  a  coxcomb  ? 

Petruchio 
A  comb) ess  cock,  so  Kate  will  be  my  hen. 

Katharina. 
No  cock  of  mine  ;  you  crow  too  like  a  craven. 

Petruchio. 
Nay,  come,  Kate,  come  ;  you  must  not  look  so 
sour. 

Katharina. 
It  is  my  fashion  when  I  see  a  crab. 

Petruchio. 
Why,  here's  no  crab,  and  therefore  look  not ' 
sour. 

Katharina. 
There  is,  there  Is. 

Petruchio. 
Then  show  it  me. 

Katharina. 

Had  I  a  glass,  I  would. 
Petruchio. 
What,  you  mean  my  face  ? 
Katharina. 
Well  aim'd  of  such  a  young  one. 
Petruchio. 
Now.  by  Saint  George,  I  am  too  young  for  you. 

Katharina. 
Y.  t  you  are  wither'd. 

Petruchio. 

Tis  with  cares. 
Katharina. 

I  care  not. 
Petruchio. 
Nay,  bear  you,  Kate  :  in  sooth,  you  'scape  not 
•o. 

Katharina. 
I  chafe  you,  if  I  tarry  :  let  me  go. 

Petri* 
No,  not  a  whit:  I  find  you  passing  gentle. 
'Twas  told  me,  you  were  rough,  and  coy,  and 
And  now  1  find  report  a  very  liar  ;  [sullen, 


For  thou  art  pleasant,  gamesome,  passing  cour- 
teous, [flowers. 
Rut  slow  in  speech,  yet  sweet  as  spring-time 
Thou  canst  not  frown,  thou  canst  not  look  as- 
kance, 
Nor  bite  the  lip,  as  angry  wenches  will  : 
Nor  hast  thou  pleasure  to  be  cross  in  talk  ; 
But  thou  with  mildness  entertain'st  thy  wooers, 
With  gentle  conference,  soft  and  affable. 
Why  does  the  world  report  that  Kate  doth  limp? 
O,  slanderous  world  !  Kate,  like  the  hazel-twig. 
Is  straight,  and  slender  ;  and  as  brown  in  hue 
As  hazel  nuts,  and  sweeter  than  the  kernels. 
O  !  let  me  see  thee  walk  :  thou  dost  not  halt. 
Katharina. 
Go,  fool,  and  whom  thou  keep'st  command. 

Petruchio. 
Did  ever  Dian  so  become  a  grove, 
As  Kate  this  chamber  with  her  princely  gait  ? 

0  !  be  thou  Dian,  aid  let  her  be  Kate, 

And  then  let  Kate  be  chaste,  and  Dian  sportful. 

Katlmrina. 

Where  did  you  study  all  this  goodly  speech  ? 

Petruchio. 
It  is  extempore,  from  my  mother-wit. 

Katharina. 
A  witty  mother  !  witless  else  her  son. 

Petruchio. 
Am  I  not  wise? 

Katharina. 

Yes  ;  keep  you  warm. 
Petruchio. 
Marry,  so  I  mean,  sweet   Katharine,  in  thy 
And  therefore,  setting  all  this  chat  aside,    [bed. 
Thus  in  plain  terms:  — your  father  hath  con- 
tented [on, 
That  you  shall  be  my  wife  ;  your  dowry  'greed 
And,  will  you,  nill  you,  1  will  marry  you. 
Now,  Kate,  I  am  a  husband  for  your  turn  ; 
For,  by  this  light,  whereby  I  see  thy  beauty, 
Thy  beauty  that  doth  make  me  like  thee  well, 
Thou  must  be  married  to  no  man  but  me : 
For  I  am  he,  am  born  to  tame  you,  Kate, 
And  bring  you  from  a  wild  Kate  to  a  Kate 
Conformable,  as  other  household  Kates. 
Here  comes  your  father :  never  make  denial ; 

1  must  and  will  have  Katharine  to  my  wife. 

Pie  euter  Baptista,  Gremio,  and  Trania 
Baptists. 
Now,  signior  Petruchio,  how  speed  you  with 
my  daughter  ? 

Petruchio. 
How  but  well,  sir?  how  but  well  ? 
It  were  impossible  I  should  speed  amiss. 
BaptUta. 
Why,  how  now,  daughter  Katharine!  in  your 
clumps  ? 

Katharina. 
Call  you  me,  daughter  ?  now,  I  promise  you. 
You  have  show'd  a  tender  fatherly  regard, 
To  wish  me  wed  to  one  half  lunatic  ; 
A  mad-cap  ruffian,  and  a  swearing  Jack, 
That  thinks  with  oaths  '  >  face  the  matter  out. 
Petruchio 
Father,  'tis  thus : —yourself  and  all  the  world, 
That  talk'd  of  her,  have  talk'd  amiss  of  her. 
If  she  be  curst,  it  is  for  policy. 
For  she's  not  froward,  but  modest  as  the  dove ; 
She  is  not  hot,  but  temperate  as  the  morn  ; 
For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  GritseL, 
And  Koman  Lucrece  for  her  chastity ;    [gether, 
And  to  conclude,  —  we  have  'greed  so  well  to 
That  upon  Sunday  is  the  wedding-day. 

T  Katharina. 


!*7+ 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Katharina. 
I'll  gee  thee  hang'd  on  Sunday  first. 

Gremio. 
Hark,  Pctruchio;    she  says,  she'll  see  thee 
hang'd  first. 

Tranio. 
Is  this  your  speeding  ?  nay  then,  good  night 
our  part. 

Fetruchio. 
Be  patient,  gentlemen  ;  I  choose  her  for  my- 
If  she  and  I  be  pleas'd,  what's  that  to  you  ?  [self: 
'Tis  bargain'd  'twixt  us  twain,  being  alone, 
That  she  shall  still  be  curst  in  company. 
I  tell  you,  'tis  incredible  to  believe 
How  much  she  loves  me.   O,  the  kindest  Kate! 
She  hung  about  my  neck,  and  kiss  on  kiss 
j  She  vied  so  fast,  protesting  oath  on  oath, 
!  That  in  a  twink  she  won  me  to  her  love. 
I  O  !  you  are  novices  :  'tis  a  world  to  see, 
How  tame,  when  men  and  women  are  alone, 
A  meacock  wretch  can  make  thftcurstest  shrew.— 
Give  me  thy  hand,  Kate:  I  will  unto  Venice^ 
To  buy  apparel  'gainst  the  wedding-day.— 
Provide  the  feast,  father,  and  bid  the  guests  j 
I  will  be  sure,  my  Katharine  shall  be  fine. 

Baptista. 
I  know  not  what  to  say ;  but  give  me  your 
hands : 
God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio !  'tis  a  match. 

Gremio  and  Tranio. 
Amen,  say  we :  we  will  be  witnesses. 

Petruchio. 
Father,  and  wife,  and  gentlemen,  adieu. 
I  will  to  Venice  ;  Sunday  comes  apace. 
We  will  have  rings,  and  things,  and  fine  array  ; 
And,  kiss  me  Kate,  we  will  be  married  o'  Sunday. 
[Rxeunt  Petruchio  and  Katharine,  severally. 

Gremio. 
Was  ever  match  clapp'd  up  so  suddenly  ? 

Baptista. 
Faith,  gentlemen,  now  I  play  a  merchant's 
And  venture  madly  on  a  desperate  mart,    [part, 
Tranio. 
'Twas  a  commodity  lay  fretting  by  you : 
'Twill  bring  you  gain,  or  perish  on  the  seas. 
Baptista. 
The  gain  I  seek  is  quiet  in  the  match. 

Gremio. 
No  doubt  but  he  hath  got  a  quiet  catch — 
But  now,  Baptista,  to  your  younger  daughter. 
Now  is  the  day  we  long  have  looked  for : 
I  am  your  neighbour,  and  was  suitor  first. 
Tranio. 
And  I  am  one,  that  love  Bianca  more  [guess. 
Than  words  can  witness,  or  your  thoughts  can 
Gremio. 
Youngling,  thou  canst  not  love  so  dear  as  I. 

Tranio. 
Grey-beard,  thy  love  doth  freeze. 
Gremio 

But  thine  doth  fry. 
Skipper,  stand  back  :  'tis  age,  that  nourisheth. 
Tranio. 
But  youth,  in  ladies'  eyes  that  flourisheth. 

Baptista. 
Content  you,  gentlemen  ;  I'll  compound  this 
strife : 
'Tis  deeds,  must  win  the  prize ;  and  he,  of  both, 
That  can  assure  my  daughter  greatest  dower, 
Shall  have  my  Butnca's  love. — 
Say,  signior  Gremio,  what  can  you  assure  her  ? 


Gremio. 
First,  as  you  know,  my  house  within  the  city 
Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold: 
Basons,  and  ewers,  to  lave  her  dainty  hands ; 
My  hangings  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry  : 
In  ivory  coffers  I  have  stuffd  my  crowns ; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras,  counterpoints, 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies, 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  boss'd  with  pearl, 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needle-work, 
Pewter  and  brass,  and  all  things  that  belong 
To  house,  or  housekeeping :  then,  at  my  farm. 
I  have  a  hundred  milch-kine  to  the  pail, 
Six  score  fat  oxen  standing  in  my  stalls, 
And  all  things  answerable  to  this  portion. 
Myself  am  struck  in  years,  I  must  confess  ; 
And  if  I  die  to-morrow  this  is  hers, 
If  whilst  1  live  she  will  be  only  mine. 

Tranio. 
That  "  only  "  came  well  in.  —  Sir,  list  to  me : 
I  am  my  father's  heir,  and  only  son  : 
If  I  may  have  your  daughter  to  my  wife, 
I'll  leave  her  houses  three  or  four  as  good, 
Within  rich  Pita  walls,  as  any  one 
Old  signior  Gremio  has  in  Padua ; 
Besides  two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year 
Of  fruitful  land,  all  which  shall  be  her  jointure.— 
j  What,  have  I  pinch'd  you,  signior  Gremio  f 

Gremio. 
I      Two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year  of  land  ! 

!My  land  amounts  not  to  so  much  in  all : 
That  she  shall  have  ;  besides  an  argosy, 
That  now  is  lying  in  Marseille^  road  — 
What,  have  1  chok'd  you  with  an  argosy? 

Tranio. 

Gremio,  'tis  known,  my  father  hath  no  less 

Than  three  great  argosies,  besides  two  galliasses, 

And  twelve  tight  galleys  :  these  1  will  assure  her, 

And  twice  as  much,  whate'er  thou  ofl'er'st  next. 


Gremio. 

!      Nay,  I  have  offer'd  all,  I  have  no  more  ; 
j  And  she  can  have  no  more  than  all  I  have:  — 
If  you  like  me,  she  shall  have  me  and  mine. 

Tranio 
!     Why,  then,  the  maid  is  mine  from  all  the 

world, 
j  By  your  firm  promise :  Gremio  is  out- vied. 

Baptista. 
j      I  must  confess,  your  offer  is  the  best ; 
;  And,  let  your  father  make  her  the  assurance, 
j  She  is  vour  own  ;  else,  you  must  pardon  me  : 
|  If  you  should  die  before  him,  where's  her  dower  ? 

Tranio. 
That's  but  a  cavil :  he  is  old,  I  young. 

Gremio. 
And  may  not  young  men  die,  as  well  as  old  ? 
Baptista. 
I      Well,  gentlemen, 
I  am  thus  resolv'd.— On  Sunday  next,  you  know, 
My  daughter  Katharine  is  to  be  married : 
Now,  on  the  Sunday  following  shall  Bianca 
j  Be  bride  to  you,  if  you  make  this  assurance  ; 
j  If  not,  to  signior  Gremio  : 
i  And  so  I  take  my  leave,  and  thank  you  both. 

[Exit. 
Gremio. 
Adieu,  good  neighbour.    Now  I  fear  thee  not. 
j  Sirrah,  young  gamester,  your  father  were  a  fool 
To  give  thee  all,  and,  in  his  waning  age, 
Set  foot  under  thy  table.    Tut  !  a  toy  ! 
!  An  old  Italian  fox  is  not  so  kind,  my  boy. 

[Exit. 
Tranio. 
A  vengeance  on  your  crafty  wither'd  hide  ! 

Vet 


\    :  ! 


III.    Sc.  L 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHBBW. 


*75 


ct  I  have  faced  it  with  a  card  often. 
s  in  my  head  to  do  my  master  good  :— . 
1  sir  no  reason,  but  Mippos'd  Lucentio 
Must  get  i  father,  call'd — rappot*d  FincerUioj 
Ami  that's  a  wonder  :  fathers,  commonly. 
Do  get  tlicir  children  ;  but  in  this  case  of  woo- 

hig, 
A  child  shall  get  a  sire,  if  I  fail  not  of  my  cun- 
ning. [Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCEK     I.    A  Room  iu  Baptista'a  House. 

Enter  Luccntio,  Hortensio,  and  Bianca. 

Lucentio. 
I^IDDLER,  forbear:  you  grow  too  forward, 
•*■      sir. 

Have  you  so  soon  forgot  the  entertainment 
Her  sister  Katharine  welcom'd  you  withal? 

Hortensio 
Rut,  wrangling  pedant,  this  is 
The  patroness  of  heavenly  harmony: 
Then,  give  me  leave  to  have  prerogative  ; 
And  when  in  music  we  have  spent  an  hour, 
Your  lecture  shall  have  leisure  for  as  much. 

Luccntio. 
Preposterous  ass,  that  never  read  so  far 
To  know  the  cause  why  music  was  ordain'd  I 
Was  it  not  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man, 
After  his  studies,  or  his  usual  pain  ? 
Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 
And  while  I  pause  serve  in  your  harmony. 

Hortensio. 
Sirrah,  I  will  not  bear  these  braves  of  thine. 

Bianca. 
Why,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  double  wrong, 
To  strive  for  that  which  resteth  in  my  choice. 
1  am  no  breeching  scholar  in  the  schools  ; 
I'll  not  be  tied  to  hours,  nor  'pointed  times, 
But  learn  my  lessons  as  I  please  myself. 
And,  to  cut  bCfall  strife,  here  sit  we  down  :— 
Take  you  your  instrument,  play  you  the  whiles ; 
His  lecture  will  be  done,  ere  you  have  tun'd. 

,.     ....         ,  ,    Hortensio. 
*  ou'll  leave  his  lecture  when  I  am  in  tune  ? 
[Hortensio  retires. 

__  Luccntio. 

That  will  be  never :— tune  your  instrument. 

Bianca. 
Where  left  we  last  ? 

Lucciitio. 

Here,  madam : 

Ilac  ibat  Simons  ;  hie  est  Sigeia  tellus  ; 
Hie  steterat  Priami  regia  celsa  senis. 

Bianca. 
|     Construe  them. 

Lucentio. 
Ilac  ibat,  as  I  told  you  before,  —  Simon's,  I  am 
Lucentio,— hie  est,  son  unto  Vincentio  of  Pisa,— 
t  Sigeia  tellus,  disguised  thus  to  get  your  love ;  — 
;  Hie  steterat,  and  that  Lucentio  that  comes  a 
wooing,  —  Priami,  is  my  man  Tranio,  regia, 
bearing  my  port,  —  celsa  senis,  that  we  might 
beguile  the  old  pantaloon. 

j     ..   ,  Hortensio.  [Returning. 

Madam,  my  instrument's  in  tune. 


r 


Bianca. 
Let's  hear. —  [Hortensio  plays. 

0  fie !  the  treble  jars. 

Lucentio. 
Spit  in  the  hole,  man,  and  tune  again. 

Now  let  me  see  If  I  can  construe  it :  Hac  ibat 
Simuis,  I  know  you  not ; — hie  est  Sigeia  tellus,  I 
trust  you  not; — Hie  steterat  Priami,  take  heed 
he  hear  us  not ; — regia,  presume  not ; —  celsa 
senis,  despair  not. 

Hortensio. 
Madam,  'tis  now  in  tune. 
Lucentio. 

All  but  the  base. 
Hortensio. 
The  base  is  right ;  'tis  the  base  knave  that  jars. 
How  fiery  and  forward  our  pedant  is  ! 
Now,  for  my  life,  the  knave  doth  court  my  love: 
Pedascule,  I'll  watch  you  better  yet. 
Bianca. 
In  time  I  may  believe,  yet  I  mistrust. 

Lucentio. 
Mistrust  it  not  :  for,  sure,  JEaeides 
Was  Ajax,  call'd  so  from  his  grandfather. 
Bianca. 
I  must  believe  my  master;  else,  I  promise 
you, 

1  should  be  arguing  still  upon  that  doubt : 

But  let  it  rest — Now,  Lido,  to  you 

Good  masters,  take  it  not  unkindly,  pray, 
That  I  have  been  thus  pleasant  with  you  both. 

Hortensio.        [To  Lucentio. 
You  may  go  walk,  and  give  me  leave  awhile  : 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts. 
Lucentio. 
Are  you  so  formal,  sir  ?  [Aside.]  Well,  I  must 
wait, 
And  watch  withal  ;  for,  but  I  be  deceiv'd, 
Our  fine  musician  groweth  amorous. 
Hortensio. 
Madam,  before  you  touch  the  instrument, 
To  learn  the  order  of  my  fingering, 
1  must  begin  with  rudiments  of  art ; 
To  teach  you  gamut  in  a  briefer  sort, 
More  pleasant,  pithy,  and  effectual, 
Than  nath  been  taught  by  any  of  my  trade : 
And  there  it  is  in  writing  fairly  drawn. 
Bianca. 
Why,  I  am  past  my  gamut  long  ago. 

Hortensio. 
Yet  read  the  gamut  of  Hortensio. 

Bianca.  [Reads. 

Gamut,  J  am,  the  ground  of  all  accord, 

A  re,  to  plead  Hortensio' s  passion  ; 
B  mi,  Bianca,  take  him  for  thy  lord, 

C  faut,  that  loves  with  all  affection  : 
D  sol  re,  one  clnff,  two  notes  have  I : 
E  la  mi,  show  pity,  or  I  die. 
Call  you  this  gamut  ?  tut !  I  like  It  not : 
Uld  fashions  please  me  best ;  I  am  not  so  nice, 
To  change  true  rules  for  odd  inventions. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Sen 
Mistress,  your  father  prays  you  leave  your 
books, 
And  helj)  to  dress  your  sister's  chamber  up: 
You  know,  to-morrow  is  the  wedding-day. 
Bianca. 
Farewell,  sweet  masters,  both :    I  must  be 
gone.  [Exeunt  Bianca  and  Servant. 

Lucentio. 


%-](> 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Lucentio. 
'Faith,  mistreis,  then  I  have  no  cause  to  stay 
[Exit. 
Hortensio. 
But  I  have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pedant : 
Methinks,  he  looks  as  though  he  were  in  love.—  j 
Yet  if  thy  thoughts.  Bianco,  be  so  humble, 
To  cast  thy  wandering  eyes  on  every  stale, 
Seize  thee  that  list :  if  once  I  find  thee  ranging, 
Hortensio  will  be  quit  with  thee  by  changing. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.  Thesame.  Before  Baptista's  House. 

Enter  Baptista,  Gremt'o,  Tranio,  Katharijte, 
Bianca,  Lucentio,  and  Attendants. 
Baptista. 
Signior  Lucentio,  this  is  the  'pointed  day 
That  Katharine  and  Petruchio  should  be  mar- 
And  yet  we  hear  not  of  our  son-in-law.       [ricd, 
What  will  be  said  ?  what  mockery  will  it  be, 
To  want  the  bridegroom,  when  the  priest  attends 
To  speak  the  ceremonial  rites  of  marriage  ? 
What  says  Lucentio  to  th's  shame  of  ours  ? 
Katharina. 
No  shame  but  mine:  I  must,  forsooth,  be 
forc'd 
To  give  my  hand,  oppos'd  against  my  heart, 
Unto  a  mad-brain  rudesby,  full  of  spleen  ; 
Who  woo'd  in   haste,  and    means  to  wed    at 
I  told  you,  I,  he  was  a  frantic  fool,  [leisure. 

Hiding  his  bitter  jests  in  blunt  behaviour  ; 
And  to  be  noted  for  a  merry  man,  [riage, 

He'll  woo  a  thousand,  'point  the  day  of  mar- 
Make  friends,  invite,  yes,  and  proclaim  the  banns  ; 
Yet  never  means  to  wed  where  he  halh  woo'd. 
Now  must  the  world  point  at  poor  Katharine, 
And  say, —  "  I.o,  there  is  mad  Pelruchio's  wife, 
If  it  would  please  him  come  and  marry  her." 
Tranio 
Patience,  good  Katharine,  and  Baptista  too. 
Upon  my  life,  Petruchio  means  but  well. 
Whatever  fortune  stays  him  from  his  word  : 
Though  he  be  blunt,  1  know  him  passing  wise  ; 
Though  he  be  merry,  yet  withal  he's  honest. 
Katharina. 
Would  Katharine  had  never  seen  him  though  1 
[Exit,  weeping,  followed  by   Bianca,  and 
others. 

Baptista. 
Go,  girl  ;  I  cannot  blame  thee  now  to  weep, 
For  such  an  injury  would  vex  a  very  saint, 
Much  more  a  shrew  of  thy  impatient  humour. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Biondello. 
Master,  master  !  old  news,  and  such  news  as 
you  never  heard  of ! 

Baptista. 
Is  it  new  and  old  too  ?  how  may  that  be  ? 

Biondello. 
Why,  is  it  not  news  to  hear  of  Petruchio's 
eoming? 

Baptista. 
Is  he  come  ? 

Biondello. 
Why,  no,  sir. 

Baptista 
What  then  ? 

Biondello. 
He  is  coming. 

Baptista. 
When  will  he  be  here  ? 

Biondello. 
When  he  stands  where  I  am,  and  sees  you 
there. 


Tranio. 
But,  say,  what  to  thine  old  news  ? 

Biondello. 

Why,  Petruchio  is  coming,  in  a  new  hat,  and 
an  old  jerkin  ;  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  thrice 
turned  ;  a  pair  of  boots  that  have  been  candle- 
cases,  one  buckled,  another  laced  ;  an  old  rusty 
sword  ta'en  out  of  the  town  armoury,  with  a 
broken  hilt,  and  chapeless ;  « ith  two  broken 
points :  his  horse  hipped  with  an  old  mothy 
saddle,  and  stirrups  of  no  kindred:  besides, 
possessed  with  the  glanders,  and  like  to  mosein 
the  chine  ;  troubled  with  the  lampass,  infected 
with  the  fashions,  full  of  wind-galls,  sped  with 
spavins,  raied  with  the  yellows,  past  cure  of  the 
fives,  stark  spoiled  with  the  staggers,  begnawn 
with  the  bots ;  swayed  in  the  back,  and  shoulder - 
shotten  ;  ne'er-legged  before,  and  with  a  half- 
checked  bit,  and  a  head-stall  of  sheep's  leather  ; 
which,  being  restrained  to  keep  him  from 
stumbling,  hath  been  often  burst,  and  now  re- 
paired with  knots :  one  girth  six  times  pieced, 
and  a  woman's  crupper  of  velure,  which  hath 
two  1(  tters  for  her  name  fairly  set  down  in  studs, 
and  here  and  there  pieced  with  packthread. 

Baptista. 
WTho  comes  with  him  ? 

Biondello 
^  O,  sir  !  his  lackey,  for  all  the  worid  capa- 
risoned like  the  horse  ;  with  a  linen  stock  on 
one  leg,  and  a  kersey  boot-hose  on  the  other, 
gartered  with  a  red  and  blue  list :  an  old  hat, 
and  "  the  humour  of  forty  fancies  "  pricked  in't 
for  a  feather  :  a  monster,  a  very  monster  in  ap- 
parel, and  not  like  a  Christian  footboy,  or  a 
gentleman's  lackey. 

Tranio 
'Tis  some  odd  humour   pricks   him  to  this 
fashion  ; 
Yet  oftentimes  he  goes  but  mean  apparell'd. 
Baptista. 
I  am  glad  he  is  come,  howsoe'er  he  comes. 

Biondello. 
Why,  sir,  he  comes  not. 

Baptista. 
Didst  thou  not  say,  he  comes  ? 

Biondello. 
Who  ?  that  Petruchio  came  ? 

Baptista. 
Ay,  that  Petruchio  came. 

Biondello. 
No,  sir  ;  I  say,  his  horse  comes,  with  him  on 
his  back. 

Baptista. 
Why,  that's  all  one. 

Biondello 
Nay,  by  Saint  Jamy, 

I  hold  you  a  penny, 
A  horse  and  a  man 
Is  more  than  one, 
And  yet  not  many. 

Knter  Petruchio  and  Urtimio. 
Petruchio. 
Come,  where  be  these  gallants  ?  who  is  at 
home  ? 

Baptista 
You  are  welcome,  sir. 

Petruchio. 

And  yet  I  come  not  well. 
Baptista. 
And  vet  von  halt  not. 

Tranio. 


An  in.  5c.  ii. 


TAMING  of  THE  SHREW. 


*77 


Tra 

Not  no  well  apparell'd, 
Ai  I  wish  you  were. 

P'-tn. 
Were  it  better,  I  should  rush  In  thus. 
Hut  where  is  Kate  f  where  is  my  lovely  bride?— 
How  dors  my  father  I  —  Gentles,  methinks  you 

frown  : 
And  wherefore  gaze  this  goodly  company, 
As  if  they  saw  some  wondrous  monument, 
borne  comet,  or  unusual  prodigy  ? 

Baptista 
Why,  sir,  you  know,  this  is  your  wedding- 
day  ; 
First  we're  we  sad,  fearing  you  would  not  come  ; 
Now  sadder,  that  you  come  so  unprovided. 
Fie !  doff  this  habit,  shame  to  your  estate, 
An  eye- sore  to  our  solemn  festival. 


And  tell  us  what  occasion  of  Import 
Hath  all  so  long  detain'd  you  from  your  wife, 
And  sent  you  hither  so  unlike  yourself? 

Fetruchio. 
Tedious  it  were  to  tell,  and  harsh  to  hear : 
Sufficeth,  I  am  come  to  keep  my  word, 
Though  in  some  part  enforced  to  digress  ; 
Which,  at  more  leisure,  1  will  so  excuse 
An  you  shall  well  be  satisfied  withal. 
Put  where  is  Katef    1  stay  too  long  from  her  :   i 
The  morning  wears,  'tis  time  we  were  at  church. 

Tranio. 
See  not  your  bride  in  these  unreverent  robes. 
Go  to  my  chamber :  put  on  clothes  of  mine. 
Fetruchio. 
Not  I,  believe  me :  thus  I'll  visit  her. 

Baptista. 
But  thus,  I  trust,  you  will  not  marry  her. 

Fetruchio. 
Good  sooth,  even  thus ;  therefore  have  done 
with  words : 
To  me  she's  married,  not  unto  my  clothes. 
Could  I  repair  what  she  will  wear  in  me, 
As  I  can  change  these  poor  accoutrements, 
'Twere  well  for  Kate,  and  better  for  myself. 
But  what  a  fool  am  !  to  chat  with  you, 
When  I  should  bid  good-morrow  to  my  bride, 
And  seal  the  title  with  a  lovely  kiss  ? 

[Exeunt  Petruehio,  Grumio,  and  Bionddlo. 
Tranio. 
He  hath  some  meaning  in  his  mad  attire. 
We  will  persuade  him,  be  it  possible, 
To  put  on  better  ere  he  go  to  church. 

Baptista. 
Fll  after  him,  and  see  the  event  of  this. 

*      «  [Exit- 

Tranio. 

But  sir,  to  love  concerneth  us  to  add 

Her  father's  liking  ;  which  to  bring  to  pass, 

As  I  before  imparted  to  your  worship, 

I  am  to  get  a  man,— whate'er  he  be. 

It  skills  not  much,  we'll  fit  him  to  our  turn,—     | 

And  he  shall  be  Vivcentio  of  Pisa, 

I   And  make  assurance,  here  in  Padua, 

j   Of  greater  sums  than  I  have  promised. 

Bo  shall  you  quietly  enjoy  your  hope, 

And  marry  sweet  Bianca  with  consent. 

Lucent  io. 
Were  it  not  that  my  fellow  schoolmaster 
Doth  watch  Btanca's  steps  so  narrow  ly, 
Twere  good,  methinks,  to  steal  our  marriage  ; 

I   Which  once  perform 'd,  let  all  the  world  say  no 
Fll  keep  mine  own,  despite  of  all  the  world. 


Tranio. 
That  by  degrees  we  mean  to  look  into, 
And  watch  our  vantage  in  this  business. 
We'll  over-reach  the  grey -beard,  Grcmio, 
The  narrow-prying  father,  Minola, 
The  quaint  musician,  amorous  Licio  ; 
All  for  my  master's  sake,  Lucentio. 

He-cntcr  Gremio. 
Signior  Gremio,  came  you  from  the  church  ? 
:nio. 
As  willingly  as  e'er  I  came  from  school. 

Tranio. 

And  is  the  bride,  and  bridegroom,  coming 
home? 

Gremio. 

A  bridegroom  say  you  ?  'tis  a  groom  indeed  : 

A  grumbling  groom,  and  that  the  girl  shall  find 

Tranio. 

Curster  than  she  ?  why,  'tis  impossible. 

Gremio. 
Why,  he's  a  devil,  a  devil,  a  very  fiend. 

Tranio. 
Why,  she's  a  devil,  a  devil,  the  devil's  dam. 

Grcmio. 
Tut !  she's  a  lamb,  a  dove,  a  fool  to  him. 
Fll  tell  you,  sir,  Lucentio  :  when  the  priest 
Should  ask— if  Katharine  should  be  his  wife, 
"  Ay,  by  gogs-wouns,"  quoth  he  ;  and  swore  so 

loud, 
That,  all-amaz'd,  the  priest  let  fall  the  book. 
And,  as  he  stoop'd  again  to  take  it  up,         [cuff, 
This  mad-brain'd  bridegroom  took  him  such  a 
That  down  fell  priest  and  book,  and  book  and 

priest : 
"  Now  take  them  up,"  quoth  he,  "  if  any  list." 

Tranio. 
What  said  the  wench  when  he  arose  again  ? 

Gremio. 
Trembled  and  shook  ;  for  why,  he  stamp'd 
As  if  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him.  [and  swore, 
Hut  after  many  ceremonies  done, 
He  calls  for  wine  :— "  A  health  I "  quoth  he  ;  as  if 
He  had  been  aboard,  carousing  to  his  mates 
After  a  storm  : — quaff 'd  off  the  muscadel, 
And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 
Having  no  other  reason, 
But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  hungerly, 
And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  he  was  drinking. 
This  done,  he  took  the  bride  about  the  neck, 
And  kiss'd  her  lips  with  such  a  clamorous  smack, 
That,  at  the  parting,  all  the  church  did  echo : 
And  I,  seeing  this,  came  thence  for  very  shame ; 
And  after  me,  I  know,  the  rout  is  coming : 
Such  a  mad  marriage  never  was  before. 
Hark,  hark  !  I  hear  the  minstrels  play.  [Musio. 

Enter  Petruehio,  Katharina,  Bianca,  Baptist*, 
Hortcnsio,  Grumio,  and  Train. 
Petruehio. 
Gentlemen  and  friends,  I  thank  you  for  your 
pains. 
1  know,  you  think  to  dine  with  me  to-day, 
And  have  prepar'd  great  store  of  wedding  cheer ; 
But,  so  it  is,  my  haste  doth  call  me  hence, 
And  therefore  here  1  mean  to  take  my  leave. 

Baptista. 
Is't  possible  you  will  away  to-night  ? 

Petruehio. 
I  must  away  to-day,  before  night  come. 
Make  it  no  wonder  :  if  you  knew  my  business, 
You  would  entreat  me  rather  go  than  stay. — 
And,  honest  company,  1  thank  you  all, 

That 


11% 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


That  have  beheld  me  give  away  myself 
To  this  most  patient,  sweet,  and  virtuous  wife : 
Dine  with  my  father,  drink  a  health  to  me, 
For  I  must  hence  ;  and  farewell  to  you  all. 
Tranio. 
Let  us  entreat  you  stay  till  after  dinner. 

Petruchio. 
It  may  not  be. 

Grernio. 
Let  me  entreat  you. 
Petruchio. 
It  cannot  be. 

Katharina. 
Let  me  entreat  you. 
Petruchio. 
I  am  content. 

Katharina. 
Are  you  content  to  stay  ? 
Petruchio. 
1  am  content  you  shall  entreat  me  stay, 
But  yet  not  stay,  entreat  me  how  you  can. 
Katharina. 
Now,  if  you  love  me.  stay. 
Petruchio. 

Grumfo,  my  horse  ! 
Grumio. 
Ay,  sir,  they  be  ready:  the  oats  have  eaten  the 
horses. 

Katharina. 
Nay,  then, 
Do  what  thou  canst.  I  will  not  go  to-day ; 
No,  nor  to-morrow,  not  till  I  please  myself. 
The  door  is  open,  sir,  there  lies  your  way ; 
You  may  be  jogging  whiles  your  boots  are  green ; 
For  me,  I'll  not  be  gone,  till  I  please  myself.— 
'Tis  like  you'll  prove  a  jolly  surly  groom, 
That  take  it  on  you  at  the  first  so  roundly. 
Petruchio. 
O,  Kate!  content  thee :  pr'ythee  be  not  angry. 

Katharina. 
I  will  be  angrv.     What  hast  thou  to  do  ? — 
Father,  be  quiet ;  he  shall  stay  my  leisure. 
Gremio. 
Ay,  marry,  sir,  now  it  begins  to  work. 

Katharina. 
Gentlemen,  forward  to  the  bridal  dinner. 
I  see,  a  woman  may  be  made  a  fool, 
If  she  had  not  a  spirit  to  resist. 
Petruchio. 
They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  at  thy  com- 
mand.— 
Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her : 
Go  to  the  feast,  revel  and  domineer, 
Carouse  full  measure  to  her  maidenhead, 
lie  mad  and  merry,  or  go  hang  yourselves. 
But  for  my  bonny  Kate,  she  must  with  me. 
Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret ; 
I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own. 
She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels  ;  she  is  my  house, 
My  household-stuff,  my  field,  my  barn, 
My  horse,  my  ox,  my  ass,  my  any  thing  ; 
And  here  she  stands  ;  touch  her  whoever  dare  : 
I'll  bring  mine  action  on  the  proudest  he 
That  stops  my  way  in  Pndua.  —  Grumio, 
Draw   forth   thy   weapon ;    we're  beset   with 

thieves : 
Rescue  thy  mistress,  if  thou  be  a  man.— 
Fear  not,  sweet  wench  ;  they  shall  not  touch 
thee,  Kate : 

LExeunt  Petruihio,  Katharine,  and  Grumtp. 


Baptista. 
Nay,  let  them  go,  a  couple  of  quiet  ones. 

Gremio. 
Went   they  not  quickly,  I  should  die  with 
laughing. 

Tranio. 
Of  all  mad  matches  never  was  the  like  ! 

Lucentio. 
Mistress,  what's  your  opinion  of  your  sister  ? 

Bianca. 
That,  being  mad  herself,  she's  madly  mated. 

Gremio. 
I  warrant  him,  Petruchio  is  Kated. 

Baptista. 

Neighbours  and  friends,  though    bride  and 

bridegroom  wants 

For  to  supply  the  places  at  the  table, 

You  know,  there  wants  no  junkets  at  the  feast. — 

Lucentio    you  shall    supply  the   bridegroom's 

place, 
And  let  Bianca  take  her  sister's  room. 
Tranio 
Shall  sweet  Bianca  practise  how  to  bride  it? 

Baptista. 
She  shall,  Lucentio.— Come,  gentlemen  ;  let's 
go.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    A  Hall  in  Petruchio's  Country 
House. 

Enter  Grumio. 

Grumio. 

j  T7IE,  fie,  on  all  tired  jades,  on  all  mad  masters, 

I  -T  and  all  foul  ways  !   Was  ever  man  so  beaten  ? 

i  was  ever  man  so  rayed  ?  was  ever  man  so  weary  ? 

I  I  am  sent  before  to  make  a  fire,  and  they  are 

j  coming  after  to  warm  them.    Now,  were  not  I 

|  a  little  pot,  and  soon  hot,  my  very  lips  might 

!  freeze  to  my  teeth,  my  tongue  to  the  roof  of  my 

'  mouth,  my  heart  in  my  belly,  ere  I  should  come 

by  a  fire  to  thaw  me  ;  but,  I,  with  blowing  the 

fire,  shall   warm  myself,  for,  considering  the 

weather,  a  taller  man  than   I  will  take  cold 

Holla,  hoal  Curtis! 

Enter  Curtis. 
Curtis. 
Who  is  that,  calls  so  coldly  ? 

Grumio. 

A  piece  of  ice  :  if  thou  doubt  it,  thou  may'st 

slide  from  my  shoulder  to  my  heel,  with  no 

greater  a  run  but  my  head  and  my  neck.    A  fire, 

good  Curtis. 

Curtis. 
Is  my  master  and  his  wife  coming,  Grumio  ? 

Grumio. 
O!  ay,  Curtis,  ay;  and  therefore  fire,  fire: 
cast  on  no  water. 

Curtis. 
Is  she  so  hot  a  shrew  as  she's  reported  ? 

Grumio. 
She  was,  good  Curtis,  before  this  frost ;  but, 
thou  know'st,  winter  tames  man,  woman,  and 
beast,  for  it  hath  tamed  my  old  master,  and  my 
new  mistress,  and  myself,  fellow  Curtis. 
Curtis. 
Away,  you  three-inch  fool  1    I  am  no  beast. 
Grumio. 


Aoi  iv.   $c.  i. 


TAMING   OF  THK  SIIUKW. 


179 


no. 
Am  I  but  tlirce  inches  ?  why,  thy  horn  la  a 
foot  ;  and  so  long  am  I  at  the  least.     But  wilt 
thou  make  a  lire,  or  shall  I  complain  on  thee  to 
our  mistress,  whose  hand  (she  being  now  at 
hand)  thou  slialt  soon  feel,  to  thy  cold  comfort, 
for  being  slow  in  thy  hot  ottice  ? 
Curtis. 
I  pr'ythee,  good  Grumio,  tell  me,  how  goes 
the  world  ? 

Grumio. 
A  cold  world,  Curtis,  in  every  office  but  thine  ; 
and,  therefore,  fire.    Do  thy  duty,  and  have  thy 
duty,  for  my  master  and  mistress  are  almost 
frozen  to  death. 

Curtis. 
There's  fire  ready  ;  and  therefore,  good  Gru- 
tnio,  the  news  ? 

Grumio. 
Why,  "  Jack,  boy  !  ho  boy  ! "  and  as  much 
news  as  thou  wilt. 

Curtis. 
Come,  you  are  so  full  of  conycatching. — 

Grumio. 
Why  therefore,  fire:  for  I  have  caught  ex- 
treme  cold.  Where's  the  cook  ?  is  supper  ready, 
the  house  trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs 
swept;  the  serving-men  in  their  new  fustian,  the 
white  stockings,  and  every  officer  his  wedding- 
garment  on  ?  Be  the  Jacks  fair  within,  the  Jills 
fair  without,  the  carpets  laid,  and  every  thing  in 
order  ? 

Curtis. 
All  ready  ;  and  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  news  ? 

Grumio. 
First,  know,  my  horse  is  tired ;  my  master  and 
mistress  fallen  out. 

Curtis. 
How? 

Grumio. 
Out  of  their  saddles  into  the  dirt ;  and  thereby 
hangs  a  tale. 

Curtis. 
Let's  ha't,  good  Grumio. 
Grumio. 
Lend  thine  ear. 

Curtis. 
Here. 

Grumio. 
There.  [Striking  him. 

Curtis. 
This  'tis  to  feel  a  tale,  not  to  hear  a  tale. 

Grumio. 
And  therefore  'tis  called,  a  sensible  tale  ;  and 
this  cuff  was  but  to  knock  at  your  ear,  and 
beseech  listening.  Now  1  begin  :  Imprimis,  wo 
came  down  a  foul  hill,  my  master  riding  behind 
my  mistress. 

Curtis. 
Both  of  one  horse? 

Grumio. 
What's  that  to  thee  ? 

Curtis. 
Why,  a  horse. 

Grumio. 
Tell  thou  the  tale:  — but  hadst  thou  not 
crossed  me,  thou  should'st  have  heard  how  her 
horse  fell,  and  she  under  her  horse ;  thou 
should'st  have  heard,  in  how  miry  a  place;  how 
she  was  bemoiled  :  how  he  left  her  with  the 
horse,  upon  her ;  how  he  beat  me  because  her 
horse  stumbled  ;  how  she  waded  through  the 
dirt  to  pluck  him  off  me ;  how  he  swore;  how 
she  prayed,  that  never  prayed  before  ;   how  1 


cried  ;  how  the  horses  ran  away ;  how  her  bridle 
was  burst ;  how  1  lost  my  crupper  ;  —  with  many 
things  of  worthy  memory,  which  now  shall  die 
in  oblivion,  and  thou  return  unexperienced  to 
thy  grave. 

Curtis. 
By  this  reckoning  he  is  more  shrew  than  she. 
Gnwle. 

Ay ;  and  that  thou  and  the  proudest  of  you  all 
shall  find,  when  he  comes  home.  But  what  talk 
I  of  this  ?—  Call  forth  Nathaniel,  Joseph,  Nicho- 
las, I'hilip,  Halter,  Sugarsop,  and  the  rest :  let 
their  heads  be  sleekly  combed,  their  blue  coats 
brushed,  and  their  garters  of  an  indifferent  knit : 
let  them  curtsey  with  their  left  legs,  and  not 
presume  to  touch  a  hair  of  my  master's  horse- 
tail, till  they  kiss  their  hands.  Are  they  all 
readv  ? 

Curtis. 

They  are. 

Grumio. 

Call  them  forth. 

Curtis. 

Do  you  hear  ?  ho !  you  must  meet  my  master, 
to  countenance  my  mistress. 

Grumio. 
Why,  she  hath  a  face  of  her  own. 

Curtis. 
Who  knows  not  that  ? 

Grumio. 

Thou,  it  seems,  that  callest  for  company  to 
countenance  her. 

Curtis. 
I  call  them  forth  to  credit  her. 

Grumio. 

Why,  she  comes  to  borrow  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  several  Servants. 

Nathaniel. 

Welcome  home,  Grumio. 

Philip. 

How  now,  Grumio  ? 

Joseph. 
What,  Grumio ! 

Nicholaa. 
Fellow  Grumio  ! 

Nathaniel. 
How  now,  old  lad  ? 

Grumio. 
Welcome,  you  ; — how  now,  you  ;  what,  you  ; 
—fellow,  you ; — and  thus  much  for  greeting. 
Now,  my  spruce  companions,  is  all  ready,  ani 
all  things  neat  ? 

Nathaniel. 
All  things  is  ready.    How  near  is  our  master  ? 

Grumio. 
E'en  at  hand,  alighted  by  this  ;  and  therefore 
be  not,— Cock '8  passion,  silence! — I  hear  my 
master. 

Enter  Peiruchio  and  Kathartna. 
Tetruchio. 
Where  be  these  knaves  ?    What !  no  man  at 
door, 
To  hold  my  stirrup,  nor  to  take  my  horse. 
Where  is  Nathaniel,  Gregory,  Philip  f 
All  Servants. 
Here,  here,  sir ;  here,  sir. 
Petrnrhio. 
Here,  sir  !  here,  sir  !  here,  sir  !  here,  sir? 
You  logger-headed  and  unpolish'd  grooms  I 

What 


28o 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


What,  no  attendance  ?  no  regard  ?  no  duty  ? — 
Where  is  the  foolish  knave  I  sent  before  ? 
Grumio. 
Here,  sir  ;  as  foolish  as  I  was  before. 

Petruchio 
You  peasant  swain  !  you  whoreson  malt-horse 
drudge ! 
Did  1  not  bid  thee  meet  me  in  the  park, 
And  bring  along  these  rascal  knaves  with  thee  ? 
Grumio. 
Nathaniel's  coat,  sir,  was  not  fully  made. 
And  Gabriel's  pumps  were  all  unpink'd  i'the 

heel; 
There  was  no  link  to  colour  Peter's  hat, 
And  Waller's  dagger  was  not  come  from  sheath- 
ing :  [Gregory  ; 
There  were  none  fine,  but  Adam,  Ralph,  and 
The  rest  were  ragged,  old,  and  beggarly ;   [you. 
Yet,  as  they  are,  here  are  they  come  to  meet 
Petruchio. 
Go,  rascals,  go.  and  fetch  my  supper  in.— 

[Exeunt  some  oftne  Servants. 
"  Where  is  the  life  that  late  I  led  " — 
Where  are  those — ?    Sit  down,  Kate,  and  wel- 
Soud,  soud,  soud,  soud  I  [come. 

Re-enter  Servants,  with  supper. 

Why,  when,  I  say  ?— Nay,  good  sweet  Kate,  be 
merry.  [when  ? 

Off  with  my  boots,  you  rogues!  you  villains, 
"  It  was  the  friar  of  orders  grey, 
As  he  forth  walked  on  his  way  :  " — 
Out,  you  rogue !  you  pluck  my  foot  awry  : 
Take  that,  and  mend  the  plucking  of  the  other. — 
[Strikes  him. 
Be  merry,  Kate : —  Some  water,  here  ;   what, 
hoi- 
Enter  Servant,  with  water. 

Where's  my  spaniel  Troilust— Sirrah,  get  you 

hence, 
And  bid  my  cousin  Ferdinand  come  hither : — 

[Exit  Servant. 
One,  Kate,  that  you  must  kiss,  and  be  acquainted 

with [water  ? 

Where  are  my  slippers  ?— Shall   I  have  some 
[A  bason  is  presented  to  him. 
Come,  Kale,  and  wash,  and  welcome  heartily. — 
You  whoreson  villain  1  will  you  let  it  fall  ? 

[Strikes  him. 
Katharina. 
Patience,  I  pray  you  ;  'twas  a  fault  unwilling. 
Petrachio. 
A  whoreson,  beetleheadcd,  flap-ear'd  knave  ! 
Come,   Kate,  sit  down;    1  know  you  have  a 
stomach.  [IP- 

Will  you  give  thanks,  sweet  Kate,  or  else  shall 
What's  this  ?  mutton  ? 

I  Servant. 

Ay. 
Petruchio. 

Who  brought  it  ? 
1  Servant. 

I. 
Petruchio. 
'Tis  burnt ;  and  so  is  all  the  meat. 
What  dogs  are  these !— Where  is  the.rascal  cook  ? 
How  durst  you,  villains,  bring  it  from  the  dresser, 
And  serre  it  thus  to  me  that  love  it  not  ? 
There,  take  it  to  you,  trenchers,  cups,  and  all. 

[Throws  the  meat,  &c.  at  them. 
You  heedless  joltheads,  and  unmanner'd  slaves ! 
What !    do  you  grumble  ?      I'll  be  with   you 
straight. 


Katharina. 
T  pray  you,  husband,  be  not  so  disquiet: 
The  meat  was  well,  if  you  were  so  contented. 
Petruchio. 
I  tell  thee.  Kale,  'twas  burnt  and  dried  away, 
And  1  expressly  am  forbid  to  touch  it, 
For  it  engenders  choler,  planteth  anger  : 
And  better  'twere,  that  both  of  us  did  fast, 
Since,  of  ourselves,  ourselves  are  choleric, 
Than  feed  it  with  such  over-roasted  flesh. 
Be  patient ;  to-morrow  't  shall  be  mended, 
And  for  this  night  we'll  fast  for  company. 
Come,  I  will  bring  thee  to  thy  bridal  chamber. 
[Exeunt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Curtis. 

Nathaniel. 
Peter,  didst  ever  see  the  like  ? 

Peter. 
He  kills  her  in  her  own  humour. 

Re-enter  Curtis. 
Grumio. 

Where  is  he  ? 

Curtis. 

In  her  chamber, 
Making  a  sermon  of  continency  to  her  ;      [soul, 
And  rails,  and  swears,  and  rates,  that  she,  poor 
Knows  not  which  way  to  stand,  to  look,  to  speak, 
And  sits  as  one  new-risen  from  a  dream. 
Away,  away  I  for  he  is  coming  hither. 

[Exeunt. 
Re-enter  Petruchio, 
Petruchio. 

Thus  have  I  politicly  begun  my  reign, 
And  'tis  my  hope  to  end  successfully. 
My  falcon  now  is  sharp,  and  passing  empty, 
And,  till  she  stoop,  she  must  not  be  full-gorg'd, 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  lure. 
Another  way  I  have  to  man  my  haggard, 
To  make  her  come,  and  know  her  keeper's  call ; 
That  is,  to  watch  her,  as  we  watch  these  kites, 
That  bate,  and  beat,  and  will  not  be  obedient. 
She  eat  no  meat  to-day,  nor  none  shall  eat ; 
Last  night  she  slept  not,  nor  to-night  she  shall 

not: 
As  with  the  meat,  some  undeserved  fault 
I'll  find  about  the  making  of  the  bed, 
And  here  I'll  fling  the  pillow,  there  the  bolster, 
This  way  the  coverlet,  another  way  the  sheets : — 
Ay,  and  amid  this  hurly,  I  intend, 
That  all  is  done  in  reverend  care  of  her  ; 
And,  in  conclusion,  she  shall  watch  all  night : 
And,  if  she  chance  to  nod,  I'll  rail,  and  brawl, 
And  witli  the  clamour  keep  her  still  awake. 
This  is  a  way  to  kill  a  wife  with  kindness  ; 
And  thus   I  11  curb  her  mad  and  headstrong 

humour. 
He  that  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew, 
Now  let  him  speak:  'tis  charity  to  shew. 

TRxit. 

SCENE  II.    Padua.    Before  Baptista's  House. 
Enter  Tranio  and  Hortensio. 
Tranio. 
Is't    possible,    friend    Licio,    that    mistress 
Doth  fancy  any  other  but  Lucentio  f       [Bianca 
I  tell  you,  sir,  she  bears  me  fair  in  hand. 
Hortensio. 
Sir,  to  satisfy  you  in  what  I  have  said, 
Stand  by,  and  mark  the  manner  of  his  teaching. 
[They  stand  aside. 

Enter  Bianca  and  Lucentio. 
Lucentio. 
Now,  mistress,  profit  you  in  what  you  read  ? 
Bianca. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHBEW. 


*8i 


Dif 
What,  master,  read  you?    first  resolve   me 

that. 

I  read  that  I  profess,  the  Art  to  Love. 

Diai: 
And  may  you  prove,  sir,  master  of  jour  art ! 

nt.ii 
While  you,  sweet  dear,  prove  mistress  of  my 
heart.  [They  retire. 

Hortcnsio 

[Coming  forward.  ! 
Quick  proceeders,  marry  !    Now,  tell  me,  I| 
pray. 
You  that  durst  swear  that  your  mistress  Bianca 
Lov'd  none  in  the  world  so  well  as  Lucentio. 
Tranio. 
O,  despiteful  love  !  unconstant  womankind  !— 
1  tell  thee,  Licio,  this  is  wonderful. 
Hortensio. 
Mistake  no  more  :  I  am  not  Licio, 
Nor  a  musician,  as  I  seem  to  be, 
But  one  that  scorns  to  live  in  this  disguise, 
For  such  a  one,  as  leaves  a  gentleman, 
And  makes  a  god  of  such  a  cullion. 
Know,  sir,  that  I  am  call'd  Hortensio. 
Tranio. 
Signior  Hortensio,  I  have  often  heard 
Of  your  entire  affection  to  Bianco, ; 
And  since  mine  eyes  are  witness  of  her  lightness, 
I  will  with  you,  if  you  be  so  contented, 
Forswear  Bianco  and  her  love  for  ever. 
Hortensio. 
See,    how    they    kiss    and    court !  — Signior 
Lucentio, 
Here  is  my  hand,  and  here  I  firmly  vow 
Never  to  woo  her  more  ;  but  do  forswear  her, 
As  one  unworthy  all  the  former  favours 
That  1  have  fondly  flatter'd  her  withal. 
Tranio. 
And  here  I  take  the  like  unfeigned  oath, 
Never  to  marry  with  her,  though  she  would 
entreat.  [him. 

Fie  on  her  1  see,  how  beastly  she  doth  court 
Hortensio. 
Would  all  the  world,  but  he,  had  quite  for- 
sworn '. 
For  me.  that  I  may  surely  keep  mine  oath, 
1  will  be  married  to  a  wealthy  widow, 
Ere  three  days  pass,  which  hath  as  long  lov'd 

me, 
As  I  have  lov'd  this  proud  disdainful  haggard. 
And  so  farewell,  signior  Lucentio.  — 
Kindness  in  women  !  not  their  beauteous  looks, 
Shall  win  my  love :  —  and  so  1  take  my  leave, 
In  resolution  as  I  swore  before. 

£Exit    Hortensio.  — Lucentio   and    Bianco 
advance. 

Tranio. 
Mistress  Bianco,  bless  vou  with  surh  grace, 
As  'longeth  to  a  lover's  blessed  case  ! 
Nay,  I  have  ta'en  you  napping,  gentle  love, 
And  have  forsworn  you,  with  Hortensio. 
Bianca. 
Tranio.  you  jest.     But  have  you  both   for-: 
sworn  me  ? 

Tranio. 
Mistress,  we  have. 

Lucentio. 

Then  we  are  rid  of  Licio 
Tranio. 
l'faith,  he'll  have  a  lusty  widow  now, 
That  shall  be  woo'd  and  wedded  in  a  day. 

11 


Bianca. 
God  give  him  Joy  1 

Tranio. 
Ay,  and  he'll  tame  her. 
Bianca. 

He  says  so,  Tranio. 
Tranio. 
'Faith,  he  is  gone  unto  the  taming-school. 

Bianca. 
The  taming-school  !    what,  is  there  such  a 
place  ? 

Tranio. 

Ay,  mistress,  and  Petruchio  is  the  master  ; 

That  teacheth  tricks  eleven  and  twenty  long,* 

To  tame  a  shrew,  and  charm  her  chattering 

tongue. 

Enter  Biondello,  running. 
Biondello. 
O  master,  master  !  I  have  watch 'd  so  long 
That  I'm  dog-weary  ;  but  at  last  I  spied 
An  ancient  engle  coming  down  the  hill, 
Will  serve  the  turn. 

Tranio. 

What  is  he,  Biondello  T 
Biondello. 
Master,  a  mercatante,  or  a  pedant, 
I  know  not  what ;  but  formal  in  apparel, 
In  gait  and  countenance  surely  like  a  father. 
Lucentio. 
And  what  of  him,  Tranio? 

Tranio. 
If  he  be  credulous,  and  trust  my  tale, 
I'll  make  him  glad  to  seem  Vincentio, 
And  give  assurance  to  Baptista  Minola, 
As  if  he  were  the  right  Vincentio. 
Take  in  your  love,  and  then  let  me  alone. 

[Exeunt  Lucentio  and  Biania. 

Enter  a  Pedant. 
Pedant. 
God  save  you,  sir  ! 

Tranio. 
And  you,  sir :  you  are  welcome. 
Travel  you  far  on,  or  are  you  at  the  farthest  ? 
Pedant. 
Sir,  at  the  farthest  for  a  week  or  two ; 
But  then  up  farther,  and  as  far  as  Rome, 
And  so  to  Tripolp,  if  God  lend  me  life. 
Tranio. 
What  countryman,  I  pray  ? 
Pedant. 

Of  Mantua. 
Tranio. 
Of  Mantua,  sir  ?— marry,  God  forbid  ! 
And  come  to  Padua,  careless  of  your  life  ? 
Pedant. 
My  life,  sir  1  how,  I  pray  ?  for  that  goes  hard. 

Tranio. 

'Tis  death  for  any  one  in  Mantua 

To  come  to  Padua.    Know  you  not  the  caiue  ? 

Your  ships  are  stay'd  at  Venice  ;  and  the  duke, 

For  private  quarrel  'twixt  your  duke  and  him, 


Hath  publish 'd  and  proclaim'd  it  openly, 
''lis  marvel ;  but  that  you  are  but  newly  come, 
You  might  have  heard  it  else  proclaim'd  about, 
Pedant. 
Alas,  sir  !  it  is  worse  for  me  than  so ; 
For  I  have  bills  for  money  by  exchange 
From  Florence,  and  must  here  deliver  them. 
Tranio. 
Well,  sir,  to  do  you  courtesy 

Thii 


I  28z 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  iv.  £c.  11. 


This  will  1  do,  and  this  I  will  advise  you. — 
First,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  at  Pisa  ? 
Pedant. 
Ay,  sir,  in  Pisa  have  I  often  been  ; 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 
Tranio. 
Among  them,  know  you  one  f'incentio  ? 

Pedant. 
I  know  him  not,  but  I  have  heard  of  him  : 
A  merchant  of  incomparable  wealth. 
Tranio. 
He  is  my  father,  sir  ;  and,  sooth  to  say, 
In  countenance  somewhat  doth  resemble  you. 
Biondello.  [Aside. 

As  much  as  an  apple  doth  an  oyster,  and  all 

Tranio. 

To  save  your  life  in  this  extremity, 
This  favour  will  I  do  you  for  his  sake, 
And  think  it  not  the  worst  of  all  your  fortunes, 
That  you  are  like  to  sir  Vincentio. 
His  name  and  credit  shall  you  undertake, 
And  in  my  house  you  shall  be  friendly  lodg'd. 
Look,  that  you  take  upon  you  as  you  should  : 
You  understand  me,  sir;  — so  shall  you  stay 
Till  you  have  done  your  business  in  the  city. 
If  this  be  courtesy,  sir,  accept  of  it. 
Pedant. 

O  !  sir,  I  do  ;  and  will  repute  you  ever 
The  patron  of  my  life  and  liberty. 
Tranio. 

Then  go  with  me,  to  make  the  matter  good. 
This,  by  the  way,  I  let  you  understand : 
My  father  is  here  look'd  for  every  day, 
To  pass  assurance  of  a  dower  in  marriage 
'Twixt  me  and  one  Baptista's  daughter  here: 
In  all  these  circumstances  I'll  instruct  you. 
Go  with  me,  to  clothe  you  as  becomes  you. 

(.Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Petruchio's  House. 

Enter  Katharina  and  Grumio. 

Grumio. 

No,  no,  forsooth  ;  I  dare  not,  for  my  life. 

Katharina. 
The   more   my  wrong,  the   more  his  spite 
appears. 
What,  did  he  marry  me  to  famish  me  ? 
Beggars,  that  come  unto  my  father's  door, 
Upon  entreaty,  have  a  present  alms  ; 
If  not,  elsewhere  they  meet  with  charity : 
But,  I,  who  never  knew  how  to  entreat, 
Nor  never  needed  that  I  should  entreat, 
Am  starv'd  for  meat,  giddy  for  lack  of  sleep ; 
With  oaths  kept  waking,  and  witli  brawling  fed. 
And  that  which  spites  me  more  than  all  these 

wants, 
He  does  it  under  name  of  perfect  love  ; 
As  who  should  say,  if  I  should  sleep,  or  eat, 
'Twere  deadly  sickness,  or  else  present  death. 
I  pr'ythee  go,  and  get  me  some  repast ; 
I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 
Grumio. 
What  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot  ? 

Katharina. 
'Tis  passing  good :  I  pr'ythee  let  me  have  it. 

Grumio. 
I  fear,  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat. 
How  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe,  finely  broil'd  ? 
Katharina. 
I  like  it  well :  good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 


Grumio. 
I  cannot  tell ;  I  fear,  'tis  choleric. 
What  say  you  to  a  piece  of  beef,  and  mustard  ? 
Katharina. 
A  dish  that  I  do  love  to  feed  upon. 

Grumio, 
Ay,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot  a  little. 

Katharina. 
Why,  then  the  beef,  and  let  the  mustard  rest. 

Grumio. 

Nay,  then  I  will  not:  you  shall  have  the  mus- 

Or  else  you  get  no  beef  of  Grumio.  [tard, 

Katharina. 

Then  both,  or  one,  or  any  thing  thou  wilt. 

Grumio. 
Why  then,  the  mustard  without  the  beef. 

Katharina. 
Go,  get  thee  gone,  thou  false  deluding  sl^ye 

That  feed'st  me  with  the  very  name  of  meat. 
Sorrow  on  thee,  and  all  the  pack  of  you, 
That  triumph  thus  upon  my  misery  I 
Go ;  get  thee  gone,  I  say. 

Knter  Petruchio  with  a  dish  of  meat,  and 

Hortensio. 

Petruchio. 

How  fares  my  Kate?    What,  sweeting,  all 

amort?         „  . 

Hortensio. 

Mistress,  what  cheer  ? 

Katharina. 

'Faith,  as  cold  as  can  be. 
Petruchio. 
Pluck  up  thy  spirits ;  look  cheerfully  upon  me. 
Here,  love  ;  thou  seest  how  diligent  I  am. 
To  dress  thy  meat  myself,  and  bring  it  thee; , 
[Sets  the  disu  on  a  table. 

I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits 

thanks, 
What !  not  a  word  ?  Nay  then,  thou  lov'st  it  not, 
And  all  my  pains  is  sorted  to  no  proof.— 
Here,  take  away  this  dish. 

Katharina. 

I  pray  you,  let  it  stand. 

Petruchio. 

The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks, 

And  so  shall  mine,  before  you  touch  the  meat. 

Katharina. 

I  thank  you,  sir. 

Hortensio. 
Signior  Petruchio,  fie  !  you  are  to  blame. 
Come,  mistress  Kale,  I'll  bear  you  company. 

Petruchio.  [Aside. 

Eat  it  up  all,  Hortensio,  if  thou  lov'st  me. — 
[To  her.  J  Much  good  do  it  unto  thy  gentle  heart! 
Kate,  eat  apace.  —  And  now,  my  honey  love, 
Will  we  return  unto  thy  father's  house, 
And  revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best, 
With  silken  coats,  and  caps,  and  golden  rings 
With  ruffs,  and    cuffs,  and   farthingales,  and 
thinjrs ;  r  bravery, 

With  scarfs,  and  fans,  and  double  change  of 
With    amber   bracelets,    beads,    and    all    this 
knavery.  [leisure, 

What !  hast  thou  din'd?    The  tailor  stays  thy 
To  deck  thy  body  with  his  ruffling  treasure. 
Enter  Tailor. 


Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments  ; 


Enter 


T.  Stu third  RA- 


IT AM HEKS-  ©IF  TTJBIE 

Act     1.    Sc.     3 


A.  i  iv.   Sc.  in. 


TAMING  OF  Till:  SHREW. 


283 


Haberdasher. 
Lay  forth  the  gown.— What  news  with  you,  gir? 
Habcr.i 
Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  did  bespeak. 

achto 

Why,  tiiis  was  moulded  on  a  porringer  ; 
A  velvet  dish  :— fie,  fie  !  'tis  lewd  and  filthy. 
Why,  'tis  a  cockle  or  a  walnut  shell, 
A  knack,  a  toy,  a  trick,  a  baby's  cap ; 
Away  with  it  1  come,  let  me  have  a  bigger. 
Katii  1 
I'll  have  no  bigger :  this  doth  fit  the  time, 
And  gentlewomen  wear  such  caps  as  these. 
lVtruchio. 
When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  have  one  too ; 
And  not  till  then. 

Hortensio.  [Aside 

That  wiU  not  be  in  haste. 
Katharinu 
WThy,  sir,  1  trust,  I  may  have  leave  to  speak, 
And  speak  I  will ;  I  am  no  child,  no  babe  : 
Your  betters  have  endur'd  me  say  my  mind, 
And,  if  you  cannot,  best  you  stop  your  ears. 
My  tongue  will  tell  the  anger  of  my  heart, 
Or  else  my  heart,  concealing  it,  will  break: 
And,  rather  than  it  shall,  1  will  be  free, 
Even  to  the  uttermost,  as  I  please,  in  words. 
I'otruchio. 
Why,  thou  say'st  true :  it  is  a  paltry  cap, 
A  cu.>tard-coftin,  a  bauble,  a  silken  pie. 
I  love  thee  well,  in  that  thou  lik'st  it  not. 
Katharina. 
Love  me,  or  love  me  not,  I  like  the  cap, 
And  it  1  will  have,  or  I  will  have  none. 
Petruchio. 
Thy  gown?  why,  ay: — come,  tailor,  let  us; 
sce't 
O,  mercy,  God  !  what  masking  stuff  is  here  ? 
What's  this  ?  a  sleeve  ?  'tis  like  a  demi-cannon : 
What !  up  and  down,  carv'd  like  an  apple-tart?  j 
Here's  snip,  and  nip,  and  cut,  and  slish,  audi 
Like  to  a  censer  in  a  barber's  shop. —      [slash, 
Why,  what,  o'devil's  name,  tailor,  call'st  thou 
this  ? 

Hortensio.  [Aside. 

I  see,  she's  like  to  have  neither  cap  nor  gown. 

Tailor. 
You  bid  me  make  it  orderly  and  well, 
According  to  the  fashion,  and  the  time. 
Petruchio. 
Marry,  and  did ;  but  if  you  be  remember'd, 
I  did  not  bid  you  mar  it  to  the  time. 
Go,  hop  me  over  every  kennel  home, 
For  you  shall  hop  without  my  custom,  sir. 
PL'  none  of  it :  hence  1  make  your  best  of  it. 
Katharina. 
1  never  saw  a  better-fashion'd  gown, 
More  quaint,  more  pleasing,  nor  more  commend- 
able. 
Belike,  you  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me. 
Petruchio. 
Why,  true  ;  he  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
thee. 

Tailor. 
She  says,  your  worship   means    to   make  a 
puppet  ot  her. 

Petruchio. 
O,  monstrous  arrogance  !    Thou  licst,  thou 
Thou  thimble,  [thread, 

Thou  yard,  three-quarters,  half-yard,  quarter, 

nad ! 
Thou  flea,  thou  nit,  thou  winter  cricket  thou  ! — 


Ifrav'd  in    mine  own    house  with  a  skein  of 

thread? 
Away  1  thou  rag,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant, 
Or  I  shall  so  be-mete  thee  with  thy  yard, 
As  thou  shalt  think  on  prating  whilst  thou  liv'st. 
1  tell  thee,  I,  that  thou  hast  marr'd  her  gown. 

Your  worship  is  deceiv'd :  the  gown  is  made 
Just  as  my  master  had  direction. 
Grutnio  gave  order  how  it  should  be  done. 
(Jruinio 
I  gave  him  no  order  ;  I  gave  him  the  stuff. 

Tailor. 
But  how  did  you  desire  it  should  be  made  ? 

Grumio. 
Marry,  sir,  with  needle  and  thread. 

:ilor. 
But  did  you  not  request  to  have  it  cut  ? 

Grumio. 
Thou  hast  faced  many  things. 

Tailor. 
I  have. 

Grumio. 
Face  not  me :  thou  hast  braved  many  men ; 
brave  not  me :  I  will  neither  be  faced  nor  braved. 
1  say  unto  thee, —  I  bid  thy  master  cut  out  the 
gown ;  but  1  did  not  bid  him  cut  it  to  pieces : 
ergo,  thou  liest. 

Tailor. 
Why,  here  is  the  note  of  the  fashion  to  testify. 

Petruchio. 
Read  it. 

Grumio. 
The  note  lies  in's  throat,  if  he  say  I  said  so. 

Tailor. 
"  Imprimis,  a  loose-bodied  gown." 

Grumio. 
Master,  if  ever  1  said  loose-bodied  gown,  sew 
me  in  the  skirts  of  it,  and  beat  me  to  death  with 
a  bottom  of  brown  thread :  1  said,  a  gown. 
Petruchio. 
Proceed. 

Tailor. 
"  With  a  small  compassed  cape." 

Grumio. 
I  confess  the  cape. 

Tailor. 
"  With  a  trunk  sleeve." 

Grumio. 
I  confess  two  sleeves. 

Tailor. 
"  The  sleeves  curiously  cut." 

Petruchio. 
Ay,  there's  the  villany. 

Grumio. 
Error  i'the  bill,  sir  ;  error  i'the  bill.     I  com- 
manded the  sleeves  should  be  cut  out,  and  sewed 
up  again  ;  and  that  I'll  prove  upon  thee,  though 
thy  little  finger  be  armed  in  a  thimble. 
Tailor. 
This  is  true,  that  I  say :  an  I  had  thee  in  place 
where,  thou  should'st  know  it. 
Grumio. 
I  am  for  thee  straight:  take  thou  the  bill, give 
me  thy  mete-yard,  and  spare  not  me. 
Hortensio. 
God-a-mercy,  Grumio,  then  he  shall  have  na 
odds. 

Petruchio. 
Well,  sir,  in  brief,  the  gown  is  not  for  mo. 

Grumio. 


28+ 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  iv.  5c;.  in. 


Grumio. 
You  are  i'the  right,  sir  :  'tis  for  my  mistresg. 

Petruchio. 
Go,  take  it  up  unto  thy  master's  use. 

Grumio. 
Villain,  not  for  thy  life  !    Take  up  my  mis- 
tress' gown  for  thy  master's  use  ! 
Petruchio. 
Why,  sir,  what's  your  conceit  in  that  ? 

Grumio. 
O,  sir,  the  conceit  is  deeper  than  you  think 
for. 
Take  up  my  mistress'  gown  to  his  master's  use  ! 
O,  fie,  fie,  ne  !  ■  .  . 

Petruchio.  [Aside. 

Hortensio,  say  thou  wilt  see  the  tailor  paid.— 
Go  take  it  hence ;  be  gone,  and  say  no  more. 
Hortensio. 
Tailor,  I'll  pay  thee  for  thy  gown  to-morrow  : 
Take  no  unkindness  of  his  hasty  words. 
Away,  I  say  ;  fg^gft^to jtj  ^g^Mn.  \ 
Petruchio. 
Well,  come,  my   Kate  ;   we  will  unto  your 
father's, 
Even  in  these  honest  mean  habiliments. 
Our  purses  shall  be  proud,  our  garments  poor  : 
For  'tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  . 
And  as  the  sun  breaks   through   the  darkest 

clouds, 
So  honour  peereth  in  the  meanest  habit. 
What,  is  the  jay  more  precious  than  the  lark, 
Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful  ? 
Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel, 
Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye  ? 

0  !  no,  good  Kate;  neither  art  thou  the  worse 
For  this  poor  furniture,  and  mean  array. 

If  thou  account'st  it  shame,  lay  it  on  me  ; 
And  therefore  frolic  :  we  will  hence  forthwith, 
To  feast  and  sport  us  at  thy  father's  house.— 
Go,  call  my  men,  and  let  us  straight  to  him  ; 
And  bring  our  horses  unto  Long-lane  end, 
There  will  we   mount,  and    thither  walk    on 

foot—  I 

Let's  see  ;  I  think,  'tis  now  some  seven  o'clock, 
And  well  we  may  come  there  by  dinner  time. 
Katharina. 

1  dare  assure  you,  sir,  'tis  almost  two, 
And  'twill  be  supper  time,  ere  you  come  there. 
Petruchio. 

It  shall  be  seven,  ere  I  go  to  horse. 
Look,  what  1  speak,  or  do,  or  think  to  do, 
You  are  still  crossing  it— Sirs,  left  alone  : 

1  will  not  go  to-day  j  and  ere  I  do, 
..It  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say  it  is. 

Hortensio. 
Why,  so  this  gallant  will  command  the  sun. 
"  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.   Padua.   Before  Baptista' &  House. 

Enter  Tranio,  and  the  Pedant  dressed  like 
Vincentio. 
Tranio. 

Sir,  this  is  the  house:  please  it  you,  that  I 
call? 

Pedant. 
Ay,  what  else  ?  and,  but  I  be  deceived, 
Signior  Baptista  may  remember  me, 
Near  twenty  years  ago,  in  Genoa, 
Wnere  we  were  lodgers  at  the  Pegasus. 
Tranio. 
'Tis  well:  and  hold  your  own,  in  any  case, 
With  such  austerity  as  'longeth  to  a  father. 


Enter  Biondello. 
Pedant. 
I   warrant  you.    But,  sir,  here  comes  your 
'Twere  good,  he  were  school'd.  [boy ; 

Tranio. 
Fear  you  not  him.    Sirrah,  Biondello, 
Now  do  your  duty  throughly,  1  advise  you: 
Imagine  'twere  the  right  Vincentio. 
Biondello. 
Tut !  fear  not  me. 

Tranio. 
But  hast  thou  done  thy  errand  to  Baptista  ? 

Biondello, 

I  told  him,  that  vour  father  was  at  Venice, 

And  that  you  look'd  for  him  this  day  in  Padua. 

Tranio. 

Thou'rt  a  tall  fellow:  hold  thee  that  to  drink. 

Here  comes  Baptista. —  Set  your  countenance, 

sir — 

Enter  Baptista  and  Lucentio. 
Signior  Baptista,  you  are  happily  met. — 
Sir,  this  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you  of. — 
I  pray  you,  stand  good  father  to  me  now, 
Give  me  Bianca  for  my  patrimony. 
Pedant. 
Soft,  son  !— 
Sir,  by  your  leave:  having  come  to  Padua 
To  gather  in  some  debts,  my  son,  Lucentio, 
Made  me  acquainted  with  a  weighty  cause 
Of  love  between  your  daughter  and  himself: 
And,  for  the  good  report  I  hear  of  you, 
And  for  the  love  he  oeareth  to  your  daughter, 
And  she  to  him,  to  stay  him  not  too  long, 
1  am  content,  in  a  good  father's  care, 
To  have  him  match'd  ;  and,  if  you  please  to  like 
No  worse  than  I,  upon  some  agreement, 
Me  shall  you  find  ready  and  willing 
With  one  consent  to  have  her  so  bestow'd  ; 
For  curious  I  cannot  be  with  you, 
Signior  Baptista,  of  whom  1  hear  so  well. 
Baptista. 
Sir,  pardon  me  in  what  I  have  to  say :     [well : 
Your  plainness,  and  your  shortness  please  me 
Kight  true  it  is,  your  son  Lucentio,  here, 
Doth  love  my  daughter,  and  she  loveth  him, 
Or  both  dissemble  deeply  their  affections  ; 
And,  therefore,  if  you  say  no  more  than  this, 
That  like  a  father  you  will  deal  with  him, 
And  pass  my  daughter  a  sufficient  dower, 
The  match  is  made,  and  all  is  done : 
Your  son  shall  have  my  daughter  with  consent. 
Tranio. 
I  thank  you,  sir.    Where,  then,  do  you  know 
We  be  aflied,  and  such  assurance  ta'en,      [best, 
As  shall  with  either  part's  agreement  stand  ? 
Baptista. 
Not  in  mv  house,  Lucentio  ;  for,  you  know, 
Pitchers  have  ears,  and  I  have  many  servants : 
Besides,  old  Grcmio  is  hearkening  still, 
And,  happily,  we  might  be  interrupted. 
Tranio. 
Then  at  my  lodging,  an  it  like  you  : 
There  doth  my  father  lie,  and  there  this  night 
We'll  pass  the  business  privately  and  well. 
Send  for  your  daughter  by  your  servant  here ; 
My  boy  shall  fetch  the  scrivener  presently. 
The  worst  is  this,— that,  at  so  slender  warning, 
You're  like  to  have  a  thin  and  slender  pittance. 
Baptista. 
It  likes  me  well  ;  —  Camiio,  hie  you  home, 
And  bid  Bianca  make  her  ready  straight ; 
And,  if  you  will,  tell  what  hath  happened 

'     ■  Lucentio  s 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


*?< 


J.ucentio't  father  is  arrivM  in  Padua, 
And  liow  she's  like  to  be  Luccntio'i  wife. 

I  pray  the  gods  she  may  with  all  my  heart ! 
:iio. 

Dally  not  with  the  god?,  but  get  thee  gone. 
Signior  liaptista,  shall  I  lead  the  way  P 
\\  elcome:  one  mess  is  like  to  be  your  cheer. 
Come,  sir  ;  we  will  better  it  in  Pisa. 

I  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  Trauio,  Pedant,  and  Baptitta. 

Biondello. 
Cambio !  — 

Lucentio. 
What  say'st  thou,  Biondello  t 

Biondello. 
You  saw  my  master  wink  and  laugh  upon  you  ? 

Lucentio. 
Biondello,  what  of  that  ? 

Biondello. 
'Faith  nothing  ;  but  he  has  left  me  here  be- 
hind, to  expound  the  meaning  or  moral  of  his 
signs  and  tokens. 

Lucentio. 
I  pray  thee,  moralize  them 

Biondello. 
Then  thus.    Baptist  a  is  safe,  talking  with  the 
deceiving  father  of  a  deceitful  sou. 

Lucentio. 
And  what  of  him  ? 

Biondello. 
His  daughter  is  to  be  brought  by  you  to  the 
supper. 

Lucentio. 
And  then  ?— 

Biondello. 
The  old  priest  at  St.  Luke*t  church  is  at  your 
command  at  all  hours. 

Liio  ■ 
And  what  of  all  this  ? 

Biondello 
I  cannot  tell ;  expect  they  are  busied  about  a 

!  counterfeit  assurance  ;  take  you  assurance  of 
her,  cum  privilegio  ad  imprimendum  solum.  To 
the  church  !—  take  the  priest,  clerk,  and  some 
sufficient  honest  witnesses. 
If  this  be  not  that  you  look  for,  I  have  no  more 
to  say, 
But  bid  Bianca  farewell  for  ever  and  a  day. 

Hear'st  thou,  Biondello  ? 

icllo 
I  cannot  tarry  :  I  knew  a  wench  married  in  an 
afternoon  as  she  went  to  the  garden  for  parsley 
■  to  stuffa  rabbit;  and  so  may  you,  sir;  and  so 
I  adieu,  sir.    My  master  hath  appointed  me  to  go 
'.  to  St.  Luke'*  to  bid  the  priest  be  ready  to  come 
;  against  you  come  with  your  appendix. 
Lucent  iv 
1  may,  and  will,  if  she  be  so  contented  : 
She  will  be  pleas'd,  then  wherefore  should  I 

doubt  ? 
Hap  what  hap  mav,  I'll  roundly  go  about  her : 
It  shall  go  hard,  if  Cambio  go  without  her. 

[Exll. 
SCENE   V.     A  public  Hoad. 

Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Hortensio. 

Petruchio. 
Come  on,  o'  God's  name :  once  more  toward 
our  father's.  [moon. 

Good  lord  1  how  bright  and  goodly  shines  the 


Katharina. 

The  moon  !    th  •  sun  :    it  is  not  moonlight 
now. 

lYtruchio. 
I  say,  it  is  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright. 

Katharina.  ,  , 

I  know,  it  is  the  sun  that  shines  so  bright. 

Petruchio. 
Now,  by  my  mother's  son,  and  that's  mys.li, 
It  shall  be  moon,  or  star,  or  what  I  list, 
Or  ere  I  journey  to  your  father's  house.— 
Go  on,  and  fetch  our  horses  back  again. — 
Evermore   cross  d,  and    cross'd ;   nothing  but 
cross'd. 

Hortensio. 
Say  as  he  says,  or  we  shall  never  go. 

Katharina. 
Forward,  I  pray,  since  we  have  come  so  far, 
And  be  it  moon,  or  sun,  or  what  you  please. 
An  if  you  please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle, 
Henceforth,  I  vow,  it  shall  be  so  tor  me. 

Petruchio. 
!     I  say,  it  is  the  moon. 

Katharina. 

I  know,  it  is  the  moon. 

!  Petruchio. 

Nay,  then  you  lie  :  it  is  the  blessed  sun. 
Katharina. 
Then,  God  be  bless'd,  it  is  the  blessed  sun  ; 
But  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not, 
And  the  moon  changes,  even  as  your  mind. 
■  What  you  will  have  it  nam'd,  even  that  it  is ; 
'  And  so  It  shall  be  so  for  Katharine. 

Hortensio. 
!     Petruchio,  go  thy  ways :  the  field  is  won. 

Petruchio. 

Well,  forward,  forward  !  thus  the  bowl  should 
,  And  not  unluckily  against  the  bias.—  [run, 

But  soft !  company  is  coming  here. 

Enter  Vincentio,  in  a  travelling  dress. 

[To  J'i/tcrtitio.]  Good  morrow,  gentle  mistress : 
where  away  ? — 

Tell  me,  sweet  Kate,  and  tell  me  truly  too, 

Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman  ? 

Such  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks  ! 
i  What  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty, 
!  A  8  those  two  eyes  become  that  heavenly  face  ? — 

Fair  lovely  maid,  once  more  good  day  to  thee. — 
!  Sweet  Kate,  embrace  her  for  her  beauty's  sake. 

Hortensio. 
i     'A  will  make  the  man  mad,  to  make  a  woman 
of  him. 

Katharina. 
Young  budding  virgin,  fair,  and  fresh,  and 
sweet, 
Whither  away,  or  where  is  thy  abode  ? 
Happy  the  parents  of  so  fair  a  child ; 
Happier  the  man,  whom  favourable  stars 
Allot  thee  for  his  lovely  bed-fellow  ! 
Petruchio     i 
Why,  how  now,  Kate  I     I  hope  thou  art  not 
mad: 
;  This  is  a  man,  old,  wrinkled,  faded,  wither'd, 
'  And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  he  is. 

Katharina. 
Pardon,  old  father,  my  mistaking  eyes, 
That  have  been  so  bedazzled  with  the  sun. 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  seemeth  green. 
Now  I  perceive  thou  art  a  reverend  father  ; 
Pardon,  I  pray  thee,  for  my  mad  mistaking. 

Petruchio. 


286 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  iv.  Sc  v. 


Petruchio. 
Do,  good  old  grandsire ;  and,  withal,  make 
known 
Which  way  thou  travellest :  if  along  with  us, 
We  shall  be  joyful  of  thy  company. 

Vincentio. 

Fair  sir,  and  you  my  merry  mistress,         [me, 

That  with  your  strange  encounter  much  amaz'd 

My  name  is  call'd   Vincentio ;  my  dwelling  — 

Pisa, 
And  bound  I  am  to  Padua,  there  to  visit 
A  son  of  mine,  which  long  I  have  not  seen. 

Petruchio. 
What  is  his  name  ? 

Vincentio. 

Lucentio,  gentle  sir. 

Petruchio. 
Happily  met ;  the  happier  for  thy  son. 
And  now  by  law,  as  well  as  reverend  age, 
I  may  entitle  thee — my  loving  father  : 
The  sister  to  my  wife,  this  gentlewoman, 
Thy  son  by  this  hath  married.     Wonder  not, 
Nor  be  not  griev'd:  she  is  of  good  esteem, 
Her  dowry  wealthy,  and  of  worthy  birth  ; 
Beside,  so  qualified  as  may  beseem 
The  spouse  of  any  noble  gentleman. 
Let  me  embrace  with  old  Vincentio; 
And  wander  we  to  see  thy  honest  son, 
Who  will  of  thy  arrival  be  full  joyous. 

Vincentio. 
But  is  this  true  ?  or  is  it  else  your  pleasure, 
Like  pleasant  travellers,  to  break  a  jest 
Upon  the  company  you  overtake  ? 

Hortensio. 
I  do  assure  thee,  father,  so  it  is. 

Petruchio. 
Come,  go  along,  and  see  the  truth  hereof; 
For  our  first  merriment  hath  made  thee  jealous. 
[Exeunt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Vincentio. 

Hortensio. 
Well,  Petruchio,  this  has  put  me  in  heart. 
Have  to  my  widow ;  and  if  she  be  froward, 
Then  hast  thou  taught  Hortensio  to  be  untoward. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V 

SCENE  I.    Padua.    Before  Lucenlio's  House. 

Enter  on  one   side    Biondello,    Lucentio,   and 

Bianca  ;  Gremio  walking  on  the  other  side. 

Biondello. 

C  OFTL  Y  and  swiftly,  sir,  for  the  priest  is  ready. 

Lucentio. 
I  fly,  Biondello  ;  but  they  may  chance  to  need 
thee  at  home :  therefore  leave  us. 

Biondello. 
Nay,  faith,  I'll  see  the  church  o'  your  back  ; 
and  then  come  back  to  my  master  as  soon  as 
I  can. 

[Exeunt  Lucentio,  Bianca,  and  Biondello. 
Gremio. 
I  marvel  Cambio  comes  not  all  this  while. 

Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Vincentio,  and 

Attendants. 

Petruchio. 
Sir,  here's  the  door,  this  is  Lucentio's  house : 


My    father's  bears  more  toward  the  market- 
!  place ; 

I  Thither  must  I,  and  here  I  leave  you,  sir. 

Vincentio. 
I      You  shall  not  choose  but  drink  before  you  go. 
I  I  think,  I  shall  command  your  welcome  here, 
And,  by  all  likelihood,  some  cheer  is  toward. 

[Knocks. 
Gremio. 
They're  busy  within  ;  you  were  best  knock 
louder. 

Enter  Pedant  above,  at  a  window. 

Pedant. 
What's  he,  that  knocks  as  he  would  beat  down 
the  gate  ? 

Vincentio. 
Is  signior  Lucentio  within,  sir  ? 

Pedant. 
He's  within,  sir,  but  not  to  be  spoken  withal. 

Vincentio. 
What,  if  a  man  bring  him  a  hundred  pound  or 
two  to  make  merry  withal  ? 

Pedant. 
Keep  your  hundred  pounds  to  yourself:  he 
shall  need  none,  so  long  as  I  live. 

Petruchio. 
Nay,  I  told  you,  your  son  was  beloved  in 
Padua. —  Do  you  hear,  sir?  to  leave  frivolous 
circumstances,  I  pray  you,  tell  signior  Lucentio, 
that  his  father  is  come  from  Pisa,  and  is  here  at 
the  door  to  speak  with  him. 

Pedant. 
Thou  liest :  his  father  is  come  from  Pisa,  and 
here  looking  out  at  the  window. 

Vincentio. 
Art  thou  his  father  ? 

Pedant. 
Ay,  sir ;  so  his  mother  says,  if  I  may  believe 
her. 

Petruchio. 
Why,  how  now,  gentleman  !     [To  Vincentio.] 
why,  this  is  flat  knavery,  to  take  upon  you  an- 
other man's  name. 

Pedant. 
Lay  hands  on  the  villain.    I  believe,  'a  means 
to  cozen  somebody  in  this  city  under  my  coun- 
tenance. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

Biondello. 
I  have  seen  them  in  the  church  together :  God 
send  'em   good  shipping !—  But  who  is  here  ? 
mine  old  master,  Vincentio  !  now  we  are  undone, 
and  brought  to  nothing. 

Vincentio. 
Come  hither,  crack-hemp.  [Seeing  Biondello. 

Biondello. 
I  hope  I  may  choose,  sir. 

Vincentio. 
Come  hither,  you  rogue.     What,  have  you 
i  forgot  me  ?    . 

Biondello. 
Forgot  you  ?  no,  sir:  I  could  not  forget  you, 
'  for  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 

Vincentio. 
|      What,  you  notorious  villain,  didst  thou  never 
see  thy  master's  father,  Vincentio? 

Blonde)  lo. 
What,  my  old,  worshipful  old  master  ?  yes, 
'  marry,  sir :  see  where  he  looks  out  of  the  win- 
I  dow. 

Vincentid. 


Acrv.  Sc.  h 


TAMING  OF  T1IK  SI  NIK  W. 


a«7 


Vlncentlo. 
lt't  to,  indeed  ?  [Brats  Biondello. 

Diondello. 
Help,  help,  help  !  here's  a  madman  will  mur- 
der me.  [Exit. 

Help,  son  I  help,  signior  Baptista! 

[Rxit,  from  the  window. 

Petruchio. 

Pr'vthee,  Kale,  let's  stand  aside,  und  see  the 

end  of  this  controversy.  [They  retire. 

lie-enter  Pedant  below  ;  Baptista,  Tranio,  and 

Servants. 
Tranio. 
Sir,  what  are  you,  that  offer  to  beat  my  ser- 
vaut? 

Vincentio. 
What  am  I,  sir  ?  nay,  what  are  you,  sir  ?— O, 
immortal    gods !      O,  fine    villain  !      A   silken 
doublet !  a  velvet  hose  !  a  scarlet  cloak  !  and  a 
copatain  hat  !— O.  I  am  undone  1  I  am  undone  1 
while  I  play  the  good  husband  at  home,  my  son 
and  my  servant  spend  all  at  the  university. 
Tranio. 
How  now  1  what's  the  matter  ? 

Baptista. 
What,  is  the  man  lunatic  ? 
Tranio. 
Sir,  you  seem  a  sober  ancient  gentleman  by 
your  habit,  but  your  words  show  you  a  madman. 
Why,  sir,  what  'cerns  it  you  if  I  wear  pearl  and 
gold  ?    1  thank  my  good  father,  I  am  able  to 
maintain  it. 

Vincentio. 
Thy  father  ?    O,  villain  !  he  is  a  sail-maker  in 
Bergamo. 

Baptista. 
You  mistake,  sir:  you  mistake,  sir.     Pray, 
what  do  you  think  is  his  name? 
Vincentio. 
His  name  ?  as  if  I  knew  not  his  name:  I  have 
brought  him  up  ever  since  he  was  three  years 
old,  and  his  name  is  Tranio. 
Pedant. 
Away,  away,  mad  ass  !  his  name  is  Lucentio  ; 
and  he  is  mine  only  son,  and  heir  to  the  lands 
of  me,  signior  Vincentio. 

Vincentio 
Lucentio!  O!  he  hath  murdered  his  master. 
—  I-ay  hold  on  him,  1  charge  you,  in  the  duke's 
name.  —  O,  my  son,  my  son!  —  tell  me,  thou 
villain,  where  is  my  son  Lucentio  t 
Tranio. 
Call  forth  an  o nicer. 

Enter  one  with  an  Officer 
Carry  this  mad  knave  to  the  jail— Father  Bap- 
tista, I  charge  you  sec  that  he  be  forthcoming. 
Vincentio. 
Carry  me  to  the  jail  1 

Gremio. 
Stay,  officer :  he  shall  not  go  to  prison. 

Hat  41 
Talk  not,  signior  Gremio.    I  say,  he  shall  go 
to  prison. 

Gremio. 
Take  heed,  signior  Baptista,  lest  you  be  cony- 
Witched  in  this  business.    I  dare  swear  this  is 
the  right  Vincentio. 

Pedant. 
Swear,  if  thou  darest. 


Gremio. 
Nay,  1  dare  not  swear  it. 

Tranio. 
Then  thou  wert  best  say,  that  I  am  not  Lu- 
centio. 

Gremio. 
Yes,  1  know  thee  to  be  signior  Lucentio. 

Baptista. 
Away  with  the  dotard  !  to  the  jail  with  him  ! 

Vincentio. 
Thus  stranRers  maybe  haled  and  abused — O, 
monstrous  villain  I 

Re-enter  Biondcllo  with  Lucentio,  and  Bianca. 

Biondello. 
O,  we  are  spoiled  !  and  yonder  he  is :  deny 
him,  forswear  him,  or  else  we  are  all  undone. 

Lucentio. 
Pardon,  sweet  father.  [Kneeling. 

Vincentio. 

Lives  my  sweet  son  ? 
[Biondello,  Tranio,  and  Pedant  run  out 

Bianca. 
Pardon,  dear  father. 


[Kneeling. 
Baptista. 

How  hast  thou  offended  ?  — 
Where  is  Lucentio  f 

Lucentio. 

Here's  Lucentio , 
Right  son  to  the  right  Vincentio  ; 
That  have  by  marriage  made  thy  daughter  mine 
While  counterfeit  supposes  blear'd  thine  eyne. 

Gremio. 
Here's  packing,  with  a  witness,  to  deceive  us 
all! 

Vincentio. 
Where  is  that  damned  villain,  Tranio, 
That  l'ac'd  and  brav'd  me  in  this  matter  so  ? 

Baptista. 
Why,  tell  me,  is  not  this  my  Cambio  T 

Bianca. 
Cambio  is  chang'd  into  Lucentio. 

Lucentio. 
Love  wrought  these  miracles.    Bianca'i  love 
Made  me  exchange  my  state  with  Tranio, 
While  he  did  bear  my  countenance  in  the  town ; 
And  happily  I  have  arrived  at  the  last 
Unto  the  wished  haven  of  my  bliss. 
What  Tranio  did,  myself  enfore'd  him  to, 
Then  pardon  him,  sweet  father,  for  my  sake. 

Vincentio. 
I'll  slit  the  villain's  nose,  that  would  have 
sent  me  to  the  jail. 

Baptista.  [To  Lucentio. 

But  do  you  hear,  sir?    Have  you  married  my 

daughter  without  asking  my  good-will  ? 

Vincentio. 

Fear  not.  Baptista  ;  we  will  content  you :  go 

to  ;  but  I  will  in,  to  be  revenged  for  this  villany. 

[Exit. 
Baptista. 
And  I,  to  sound  the  depth  of  this  knavery. 

[Exit. 
Lucentio. 
Look  not  pale,  Bianca;  thy  father  will  not 
frown.         [Exeunt  Lucentio  and  Bianca. 
Gremio. 
My  cake  is  dough  ;  but  I'll  in  among  the  rest, 
Out  of  hope  of  all,  but  my  jhare  of  the  feast. 

[Exit. 
Petruchio 


z88 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW 


Act  v.  Sc.  f. 


Petruchio  and  Katharina  advance. 

Katharina. 
Husband,  let's  follow,  to  see  the  end  of  this 
ado. 

Petruchio. 
First  kiss  me,  Kate,  and  we  will. 

Katharina. 
What,  In  the  midst  of  the  street  ? 

Petruchio. 
What !  art  thou  ashamed  of  me  ? 

Katharina. 
No,  sir,  God  forbid  ;  but  ashamed  to  kiss. 

Petruchio. 
Why,  then  lot's  home  again — Come,  sirrah, 
let's  away. 

Katharina. 
Nay,  I  will  give  thee  a  kiss :  now  pray  thee, 
love,  stay. 

Petruchio. 
Is  not  this  well  ? —  Come,  my  sweet  Kate: 
Better  once  than  never,  for  never  too  late. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Lucentio's  House. 

A  Banquet  set  out ;  Enter  Baptista,  Vincenlio, 
Gremio,  the  Pedant,  Lucentio,  Bianca,  Pe- 
truchio, Katharina,  Hortensio,  and  Widow. 
Tranio,  Biondello,  Grumfo,  and  others,  at- 
tending. 

Lucentio. 
At  last,  though  long,  our  jarring  notes  agree: 
And  time  it  is,  when  raging  war  is  done, 
To  smile  at  'scapes  and  perils  overblown — 
My  fair  Bianca,  bid  my  father  welcome, 
While  I  with  self-same  kindness  welcome  thine.— 
Brother  Petruchio,  —  sister  Katharina, — 
And  thou,  Hortensio,  with  thy  loving  widow, 
Feast  with  the  best,  and  welcome  to  my  house : 
My  banquet  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up, 
After  our  great  good  cheer.     Pray   you,   sit 

down ; 
For  now  we  sit  to  chat,  as  well  as  eat. 

[They  sit  at  table. 
Petruchio. 
Nothing  but  sit  and  sit,  and  eat  and  eat ! 

Baptista. 
Padua  affords  this  kindness,  son  Petruchio. 

Petruchio. 
Padua  affords  nothing  but  what  is  kind. 

Hortensio. 
For  both  our  sakes  I  would  that  word  were 
true. 

Petruchio. 
Now,  for  my  life,  Hortensio  fears  his  widow. 

Widow. 
Then,  never  trust  me,  if  I  be  afeard. 

Petruchio. 
You  are  very  sensible,  and  yet  you  miss  my 
sense : 
I  mean,  Hortensio  is  afeard  of  you. 

Widow. 
He  that  is  giddy  thinks  the  world  turns  round. 

Petruchio. 
Roundly  replied. 

Katharina. 
Mistress,  how  mean  you  that  ? 

Widow. 
Thus  I  conceive  by  him. 

Petruchio. 
Conceives  by  me  !— How  likes  Hortensio  that? 


Hortensio. 
My  widow  says,  thus  she  conceives  her  tale. 

Petruchio. 
Very  well  mended    Kiss  him  for  that,  good 
widow. 

Katharina. 
He   that    is   giddy  thinks    the  world   turns 
round  :  — 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  what  you  meant  by  that. 

Widow. 
Your  husband,  being  troubled  with  a  shrew, 
Measures  my  husband's  sorrow  by  his  woe. 
And  now  you  know  my  meaning. 

Katharina. 
A  very  mean  meaning. 

Widow, 

Right,  I  mean  you. 

.    j  »  Katharina. 

And  I  am  mean,  indeed,  respecting  you. 

_    .        _  Petruchio. 

To  her,  Kate  / 

J.  :,  . .         Hortensio. 

To  her,  widow  1 

.     ,  Petruchio. 

A  hundred   marks,  my  Kate  does  put   her 
down. 

™    .,  „     Hortensio. 

That  s  my  office. 

Petruchio. 
Spoke  like  an  officer  :— Ha'  to  thee,  lad. 

[Drinks  to  Hortensio. 

Baptista. 
How  likes  Gremio  these  quick-witted  folks  ? 

_  Gremio. 

Believe  me,  sir,  they  butt  together  well. 

Bianca. 

Head  and  butt  ?  an  hasty-witted  body   [horn. 

Would  say,  your  head  and  butt  were  head  and 

Ay,  mistress  bride,  hath  that  awaken'd  you  ? 

Bianca. 
Ay,  but  not  frighted  me  ;  therefore,  I'll  sleep 
again. 

Petruchio. 

Nay,  that  you  shall  not ;    since   you    have 

Have  at  you  for  a  better  jest  or  two.        [begun, 

Bianca. 
Ami  your  bird  ?    I  mean  to  shift  my  bush, 
And  then  pursue  me  as  you  draw  your  bow.— ■ 
You  are  welcome  all. 

[Exennt  Bianca,  Katharina,  and  Widow. 

Petruchio. 
She  hath  prevented  me. — Here,  signior  Tranio; 
This  bird  you  aim'd  at,  though  you  hit  her  not: 
Therefore,  a  health  to  all  that  shot  and  miss'd. 

Tranio. 
O  sir  !  Lucentio  slipp'd  me,  like  his  grey- 
hound, 
Which  runs  himself,  and  catches  for  his  master. 

Petruchio. 
A  good  swift  simile,  but  something  currish. 

Tranio.  J 

'Tis  well,  sir,  that  you  hunted  for  yourself:      ; 
'Tis  thought,  your  deer  does  hold  you  at  a  bay. 

Baptista. 
O  ho,  Petruchio  /     Tranio  hits  you  now. 


I  thank  thee  for 


Lucentio. 
that  gird, 

Hortensio. 
.ha     • 


good  Tranio. 


Confess,  confess,  hath  he  not  hit  you  here  ? 

Petruchio. 


Act  t.  Sc.  h. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


289 


Petruchio. 
'A  has  a  little  gall'd  me,  I  confess  ; 
And,  as  the  jest  did  glance  away  from  me, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  it  maira'd  you  two  outright. 
Baptist*. 
Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petruchio, 
I  think  thou  hast  the  veriest  shrew  of  all. 
Petruchio. 
Well,  I  say  no:  and  therefore,  for  assurance, 
Let's  each  one  send  unto  his  wife, 
And  he,  whose  wife  is  most  obedient 
To  come  at  tirst  when  he  doth  send  for  her, 
Shall  win  the  wager  which  we  will  propose. 
Hortcnsio. 
Content    What  is  the  wager  ? 
Lucentio. 

Twenty  crowns. 
Petruchio. 

Twenty  crowns  1 
I'll  venture  so  much  of  my  hawk,  or  hound, 
But  twenty  times  so  much  upon  my  wife. 
Lucentio. 
A  hundred  then. 

Hortensio. 

Content. 

Petruchio. 

A  match  I  'tis  done. 
Hoitensio. 

Who  shall  begin  ? 

Lucentio. 

That  will  I. 
Go,  Biondcllo,  bid  your  mistress  come  to  me. 
Hiondt'llo. 
I  go.  t*-*H- 

Son,  I  will  be  your  half,  Bianca  comes. 

Luceutio. 

I'll  have  no  halves  ;  I'll  bear  it  all  myself. 

He-enter  Biondellu. 

How  now  !  what  news  ? 

Bioudello. 
Sir,  my  mistress  sends  you  word, 
That  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come. 
Petruchio. 
How  1  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come  ! 
Is  that  an  answer  ? 

♦  iremio 
A  v,  and  a  kind  one  too : 
Pray  God,  sir,  your  wife  send  you  not  a  worse. 
Petruchio. 

I  hope  better. 

Hortensio. 

Sirrah,  Biondcllo,  go,  and  entreat  mv  wife 

To  come  to  me  forthwith.  [v.x\l  Biundtlto. 

Petruchio. 

O  ho  !  entreat  her  ! 
Nay,  then  she  must  needs  come. 
Hortensio. 

I  am  afraid,  sir, 
Do  what  you  can,  yours  will  not  be  entreated. 

IU  Wrtflf  Biondtlh. 
Now,  where's  my  wife  ? 

Biondello. 
She  says,  you  have  some  goodly  jest  In  hand  ; 
She  will  not  come :  she  bids  you  come  to  her. 
Petruchio. 
Worse  and  worse :  she  will  not  come  ?   O  vile  ! 
Intolerable,  not  to  be  endur'd  I 


Sirrah,  Grutnio,  go  to  your  mistress  ;.  say, 
I  command  her  come  to  me.         [I'xit  Gr 
Hortcnsio. 
I  know  her  answer. 

Petruchio. 

What? 

Hortensio. 

She  will  not. 

Petruchio. 

The  fouler  fortune  mine,  and  there  an  end. 

F.nter  Katharina. 

Baptist*. 

Now,  by  my  holidame,  here  comes  Katharina ! 

Katharina. 
What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  for  me  ? 

Petruchio. 
Where  is  your  sister,  and  Hortensio*  wife ? 

Katharina. 
They  sit  conferring  by  the  parlour  fire. 

Petruchio. 
Go,  fetch  them  hither :  if  they  deny  to  come, 
Swinge  me  them  soundly  forth  unto  their  hus- 
bands. 
Away,  1  say,  and  bring  them  hither  straight. 

[Exit  Katharina 
Lucentio. 
Here  is  a  wonder,  if  you  talk  of  a  wonder. 

Hortensio. 
And  so  it  is.     I  wonder  what  it  bodes. 

Petruchio. 
Marry,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love,  and  quiet  life, 
An  awful  rule,  and  right  supremacy  ;       [happy. 
And,  to  be  short,  what  not  that's  sweet  and 
Iiaptista. 
Now  fair  befal  thee,  good  Petruchio  ! 
The  wager  thou  hast  won  ;  and  I  will  add 
Unto  their  losses  twenty  thousand  crowns  ; 
Another  dowry  to  another  daughter. 
For  she  is  chang'd,  as  she  had  never  been. 
Petruchio. 
Nay,  I  will  win  my  wager  better  yet, 
And  show  more  sign  of  her  obedience, 
Her  new-built  virtue  and  obedience. 

He-enter  Katharina,  with  Bianca  and  WMotr. 

See,  where  she  comes  and  brings  your  froward 

wives 
As  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion. — 
Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  becomes  you  not ; 
Oflf  with  that  bauble,  throw  it  under  foot. 

[Katharina  pulls  oflf  her  cap,  and  throws  it 
down. 

Widow. 
Lord  1  let  me  never  have  a  cause  to  sigh, 
Till  I  be  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass  ! 
Bianca 
Fie  !  what  a  foolish  duty  call  you  this  ? 

Luewtto. 

I  would,  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too : 

The  wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Bianca,      [time 

Hath  cost  me  an  hundred  crowns  since  supper- 

Bianca. 

The  more  fool  you  for  laying  on  my  duty. 

Petruchio. 
Katharine,  I  charge  thee,  tell  these  headstrong 
women 
What  duty  they  do  owe  their  lords  and  husbands. 
Widow. 
Come,  come,  you're  mocking ;  we  will  have 
no  telling. 

r  Petruchio 


zyo 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  v.  Sc.  n. 


Petruchio. 
Come  on,  I  say ;  and  first  begin  with  her. 

Widow. 
She  shall  not. 

Petruchio. 
I  say,  she  shall:  —  and  first  begin  with  her. 

Katharlna. 
Fie,   fie!   unknit   that  threatening   unkind 

brow, 
And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 
To  wound  thy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  governor : 
It  blots  thy  beauty,  as  frosts  do  bite  the  meads. 
Confounds  thy  fame,  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair 

buds, 
And  in  no  sense  is  meet,  or  amiable. 
A  woman  mov'd  is  like  a  fountain  troubled, 
Muddy,  ill-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty ; 
And,  while  it  is  so,  none  so  dry  or  thirsty 
Will  deign  to  sip,  or  touch  one  drop  of  it. 
Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper, 
Thy  head,  thy  sovereign ;  one  that  cares  for 

thee, 
And  for  thy  maintenance ;  commits  his  body 
To  painful  labour,  both  by  sea  and  land, 
To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 
Whilst  thou  liest  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe ; 
And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands, 
But  love,  fair  looks,  and  true  obedience, 
Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 
Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  prince, 
Even  such  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband ; 
And  when  she's  froward,  peevish,  sullen,  sour, 
And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will, 
What  is  she  but  a  foul  contending  rebel, 
And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord  ?  — 
I  am  asham'd,  that  women  are  so  simple 
To  offer  war  where  they  should  kneel  for  peace, 
Or  seek  for  rule,  supremacy,  and  sway, 
When  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love,  and  obey. 
Why  are  our  bodies  soft,  and  weak,  and  smooth, 
Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world, 


But  that  our  soft  conditions,  and  our  hearts, 
Should  well  agree  with  our  external  parts  ? 
Come,  come,  you  froward  and  unable  worms, 
My  mind  hath  been  as  big  as  one  of  yours, 
My  heart  as  great,  my  reason,  haply,  more 
To  bandy  word  for  word,  and  frown  for  frown  ; 
But  now  I  see  our  lances  are  but  straws, 
Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  com- 
pare, [are. 
That  seeming  to  be  most,  which  we  indeed  least 
Then  vail  your  stomachs,  for  it  is  no  boot, 
And  place  your  hands  below  your  husband's 

foot: 
In  token  of  which  duty,  if  he  please, 
My  hand  is  ready,  may  it  do  him  ease. 

Petruchio. 
Why,  there's  a  wench  !  —  Come  on,  and  kiss 
me,  Kate. 

Lucentio. 
Well,  go  thy  ways,  old  lad,  for  thou  shalt 
ha't. 

"tncentlo. 
*Tis  a  good  hearing,  when  children  are  to- 
ward. 

Lucentio. 
But  a  harsh  hearing,  when  women  are  fro- 
ward. 

Fetruchio. 
Come,  Kate,  we'll  to  bed.  — 
We  three  are  married,  but  you  two  are  sped. 
'Twas  I  won  the  wager,  though  you  hit  the 
white;  [To  Lucentio. 

And,  being  a  winner,  God  give  you  good  night 
[Exeunt  Petrrtchio  and  Katharlna. 

Hortensio. 
Now  go  thy  ways,  thou  hast  tam'd  a  curst 
shrew. 

Lucentio. 
'    'Tis  a  wonder,  by  your  leave,  she  will  be 
tam'd  so.  [Exeunt. 


A«  i  i.   Sc.  i. 


ALLS  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL, 


*9i 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE. 


KING   OF  FRANCE. 

Duke  of  Florence. 

Bertram,  Count  of  Rousillon. 

Lafeu,  an  old  Lord. 

Parolles,  a  Follower  of  Bertram. 

French  Envoy,  serving  with  Bertram . 

French  Gentleman,  also  serving  with  Bertram. 

Rinaldo.  Steward  to  the  Countess  oj  Rousillon. 

Clown,  in  her  household. 

A  Page. 

Countess  of  Rousillon,  Mother  to  Bertram. 


Helena,  a  Gentlewoman  protected  by  the  Coun- 
tess. 
A  Widow  of  Florence. 
Diana,  Daughter  to  the  Widow. 
Violenta,  \   Neighbours  and  Friends  to  the  Wi- 
Mariana,  J      dow. 

Lords,  attending  on  the  King  t  Officers,  Soldiers, 
SfC.  French  and  Florentine. 

SCENE,  partly  In  France,  and  partly  in 
Tuscany. 


ACT  I. 

SCF.SF  1.    RouMllon.    A  Room  In  the  Coun- 
tess's Palace. 

Filter  Bertram,  the  Countess  of  Rousi'hn, 

Helena,  and  Lafeu,  ail  in  black. 

Countess. 

IN  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury  a  second 
husband. 

Bertram. 
And  I,  in  going,  madam,  weep  o'er  my  father's 
death  anew  ;  but  1  must  attend  his  majesty's 
command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,  ever- 
more in  subjection. 

Lafeu. 
You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  husband,  madam  ; 
—you,  sir,  a  father.  He  that  so  generally  is  at 
all  times  good,  must  of  necessity  hold  his  virtue 
to  you,  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  where 
it  wanted,  rather  than  lack  it  where  there  is  such 
abundance. 

iteis. 
What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's  amend- 
ment ? 

Lafeu. 

He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam; 

under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time 

with  hope,  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the 

process  but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count  est. 

This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father,— O, 

that  had  1  how  sad  a  passage  'tis  1  —  whose  skill 

was  almost  as  great  as  his  honesty;    had    it 

!  stretched  so  far,  would  have  made  nature  im- 
mortal, and  death  should  have  play  for  lack  of 
work.  Would,  for  the  king's  sake,  he  were 
living  1  I  think  it  would  be  the  death  of  the 
king's  disease. 


Lafeu 
How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of,  madam  » 

Counters. 
He  was  famou9,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and  it 
was  his  great  right  to  be  so— Gerard  de  Narbon. 
Lafeu. 
He  was  excellent,  Indeed,  madam :  the  king 
very  lately  spoke  of  him,  admiringly  and  mourn- 
ingly.   He  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived  still, 
if  knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mortality. 
Bertram. 
What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  languishes 
of? 

Lafeu. 
A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Bertram . 

I  heard  not  of  it  before. 

Lafeu. 

:     I  would  it  were  not  notorious.  — Was  this 

gentlewoman  the  daughter  of  Gerard  de  Nar- 

Countess. 
His  sole  child,  my  lord  ;  and  bequeathed  to 
my  overlooking.    I  have  those  hopes  of  her  good 
jthat  her  education  promises:  her  dispositions 
!  she  inherits,  which  make  fair  gifts  fairer  ;  for 
where  an  unclean  mind  carries  virtuous  quali- 
ties, there  commendations  go  with  pity ;  they 
'  are  virtues  and  traitors  too :  in  her  they  are  the 
i  better  for  their  simpleness  ;    she  derives  her 
j  honesty,  and  achieves  her  goodness. 
Lafeu. 
Your  commendations,  madam,  get  from  her 
| tears. 

Countess. 
'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season  her 
praise  in.  The  remembrance  of  her  father  never 
approaches  her  heart,  but  the  tyranny  of  her 

sorrow  ■ 


zyz 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


sorrows  takes  all  livelihood  from  her  cheek. — 
No  more  of  this,  Helena  :  go  to,  no  more  ;  lest 
it  be  rather  thought  you  affect  a  sorrow,  than  to 
have. 

Helena. 
I  do  affect  a  sorrow,  indeed ;  but  I  have  it 
too. 

Lafeu. 
Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the  dead, 
excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 
Countess. 
If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  the  excess 
makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Bertram. 
Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Lafeu. 
How  understand  we  that  ? 
Countess. 
Be  thou  blest,  Bertram;    and  succeed  thy 
father 
In  manners,  as  in  shape  !  thy  blood,  and  virtue, 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee ;  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birth-right !    Love  all,  trust  a 

few, 
Do  wrong  to  none  :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use ;  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key  :  be  check'd  for  silence, 
But   never   tax'd   for   speech.    What   heaven 
more  will,  [down, 

That  thee  may  furnish,  and  my  prayers  pluck 
Fall  on  thy  head  !  —  Farewell,  my  lord : 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier :  good  my  lord, 
Advise  him. 

Lafeu. 
He  cannot  want  the  best 
That  shall  attend  his  love. 
Countess. 
Heaven  bless  him  1  — 
Farewell,  Bertram.  [Exit  Countess. 

Bertram.  [To  Helena. 

The  best  wishes  that  can  be  forged  in  your  . 
thoughts  be  servants  to  you  !  Be  comfortable 
to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make  much  of : 
her. 

Lafeu. 
Farewell,  pretty  lady:    you  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father. 

[Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lafeu. 

Helena. 
O,  were  that  all  1—  I  think  not  on  my  father ; 
And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance 
more  [like? 

Than  those  I  shed  for  him.    What    was    he 
I  have  forgot  him :  my  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in't  but  Bertram's. 
1  am  undone :  there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Bertram  be  away.    It  were  all  one, 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
|  j  Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 
Th'  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must  die  for    love.     'Twas   pretty,  though    a 
To  see  him  every  hour ;  to  sit  and  draw  [plague, 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls, 
In  our  heart's  table  ;  heart,  too  capable 
Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour  : 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify  his  relics.    Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Parotles. 
One  that  goes  with  him:   I  love  him  for  his 
And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar,         [sake, 


Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward  ; 
Yet  these  fixed  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him, 
That  they  take    place,    when   virtue's    steely 
bones  [see 

Look  bleak  in  the  cold  wind :  withal,  full  oft  we 
Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 
Parolles. 
Save  you,  fair  queen. 

Helena. 
And  you,  monarch. 

Parolles. 
No. 

Helena. 
And  no. 

Parolles. 
Are  you  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

Helena. 

Ay.    You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you, 

let  me  ask  you  a  question :  man  is  enemy  to 

virginity ;    how   may  we  barricado  it  against 

him? 

Parolles. 
Keep  him  out. 

Helena. 
But  he  assails  ;  and  our   virginity,  though 
valiant  in  the  defence,  yet  is  weak.     Unfold  to 
us  some  warlike  resistance. 
Parolles. 
There  is  none :  man,  sitting  down  before  you, 
will  undermine  you,  and  blow  you  up. 
Helena. 
Bless  our  poor  virginity  from  underminers, 
and  blowers  up  !  —  Is  there  no  military  policy, 
how  virgins  might  blow  up  men  ? 
Parolle*. 
Virginity  being  blown  down,  man  will  quick- 
lier  be  blown  up :  marry,  in  blowing  him  down 
again,  with    the  breach  yourselves  made  you 
lose  your  city.    It  is  not  politic  in  the  common- 
wealth of  nature  to  preserve  virginity.    Loss  of 
virginity  is   rational  increase ;  and  there  was 
never  virgin  got,  till  virginity  was  first  lost. 
That  you  were  made  of  is  metal  to  make  virgins. 
Virginity,  by  being  once  lost,  may  be  ten  times 
found :  by  being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost.    'lis 
too  cold  a  companion :  away  with't. 
Helena 
I  will  stand  for't  a  little,  though  therefore  I 
die  a  virgin. 

Parolles. 
There's  little  can  be  said  in't :  'tis  against  the 
rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity is  to  accuse  your  mothers,  which  is  most 
infallible  disobedience.  He  that  hangs  himself 
is  a  virgin  :  virginity  murders  itself,  and  should 
be  buried  in  highways,  out  of  all  sanctified  limit, 
as  a  desperate  offendress  against  nature  Vir- 
ginity breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese;  con- 
sumes itself  to  the  very  paring,  and  so  dies  with 
feeding  his  own  stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is 
peevish,  proud,  idle,  made  of  self-love,  whicn  is 
the  most  inhibited  sin  in  the  canon.  Keep  it 
not:  you  cannot  choose  but  lose  by't.  Out 
with't:  within  ten  years  it  will  make  itself  ten, 
which  is  a  goodly  increase,  and  the  principal 
itself  not  much  the  worse.  Away  with't. 
Helena. 
How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her  own 
liking  ? 

Parolles. 

Let  me  see :  marry,  ill ;  to  like  him  that 

ne'er  it  likes.    'Tis  a  commodity  will  lose  the, 

gloss  with  lying;    the    longer  kept,  the    less 

worth  :  off  with't,  while  'tis  vendible :  answer 

the 


▲oi  i.   &.  n. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


193 


tin-  time  of  mn  st.  Virginity,  like  an  old 
courtier,  wears  her  cap  out  of  fashion  ;  richly 
Milled,  bat  unsuitable  :  just  like  the  brooch  and 
tin-  tooth-pick,  which  wear  not  now.  Your 
date  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your  porridge, 
than  in  your  cheek:  and  your  virginity,  your 
old  virginity,  is  like  one  of  our  French  withered 
l>e,ir> :  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  dryly  ;  marry,  'tis  a 
withered  pear  ;  it  was  formerly  better  ;  marry, 
vet,  'tis  a  withered  pear.  Will  you  any  thing 
with  it? 

Helena 
Not  my  virginity  yet. 
There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother,  and  a  mistress,  and  a  friend, 
A  phoenix,  captain,  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear ; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility, 
His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet, 
His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster  ;  with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptious  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.     Now  shall  he— 
I   know  not   what   he  shall :  —  God  send   him 

well  I— 
The  court's  a  learning-place ;— and  he  is  one— 

Parol  les. 
What  one,  i'faith  ? 

Helena. 
That  I  wish  well.— 'Tis  pity— 

Parolles. 
What's  pity? 

Helena. 
That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't, 
Which  might  be  felt ;  that  we,  the  poorer  born, 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes, 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And  show  what  we  alone  must  think  ;  which 
Returns  us  thanks.  [never 

Enter  a  Page. 

Page. 
Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you. 

[Exit  Page. 
Parolles. 
Little  Helen,  farewell :  if  I  can  remember  thee, 
I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 
Helena. 
Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  born   under  a 
charitable  star. 

Parolles. 
Under  Mars,  I. 

Helena. 
1  especially  think,  under  Mars. 

Parolles. 
Why  under  Mars? 

Helena. 
The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under,  that  you 
must  needs  be  born  under  Mars. 
Parolles. 
When  he  was  predominant. 

Helena. 
When  he  was  retrograde,  1  think,  rather. 

Parolles. 
Why  think  you  so  ? 

Helena. 
You  go  so  much  backward,  when  you  fight. 

Parolles. 
That's  for  advantage. 

Helena. 
So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the 
safety  ;  but  tiie  composition  that  your  valour 


j  and  fear  makes  in  you  it  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing, 

1  and  I  like  the  wear  well. 

Parolles. 

|      I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  answer 

1  thee  acutely.     I  will  return  perfect  courtier ;  in 

!  the  which  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  natural- 
ise thee,  so  thou  wilt  be  capable  of  a  courtier's 
counsel,  and  understand  what  advice  shall  thrust 
upon  thee;  else  thou  diest  in  thine  unthankful- 
ness,  and  thine  ignorance  makes  thee  away: 

'farewell.  When  thou  hast  leisure,  say  thy 
prayers  ;  when  thou  hast  none,  remember  thy 

!  friends.    Get  thee  a  good  husband,  and  use  him 

I as  he  uses  thee :  so  farewell.  [Exit. 

Helena. 
Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven :  the  fated  sky 
I  Gives  us  free  scope ;  only,  doth  backward  pull 
,  Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
I  What  power  is  it  which  mounts  my  love  so  high  ; 
j  That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
1  The  mightiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes,  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
I  Impossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
!  That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense ;  and  do  suppose. 
What  hath  been  cannot  be.    Who  ever  strove 
I  To  show  her  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love  ? 
The  king's  disease— my  project  may  deceive  mc. 
But  my  intents  are  fix  d,  and  will  not  leave  me. 

[Exit 

SCENE  II.    Paris.     A   Room  in  the  A7w*'s 
Palace. 

Flourish  of  cornets.    Enter  the  King  of  France, 
with  letters  ;  Lords  and  others  attending. 

King. 
The  Florentines  and  Senoys  are  by  th'  ears  ; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

First  Lord. 
So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

King. 
Nay,  'tis  most  credible  :  we  here  receive  it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution,  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid  ;  wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Frejudicates  the  business,  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

First  Lord. 

His  love  and  wisdom, 
Approv'd  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead 
For  amplest  credence. 

King. 

He  hath  arm'd  our  answer, 
And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes  : 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen,  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 

Second  Lord. 

It  may  well  serve 
A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit. 


Kin 


that's 


he  comes  here  ? 
Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu.  and  FaroUes. 
First  Lord. 
It  is  the  count  Rousillon,  my  good  lord, 
Young  Bertram. 

King. 
Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face  ; 
Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste, 

Hath 


I294 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


Hath  well  compos'd  thee.    Thy  father's  moral 

parts 
May'st  thou  inherit  too  !    Welcome  to  Paris. 
Bertram. 
My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's. 

King. 
I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now, 
As  when  thy  father,  and  myself,  in  friendship 
First  tried  our  soldiership.     He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time,  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest :  he  lasted  long  ; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  ag2  steal  on, 
And  wore  us  out  of  act.     It  much  repairs  me 
To  talk  of  your  good  father.    In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit,  which  1  can  well  observe 
To  day  in  our  young  lords  ;  but  they  may  jest, 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted, 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour : 
So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 
Were  in  his  pride,  or  sharpness  ;  if  they  were, 
His  equal  had  awak'd  them  ;  and  his  honour, 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 
Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time 
His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand:  who  were  below 
He  us'd  as  creatures  of  another  place,         [him 
And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility, 
In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled.    Such  a  man 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times,     [now 
Which,  follow'd  well,  would  demonstrate  them 
But  goers  backward. 

Bertram. 

His  good  remembrance,  sir, 
Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts,  than  on  his  tomb : 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph, 
As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King. 

'Would  I  were  with  him  I    He  would  always 

say, 

(Methinks,  I  hear  him  now  ;  his  plausive  words 

He  scatter'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 

To  grow  there,  and  to  bear,)  — '«  Let  me  not 

live,"— 
This  his  good  melancholy  oft  began, 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime, 
When  it  was  out,  "  let  me  not  live,"  quoth  he, 
*'  After  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff" 
Of  younger  spirits,  whose  apprehensive  senses 
All  but  new  things  disdain  ;  whose  judgments 
are  [stancies 

Mere  fathers  of  their  garments  ;   whose  con- 
Expire  before  their  fashions." — This  he  wish'd : 

after  him,  do  after  him  wish  too, 
Since  I  nor  wax,  nor  honey,  can  bring  home, 

quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
To  give  some  labourers  room. 
Second  Lord. 

You  are  lov'd,  sir  ; 
They,  that  least  lend  it  you,  shall  lack  you  first. 
King. 
I  fill  a  place,  I  know't.— How  long  is't,  count, 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died  ? 
He  was  much  fam'd. 

Bertram. 
Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 
King. 
If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet :  — 
Lend  me  an  arm  :  — the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications  :  nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.    Welcome,  count ; 
;My  son's  no  dearer. 

Bertram. 
Thank  your  majesty.         [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    Rousillon.    A  Room  in  the 
Countess's  Palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Steward,  and  Clown. 
Countess, 
will  now  hear :  what  say  you  of  this  gentle- 
woman ? 

Steward. 

Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your 
content,  I  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar 
of  my  past  endeavours  ;  for  then  we  wound  our 
modesty,  and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our 
deservings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 
Countess. 

What  does  this  knave  here  ?  Get  you  gone, 
sirrah  :  the  complaints  1  have  heard  of  you,  I  do 
(not  all  believe :  'tis  my  slowness,  that  I  do  not ; 
'for  I  know  you  lack  not  folly  to  commit  them, 
land  have  ability  enough  to  make  such  knaveries 
yours.  _, 

Clown. 

i    'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  I  am  a  poor 
fellow. 

Countess. 

Well,  sir. 

Clown. 

No,  madam  ;  'tis  not  so  well,  that  I  am  poor, 
though  many  of  the  rich  are  damned.  But,  if  I 
may  have  your  ladyship's  good-will  to  go  to  the 
world,  Isbel,  the  woman,  and  I  will  do  as  we 
may. 

Countess. 

Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  ? 
Clown. 
)     I  do  beg  your  good-will  in  this  case. 
Countess. 

>    In  what  case  ?         „, 

Clown. 

In  IsbeVs  case,  and  mine  own.  Service  is  no 
heritage ;  and,  I  think,  I  shall  never  have  the 
blessing  of  God,  till  I  have  issue  of  my  body,  for 
they  say,  bairns  are  blessings. 

Tell  me  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 
Clown. 
''■    My  poor  body,  madam,  requires  it :    I   am 
driven  on  by  the  flesh,  and  he  must  needs  go, 
that  the  devil  drives. 


Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason  ? 

Clown. 
Faith,  madam,  I  have  other  holy  reasons,  such 
as  they  are. 

Countess. 

May  the  world  know  them  ? 
Clown. 

I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature,  as 
you  and  all  flesh  and  blood  are ;  and,  indeed,  I 
do  marry  that  I  may  repent. 

Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wickedness. 

\    I  am  out  o'  friends,  madam ;  and  I  hope  to 
have  friends  for  my  wife's  sake. 
Countess. 
Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 
,  Clown. 

,  You  are  shallow,  madam  ;  e'en  great  friends  ; 
ifor  the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me,  which  I 
am  a-weary  of.  He,  that  ears  my  land,  spares 
my  team,  and  gives  me  leave  to  inn  the  crop  :  if 
I  be  his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge.  He  that 
comforts 


VntWorihingtondeL 


■gTon 


AJUL %  W3E2X THL&JT  EKf©S  "WlBtX . 
An     L    5c      S. 


AOI  i.   Sr.  in. 


ALI.s  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 


*95 


Steward, 
Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her  than. 


comfort*  mr  wife  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh 
and  blood ;  be  that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood 

lores;  my  flesh  and  blood  ;  he  that  loves  my  flesh  I  think,  she  wished  me :  alone  she  was.  aud  did 

and  blood  is  my  friend :  ergo  he  that  kisses  my  communicate  to  herself,  her  own  words  to  her 

wife  is  my  Mettd     If  men  could  be  contented  to  own  ears ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her,  they 

be  what  they  are,  there  were  no  fear  in  mar-  touched  not  any  stranger  sense.     Her  matter 

riage ;  for  young  Ckarbon  the  puritan,  and  old  was,  she  loved  your  son  :  fortune,  she  said,  was 

Poysam  the  papist,  howsome'er  their  hearts  are  no  goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt 

severed  in  religion,  their  heads  are  both  one ;  their  two  estates  ;  love,  no  god,  that  would  not 

they  may  joll  horns  together,  like  any  deer  i' the  extend  his  might,  only  whore  qualities  were 

herd.  level ;  Diana,  no  queen  of  virgins,  that  would 

suffer  her  poor  knight  to  be  surprised,  without 

Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and  calum-  rescue,  in  the  first  assault,  or  ransom  after- 

nious  knave  ?  ward.     This  she  delivered  in  the  most  bitter 

Clow  it.  touch  of  sorrow,  that  e'er  1  heard  virgin  exclaim 

A  prophet  I,  madam  ;  and  I  speak  the  truth  in  ;  which  I  held  mv  duty  speedily  to  acquaint 


the  next  way : 

For  J  the  ballad  will  repeat. 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find  ; 
Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny. 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 
Countess. 
Get  you  gone,  sir:  I'll  talk  with  you  more 
anon. 

Steward. 
May  it  please  you,  madam,  that  he  bid  Helen 
come  to  you :  of  her  I  am  to  speak. 
Countess 
Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman,  I  would  speak 
with  her  ;  Helen  I  mean. 

Clown. 
Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  done,  done  fond. 

Was  this  king  Priam'*  joy? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  ; 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good. 
There's  yet  one  good  in  ten. 
Countess. 
What !  one  good  in  ten  ?  you  corrupt  the  song, 
sirrah. 

Clown. 
One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam,  which  is  a 
purifying  o'  the  song.    Would  God  would  serve 
the  world  so  all  the  year  1  we'd  find  no  fault 

with  the  tythe-woman,  if  I  were  the  parson.     Why  not  a  mother  ?    When  I  said,' a  mother, 
One  in  ten.  quoth  a' !  an  we  might  have  a  good  \  Methought  you  saw  a  serpent:  what's  in  mother, 
woman  born  but  for  every  biasing  star,  or  at  an    That  vou  start  at  it  ?    1  say,  I  am  your  morher, 
earthquake,  'twould  mend  the  lottery  well :   a     And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  tho<e 
man  may  draw  his  heart  out,  ere  he  pluck  one.      That  were  enwombed  mine.    'Tis  often  seen. 

Adoption  strives  with  nature;  and  choice  breeds 


you  withal,  sithence  in  the  loss  that  may  happen 
it  concerns  you  something  to  know  it. 
Countess. 
You  have  discharged  this  honestly:  keep  It 
to  yourself.  Manv  likelihoods  informed  me  of 
this  before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the 
balance,  that  1  could  neither  believe,  nor  mis- 
doubt. Fray  you,  leave  me :  stall  this  in  your 
bosom,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  honest  care. 
I  will  speak  with  you  farther  anon. 

[Exit  Sievmrd. 
Enter  Helena. 
Countess. 
Even  so  it  was  with  me,  when  I  was  young : 

If  ever  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours :  this 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong ;  [thorn 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born : 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd   in 

youth: 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone,    [none. 
Such  were  our  faults  ;  or  then  we  thought  them 
Her  eye  is  sick  on't :  I  observe  her  now. 
!M?na. 
What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ? 
Countess. 

You  know,  Helen, 
I  am  a  mother  to  you. 

Helena. 

Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Co  un  teas. 

Nay,  a  mother. 


You'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I  com-    A  native  sliP  to  U8  from  foreign  seeds : 
and  vou  ?  » ou  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's 


y0U  Clown. 

That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done  !  —  Though  honesty  be  no 
puritan,  yet  it  will  do  no  hurt :  it  will  wear  the 
surplice  of  humility  o»er  the  black  gown  of  a 
big  heart.  —  I  am  going,  forsooth :  the  busjpess 
is  for  I  lei  n  to  come  hither.  [Exit. 

Countess. 
Well,  now. 

Steward. 
I  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentlewoman 
entirely. 

Countess. 
Faith,  I  do:  her  father  bequeathed  her  to  i 


groan, 


oppress 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care 
God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood. 
To  say,  1  am  thy  mother  ?    What's  the  matter, 
That  "this  distemper'd  messenger  of  wet, 
The  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye?— . 
Why,  that  you  are  my  daughter  ? 
Helena. 

That  I  am  not. 
Countess. 
I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 
Helena. 

Pardon,  madam  ; 
The  count  Rousitlon  cannot  be  my  brother  : 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name  ; 


—      '        '■    -    ~ v  '     ■•v-'     ■"»••*"    WV..V.V.....V...    *,._•     fc*J    ,!■*;  ,     .     i    nui    Ill/Ill    liuuiuir,    lie    IIUIII    ll'MI"UI    u    lid 

and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage,  may  '  No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble: 
lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as  she  finds  :  j  My  master,  mv  dear  lord  he  is  ;  and  1 
there  is  more  owing  her  than  is  paid,  and  more  j  His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die. 
shall  be  paid  her  than  she'll  demand.  He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Countess. 


z$6 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.         Act  i.  Sc.  hi.! 


Countess.  . 

Nor  I  your  mother  ? 

You  are  my  mother,  madam :  would  you  were 
(So  that  my  lord,  your  son,  were  not  my  brother) 
Indeed,  my  mother!  —  or  were  you  both  our 

mothers, 
I  care  no  more  for,  than  I  do  for  heaven, 
So  I  were  not  his  sister.    Can't  no  other, 
But,  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother  ? 

Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter-in-law. 
God  shield,  you  mean  it  not!   daughter,  and 

mother, 
So  strive  upon  your  pulse.    What,  pale  again  ? 
My  fear  hath  catch'd  your  fondness :  Now  I  see 
The  mysteiy  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 
Your  salt  tears'  head.    Now  to  all  sense  'tis 
You  love  my  son  :  invention  is  asham'd,  [gross, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion, 
To  say,  thou  dost  not :  therefore  tell  me  true ; 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so : — for,  look,  thy  cheeks 
Confess  it,  th'  one  to  the  other ;  and  thine  eyes 
See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours. 
That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it :  only  sin, 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 
That  truth  should  be  suspected.   Speak,  is't  so  ? 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clue ; 
i  If  it  be  not,  forswear't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee, 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 

madam,  pardon  me. 


Good  n 


_,  ,  Countess. 

Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Helena. 
Your  pardon,  noble  mistress. 


Love  you  my  son 


Countess. 


_   Helena.  , 

Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? 


_  .  Lpuntess. 

Go  not  about :  mv  love  hath  m't  a  bond, 
Whereof  the  world  takes  note.    Come,  come, 

disclose 
The  state  of  your  affection,  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 

Helena.  £_.'•» 

Then,  I  confess, 
Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you, 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 
I  love  your  son. — 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  so's  my  love: 
Be  not  offended,  for  it  hurts  not  him, 
.  That  he  is  lov'd  of  me.     I  follow  him  not 
;  By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 
j  Nor  would  I  have  him,  till  I  do  deserve  him, 
j  Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 
'  I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope  ; 
1  Yet,  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve, 
!  1  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love, 
And  lack  not  to  lose  still.    Thus,  Indian-like, 
Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 
The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper, 
But  knows  of  him  no  more.  My  dearest  madam, 
Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love, 
For  loving  where  you  do:  but,  if  yourself, 
Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth, 
Did  ever,  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking, 
Wish  chastely,  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 
Was  both  herself  and  love,  O  I  then,  give  pity 
To  her,  whose  state  is  such,  that  cannot  choose 
But  lend  and  give  where  she  is  sure  to  lose  ; 


That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies, 
But,  riddle-like,  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies. 
Countess. 
Had  you  not  lately  an  intent,  speak  truly, 
To  go  to  Parts  7 

Helena. 
Madam,  I  had. 

Countess. 

Wherefore  ?  tell  true. 
.     *  Helena. 

I  will  tell  truth  ;  by  grace  itself,  I  swear. 
You  know,  my  lather  left  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  prov'd  effects,  such  as  his  reading 
And  manifest  experience  had  collected 
For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that  he  will'd  me 
In  heedfull'st  reservation  to  bestow  them, 
As  notes,  whose  faculties  inclusive  were 
More  than  they  were  in  note.   Amongst  the  rest, 
There  is  a  remedy  approv'd,  set  down 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishings  whereof 
The  king  is  render'd  lost. 

Countess. 

This  was  your  motive 
For  Paris,  was  it  ?  speak. 

Helena. 
My  lord,  your  son,  made  me  to  think  of  this  ; 
Else  Part's,  and  the  medicine,  and  the  king, 
Had,  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts, 
Haply  been  absent  then. 

Countess. 

But  think  you,  Helen, 
If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid, 
He  would  receive  it  ?    He  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind  ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him, 
They,  that  they  cannot  help.    How  shall  they 

credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  off 
The  danger  to  itself? 

Helena. 
There's  something  in't, 
More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  the 

greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt 
Shall,  for  my  legacy,  be  sanctified  [honour 

By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven :  and,  would  your 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I'd  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace's  cure, 
By  such  a  day,  and  hour. 

Countess. 

Dost  thou  believe't  ? 
Helena. 
Ay,  madam,  knowingly. 

Countess. 
Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave,  and 
love, 
Means,  and  attendants,  and  my  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court.    I'll  stay  at  home, 
And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt. 
Be  gone  to-morrow ;  and  be  sure  of  this, 
What  I  can  help  thee  to  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

[Exeunt. 


#"#••##••<©>• 


ACT   II. 

SCENE  I.  Paris.  A  Room  In  the  King's  Palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  King,  with  young  Lords  taking 
leave  for  the  Florentine  war  ;  Bertram,  Pa- 
rolles,  and  Attendants. 


Kin 


principles 


FAREWELL,   young  lords:    these  warlike 
nrincinles 

Do 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


*97 


Do  not  throw  from  you :— and  you,  my  lords, 

fan-well  — 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you  ;  if  both  Rain  all, 
The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  recei v'd, 
And  Is  enough  for  both. 

First  Lord. 

•Tit  our  hope,  sir, 
After  well-enter'd  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King. 
No,  no,  it  cannot  be ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady        [lords  ; 
That  doth  my  life  besiege.    Farewell,  young 
Whether  1  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen  :  let  higher  Italy 
(Those  'bated,  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy,)  see,  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it :  when 
The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek, 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud.     I  say,  farewell. 

Second  Lord. 
Health,  at  your  bidding,  serve  your  majesty  1 

King. 
Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  heed  of  them. 
They  say,  our  French  lack  language  to  deny, 
If  they  demand :  beware  of  being  captives. 
Before  you  serve. 

Both. 
Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 


of  war,  here  on  his  sinister  rheek :  it  was  this 
very  sword  entrenched  it :  say  to  him,  I  live, 
and  observe  his  reports  for  me. 
Second  Lord. 

We  shall,  noble  captain.  [  Exeunt  Lords. 

Parolles. 

Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices!  —  What 
will  you  do  ? 

Bertram. 

Stay ;  the  king—  [Seeing  him  rise. 

Parolles. 

Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony  to  the  noble 
lords:  you  have  restrained  yourself  within  the 
list  of  too  cold  an  adieu :  be  more  expressive  to 
them ;  for  they  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of 
the  time :  there  do  muster  true  gait;  eat,  speak, 
and  move  under  the  influence  of  the  most  re- 
ceived star ;  and  though  the  devil  lead  the 
measure,  such  are  to  be  followed.  After  them, 
and  take  a  more  dilated  farewell. 


And  I  will  do  so. 


Bertram. 


Farewell. 


>Jii  ■■ 


-Come  hither  to  me. 

[The  King  retires  to  a  couch. 

First  Lord. 
O,  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  behind 
us ! 

Parolles. 
*Tis  not  his  fault,  the  spark. 

Second  Lord. 

O,  'tis  brave  wars  ! 

Parolles. 
Most  admirable :  I  have  seen  those  wars. 

Bertram. 
I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil  with  ; 
"  Too  young,"  and  "  the  next  year,"  and  "  'tis 
too  early." 

Parolles. 
An  thy  mind   stand   to't,   boy,    steal   away 
bravely. 

Siertram. 
e  forehorse  to  a  smock, 
Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry, 
Till  honour  be  bought  up,  and  no  sword  worn, 
But  one  to  dance  with.    By  heaven  !  I'll  steal 
away. 


There's  honour 


First  Lord. 
in  the  theft. 

Parolles. 


Commit  it,  count. 

Second  Lord. 
I  am  your  accessary  ;  and  so  farewell. 

Bertram. 
I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured 
body. 

,  First  Lord. 
Farewell,  captain. 

Sweet  monsieur  Paroucsl 

Parolles. 

Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin. 

Good  sparks,  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good  metals : 

—you  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the  Spinii, 

one  captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatrice,  an  emblem 


I'arolles. 
Worthy  fellows,  and  like  to  prove  most  sinewy 
i  sword-men.        [Rjteunt  Bertram  and  rarolles. 

Knter  Lafeu. 

Lafeu. 

:     Pardon,  my  Lord,  [Kneeling,]  for  me  and  for 

my  tidings. 
I  King. 

'      I'll  see  thee  to  stand  up. 

Lafeu. 
I     Then  here's  a  man  stands,  that  has  brought 
his  pardon.  [mercy, 

1  I  would,  you  had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me 
'  And  that,  at  my  bidding,  you  could  so  stand  up. 
}  King. 

I  would  I  had;  so  I  had  broke  thy  pate, 
>  And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for't. 

Lafeu. 
Goodfaith,  across.    But,  my  good  lord,  'tis 
'  Will  you  be  cur'd  of  your  infirmity  ?         [thus  ; 
King. 
No. 

Lafeu. 
O  !  will  you  eat  no  grapes,  my  royal  fox  ? 
Yes,  but  you  will,  my  noble  grapes,  an  if 
My  royal  fox  could  reach  them.     1  have  seen 
A  medicine  that's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a 

■tone, 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary 
With  spritely  fire  and  motion ;  whose  simple 
Is  powerful  to  araise  king  Pepin,  nay,      [touch 
To  give  great  Charlemaine  a  pen  in's  hand, 
And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King. 

What  her  is  this  ? 
Lafeu. 
Why,  doctor  she.     My  lord,  there's  one  ar- 
riv'd,  [honour, 

If  you  will  see  her: — now,  by  my  faith  and 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  1  have  spoke 
With  one,  that  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession, 
Wisdom,  and  constancy,  hath  amaz'd  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness.     Will  you  see 
her,  [ness  ? 

(For  that  is  her  demand)  and  know  her  biui- 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King. 

Now,  good  La/en, 
Bring  in  the  admiration,  that  we  with  thee 

May 


298 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  11.  Sc.  1. 


May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  off  thine, 
By  wond'ring  how  thou  took'st  it. 


Lafeu. 


Nay,  I'll  fit  you, 
[Exit  Lafeu. 


And  not  be  all  day  neither. 
King. 
Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues. 

Re-enter  Lafeu,  with  Helena. 

Lafeu. 
Nay,  come  your  ways. 

King. 
This  haste  hath  wings,  Indeed. 
Lafeu. 
Nay,  come  your  ways. 
This  is  his  majesty,  say  your  mind  to  him : 
A  traitor  you  do  look  like  ;  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears.     I  am  Cressid's  uncle, 
That  dare  leave  two  together.    Fare  you  well. 

C^- 
King. 

Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  us  ? 

Helena. 

Ay,  my  good  lord.    Gerard  de  Narbon  was 

In  what  lie  did  profess  well  found,    [my  father ; 

King. 

I  knew  him. 
Helena. 
The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards 
him  ; 
Knowing  him,  is  enough.     On's  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me  ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice, 
And  of  his  old  experience  th'  only  darling, 
He  bade  me  store  up  as  a  triple  eye,  [so ; 

Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear.    I  have 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malignant  cause,  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it,  and  my  appliance, 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 
King. 

We  thank  you,  maiden  ; 
But  may  not  he  so  credulous  of  cure: 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us,  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded 
That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  inaidable  estate,  I  say,  we  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgment,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics  ;  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help,  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 
Helena. 
My  duty,  then,  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 
King. 
I  cannot  give  thee  less,  to  be  call'd  grateful. 
Thou  thought'st  to  help  me,  and  such  thanks  I 

give, 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live ; 
But  what  at  full  I  know  thou  know'st  no  part, 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Helena. 
What  I  can  do,  can  do  no  hurt  to  try. 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy. 
He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher, 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister: 
So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgment  shown, 
When  judges  have  been  babes.    Great  floods 
have  flown 


From  simple  sources ;  and  great  seas  have  dried, 
\\  hen  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 
Where  most  it  promises  ;  and  oft  it  hits 
Where  hope  is  coldest,  aud  despair  most  fits. 
King. 
I  must  not  hear  thee:   fare  thee  well,  kind 
maid. 
Thy  pains,  not  us'd,  must  by  thyself  be  paid: 
Proffers,  not  took,  reap  thanks  for  their  reward. 

Helena. 

Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd. 
It  is  not  so  with  him  that  all  things  knows, 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows  ; 
Kut  raoit  it  is  presumption  in  us,  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
!  Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 
;  Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 
j  1  am  not  an  impostor,  that  proclaim 
J  Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim ; 
I  But  know  I  think,  and  think  1  know  most  sure, 
[  My  art  is  not  past  power,  nor  you  past  cure. 

King. 
!     Art  thou  so  confident?    Within  what  space 
Hop'st  thou  my  cure? 

Helena. 

The  greatest  grace  lending  grace, 
:  Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
I  Their  fiery  torchcr  his  diurnal  ring ; 
I  Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
'■  Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  his  sleepy  lamp; 
I  Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass, 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly, 
Health  shall  live  free,  and  sickness  freely  die. 
King. 
Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence 
What  dar'st  thou  venture? 
Helena. 

Tax  of  impudence, 
A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame, 
Traduc'd  by  odious  ballads ;  my  maiden's  name 
Sear'd  otherwise ;  ne  worse  of  worst  extended, 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 
King. 
Methinks,  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  doth 
speak, 
'  His  powerful  sound  within  an  organ  weak ; 
j  And  what  impossibility  would  slay 
:  In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
1  Thy  life  is  dear  ;  for  all,  that  life  can  rate 
j  Worth  name  of  life,  in  thee  hath  estimate; 
j  Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call : 
I  Thou  this  to  hazard,  needs  must  intimate 
;  Skill  infinite,  or  monstrous  desperate. 
j  Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  1  will  try, 
!  That  ministers  thine  own  death,  if  I  die. 
Helena. 
If  1  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property 
Of  what  1  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die ;  [fee  ; 

|  And  well  deserv'd.     Not  helping,  death's  my 
But,  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me? 
King. 
Make  thy  demand. 

Helena. 

But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 
King. 
Ay,  by  my  sceptre,  and  my  hopes  of  heaven. 

Helena. 
Then  shalt  thou  give  me  with  thy  kingly  hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  "command: 

Exempted 


II.  5c.  in.         ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


199 


npted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 
To  chooM  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France, 
Iff  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate 
\\  itli  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state; 
But  such  ■  one,  thy  vassal,  wliom  1  know 
Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow. 

Klnfcj. 
Here  is  my  hand ;  the  premises  obscrv'd, 
Thy  will  by  "my  performance  shall  be  serv'd: 

tke  the  choice  of  thy  own  time;  for  I, 
Thy  resolv'd  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must, 
Though  more  to  know  could  not  be  more  to  trust, 
From  whence  thou  cam'st,  how  tended  ou  ;  but 

rest 
Unquestion'd  welcome,  and  undoubted  blest.  — 
Give  me  some  help  here,  hoi— If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  deed. 
[Flourish.     Exeunt. 


8CESE  U.    Hamilton.    A  Room  in  the 
Counteu'%  Palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 
Countess. 
Come  on,  sir:   I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 
height  of  your  breeding. 

Clown. 


belongs  to't :  ask  me,  If  I  am  a  courtier ;  it  shall 
do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Countess. 
To  be  young  again,  if  we  could.    I  will  be  a 
fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by  your 
answer.    I  pray  you,  sir,  are  you  a  courtier  ? 
Clown. 
O  Lord,  air  !  —  there's  a  simple  putting  off.  — 
More,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 
Countess. 
Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that  loves 
you. 


O  Lord,  sir  1 


meat. 


I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly  taught,     would  answer  very  well  to  a  whipping,  if 
tnow  my  business  is  but  to  the  court.  were  but  bound  to  t 


Ik 

Countess. 

To  the  court  1   why,  what  place  make  you 

special,  when  you  put  off  that  with  such  con- 

|  tempt  ?    But  to  the  court  I 

Clown. 


Clown. 
Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 
Countess, 
think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this  homely 

Clown. 
O  Lord,  sir  I— Nay,  put  me  to't,  I  warrant  you. 

Countess. 
You  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clown. 
O  Lord,  sir  1  —  Spare  not  me. 

Countess. 
Do  you  cry,  "  O  Lord,  sir,"  at  your  whipping, 
!  and  "  spare  not  me  ?  "     Indeed,  your  "  O  Lord, 
Is  very  sequent  to  your  whipping:  you 
""you 


fir, 


Truly, 


Clown. 
I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life,  in  my  —  "  O 
Lord,  sir."    I  see,  things  may  serve  long,  but 
not  serve  ever. 

Countess, 
play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time,  to 


lly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  any  !     '  P»J  ine  nome  npuse.w»e  y«« 
uiners,  he  may  easily  put  it  off  at  court:  he  'entertain  It  so  merrily  with  a  fool 


that  cannot  make  a  leg,  put  off's  cap,  kiss  his 
hand,  and  say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands, 
lip,  nor  cap;  and,  indeed,  such  a  fellow,  to  say 
precisely,  were  not  for  the  court.  But,  for  me, 
'  have  an  answer  will  serve  all  men. 


F 


Marry,  that's  a  bountiful  answer,  that  fits  all 
questions. 

•ui 

It  is  like  a  barber's  chair,  that  fits  all  buttocks; 
the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-buttock,  the  brawn- 
buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Will  your  answer  serve  fit  to  all  questions? 

<  Iowa 
As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an  attor- 
ney, as  your  French  crown  for  your  taffata  punk, 
as  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  fore-finger,  as  a  pan- 
cake for  Shrove-Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May -day, 
,as  the  nail  to  hi*  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his  horn, 
as  a  scolding  quean  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as 
'the  nun's  lip  to  the  friar's  mouth;  nay,  as  the 
pudding  to  his  skin. 

Countess. 
Have  you,  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fitness  for 
all  questions? 

Clown. 
From  below  your  duke,  to  beneath  your  con- 
stable, it  will  fit  any  question. 
Countess. 
It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous  size, 
that  must  fit  all  demands. 

Clown. 
But  a  trifle  neither,  in  good  faith,  if  the  learned 
should  speak  truth  of  it.     Here  it  is,  and  all  that 


Clown. 
O  Lord,  sir  !  —  why,  there't  serves  well  again. 
Countess. 
I     An  end,  sir :  to  your  business.    Give  Helen 

this, 
!  And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back  : 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen,  and  my  son. 
I  This  is  not  much. 
1  Clown. 

Not  much  commendation  to  them. 


Not  much  employment  for  you :  you  under- 
stand me  ? 

Clown. 

I  am  there  before  my  legs. 
Countess. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


Most  fruitfully 
Haste  you  again. 


SCENE  III.    fa/ 1*.    A  Room  in  the  King's 
Palace. 

Enter  Bertram,  La/en,  and  Parolles. 
Lafeu. 
They  say,  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  have  our 
philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and 
familiar  things  supernatural  and  causeless. 
I  Hence  is  it,  that  we  make  trifles  of  terrors,  en- 
sconcing ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge, 
when  we  should  submit  ourselves  to  an  un- 
known fear. 

Parolles. 

Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder,  that 
hath  shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 
Bertram. 
And  so  'tis. 

Lafeu. 


300 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.       Act  11.  Sc.  in. 


Lafeu. 
To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists,  — 

Parolles. 
So  I  say  ;  both  of  Galen  and  PaiaceLus. 

Lafeu. 
Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows,  — 

Parolles. 
Right  i  so  I  say. 

Lafeu. 
That  gave  him  out  incurable,  — 

Parolles. 
Why,  there  'tis  ;  so  say  1  too. 

Lafeu. 
Not  to  be  helped,  — 

Parolles. 
Right ;  as  'twere  a  man  assured  of  an  — 

Lafeu. 
Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death. 

Parolles. 
Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

Lafeu. 
1  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world. 

Parolle*. 

It  is,  indeed :  if  you  will  have  it  in  showing, 

you  shall  read  it  in, — what  do  you  call  there  ?— 

Lafeu. 

A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earthly 

actor. 

Parolles. 
That's  it  I  would  have  said  ;  the  very  same. 

Lafeu. 
Why,  your  dolphin  is  not  lustier :  'fore  me,  I 
speak  in  respect  — 

Parolles. 

Nay,  'tis  strange ;  'tis  very  strange,  that  is  the 

brief  and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he  is  of  a  most 

facinorous  spirit,  that  will  not  acknowledge  it  to 

be  the  — 

Lafeu. 
Very  hand  of  heaven. 

Parolles. 
Ay,  so  I  say. 

Lafeu. 
In  a  most  weak  — 

Parolles. 
And  debile  minister,  great  power,  great  tran- 
scendence ;   which  should,  indeed,  give   us  a 
further  use  to  be  made,  than  alone  the  recovery 
of  the  king,  as  to  be  — 

Lafeu. 
Generally  thankful. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants. 
Parolles. 
I  would  have  said  it ;  you  say  well.    Here 
comes  the  king. 

Lafeu. 
Lustick,  as  the  Dutchman  says :  I'll  like  a 
maid  the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my 
head.    Why,  he's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 
Parolles. 
Mori  du  vinaigre !     Is  not  this  Helen  t 

Lafeu. 
'Fore  God,  I  think  so. 

King. 
Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court.  — - 

("Exit  au  Attendant. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side  ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd 
sense 


Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
The  confirmation  of  my  promis'd  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  several  Lords. 
Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye :  this  youthful 

parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 
O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's 
I  have  to  use :  thy  frank  election  make,    [voice 
Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to 
forsake. 

Helena. 
To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mistress 
Fall,  when  love  please  1  —  marry,  to  each,  but 
one. 

Lafeu. 
I'd  give  bay  curtal,  and  his  furniture,    [boys', 
My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than*  these 
And  writ  as  little  beard. 

King. 

Feruse  them  well : 

Not  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 

Helena. 

Gentlemen,  [health. 

Heaven  hath  through  me  restor'd  the  king  to 

All. 

We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for  you. 

Helena. 
I  am  a  simple  maid ;  and  therein  wealthiest, 
That,  I  protest,  1  simply  am  a  maid.  — 
Please  it  your  majesty,  I  have  done  already; 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me, 
"  We  blush,  that  thou  should'st  choose  ;  but,  be 

refus'd, 
Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever: 
We'll  ne'er  come  there  again." 

King. 

Make  choice  ;  and,  see, 
Who  shuns  thy  love,  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 
Helena. 
Now  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly, 
And  to  imperial  Love,  that  god  most  high,  [suit  ? 
Do  my  sighs  stream.  — Sir,  will  you  hear  my 
First  Lord. 
And  grant  it. 

Helena. 
Thanks,  sir  :  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Lafeu. 
I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice,  than  throw 
ames-ace  for  my  life. 

Helena. 
The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes, 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes,  and  her  humble  love  1 
Second  Lord. 
No  better,  if  you  please. 

Helena. 

My  wish  receive, 
Which  great  Love  grant  1  and  so  I  take  my 
leave. 

Lafeu. 
Do  all  they  deny  her  ?    An  they  were  sons  of 
mine,  I'd  have  them  whipped,  or  I  would  send 
them  to  the  Turk  to  make  eunuchs  of. 

Helena.      [To  Third, Lord. 
Be  not  afraid  that  I  your  hand  should  take  ; 
I'll  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake: 
Blessing  upon  your  vows  1  and  in  your  bed 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed  1 

Lafeu. 
These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none  have 

her: 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL, 


301 


h>  r :  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English ;  the 
French  ne'er  got  them. 

Helena. 

You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  good, 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  or  my  blood. 
Fourth  Lord. 
Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 
Lafeu. 
There's  one  grape  yet,  — I  am  sure,  thy  father 
drai'k  wine.— But  if  thou  be'st  not  an  ass,  I  am 
a  youth  of  fourteen :     I  have  known  thee  al- 
ready. 

Helena.  [To  Bertram. 

I  dare  not  say,  I  take  you  ;  but  I  give 
Me,  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live, 
Into  your  guiding  power.— Tliis  is  the  man. 

King. 
Why  then,  young  Bertram,  take  her ;  she's 
thy  wife. 

Bertram. 
My  wife,  my  liege?    1  shall  beseech   your 
highness, 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 
King. 
Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 
What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 
Bertram. 

Yes,  my  good  lord  ; 
But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry 
her. 

King. 
Thou  know'st,  she  has  rais'd  me  from  my 
sickly  bed. 

Bertram. 
But  follows  It,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down 
Must  answer  for  your  raising  ?   I  know  her  well : 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge. 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife? — Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever  1 
King 
'Tis  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the  which 
I  can  build  up.     Strange  is  it,  that  our  bloods. 
Of  colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together, 
Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  off 
In  differences  so  mighty.     If  she  be 
All  that  is  virtuous,  (save  what  thou  dislik'st, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter)  thou  dislik'st 
Of  virtue  for  the  name  ;  but  do  not  so : 
From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  pro- 
ceed, 
The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed  : 
Where  great  additions  swell's,  and  virtue  none, 
It  is  a  dropsied  honour  :  good  alone 
Is  good,  without  a  name  ;  vileness  is  so : 
The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 
Not  by  the  title.    She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 
In  these  to  nature  she's  immediate  heir, 
And  these  breed  honour  :  that  is  honour's  scorn, 
Which  challenges  itself  as  honour's  born, 
And  is  not  like  the  sire  :  honours  thrive. 
When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive. 
Than  our  foregoers.     The  mere  word's  a  slave, 
Debauch'd  on  every  tomb ;  on  every  grave, 
A  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb, 
Where  dust,  and  damn'd  oblivion,  is  the  tomb 
Of  honour'd  bones  indeed.     What  should  be 

said? 
If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 
I  can  create  the  rest :  virtue,  and  she 
Is  her  own  dower;  honour, and  wealth  from  me. 
Bertram. 
I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do't. 


King. 
Thou  wrong'st  thyself,  if  thou  should'st  strive 
to  choose. 

Helena. 
That  you  are  well  rcstor'd,  my  lord,  I  am  glad. 
Let  the  rest  go. 

King. 
My  honour's  at  the  stake,  which  to  defeat, 
I  must  produce  my  power.   Here,  take  her  hand, 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift, 
That  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
My  love,  and  her  desert ;  that  canst  not  dream, 
We,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale, 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam  ;  that  wilt  not 

know. 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour,  where 
We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  con- 
tempt : 
Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good  : 
Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 
Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right, 
Which  both  thy  duty  owes,  and   our    power 

claims, 
Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever 
Into  the  staggers,  and  the  careless  lapse     [hate, 
Of  youth  and  ignorance  ;  both  my  revenge  and 
Loosing  upon  thee  in  the  name  of  justice, 
Without  all  terms  of  pity.    Speak:  thine  an- 
swer. 

Bertram . 
Pardon,  my  gracious  lord,  for  I  submit 
My  fancy  to  your  eyes.    When  I  consider 
What  great  creation,  and  what  dole  of  honour, 
Flies  where  you  bid  it,  I  find  that  she,  which 

late 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king ;  who,  so  ennobled, 
Is,  as  'twere,  born  so. 

Klug. 

Take  her  by  the  hand, 
And  tell  her,  she  is  thine :  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise,  if  not  to  thy  estate, 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Bertram. 

I  take  her  hand. 
King. 
Good  fortune,  and  the  favour  of  the  king, 
Smile  upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony 
Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  now  borne  brief. 
And  be  perform'd  to-night :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space, 
Expecting  absent  friends.    As  thou  lov'st  her, 
Thy  love's  to  me  religious,  else,  does  err. 

[Exeunt  King,  Bertram,  Helena,  Lorttt,  and 
Attendants. 

Lafeu. 
Do  you  hear,  monsieur  ?  a  word  with  you. 

Parolles. 
Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 

Lafeu. 
Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  his 
recantation. 

Parolles. 
Recantatiou  ?  —  My  lord  ?  my  master  ? 

I.alVu. 

Ay ;  is  it  not  a  language,  I  speak  ? 

Parolles. 
A  most  harsh  one,  and  not  to  be  understood 
without  bloody  succeeding.    My  master  ? 
Lafeu. 
Are  you  companion  to  the  count  Rousillim  f 

Parolles. 
To  any  count ;  to  all  counts ;  to  what  is  man. 
Lafeu. 


3oa 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        Act  ii.  8c.  hi. 


Lafeu. 
To  what  is  count's  man :  count's  master  is  of  j 
another  style.  _ 

Parolles. 

You  are  too  old,  sir :  let  it  satisfy  you,  you  j 
are  too  old.  ,    , 

Lafeu. 

I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man ;  to  which  ! 
title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 
Parolles. 

What  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do. 
Lafeu. 

I  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to  be  a 
pretty  wise  fellow :  thou  didst  make  tolerable  , 
vent  of  thy  travel :  it  might  pass ;  yet  the  scarfs, 
and  the  bannerets  about  thee,  did  manifoldly 
Uissuade  me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of  too 
great  a  burden.  I  have  now  found  thee :  when 
I  lose  thee  again,  I  care  not ;  yet  art  thou  good 
for  nothing  but  taking  up,  and  that  thou'rt 
scarce  worth. 

Parolles. 

Hadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity  upon 
thee,-  ,    . 

Lafeu. 

Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest 
thou  hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if — Lord  have 
mercy  on  thee  for  a  hen  I    So,  my  good  window  j 
of  lattice,  fare  thee  well :  thy  casement  I  need  j 
not  open,  for  I  look  through  thee.    Give  me 
thy  hand. 

Parolles. 

My  lord,  you  give  me  most  egregious  indig- 

nity-  Lafou. 

Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  thou  art  worthy 

ofit-  ~      „ 

Parolles. 

I  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

Lafeu. 
Yes,  good  faith,  every  drachm  of  it ;  and  I 
will  not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 
Parolles. 
Well,  I  shall  be  wiser. 

Lafeu. 
E'en  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to 
pull  at  a  smack  o*  the  contrary.     If  ever  thou 
be'st  bound  in  thy  scarf,  and  beaten,  thou  shalt 
find  what  it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bondage.    I 
have  a  desire  to  hold  my  acquaintance  with 
thee,  or  rather  my  knowledge,  that  I  may  say  in 
the  default  he  is  a  man  I  know. 
Parolles. 
My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable  vex- 
ation. ,    , 

Lafeu. 
I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and 
my  poor  doing  eternal :  for  doing  I  am  past,  as 
!  I  will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  giveme 
leave.  [Exit. 

Parolles. 
Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  this  disgrace 
off  me,  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  I  —  Well, 
I  must  be  patient ;  there  is  no  fettering  of  au- 
thority. I'll  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  I  can  meet 
him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were  double 
and  double  a  lord.  I'll  have  no  more  pity  of  his 
age,  than  I  would  have  of —  I'll  beat  him  :  an  if 
[  could  but  meet  him  again  ! 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 
Lafeu. 
Sirrah,   your   lord   and   master's    married: 
there's  news  for  you  ;  you  have  a  new  mistress. 


Parolles. 
I  most  unfeignedly  beseech  your  lordship  to 
make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs :   he  is 
my  good   lord  ;    whom   I  serve  above  is  my 
master. 

Lafeu. 
Who?  God? 

Parolles. 
Ay,  sir. 

Lafeu. 

The  devil  it  is,  that's  thy  master.  Why  dost 
thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion?  dost 
make  hose  of  thy  sleeves?  do  other  servants  so? 
Thou  wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy 
nose  stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I  were  but 
two  hours  younger  I'd  beat  thee:  methinks, 
thou  art  a  general  offence,  and  every  man  should 
beat  thee.  F  think,  thou  wast  created  for  men 
to  breathe  themselves  upon  thee. 
Parolles. 

This  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my 
lord.  .    , 

Lafeu. 

Go  to,  sir ;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for  picking 
a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate :  you  are  a  vaga- 
bond, and  no  true  traveller,  You  are  more 
saucy  with  lords  and  honourable  personages, 
than  the  commission  of  your  birth  and  virtue 
gives  you  heraldry.  You  are  not  worth  another 
word,  else  I'd  call  you  knave.    I  leave  you..,  . 

Enter  Bertram. 


Parolles. 
Good,  very  good ;  it  is  so  then  :  —  good,  very 
good.    Let  it  be  concealed  awhile. 
Bertram. 
Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever ! 

Parolles. 
What  is  the  matter,  sweet  heart  ? 

Bertram. 
Although  before  the  solemn    priest  I  have 
I  will  not  bed  her.  [sworn, 

Parolles. 
What  ?  what,  sweet  heart  ? 
Bertram. 
O,  my  Parolles,  they  have  married  me  !  — 
I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her. 
Parolles. 
France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot.    To  the  wars  ! 
Bertram. 
There's  letters  from  my  mother:  what  the 
I  know  not  yet.        paroUeg  [import  is, 

Ay,  that  would  be  known.    To  the  wars,  my 
boy  !  to  the  wars  I 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box,  unseen, 
That  hugs  his  kicky-wicky  here  at  home, 
!  Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms, 
!  Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
;  Of  Mars's  fiery  steed.    To  other  regions  ! 
:  France  is  a  stable  ;  we,  that  dwell  in't,  jades  ; 
Therefore,  to  the  war  I 

Bertram. 
It  shall  be  so :  I'll  send  her  to  my  house, 
I  Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her, 
!  And  wherefore  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  king 
I  That  which  I  durst  not  speak.    His  present  gift 
'•  Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields, 
'  Where  noble  fellows  strike.    War  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house,  and  the  detested  wife. 

Tarolles. 
;     Will  this  capriccio  hold  in  thee,  art  sure  ? 


Act  ii.  Sr.  v. 


ALL'S  WELL    THAT  ENDS  WELL 


303 


Bertram. 

Co  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  ail  vise  me. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away:  to-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 
Parolles. 
Why,  these  balls  bound  ;  there's  noise  in  it ; 
\l»  h;ml. 
A  young  man  married  is  a  man  that's  marr'd  : 
Therefore  away,  and  leave  her :  bravely  go ; 
The  king  has  done  you  wrong;  but,  hush  !  'tis 
so.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXF  IV      The  same.     Another  Room  in 
the  same. 

Enter  Helena  and  down. 

Helena. 

My  mother  greets  me  kindly :  is  she  well  ? 

Clown. 
She  Is  not  well ;  but  yet  she  has  her  health  : 
she's  very  merry  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but 
thanks  be  given,  she's  very  well,  and  wants 
nothing  i*  the  world  ;  but  yet  she  is  not  welL 
Helena. 
If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 
she's  not  very  well  ? 

Clown. 
Truly,  she's  very  well  indeed,  but  for  two 
things. 

Helena. 
What  two  things  ? 

Clown. 
One,  that  she's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God 
send  her  quickly  1  the  other,  that  she's  in  earth, 
from  whence  God  send  her  quickly  1 

Enter  Parolles. 
ParoMes. 
Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady  I 

Helena. 
I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have 
mine  own  good  fortunes. 

rarolles. 
You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on  ;  and  to 
keep  them  on,  have  them  still.— O,  my  knave  I 
How  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clown. 
So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles,  and  I  her  money, 
I  would  she  did  as  you  say. 
Parollea. 
Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clown. 
Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man  ;  for  many  a 
man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing. 
To  say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  ot 
your  title,  which  is  within  a  very  little  of  no- 
thing. 

Parolles. 
Away  !  thou'rt  a  knave. 

Clown. 

You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave 

thou'rt  a  knave  ;  that  is,  before  me  thou'rt  a 

knave:  this  had  been  truth,  sir. 

Parolles. 

Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool :  I  have  found 

thee. 

Clown. 
Did  you  find  me  inyourself,  sir,  or  were  you 
taught  to  find  me  ?    The  search,  sir,  was  profit-  ] 
able ;  and  much  fool  may  you  find  in  you,  even 
to  the  world's  pleasure,  and  the    increase  of 
laughter. 


Parolles. 
A  good  knave,  i'  faith,  and  well  fed.— 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ; 
A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love, 
Which  as  your  due  time  claims,  he  does  ac- 
knowledge, 
But  puts  it  (iff  to  a  compell'd  restraint ; 
Whose  want,  and  whose  delay,  is  strewed  with 

sweets. 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy. 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 
Helena. 

What's  his  will  else? 
Parolles. 
That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o'  the 
king,  [ing, 

And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceed- 
Strengthened  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need. 
Helena. 

What  more  commands  he  ? 
Parolles. 
That  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 


In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Parolles. 
I  shall  report  it  so. 

Helena. 
I  pray  you.— Come,  sirrah. 

SCENE  V.    Another  Room  In  the  same. 
Enter  La/eu  and  Bertram. 
La  feu. 
But,  I  hope,  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a 
soldier. 

Bertram. 
Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 

Lafeu. 
You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Bertram. 
And  by  other  warranted  testimony. 

Lafeu. 
Then  my  dial  goes  not  true.     I  took  this  lark 
for  a  bunting. 

Bertram. 
I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great  in 
knowledge,  and  accordingly  valiant. 
Lafeu. 
I  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience,  and 
transgressed  against  his  valour  ;  and  my  state 
that  way  Is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  find  in 
my  heart  to  repent.    Here  he  comes.     I  pray 
you,  make  us  friends  :  I  will  pursue  the  amity. 
Enter  Parolles. 

Parolles.  [To  Bertram. 

These  things  shall  be  done,  sir. 

Lafeu. 
Pray  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailor  ? 

Parolles. 
Sir? 

Lafeu. 
Ol  I  know  him  well.    Ay,  sir;  he,   sir,  Is  a 
good  workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Bertram.  [Aside  to  Parolles. 
Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ? 

Parolles. 
She  is. 

Bertram. 


30+ 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  il  Sc.  v 


Bertram. 
Will  she  away  to-night  ? 
Parolles. 
As  you'll  have  her. 

Bertram. 
I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketed  my  treasure, 
Given  order  for  our  horses ;  and  to-night, 
When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, 
End,  ere  I  do  begin. 

Lafeu. 
A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter 
end  of  a  dinner ;  but  one  that  lies  three-thirds, 
and  uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand 
nothings  with,  should  be  once  heard,  and  thrice 
beaten — God  save  you,  captain. 
Bertram. 
Is  there  any  unkindness  between  my  lord  and 
you,  monsieur  ?      „      „ 
'     '  Parolle». 

I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run  into 
my  lord's  displeasure. 

Lafeu. 

You  have  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots  and 

spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  the 

custard  ;  and  out  of  it  you'll  run  again,  rather 

than  suffer  question  for  your  residence. 

Bertram. 

It  may  be,  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Lafeu. 
And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him  at 
j  his  prayers.     Fare   you  well,   my  lord;    and 
J  believe  this  of  me,  there  can  be  no  kernel  in  this 
:  light  nut ;  the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes : 
'  trust  him  not  in  matter  of  heavy  consequence ; 
'■  I  have  kept  of  them  tame,  and  know  their  na- 
tures.—Farewell,   monsieur:    I    have   spoken 
better  of  you,  than  you  have  or  will  deserve  at 
my  hand ;  but  we  must  do  good  against  eyji. 

Parolles. 
An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

Bertram. 


I  think  so. 


Parolles. 


Why,  do  you  not  know  him  ? 

Bertram. 
Yes,  I  do  know  him  well ;  and  common  speech 
Gives  him  a  worthy  pass.    Here  comes  my  clog. 
Knter  Helena. 
Helena. 
I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 
Spoke  with  the  king,  and  have  procur'd  his  leave 
For  present  parting  ;  only  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you. 
Bertram. 

I  shall  obey  his  will. 
You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course, 
Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office 
On  my  particular :  prepar'd  I  was  not 
For  such  a  business  ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled.    This  drives  me  to  entreat 

you, 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home  ; 
And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  1  entreat  you, 
For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem  ; 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need, 
Greater  than  shows  itself,  at  the  first  view, 
To  you  that  know  them  not.   This  to  my  mother. 
[Giving  a  letter. 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you  :  so, 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 


Helena. 

Sir,  I  can  nothing  say 
But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 
Bertram. 
Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 
Helena. 

And  ever  shall 
With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that, 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 
To  equal  my  great  fortune. 
Bertram. 

Let  that  go: 
My  haste  is  very  great.    Farewell :  hie  home. 
Helena- 
Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Bertram. 

Well,  what  would  you  say  ? 
Helena. 
I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  owe ; 
Nor  dare  I  say,  'tis  mine,  and  yet  it  is, 
But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 
Bertram . 

What  would  you  have  ? 
Helena. 
Something,  and  scarce  so  much :— nothing, 
indeed —  ['faith,  yes  ;  — 

I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would,  my  lord  — 
Strangers  and  foes  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 
Bertram. 

I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 

Helena. 

I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord. 
Where  are  my  other  men  ?  monsieur,  farewell. 

Bertram. 
Go  thou  toward  home;  where  I  will  never 

come,  [drum — . 

Whilst   I  can    shake   my  sword,  o.  hear  the 
Away  1  and  for  our  flight. 

Parolles. 

Bravely,  coragio  I  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Florence.    A  Room  in  the  Duke\ 
Palace. 

Flourish.  Hnter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  attended  ; 

two  Frenchmen  and  Soldiers. 

Duke. 

SO  that,  from  point  to  point,  now  have  you 
heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth, 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

First  Lord. 

Holy  seems  the  quarrel 
Upon  your  grace's  part ;  black  and  tearful 
On  the  opposer.         _,  . 

rr  Duke. 

Therefore  we  marvel  much  our  cousin  France 
Would,  in  so  just  a  business,  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 
French  Envoy. 

Good  my  lord, 
The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield, 
But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man, 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 

By 


Act  in.  Sc.  n. 


ALIAS  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


305 


By  self-unable  motion  :  therefore,  dan-  not 
Say  u  li.it  I  think  of  it.  since  I  have  found 
Myself  m  ray  uncertain  grounds  to  fail 
At  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke. 
Be  it  ids  pleasure. 

Piraneh  OwH 

But  I  am  sure,  the  younger  of  our  nature, 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will  day  by  day 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke. 
Welcome  hhall  they  be. 
And  all  the  honours  that  can  fly  from  us   [well ; 
Shall  on  them  settle.    You  know  your  places 
When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  feU. 
To-morrow  to  the  field.       [FlourlsU.     Exeunt. 

SCESE  II.    Rousillon.    A  Boom  in  the 
Countess's  Palace. 

Fnter  Countess  and  Clown- 
Couutess. 
It  hath  happened  all  as  I  would  have  had  it, 
save  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 
Clown. 
By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melancholy  man. 

Countess. 
By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clown. 
Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot,  and  sing: 
mend  the  ruff,  and  sing  ;  ask  questions,  and 
sing ;  pick  his  teeth,  and  sing.  1  know  a  man, 
that  had  this  trick  of  melancholy,  sold  a  goodly 
manor  for  a  song. 

Countess, 
Let  me  see  what  he  writes,  and  when  he 
means  to  come.  [Opening  a  letter. 

Clown. 
I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel,  since  I  was  at  court. 
Our  old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o*  the  country  are 
nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o*  the 
court:  the  brains  of  my  Cupid's  knocked  out, 
and  I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves  money, 
with  no  stomach.    „ 

Countess. 
What  have  we  here  ? 

Clown. 

E'en  that  you  have  there.  [Exit. 

Countess.  [  Reads. 

"  I  have  sent  you  a  daughter-in-law :  she  hath 

recovered  the   king,  and   undone  me.     I  have 

wedded  her,  not  bedded  her ;  and  sworn  to  make 

the  not  eternal.    You  shall  hear,  I  am  run  away: 

know  it  before  the  report  come.     If  there  he 

breadth  enough  in  the  world,  1  will  hold  a  long 

distance.     My  duty  to  you. 

"  Your  unfortunate  son, 

"  Bertram.'" 
This  is  not  well :  rash  and  unbridled  boy. 
To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king  ! 
To  piuck  his  indignation  on  thy  head, 
By  the  misprizing  of  a  maid,  too  virtuous 
For  the  contempt  of  empire  ! 

Re-enter  Clown. 
Clown. 
O  madam  !  yonder  is  heavy  news  within,  be- 
tween two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady. 
Countess. 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

Clown. 
Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news,  some 


comfort :  your  son  will  not  be  killed  10  soon  as 
I  thought  he  would. 

Countess. 

Why  should  he  be  kill'd? 
Clown. 

So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  as  I  hear  he 
does :  the  danger  is  in  standing  to  't ;  that's  the 
loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of  children. 
Here  they  come  will  tell  you  more;  for  ray  part, 
I  only  hear  your  son  was  run  «wV[Kx|t  ^^ 

Enter  Helena  and  two  French  Gentlemen. 
French  Envoy. 


Save  you,  good 

Helena. 
Madam,  my  lord  is  gone ;  for  ever  gone. 

French  Gentleman. 
Do  not  say  so. 

Countess 
Think  upon  patience.  — 'Pray    you,  gentle- 
men,— 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy  and  grief, 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start, 
Can  woman  me  unto't :  — where  is  my  son,  1 
pray  you  ? 

French  Gentleman. 
Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  duke  of  Flo- 
rence : 
We  met  him  thitherward  ;  for  thence  we  came, 
And,  after  some  despatch  in  hand  at  court, 
Thither  we  bend  again. 

Helena. 
Look  on  his  letter,  madam :  here's  my  pass- 
port. 
j  Heads]     "  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring 
upon  my  finger,  which  never  shall  come 
off,  and  show  me  a  child  begotten  of  thy 
body,  that  I  am  father  to,  then  call  me 
husband  ;  but  in  such  a  then  1  write  a 
never." 
This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 
Countess. 
Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen  ? 
French  Envoy. 

Ay,  madam  ; 
And,  for  the  contents'  sake,  are  sorry  for  our 
pains. 

Countess. 
I  pr'ythee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer ; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine, 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety.     He  was  my  son, 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood, 
And  thou  art  all  my  child. — Towards  Florence 
is  he? 

French  Gentleman. 
Ay,  madam. 

Countess. 
And  to  be  a  soldier  ? 
French  Gentleman. 
Such  is  his  noble  purpose  ;  and,  believe't, 
The  duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 
Countess. 

Return  you  thither  ? 
French  Envoy. 
Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of  speed. 

Helena.  [Beads. 

M  Till    I  have  no  wife,   I  have    nothing   la 
France." 
'Tis  bitter. 

v  Countess. 


3o6 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        Act  hi.  Sc.  ii 


Find  you  that  there  ? 


Helena. 

Ay,  madam. 

'Tis  but  the  boldness  oil  his  hand,  haply, 
Which  his  heart  was  not  consenting  to. 

Countess.  ,  '     . 

Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife  ! 
There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him, 
But  only  she ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord, 
That  twenty  such  rude  boys  might  tend  upon, 
And  call  her  hourly  mistress.     Who  was  with 
him? 

French  Envoy. 
A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  I  have  some  time  known. 


Countess. 


arolles,  was  it  not  ? 


French  Envoy. 
Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 


Countess. 
A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wickedness. 
My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature 
With  his  inducement. 

French  Envoy.       , ,   , 
Indeed,  good  lady, 
The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that  too  much, 
Wiiich  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Countess. 
V  are  welcome,  gentlemen. 
1  will  entreat  vou,  when  you  see  my  son, 
To  tell  him,  that  his  sword  can  never  win 
The  honour  that  he  loses  :  more  I'll  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  aloug. 

French  Gentleman. 

We  serve  you,  madam, 
In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  affairs. 

Countess. 
Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies. 
Will  you  draw  near  ? 

[Exeunt  Countess  and  French  Gentlemen. 

Helena. 
"  Till   1  have  no  wife,   I  have   nothing   in 
France." 
Nothing  in  Fiance,  until  he  has  no  wife  ! 
Thou  shalt  have  none,  Kousillon,nonem  France; 
Then  hast  thou  all  again.    Poor  lord  !  is't  I 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country,  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none-sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I  [thou 

That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where 
Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 
Of  smoky  muskets  ?    O,  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 
Fly  with  false  aim ;  move  the  still-peering  air, 
That  sings  with  piercing,  do  not  touch  my  lord  1 
Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there  ; 
Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 
I  am  the  caitiff  that  do  hold  him  to  it ; 
And,  though  1  kill  him  not,  1  am  the  cause 
His  death  was  so  effected.    Better  'twere, 
1  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd 
With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger  j  better  'twere 
That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 
Were  mine  at  once.     No,  come  thou  home, 

RousiUon, 
Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar, 
As  oft  it  loses  all:  I  will  be  gone. 
My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence. 
Shall  1  stay  here  to  do't?  no,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house, 
And  angels  offie'd  all ;  1  will  be  gone, 


That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight, 

To  consolate  thine  ear.    Come,  night ;  end,  day ; 

For  with  the  dark  poor  thief,  I'll  steal  away. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.    Florence.    Before  the  Duke's 
Palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  Bertram, 
Parolles,  Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 

The  general  of  our  liorse  thou  art ;  and  we, 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 
Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 

Bertram.     „.     .   . 
Sir,  it  is 
A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength  ;  but  yet 
We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake, 
To  th'  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 

Duke. 

Then  go  thou  forth, 
And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm, 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress ! 

Bertram.      . 

This  very  day, 
Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file: 
Make  me  but  like  my'thoughts,  and  I  shall  prove 
A  lover  of  thy  drum",  hater  of  love.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Rousillon.    A  Room  in  the 
Countess's  Palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  her  Steward. 

Countess. 

Alas  !  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of  her  ? 

Might  you  not  know,  she  would  do  as  she  has 

By  sending  me  a  letter?    Read  it  again,   [done, 

Steward.  [Reads. 

"  I  am  Saint  Jaqu.s  pilgrim,  thither  gone. 

Ambitious  love  hath  so  in  me  offended, 
That  bare-foot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon, 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  write,  that,  from  the  bloody  course  of  war, 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie: 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  whilst  1  from  far 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify. 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive : 

1,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  forth 
i  From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live. 

Where  death  and  danger  dog  the   heels  of 
worth : 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me, 
Whom  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free." 

Countess. 
Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest 
words! — 
Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  much, 
As  letting  her  pass  so:  had  I  spoke  with  her, 
1  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Steward. 

Pardon  me,  madam : 
If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She  might  have  been  o'erta'en;  and  yet  she 

writes, 
Pursuit  would  be  but  vain. 

Countess. 

W  hat  angel  shall 
!  Bless  this  unworthy  husband?  he  cannot  thrive, 
!  Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to 

hear, 
j  And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
>  Ot  greatest  justice.  — Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 

To 


To  th 


in.  Sc.  v. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  BND6  WELL. 


307 


To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife: 

I. it  ever*  word  weigh  heavy  oi  her  worth, 
That  he  does  weigh  too  light:  my  greatest  grief, 
Though  little  he  d<>  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Despatch  the  most  convenient  messenger. — 
When,  haply,  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone, 
He  will  return ;  and  hope  I  m  iy.  that  she, 
Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again, 
Lett  hither  by  pure  love.    Which  of  them  both 
Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To   make  distinction.  —  Provide  this  messen- 
ger.— 
My  heart  is  heavy,  and  mine  age  is  weak; 
Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me 
•peak.  [Exeunt 


SCENE  V.    Without  the  Walls  of  Florence. 

A  tucket  afar  off.     Enter  an  old  Widow  of  Flo- 
rence, Diana,  Violenta,  Mariana,  and  other 
I     Citizens. 

Widow. 
Nay,  come;  for  if  they  do  approach  the  city, 
we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

Diana. 
j     They  say,  the  French  count  has  done  most 
I  honourable  service. 

Widow. 
I  It  Is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their  greatest 
commander,  and  that  with  his  own  hand  he  slew 
the  duke's  brother.  We  have  lost  our  labour; 
they  are  gone  a  contrary  way:  hark!  you  may 
know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mariana. 
Come;   let's  return  again,  and  suffice  our- 
selves with  the  report  of  it.     Well,  Diana,  take 
I  hoed  of  this  French  earl:  the  honour  of  a  maid 
is  her  name,  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

Widow. 
I  have  told  my  neighbour,  how  you  have  been 

I  solicited  by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 

Mariana. 
I  1  know  that  knave;  hang  him!  one  Parolles: 
a  filthy  officer  he  is  in  those  suggestions  for  the 
young  earl:  —  Beware  of  them,  Diana;  their 
promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all 
these  engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they  go 
under :  many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by  them ; 
and  the  misery  is,  example,  that  so  terrible  shows 
in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for  all  that 
dissuade  succession,  but  that  they  are  limed  with 
the  twigs  that  threaten  them.  1  hope,  I  need 
;  not  to  advise  jou  further ;  but,  1  hope,  your 
,own  grace  will  keep  you  where  you  are,  though 
there  were  no  farther  danger  known,  but  the 
modesty  which  is  so  lost. 

Diana. 
You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Enter  Helena,  In  the  dress  of  a  Pilgrim. 

Widow. 

j     1  hope  so.  — Look,  here  comes  a  pilgrim:  I 

j  know  she  will  lie  at  my  house;   thither  they 

send  one  another. 

I'll  question  her.  —  God  save  you,  pilgrim  I 
!  Whither  are  you  bound? 

Helena. 

To  Saint  Jaqucs  le  grand. 
!  Where  do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 

Widow. 
!     At  the  Saint  Francts  here,  beside  the  port. 

Helena. 
Is  this  the  way  ? 


Widow. 

Ay,  marry,  is't.— Hark  you  I 
_.  , ,  [A  marrh  afar  off. 

1  hey  come  this  way. — 
If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pilgrim, 
But  till  the  troops  come  by, 
I  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodg'd  ; 
The  rather,  for  1  think  I  know  your  hostess 
As  ample  as  myself. 

Helena. 
Is  it  yourself? 
Widow. 
If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Helena. 
I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Widow. 
You  came,  1  think,  from  France? 

Helena. 

I  did  so. 
Widow. 
Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours, 
That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Helena. 

His  name,  I  pray  you. 

!  Diana. 

The  count  Rousillon ;  know  you  such  a  one  ? 
Helena. 
|     But  by  the  ear,  that  hears  most  nobly  of  him : 
His  face  I  know  not. 

Diana. 
Whatsoe'er  he  is, 
He's  bravely  taken  here.   He  stole  from  Fiance, 
As  'tis  reported,  for  the  king  had  married  him 
Against  his  liking.    Think  you  it  is  so  ? 

Helena. 
Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth  :  I  know  his  lady. 

Diana. 
There  is  a  gentleman,  that  serves  the  count, 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 
Helena. 

What's  his  name  ? 
Diana. 
Monsieur  Parolles. 

Helena. 
O  !  1  believe  with  him, 
In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Of  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 
To  have  her  name  repeated :  all  her  deserving 
Is  a  reserved  honesty,  and  that 
I  have  not  heard  examin'd. 

Diana. 

Alas,  poor  lady  1 
'Tis  a  hard  bondage,  to  become  the  wife 
Oi  a  detesting  lord. 

Widow. 

1  write  good  creature:  wheresoe'er  she  is. 

Her  heart  weighs  sadly.   This  young  maid  might 

A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleas'd.  [do  her 

Helena. 

How  do  you  mean? 
May  be,  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

Widow. 

He  does,  indeed ; 
\  And  brakes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
i  Corrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid  : 
■  But  she  is  arm'd  for  him,  and  keeps  her  guard 
i  In  honestest  defence. 

J  Enter  with  drum  and  colours,  a  party  of  the 
Florentine  army,  Bertram,  and  Parolles. 


Mariana. 
The  gods  forbid  else  1 


Widow. 


308 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Act  in. 


&7vTl 


Widow. 

So,  now  they  come. 
That  is  Antonio,  the  duke's  eldest  son  : 
That,  Escaius. 

Helena. 
Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 


Diana. 


He: 


That  with  the  plume :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow  ; 
I  would  he  lov'd  his  wife.     If  he  were  honester, 
He  were  much  goodlier :  is't  not  a  handsome 
gentleman  ? 

Helena. 
1  like  him  well. 

Diana. 
'Tis  pity,  he  is  not  honest.    Yond's  that  same 
knave, 
That  leads  him  to  these  places :  were  I  his  lady, 
I  would  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Helena. 

Which  is  he  ? 
Diana. 
That  jackanapes  with  scarfs.    Why  is  he  me- 
lancholy ? 

Helena. 
Perchance  he's  hurt  i'  the  battle. 

Parolles. 
Lose  our  drum  !  well. 

Mariana. 
He's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something.    Look,  he 
has  spied  us. 

Widow. 
Marry,  hang  you ! 

Mariana. 
And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier  ! 
[Exeunt  Bertram,  Parolles,  Officers,  and 
Soldiers. 

Widow. 
The  troop  is  past.     Come,  pilgrim,  I  will 
bring  you 
Where  you  shall  host :  of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound, 
Already  at  my  house. 

Helena. 

I  humbly  thank  you. 
Please  it  this  matron,  and  this  gentle  maid, 
To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge  and  thank- 
ing 
Shall  be  for  me ;  and,  to  requite  you  farther, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  of  this  virgin, 
Worthy  the  note. 

Both. 
We'll  take  your  offer  kindly. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Camp  before  Florence. 
Enter  Bertram,  and  the  two  Frenchmen. 
French  Envoy. 
Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to't :   let  him 
have  nis  way. 

French  Gentleman. 
If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hilding,  hold 
me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

French  Envoy. 
On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Bertram. 
Do  you  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him  ? 

French  Envoy. 
Believe  it,  my  lord:    in   mine   own    direct 
knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to  speak 
of  him  as  my  kinsman,  he's  a  most  notable 


coward,  an  infinite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly 
promise-breaker  the  owner  of  no  one  good  qua- 
lity worthy  your  lordship's  entertainment. 
French  Gentleman. 

It  were  fit  you  knew  him,  lest  reposing  too 
far  in  his  virtue  which  he  hath  not,  he  might,  at 
some  great  and  trusty  business  in  a  main  danger, 
fail  you. 

Bertram. 

I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action  to 
try  him. 

French  Gentleman. 

None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch  off  his  drum, 
which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  undertake  to 
do. 

French  Envoy. 

I,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  suddenly 
surprise  him:  such  I  will  have,  whom,  I  am 
sure,  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy.  We  will 
bind  and  hoodwink  him  so,  that  he  shall  sup- 
pose no  other  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the 
leaguer  of  the  adversaries,  when  we  bring  him 
to  our  own  tents.  Be  but  your  lordship  present 
at  his  examination,  if  he  do  not,  for  the  pro- 
mise of  his  life,  and  in  the  highest  compulsion 
of  base  fear,  offer  to  betray  you,  and  deliver  all 
the  intelligence  in  his  power  against  you,  and 
that  with  the  d;vine  forfeit  of  his  soul  upon 
oath,  never  trust  my  judgment  in  any  thing. 

French  Gentleman. 
O  !  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch  his 
drum  :  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for't.  When 
your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success  in't, 
and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit  lump  of  ore 
will  be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John  Drum's 
entertainment,  your  inclining  cannot  be  re- 
moved.   Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Parolles. 
French  Envoy. 
O !  for  the  love  of  laughter,  hinder  not  the 
honour  of  his  design :  let  him  fetch  off  his  drum 
in  any  hand. 

Bertram. 
How  now,  monsieur  ?  this  drum  sticks  sorely 
in  your  disposition. 

French  Gentleman. 
A  pox  on't !  let  it  go :  'tis  but  a  drum. 

Parolles. 
But  a  drum  !    Is't  but  a  drum  ?    A  drum  so 
lost!  —  There  was  an  excellent  command,  to 
charge  in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings, 
and  to  rend  our  own  soldiers  ! 

French  Gentleman. 
That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  command  of 
the  service :  it  was  a  disaster  of  war  that  Ccesar 
himself  could  not  have  prevented,  if  he  had 
been  there  to  command. 

Bertram. 
Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  success : 
some  dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of  that  drum  ; 
but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered. 
Parolles. 
It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Bertram. 
It  might ;  but  it  is  not  now. 

Parolles. 
It  is  to  be  recovered.    But  that  the  merit  of 
service  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and 
exact  performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or 
another,  or  hicjacct — 

Bertram. 
Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach  to't,  monsieur,  if 

you 


A.  .  in.  Sc.  vil,        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELU 


3  :>) 


T>'u  think  your  mystery  In  stratagem  can  bring  j 
this  Instrument  ol  honour  again  into  his  native 
quarter,  be  magnanimous  In  the  enterprise,  and 
go  on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy 
exploit :  if  you  speed  well  in  It,  the  duke  shall 
both  speak  of  It,  and  extend  to  yon  what  farther 
becomes  his  greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syl- 
lable of  your  worthiness. 

Farolles. 
By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Bertram. " 
But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  It. 

Parollcs. 
I'll  about  it  this  evening :  and  1  will  presently 
pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself  in  my 
certainty,  put  myself  into  my  mortal  prepara- 
tion, and  by  midnight  look  to  hear  farther  from 
me. 

Bertram. 
May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  grace  you  are 
gone  about  it  ? 

Parolles. 
I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my  lord ; 
but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

Bertram. 
1  know  thou  art  valiant,  and  to  the  possibility 
of  thy  soldiership  will  subscribe  for  thee.    Fare- 
well. 

Tarolles. 
1  love  not  many  words.  [Exit. 

French  Envoy. 

No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water  — Is  not  this 

a  strange  fellow,  my  lord,  that  so  confidently 

seems  to  undertake   this    business,  which  he 

knows  is  not  to  be  done,  damns  himself  to  do, 

and  dares  better  be  damned  than  to  do't  ? 

French  Gentleman. 

You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we  do : 

certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself  into  a 

man's  favour,  and  for  a  week  escape  a  great 

deal  of  discoveries  ;  but  when  you  find  him  out, 

you  have  him  ever  after. 

Bertram. 
Why,  do  you  think,  he  will  make  no  deed  at 
all  of  this," that  so  seriously  he  does  address 
himself  unto? 

French  Envoy. 
None  in  the  world ;  but  return  with  an  in- 
vention, and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  pro- 
bable lies.  But  we  have  almost  embossed  him, 
you  shall  see  his  fall  to-night ;  for,  indeed,  he  is 
!  not  for  your  lordship's  respect. 

1  We'll  make  you  some  sport  with  the  fox,  ere 
we  case  him.  He  was  first  smoked  by  the  old 
lord  Lqfeu :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is  parted, 
;  tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him,  which 
you  shall  see  this  very  night. 

French  Envoy. 
I      I  must  go  look  my  twigs  :  he  shall  be  caught. 
Bertram. 
Your  brother,  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 

French  Gentleman. 
As't  please  your  lordship. 

French  Envoy. 
I'll  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Bertram. 
Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show 
i  The  lass  I  spoke  of.  [you 

French  Gentleman. 

But,  you  say,  she's  honest. 


Bertram. 

1  lat's  all  the  fault.  I  spoke  with  her  but 
once, 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold  ;  but  I  sent  to  her, 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind, 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send  ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done.  She's  a  fair  creature: 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 

French  Gentleman. 

With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

SCENE  VII.    Florence.    A  Room  in  the 
Widow'*  House. 

Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Helena. 
If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
1  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  farther, 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  1  work  upon. 

Widow. 
Though  my  estate  be  fall'n,  I  was  well  born, 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Helena. 

Nor  would  I  wish  you. 
First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  husband, 
And  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken, 
Is  so,  from  word  to  word  ;  and  then  you  cannot, 
By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Widow. 

I  should  believe  you  ; 
For  you  have  show'd  me  that,  which  well  ap- 
You  are  great  in  fortune.  [proves 

Helena. 

Take  this  purse  of  gold, 
And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far, 
Which  I  will  over-pay,  and  pay  again, 
When  I  have  found  it.  The  count  he  woos  your 

daughter, 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty, 
Resolved  to  carry  her  :  let  her,  in  fine,  consent, 
As  we'll  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it. 
Now,  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny 
That  she'll  demand :  a  ring  the  county  wears, 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  riug  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice ;  yet,  in  his  idle  fire 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe  er  repented  after. 

Widow. 

Now  I  see 
The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Helena. 
You  see  it  lawful  then.     It  is  no  more. 
But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won, 
Desires  this  ring  ;  appoints  him  an  encounter  ; 
In  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time, 
Herself  most  chastely  absent.     After  this, 
To  marry  her,  I'll  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  past  already. 

Widow. 

I  have  yielded. 
Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever, 
That  time  and  place,  with  this  deceit  so  lawful, 
May  prove  coherent.    Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts,  and  songs  r.ompos'd 
To  her  unworthiness  :  it  nothing  steads  us, 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves,  for  he  persists, 
As  if  his  life  lay  on't. 

Helena. 


3io 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.     Act  hi.  Sc.  vii. 


Helena. 
Why,  then,  to-night 
Let  us  assay  our  plot ;  which,  if  it  speed, 
Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed, 
And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act ; 
Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact. 
But  let's  about  it.  {Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    Without  the  Florentine  Camp. 

Enter  French  Envoy,  with  five  or  six  Soldiers 
in  ambush. 

French  Envoy. 

HE  can  come  no  other  way  but  by  this  hedge 
corner.  When  you  sally  upon  him,  speak 
what  terrible  language  you  will:  though  you 
understand  it  not  yourselves,  no  matter  ;  for  we 
must  not  seem  to  understand  him,  unless  some 
one  among  us,  whom  we  must  produce  for  an 
interpreter. 

First  Soldier. 
Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  Interpreter. 

French  Envoy. 
Art  not  acquainted  with  him  ?  knows  he  not 
thy  voice?  _,    .  -  ... 

J  First  Soldier. 

No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

French  Envoy. 

But  what  linsy-woolsy  hast  thou  to  speak  to 
us  again  ? 

First  Soldier. 

Even  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 
French  Envoy. 

He  must  think  us  some  band  of  strangers  I* 
the  adversary's  entertainment.  Now,  he  hath 
a  smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages  ;  there- 
fore, we  must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own 
fancy,  not  to  know  what  we  speak  one  to  an- 
other ;  so  we  seem  to  know  is  to  know  straight 
our  purpose:  chough's  language,  gabble  enough, 
and  good  enough.  As  for  you,  interpreter,  you 
must  seem  very  politic.  But  couch,  ho !  here 
he  comes,  to  beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  and 
then  to  return  and  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 
Enter  Parolles. 
Parolles. 

Ten  o'clock:  within  these  three  hours  'twill 
be  time  enough  to  go  home.  What  shall  I  say  I 
have  done?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  in- 
vention that  carries  it.  They  begin  to  smoke 
me,  and  disgraces  have  of  late  knocked  too 
often  at  my  door.  1  find,  my  tongue  is  too 
foolhardy  ;  but  mv  heart  hath  the  fear  of  Mars 
before  it,  and  of  his  creatures,  not  daring  the 
reports  of  my  tongue. 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

This  is  the  first  truth  that  e'er  thine  own 
tongue  was  guilty  of. 

Parolles. 

What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  undertake 
the  recovery  of  this  drum,  being  not  ignorant 
of  the  impossibility,  and  knowing  I  had  no  such 
purpose  ?  1  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  and 
say,  I  got  them  in  exploit.  Yet  slight  ones  will 
not  carry  it :  they  will  say,  "  Came  you  off  with 
so  little?"  and  great  ones  I  dare  not  give. 
Wherefore?  what's  the  instance?    Tongue,  I 


1  must  put  you  into  a  butter-woman's  mouth,  and 
buy  myself  another  of  Bajaxets  mule,  if  you 
prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

Is  it  possible,  he  should  know  what  he  is,  and 
be  that  he  is  ? 

Parolles. 
I  would  the  cutting  of  my  garments  would 
serve  the  turn  ;  or  the  breaking  of  my  Spanish 
sword.  ■■'  ■'  • .   ■  ,.-,•, 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

We  cannot  afford  you  fo. 

Parolles. 
Or  the  baring  of  my  beard  ;  and  to  say,  it  was 
in  stratagem.       .*_''_  r      ., 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

'Twould  not  do. 

Parolles. 
Or  to  drown  my  clothes,  and  say  I  was  stripped. 
French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

Hardly  serve. 


Though 
the  citadel 

How  deep  ? 


Parolles. 
swore  I  leaped  from  the  window  o. 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

Parolles. 
Thirty  fathom. 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make  that  bo 
believed. 

Parolles. 
I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's :  I 
would  swear  I  recovered  it. 

French  Envoy.  [Aside. 

You  shall  hear  one  anon. 

Parolles. 
A  drum,  now,  of  the  enemy's  ! 

[Alarum  within. 
French  Envoy. 
Throca  movousus,  cargo,  cargo,  cargo. 

All. 
Cargo,  cargo,  vithanda  par  corbo,  cargo. 

Parolles. 
O!   ransom,  ransom!  — Do   not   hide  mine 
eyes.  [They  seize  and  blindfold  him. 

First  Soldier. 
Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 

Parolles. 
I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment ; 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language. 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me  : 
I  will  discover  that  which  shall  undo 
The  Florentine. 

First  Soldier. 
Boskos  vauvado :  — 
I  understand  thee,  and  can  speak  thy  tongue  :— 
Kerelybonto :  —  Sir, 

Betake  thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards 
Are  at  thy  bosom. 

Parolles. 
01 
First  Soldier. 

O  I  pray,  pray,  pray.  — 
Mania  revania  dulche. 

French  Envoy. 

Oscorbidulchos  volivorco. 
First  Soldier. 
The  general  Is  content  to  spare  thee  yet, 
And,  hoodwink'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on 

To 


Act  iv.  Sc.  11. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAI'  ENDS  WELL. 


in 


To  Rather  from  I  her- :  haply,  thou  may'st  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life." 
Parolles. 

O  !  let  me  live, 
And  all  the  secrets  of  our  ramp  I'll  show. 
Their   force,    their  purpose!  ;    nay,    I'll   speak 
Which  you  will  wonder  at.  [that 

First  Soldier. 

But  wilt  thou  faithfully  ? 
Parolles. 
If  I  do  not,  «lamn  me. 

Tirst  Soldier. 

Acordo  linta — 
Come  on  ;  thou  art  granted  space. 

[Exit,  with  rarolles  guarded. 
French  Envoy. 
Go,  tell  the  count  Rousillon,  and  my  brother, 
We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep 

him  muffled, 
Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

Second  Soldier. 

Captain,  1  will. 
French  Envoy. 
A'  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves : 
Inform  on  that. 

Becond  Soldier. 
So  I  will  sir. 
French  Envoy. 
Till  then,    I'll    keep   him    dark,  and  safely 
lock'd.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Florence.    A  Room  in  the 
Widow's  House. 

Knter  Bertram  and  Diana. 

Bertram. 

They  told  me,  that  your  name  was  Fonlibcll. 

Diana. 
No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 
Bertram. 

Titled  goddess. 
And  worth  it,  with  addition  !    But,  fair  soul, 
In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind, 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument : 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
A  s  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern  ; 
And  now  you  should"  be  as  your  mother  was, 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got. 
Diana. 
She  then  was  honest. 

Bertram. 

So  should  you  be. 
Diana. 

No; 
My  mother  did  but  duty  ;  such,  my  lord, 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Bertram. 

No  more  o'  that : 
I  pr'ythee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows. 
I  was  compell'd  to  her  ;  but  I  love  thee 
By   love's  own   sweet  constraint,  and  will   for  I 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service.  [ever 

Diana. 

Ay,  so  you  serve  us, 
Till  we  serve  you ;  but  when  you  have  our 

roses, 
Yeu  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves, 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 
Bertram. 

How  hare  I  sworn  ? 


"Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  make  the  truth, 
But  the  plain  single  vow,  that  is  vow'd  true. 


pray 


What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 
Hut  take  the   Highest   to  witness:  the 

you,  tell  me, 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  lov'd  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?  this  has  no  holding, 
To  swear  by  him,  whom  I  protest  to  love. 
That  I  will  work  against  him.    Therefore,  you 

oaths 
Are  words,  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal'd, 
At  least,  in  my  opinion. 

Bertram. 

Change  it,  change  it. 
Be  not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy, 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts, 
That  you  do  charge  men  with.    Stand  no  more 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires,  [off, 

Who  then  recover :  say,  thou  art  mine,  and 
My  love,  as  it  begins,  shall  so  persever.      [ever 

Diana. 
I  see,  that  men  make  ropes  in  such  a  scarre, 
That  we'll    forsake   ourselves.     Give  me  that 
ring. 

Bertram. 
I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear ;  but  have  no  power 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Diana. 

Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 
Bertram. 
It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors, 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Diana. 
Mine  honour's  such  a  ring : 
My  chastity's  the  jewel  of  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors, 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 
In  me  to  lose.     Thus,  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion,  honour,  on  my  part 
Against  your  vain  assault. 

Bertram. 

Here,  take  my  ring: 
My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  life  be  tnine, 
And  I'll  be  bid  by  thee. 

Diana. 
When  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  chamber 
window : 
I'll  order  take  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed, 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me. 
My  reasons  are  most  strong;  and  you  shall 

know  them, 
When  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd : 
And  on  your  finger,  in  the  night,  I'll  put 
Another  ring  ;  that  what  in  time  proceeds 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then  ;  then,  fail  not.     You  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 
Bertram. 
A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won  by  wooing  thee. 
9  *tExit. 

Diana. 
For  «  hlch  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven  and 

You  may  so  in  the  end, [me  1 

My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo, 
As  if  she  sat  in's  heart:  she  says,  all  men 
Have  the  like  oaths.     He  had  sworn  to  marry 
me,  [him, 

When  his  wife's  dead;  therefore  I'll  lie  with 

When 


3ii 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        Act  iv.  Sc.  u. 


When  I  am  buried.    Since  Frenchmen  are  so 

braid, 
Marry  that  will,  1  live  and  die  a  maid : 
Only,  in  this  disguise,  1  think't  no  sin  . 

To  cozen  him,  that  would  unjustly  win.     [Exit. 

SCENE  III.    The  Florentine  Camp. 

Enter  the  two  Frenchmen,  and  two  or  three 
Soldiers. 

French  Gentleman. 
You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's  letter. 

French  Envoy. 
I  have  delivered  it  an  hour  since :  there  is 
something  in't  that  stings  his  nature,  for  on  the 
reading  it  he  changed  almost  into  another  man. 
French  Gentleman. 
He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon  him, 
for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife,  and  so  sweet  a 
lady. 

French  Envoy. 
Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlasting 
displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even  tuned  his 
bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will  tell 
you  a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly 
within  you. 

French  Gentleman. 
When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and  I  am 
the  grave  of  it. 

French  Envoy. 
He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewoman,  here 
in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown,  and  this 
night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the  spoil  of  her 
honour :  he  hath  given  her  his  monumental 
ring,  and  thinks  himself  made  in  the  unchaste 
composition. 

French  Gentleman. 
Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion :   as  we  are 
ourselves,  what  things  are  we  1 
French  Envoy. 
Merely  our  own  traitors  :  and  as  in  the  com- 
mon course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them 
reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their  ab- 
horred ends,  so  he  that  in  this  action  contrives 
against  his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper  stream 
o'erflows  himself. 

French  Gentleman. 
Ts  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us,  to  be  trum- 
peters of  our  unlawful  intents  V    We  shall  not 
then  have  his  company  to-night. 
French  Envoy. 
Not  till  after  midnight,  for  he  is  dieted  to  his 
hour. 

French  Gentleman. 
That  approaches  apace:  I  would  gladly  have 
him  see  his  company  anatomized,  that  he  might 
take  a  measure  of  his  own  judgments,  wherein 
so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counterfeit. 
French  Envoy. 
We  will  not  meddle  with  him  till  he  come,  for 
his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the  other. 
French  Gentleman. 
In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of  these 
wars  ? 

French  Envoy. 
I  hear  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

French  Gentleman. 
Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  concluded. 

French  Envoy. 
What  will  count  Rousillon  do  then  ?  will  he 
travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France  t 


French  Gentleman. 
I  perceive  by  this  demand  you  are  not  alto- 
gether of  his  council. 

French  Envoy. 
Let  it  be  forbid,  sir  ;   so  should  I  be  a  great 
deal  of  his  act. 

French  Gentleman. 
Sir,  his  wife  some  two  months  since  fled  from 
his  house :  her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage  to  Saint 
Jaques  le  grand,  which  holy  undertaking  with 
most  austere  sanctimony  she  accomplished ;  and, 
there  residing,  the  tenderness  of  her  nature  be- 
came as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in  fine,  made  a 
groan  of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she  sings  in 
heaven. 

French  Envoy. 
How  is  this  justified? 

French  Gentleman 

The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her  own  letters ; 

which  make  her  story  true,  even  to  the  point  of 

her  death  :  her  death  itself,  which  could  not  be 

her  office  to  say,  is  come, — was  faithfully  con- 

firmed  by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

French  Envoy. 

Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligence? 

French  Gentleman. 

Ay,  and  the  particular  confirmations,  point 

from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the  verity. 

French  Envoy. 

1  am  heartily  sorry  that  he'll  be  glad  of  this. 

French  Gentleman 
How  mightily,  sometimes,  we  make  ns  com- 
forts of  our  losses. 

French  Envoy. 
And  how  mightily,  some  other  times,  we 
drown  our  gain  in  tears.  The  great  dignity, 
that  his  valour  hath  here  acquired  for  him, 
shall  at  home  be  encountered  with  a  shame  as 
ample. 

French  Gentleman 
The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good 
and  ill  together :  our  virtues  would  be  proud,  if 
our  faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our  crimes 
would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherished  by  our 
virtues. 

Enter  a  Servant 
How  now  ?  where's  your  master  ? 
Servant. 
He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of  whom 
he  hath  taken  a  solemn  leave :  his  lordship  will 
next  morning  for  France.    The  duke  hath  of- 
fered him  letters  of  commendations  to  the  king. 
French  Envoy. 
They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful  there,  if 
they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Enter  Bertram. 
French  Gentleman. 
They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king"s  tart- 
ness.    Here's  his  lordship  now. — How,  now,  my 
lord  !  is't  not  after  midnight  ? 
Bertram. 
I  have  to-night  despatched  sixteen  businesses, 
a  month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract  of  suc- 
cess:  1  have  cong^'d  with  the  duke,  done  my 
adieu  with  his  nearest,  buried  a  wife,  mourned 
for  her,  writ  to  my  lady  mother  I  am  returning, 
entertained  my  convoy ;  and  between  these  main 
parcels  of  despatcli  effected  many  nicer  needs : 
the  last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  I  have  not 
ended  yet. 

French  Envoy. 
If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and  this 
morning 


Act  jv.  Sc.  hi.        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


3*3 


morning  your  departure  hence,  it  require*  haste 
of  your  lordship. 

Bertram* 

1  mean  the  laziness  is  not  ended,  as  fearing  to 
hear  of  it  hereafter.  But  shall  we  have  this 
dialogue  between  the  fool  and  the  soldier? 
Come,  bring  forth  t  his  counterfeit  model :  lie 
has  deceived  n»e,  lika  a  double-meaning  pro- 
■Meter. 

French  Knvoy. 

Bring  him  forth.  [Exeunt  Soldiers]  He 
has  sat  i'  the  stocks  all  night,  poor  gallant 
knave. 

Bertram. 

No  matter;  his  heels  have  deserved  it,  in 
usurping  his  spurs  so  long.  How  does  he  carry 
himself? 

French  Envoy. 

I  have  told  your  lordship  already;  the  stocks 
carry  him.  But,  to  answer  you  as  you  would 
be  understood,  he  weeps,  like  a  wench  that  had 
•hed  her  milk.  He  hath  confessed  himself  to 
Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  be  a  friar,  from 
the  time  of  his  remembrance,  to  this  very  instant 
disaster  of  his  setting  i'  the  stocks,  and  what 
think  you  he  hath  confessed? 
Bertram. 

Nothing  of  me,  has  he? 

French  Envoy. 

His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be  read 
to  his  face:  if  your  lordship  be  in't,  as  1  believe 
you  are,  you  must  have  the  patience  to  hear  it. 

Ke-enter  Soldiers,  with  Parolles. 
Bertram. 
A  plague  upon  him!    muffled?   he  can  say 
nothing  of  me:  hush!  hush! 

French  Gentleman. 
Hoodman  comes ! — Portotartarossa . 

First  Soldier. 
He  calls  for  the  tortures:  what  will  you  say 
I  without  'em? 

Parolles. 
1  will  confess  what  I  know  without  constraint: 
j  I  if  ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can  say  no  more. 
First  Soldier. 
Bosko  chimurcho. 

French  Gentleman. 
Boblibindo  chicurmurco. 

First  Soldier. 
You  are  a  merciful  general.  — Our  general 
bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  vou  out  of  a 
note. 

Parol  lcs. 
And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 
First  Soldier. 
"  First,  demand  of  him  how  many  horse  the 
duke  is  strong."    What  say  you  to  that? 
Parolles. 
Five  or  six  thousand;    but  very  weak   and 
Unserviceable:  the  troops  are  all  scattered,  aud 
the  commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my 
reputation  and  credit,' and  as  I  hope  to  live. 
First  Soldier. 
Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so  ? 

Parolles. 
Do:    Pll  take  the  sacrament  on't,  how  and 
which  way  you  will. 

Bertram. 
All's  one  to  him.     What  a  past-saving  slave 
it  this !  6 

French  Gentleman. 
Y'  are  deceived,  my  lord:   this  is  monsieur 


Parolles,  the  gallant  militarist  (that  was  his 
own  phrase),  that  had  the  whole  theorick  of 
war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the  practice  in 
the  chape  of  his  dagger. 

French  Envoy. 
I  will  never  trust  a  man  again  for  keeping  his 
■word  clean ;    nor  believe   he  can   have  every 
thing  in  him  by  wearing  his  apparel  neatly. 
First  Soldier. 
Well,  that's  set  down. 

Parolles. 
Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  said,  —  1  will 
say  true, — or  thereabouts,  set  down,  — for   I'll 
speak  truth. 

French  Gentleman. 
He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 

Bertram. 
But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the  nature 
he  delivers  it. 

Parolles. 
Poor  rogues,  I  pray  you,  say. 
First  Soldier. 
Well,  that's  set  down. 

Parolles. 

1  humbly  thank  you,  sir.     A  truth's  a  truth: 

the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

First  Soldier. 

'*  Demand  of  him,  of  what  strength  they  are 

afoot."    What  say  you  to  that? 

Parolles. 

By  my  troth,  sir,  if  1  were  to  live  this  present 

hour,  1  will  tell  true.     Let  me  see:    Spuria  a 

hundred  and  fifty,  Sebastian  so  many,  Corambus 

bo  many,  Jaques  so  many;    (ivi/tian,    Cosmo, 

Lodutvick,  and  Gratii,  two  hundred  fifty  each; 

mine  own  company,  Chitopher,  Vaumoiid,  Bcntii, 

two  hundred  fifty* each:  so  that  the  muster-file, 

rotten  and  sound,  upon  my  life,  amounts  not  to 

fifteen  thousand  poll ;  half  of  the  which  dare  not 

shake  the  snow  from  ofT  their  cassocks,  lest  they 

shake  themselves  to  pieces. 

Bertram. 

What  shall  be  done  to  him? 

French  Gentleman. 
Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks. —  Demand 
of  him  my  condition,  and  what  credit  1  have 
with  the  duke. 

First  Soldier. 
Well,  that's  set  down.    "  You  shall  demand 
of  him,  whether  one  Captain   Dumaine  be  i' 
the  camp,  a  Frenchman ;  what  his  reputation  is 
with  the  duke,  what  his  valour,  honesty,  and 
expertness  in  wars;  or  whether  he  thinks,  it 
were  not  possible  with  well-weighing  sums  of 
gold  to  corrupt  him  to  a  revolt."     What  say 
you  to  this?  what  do  you  know  of  it? 
Parolles. 
I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the  particular 
of  the  intergatories :  demand  them  singly. 
First  Soldier. 
Do  you  know  this  Captain  Dumaine t 

Parolles. 

1  know  him :  he  was  a  botcher's  'prentice  in 

Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting 

the  sheriffs  fool  with  child ;  a  dumb  innocent, 

that  could  not  say  him  nay. 

[Dumaine  lifts  up  his  hand  in  anger. 
Bertram . 
Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands  ;  though, 
1  know,  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next  tile 


that  falls. 


First 


3H 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.       Act  iv.  Sc.  m. 


First  Soldier. 
Well,  is  this  captain  in  the  duke  of  Florence's 
camp  ?  l. 

Parolles. 

Upon  my  knowledge  he  is,  and  lousy. 

French  Gentleman. 
Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me;  we  shall  hear  of 
your  lordship  anon. 

First  Soldier. 
What  is  his  reputation  with  the  duke? 

Parolles. 
The  duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but  a  poor 
officer  of  mine,  and  writ  to  me  this  other  day  to 
turn  him  onto'  the  band:  I  think,  I  have  his 
letter  in  my  pocket. 

First  Soldier. 
Marry,  we'll  search. 

Parolles. 
In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know:  cither  it  is 
there,  or  it  is  upon  a  file,  with  the  duke's  other 
letters,  in  my  tent 

First  Soldier. 
Here  'tis:  here's  a  paper;  shall  1  read  it  to! 

y0U?  Parolles. 

I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it,  or  no. 

Bertram. 
Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

French  Gentleman. 
Excellently,     j^^  [Keads 

"  Dian,  the  count's  a  fool,  and  full  of  gold,"— 
Parolles. 

That  is  not  the  duke's  letter,  sir :  that  is  an 
advertisement  to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  one 
Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  allurement  of  one 
count  Housillon,  a  foolish  idle  boy,  I  ut,  for  all 
that,  very  ruttish.     1  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up 

again-  First  Soldier. 

Nay,  I'll  read  it  first,  by  your  favour. 

Parolles. 
My  meaning  in't,  I  protest,  was  very  honest 
in  the  behalf  of  the  maid;  for  I  knew  the  young 
count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivious  boy,  who 
is  a  whale  to  virginity,  and  devours  up  all  the 
fry  it  finds. 

Bertram. 

Damnable,  both-sides  rogue  I 

First  Soldier.  [Reads. 

«  When  he  swears  oaths,  bid  him  drop  gold,  and 
take  it ; 
After  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score: 
Half  won  is  match  well  made ;  match,  and  well 
make  it : 
He  ne'er  pays  after  debts  ;  take  it  before, 
And  say,  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this. 
Men  are  to  mell  with,  boys  are  not  to  kiss  : 
For  count  of  this,  the  count's  a  fool,  I  know  it, 
Who  pays  before,  but  not  when  he  does  owe  it. 
"  Thine,  as  he  vow'd  to  thee  in  thine  ear, 
"  Parolles." 
Bertram. 
He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army,  with 
this  rhyme  in's  forehead. 

French  Envoy. 
This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir  ;  the  manifold 
linguist,  and  the  armipotent  soldier. 
Bertram. 
I  could  endure  any  thing  before  but  a  cat,  and 
now  he's  a  cat  to  me. 


First  Soldier. 
I  perceive,  sir,  by  our  general's  looks,  we  shall 
be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Parolles. 
My  life,  sir,  in  any  case  !  not  that  I  am  afraid 
to  die;  but  that,  my  offences  being  many,  I 
would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature.  Let 
me  live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'  the  stocks,  or  any 
where,  so  I  may  live. 

First  Soldier. 
We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so  you  confess 
freely:  therefore,  once  more  to  this  captain 
Dumaine.  You  have  answered  to  his  reputation 
with  the  duke,  and  to  his  valour:  what  is  his 
honesty  ? 

Parolles. 
He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister:  for 
rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus.  He 
professes  not  keeping  of  oaths ;  in  breaking 
them  he  is  stronger  than  Hercules.  He  will  lie, 
sir,  with  such  volubility,  that  you  would  think 
truth  were  a  fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best 
virtue ;  for  he  will  be  swine-drunk,  and  in  his 
sleep  he  does  little  harm,  save  to  his  bed-clothes 
about  him ;  but  they  know  his  conditions,  and 
lay  him  in  straw.  I  have  but  little  more  to  say, 
sir,  of  his  honesty:  he  has  every  thing  that  an 
honest  man  should  not  have ;  what  an  honest 
man  should  have,  he  has  nothing. 
French  Gentleman. 
I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Bertram- 
For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  ?    A  pox 
upon  him  !  for  me  he  is  more  and  more  a  cat. 
First  Soldier. 
What  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war  ? 

Parolles. 
Faith,  sir,  he  has  led  the  drum  before  the 
English  tragedians.  — to  belie  him,  I  will  not,— 
and  more  of  his  soldiership  I  know  not ;  except, 
in  that  country,  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the 
officer  at  a  place  there  called  Mils-end,  to  in- 
struct for  the  doubling  of  files  :  I  would  do  the 
man  what  honour  I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not 
certain.  „        .   „      . 

French  Gentleman. 
He  hath  out-villained  villany  so  far,  that  the 
rarity  redeems  him. 

Bertram. 
A  pox  on  him  !  he's  a  cat  still. 

First  Soldier. 
His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price,  I  need 
not  ask  you,  if  gold  will  corrupt  him  to  revolt. 
Parolles. 
Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  foe-  simple 
of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and  cut 
the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual 
succession  for  it  perpetually. 
First  Soldier. 
What's  his  brother,  the  other  captain  Du- 
maine? _        ,   _ 

French  Envoy. 
Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me  ? 

First  Soldier. 
What's  he  ? 

Parolles. 
E'en  a  crow  of  the  same  nest ;  not  altogether 
so  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a 
great  deal  in  evil.  He  excels  his  brother  for  a 
coward,  yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the 
best  that  is.  In  a  retreat  he  out-runs  any 
lackey  ;  marry,  in  coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 


At  r  iv.   Sc.  v. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  KXDS  WELL. 


3'5 


First  Soldier. 
If  your  life  ho  saved,  will  you  undertake  to 
betiay  the  Florentine? 

Parolles. 
Ay,  and  the  captain  of  his  horse,  count  Ron- 
\  si/tan. 

First  Soldier. 
I'll  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know  his 
pleasure. 

Parolles.  [Aside. 

I'll  no  more  drumming;  a  plague  of  all  drums  !  I 

Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to  beguile  the 

!  supposition  of  that  lascivious  young  boy  the 

count,  have  1  run  into  this  danger.     Yet  who 

•  would  have  suspected  an  ambush,  where  I  was 

1  taken  ? 

First  Soldier 
There  Is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must  die. 
The  general  says,  you,  that  have  so  traitorously 
discovered  the  secrets  of  your  army,  and  made 
such  pestiferous  reports  ol  men  very  nobly  held, 
can  serve  the  world  for  no  honest  use ;  there- 
'  fore  you  must  die.  Come,  headsman,  off  with 
his  head. 

Parolles. 
O  Lord,  sir ;  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my 
death  ! 

Fir^t  Soldier. 
That  shall  you  ;  and  take  your  leave  of  all 
your  friends.  tUmnurfling  him. 

So,  look  about  you :  know  you  any  here  ? 

Bertram. 
Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

French  Envoy. 
God  bless  you,  captain  Parolles. 
French  Gentleman. 
Cod  save  you,  noble  captain. 
French  Envoy. 
Captain,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my  lord 
l.ttfeu  f    I  am  for  France. 

French  Gentleman. 
Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy  of  the 
met  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the  count 
sillon  f  an  1  were  not  a  very  coward,  I'd 
ipel  it  of  you  ;  but  fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Bertram,  Frenchmen,  &c. 

First  Soldier. 
You  are  undone,  captain  ;  all  but  your  scarf, 
that  has  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Parolles. 
Who  cannot  be  crushed  with  a  plot  ? 

First  Soldier. 
If  you  could  find  out  a  country  where  but 
women  were,  that  had  received  so  much  shame, 
you  might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare  you 
well,  sir ;  I  am  for  France  too :  we  shall  speak 
of  you  there.  [Exit. 

Parolles. 
Yet  am  I  thankful :  If  my  heart  were  great, 
^Twould  burst  at  this.    Captain  I'll  be  no  more  ; 
But  I  will  eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall:  simply  the  thing  I  am 
Shall  make  me  live.     Who  knows   himself  a 

braggart, 
Let  him  fear  this  ;  for  it  will  come  to  pass, 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword  1  cool,  blushes  !  and  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame  '.  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  ! 
There's  plare,  and  means  for  every  man  alive. 
I'll  aaer  them.  [Exit. 


Florence.  A  Room  in  the  Widow'* 
House. 

Titter  Helena,  Unlaw,  and  Diana. 
Helens. 
That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not  wrong'd 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world  [you. 
<  Shall  be  my  surety;   'fore  whose  throne,  tis 
needful. 
Ere  1  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel. 
J  Time  was  I  did  him  a  desired  office, 
I  Dear  almost  as  his  life  ;  which  gratitude  [forth, 
'  Through    flinty    Tartar's    hosom    would    peep 
And  answer,  thanks.     I  duly  am  inform 'd. 
His  grace  is  at  Marseilles,  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.     You  must  know, 
I  am  supposed  dead  :  the  army  breaking, 
My  husband  hies  him  home ;    where,  heaven 

aiding, 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king, 
We'll  be  before  our  welcome. 
Widow. 

Gentle  madam, 
You  never  had  a  servant,  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 
Helena. 
I  Nor  you,  mistress. 

Ever  a  friend,  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To    recompense   your    love:    doubt   not,   but 
heaven  [dower, 

Hath  brought  me  up  to  be    your  daughter's 
As  it  hath  fated  her  to  be  my  motive, 
And  helper  to  a  husband.    But  O,  strange  men  ! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  they 

hate, 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen 'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night !  so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loathes,  for  that  which  is  away. 
But  more  of  this  hereafter.—  You,  Diana, 
Under  my  poor  instructions,  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Diana. 

Let  death  and  honesty 
:  Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  yours 
1  Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Helena. 

Yet,  I  pray  you : 
But  with  the  word,  the  time  will  bring   on 

summer, 
When  briars  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
A  nd  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.     We  must  away  ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepar'd,  and  time  revives  us  : 
"  All's  well  that  ends  well:  "  still  the  fine's  the 

crown  ; 
What'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Ruusiilon.    A  Room  in  the 
Countess'*  Palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown. 
Lafeu. 
No,  no,  no ;  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snlpt- 
taffata  fellow    there,  whose    villanous    saffron 
would  have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy 
youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour :  your  daughter- 
in-law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour,  and  your  son 
here  at  home,  more  advanced  by  the  king,  than 
by  that  red-tailed  humble-bee  1  speak  of. 
Countess. 
I  would  I  had  not  known  him.     It  was  tho 
death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman,  that 
ever  nature  had  praise  for  creating:  if  she  had  par- 
taken 


3i6 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  ir.  Sc.  x. 


taken  of  my  flesh,  and  cost  me  the  dearest  groans 
of  a  mother,  1  could  not  have  owed  her  a  more 
rooted  love. 

Lafeu. 

'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady :  we 
may  pick  a  thousand  salads,  ere  we  light  on 
such  another  herb. 

Clown. 

Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet-marjoram  of 
the  salad,  or,  rather  the  herb  of  grace. 

Lafeu. 
They  are  not  salad-herbs,  you  knave  ;  they 
are  nose-herbs. 

Clown. 
1  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir,  I  have  not 
much  skill  in  grass. 

Lafeu. 
Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself,  a  knave,  or 
a  fool  ? 

Clown. 
A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a  knave 
at  a  man's. 

Lafeu. 
Your  distinction  ? 

Clown. 
1  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife,  and  do  his 
service. 

Lafeu. 
So  you  were  a  knave  at  his  service,  indeed. 

Clown. 
And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir,  to 
do  her  service. 

Lafeu. 
1  will  subscribe  for  thee,  thou  art  both  knave 
and  fool. 

Clown. 
At  your  service. 

Lafeu. 
No,  no,  no. 

Clown. 
Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  1  can  serve  as 
great  a  prince  as  you  are. 

Lafeu. 
Who's  that  ?  a  Frenchman  ? 

Clown. 
Faith,  sir,  a'  has  an  English  name  ;  but  his 
phisnomy  is  more  hotter  in  France,  than  there. 

Lafeu. 
What  prince  is  that  ? 

Clown. 
The  black  prince,  sir ;  alias,  the  prince  of 
darkness  ;  alias,  the  devil. 

Lafeu. 

Hold  thee,  there's  my  purse.  1  give  thee  not 
this  to  suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talkcst 
of:  serve  him  still. 

Clown. 

1  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always 
loved  a  great  fire;  and  the  master  1  speak  of, 
ever  keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  he  is  the 
prince  of  the  world,  let  his  nobility  remain  in's 
court.  I  am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow 
gate,  which  1  take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to 
enter :  some,  that  humble  themselves,  may  ; 
but  the  many  will  be  too  chill  and  tender,  and 
they'll  be  for  the  flowery  way  that  leads  to  the 
broad  gate,  and  the  great  fire. 

Lafeu.  ,   . 

Go  thy  ways,  1  begin  to  be  a-weary  of  thee ; 
and  I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  1  would  not 
fall  out  with  thee.  Go  thy  ways  :  let  my  horses 
be  well  looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 


Clown. 
If  1  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they  shall  he 
1  jades'  tricks,  which  are  their  own  right  by  the 
|  law  of  nature.  Cfexit. 

Lafeu. 
A  shrewd  knave,  and  an  unhappy. 

Countess. 
So  a'  is.  My  lord,  that's  gone,  made  himseli 
much  sport  out  of  him  :  by  his  authority  he 
remains  here,  whicli  he  thinks  is  a  patent  for 
his  sauciness  ;  and.  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but 
runs  where  he  will. 

Lafeu. 
I  like  him  well  ;  tis  not  amiss.  And  I  was 
about  to  tell  you,  since  1  heard  of  the  good 
lady's  death,  and  that  my  lord,  your  son,  was 
upon  his  return  home,  I  moved  the  king,  my 
master,  to  speak  in  the  behalf  of  my  daughter"; 
which,  in  the  minority  of  them  both,  his  ma- 
jesty, out  of  a  self-gracious  remembrance,  did 
first  propose.  His  highness  hath  promised  me 
to  do  it ;  and  to  stop  up  the  displeasure  he  hath 
conceived  against  your  son,  there  is  no  fitter 
matter.    How  does  your  ladyship  like  it  ? 

Countess 
With  very  much  content,  my  lord  ;  and  1  wish 
it  happily  effected. 

Lafeu. 
His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles,  of 
as  able  body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty :  a' 
will  be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  am  deceived  by  him 
that  in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  failed. 

Countess. 
It  rejoices  me  that  I  hope  1  shall  see  him  ere  I 
die.     I  have  letters  that  my  son  will  be  here  to- 
night: 1  shall  beseech  your  lordship,  to  remain 
with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

Lafeu. 
Madam,  I  was  thinking  with  what  manners  I 
might  safely  be  admitted. 

Countess. 
You  need  but  plead  your  honourable  privi- 
lege. 

Lafeu. 
Lady,  of  that  1  have  made  a  bold  charter  ;  but, 
I  thank  my  God,  it  holds  yet. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

Clown. 

O,  madam  1  yonder's  my  lord  your  son  with  a 
patch  of  velvet  on's  face:  whether  there  be  a 
scar  under  it,  or  no,  the  velvet  knows  ;  but  'tis 
a  goodly  patch  of  velvet.  His  left  cheek  is  a 
cheek  of  two  pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek 
is  worn  bare. 

Lafeu. 

A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
livery  of  honour  ;  so,  belike,  is  that. 

Clown. 
But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Lafeu. 
Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you:  I  long  to 
talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

'Faith,  there's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  delicate 
fine  hats,  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which 
bow  the  head,  and  nod  at  every  man. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT 


Act  v.  Sc.  11. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WEEK 


3i7 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Marseille.    A  Street. 

Fnter  Helena,  Wrfow,  and  Liana,  with  two 
Attendants. 

Helena. 

BUT  this  exceeding  posting,  day  and  night, 
Must  wear  your  spirits  low :    we  cannot 
help  it  |  [as  one, 

But,  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affairs, 
Be  bold,  you  do  so  grow  in  ray  requital, 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.    In  happy  time, 


Kntcr 


?ntle  Ati 


This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear, 
1  f  he  would  spend  his  power.—  God  save  you,  sir. 
Gentle  Astrlnger. 


And  you. 
Sir,  1  have  J 


Helena, 
you  in  the  court  of  France. 
Gentle  Astringcr. 
1  have  been  sometimes  there. 

Helena. 
I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 
From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness  ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions 
Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  1  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  continue  thankful. 

Gentle  Astringer. 

What's  your  will? 
Helena. 
That  it  will  please  you 
To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  king, 
And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have, 
To  come  into  his  presence. 

Gentle  Astringer. 
The  king's  not  here. 

Helena. 
Not  here,  sir  ? 
Gentle  Astringer. 

Not,  indeed : 
He  hence  remov'd  last  night,  and  with  more 
Than  is  his  use.  [haste 

Widow. 
Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains  ! 
Helena. 
All's  well  that  ends  well  yet, 
Though  time  seem  so  adverse,  and  means  unfit. — 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone  ? 
Gentle  Astringer. 
Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousfllon  ; 
Whither  I  am  going. 

Helena. 

I  do  beseech  you.  sir, 
Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me 
Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand  ; 
Which,  I  presume,  shall  render  you  no  blame, 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 
I  will  come  after  you,  with  what  good  speed 
Our  means  will  make  us  means. 
Gentle  Astringcr. 

This  I'll  do  for  you. 
Helena. 
And  you  shall  find  yourself  to  be  well  thank'd, 

V.™*„'„-f„li *ir ..-1 •      . 


' 


Whate  Vrfallsmore. 
Go,  go,  provide. 


■We  must  to  horse  again 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.     RousiUon.     The  inner  Court  of 
the  Cuuntctt't  Palace. 

Fnter  Clown  and  Farollet. 
Parolles. 
Good  monsieur  Lavatch,  give  my  lord  I.afeu 
this  letter.  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better 
known  to  you,  when  I  have  held  familiarity 
with  fresher  clothes  ;  but  I  am  now,  sir,  mud- 
died in  fortune's  mood,  and  smell  somewhat 
strong  of  her  strong  displeasure. 

Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish,  if 
it  smell  so  strongly  as  thou  speakest  of:  I  will 
henceforth  eat  no  fish  of  fortune's  buttering. 
Pr'ythee,  allow  the  wind. 

Parolles. 
Nay,  you  need  not  to  stop  your  nose,  sir :  I 
spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 
Clown. 
Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  1  will 
stop  my  nose  ;  or  against  any  man's  metaphor. 
Pr'ythee,  get  thee  farther. 
Parolles. 
Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clown. 
Foh  !  pr'ythee,  stand  away :  a  paper  from  for. 
tune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman  1    Look, 
here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Here  is  a  pur  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's 
cat,  (but  not  a  musk-cat)  that  has  fallen  into  the 
unclean  fishpond  of  her  displeasure,  and,  as  he 
says,  is  muddied  withal.  Pray  you,  sir,  use  the 
carp  as  you  may,  for  he  looks  like  a  poor,  de- 
cayed, ingenious,  foolish,  rascally  knave.  I  do 
pity  his  distress  in  my  smiles  of  comfort,  and 
leave  him  to  your  lordship.  [Kxft  Clotrn. 

Parolles. 
My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratched.      _    . 

Lafeu. 
And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  'tis  too 
late  to  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  have  you 
played  the  knave  with  fortune,  that  she  should 
scratch  you,  who  of  herself  is  a  good  lady,  and 
would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long  under  her  ? 
There's  a  quart  d'ecu  for  you.  Let  the  justices 
make  you  and  fortune  friends  ;  I  am  for  other 
business. 

Parolles. 
I  beseech  your  honour  to  hear  me  one  single 
word. 

Lafeu. 
You  beg  a  single  penny  more  :  come,  you 
shall  ha't ;  save  your  word. 
Parolles. 
My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  Parolles. 

Lafeu. 
You  beg  more  than  a  word,  then  — Cox'  my 
passion  1  give  me  your  hand — How  does  your 
drum  ? 

Parolles. 

O,  my  good  lord  I  you  were  the  first  that 
found  me. 

Lafeu. 
Was  I,  in  sooth  ?  and  I  was  the  first  that  lost 
thee. 

Parolles. 
It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in  some 
grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out.  ,    , 

Lafeu. 


jiS 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


Lafeu. 
Out  upon  thee,  knave  i  dost  thou  put  upon  me 
at  once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the  devil  ? 
one  brings  thee  in  grace,  and  the  other  brings 
thee  out.  [Trumpets  sound.]  The  king's 
coining;  1  know  by  his  trumpets.  —  Sirrah,  in- 
quire farther  after" me:  I  had  talk  of  you  last 
night.  Though  you  are  a  fool  and  a  knave,  you 
shall  eat :  go  to,  follow. 

Farolles. 
1  praise  God  for  you. 


!  Distracted  clouds  give  way :  so  stand  thou  forth  ; 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Bertram. 
My  high  repented  blames, 
Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 
King. 

All  is  whole ; 
Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top, 


|  lor  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees 
[Exeunt,  j  Th'  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  time 


SCENE  III.    Thesame.    A  Room  in  the 
Countess's  Palace. 

Flourish.    Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  Lords, 
Gentlemen,  Guards,  &c. 

King. 
We  lost  a  jewel  of  her,  and  our  esteem 
Was  made  much  poorer  by  it ;  but  your  sou, 
As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home. 

Countess. 

'Tis  past,  my  liege ; 
And  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 
Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blade  of  youth  ; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it,  and  burns  on. 

King. 

My  honour'd  lady, 
I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all, 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him, 
And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 

Lafeu. 

This  I  must  say,— 
But  first  I  beg  my  pardon,— the  young  lord 
Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother,  and  his  lady, 
Offence  of  mighty  note,  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all :  he  lost  a  wife, 
Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey       [tive  ; 
Of  richest  eyes  ;  whose  words  all  ears  took  cap- 
Whose  dear  perfection,  hearts  that  scorn'd  to 
Humbly  call'd  mistress.  [serve 

King. 

Praising  what  is  lost 
Makes  the  remembrance  dear.— Well,  call  him 

hither. 
We  are  reconcil'd,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 
All  repetition. — Let  him  not  ask  our  pardon : 
The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  dead, 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  we  do  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it:  let  him  approach, 
A  stranger,  no  offender  ;  and  inform  him, 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gentleman. 

I  shall,  my  liege. 
[Exit  Gentleman. 

What  says  he  to  your  daughter  ?  have  you 
spoke  ? 

Lafeu. 
All  that  he  is  hath  reference  to  your  highness. 

King. 
Then  shall  we  have  a  match.    I  have  letters 
[sent  me, 


That  set  him  high  in  fame. 


Enter  Bertram. 

Lafeu. 

He  looks  well  ou't. 

King. 
I  am  not  a  day  of  season, 
For  thou  may'st  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once  ;  but  to  the  brightest  beams 


Steals,  ere  we  can  effect  them.    You  remember 
The  daughter  of  this  lord  ? 
Bertram. 

Admiringly. 
My  liege,  at  first 

1  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue  : 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me, 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour, 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stolen, 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions, 
To  a  most  hideous  object.    Thence  it  came. 
That  she,  whom  all  men  prais'd,  and  whom 

myself, 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  lov'd,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 
King. 

Well  excus'd : 
That  thou  didst  love  her  strikes  some  scores 
away  [too  late, 

From  the  great  compt.    But  love,  that  comes 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried, 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence, 
Crying,  that's  good  that's  gone.   Our  rash  faults 
Make  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have, 
Not  knowing  them,  until  we  know  their  grave: 
Oft  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends,  and  after  weep  their  dust : 
Our  own  love,  waking,  cries  to  see  what's  done, 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maud- 
lin : 
The  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we'll  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day. 
Countess. 
Which  better  than  the  first,  O,  dear  heaven, 
bless  ! 
Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cease ! 
Lafeu. 
Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's  name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you, 
To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter, 
That  she  may  quickly  come.— By  my  old  beard, 
And  every  hair  that's  on't,  Helen,  that's  dead, 
Was  a  sweet  creature ;  such  a  ring  as  this, 
The  last  that,  ere  1  took  her  leave  at  court, 
1  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Bertram. 

Hers  it  was  not. 

King. 
Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine  eye, 
While  I  was  speaking,  oft  was  fasten'd  to't. — 
This  ring  was  mine  ;  and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 
I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  stood 
Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 
1  would  relieve  her.     Had  you  that  craft  to 
j  Of  what  should  stead  her  most  ?  [reave  her 

Bertram. 

My  gracious  sovereign, 
Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so, 
The  ring  was  never  hers. 

Countess. 


A(  i  v.   5c.  in. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


319 


Countess. 

Son,  on  my  HTe, 
1  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckon 'd  It 
At  her  life's  rate. 

I.,lf.'U. 

I  am  sure  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

Bertram. 
You  are  deceiv'd  :  my  lord,  she  never  saw  it. 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  tltrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contaln'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  it.      Noble  she  was,  and 

thought 
1  stood  engag'd  ;  but  when  I  had  subscrib'd 
To  mine  own  fortuue,  and  inform 'd  her  fully 
1  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 
As  the  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceas'd, 
In  heavy  satisfaction,  and  would  never 
Receive  the  ring  again. 

King. 

Plutus  himself. 
That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine, 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science, 
Than  I  have  in  this  ring  ;   'twas  mine,  'twas 

Rdtn\ 
Whoever  gave  it  vou.    Then,  if  you  know 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself. 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforce- 
ment [surety, 
You  got  it  from  her.     She  calPd  the  saints  to 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger, 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed, 
Where  you  nave  never  come,  or  sent  it  us 
I' pon  her  great  disaster. 

Bertram. 

She  never  saw  it. 


King. 
Thou  speak 'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine  honour, 
And  mak'st  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me, 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out.    If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman,  — 'twill  not  prove 
so ;  —  [deadly, 

And  yet   I  know  not:  —  thou  didst  hate  her 
And  sne  is  dead  ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe, 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.— Take  him  away.— 

[Guards  seize  Bertram. 
My  fore  past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall, 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity,  [him  ! 

Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little. — Away  with 
We'll  silt  this  matter  farther. 

Bertram. 

If  you  shall  prove 
This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  1  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
Where  yet  she  never  was. 

[Exit  Bertram,  guarded. 
Kntera  Gentleman. 

I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

Gentleman. 

Gracious  sovereign, 
Whether  I  have  been  to  blame,  or  no,  1  know 
Here's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  [not : 

Who  hath,  for  four  or  five  removes,  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish "d  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this,  1  know, 
Is  here  attending:  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visage  ;  and  she  told  me, 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  highness  with  herself. 

Kin*  [Reads. 

*'  Upon  his  many  protestations  to  marry  me, 


wlun  his  wife  was  dead,  I  blush  to  say  it,  he 
won  me.  Now  is  the  count  llousillon  a  widower : 
his  vows  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my  honour's 
paid  to  him.  He  stole  from  Florence,  taking  no 
leave,  and  1  follow  him  to  his  country  for  jus- 
tice. Grant  it  me,  O  king  !  in  you  it  best  lies  ; 
otherwise  a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor  maid 
is  undone.  Diana  Capilct." 

Lafeu. 
I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and  toll : 
for  this,  I'll  none  of  him. 

King. 
The    heavens    have   thought  well    on  thee, 
Lafeu, 
To  bring  forth  this  discovery.—  Seek  these  sui- 
tors :  — 
Go  speedily,  and  bring  again  the  count. 

[Exeunt  Gentleman,  and  some  Attendants. 
I  am  aTeard,  the  life  of  Helen,  lady 
Was  foully  snatch'd. 

Now,  justice  on  the  doers  1 
Re-enter  Bertram,  guarded. 

King. 
I  wonder,  sir,  for  wives  are  monsters  to  you, 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lord- 
ship, 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry.— What  woman's  that  ? 

Re-enter  Gentleman,  with  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Diana. 
1  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capilct  : 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know, 
And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

Widow. 
I  am  her  mother  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring, 
j  And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 

King. 
Come  hither,  count.     Do  you  know  these 
women  ? 

Bertram. 
My  lord,  I  neither  can,  nor  will  deny 
But  that  I  know  them.    Do  they  charge  mo 
farther  ? 

j     Why  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  your  wife  ? 

'     „,    .  ,     •    Bertram. 

She  s  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 

Diana. 

If  you  shall  marry, 
You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine  ; 
You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are 

mine ; 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine ; 
For  1  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours, 
That  she  which  marries  you  must  marry  me; 
Either  both,  or  none. 

Lafeu.  fTo  Bertram. 

Your    reputation    comes    too    snort    for    my 
daughter :  you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  creature, 
Whom  sometime   I  have  laugh'd  with.      Let 

your  highness 
Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour, 
Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 

Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  them  ill  to 
friend, 

Till 


320 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.        Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Till  your  deeds  gaio  them :  fairer  prove  your 

honour, 
Than  in  my  thought  it  lies. 

Diana. 

Good  my  lord, 
Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think 
He  had  not  my  virginity. 

King. 
What  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 

Bertram. 

She's  im;  s-xlent,  my  lord ; 
And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 
Diana. 
He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord :  if  I  were  so, 
He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price : 
Do  not  believe  him.    O  !  behold  this  ring, 
Whose  high  respect,  and  rich  validity, 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet,  for  all  that, 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp, 
If  I  be  one. 

Countess. 
He  blushes,  and  'tis  his  : 
Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem 
Oonferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue, 
Hath  it  been  ow'd  and  worn.    This  is  his  wife : 
That  ring's  a  thousand  proofs. 
King. 

Methought,  you  said, 
You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it. 
Diana. 
I  did,  my  lord,  but  loth  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument :  his  name's  Parolles. 
Lafeu. 
1  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King. 
Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 
Bertram. 

What  of  him? 
He's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave, 
With   all   the  spots  o'  the   world   tax'd   and 

debauch'd, 
Whose  nature  sickens  but  to  speak  a  truth. 
Am  I  or  that,  or  this,  for  what  he'll  utter, 
That  will  speak  any  thing  ? 

King. 

She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 
Bertram. 
I  think,  she  has :  certain  it  is,  I  lik'd  her, 
And  boarded  her  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth. 
She  knew  her  distance,  and  did  angle  for  me, 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint, 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy  ;  and,  in  fine. 
Her  insuit  coming  with  her  modern  grace, 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate :  she  got  the  ring, 
And  I  had  that,  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Diana. 

I  must  be  patient : 
You,  that  have  turn'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife, 
May  justly  diet  me.    I  pray  you  yet, 
(Since  you  lack  virtue,  I  will  lose  a  husband,) 
Send  for  your  ring  ;  I  will  return  it  home, 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Bertram. 

I  have  it  not. 

King. 
What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you  ? 

Diana. 

Sir,  much  like 
The  same  upon  your  finger. 


King. 

Know  you  this  ring  ?  this  ring  was   his  of 
late. 

Diana. 
And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  a-bed. 

King. 
The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Diana. 

I  have  spoke  the  truth. 
Enter  Parolles. 
Bertram. 
My  lord,  I  do  confess,  the  ring  was  hers. 

King. 
You  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts 

Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of  ?  you 

Diana. 

Ay,  my  lord. 
King. 
Tell  me,  sirrah,  but  tell  me  true,  I  charge 
you, 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master, 
(Which,  on  your  just  proceeding,  I'll  keep  off,) 
By  him,  and  by  this  woman  here,  what  know 
you? 

Parolles. 
So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath  been 
an  honourable  gentleman :  tricks  he  hath  had 
in  him,  which  gentlemen  have. 
King. 
Come,  come  ;    to  the  purpose.    Did  he  love 
this  woman  ? 

Parolles. 
♦Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her;  but  how  ? 

King. 
How,  I  pray  you  ? 

Parolles. 
He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves  a 
woman. 

King. 
How  is  that  ? 

Parolles. 
He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not. 

King. 
As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave.  — 
What  an  equivocal  companion  is  this  I 
Parolles. 
I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  majesty's  com- 
mand. 

Lafeu. 
He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty 
orator. 

Diana. 
Do  you  know,  he  promised  me  marriage  ? 

Parolles. 
'Faith,  I  know  more  than  I'll  speak. 

King. 
But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  know'st  ? 

Parolles. 
Yes,  so  please  your  majesty.  I  did  go  be- 
tween them,  as  I  said ;  but  more  than  that,  he 
loved  her,  —  for,  indeed,  he  was  mad  for  her, 
and  talked  of  Satan,  and  of  limbo,  and  of  furies, 
and  I  know  not  what :  yet  I  was  in  that  credit 
with  them  at  that  time,  that  I  knew  of  their 
going  to  bed,  and  of  other  motions,  as  promising 
her  marriage,  and  things  that  would  derive  me 
ill  will  to  speak  of:  therefore,  I  will  not  speak 
what  I  know. 

King. 
Thou  hast  spoken  already,  unless  thou  canst 
Say  they  are  married.    But  thou  art  too  fine 

In 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi.        ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


3»i 


Id  thy  evidence  ;  therefore,  stand  aside.  — 
This  ring,  you  *ay,  wa»  your»  ? 

Man 

Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King. 
Where  did  you  buy  it  ?  or  who  gave  it  you  ? 

Diana. 
It  wai  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it. 

King. 
Who  lent  it  you  ? 

Diana. 

It  wa»  not  lent  me  neither. 


I  found  it  not. 


King. 
Where  did  you  find  it  then  ? 
Diana. 

King. 
If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways, 
How  could  you  give  it  him  ? 

Diana. 

I  never  gave  it  him. 
Lata. 

This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord:  she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 
King. 
This  ring  was  mine :  I  gave  it  his  first  wife. 

Diana 
It  might  be  yours,  or  hers,  for  aught  I  know. 

King. 
Take  her  away ;  1  do  not  like  her  now. 

To  prison  with  her  ;  and  away  with  him 

Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  had'st  this 

Thou  diest  within  this  hour.  [ring, 

Diana. 

I'll  never  tell  you. 
King. 
Take  her  away. 

Diana. 

I'll  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 
King. 
I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer. 

Diana. 
By  Jove,  if  ever  1  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King. 
Wherefore  hast  thou  accused  him   all  this 
while  ? 

Diana 
Because  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty. 
He  knows  I  am  no  maid,  and  he'll  swear  to't : 
I'll  swear  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  life  ! 
I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

[feinting  to  Lajeit. 
King. 
She  does  abuse  our  ears.    To  prison  with  her  I 

Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.— .(Kxlt  H'iduto.) 
Stay,  royal  sir : 
The  jeweller  that  owes  the  ring  is  sent  for, 
And  he  shall  surety  me.    But  for  this  lord, 


Who  hath  abus'd  me,  as  he  knows  himself. 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  'quit 

him. 
He  knows  himself  my  bed  he  hath  defil'd. 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child  : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one 

kick: 
So  there's  my  riddle,  one  that's  dead  is  quick  ; 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 

Re-enter  Widow,  with  Helena 

King. 

Is  there  no  exorcist 
Beguiles  the  truer  oflBce  of  mine  eyes  ? 
Is't  real,  that  I  see  ? 

Helena. 

No,  my  good  lord : 
'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see ; 
The  name,  and  not  the  thing. 
Bertram. 

Both,  both  1  O,  pardon  ! 

Helena. 

O  !  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  maid, 

I  found  you  wondrous  kind.     There  is  your 

ring; 
And,  look  you,  here's  your  letter :  this  it  says  : 
"  When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring. 

And  are  by  me  with  child,"  &c This  is  done : 

Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ? 

Her  tram. 
If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this 
I'll  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly,    [clearly, 
Helena 
If  it  appear  not  plain,  and  prove  untrue, 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  ! — 
O  !  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ? 
Lata*. 
Mine  eyes  smell  onions,  I  shall  weep  anon — 
Good   Tom  Drum,     |,     ParoMei,     lend  me  a 
handkerchief:  so,  I  thank  thee.    Wait  on  me 
home,  I'll  make  sport  with  thee:  let  thy  cour- 
tesies alone,  they  are  scurvy  ones. 

King 
Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know. 
To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow — 
("To  l)hiu.i  j  If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped 

flower, 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I'll  pay  thy  dower ; 
For  I  can  guess,  that  by  thy  honest  aid 
Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid. — 
Of  that,  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less, 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express  : 
:  All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet. 
The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

I  Flourish. 

The  king's  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  done. 
All  is  well  ended,  if  this  suit  be  won, 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay, 
;  With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day  : 
I  Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parti ; 
1  Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts. 
[Kxednt  umnei. 


+ 


3*i 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  i.  Sc.  i 


TWELFTH-NIGHT: 

OR, 

WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


ORSINO,  Duke  of  Illyria. 

Sebastian,  Brother  to  Viola. 

Antonio,  a  Sea  Captain,  Friend  to  Sebastian. 

A  Sea  Captain,  Friend  to  Viola. 

Curio Une'  J  Gentlemen  attending  on  the  Duke. 
Sir  Toby  Belch,  Uncle  to  Olivia. 
Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
Malvolio,  Steward  to  Olivia. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  1. 


An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's 
Palace. 


Enter  Duke,  Curio,  Lords  ;  Musicians  attending. 
Puke. 

IF  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on : 
Give  me  excess  of  it ;  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 
That  strain  again  ;— it  had  a  dying  fall : 
O  1  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing,  and  giving  odour. — Enough  !  no  more  : 
'Tis  not  so  sweet  now,  as  it  was  before. 
O,  spirit  of  love  !  how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou, 
That,  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 
Receiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there, 
Of  what  validity  and  pitch  soe'er, 
But  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price, 
Even  in  a  minute  I  so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy, 
That  it  alone  is  high  fantastical. 

Curio. 
Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord  ? 

Duke. 

What,  Curio  r 

Curio. 

„  ,  The  hart. 

Duke. 

Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have. 
O !  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  first, 


Ctown,*}  Servants  t0  olivia- 

Olivia,  a  rich  Countess. 

Viola,  in  love  with  the  Duke. 

Maria,  Olivia's  Woman. 

Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,  Officers,  Musicians,  and 

other  Attendants. 

SCENE,  a  city  in  Illyria;   and  the  Sea-coast 

near  it. 


Methought  she  purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence : 
That  instant  was  I  turn'd  into  a  hart, 
And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds, 
E'er  since  pursue  me. — How  now  1  what  newt 
from  her  ? 


Enter  Valentine. 
Valentine. 


So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted, 
Rut  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer  :— 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years'  heat, 
Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  view  ; 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk, 
And  water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye-offending  brine :  all  this,  to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep 

fresh 
And  lasting  in  her  sad  remembrance. 
Duk*. 
O  !  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame, 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her:  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied,  and 

fill'd, 
(Her   sweet   perfections)  with   one   self-same 

king — 
Away,  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers ; 
Love-thoughts   lie  rich,  when   canopied  with 

bowers.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


3*3 


SCENE  II.    The  Sea-coast. 

Enter  f'iola,  Captain,  and  Sailors. 

Viola. 
What  country,  friends,  is  this  ? 

This  is  lUyria,  lady. 
Viola. 
And  what  should  I  do  in  Illyria  ? 
■   My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium.  [sailors  ? 

;  Perchance,  he  is  not  drown'd : — what  think  you, 
Captain. 
It  is  perchance  that  you  yourself  were  sav'd. 

Viola. 
O,  my  poor  brother  1  and  so,  perchance,  may 

Captain. 
IVue,    madam :    and,    to   comfort   you  with 
chance. 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split,      [you, 
When  you,  and  those  poor  number  saved  with 
Hung  on  our  driving  boat.  I  saw  your  brother, 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself         [tice) 
(Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  prac- 
To  a  strong  mast,  that  lived  upon  the  sea ; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
1  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Viola. 

For  saying  so  there's  gold. 
Mine  own  escape  unfoldeth  to  my  hope, 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority, 
The  like  of  him.     Know'st  thcu  this  country  ? 
Captain. 
Ay,  madam,  well ;  for  I  was  bred  and  born, 
Not  three  hours'  travel  from  this  very  place. 
Viola. 
Who  governs  here  ? 

Captain. 
A  noble  duke,  in  nature  as  in  name. 

Viola. 
What  is  his  name  ? 

Captain. 
Orsino. 

Viola. 
Orsino !  I  have  heard  my  father  name  him : 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

Captain, 
And  so  is  now,  or  was  so  very  late ; 
For  but  a  month  ago  I  went  from  hence. 
And  then  'twas  fresh  in  murmur,  (as.  you  know, 
What  great  ones  do  the  less  will  prattle  of) 
'1  hat  he  did  seek  the  love  of  fair  Olivia. 
Viola. 
What's  she  ? 

Captain. 
A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemonth  since :  tiien  leaving ! 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother,      [her 
Who  shortly  also  died :  for  whose  dear  love, 
They  say,  she  hath  abjur'd  the  company, 
And  sight  of  men. 

Viola. 

O  !  that  1  serv'd  that  lady,  \ 
And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  world, 
Till  I  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow, 
What  my  estate  is. 

Captain. 

That  were  hard  to  compass, 
Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit, 
No,  not  the  duke's. 


Viola. 

There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee,  captain. 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
1  will  believe,  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  pr'ythee,  (and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously,) 
Conceal  me  what  1  am,  and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as  haply  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.     I'll  serve  this  duke  : 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  an  eunuch  to  him. 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains  ;  for  i  can  sing. 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, 
That  w  ill  allow  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap  to  time  I  will  commit ; 
Only,  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 
Captain. 

Be  you  his  eunuch,  and  your  mute  I'll  be : 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyes  not 
see. 

Viola. 

I  thank  thee.    I^ad  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI.    A  Room  in  Olivia'*  House. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 

Sir  Toby. 

What  a  plague  means  my  niece,  to  take  the 

death  of  her  brother  thus  ?     I  am  sure  care's  an 

enemy  to  life. 

Maria. 
By  my  troth,  sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in 
earlier  o'  nights :  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes 
great  exceptions  to  your  ill  hours. 
Sir  Toby. 
Why,  let  her  except  before  excepted. 

Maria. 
Ay,  but  you  must  confine  yourself  within  the 
modest  limits  of  order. 

Sir  Toby. 
Confine?     I'll  confine  myself  no  finer  than  I 
am.    These  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink 
in,  and  so  be  these  boots  too :  an  they  be  not, 
let  them  hang  themselves  in  their  own  straps. 
Maria. 
'I  hat  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you  :  I 
heard  my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday,  and  of  a 
foolish  knight,  that  you  brought  in  one  night 
here  to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  Toby. 
Who  ?    Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek  t 

Maria. 
Ay,  he. 

Sir  Toby. 
He's  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Maria. 
What's  that  to  the  purpose  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a  year. 

Maria. 
Ay,  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these 
ducats :  he's  a  very  fool,  and  a  prodigal. 
Sir  Toby. 
Fie,  that  you'll  say  so !  he  plays  o'  the  viol- 
de-gamboys.  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages 
word  for  word  without  book,  and  hath  all  the 
good  gifts  of  nature. 

Maria. 
He  hath,  indeed,  — almost  natural;  for.  be- 
sides that  he's  a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreller; 
and,  but  that  he  hath  the  gift  of  a  coward  to 
3llay  the  gust  he  hath  in  quarrelling,  'tis  thought 

among 


3*4- 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


among  the  prudent  he  would  quickly  have  the 
gift  of  a  grave. 

Sir  Tohy. 

By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels,  and  sub- 
Btraciors  that  say  so  of  him.    Who  are  they  ? 
Maria. 

They  that  add,  moreover,  lie's  drunk  nightly 
in  your  company. 

Sir  Toby. 

With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece.  I'll  drink 
to  her,  as  long  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my  throat, 
and  drink  in  lllyria.  He's  a  coward,  and  a 
coystril,  that  will  not  drink  to  my  niece,  till  his 
hrains  turn  o'  the  toe  like  a  parish-top.  What, 
wench  1  Castiliano  vulgo;  for  here  comes  Sir 
Andrew  Ague-face. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek 

Sir  Andrew. 
Sir  Toby  Belch  I  how  now,  Sir  Toby  Belch  T 

Sir  Toby. 
Sweet  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Maria. 
And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  Toby. 
Accost,  sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  Andrew 
What's  that? 

Sir  Toby. 
My  niece's  chamber-maid. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Good  mistress  Accost,    I  desire   better    ac- 
quaintance. 

Maria 
My  name  is  Mary,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew 
Good  Mistress  Mary  Accost, — 

Sir  Toby 
You  mistake,  knight:   accost  is   front  her, 
board  her,  woo  her,  assail  her. 

Sir  Andrew 
By  my  troth,  I  would  not  undertake  her  in  this 
company.    Is  that  the  meaning  of  accost  ? 

Maria. 
Fare  you  well,  gentlemen. 
Sir  Toby 
An  thou  let  part  so,  sir  Andrew,  would  thou 
might'st  never  draw  sword  again  1 
Sir  Andrew 
An  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  would  I  might 
never  draw  sword  again.    Fair  lady,  do  you 
think  you  have  fools  in  hand  ? 

Maria. 
Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

Sir  Andrew 
Marry,  but  you  fhall  have ;  and  here's  my 
band. 

Maria 
Now,  sir,  thought  is  free:  I  pray  you,  bring 
your  hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 
Sir  Andrew. 
Wherefore,  sweet-heart?   what's  your  me- 
taphor ? 

Maria. 
It's  dry,  fir. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Why,  I  think  so :  I  am  not  such  an  ass,  but  I 
can  keep  my  hand  dry.    But  what's  your  jest  ? 


Maria. 
A  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Are  you  full  of  them  ? 

Maria. 
Ay,  sir;   I  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends: 
marry,  now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren. 

[Exit  Maria. 
Sir  Toby. 
O  knight!   thou    lack'st   a  cup  of  canary. 
When  did  I  see  thee  so  put  down  ? 
Sir  Andrew. 
Never  in  your  life,  I  think;  unless  you  see 
canary  put  me  down.    Methinks,  sometimes  I 
have  no  more  wit  than  a  Christian,  or  an  or- 
dinary  man  has ;    but   I  am  a  great  eater  of 
beef,  and,  I  believe,  that  does  harm  to  my  wit. 
Sir  Toby. 
No  question. 

Sir  Andrew. 
An  I  thought  that,  I'd  forswear  it.     I'll  ride 
home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby. 
Sir  Toby. 
Pourquoi,  my  dear  knight  ? 
Sir  Andrew. 
What  is  pourquoi  t  do  or  not  do  ?  I  would  I 
had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues,  that  I 
have  in  fencing,  dancing,  and  bear-baiting.     O, 
had  I  but  followed  the  arts  1 
Sir  Toby. 
Thenhadst  thou  had  an  excellent  head  of  hair. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Why,  would  thac  have  mended  my  hair? 

Sir  Tobv. 
Past  question  ;  for,  thou  seest,  it  will  not 
curl  by  nature. 

Sir  Andrew 
But  it  becomes  me  well  enough,  does't  not  ? 

Sir  Tuby. 
Excellent :  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  distaff,  and 
I  hope  to  see  a  housewife  take  thee  between  her 
legs,  and  spin  it  off. 

Sir  Andrew 

'Faith,  I'll  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby :  your 

niece  will  not  be  seen ;  or,  if  she  be,  it's  four  to 

one  she'll  none  of  me.   The  count  himself,  here 

hard  by,  woos  her. 

Sli  Tohy. 

She'll  none  o'  the  count:  she'll  not  match 

above  her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor 

wit;  I  have  heard  her  swear  it.    Tut,  there'a 

life  in't,  man. 

Sir  Andrew 

I'll  stay  a  month  longer.   I  am  a  fellow  o'  the 

strangest  mind  i'  the  world:  I  delight  in  masques 

and  revels  sometimes  altogether. 

Sir  Toby. 

Art  thou  good  at  these  kick-shawa,  knight  ? 

Sir-  Andrew. 

As  any  man  in  lllyria,  whatsoever  he  be, 

under  the  degree  of  my  betters :  and  yet  I  will 

not  compare  with  an  old  man. 

Sir  Toby. 

What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard,  knight? 

Sir  Andrew. 
'Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  Toby. 
And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  to't. 

Sir  Andrew. 

And,  I  think,  I  have  the  back-trick,  simply 

as  strong  as  any  man  in  lllyria. 

Sir  Toby. 

Wherefore  are  these  things  hid?  wherefore 

have 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


3i5 


have  these  gifts  a  curtain  before  them  ?  are  they 
like  to  take  dust,  like  mistress  Mall'*  picture  ? 
why  dost  thou  not  go  to  church  in  a  galliard, 
and  come  home  in  a  coranto?  My  very  walk 
•hould  be  a  jig:  1  would  not  so  much  as  make 
water,  but  in  a  sink -a- pace.  What  dost  thou 
mean  ?  is  it  a  world  to  hide  virtues  in  ?  1  did 
think,  by  the  excellent  constitution  of  thy  leg, 
it  was  formed  under  the  star  of  a  galliard. 

..lr.' a 

Ay.  'tis  strong,  and  it  does  indifferent  well  in 
a  flame-coloured  stock.  Shall  we  set  about  some 
revels  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
What  shall  we  do  else?"  were  we  not  born 
under  Taurus  f 

Sir  Andrew. 
Taurus  f  that's  sides  and  heart. 

Sir  Toby. 
No,  sir;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.    Let  me  see 
thee  caper.    Hal  higher:  ha,  ha !— excellent  1 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  lu  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  falcntine,  and  Viula  in  man's  attire. 

Valentine. 
If  the  duke  continue  these  favours  towards 
you,  Cesario,  you  are  like  to  be  much  advanced: 
tie  hath  known  you  but  three  days,  and  already 
you  are  no  stranger. 

Viola 
You  either  fear  his  humour,  or  my  negligence, 
that  you  call  in  question  the  continuance  of  his 
love.    Is  he  inconstant,  sir,  in  his  favours  ? 

itine. 
No,  believe  me. 

Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  Attendants 
Viola. 
I  thank  you.    Here  comes  the  count. 

Duke. 
Who  saw  Cesario,  ho  ? 

Viola. 
On  your  attendance,  my  lord ;  here. 

Duke. 
Stand  you  awhile  aloof.  —  Cesario, 
Thou  know'st  no  less  but  all:  I  have  unclasp'd 
To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul ; 
Therefore,  good  youth,  address  thy  gait  unto  her : 
Be  not  denied  access,  stand  at  her  doors, 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  shall  grow, 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Viola. 

Sure,  my  noble  lord. 
If  she  be  so  abandon'd  to  her  sorrow, 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke. 
Be  clamorous,  and  leap  all  civil  bounds, 
Rather  than  make  unprofited  return. 

Viola. 
Say  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord,  what  then  ? 

Duke. 
O I  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love; 
Surprise  her  with  discourse  of  my  dear  faith  : 
It  shall  become  thee  well  to  act  my  woes ; 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth, 
Than  in  a  nuncio  of  more  grave  aspect. 

Viola. 
I  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke. 

Dear  lad,  believe  it, 


For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years, 

That  say  thou  art  a  man:  Diana's  lip 

Is  not  more  smooth,  and  rubious ;  thy  small  pipe 

Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill,  and  sound, 

And  all  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 

I  know,  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 

For  this  aifair.—  Some  four,  or  five,  attend  him ; 

All,  if  you  will,  for  I  myself  am  best, 

When  least  in  company.  —  Prosper  well  in  this. 

And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord 

To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

V  lola. 

I'll  do  my  best, 
To  woo  your  lady:   ( Aside] yet,  a  barful  strife  1 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  in  Olitia's  House. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

Maria. 

Nay;  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been,  or 

I  will  not  open  my  lips  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may 

enter  in  way  of  thine  excuse.    My  lady  will  hang 

thee  for  thy  absence. 

Let  her  hang  me:  he  that  is  well  hanged  In 
this  world  needs  to  fear  no  colours. 


Make  that  good. 


Mum. 

Clown, 
tofe 


He  shall  see  none  to  fear, 

Maria. 
A  good  lenten  answer.    I  can  tell  thee  where 
that  saying  was  born,  of,  I  fear  no  colours. 

Clow 

Where,  good  mistress  Mary? 

Maria. 
In  the  wars ;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to  say 
In  your  foolery. 

»'lown 
Well,  God  give  them  wisdom,  that  have  it; 
and  those  that  are  fools,  let  them  use  their 
talents. 

Maria. 
Yet  you  will  be  hanged  for  being  so  long 
absent;    or,  to  be  turned  away:  is  not  that  as 
good  as  a  hanging  to  you? 

Clown. 
Many  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  marriage ; 
and  for  turning  away,  let  summer  bear  it  out. 

Maria. 
You  are  resolute,  then  ? 

Clown. 
Not  60  neither;  but  I  am  resolved  on  two 
points. 

Maria. 
That,  if  one  break,  the  other  will  hold ;  or,  if 
both  break,  your  gaskins  fall. 

Clown. 

Apt,  in  good  faith;  very  apt.  Well,  go  thy 
way:  if  Sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou 
wert  as  witty  a  piece  of  Eve's  flesh  as  any  in 
Illyria. 

Maria. 

Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'that.  Here 
comes  my  lady :  make  your  excuse  wisely ;  you 
were  best.  [Exit. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Malvolio. 

Clown. 

Wit,  an't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good  fooling  I 

Those  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do  very 


3*6 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


oft  prove  fools ;  and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee, 
may  pass  for  a  wise  man :  for  what  says  Quin- 
apalus?  Better  a  witty  fool,  than  a  foolish  wit. 
—God  bless  thee,  lady  1 

_  Olivia. 

Take  the  fool  away. 

__  Clown. 

Do  you  not  hear,  fellows?  Take  away  the 
lady. 

Olivia. 

Go  to,  you're  a  dry  fool ;  I'll  no  more  of  you  : 
besides,  you  grow  dishonest. 

Clown. 

Two  faults,  madonna,  that  drink  and  good 
counsel  will  amend  ;  for  give  the  dry  fool  drink, 
then  is  the  fool  not  dry ;  bid  the  dishonest  man 
mend  himself;  if  he  mend,  he  is  no  longer  dis- 
honest :  if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher  mend  him. 
Any  thing  that's  mended  is  but  patched :  virtue 
that  transgresses  is  but  patched  with  sin ;  and 
sin  that  amends  is  but  patched  with  virtue.  If 
that  this  simple  syllogism  will  serve,  so  ;  if  it 
will  not,  what  remedy  ?    As  there  is  no  true 

cuckold  but  calamity,  so  beauty's  a  flower The 

lady  bade  take  away  the  fool ;  therefore,  I  say 
again,  take  her  away. 

Olivia. 

Sir,  1  bade  them  take  away  you. 

Clown. 

Misprision  in  the  highest  degree !  —  Lady,  cu- 
cullus  non  facit  monachum  :  that's  as  much  as 
to  say,  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain.  Good 
madonna,  give  me  leave  to  prove  you  a  fool. 

Olivia. 
Can  you  do  it  ? 

Clown. 
Dexteriously,  good  madonna. 

Olivia. 

Make  your  proof. 

Clown. 
1  must  catechize  you  for  it,  madonna.    Good 
my  mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

Olivia. 
Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness  I'll  'bide 
your  proof. 

Clown. 
Good  madonna,  why  mourn'st  thou  ? 

Olivia. 
Good  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clown. 
I  think,  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

Olivia. 
I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Clown. 

The  more  fool,  madonna,  to  mourn  for  your 
brother's  soul  being  in  heaven.— Take  away  the 
fool,  gentlemen. 

Olivia. 
What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio  f  doth 
he  not  mend  ? 

Malvolio. 
Yes  ;  and  shall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death 
shake  him  :  infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth 
ever  make  the  better  fool. 
Clown. 
God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for  the 
better  increasing  your  folly !    Sir  Toby  will  be 
sworn  that  I  am  no  fox,  but  he  will  not  pass  his 
word  for  two-pence  that  you  are  no  fool. 
Olivia. 
How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio  f 


\  I  marvel  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in  such  a 
barren  rascal :  I  saw  him  put  down  the  other 
day  with  an  ordinary  fool,  that  has  no  more 
brain  than  a  stone.    Look  you  now,  he's  out  of 

-.  his  guard  already :  unless  you  laugh  and  minister 

'■  occasion  to  him,  he  is  gagged.  I  protest,  1  take 
these  wise  men,  that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of 

;  fools,  no  better  than  the  fools'  zanies. 

1  O  1  you  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  and 
!  taste  with  a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  gene- 
!  rous,  guiltless,  and  of  free  disposition,  is  to  take 
!  those  things  for  bird-bolts,  that  you  deem  can- 
j  non-bullets.  There  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed 
J  fool,  though  he  do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no 
i  railing  in  a  known  discreet  man,  though  he  do 
;  nothing  but  reprove. 

!     ,.*        ».  Clown. 

;     Now,  Mercury  endue  thee  with  leasing,  for 

;  thou  speakest  well  of  fools  1 

Re-enter  Maria. 
I     „  _  Maria. 

Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  young  gentleman 
much  desires  to  speak  with  you. 

Olivia. 
From  the  count  Orsino,  is  it  ? 

Maria. 
I  know  not, madam :  'tis  a  fair  young  man,  and 
well  attended. 

Olivia. 
Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay  ? 

Maria. 
Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

;  Olivia. 

Fetch  him  off,  I  pray  you :  he  speaks  nothing 
;  but  madman  Fie  on  him  !  [Exit  Maria.  I  Go 
■  you,  Malvolio:  if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I 
j  am  sick,  or  not  at  home ;  what  you  will,  to 
dismiss  it.  [Exit  Malvolio.}  Now  you  see,  sir, 
:  how  your  fooling  grows  old,  and  people  dis- 
like it. 

!  Clown. 

;  Thou  hast  spoke  for  us,  madonna,  as  if  thy 
1  eldest  son  should  be  a  fool,  whose  skull  Jove 
i  cram  with  brains  ;  for  here  he  comes,  one  of  thy 
kin,  has  a  most  weakpio  mater. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch. 

Olivia. 
By  mine  honour,  half  drunk. — What  is  he  at 
the  gate,  cousin  ? 

Sir  Tobv. 
A  gentleman. 

Olivia. 
A  gentleman  ?    What  gentleman  ? 

Sir  Toby. 

*Tis  a  gentleman  here A  plague  o'  these 

pickle-herrings  I — How  now,  sot  ? 

Clown. 
Good  sir  Toby,— 

Olivia. 
Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  early 
by  this  lethargy  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
Lechery  !    I  defy  lechery.    There's  one  at  tho 
gate. 

Olivia. 
Ay,  marry  ;  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
;     Let  him  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  1  care  not : 
j  give  me  faith,  say  I.    Well,  it's  all  one.    [Kxit. 

Olivia. 


Act  i.  Sc.v.  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL.  3*7 


I  sustain  no  scorn ;  I  am  very  comptlble  even  to 
!     What's  a  drunken  man  Ukfc,  fool  ?  the  least  sinister  usage. 

Olivia. 
,     Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman :        Whence  came  you,  sir  ? 
one  draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  fool,  the  Vuia 

s.cond  mads  him,  and  a  third  drowns  him.  j      f  can  gay  little  more  jhan  i  have  8tudied,  and 

Olivji  that  question's  out  of  my  part.    Good  gentle 

Co  thou  and  seek  the  coroner,  and  let  him  sit    one,  give  me  modest  assurance  if  you  be  the 
o*  my  coz,  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink  ;  !  lady  of  the  house,  that   I  may  proceed  in  my 


he's  drown'd :  go  look  after  him.  speech. 


Olivia 
Are  you  a  comedian  ? 


Viola. 
No,  my  profound  heart ;  and  yet,  by  the  very 
fangs  of  malice  1  swear,  I  am  not  that  1  play. 
Are  you  the  lady  of  the  house  ? 


Clown. 
He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna ;  and  the  fool 
shall  look  to  the  madman.  [Y.\  t 

Re-enter  Malvolio. 
Malvolio. 
Madam,  youd*  young  fellow  swears  he  will  ; 
speak  with  you.    I  told  him  you  were  sick  :  he  0li\£-, 

takes  on  him  to  understand  so  much,  and  there-  ,      If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 
fore  comes  to  speak  with  you.     1  told  him  you  ;  V«ohu 

were  asleep:  he  stems  to  have  a  fore-knowledge  ,  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  you  do  usurp 
of  that  too,  and  therefore  comes  to  speak  with  your8eif .  for  what  is  yours  to  bestow,  is  not 
you.  What  is  to  be  said  to  him,  lady  ?  he  s  yourg  to  reserve.  But  this  is  from  my  com- 
fortified  against  any  denial.  mission.     I  will  on  with  my  speech  in  your 

,  praise,  and  then  show  you  the  heart  of  my 
Tell  him,  he  shall  not's'peak  with  me.  message. 

Malvolio.  —  j     Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgive 

He  has  been  told  so  ;  and  he  says,  he  11  stand  you  ^e  praise, 

at  your  door  like  a  sheriffs  post,  and  be  the  '                                   Viola, 

supporter  to  a  bench,  but  he'll  speak  with  vou.  ^las  !  I  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and  'tis 

Olivia.  poetical. 

What  kind  of  man  is  he  ?  O  llvia. 

M  dvolio  ""  is  tne  more  like  t0  De  feigned :  I  pray  you, 

Why,  of  mankind/*'  kefP  ie  **•    J.  hea,rd»  ?oa  were  saucy   at  *? 

*'      ^^                 .  gates,  and  allowed  your  approach,  rather  to 

Olivia.  wonder  at  you  than  to  hear  you.     If  you  be  not 

\N  hat  manner  of  man  ?  mad,  be  gone ;  if  you  have  reason,  be  brief:  'tis 

Malvolio.  I  not  that  time  of  moon  with  me  to  make  one  in  so 

Of  very  ill  manner :  he'll  speak  with  you,  will ;  skipping  a  dialogue. 

you,  or  no.  Maria 

Of  what  personage^years  is  he  ?  '     Wil1  *»  hoist  «ai1'  *  ?  here  lle«  *"»  **' 


Malvolio. 


Viola. 


Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young  ,  .No.  good.wabber  I  am  to  hull  here  a  little 
enough  for  a  boy ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  ?nBr-,nwSo^ir°"1JS™Inf?^  f  ?™  g™1, 
peascod,  or  a  codling  when  'tis  almost  an  apple :  !w_e<lUdy-  TeU  me  y°ur  mind  :  *  am  a  me8" 
'tis  with  him  e'en  standing  water,  between  boy  -  Ben8er> 

and  man.    He  is  very  well-favoured,  and  he        ,  . .~iiLTi?ij - **»,  ♦„  a~ 

•peaks  very  shrewishly:  one  would  think,  his    .  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  de- 
mother's  milk  were  scarce  out  of  him.  s^  your  office. 

OBi  ■     P  Viola. 

Let  him  approach.    Call  in  my  gentlewoman,  j      it  aione  concerns  your  ear.    I  bring  no  over- 
rolfo.  I  tore  of  war,  no  taxation  of  homage.     I  hold  the 

Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  [Exit,  j  olive  in  my  hand:  my  words  are  as  full  of  peace 

as  matter. 
iter  Maria.  Olivia. 

Olivia.  Yet  you  began  rudely.    What  are  you  ?  what 

Give  me  my  veil :  come,  throw  it  o'er  my  -.  would  you  ? 
We'll  once  more  hear  Orsino't  embassy,    [face. :  Viola. 

The  rudeness  that  hath  appear'd  in  me,  have 

-  VlAa.  j  I    learn'd   from   my   entertainment.     What    I 

Viola.  am»  anci  what  I  would,  are  as  secret  as  maiden - 

Thehonourable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is  she?    head:  to  your  ears,  divinity;  to   any  other's, 

oli  .  j  profanation. 

to  me;  I  shaU  atswer  for  her.    Your       G,ve  ug  Uie  place0alon';    We  will  hear  this 
,..  .  divinity.    TExit    Maria.]    Now,  sir;    what  is 

Most   radiant,   exquisite,   and    unmatchable    *ou  ...  . 

beauty — I  pray  you,  tell  me,  if  this  be  the        Mngt  t  ln. 

lady  of  the  house,  for  I  never  saw  her :  I  would        wost  8weet  "*?>— 
be  loath  to  cast  away  my  speech  ;  for,  besides 

that  it  is  excellently  well  penned,  I  have  taken  •      A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  be 
great  pains  to  con  it.    Good  beauties,  let  me;  said  of  it.    W  here  lies  your  text  ? 

Viola. 


Speak 
will? 


3*8 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. , 


Viola 
In  Orsino'B  bosom. 

Olivia. 

In  his  bosom  !  In  what  chapter  of  his  bosom  ? 

Viola. 
To  answer  by  the  method,  In  the  first  of  his 
heart. 

Olivia. 
O  !  I  have  read  it :  it  is  heresy.    Have  you  no 
more  to  say  ? 

Viola. 
Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

Olivia. 
Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to 
negociate  with  my  face?  you  are  now  out  of 
your  text :  but  we  will  draw  the  curtain,  and 
•how  you  the  picture.  Look  you,  sir;  such  a 
one  I  was  this  present :  is't  not  well  done  ? 

[Unveiling. 
Viola. 
Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all. 

Olivia. 
'Tis  in  grain,  sir :    'twill  endure  wind  and 
weather. 

Viola. 
'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on. 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruell'st  she  alive, 
If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave, 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 
Olivia 

0  !  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted.  I  will 
give  out  divers  schedules  of  my  beauty :  it  shall 
be  inventoried,  and  every  particle,  and  utensil, 
labelled  to  my  will ;  as,  item,  two  lips  indifferent 
red  ;  item,  two  grey  eyes  with  lids  to  them  ; 
item,  one  neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were 
you  sent  hither  to  praise  me  ? 

Viola. 

1  see  you  what  you  are :  you  are  too  proud ; 
But,  if  you  were  the  devil,  you  are  fair. 

My  lord  and  master  loves  you :     O  !  such  love 

Could  be  but  recompens'd,  though  you  were 

The  nonpareil  of  beauty  !  [crown'd 

Olivia. 

How  does  he  love  me  ? 
Viola. 
With  adorations,  fertile  tears,  [fire. 

With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of 
Olivia. 

Your  lord  does  know  my  mind ;  I  cannot  love 
him: 
Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble, 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth  ; 
In  voices  well  divulg'd,  free,  learn'd,  and  valiant. 
And  in  dimension,  and  the  shape  of  nature, 
A  gracious  person  ;  but  yet  I  cannot  love  him. 
He  might  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 
Viola. 
If  I  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame 
With  such  a  suffering,  such  a  deadly  life, 
In  your  denial  1  would  find  no  sense : 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

Olivia. 

Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Viola. 
Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate, 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house ; 
Write  loyal  cantons  of  contemned  love, 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night ; 
Halloo  your  name  to  the  reverberate  hills, 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 


Cry  out,  Olivia !     O  I  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth, 
But  you  should  pity  me. 

Olivia. 
You  might  do  much.  What  is  your  parentage? 

Viola. 
Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 
I  am  a  gentleman. 

Olivia. 

Get  you  to  your  lord : 
I  cannot  love  him.    Let  him  send  no  more, 
Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again, 
To  tell  me  how  he  takes  it.    Fare  you  well : 
1  thank  you  for  your  pains.    Spend  this  for  me. 

Viola. 

1  am  no  fee'd  post,  lady ;  keep  your  purse : 
My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 
Love  make  his  heart  of  flint  that  you  shall  love, 
And  let  your  fervour,  like  my  master's,  be 
Plac'd  in  contempt  I    Farewell,  fair  cruelty. 

[Exit. 
Olivia. 

What  is  your  parentage  ? 
"  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 
I  am  a  gentleman." — I'll  be  sworn  thou  art: 
Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions,  and 
spirit,  [soft !  soft  I 

Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon.  —  Not  too  fast:  — 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man. — How  now? 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague. 
Methinks,  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections, 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth, 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.    Well,  let  it  be — 
What,  hoi  Malvoiio — 

Re-enter  Malvoiio. 

Malvoiio. 
Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Olivia. 

Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger, 
The  county's  man :  he  left  this  ring  behind  him, 
Would  1,  or  not :  tell  him,  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord, 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes:  I  am  not  for  him. 
If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't.    Hie  thee,  Malvoiio. 

Malvoiio. 
Madam,  I  will.  [Exit. 

Olivia. 
I  do  I  know  not  what,  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  show  thy  force :  ourselves  we  do  not  owe; 
What  is  decreed  must  be,  and  be  this  so  1  [Exit. 


#••#•#••#•##••#••#••#••#• 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    The  Sea-coast. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 

Antonio. 

\iriLL  you  stay  no  longer?  nor  will  you  not, 

™    that  1  go  with  you? 

Sebastian. 
By  your  patience,  no.  My  stars  shine  darkly 
over  me:  the  malignancy  of  my  fate  might, 
perhaps,  distemper  yours  ;  therefore,  I  shall 
crave  of  you  your  leave,  that  I  may  bear  my 
evils  alone.  It  were  a  bad  recompense  for  your 
love,  to  lay  any  of  them  on  you. 

Antonio. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


3*9 


Antonio. 

Let  me  yet  know  of  you,  whither  you  are 
bound. 

Sebastian. 

No,  'sooth,  sir.  My  determinate  voyage  is 
mere  extravagancy ;  but  I  perceive  in  you  so 
excellent  a  touch  of  modesty,  that  you  will  not 
extort  from  me  what  I  am  willing  to  keep  in : 
therefore,  it  charges  me  in  manners  the  rather 
to  express  myself.  You  must  know  of  me  then, 
Antonio,  my  name  is  Sebastian,  which  I  called 
Roderigo.  My  father  was  that  Sebastian  of  Met- 
saline,  whom,  I  know,  you  have  heard  of:  he 
left  behind  him,  myself,  and  a  sister,  both  born 
in  an  hour,  if  the  heavens  had  been  pleased, 
would  we  had  so  ended  1  but,  you,  sir,  altered 
that ;  for  some  hour  before  you  took  me  from 
the  breach  of  the  sea  was  my  sister  drowned. 

Antonio. 
Alas,  the  day  1 

Sebastian. 
A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much  re- 
sembled me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beaut' 


her  will  is,  It  should  be  so  returned :  if  It  be 
worth  stooping  for,  there  it  lies  in  your  eye  ;  if 
not,  be  it  his  that  finds  it.  [Exit. 

Viola. 
I  left  no  ring  with  her :  what  means  this  lady  ? 
Fortune  forbid  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  her  1 
She  made  good  view  of  me ;  indeed,  so  much, 
That,  methonght,  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue, 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 
She  loves  me,  sure :  the  cunning  of  her  passion 
Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 
None  of  my  lord's  ring  ?  why,  he  sent  her  none. 
I  am  the  man :  —  if  it  be  so,  as  'tis. 
Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 
Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness, 
W herein  the  pregnant  enemy  does  much. 
How  easy  is  it,  for  the  proper  false 
In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms  I 
Alas  !  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we, 
For  such  as  we  are  made,  if  such  we  be. 
How  will  this  fadge?     My  master  loves  her 

dearly ; 
And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him  ; 


1U1UU   lilt*,    waa   j  "-"t.  v/i     iikiuy    ov,vuuu*vw   """*"       I      »         •      i  »    *.    » 

ful :  but,  though  I  could  not  with  such  estimable    And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me. 
wonder  overfar  believe  that,  yet  thus  far  1  will     «  hat  will  become  of  this  ?    As  1  am  mai 
she  bore  a  mind  that  envy 


boldlv  publish  her 
!  could  not  but  call  fair.   She  is  drowned  already, 
j  sir,  with  salt  water,  though  I  seem  to  drown 
;  her  remembrance  again  with  more. 

Antonio. 
I      Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 
Sebastian. 
O,  good  Antonio!  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

Antonio. 
If  you  will  not  murder  me  for  my  love,  let  me 
be  your  servant. 

Sebastian . 
If  vou  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done,  that 
Is,  kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire  it 
not.  Fare  ye  well  at  once  :  my  bosom  is  full  of 
kindness  ;  and  I  am  yet  so  near  the  manners  of 
my  mother,  that  upon  the  least  occasion  more, 
mine  eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.  I  am  bound  to 
'  the  count  Ors/no's  court:  farewell.  (Exit. 

Antonio. 
The  gentleness  of  all  the  gods  go  with  thee  1 
I  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court, 
Else  would'l  very  shortly  see  thee  there ; 
But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so, 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go. 

SCENE  II.    A  Street. 

Enter  Viola;  Malvolio  following. 

Malvolio. 

Were  not  you  even  now  with  the  countess 

Olivia  t 

Viola. 
Even  now,  sir:  on  a  moderate  pace  I  have 
since  arrived  but  hither. 

Malvolio. 
I  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir:  you  might 
have  saved  me  my  pains,  to  have  taken  it  away 
yourself.  She  adds,  moreover,  that  you  should 
put  your  lord  into  a  desperate  assurance  she 
will  none  of  him.  And  one  thing  more ;  that 
you  be  never  so  hardy  to  come  again  in  his 
affairs,  unless  it  be  to  report  your  lord's  taking 
of  this:  receive  it  so. 

Viola. 
She  took  the  ring  of  me !  — I'll  none  of  it. 

Malvolio. 
Come,  sir ;  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her,  and 


My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love  ; 

As  I  am  woman,  now  alas  the  day  1 

What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Olivia  breathe. 

O  time  1  thou  must  untangle  this,  not  I ; 

It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  t'  untie.  [  Kxit. 

SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Olivia'*  House. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Sir  Andrew 

Ague-cheek. 

Sir  Toby. 

Approach,  sir  Andrew  :  not  to  be  a-bed  after 

midnight  is  to  be  up  betimes  -,    and  diluculo 

turgere,  thou  know'st, — 

Sir  Andrew. 
Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not ;  but  I  know,  to 
be  up  late,  is  to  be  up  late. 
Sir  Toby. 
A  false  conclusion :  I  hate  it  as  an  unfilled 
can.    To  be  up  after  midnight,  and  to  go  to  bed 
then,  is  early  ;  so  that,  to  go  to  bed  after  mid- 
night, is  to  go  to  bed  betimes.    Do  not  our  lives 
consist  of  the  four  elements  ? 
Sir  Andrew 
•Faith,  so  they  say ;  but,  I  think,  It  rather 
consists  of  eating  and  drinking. 
Sir  Toby. 
Thou  art  a  scholar  ;  let  us  therefore  eat  and 

drink Marian,  I  say  1— a  stoop  of  wine  I 

Enter  Clown. 

Sir  Andrew. 

Here  comes  the  fool,  i'  faith. 

Clown. 
How  now,  my  hearts  1    Did  you  never  see  the 
picture  of  we  three  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
Welcome,  ass.    Now  let's  have  a  catch. 

Sir  Andrew. 
By  my  troth,  the  fool  has  an  excellent  breast. 
I  had  rather  than  forty  shillings  I  had  such  a 
leg,  and  so  sweet  a  breath  to  sing,  as  the  fool 
has.     In  sooth,  thou  wast  in  very  gracious  fool- 
ing last  night,  when  thou  spokest  of  Pigrogro- 
mitus,  of  the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of 
Qtteubus :  'twas  very  good,  i*  faith.     I  sent  thee 
sixpence  for  thy  leman  :  hadst  it  ? 
Clown. 
I  did  Impeticos  thy  gratillity ;  for  Malrolio't 


330 


TWELFTH-NIGHT 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


nose  is  no  whlpstock :  my  lady  has  a  white  hand,  ] 
and  the  Myrmidons  are  uo  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Excellent !     Why,  this  is  the  best  fooling, 
when  all  is  done.    Now,  a  song. 


Enter  Maria. 


Sir  Toby. 
Come  on:  there  is  sixpence  for  you; 


have  a  song. 


There's  a  testri 
give  a — 


Sir  Andrew. 
il  of 


me,  too:  if  one  knight 


5/Iown. 
01 


Would  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of  good 
life? 

Sir  Toby. 
A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  Andrew... 
Ay,  ay ;  I  care  not  for  good  life. 


Maria. 
What  a  catterwauling  do  you  keep  here  !    If 
my  lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward,  Mai- 
volio,  and  bid  him  turn  you  out  of  doors,  never 
trust  me. 

let's        My  iady's  a  Catalan  ;    we   are   politicians ; 
;  Malvolio' &  a  Peg-a- Ramsey,  and  "  Three  merry 
men  be  we."    Am  not  I  consanguineous  ?  am  I 
not  of  her  blood  ?    Tilly-valley,  lady !    "  There 
dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon,  lady,  lady  !  " 

[Singing. 
i     „    ,  Clown. 

Beshrew  me,  the  knight's  in  admirable  fool- 
ing. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Ay,  he  does  well  enough,  if  he  be  disposed, 
and  so  do  I  too  :  he  does  it  with  a  better  grace, 
but  I  do  it  more  natural. 


Clown. 
1,  mistress  mine  !  where  are  you  roaming  t 
0  !  stay  and  hear;  your  true  love's  coming, 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low. 
Trip  no  farther,  pretty  sweeting  ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers''  meeting. 

Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

Excellent  good,  i*7aith.reW 

„     .         ,M         Sir  Toby. 
Good,  good. 

Clown. 
What  is  love  f  'tis  not  hereafter  ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ; 

What's  to  come  is  still  unsure  : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty, 

Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

Sir  Andrew. 
A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  true  knight. 


Sir  Tobr. 
"  O  1  the  twelfth  day  of  December,"— 


Maria. 
For  the  love  o'  God,  peace  I 

Enter  Malvolio. 


[Singing. 


Sir  Toby. 

th.       ' 


A  contagious  breat! 


Sir  Andrew. 
Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i*  faith. 


Malvolio. 

My  masters,  are  you  mad  ?  or  what  are  you  ? 

Have  you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,  but  to 

!  gabble  like  tinkers  at  this  time  of  night  ?    Do 

l  ye  make  an  alehouse  of  my  lady's  house,  that  ye 

■  squeak  out  your  coziers'  catches  without  any 
\  mitigation  or  remorse  of  voice  ?  Is  there  no 
•.  respect  of  place,  persons,  nor  time,  in  you  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches !    Snick 
up! 

Malvolio. 
Sir  Toby,   I  must  be  round  with  you.    My 
lady  bade  me  tell  you,  that,  though  she  har- 
bours you  as  her  kinsman,  she's  nothing  allied 
;  to  your  disorders.    If  you  can  separate  yourself 
]  and  your  misdemeanours,  you  are  welcome  to 
i  the  house ;  if  not,  an  it  would  please  you  to 
j  take  leave  of  her,  she  is  very  willing  to  bid  you 

■  farewell. 


Sir  Toby. 
To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion.  ; 
But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance  indeed  ?  ; 
Shall  we  rouse  the  night-owl  in  a  catch,  that 
will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver?  shall  , 
we  do  that  ? 

Sir  Andrew. 
An  you  love  me,  lets  dot:  I  am  dog  at  a 
catch. 

Clown. 
By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch  well. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Most   certain.     Let  our  catch  be,  M  Thou  ' 
Knave." 

Clown. 
"  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  knave,"  knight  ?    I  : 
shall  be  constrain'd  in't  to  call  thee   knave, 
knight. 

Sir  Andrew. 
*Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrain'd  one 
to  call  me  knave.    Begin,  fool:  it  begins,  "  Hold  \ 
thy  peace." 

Clown. 
1  shall  never  begin,  if  I  hold  my  peace. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Good,  i'faith.    Come,  begin. 

[They  sing  a  catch 


Sir  Toby. 
"  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be 
gone." 

Maria. 
Nay,  good  sir  Toby. 

Clown. 
**  His  eyes  do  show  his  days  are  almost  done." 

Malvolio. 
Is't  even  so  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
*'  But  I  will  never  die."  " 

Clown. 
Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Maivolio. 
This  is  much  credit  to  you. 


Shall 


Sir  Toby, 
bid  him  go?" 


Clown. 
"What  an  if  you  do?" 

Sir  Toby. 
"  Shall  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not  ?" 

L'!  ,wn. 
"  O  1  no,  no,  no,  no,  you  dare  not." 

Sir  Toby. 
Out  o'  tune  I— Sir,  ye  lie.    Art  any  more  than 
a  stew- 


Act  n.  Sc.  iv. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WELL 


«i 


a  steward  ?    Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art 
virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale ? 

CI 

Yes,  by  Saint  Anne  ;  and  ginger  shall  be  hot 
I'  the  mouth  too. 

Sir  T 

Thou'rt  i'  the  right  —Go,  sir  :  rub  your  chain 
with  crumbs. — A  stoop  of  wine,  Maria! 
Malvolia 

Mistress  Mary,  If  you  prized  my  lady's  favour 
at  any  thing  more  than  contempt,  you  would 
not  give  means  for  this  uncivil  rule :  she  shall 
know  of  it,  by  this  hand.  CExit 

Maria. 
Go  shake  your  ears. 

Sir  Audrew. 

'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink  when  a 
man's  hungry,  to  challenge  him  to  the  field,  and 
then  to  break  promise  with  him,  and  make  a  fool 
of  him. 

Sir  Tobv. 

Do't,  knight:  I'll  write  thee  a  challenge,  or 
I'll  deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by  word  of 
mouth. 

Maria. 

Sweet  sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night.  Since 
the  youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my 
lady,  she  is  much  out  of  quiet.  For  monsieur 
Malvolio,  let  me  alone  with  him :  if  1  do  not  gull 
him  into  a  nayword,  and  make  him  a  common 
recreation,  do  not  think  1  have  wit  enough  to 
lie  straight  in  my  bed.    I  know,  I  can  do  it. 

Sir  Toby. 
Possess  us,  possess  us :  tell  us  something  of 
him. 

Maria. 
Marry,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  Puritan. 

Sir  Andrew. 
:     O  !  if  I  thought  that,  I'd  beat  him  like  a  dog. 

Sir  Toby. 
What,  for  being  a  Puritan  I   thy  exquisite 
reason,  dear  knight  I 

Sir  Andrew. 
I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I  have 
reason  good  enough. 

Maria. 
The  devil  a  Puritan  that  he  Is,  or  any  thing 
constantly,  but  a  time  pleaser :  an  affectioued 
ass,  that  cons  state  without  book,  and  utters  it 
,  by  great  swaths :  the  best  persuaded  of  himself; 
so  crammed,  as  he  thinks,  with  excellences,  that 
it  is  his  ground  of  faith,  that  all  that  look  on 
him  love  him  ;  and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my 
revenge  find  notable  cause  to  work. 

Sir  Toby. 
(     What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Maria. 
I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epistles  of 
love ;  wherein,  by  the  colour  of  his  beard,  the 
shape  of  his  leg,  the  manner  of  his  gait,  the 
expressure  of  his  eye,  forehead,  and  complexion, 
he  shall  find  himself  most  feelingly  personated. 
I  can  write  very  like  my  lady,  your  niece  ;  on  a 
I  forgotten  matter  we  can  hardly  make  distinction 
jof  our  hands. 

I  Sir  Toby. 

Excellent  1    I  smell  a  device. 

J     .  Sir  Andrew. 

I  have't  in  my  nose  too. 

Sir  Toby. 
He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou  wilt 


drop,  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that 
she  is  in  love  with  him. 

::     . 

My  purpose  is,  indeed,  a  horse  of  that  colour. 

Sir  Andrew- 
And  your  horse,  now,  would  make  him  an 
ass. 

Maria. 
!     Ass  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  Andrew. 
j     O  !  'twill  be  admirable. 

Maria. 
!  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you :  I  know,  my  physic 
;  will  work  with  him.  I  will  plant  you  two,  and 
;  let  the  fool  make  a  third,  where  he  shall  find 
•the  letter:  observe  his  construction  of  it.  For 
this  night,  to  bed,  and  dream  on  the  event. 
•'  Farewell.  (Exit. 

V.r  Toby. 
Good  night,  Penthetilea.  ' 

Sir  Andrew. 
Before  me,  she's  a  good  wench. 

.sir  Toby. 
She's  a  beagle,  true-bred,  and  one  that  adores 
me :  what  o*  that  ? 

Sir  Andrew. 
I  was  adored  once  too. 

Sir  Toby. 
Let's  to  bed,  knight— Thou  hadst  need  send 
for  more  money. 

Sir  Andre w. 
If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  1  am  a  foul 
way  out. 

Sir  Toby. 
Send  for  money,  knight :  if  thou  hast  her  not 
i'  the  end,  call  me  cut. 

Sir  Andrew. 
If  I  do  not,  never  trust  me ;  take  it  how  you 
will. 

Sir  Toby. 
Come,  come :  I'll  go  bum  some  sack,  'tis  too 
late  to  go  to  bed  now.    Come,  knight;  come, 
knight.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  the  Dior's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others. 

Duke. 
Give  me  some  music — Now,  good  morrow, 

friends 

;Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song,  we  heard  last  night ; 
Methought,  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much, 
More  than  light  airs,  and  recollected  terms, 
I  Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times : 
Come  ;  but  one  verse. 

Curio. 
j     He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship,  that 
'should  sing  it. 

Duke. 
!     Who  was  it  ? 

Curio. 
Feste ,  the  Jester,  my  lord  ;  a  fool,  that  the  lady 
Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in.    He  is 
about  the  house. 

j  Duke. 

Seek  him  out,  and  play  the  tune  the  while. 
,  TKxit  furl'.-- Music 

Come  hither,  boy :  if  ever  thou  shalt  love, 
•  In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me ; 
For  such  as  1  am  all  true  lovers  are  : 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 

Save 


33* 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  ii.  Se.  iv 


Save  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd How  dost  thou  like  this  tune ? 

Viola- 
It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  Love  is  thron'd. 

Duke. 

Thou  dost  speak  masterly. 
My  life  upon't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine 

eye 
Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour  that  it  loves  ; 
Hath  it  not,  boy  ? 

Viola. 
A  little,  by  your  favour. 

Duke. 
What  kind  of  woman  is't  ? 

Viola. 

Of  your  complexion. 

Duke. 

She  is  not  worth  thee,  then.    What  years,  i' 
faith  ? 

Viola. 
About  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke. 

Too  old,  by  heaven.     Let  still  the  woman 
take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart : 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm. 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are. 

Viola. 
I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke. 
Then,  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent ; 
For  women  are  as  roses,  whose  fair  flower, 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Viola. 
And  so  they  are :  alas  !  that  they  are  so  ; 
To  die,  even  when  they  to  perfection  grow  1 

Re-enter  Curio,  and  Clown . 

Duke. 

O,  fellow !  come,  the  song  we  had  last  night 

Mark  it,  Cesario  ;  it  is  old,  and  plain: 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun, 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread 

with  bones, 
Do  use  to  chaunt  it :  it  is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age. 

j      '    Clown. 
Are  you  ready,  sir  ? 

,    .        ,      Duke- 
Ay  ;  pr'ythee,  sing.  [Music. 

TUB  SONG. 

Clown. 
Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid  ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 
J  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O !  prepare  it : 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be 
thrown : 


A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  0  !  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave, 
To  weep  there. 

Duke. 
There's  for  thy  pains. 

Clown. 
No  pains,  sir :  I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir. 

Duke. 
I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 
Clown. 
Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure  will  be  paid,  one  tim* 
or  another. 

Duke, 
Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee. 

Clown. 

Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee,  and 

the  tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  taffata, 

for  thy  mind  is  a  very  opal  I  —  I  would  have  men 

of  such  constancy  put  to  sea,  that  their  business 

might  be  every  thing,  and  their  intent  every 

where;  for  that's  it,  that  always  makes  a  good 

voyage  of  nothing.    Farewell.         [Exit  Clown. 

Duke. 

Let  all  the  rest  give  place.— 

[Exeunt  Cm  to  and  Attendants. 
Once  more,  Cesario 
t»et  thee  to  yond'  same  sovereign  cruelty: 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world, 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands: 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her 
Tell  her,  1  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune; 
But  'tis  that  miracle,  and  queen  of  gems. 
That  nature  pranks  her  in,  attracts  my  soul. 
Viola. 
But  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir  ? 

Duke. 

It  cannot  be  so  answered. 

Viola. 

Sooth,  but  you  must 
Say,  that  some  lady,  as  perhaps  there  is, 
Hath  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia:  you  cannot  love  her; 
You  tell  her  so ;  must  she  not  then  be  answer 'a 
Duke. 
There  is  no  woman's  sides 
Can  bide  the  beating  of  so  strong  a  passion 
As  love  doth  give  my  heart ;  no  woman's  heart 
So  big  to  hold  so  much :  they  lack  retention. 
Alas !  their  love  may  be  call  d  appetite, 
No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  palate, 
That  suffers  surfeit,  cloyment,  and  revolt ; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hungry  as  the  sea, 
And  can  digest  as  much.    Make  no  compare 
Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  me, 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Viola. 

Ay,  but  1  know,  — 
Duke. 
What  dost  thou  know  ? 

Viola. 
Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe ; 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  lov'd  a  man, 
As  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
1  should  your  lordship. 

Duke. 

And  what's  her  history? 
Viola. 
A  blank,  my  lord.    She  never  told  her  love,— 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud, 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek :  she  pin'd  in  thought : 

And, 


Act  ii.  Se,  v. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


333 


And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy, 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument. 
Smiling  at  grief.     Wa«  not  this  love.  Indeed? 
We  men  may  say  more,  swear  more ;  but,  indeed, 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will,  for  still  wc  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  love. 
Duke. 
But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  ? 

Viola. 
I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house, 
And  Ml  the  brothers  too ;  and  vet  I  know  not— 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady? 

Duke. 

Ay,  that's  the  theme. 
To  her  in  haste:  give  her  this  jewel ;  say, 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Olivia's  Garden. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cktek, 
and  Fabian. 

Sir  Toby. 
Come  thy  ways,  signior  Fabian. 

Fublan. 
Nay,  I'll  come:  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this  sport, 
lM  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy, 
air  Toby. 
Would'st  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the  nig- 
gardly, rascally  sheep-biter  come  by  some  no-  . 
table  shame  ? 

lablan. 
I  would  exult,  man:  you  know,  he  brought  I 
•  me  out  o'  favour  with  my  lady  about  a  bear-  : 
baiting  here. 

(Sir  Toby. 
To  anger  him  we'll  have  the  bear  again,  and 
we  will  fool  him  black  and  blue;  —  shall  we  not, 
air  Andrew  f 

•5ii  Andrew. 
An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lives. 

Kilter  Maria. 

Sir  Toby. 

Here  comes  the  little  villain.  — How  now,  my 
Betal  of  India? 

Maria 

Get  you  all  three  into  the  box-tree.     Mai- 
volio's  coming  down  this  walk:    he  has  been 
yonder  i'  the  sun,  practising  behaviour  to  his  , 
own  shadow,  this  half  hour.    Observe  him,  for 
the  love  of  mockery ;  for,  1  know,  this  letter  will  j 
make  a  contemplative  idiot  of  him.    Close,  in  ; 
the  name  of  jesting!    I  The  men  hide  them- 
selres]    Lie  thou  there;  [throws  down  a  letterj  , 
for  here  comes  the  trout  that  must  be  caught ; 
with  tickling.  [Kxlt  Maria.  I 

l  uter  Malvolio. 
Malvolio 
*Tis  but  fortune;  all  is  fortune.  Maria  once 
told  me,  she  did  affect  me;  and  I  have  heard 
herself  come  thus  near,  that,  should  she  fancy, 
it  should  be  one  of  my  complexion.  Besides, 
she  uses  me  with  a  more  exalted  respect  than 
any  one  else  that  follows  her.  What  should  I 
think  on't? 

Sir  Toby 
Here's  an  over-weening  rogue ! 

Fabian. 
O,  peace !  Contemplation  makes  a  rare  turkey- 
cock  of  him:  how  he  jets  under  his  advanced 
plume*-> 


Sir  Andrew. 
'Slight,  I  could  so  beat  the  rogue — 

Sir  Toby. 
Peace  I  I  say. 

Malvolio. 
To  be  count  Malvolio.  — 

Sir  Toby. 
Ah,  rogue  I 

Sir  Andrew. 
Pistol  him,  pistol  him. 

Sir  Toby. 
Peace  1  peace! 

Malvolio. 
There  is  example  for't:  the  lady  of  the  Stra- 
chy  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 
Sir  Andrew. 
Fie  on  him,  Jexebtll 

Fabian. 
O,  peace  1  now  he's  deeply  in:  look,  how  ima- 
gination blows  him. 

Malvolio. 
Having  been  three  months  married  to  her,  sit- 
ting in  my  state,— 

Sir  Toby. 
O,  for  a  stone-bow,  to  hit  him  in  the  eye  t 

Malvolio. 
Calling  ray  officers  about  me,  in  my  branched 
velvet  gown,  having  come  from  a  day-bed,  where 
I  have  left  Olivia  sleeping: — 
Sir  Toby. 
Fire  and  brimstone  I 

Fabian. 
O,  peace  1  peace  ! 

Malvolio. 
And  then  to  have  the  humour  of  state ;  and 
after  a  demure  travel  of  regard,  —  telling  them, 
I  know  my  place,  as  I  would  they  should  do 
theirs, — to  ask  for  my  kinsman  Toby — 
&ii  Toby 
Bolts  and  shackles  I 

Fabian. 
O,  peace,  peace,  peace  I  now,  now. 

Malvolio. 
Seven  of  my  people,  with  an  obedient  start, 
make  out  for  him.  I  frown  the  while ;  and, 
perchance,  wind  up  my  watch,  or  play  with  my 
—some  rich  jewel.  Toby  approaches ;  court'sie* 
there  to  me. 

Sir  Toby. 
Shall  thia  fellow  live? 

Fabian. 
Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with 
cars,  yet  peace  I 

Malvolio. 
I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching  my 
familiar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control. 
Sir  Toby. 
And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o'  the  lips 
then? 

Malvolio. 
Saying,  "  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes,  having 
cast  me  on  your  niece,  give  me  this  prerogative 
of  speech."— 

Sir  Toby. 
What,  what  ? 

Malvolio. 
"  You  must  amend  your  drunkenness." 

Sir  Toby. 
Out,  scab ! 

Fabian. 
Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  smews  of  ou 
plot. 

Malvolio. 


33+ 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  ii.  Sc.  x. 


Malvolio. 
"  Besides,  you  waste  the  treasure  of  your  time  j 
with  a  foolish  knight." 

Sir  Andrew. 
That's  me,  I  warrant  you. 
Malvolio. 
*  One  Sir  Andrew." 

Sir  Andrew. 

I  knew  'twas  I ;  for  many  do  call  me  fool. 

Malvolio. 

[Seeing  the  letter,  j 
What  employment  have  we  here  ? 

Fabian. 
Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  Toby. 
O,  peace  !  and  the  spirit  of  humours  intimate  ; 
reading  aloud  to  him  1 

Malvolio. 

...   {Taking  up  the  letter. '{ 

By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand  1  these  be  ; 

her  very  Cs,  her  ITs,  and  her  Ts  ;  and  thus  j 

makes  she  her  great  /"«.    It  is,  in  contempt  of 

question,  her  hand. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Her  Cs,  her  ITs,  and  her  Ts  :  Why  that  ? 

Malvolio.  [Reads,  i 

**  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and  my  good 
wishes  :  "  her  very  phrases  !  —  By  your  leave, ; 
wax.  —  Soft !  — and  the  impressure  her  Lucrece,  > 
with  which  she  uses  to  seal :  'tis  my  lady.  To 
whom  should  this  be  ? 

Fabian. 
This  wins  him,  liver  and  all. 

Malvolio.  [R-.-..I*.  \ 

"  Jove  knows,  I  love ; 
But  who  ? 
Lips  do  not  move : 
No  man  must  know." 
"No  man  must  know" — What  follows?  the 
number's  altered. — "  No  man  must  know  :  "  — 
if  this  should  be  thee,  Malvolio  t 
Sir  Toby. 
Marry,  hang  thee,  brock  I 

Malvolio.'  [Reads. 

14  I  may  command,  where  I  adore  ; 
But  silence,  like  a  Lucrece  knife, 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore : 
M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life." 
Fabian. 
A  fustian  riddle. 

Sir  toby. 
Excellent  wench,  say  I. 

Malvolio. 
"  M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life." — Nay,  but 
first,  let  me  see,  —  let  me  see, — let  me  see. 
Fabian. 
What  a  dish  of  poison  has  she  dressed  him  1 

Sir  Toby 
And  with  what  wing  the  stannyel  checks  at 


Sir  Toby. 
O  1  ay,  make  up  that.    He  is  now  at  a  cold 
scent.  .,  ,  . 

I  abian 

Sowter  will  cry  upon't,  for  all  this,  though  it 
be  as  rank  as  a  fox. 


itl 

Malvolio. 

•*  I  may  command  where  I  adore."    Why.  she 

may  command  me :  I  serve  her  ;  she  is  my  lady. 

Why,  this  is  evident  to  any  formal  capacity. 

There  is  no  obstruction  in  this And  the  end, 

—  what  should  that  alphabetical  position  por- 
tend? if  I  could  make  that  resemble  something 
in  me,— Softly!— M,  O,  A,  I — 


Malvolio. 
M, — Malvolio; — M,— why,  that  begins  my 
name.  _  .  . 

Fabian. 

Did  not  I  say,  he  would  work  it  out  ?  the  cur 
is  excellent  at  faults. 

Malvolio. 

M.  —  But  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in  the 
sequel,  that  surfers  under  probation :  A  should 
follow,  but  O  does. 

Fabian. 

And  O  1  shall  end,  I  hope. 
Sir  Toby. 

Ay,  or  I'll  cudgel  him,  and  make  him  cry,  O I 
Malvolio. 

And  then  1  comes  behind. 
Fabian. 

Av,  an  you  had  any  eye  behind  you,  you 
might  see  more  detraction  at  your  heels,  than 
fortunes  before  you. 

Malvolio. 

M,  O,  A,  I :  —  this  simulation  is  not  as  the 
former;  — and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it 
would  bow  to  me,  for  every  one  of  these  letters 
are  in  my  name.  Soft!  here  follows  prose.— 
[Head*.}  «  if  thi8  fau  into  thy  hand,  revolve. 
In  my  stars  1  am  above  thee  ;  but  be  not  afraid 
of  greatness :  some  are  born  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon 
them.  Thy  fates  open  their  hands ;  let  thy 
blood  and  spirit  embrace  them.  And,  to  inure 
thyself  to  what  thou  art  like  to  be,  cast  thy 
humble  slough,  and  appear  fresh.  Be  opposite 
with  a  kinsman,  surly  with  servants :  let  thy 
tongue  tang  arguments  of  state :  put  thyself  into 
the  trick  of  singularity.  She  thus  advises  thee, 
that  sighs  for  thee.  Remember  who  com- 
mended thy  yellow  stockings,  and  wished  to  see 
thee  ever  cross-gartered :  1  say,  remember.  Go 
to,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be  so  ;  if 
not,  let  me  see  thee  a  steward  still,  the  fellow  of 
servants,  and  not  worthy  to  touch  fortune'* 
fingers.  Farewell.  She  that  would  alter  ser- 
vices with  thee, 

"  The  fortunate-unhappy." 
Day-light  and  champaign  discovers  not  more : 
this  is  open.  I  will  be  proud,  I  will  read  politic 
authors,  I  will  baffle  Sir  Toby,  I  will  wash  off 
gross  acquaintance,  I  will  be  point-device  the 
very  man.  I  do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let 
imagination  jade  me,  for  every  reason  excites 
to  this,  that  my  lady  loves  me.  She  did  com- 
mend my  yellow  stockings  of  late ;  she  did 
praise  my  leg  being  cross- gartered;  and  in  this 
she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and  with  a 
kind  of  injunction  drives  me  to  these  habits  of 
her  liking.  I  thank  my  stars  I  am  happy.  I 
will  be  strange,  stout,  in  yellow  stockings,  and 
cross-gartered,  even  with  the  swiftnessof  putting 
on.  Jove,  and  my  stars  be  praised!  —  Here  is 
yet  a  postscript.  [Reads,]  "Thou  canst  not 
choose  but  know  who  I  am.  If  thou  enter- 
tainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy  smiling: 
thy  smiles  become  thee  well ;  therefore  in  my 
presence  still  smile,  dear  my  sweet,  1  pr'ythee. 
— Jove,  I  thank  thee.—  I  will  smile:  I  will  do 
every  thing  that  thou  wilt  have  me.  [Exit. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  j. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


3i5 


I  will  not  give  my  part  of  this  sport  for  a 
poodon  of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy. 
i'.iby. 
I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  device. 

J 

So  could  1  too. 

i  oby. 

And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her,  but  such; 
another  jest 

Sir  Andrew. 

Nor  I  neither. 

^lariu. 
Fabian. 
Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catcher. 

Sir  T< .by. 
Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck  ? 

.Sit  Andrew. 
Or  o'  mine  either  ? 

-v.i  Toby. 
Shall  I  play  my  freedom  at  tray-trip,  and  be-' 
come  thy  bond-slave  ? 

.Sir  Andrew. 
I'faith,  or  I  either. 

Sir  Toby. 
Why.  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dream, 
that  when  the  image  of  it  leaves  him  he  must' 
run  mad. 

Maria.  j 

Nay,  but  say  true :  does  it  work  upon  him  ? 

Sir  Toby. 
Like  aqua-vitae  with  a  midwife. 

Maria. 

If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport,; 

mark  his  first  approach  before  my  lady :  he  will; 

:    come  to  her  in  yellow  stockings,  and  'tis  a  colour 

she  abhors;  and  cross-gartered,  a  fashion  she 

detests;  and  he  will  smile  upon  her,  which  will' 

now  be  so  unsuitable  to  her  disposition,  being 

,    addicted  to  a  melancholy  as  she  is,  that  it  cannot 

bizf  turn  him  into  a  notable  contempt.    If  you 

;    will  see  it,  follow  me. 

Sii  Toby. 
To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  most  excellent 
devil  of  wit! 

Sir  Andrew. 
I'll  make  one  too.  C««unt. 


ACT  III. 

SCESE  1.    Olivia's  Garden 
Knter  Viola,  and  Clotrn. 

SAVE   thee,   friend,   and    thy  music.      Dost 
thou  live  by  thy  tabor  ? 
Clow*. 
No,  sir  ;  I  live  by  the  church. 

Viola. 
Art  thou  a  churchman  ? 
Clown. 
No  such  matter,  sir:  I  do  live  by  the  church  ; 
f<  r  I  do  live  at  my  house,  and  my  house  doth 
stand  by  the  church. 

So  thou  mav'st  say,  the  king  lies  by  a  beggar, 
if  a  beggar  dwell  near  him  ;   or,  the  chnrch 


stands  by  thy  tabor,  if  thy  tabor  stand  by  the 
church.  _. 

Clown. 

You  have  said,  sir.  — To  see  this  age!  — A 
sentence  is  but  a  cheveril  glove  to  a  good  wit : 
how  quickly  the  wrong  side  may  be  turned 
outward  1  .... 

\  sola. 

Nay,  that's  certain :  they,  that  dally  nicely 
with  words,  may  quickly  make  them  wanton. 
Clown. 

I  would  therefore,  my  sister  had  had  no  name, 
,Ir-  Viola. 

Why,  man  ? 

Clown. 

Why,  sir,  her  name's  a  word;  and  to  dally 
with  that  word,  might  make  my  sister  wanton. 
But,  indeed,  words  are  very  rascals,  since  bonds 
disgraced  them.         ..    . 
\  ida. 

Thy  reason,  man  ? 

Clowu. 
Troth,  sir,   I  can    yield   you    none  without 
words  ;  and  words  are  grown  so  false,  I  am  loath 
to  prove  reason  with  them. 
Viola. 
I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow,  and  carest 
for  nothing. 

Clown. 

Not  so,  sir,  I  do  care  for  something;  but  in 
my  conscience,  sir,  I  do  not  care  for  you:  if 
that  be  to  care  for  nothing,  sir,  I  would  it  would 
make  you  invisible.  .„  . 
\  Lola. 

Art  not  thou  the  lady  Olivia's  fool  ? 

Clown. 

No,  indeed,  sir;  the  lady  Olivia  has  no  folly: 

she  will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  be  married ; 

and  fools  are  as  like  husbands,  as  pilchards  are 

to  herrings,  the  husband's  the  bigger.     I  am, 

indeed,  not  her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of  words. 

Viol*. 

I  saw  thee  late  at  the  count  Onino's. 

Clown. 
Foolery,  sir,  does  walk  about  the  orb,  like  tlie 
sun  :  it  shines  every  where.  I  would  be  sorry, 
sir,  but  the  fool  should  be  as  oft  with  your 
master,  as  with  my  mistress:  I  think  1  saw 
your  wisdom  there. 

Viola. 
Nay,  an  thou  pass  upon  me,  I'll  no  more  with 
thee.    Hold ;  there's  expenses  for  thee. 
Clown. 
Now  Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  of  hair,  send 
thee  a  beard. 

Viola. 

By  my  troth,  I'll  tell  thee :  I  am  almost  sick 
for  one,  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  ray 
chin.     Is  thy  lady  within  ? 
Clown. 
Would  not  a  pair  of  these  have  bred,  sir  ? 

Viola. 
Yes,  being  kept  together,  and  put  to  use. 

I  would  play  lord  Pandarns  of  Phrygia,  sir, 
to  bring  a  Cressida  to  this  Troilus. 
Viola. 
I  understand  you,  sir :  'tis  well  begg'd 

d  nvr.. 
The  matter,  I  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  begging 
but  a  beggar :  Crasida  was  a  beggar.     My  lady 


[336 


TWELFTH-NIGHT 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u 


ia  within,  sir.  I  will  construe  to  them  whence 
you  come  ;  who  you  are,  and  what  you  would, 
are  out  of  my  welkin :  I  might  say  element,  but 
the  word  is  over-woru.  [Exit. 

Viola. 
This  fellow's  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool, 
And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  kind  of  wit : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests, 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time, 
And,  like  the  haggard,  check  at  every  feather 
That  comes  before  his  eye.    This  is  a  practice 
As  full  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art ; 
For  folly,  that  he  wisely  shows,  is  fit, 
But  wise  men's  folly  fall'n  quite  taints  their  wit. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Retch  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
Sir  Toby. 
Save  you,  gentleman. 

Viola. 
And  you,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew 
Dieu  vous  garde,  monsieur. 

Viola. 
Et  vous  aussi :  voire  serviteur. 

Sir  Andrew. 
I  hope,  sir,  you  are  ;  and  I  am  yours. 

Sir  Toby. 
Will  you  encounter  the  house?  my  niece  is 
desirous  you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to 
her. 

Viola 
I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir :  I  mean,  she  is 
the  list  of  my  voyage. 

Sir  Toby. 
Taste  your  legs,  sir :  put  them  to  motion. 

Viola. 
My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  than  I 
understand  what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste 
my  legs. 
•      '  Sir  Toby. 

I  mean,  to  go,  sir,  to  enter. 

Viola. 
I  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  entrance.   But 
we  are  prevented. 

I',  liter  Olivia  and  Maria 
Most  excellent  accomplished  lady,  the  heavens 
rain  odours  on  you  I 

Sir  Andrew. 
That  youth's  a  rare  courtier.  "Rain  odours  I " 
well. 

Viola. 
My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  your 
own  most  pregnant  and  vouchsafed  ear. 
Sir  Andrew 
"  Odours,"  "  pregnant,"  and  "  vouchsafed:" 
—I'll  get  'em  all  three  ready. 
Olivia. 
Let  the  garden  door  be  shut,  and  leave  me  to 
ray  hearing. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Maria 
Give  me  your  hand,  sir. 

Viola. 
My  duty,  madam,  and  most  humble  service. 

Olivia. 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Viola. 
Cesario  is  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

Olivia. 
My  servant,  sir  ?    'Twas  never  merry  world, 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment. 
You're  servant  to  the  count  Orsino,  youth. 


Viola. 

And  he  is  yours,  and  his  must  needs  be  yours : 

Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

Olivh. 
For  him,  1  think  not  on  him  :  for  his  thoughts, 
'Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  than  fill'd  with 
mel 

Viola. 
Madam,  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf- 
Olivia. 
O  !  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you  : 
I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him  ; 
But,  would  you  undertake  another  suit, 
I  had  rather  hear  you  to  solicit  that, 
Than  music  from  the  spheres. 
Viola. 
Dear  lady,— 

Olivia. 
Give  me  leave,  'beseech  you.     I  did  send, 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you  :  so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant,  and  I  fear  me,  you. 
Under  your  hard  construction  must  I  sit, 
To  force  that  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cunning. 
Which  you  knew  none  of  yours :  what  might 

you  think  ? 
Have  you  not  set  mine  honour  at  the  stake, 
And  baited  it  with  all  th'  unmuzzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think  ?    To  one  of 

your  receiving 
Enough  is  shown  ;  a  Cyprus,  not  a  bosom, 
Hides  my  heart.    So,  let  me  hear  you  speak. 
Viola. 
I  pity  you. 

Olivia. 
That's  a  degree  to  love. 
Viola. 
No,  not  a  grise ;  for  'tis  a  vulgar  proof, 
That  very  oit  we  pity  enemies. 

Olivia. 

Why  then,  methinks,  'tis  time  to  smile  again. 

0  world,  how  apt  the  poor  are  to  be  proud  ; 
If  one  should  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 

i  To  fall  before  the  lion,  than  the  wolf? 

[Clock  strikes. 
I  The  clock  upbraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time — 
i  Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you ; 
•  And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest, 
'  Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man. 
There  lies  your  way,  due  west. 
Viola. 

Then  westward  ho » 
Grace,  and  good  disposition  'tend  your  ladyship. 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me  ? 
Olivia 
Stay : 

1  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Viola. 
That  you  do  think  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

Olivia. 
If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  you. 

Viola. 
Then  think  you  right:  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Olivia. 
I  would,  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be  I 

Viola. 
Would  it  be  better,  madam,  than  I  am  ? 
1  wish  it  might ;  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

Olivia 
O I  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  I 

A  mur- 


in.  Sc.  ii. 


Oil,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


337 


murderous  guilt  shows  not  itaclf  more  soon 
'l'h. in  love  that  would  seem  hid  :  love's  night  is 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring,  [noon. 

Bv  m.iidhood.  honour,  truth,  and  every  thing, 
I  love  thee  so,  that,  maugre  all  thy  pride. 
Nor  wit,  nor  reason,  ran  my  passion  hide. 
Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause, 
For.  that  1  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause  ; 
But  rather,  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter  : 
Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought  is 
better. 

Viola. 

By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth. 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom,  and  one  truth, 
And  that  no  woman  has  ;  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone. 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam  :  never  more 
Will  I  my  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 
Olivia 


Why  then,  build  me  thy  fortunes  upon  the 
basis  of  valour  :  challenge  me  the  count  s  youth 
to  fight  with  him  ;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places : 
my  niece  shall  take  note  of  it ;  and  assure  thy- 
self there  is  no  love-broker  in  the  world  can 
more  prevail  in  man's  commendation  with  wo- 
man, than  report  of  valour. 

Fabian. 
There  is  no  way  but  this,  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Will  either  of  you  bear  me  a  challenge  to 
him? 

Sir  Toby. 
Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand ;  be  curst  and 
brief;  it  is  no  matter  how  witty,  so  it  be  elo- 
quent, and  full  of  invention  :  taunt  him  with  the 
licence  of  ink  :  if  thou  thou'st  him  some  thrice, 


Yet  come  again  ;  for  thou,  perhaps,  may'st  ;  {*  sh*U  not  be  amiss ;  and  as  many  lies  as  w 


n\ 


move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love. 
[Exeunt 

t  II.    A  Room  In  Olivia't  House. 

I    Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
and  Fabian. 
Sir  Andrew. 
No,  faith,  I'll  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 

Sir  Toby. 
Thy  reason,  dear  venom :  give  thy  reason. 

Fabian. 
You  must  needs  yield  your  reason,  sir  An- 
l    drtw. 

Sir  Andrew 
I      Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favours 


lie  in  thy  sheet  of  paper,  although  the  sheet 
1  were  big  enough  for  the  bed  of  Ware  in  Eng- 
land, set  'em  down.  Go,  about  It.  Let  there 
i  be  gall  enough  in  thy  ink  ;  though  thou  write 
'  with  a  goose-pnn,  no  matter.    About  it. 


Where  shall 


Sir  Andrew, 
find  you  ? 

Sir  Toby 


the  count's  serving  man,  than  ever  she  bestowed 
upon  me:  I  saw't  i'  the  orchard. 
Sir  Tatar. 
Did  she  see  thee  the  while,  old  boy  ?  tell  me 
that. 

Sir  Andrew. 
As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 
Fabian. 
This  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her  to- 
ward you. 

Sir  Andrew. 
'Slight  1  will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me  ? 

Fabian 
I  will  prove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  the  oaths 
of  judgment  and  reason. 
Sir  I 
And  they  have  been  grand  jury-men  since  be- 
fore Noah  was  a  sailor. 

i  ablau. 
She  did  show  favour  to  the  youth  in  your 
sight  only  to  exasperate  you,  to  awake  your 
dormouse  valour,  to  put  fire  in  your  heart,  and 
brimstone  in  your  liver.     You  should  then  have 
accosted  her,  and  with  some  excellent  jests,  fire- 
new  from  the  mint,  you  should  have  banged  the 
youth  into  dumbness.    This  was  looked  for  at 
your  hand,  and  this  was  baulked:  the  double: 
gilt  of  this  opportunity  you  let  time  wash  off,  I 
and  you  are  now  sailed  into  the  north  of  my 
lady's  opinion ;  where  you  will  hang  like  an 
icicle  on  a  Dutchman's  beard,  unless  you  do  re- 


iooy. 
We'll  call  thee  at  the  cubictdo.    Go. 

[Rxit  Sir  Andrew. 
Fabian. 
This  is  a  dear  manakin  to  you,  sir  Toby. 

Sir  Toby. 
I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad  ;  some  two  thou- 
sand strong,  or  so. 

Fabian. 
We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him ;  but 
you'll  not  deliver  it. 

Sir  Toby. 
Never  trust  me  then ;  and  by  all  means  stir 
on  the  youth  to  an  answer.  I  think,  oxen  and 
wainropes  cannot  hale  them  together.  For  An- 
drew, if  he  were  opened,  and  you  find  so  much 
blood  in  his  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot  of  a  flea, 
J  I'll  eat  the  rest  of  the  anatomy. 

Fabian 

And  his  opposite,  the   youth,  bears  in  his 
;  visage  no  great  presage  of  cruelty. 


Enter  Maria. 

Sir  Toby. 

Look,  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine  comes 

Maria. 

If  you  desire  the  spleen,  and  will  laugh  your- 
selves into  stitches,  follow  me.  Yond'  gull 
Mulv:  Ho  is  turned  heathen,  a  very  renegado ; 
for  there  is  no  Christian,  that  means  to  be  saved 
by  believing  rightly,  can  ever  believe  such  im- 
possible passages  o'f  grossness.  He's  in  yellow 
stockings. 

Sir  Toby. 

And  cross-gartered  ? 

Mad*. 

Most  villainously  ;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps  a 

school  V  the  church — I  have  dogged  him  like 

his  murderer.     He  does  obey  every  point  of  the 

letter  that  I  dropped  to  betray  him :  he  does 

deem  it  by  some  laudable  attempt,  either  of    smile  his  face  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  the 

valour,  or  policy.  <  new  map,  with  the  augmentation  of  the  Indies. 

Sir'Andrew.  You  have  not  seen  such  a  thing  as  'tis ;  I  can 

I      An't  be  any  way,  it  must  be  with  valour,  for    hardly  forbear  hurling  things  at  him.     I  know, 

i  ;  policy  1  hate :  I  had  as  lief  be  a  Brownist  as  a    my  lady  will  strike  him :  if  she  do,  he'll  smile, 

politician.  and  take't  for  a  great  favour. 

2  Sir 


338 


TWELFTH-NIGHT 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iil 


Sir  Toby. 
Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Street. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Antonio.         \ 

Sebastian. 

I  would  not,  by  my  will,  have  troubled  you  ; 

But,  since  you  make  your  pleasureof  your  pains, 

I  will  no  farther  chide  you. 

Antonio. 
I  could  not  stay  behind  you :  my  desire, 
More  sharp  than  filed  steel,  did  spur  me  forth  ; 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you,  (though  so  much, 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage) 
But  jealousy  what  might  befall  your  travel, 
Being  skilless  in  these  parts  ;  which  to  a  stran- 
ger, 
Unguided,  and  unfriended,  often  prove 
Rough  and  unhospitable :  my  willing  love, 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear, 
Set  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

Sebastian. 

My  kind  Antonio, 
I  can  no  other  answer  make,  but,  thanks, 
And  thanks,  and  ever :  oft  good  turns 
Are  shuffled  off  with  such  uncurrent  pay  ; 
But,  were  my  worth,  as  is  my  conscience,  firm, 
You  should  find  better  dealing.    What's  to  do  ? 
Shall  we  go  see  the  reliques  of  this  town  ? 

Antonio. 
To-morrow,  sir  :  best  first  go  see  your  lodg- 
ing. 

Sebastian. 
I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night. 
I  pray  you,  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
With  the  memorials,  and  the  things  of  fame, 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

\tonio. 

ould,  you'd  pardon  me : 
I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets. 
Once,   in   a   sea-fight  'gainst   the    Count  his 

galleys 
I  did  some  service  ;  of  such  note,  indeed, 
That,  were   1  ta'en  here,  it  would  scarce   be 
answer'd. 

Sebastian. 
Belike,  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 

Antonio. 
The  offence  is  not  of  such  a  bloody  nature, 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time,  and  quarrel, 
Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them  ;  which,  for  traffic's 

sake, 
Most  of  our  city  did  :  only  myself  stood  out ; 
For  which,  if  f  be  lapsed  in  this  place, 
I  shall  pay  dear. 

Sebastian. 

Do  not,  then,  walk  too  open. 

Antonio. 
It  doth  not  fit  me.     Hold,  sir;   here's  my 
In  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant,    [purse. 
Is  best  to  lodge :  I  will  bespeak  our  diet, 
Whiles  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your 
knowledge,  [me. 

With  viewing  of  the  town :  there  shall  you  have 

Sebastian. 
Why  I  your  purse  ? 

Antonio. 
Haply  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase ;  and  your  store, 
I  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir. 


Sebastian. 
I'll  be  your  purse-bearer,  and  leave  you  for  an 
hour. 

Antonio. 
To  the  Elephant.  — 

Sebastian. 
I  do  remember.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Olivia's  Garden. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Olivia. 

I  have  sent  after  him  :  he  says,  he'll  come. 

How  shall  I  feast  him  ?  what  bestow  of  him  ? 

For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  than  begg'd,  or 

I  speak  too  loud, —  [borrow 'd. 

!  Where  is  Malvolio  ?  —  he  is  sad,  and  civil, 

And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes 

Where  is  Malvolio  ? 


He's  coming,  madam:  but  in  very  strange 
manner.    He  is  sure  possess'd,  madam. 
Olivia. 
Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  does  he  rave  ? 
Maria. 


:  v( 

ladyship  were  best  to  have  some  guard  about 

"""ie  come,  for  sure  the  man  is  tainted  in's 


you 
wits 


;snip 
,  ifh 


"m 


No,  madam  ;  he  does  nothing  but  smile:  your 
;o  have 
ure  the 

Olivia. 
Go  call  him  hither.  —  I  am  as  mad  as  he, 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be.  — 

Enter  Malvolio. 
How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

Malvolio. 
Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho.  [Smiles  ridiculously. 

Olivia. 
Smil'st  thou  ? 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad  occasion. 
Malvolio. 
Sad,  lady  ?    I  could  be  sad.     This  does  make 
some  obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-garter- 
ing ;  but  what  of  that  ?  if  it  please  the  eye  of 
one,  it  is  with  me  as  the  very  true  sonnet  is, 
"  Please  one,  and  please  all." 
Olivia. 
Why,  how   dost   thou,  man  ?    what   Is    the 
matter  with  thee  ? 

Malvolio. 

Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  in  my 

legs.     It  did  come  to  his  hands,  and  commands 

shall  be  executed :  I  think  we  do  know   the 

sweet  Roman  hand. 

Olivia. 
Wilt  thou  go  to  bed,  Malvolio  ? 

Malvolio. 
To  bed  ?  ay,  sweet-heart,  and   I'll  come  to 
thee. 

Olivia. 
God  comfort  thee  !    Why  dost  thou  smile  so, 
and  kiss  thy  hand  so  oft  ? 

Maria. 
How  do  you,  Malvolio  t 

Malvolio. 
At  your  request !    Yes  ;  nightingales  answer 
daws. 

Maria. 
Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  boldness 
before  my  lady  ? 

Malvolio. 
"  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness : "  —  'Twas  well 
writ. 

Olivia. 


— f'l  ' ' 


Act  3.  Sc.-J. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  it. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


339 


What  meanest  thou  by  that,  Malvolio  T 

Mai  v. 
•»  Some  are  born  great,"— 

Olivia. 
Ha? 

■  ■Ho. 
"  Some  achieve  greatness,"— 

Olivin. 
What  say'st  thou  ? 

Malvolio 
M  And   some   have    greatness    thrust    upon 
them." 

Olivia. 
Heaven  restore  thee  1 

Mulv 
•  Remember,  who    commended    thy    yellow 
stockings  ; "  — 

Thy  yellow  stockings  ? 

Malvolio 
44  And  wished  to  see  thee  cross-gartered." 

Olhia. 
Cross-gartered  ? 

Malvolio. 
■  Go  to  :  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be 
so:"  — 

Olivia. 
Am  I  made  ? 

Malvolio. 
"  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still." 

Olivia. 
Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness. 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant. 
Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  count 
Orsino's  is  returned.    I  could  hardly  entreat 
him  back  :  he  attends  your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

Olivia. 

I'll  come  to  him.  f  Exit  Servant  ]  Good 
Maria,  let  this  fellow  be  looked  to.  Where's 
my  cousin  Toby  f  Let  some  of  my  people  have 
a  special  care  of  him.  I  would  not  have  him 
miscarry  for  the  half  of  my  dowry. 

[Exeunt  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Malvolio. 
Oh,  ho !  do  you  come  near  me  now  ?  no 
worse  man  than  sir  Toby  to  look  to  me  ?  This 
concurs  directly  with  the  letter :  she  sends  him 
on  purpose,  that  I  may  appear  stubborn  to  him  ; 
for  she  incites  me  to  that  in  the  letter.  "  Cast 
thy  humble  slough,"  says  she  ;  —  "  be  opposite 
with  a  kinsman,  surly  with  servants,  —  let  thy 
tongue  tang  with  arguments  of  state,  — put 
thyself  into  the  trick  of  singularity  ;  "  —  and 
consequently  sets  down  the  manner  now  ;  as,  a 
sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow  tongue,  in 
the  habit  of  some  sir  of  note,  and  so  forth.  I 
have  limed  her ;  but  it  is  Jove's  doing,  and 
Jove  make  me  thankful  I  And  when  she  went 
away  now,  "  Let  this  fellow  be  looked  to : " 
fellow  1  not  Malvolio,  nor  after  my  degree,  but 
fellow.  Why,  every  thing  adheres  together, 
that  no  drachm  of  a  scruple,  no  scruple  of  a 
scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous  or  unsafe 
circumstance— What  can  be  said?  Nothing 
that  can  be  can  come  between  me  and  the  full 
prospect  of  my  hopes.  Well,  Jove,  not  I,  is  the 
doer  of  this,  and  he  is  to  be  thanked. 


lie  enter  Maria,  with  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and 
Fabian. 

Sir  Toby. 
Which  way  is  he.  In  the  name  of  sanctity  ? 
It  all  the  devils  in  hell  be  drawn  in  little,  and 
Legion  himself  possessed  him,  yet  I'll  speak  to 
him. 

Fabian. 
Here  he  is,  here  he  is.  — How  is't  with  you. 
sir  ?  how  is't  with  you,  man  ? 

Malvolio. 
Go  off;  I  discard  you  :  let  me  enjoy  my  pri- 
vate :  go  off. 

Maria. 
Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within  him  ! 
did  not  I  tell  you  ?  —  Sir  Toby,  ray  lady  prays 
you  to  have  a  care  of  him. 

Mais 
Ah,  ha  !  does  she  so  "* 

Sir  Toby 
Go  to,  go  to :  peace  I  peace !  we  must  dea* 
gently  with  him  ;  let  me  alone.  —  How  do  you, 
Malvolio  ?  how  is't  with  you  ?  What,  man  1 
defy  the  devil :  consider,  he's  an  enemy  to  man- 
kind. 

Malvolio. 
Do  you  know  what  you  say  ? 

Maria. 
La  you  !  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how  he 
takes  it  at  heart.    Pray  God,  he  be  not  be- 
witched • 

Fabian. 
Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  woman. 

Maria. 
Marry,  and  it  shall  be  done  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, if  I  live.    My  lady  would  not  lose  him  for 
more  than  I'll  say. 

Malvolio. 
How  now,  mistress  ? 

Maria. 
O  lord ! 

Sir  Toby. 
Pr'ythee,  hold  thy  peace :  this  is  not  the  way. 
Do  you  not  see  you  move  him  ?  let  me  alone 
with  him. 

Fabian. 

No  way  but  gentleness ;  gently,  gently :  the 

fiend  is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  used. 

Sir  Toby. 

Why,  how  now,  my  bawcock  ?  how  dost  thou 

chuck  ? 

Malvolio. 
Sir! 

Sir  Toby. 
Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.    What,  man  !  'tis 
not  for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit  with  Satan. 
Hang  him,  foul  collier  1 

Maria. 
Get  him  to  say  his  prayers  :  good  sir  Toby,  get 
him  to  pray. 

Malvolio. 
My  prayers,  minx  1 

Maria. 
No,  I  warrant  you  ;  he  will  not  hear  of  godli- 
ness. 

Malvolio. 

Go,  hang  yourselves  all  !  you  are  idle  shallow 

things  :  I  am  not  of  your  element.     You  shall 

know  more  hereafter.  [Exit. 

Sir  Toby. 

Is't  possible  ? 

Fabian. 


3+o 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


Fabian. 


now  in  some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will 
If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  ;  by  and  by  depart, 
condemn  it  as  an  improbable  fiction.  Sir  Toby 

Sir  Toby.  j     Go,  sir  Andrew ;  scout  me  for  him  at  the 

His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection  of  i  corner  of  the  orchard,  like  a  bum-bailie.    So 

the  device,  man.  i  soon  as  ever  thou  seest  him,  draw,  and,  as  thou 

Maria.  draw  est,  swear  horrible  ;  for  it  comes  to  pass 

Nay,  pursue  him  now,  lest  the  device  take  air,  ;  oft,  that  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  swaggering  ac- 

and  taint.  cent,  sharply  twanged  off,  gives  manhood  more 

Fabian.  approbation  than  ever  proof  itself  would  have 

Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad,  indeed.  :  earned  him.    Away  I 

Maria.  Sir  Andrew. 

The  house  will  be  the  quieter.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.  [Exit. 

Sir  Toby.  Sir  Toby. 

Come,  we'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room,  and  '  Now,  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter ;  for  the 
bound.  My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief  that  j  behaviour  of  the  young  gentleman  gives  him 
he's  mad :  we  may  carry  it  thus,  for  our  plea-  :  °ut  to  be  of  good  capacity  and  breeding :  his 
sure,  and  his  penance,  till  our  very  pastime,  employment  between  his  lord  and  my  niece 
tired  out  of  breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy  on  confirms  no  less  ;  therefore  this  letter,  being  so  I 
him  ;  at  which  time,  we  will  bring  the  device  to  j  excellently  ignorant,  will  breed  no  terror  in  the 
the  bar,  and  crown  thee  for  a  finder  of  madmen.  ]  youth  :  he  will  find  it  comes  from  a  clodpole 


But  see,  but  see. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 
Fabian. 
More  matter  for  a  Map  morning. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Here's  the  challenge;    read  it:   I   warrant 
there's  vinegar  and  pepper  in't 
Fabian. 
Is't  so  saucy  ? 

Sir  Andrew. 
Ay,  is't,  I  warrant  him  :  do  but  read. 
Sir  Toby. 
[Reads.] 


But,  sir,  I  will  deliver  his  challenge  by  word  of 
mouth  ;  set  upon  Ague-cheek  a  notable  report  of 
valour,  and  drive  the  gentleman,  (as,  1  know, 
his  youth  will  aptly  receive  it,)  into  a  most 
hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and  im- 
petuosity. This  will  so  fright  them  both,  that 
they  will  kill  one  another  by  the  look,  like 
cockatrices. 

Fabian. 

Here  he  comes  with  your  niece.    Give  them 
way,  till  he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 
Sir  Toby. 

I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some  horrid 
message  for  a  challenge. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria. 


Give  me.      l«eaas.j     «  Youth  ;  whatsoever 
thou  art,  thou  art  but  a  scurvy  fellow."  Re-enter  Olivia,  with  Viola. 

Fabian.  „..  . 

Good,  and  valiant.  i      .  ■  .,  .  uima. 

o.    T  .  I  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  stone, 

,.  „.      ,  sir  x  0D"  And  laid  my  honour  too  unchary  on't. 

Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  mind,  j  There's  something  in  me  that  reproves  my  fault, 
why  I  do  call  thee  so,  for  I  will  show  thee  no  |  But  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is, 

That  it  but  mocks  reproof. 
Viola. 


reason  for't.' 

Fabian. 
A  good  note,  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow  of 
the  law. 

Sir  Toby. 

"  Thou  comest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in  my 

sight  she  uses  thee  kindly :  but  thou  liest  in  thy  , 

throat ;  that  is  not  the  matter  I  challenge  thee  «  Refuse  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you  . 
for."  And,  I  beseech  you,  come  again  to-morrow. 

Fabian.  What  shall  you  ask  of  me,  that  I'll  deny, 

Very  brief,  and  to  exceeding  good  sense-less.      That>  honour  sav'd,  may  upon  asking  give  ? 
Sir  Toby.  Viola. 

1  will  way-lay  thee  going  home ;  where,  if  it  |      Nothing  but  this ;  your  true  love  for  my  mas 


With  the  same  'haviour  that  your  passion 

Go  on  my  master's  griefs.  [bears, 

Olivia. 

Here ;  wear  this  jewel  for  me :  'tis  my  picture. 


be  thy  chance  to  kill  me,' 

Fabian. 
Good. 

Sir  Toby.       • 
"  Thou  killest  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  villain." 

Fabian. 
Still  you  keep  o'  the  windy  side  of  the  law: 

g00d-  StrToby. 

"  Fare  thee  well  ;  and  God  have  mercy  upon 
one  of  our  souls  !  He  may  have  mercy  upon 
mine ;  but  my  hope  is  better,  and  so  look  to 
thyself.  Thy  friend,  as  thou  usest  him,  and  thy 
sworn  enemy,  Andrew  Ague-cheek."  If  this 
letter  move  him  not,  his  legs  cannot.  I'll  give't 
him. 

Maria. 

You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for't :  he  is 


Olivia. 
How  with  mine  honour  may  I  give  him  that, 
Which  I  have  given  to  you  ? 
Viola. 

I  will  acquit  you. 
Olivia. 
Well,  come  again  to-morrow.   Fare  thee  well. 
A  fiend  like  thee  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Fabian. 
Sir  Toby. 

Gentleman,  God  save  thee. 

Viola. 
And  you,  sir. 

Sir  Toby. 
That  defence  thou  hast,  betake  thee  to't :  of 

w  hat 


Acr  111.  Sc.  iv. 


Oil,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


what  nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast  done  him, 
I  know  not;  but  thy  intcrcepter,  full  of  dV- 
•pight,  bloody  as  the  hunter,  attends  thee  at  the 
orchard  end.     Dismount  thy  tuck ;  be  yare  In 


34t 


Kc-tntcr  Sir  Toby,  with  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Toby. 

Why,  man,  he's  a  very  devil,  I  have  not  seen 

pass  with  him,  rapier, 

ves  me  the  stuck  in, 

that  it  is  inevitable; 

You  mistake,  sir:  I  am  sure.no  man  hath    ""[  ?"  VlfAn*wenrJ  *%  Pav» /ou  M  8"^  a*  jour 

any  quarrel  to  me.     My  remembrance  is  very    &}  Pll}^*?™*^*}??  oa'     lh^»7.he 


Si7  ffidSS?'  f°r  ^  a8SaS,aDt  U  qUiClL*  *"■  SbardTand  all. ana  he'gi 

mi,  ana  acuity.  y.^  wkh  guch  a  morta|  motionf 

You  mistake,  sir:  I  am  sure.no  man  hath  *m! [°»  \h,f  "'"".J  htt  ml 

any  quarrel  to  me.     My  remembrance  is  very  f^1  ^nthf%g™U "d,S eJ  *  * ' 

free  and  clear  from  any  image  of  offence  done  to  has  been  fencer  t0  the  ^V- 
riiv  man.  Sir  Andrew. 


any  man. 
•  Sir  Toby. 

You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assure  you:  there- 
fore, if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price  betake 
you  to  your  guard;  for  your  opposite  hath  in 
him  what  youth,  strength,  skill,  and  wrath,  can 
furnish  man  withal. 

Viola. 

I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ? 
Sir  Toby. 

He  is  knight,  dubbed  with  unhatch'd  rapier, 
and  on  carpet  consideration,  but  he  is  a  devil  in 
private  brawl :  souls  and  bodies  hath  he  divorced 


Pox  on't,  I'll  not  meddle  with  him. 
Sir  Toby. 

Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified  :  Fabian 
can  scarce  hold  him  yonder. 
Sir  Andrew. 

Plague  on't ;  an  I  thought  he  had  been  valiant, 
and  so  cunning  in  fence,  I'd  have  seen  him 
damned  ere  I'd  have  challenged  him.  Let  him 
let  the  matter  slip,  and  I'll  give  him  my  horse, 
grey  Capilet. 


I'll  make  the  motion.    Stand  here ;  make  a 
three,  and  his  incensement  at  this  moment  is  so  j  good  show  on't.    This  shaU  end  without  the 
implacable,  that  satisfaction  can  be  none  but  by    perdition  of  souls.    lAsftfeJ    Marry,  I'll  ride 
pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre.    Hob,  nob,  is  his  j  your  horse  as  well  as  I  ride  you. 
word ,  give't,  or  take't. 

Yj0|a  Re-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  will  return  again  into  the  house,  and  desire  )  I  have  his  horse  [To  Fabian]  to  take  up  the 
•ome  conduct  of  the  lady :  I  am  no  fighter.    I  '  quarrel.    I  have  persuaded  him,  the  youth's  a 
have  heard  of  some  kind  of  men, that  put  quarrels    devil, 
purposely  on  others  to  taste  their  valour  ;  belike,  Fabian . 

Se  is  as  horribly  conceited  of  him ;  [To  Sir 
y)  and  pants,  and  looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were 


this  is  a  man  of  that  quirk. 
Sir  Toby. 
Sir,  no;  his  indignation  derives  itself  out  of  a 
very  competent  injury:  therefore,  get  you  on, 
and  give  him  his  desire.    Back  you  shall  not  to 


pants, 
at  his  heels. 

Sir  Toby. 
There's  no  remedy,  sir  :"[  To  Fiola]  he  will 
the  house,  unless  you  undertake  that  with  me,     *&*  wI!thJrou  J???  °^X^e-    Marry  »>e  hath 
which  wi  h  as  much  safety  you  might  answer    better  bethought  him  of  h.s  quarrel,  and  he  finds 
K!m.  fh„„fn,»    ™    nr  +JJm~Jm    *„.„a  cf,-i,  !  that  now  scarce  to  be  worth  talking  of:  there- 
fore, draw  for  the  supportance  of  his  vow  :  he 


him :  therefore,  on,  or  strip  your  sword  stark 
naked  ;  for  meddle  you  must,  that's  certain,  or 
forswear  to  wear  iron  about  you, 
Viola. 
This  is  as  uncivil,  as  strange.  I  beseech  you, 
do  me  this  courteous  office,  as  to  know  of  the 
knight  what  my  offence  to  him  is :  it  is  some- 
thing of  iny  negligence,  nothing  of  my  pur- 
pose. 

Sir  Toby. 

I  will  do  so.     Signior  Fabian,  stay  you  by 

this  gentleman  till  my  return.     [Exit  Sir  Toby. 

Viola. 

Pray  you,  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter  ? 

Fabian. 
I  know,  the  knight  is  incensed  against  you, 
ven  to  a  mortal  arbitrement,  but  nothing  of  the 
ircumstance  more. 

Viola. 
I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 

Fabian. 
Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise,  to  read 
him  by  his  form,  as  you  are  like  to  find  him  in 
the  proof  of  his  valour.  He  is,  indeed,  sir,  the 
most  skilful,  bloody,  and  fatal  opposite  that  you 
could  possibly  have  found  in  any  part  of  Illyria. 
Will  you  walk  towards  him  ?  I  will  make  your 
peace  with  him,  if  I  can. 

Viola. 
I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am  one, 
that  would  rather  go  with  sir  priest  than  sir 
knight:  I  care  not  who  knows  so  much  of  my  ; 


mettle. 


protests,  he  will  not  hurt  you. 

Viola.  [Aside. 

Pray  God  defend  me  1    A  little  thing  would 
make  me  tell  them  how  much  1  lack  of  a  man. 
Fabian. 
Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  Toby. 
Come,  sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy:  the 
gentleman  will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one 
bout  with  you:  he  cannot  by  the  duello  avoid 
it  ;  but  he  has  promised  me,  as  he  is  a  gentle- 
man and  a  soldier,  he  will  not  hurt  you.  Come 
on ;  to't. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath  1  [Draws. 

Viola. 
I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will. 

[Draws. 
Enter  Antonio. 

Antonio. 
Put  up  your  sword.— If  this  young  gentleman 
Have  done  offence,  1  take  the  fault  on  me : 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you. 

Sir  Toby. 
You,  sir  ?  why,  what  are  you  ? 

Antonio. 
One,  sir,  that  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more. 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 

Sir  Toby. 
Nay,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,  I  am  for  vou. 

Enter 


[Drawing. 


34-* 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


Enter  Officers. 

Fabian. 

O,  good  sir  Toby,  hold  !  here  come  the  officers. 

Sir  Toby. 
I'll  be  with  you  anon. 

Viola. 
Pray,  sir;  put  your  sword  up,  if  you  please. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Marry,  will  I,  sir:  — and,  for  that  T  promised 
you,  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word.     He  will  bear 
you  easily,  and  reins  well. 

First  Officer. 
This  is  the  man :  do  thy  office. 
Second  Officer. 
Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit 
Of  count  Orsino. 

Antonio. 
You  do  mistake  me,  sir. 
First  Officer. 
No,  sir,  no  jot :  I  know  your  favour  well, 
Though   now  you  have  no  sea-cap  on   your 

head. — 
Take  him  away:  he  knows,  I  know  him  well, 
Antonio. 

I  must  obey LTo  Viola.)  This  comes  with 

seeking  you ; 
But  there's  no  remedy:  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do  ?    Now  my  necessity        [me 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse.     It  grieves 
Much  more  for  what  1  cannot  do  for  you, 
Than  what  befalls  myself.    You  stand  amaz'd, 
But  be  of  comfort. 

Second  Officer. 
Come,  sir,  away. 

Antonio. 
I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money. 

Viola. 
What  money,  sir  ? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here, 
And   part,    being   prompted   by  your   present 

trouble, 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  ability  [much  : 

I'll  lend  you  something.     My  having  is  not 
I'll  make  division. of  my  present  with  you. 
Hold,  there's  half  my  coffer. 
Antonio, 

Will  you  deny  me  now  ? 
Is't  possible,  that  my  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion  ?  Do  not  tempt  my  misery, 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  unsound  a  man, 
As  to  upbraid  you  with  those  kindnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 
Viola 

I  know  of  none ; 
Nor  know  I  you  by  voice,  or  any  feature. 
I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man, 
Than  lying  vainness,  babbling  drunkenness, 
Or  any  taint  of  vice  whose  strong  corruption 
Inhabits  our  frail  blood. 

Antonio. 

O,  heavens  themselves  I 
Second  OfiVer. 
Come,  sir:  I  pray  you,  go. 
Antonio. 
Let  me  speak  a  little.    This  youth,  that  you 
see  here, 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death ; 
Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love, 
And  to  his  image,  which,methought,  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 


First  Officer. 
What's  that  to  us ?  The  time  goes  by:  away ! 

Antonio. 
But,  O,  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god  !  — 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  good  feature  shame. 
In  nature  there's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind; 
None  can  be  call'd  deform'd,  but  the  unkind: 
Virtue  is  beauty;  but  the  beauteous  evil 
Are  empty  trunks,  o'erflourish'd  by  the  devil. 
First  Officer. 
The  man  grows  mad:  away  with  him  ! 
Come,  come,  sir. 

Antonio. 
Lead  me  on.    I  Exeunt  Officers,  with  Antonio. 

Viola. 
Methinks,  his  words  do  from  such  passion  fly, 
That  he  believes  himself;  so  do  not  1. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O  !  prove  true, 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you  I 
Sir  Toby. 
Come  hither,  knight ;  come  hither,  Fabian  : 
we'll  whisper  o'er  a  couplet  or  two  of  most  sage 
saws. 

Viola. 
He  nam'd  Sebastian ;  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass ;  even  such,  and  so, 
In  favour  was  my  brother ;  and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  colour,  ornament, 
For  him  I  imitate.     O  !  it  it  prove, 
Tempests  are  kind,  and  salt  waves  fresh  in 
love  I  [Exit. 

Sir  Toby. 
A   very  dishonest   paltry  boy,    and  more  a 
coward  than  a  hare.    His  dishonesty  appears,  in 
leaving  his  friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying 
him  ;  and  for  his  cowardship,  ask  Fabian. 
Fabian. 
A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  religious 
in  it. 

Sir  Andrew. 
'     'Slid,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him. 
j  Sir  Toby. 

Do ;  cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw  thy 
;  sword. 

Sir  Andrew. 

.      An  I  do  not,—  [Exit 

Fabian. 

Come,  let's  see  the  event. 

Sir  Toby. 

!      I  dare  lay  any  money  'twill  be  nothing  yet. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Street  before  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Sebastian  aud  Clown. 

Clown. 

Vy'ILL  y°u  make  me  believe  that  1  am  not 

*"    sent  for  you? 

Sebastian. 
Go  to,  go  to ;  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow : 
Let  me  be  clear  of  thee. 

Clown 
Well  held  out,  i'  faith  1  No,  I  do  not  know 
you ;  nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady  to  bid 
you  come  speak  with  her  ;  nor  your  name  is  not 
master  Cesario;  nor  this  is  not  my  nose  neither. 
—  Nothing  that  is  so,  is  so. 

Sebastian. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  11. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


3+3 


Sebastian. 
I  pry'thee.  vent  thy  folly  somewhere  else: 
Thou  know'st  not  roe. 
< 
Vent  my  folly !   He  has  heard  that  word  of 
some  great  man,  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool. 
Vent  my  folly !     I  am  afraid  this  great  lubber, 
the  world,  will  prove  a  cockney.    I  pr'ythee 
now,  ungird  thy  strangeness,  and  tell  me  what 
I  shall  vent  to  mv  lady.   Shall  I  vent  to  her  that 
thou  art  coming? 

Sebastian. 
1  pr'ythee,  foolish  Greek,  depart  from  me. 
There's  money  for  thee:  if  you  tarry  longer, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 
Clown. 
By  my  troth,  thou  hast  an  open  hand.  —  These 
wise  men,  that  give  fools  money,  get  themselves 
a  good  report  after  fourteen  years'  purchase. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby,  and  Fabian. 
Sir  Andrew. 
Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again?  there's  for 
you.  [Striking  Sebastian. 

Sebastian. 
Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there. 
Are  all  the  people  mad?    [Beating  Sir  Andrew. 
Sir  Toby. 
Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er  the 
house. 

Clown. 
This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight.     I  would 
not  be  in  some  of  your  coats  for  two-pence. 

[Exit  Clown. 
Sir  Toby. 
Come  on,  sir:  holdl  [Holding  Sebastian. 

Sir  Andrew. 
Nay,  let  him  alone;  I'll  go  another  way  to 
work  with  him:  I'll  have  an  action  of  battery 
against  him,  if  there  be  any  law  in  IUyria. 
Though  I  struck  him  first,  yet  it's  no  matter  for 
that. 

itian. 
Let  go  thy  hand. 

Sir  Toby. 
Come,  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.     Come,  mv 
young  soldier,  put  up  your  iron :  you  are  well 
fleshed.    Come  on. 

Sebastian. 
I  will  be  free  from  thee.    What  would'st  thou 
now? 
If  thou  dar'st  tempt  me  farther,  draw  thy  sword. 
Sir    ! 
What,  what!     Nay  then,    I    must  have  an 
ounce  or  two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you. 

Drjws. 
Filter  Olivia. 
Olivia. 
Hold,  Toby!  on  thy  life,  I  charge  thee,  hold! 

Sir  Toby. 
Madam  — 

Olivia. 

Will  it  be  ever  thus?    Ungracious  wretch  ! 

Fit  for  the  mountains,  and  the  barbarous  caves, 

Where  manners  ne'er  were  preach 'd.     Out  of 

my  sight! — 
Be  not  offended,  dear  Cesario. — 
Rudesby,  be  gone !  —  I  pry'thee,  gentle  friend, 

[Exeunt  Sir  7*u&y,Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian. 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  thy  passion,  sway 
In  this  uncivil,  and  unjust  extent 
Against  thy  peace.    Go  with  me  to  my  house ; 
And  hear  thou  there  how  many  fruitless  pranks 
This  ruflB.m  hath  botch 'd  up.  that  thou  thereby 


May'st  smile  at  this.     Thou  shalt  not  choose 

but  go : 
Do  not  deny.    Beshrew  his  soul  for  me, 
He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  thee. 
Sebastian. 
What  relish  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream  ? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream. 
Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep ; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  sleep. 
Olivia. 
Nay,  come,  I  pr'ythee.    Would  thou'dst  be 
rul'd  by  me ! 

Sebastian. 
Madam,  I  will. 

Olivia. 
O !  say  so,  and  so  be.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Olivia'*  House. 
Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 
Maria. 
Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  put  on  this  gown,  and  this 
beard:   make  him  believe  thou  art  Sir  Topas, 
the  curate:  do  it  quickly,  I'll  call  Sir  Toby  the 
whilst.  [Exit  Maria. 

Clown. 
Well,  Til  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble  my-  ! 
self  in't;  and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever  j 
dissembled  in  such  a   gown.     I    am  not  tall 
I  enough  to  become  the  function  well,  nor  lean 
enough  to  be  thought  a  good  student ;  but  to  be 
said  an  honest  man,  and  a  good  housekeeper, 
goes  as  fairly  as  to  say  a  careful  man,  and  a 
great  scholar.    The  competitors  enter. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 
Sir  Toby. 
Jove  bless  thee,  master  parson. 

Clown- 

Bonos  dies,  sir  Toby :  for  as  the  old  hermit  of 

Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink,  very  wittily 

said  to  a  niece  of  King  Gorboduc,  "  That,  that 

is,  is;"  so  I,  being  master  parson,  am  master 

parson,  for  what  is  that,  but  that  ?  and  is,  but  is  ? 

Sir  Toby. 

To  him,  sir  Topas. 

Clown. 
What,  ho!  I  say — Peace  in  this  prison 

Sir  Toby. 
The  knave  counterfeits  well ;  a  good  knave. 

Malvolio.  [Within. 

Who  calls  there? 

<  Iowu. 
Sir  Topas,  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit  Mal- 
volio  the  lunatic. 

Malvolio. 


Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas,  good  sir  Topas,  go  to  my 


lady. 


Out,  hyperbolical  fiend  !  how  vexest  thou  i 
lan.    Talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies  ? 


Nir  T.ib 


Well  said,  master  parson. 
Malvolio, 

Sir  Topas,  never  was  man  thus  wronged. 
Good  sir  Topas,  do  not  think  I  am  mad :  they 
have  laid  me  here  in  hideous  darkness. 

Fie,  thou  dishonest  Sat  ft  an  !     I  call  thee  by    , 
the  most  modest  terms ;  for  I  am  one  of  those 
gentle  ones,  that  will  use  the  devil  himself  with 
courtesy.     Say'st  thou  that  house  is  dark  ? 

Malvolio.  . 


344 


TWELFTH-NIGHT 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Malvolio. 
As  hell,  sir  Topas. 

Clown. 
Why,  it  hath  bay-windows  transparent  as  bar- 
ricadoes,  and  the  clear  stories  towards  the  south- 
north  are  as  lustrous  as  ebony ;  and  yet  corn- 
plainest  thou  of  obstruction  ? 
Malvolio. 
I  am  not  mad,  sir  Topas.    I  say  to  you,  this 
house  is  dark. 

Clown. 
Madman,  thou  errest :  I  say,  there  is  no  dark- 
ness but  ignorance,  in  which  thou  art  more 
puzzled  than  the  Egyptians  in  their  fog. 
Malvolio. 
I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  ignorance, 
though  ignorance  were  as  dark  as  hell ;  and  I 
say.  there  was  never  man  thus  abused.     I  am  no 
more  mad  than  you  are :  make  the  trial  of  it  in 
any  constant  question. 

Clown. 
What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  concerning 
wild-fowl  ? 

Malvolio. 
That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply 
inhabit  a  bird. 

Clown. 
What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

Malvolio. 
I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  approve 
his  opinion. 

Clown. 
Fare  thee  well :  remain  thou  still  in  darkness. 
Thou  shalt  hold  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  ere 
I   will  allow  of  thy  wits,  and  fear  to  kill  a 
woodcock,  lest  thou  dispossess  the  soul  of  thy 
grandam.    Fare  thee  well. 
Malvolio- 
Sir  Topas!  sir  Topas!— 

Sir  Toby. 
My  most  exquisite  sir  Topas. 

Clown. 
Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters. 
Maria. 
Thou  might'st  have  done  this  without  thy 
beard,  and  gown  :  he  sees  thee  not. 
Sir  Toby. 
To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring  me 
word  how  thou  findest  him  :  I  would,  we  were 
well  rid  of  this  knavery.    If  he  may  be  con- 
veniently delivered,  I  would  he  were  ;  for  I  am 
now  so  far  in  offence  with  my  niece,  that  I  can- 
not pursue  with  any  safety  this  sport  to  the  up- 
shot.   Come  by  ana  by  to  my  chamber. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby  and  Maria. 

Clown. 
•'  Hey  Robin,  jolly  Robin, 

Tell  me  how  thy  lady  does."    [Singing. 
Malvolio. 
Foul,- 

Clown. 
*•  My  lady  is  unkind,  perdy." 

Malvolio. 
Fool,— 

Clown. 
*'  Alas,  why  is  she  so  ?" 

Malvolio. 
Fool,  I  say  ;  — 

Clown. 
'*  She  loves  another" — Who  calls,  ha? 


Malvolio. 

Good  fool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well  at 

my  hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink,  and 

paper.    As  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will  live  to  be 

thankful  to  thee  for't. 

Clown. 
Master  Malvolio  ! 

Malvolio. 
Ay,  good  fool . 

Clown. 
Alas,  sir,  how  fell  you  besides  your  five  wits  ? 

Malvolio. 
Fool,   there  was  never  man  so  notoriously 
abused :  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou 
art. 

Clown. 
j     But  as  well?  then  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if 
|  you  be  no  better  in  your  wits  than  a  fool. 
Malvolio. 
They  have  here  propertied  me ;  keep  me  in 
darkness,  send  ministers  to  me,  asses  !  and  do 
all  they  can  to  face  me  out  of  my  wits. 
Clown. 
Advise  you  what  you  say:  the  minister  is 
here. — Malvolio,  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens 
restore  !  endeavour  thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave 
thy  vain  bibble  babble. 

Malvolio. 
Sir  Topas,— 

Clown. 

Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow 

Who,  I,  sir  ?  not  I,  sir.    God  b   wi'  you,  good 

sir  Topas.  —  Marry,  amen I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

Malvolio. 
Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say. 

Clown. 
Alas,  sir,  be  patient.    What  say  you,  sir  ?    I 
am  shent  for  speaking  to  you. 
Malvolio. 
Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light,  and  some 
paper :  I  tell  thee,  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  as 
any  man  in  Illyria. 

Clown. 
Well-a-day,  that  you  were,  sir  1 

Malvolio. 
By  this  hand,  I  am.    Good  fool,  some  ink. 
paper,  and  light,  and  convey  what  I  will  set 
down  to  my  lady :  it  shall  advantage  thee  .more 
than  ever  the  bearing  of  letter  did. 
Clown. 
I  will  help  you  to't.    But  tell  me  true,  are 
you  not  mad  indeed  ?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit. 
Malvolio. 
Believe  me,  I  am  not :  I  tell  thee  true. 

Clown. 
Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  a  madman,  till  I  see 
his  brains.     I  will  fetch  you  light,  and  paper, 
and  ink. 

Malvolio. 
Fool,  I'll  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree :  I 
pr'ythee,  be  gone. 

Clown . 
J  am  gone,  si', 
And  anon,  sir, 
Fit  be  with  you  again. 
In  a  trice, 
Like  to  the  old  vice, 
Your  need  to  sustain; 

Who  with  dagger  of  lath, 
In  his  rage  and  his  wrath, 
Cries,  Ah,  ha !  to  the  devil : 

Like 


Act  v.  5c.  i. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


34-5 


Like  a  tnad  lad, 
Pare  thy  nails,  dad, 
Adieu,  goodman  devil.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.    Olivta*%  Garden. 
Enter  Sebastian. 
Sebastian. 
This  is  the  air  ;  that  is  the  glorious  sun  ; 

This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel't,  and  see't ; 
,  And  though  'tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus, 
i  Yet 'tis  not  madness.     Where's  Antonio  then? 
I  I  could  not  And  him  at  the  Elephant; 
<  Yet  there  he  was,  and  there  1  found  this  credit, 

That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
I  His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service : 

For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 
;  That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness, 

Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune 
I  So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse, 
.  That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes, 
|  And  wrangle  with  my  reason,  that  persuades  me 
i  To  any  other  trust  but  that  I  am  mad, 
:  Or  else  the  lady's  mad :  yet,  if  'twere  so, 
.  She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her 
followers, 

Take,  and  give  back  affairs,  and  their  despatch, 
;  With  such  a  smooth,  discreet,  and  stable  bearing, 

As,  I  perceive,  she  does.  There's  something  in't, 

That  is  deceivable.    But  here  the  lady  comes. 

Enter  Olivia  and  a  Priest. 
Olivia. 
Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine.    If  you  mean 
,  Now  go  with  me,  and  with  this  holy  man,  [well, 
Into  the  chantry  by  ;  there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 
Plight  me  the  lull  assurance  of  your  faith ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace:  he  shall  conceal  it, 
Whiles  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note, 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
,  According  to  my  birth.— What  do  you  say  ? 
Sebastian. 
I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you, 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 
Olivia. 
Then  lead  the  way,  good  father  ;  and  heavens 
so  shine, 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine  ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  Street  before  Olivia?*  House. 
Enter  Cloun  and  Fabian. 
Fabian. 
TV"  OW,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  see  his  letter. 
Clown* 
Good  master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  re- 
quest. 

Fabian. 
Any  thing. 

Clown. 
Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 

Fabian. 
This  is,  to  give  a  dog,  and  in  recompense 
de»ire  my  dog  again. 


Enter  Duke,  Viola,  and  Attendants. 

Duke. 
Belong  you  to  the  lady  Olivia,  friends  ? 

Clown. 
Ay,  sir  ;  we  are  some  of  her  trappings. 

Duke. 
I  know  thee  well :  how  dost  thou,  my  good 
fellow  ? 

Clown. 
Truly,  sir,  the  better  for  my  foes,  and  the 
worse  tor  my  friends. 

Duke. 
Just  the  contrary  ;  the  better  for  thy  friends. 

Clown. 
No,  sir,  the  worse. 

Duke. 
How  can  that  be  ? 

Clown. 
Marry,  sir,  they  praise  me,  and  make  an  ass 
of  me:  now,  my  foes  tell  me  plainly  I  am  an 
ass  ;  so  that  by  my  foes,  sir,  I  profit  in  the 
knowledge  of  myself,  and  by  my  friends  I  am 
abused ;  so  that,  conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,  if 
your  four  negatives  make  your  two  affirmatives, 
why  then,  the  worse  for  my  friends,  and  the 
better  for  my  foes. 

Duke. 
Why,  this  is  excellent. 

Clown. 
By  my  troth,  sir,  no  ;  though  it  please  you  to 
be  one  of  my  friends. 

Duke. 
Thou  shalt  not  be  the  worse  for  me :  there's 
gold. 

C  lown. 
But  that  it  would  be  double-dealing,  sir,  I 
would  you  could  make  it  another. 
Duke. 
O  I  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clown. 
Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket,  sir,  for  this 
once,  and  let  your  flesh  and  blood  obey  it. 
Duke. 
Well,  I  will  be  so  much  a  sinner  to  be  a 
double  dealer :  there's  another. 
Clown. 
Primo,  secundo,  tertio,  is  a  good  play;  and 
the  old  saying  is,  the  third  pays  for  all:  the 
triplex,  sir.  is  a  good  tripping  measure  ;  or  the 
bells  of  S,  Bennet,  sir,  may  put  you  in  mind  — 
One,  two,  three. 

Duke. 
You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me  at 
this  throw  :  if  you  will  let  your  lady  know,  I  am 
here  to  speak  with  her,  and  bring  her  along 
with  you,  it  may  awake  my  bounty  further. 
Clown. 
Marry,  sir,  lullaby  to  your  bounty,  till  I  come 
again.     I  go,  sir ;  but  I  would  not  have  you  to 
think,  that  my  desire  of  having  is  the  sin  of 
covetousness  ;   but,  as  you   say,  sir,  let  your 
bounty  take  a  nap,  I  will  awake  it  anon. 

[Exit  Clown. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Officers. 

Viola. 

Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

Duke. 
That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well ; 
;  Yet,  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear'd, 
1  As  black  as  Vulcan,  in  the  smoke  of  war, 


A  baw- 


346 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  v.  Se.  h 


A  bawbling  vessel  was  he  captain  of, 
For  shallow  draught  and  bulk  unprizable, 
With  which  such  scathful  grapple  did  he  make 
With  the  most  noble  bottom  of  our  fleet, 
That  very  envy,  and  the  tongue  of  loss, 
Cried  fame  and  honour  on  him.— What's  the 
matter  ? 

First  Officer. 
Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio,  [Candy  ; 

That  took  the  Phoenix,  and  her  fraught,  from 
And  this  is  he,  that  did  the  Tiger  board, 
When  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg. 
Here  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame  and 

state, 
In  private  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him. 
Viola. 
He  did  me  kindness,  sir,  drew  on  my  side, 
But,  in  conclusion,  put  strange  speech  upon 
I  know  not  what  'twas,  but  distraction.       [me  ; 
Duke. 
Notable  pirate,  thou  salt-water  thief, 
What  foolish  boldness  brought  thee  to  their 

mercies, 
Whom  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody,  and  so  dear, 
Hast  made  thine  enemies  ? 


Antonio. 

Orsino,  noble  sir, 
Be  pleas'd  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you 

give  me: 
Antonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate, 
Though,  1  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.    A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither  : 
That  most  ingrateful  boy  there,  by  your  side, 
From  the  rude  sea's  enrag'd  ami  foamy  mouth 
Did  I  redeem :  a  wreck  past  hope  he  was. 
His  life  I  gave  him,  and  did  thereto  add 
My  love,  without  retention,  or  restraint, 
All  his  in  dedication  :  for  his  sake, 
Did  I  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love, 
Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town  ; 
Drew  to  defend  him,  when  he  was  beset : 
Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning 
(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger) 
Taught  him  tq  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twenty-years-removed  thing, 
While  one  would  wink ;  denied  me  mine  own  '■ 
Which  1  had  recommended  to  his  use      [purse, 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Viola. 

How  can  this  be  ? 
Duke. 
When  came  he  to  this  town  ? 

Antonio. 
To-day,  my  lord ;  and  for  three  months  be- 
No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy,  [fore, 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Attendants. 
Duke. 
Here  comes  the  countess :  now  heaven  walks 
on  earth  !  —  [ness : 

But  for  thee,  fellow ;  fellow,  thy  words  are  mad- 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  upon  me; 
But  more  of  that  anon — Take  him  aside. 
Olmn. 
What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not  > 
have, 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable  ? — 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 


Olivia. 
What  do  you  say,  Cesario  f—  Good  my  lord,— 

Viola. 
My  lord  would  speak,  my  duty  hushes  me. 

Olivia. 
If  it  be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord, 
It  is  as  fat  and  fulsome  to  mine  ear, 
As  howling  after  music. 

Duke. 

Still  so  cruel? 
Olivia. 
Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Duke. 
What,  to  perverseness  ?  you  uncivil  lady, 
To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars  [out, 
My  soul  the  faithfull'st  offerings  hath  breath'd 
That  e'er  devotion  tender'd.    What  shall  I  do  ? 
Olivia. 
Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  that  shall  be- 
come him. 

Duke. 
Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it, 
|  Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  of  death, 
j  Kill  what  I  love  ?  a  savage  jealousy, 

That  sometime  savours  nobly But  hear  me 

this: 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith, 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument  [favour, 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your 
Live  you  the  marble-breasted  tyrant  still ; 
But  this  your  minion,  whom,  I  know,  you  love, 
!  And  whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly, 
I  Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye, 
'  Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite — 
!  Come  boy,  with  me:  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in 
!  I'll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love,  [mischief; 
j  To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove.   [Going. 


Madam  ? 


Viola. 
Duke. 


Gracious  Oliviay— 


And  I,  most  jocund,  apt,  and  willingly, 
To  do  you  rest  a  thousand  deaths  would  die. 

[Following. 
Olivia. 
Where  goes  Cesario  t 

Viola- 

After  him  I  love, 
More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life, 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife. 
If  I  do  feign,  you  witnesses  above 
Punish  my  life  for  tainting  of  my  love  I 
Olivia. 
Ah  me  !  detested  ?  how  am  I  beguiPd  ! 

Viola. 
Who  does  beguile  you?  who  does  do  you 
wrong  ? 

Olivia. 

Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?    Is  it  so  long  ?— 

Call  forth  the  holy  father.    [Kxit  an  Attendant. 

Duke. 

Come  away.    [To  Viola. 
Olivia. 
Whither,  my  lord?—  Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

Duke. 
Husband  ? 

Olivia 
Ay,  husband :  can  he  that  deny  ? 
Duke. 
Her  husband,  sirrah  ? 

Viola. 

No,  my  lord,  not  I. 
Olivia. 
Alas  !  it  is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear, 

That 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


347 


That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety. 
Fear  not,  Cesario :  take  thy  fortunes  up ;      [art 
lit-  tli.it  thou  know'st  thou  art,  and  then  thou 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st.  — O,  welcome, 


! 
Re-enter  Attendant  with  the  Priest. 

Father,  I  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence. 
Here  to  unfold  (though  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness,  what  occasion  now 
Keveals  before  'tis  ripe)  what  thou  dost  know, 
Hath  newly  past  between  this  youth  and  me. 
Friest. 

A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirm'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands, 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthen 'd  by  interchangement  of  your  rings; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony: 
Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,  toward  my 
I  have  travelled  but  two  hours.  [grave 

Duke. 

O,  thou  dissembling  cub  1  what  wilt  thou  be, 
When  time  hath  sow'd  a  grizzle  on  thy  case  ? 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow, 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  be  thine  overthrow  ? 
Farewell,  and  take  her  ;  but  direct  thy  feet, 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  meet. 
Viola. 

My  lord,  I  do  protest,— 
Olivia. 

O!  do  not  swear:  [fear 
Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek,  with  his  liejd 
broken. 
Sir  Andrew. 
For  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon  1  send  one 
presently  to  sir  Toby. 

Olivia. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

sir  Andrew. 

He  has  broke  my  head  across,  and  has  given 

•ir  Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too.     For  the  love  of 

God,  your  help  1    1  had  rather  than  forty  pound 

I  were  at  home.        ■■■  . 

Olivia. 

Who  has  done  this,  sir  Andrew  t 

Sir  Andrew. 
The  count's  gentleman,  one   Cesario.     We! 
took  him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil 
incardinate.  _   . 

Data 

My  gentleman,  Cesario  f 

Sir  Andre« 
Od's  lifelings!  here  he  is  —You  broke  my 
head  for  nothing ;  and  that  that  1  did,  I  was  set 
on  to  do't  by  sir  Toby. 

Vmh 
Why  do  you  speak  to  me  ?    I  never  hurt  you : 
You  drew  your  sword  upon  me  without  cause ; 
But  I  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 
Sir  Andiew 
If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you  have  hurt 
me :  I  think  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody  cox- 


Knir-r  Sir  Toby  BcUh,  drunk,  led  by  the  Clown.  , 

Here  comes  sir  Toby  halting,  you  shall  hear 

more :  but  if  he  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would 

have  tickled  you  othergates  than  he  did. 

Duke. 

How  now,  gentleman  !  how  is't  with  you  ? 


8ir  Toby. 

That's  all  one :  he  has  hurt  me,  and  there's 

the  end  on't— Sot,  didst  see  Dick  surgeon,  sot  ? 

Clown. 

0  I  he's  drunk,  sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone :  his 
eyes  were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  Toby. 
Then   he's   a  rogue,  and  a  passy-measures 
pavin.    I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 
Olivia. 
Away  with  him  1    Who  hath  made  this  havoc 
with  them  ? 

Sir  Andrew- 
I'll  help  you,  sir  Toby,  because  we'll  be  dressed 
together. 

Sir  Toby. 

Will  you  help  ?    An  ass-head,  and  a  coxcomb, 

and  a  knave  1  a  thin-faced  knave,  a  gull ! 

Olivia. 

Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  he  look'd  to. 

[Exeunt  Clown,  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Enter  Sebastian. 
Sebastian. 

1  am  sorry, madam,  I  have  hurt  your  kinsman ; 
But  had  it  been  the  brother  of  my  blood, 

I  must  have  done  no  less  with  wit  and  safety. 
You  throw  a  strange  regard  upon  me,  ana  by 
I  do  perceive  it  hath  offended  you  :  [that 

Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  ago. 
Duke. 
One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two  per- 
A. natural  perspective,  that  is,  and  is  not  1  [sons ; 
Sebastian. 
Antonio!  O,  my  dear  Antonio! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortur'd  me, 
Since  I  have  lost  thee  1 

Antonio. 
Sebastian  are  you  ? 

Sebastian. 
Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio  t 
Antonio. 
How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself  ?— 
An  apple  clett  in  two  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  creatures.   Which  is  Sebastian  T 
Olivia. 
Most  wonderful ! 

Sebastian 
Do  I  stand  there  ?    I  never  had  a  brother ; 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature, 
Of  here  and  every  where.     I  had  a  sister, 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  de- 1 
vour'd. —  [me  ? 

[To    '  tula.)    Of  charity,  what  kin  are  you  to 
What  countryman  ?  what  name  ?  what  parent- 
age ? 

Viola 
Of  Messalhie  :  Sebastian  was  my  father ; 
Such  a  Sebasti.m  was  my  brother  too, 
So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb. 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit, 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

-nan. 
A  spirit  I  am  indeed ; 
But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad. 
Which  from  the  womb  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  should  my  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek, 
And  say — thrice  welcome,  drowned  Viola  ! 
Viola. 
My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

Sebastian. 


348 


TWELFTH-NIGHT : 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Sebastian. 
And  so  had  mine. 

Viola. 
And  died  that  day,  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  number'd  thirteen  years. 
Sebastiiin. 
O  !  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul. 
He  finished,  indeed,  his  mortal  act 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Viola. 
If  nothing  lets  to  make  us  happy  both, 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire, 
Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere,  and  jump, 
That  I  am  Viola  :  which  to  confirm, 
Til  bring  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town,       [help 
Where  lie  my  maiden  weeds  ;  by  whose  gentle 
I  was  preserved  to  serve  this  noble  count. 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady,  and  this  lord. 

Sebastian 
So  comes  it,  lady,  [To  Olivia,]  you  have  been 
mistook  ; 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
You  would  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid, 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceiv'd  : 
You  are  betroth 'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 
Puke. 
Be  not  amaz'd  ;  right  noble  is  his  blood.— 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck. 
Boy,  [To  Viola,]  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand 

times, 
Thou  never  should'st  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Viola; 

And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear, 
And  all  those  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul, 
As  doth  that  orbed  continent,  the  fire 
That  severs  day  from  night 
o.ike. 

Give  me  thy  hand  ; 
And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds. 
Viola. 
The  captain,  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore, 
Hath  my  maid's  garments:  he,  upon  some  ac- 
Is  now  in  durance  at  Malvolio's  suit,  [tion, 

A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 
Olivia. 
He    shall    enlarge    him.  —  Fetch     Malvolio 
hither  :— 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me, 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract. 
A  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 
From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his.— 

He-enter  Clown,  with  a  letter. 
How  does  he,  sirrah  ? 

Clown 
Truly,  madam,  he  holds  Belzebub  at  the  stave's  ' 
end,  as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do.     He  ' 
has  here  writ  a  letter  to  you:  I  should  have 
given  it  you  to-day  morning ;  but  as  a  madman's 
epistles  are  no  gospels,  so  it  skills  not  much  I 
when  they  are  delivered. 

Olivia. 
Open  it,  and  read  it. 

Clown. 
Look  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  fool  ! 
delivers  the  madman  :— .[.Reads.]  "  By  the  Lord 
madam,"— 

Olivia. 
How  now  !  art  thou  mad  ? 


Clown. 
No,  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness  :  an  your 
ladyship  will  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you  must 
allow  vox. 

Olivia. 


Pr'ythee,  read  i'  thy  right  wits. 

So  I  do,  madonna ;  but  to  read  his  right  wits, 
is  to  read  thus  :  therefore  perpend,  my  princess, 
and  give  ear. 

Olivia. 

Read  it  you,  sirrah.  [  P*  Fabian. 

Fabian.  [Reads. 

"  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  wrong  me,  and 

the  world  shall  know  it :  though  you  have  put 

me  into  darkness,  and  given  your  drunken  cousin 

rule  over  me,  yet  have  I  the  benefit  of  my  senses 

as  well  as  your  ladyship.   I  have  your  own  letter 

that  induced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on  ; 

with  the  which  I  doubt  not  but  to  do  myself 

much  right,  or  you  much  shame.     Think  of  me 

as  you  please.   I  leave  my  duty  a  little  unthought 

of,  and  speak  out  of  my  injury. 

"  The  madly-used  Malvolio." 
Olivia. 
Did  he  write  this  ? 

Clown. 
Ay,  madam. 

Duke. 
This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 

Olivia. 
See  him  deliver'd,  Fabian  :  bring  him  hither. 
[Exit  Fabian. 
My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further 

thought  on, 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife,         [you, 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please 
Here  at  my  house,  and  at  my  proper  cost. 
Duke. 

Madam,  I  am  most  apt  t'  embrace  your  offer 

[To  Viola]   Your  master  quits  you ;  and,  for 

your  service  done  him, 
So  much  against  the  mettle  of  your  sex, 
So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long, 
Here  is  my  hand  :  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

Olivia. 

A  sister : — you  are  she. 

He-enter  Fabian,  with  Malvolio. 
Duke. 
Is  this  the  madman  ? 

Olivia. 
Ay,  my  lord,  this  same. 
How  now,  Malvolio  f 

♦  Malvolio. 

Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong, 
Notorious  wrong. 

Olivia. 
Have  I,  Malvolio  ?  no. 
Malvolio. 
Lady,  you  have.  Pray  you,  peruse  that  letter: 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  your  hand, 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrase ; 
Or  say,  'tis  not  your  seal,  nor  your  invention: 
You  can  say  none  of  this.    Well,  grant  it  then, 
And  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honour, 
Why  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of 

favour, 
Bade  me  come  smiling  and  cross-garter'd  to  you, 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings,  and  to  frown 
Upon  sir  Toby,  and  the  lighter  people  ? 

And, 


Ao  v.  Sc.  i. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


349 


'  Aud,  acting  thli  in  an  obedient  hope, 
Whv  have  you  suffer'd  me  to  be  imprison'd, 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest, 
And  made  the  most  notorious  geek,  and  gull, 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on  ?  tell  me  why. 
Olivia. 
Alas  I  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  writing, 
Though,  1  confess,  much  like  the  character  ; 
But,  out  of  question,  'tis  Maria's  hand  : 
And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  it  was  she 
First  told  me  thou  wast  mad ;  then  cam'st  in 

smiling. 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presuppos'd 
Upon  thee  in  the  letter.    Pr'ythee,  be  content : 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon 

thee ;  [it, 

But  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of 
Thou  shalt  be  both  the  plain  till'  and  the  judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

Good  madam,  hear  me  speak  ; 
And  let  no  quarrel,  nor  no  brawl  to  come, 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour, 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.     In  hope  it  shall 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself,  and  Toby,      [not. 
Set  this  device  against  Mai  folio  here, 
,  Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  part* 
We  had  conceiv'd  against  him.     Maria  'vrit 
The  letter  at  sir  Toby's  great  importance ; 
In  recompense  whereof,  he  hath  married  her. 
How  with  a  sportful  malice  it  was  follow'd, 
May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge, 
If  that  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh 'd, 
That  have  on  both  sides  past. 

Alas,  poor  fool,  how  have  they  baffled  thee  1 

Why,  ■  some  are  Lorn  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrown  upon 
them."    1  was  one,  sir,  in  this  interlude  ;  one 

sir  Topas,  sir ;  but  that's  all  one "  By  the 

Lord,  fool,  I  am  not  mad ;  "  —  But  do  you  re- 
member ?    "  Madam,  why  laugh  you  at  such  a 


barren  rascal  ?  an  you  smile  not,  he's  gagg'd :" 
And  thus  the  whirligig  of  time  brings  in  hit 
revenges. 

I'll  be  reveng'd  on  the  whole  pack  of  you. 
Olivia. 

He  hath  been  most  notoriously  abus'd. 
Duke. 

Pursue  him,  and  entreat  him  to  a  peace. 
He  hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet ; 
When  that  is  known  and  golden  time  convents, 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls :  —mean  time,  sweet  sister. 
We  will  not  part  from  hence.  —  Ccsario,  come  ; 
For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man, 
But  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsino's  mistress,  and  his  fancy's  queen. 


'Exeunt. 


,'LOW.X    S1N09. 


When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  boy. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  triad  and  the  rain, 

A  foolish  thing  was  but  a  toy, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  to  man's  estate, 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

'Gainst  knaves  and  thieves  men  shut  their 
gate, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came,  alas!  to  wive, 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

By  swaggering  could  I  net>er  thrive, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  unto  my  bed, 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

With  toss-pots  still  had  drunken  head, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

A  great  while  ago  the  world  begun. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done, 
And  we'll  strive  to  please  you  every  day. 


350 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


LEONTES,  King  o/ Sicilia. 
Mamillius,  young  Prince  of  Sicilia. 
Camilro,      } 

c£S'f^*  Sicilia. 

Dion,  } 

Rogero,  a  Gentleman  of  Sicilia. 

Officers  of  a  Court  of  Judicature. 

Polixenes,  King  of  Bohemia. 

Florizel,  Prince  of  Bohemia. 

Archidamus,  a  Lord  of  Bohemia. 

A  Mariner. 

Gaoler. 

An  old  Shepherd,  reputed  Father  of  Perdita. 


Clown,  his  Son, 

Servant  to  the  old  Shepherd. 

Autolycus,  a  Rogue. 

Time,  the  Chorus. 

Hermione,  Queen  to  Leontes, 

Perdita,  Daughter  to  Leontes  and  Hermione. 

Paulina,  Wife  to  Antigonus. 

Emilia,  a  Lady  attending  the  Queen. 

DoTasJ  Shepherdesses. 

Lords,  Ladies,  and  Attendants  ;  Satyrs, 

Shepherds,  Shepherdesses,  Guards,  $c. 

SCENE,  sometimes  in  Sicilia,  sometimes  in 

Bohemia. 


0-0-##-#''0'€>" 


SCENE 


ACT  I. 

Sicilia.    An  Antechamber  in 
Leontes*  Palace. 


Enter  Camilla  and  Archidamus. 

Archidamus. 

1 F  you  shall  chance,  Camillo,  to  visit  Bohemia, 

■*on  the  like  occasion  whereon  my  services  are 

now  on  foot,  you  shall  see,  as  I  have  said,  great 

difference  betwixt  our  Bohemia  and  your  Sicilia. 

Camillo. 

I  think,  this  coming  summer,  the   king   of 

Sicilia  means  to  pay  Bohemia   the   visitation 

which  he  justly  owes  him. 

Archidamus. 
Wherein  our  entertainment  shall  shame  us, 
we  will  be  justified  in  our  loves :  for,  indeed, — 
Camillo. 
Beseech  you, — 

Archidamus. 
Verily,  I  speak  it  in  the  freedom  of  my  know- 
ledge: we  cannot  with  such  magnificence — in 
so  rare — 1  know  not  what  to  say — We  will 
give  you  sleepy  drinks,  that  your  senses,  unin- 
telligent of  our  insufficience,  may,  though  they 
cannot  praise  us,  as  little  accuse  us. 
Camillo. 
You  pay  a  great  deal  too  dear  for  what's  given 
freely. 

Archidamus. 
Believe  me,  I  speak   as   my  understanding 
instructs  me,  and  as  mine  honesty  puts  it  to 
utterance. 


Camillo 
;  Sicilia  cannot  show  himself  over-kind  to  Bo- 
;  hernia.  They  were  trained  together  in  their 
:  childhoods ;  and  there  rooted  betwixt  them 
then  such  an  affection,  which  cannot  choose  but 
|  branch  now.  Since  their  more  mature  digni- 
i  ties,  and  royal  necessities,  made  separation  of 
I  their  society,  their  encounters,  though  not  per- 
I  sonal,  have  been  royally  attorney'd,  with  inter- 
!  change  of  gilts,  letters,  loving  embassies,  that 
;  they  have  seemed  to  be  together,  though  ab- 
I  sent,  shook  hands,  as  over  a  vast,  and  embraced, 
i  as  it  were,  from  the  ends  of  opposed  winds. 
j  The  heavens  continue  their  loves  ! 

Archidamus. 
I     I  think,  there  is  not  in   the   world   either 
i  malice,  or  matter,  to  alter  it.    You  have  an 
i  unspeakable  comfort  of  your  young  prince  Ma- 
1  millius :    it  is  a   gentleman   of  the   greatest 
j  promise  that  ever  came  into  my  note. 
Camillo. 
I  very  well  agree  with  you  in  the  hopes  of 
jhim.     It  is  a  gallant  child;  one  that,  indeed, 
|  physics  the  subject,  makes  old  hearts  fresh : 
|  they,  that  went  on  crutches  ere  he  was  born, 
'  desire  yet  their  life  to  see  him  a  man. 
Ari-hidamus. 
Would  they  else  be  content  to  die  ? 

Camillo. 
Yes  ;  if  there  were  no  other  excuse  why  they 
should  desire  to  live. 

Archidamus. 
If  the  king  had  no  son  they  would  desire  to 
live  on  crutches  till  he  had  one.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


Act  i.  Sc.  iu 


THE  WINTER'S  TALK 


35' 


SCESE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State 
In  the  Palace. 

I     Enter  Leontes,  PoU'xents,  Jktiniont,  Ma/mllius, 
I  I  >,  and  Attendants. 
1'olixenee. 
Nine  changei  of  the  watery  star  have  been 
The  shepherd's  note,  since  we  have  left  our 

throne 
Without  a  burden  ;  time  as  long  again 
|    Would  be  fill'd  up,  my  brother,  with  our  thanks ; 
I    And  yet  we  should  for  perpetuity 

Go  hence  in  debt :  and  therefore,  like  a  cipher, 
,    Yet  standing  in  rich  place,  I  multiply 
With  one  we-thank-you  many  thousands  more 
That  go  before  it. 

ontM 
Stay  your  thanks  awhile, 
And  pay  them  when  you  part. 
Polixenes 

Sir,  that's  to-morrow. 
I  am  questlon'd  by  my  fears,    of  what    may 

chance, 
Or  breed  upon  our  absence  ;  that  may  blow 
No  sneaping  winds  at  home,  to  make  us  say, 
"  This  is  put  forth  too  truly."    Besides,  I  hare 
To  tire  your  royalty.  [stay'd 

Leontes. 

We  are  tougher,  brother, 
Than  you  can  put  us  to't. 

Polixenes. 

No  longer  stay. 
Leontes. 
One  seven -night  longer. 

Polixenes. 

Very  sooth,  to-morrow. 
Leontes. 
1     We  11  part  the  time  between's  then  ;  and  in 
•  I'll  no  gain-saying.  [that 

Polix. 
Press  me  not,  beseech  you,  so. 
There  is  no  tongue  that  moves,  none,  none  i* 
the  world,  [now, 

;  So  soon  as  yours,  could  win  me :  so  it  should 
:  Were  there  necessity  in  your  request,  although 
•Twere  needful  I  denied  it.     My  affairs 
:  Do  even  drag  me  homeward  ;  which  to  hinder, 
Were  in  your  love  a  whip  to  me,  my  stay 
To  you  a  charge,  and  trouble  :  to  save  both, 
Farewell,  our  brother. 

Leontes. 
Tongue-tied,  our  queen  ?  speak  you. 
ilermione. 
I  had  thought,  sir,  to  have  held  my  peace, 
until  [You,  sir, 

You  had  drawn  oaths  from  him,  not  to  stay. 
Charge  him  too  coldly  :  tell  him,  you  are  sure 
All  in  Bohemia's  well :  this  satisfaction 
The  by-gone  day  proclaim'd.    Say  this  to  him, 
He's  beat  from  his  best  ward. 
I    •  Leonte*. 

Well  said,  Hermione. 
Hi-nnione. 
To  tell  he  longs  to  see  his  son  were  strong : 
But  let  him  say  so  then,  and  let  him  go  ; 
But  let  him  swear  so,  and  he  shall  not  stay, 

We'll  thwack  him  hence  with  distaffs 

Yet  of  your  royal    presence      fTo   Folixmrs] 

I'll  adventure 
The  borrow  of  a  week.    When  at  Bohemia 
You  take  my  lord.  I'll  give  him  my  commission, 
To  let  him  there  a  month  behind  the  gest 


Preflx'd  for's  parting:  yet,  good  deed,  Leontes, 
1  love  thee  not  a  jar  o*  the  clock  behind 
What  lady  she  her  lord.    You'll  stay  ? 
Polixenev 

No,  madam. 
Hermione. 
Nay,  but  you  will  ? 

Polixenes. 

I  may  not,  verily. 
{(•Minion*. 
Verily  1 
You  put  me  ofiTwith  limber  vows  ;  but  I, 
Though  you  would  seek  t*  unsphere  the  stars 

with  oat  lis, 
Should  yet  say,  "  Sir,  no  going."    Verily, 
You  shall  not  go :  a  ladyrs  verily  is 
As  potent  as  a  lord's.    Will  you  go  yet  ? 
Force  me  to  keep  you  as  a  prisoner, 
Not  like  a  guest,  so  you  shall  pay  your  fees, 
When  you  depart,  and  save  your  thankj.     How 

say  you  ? 
My  prisoner,  or  my  guest  ?  by  your  dread  verily, 
One  of  them  you  shall  be. 

Polixenes 
Your  guest  then,  madam : 
To  be  your  prisoner  should  import  offending ; 
Which  is  for  me  less  easy  to  commit, 
Than  you  to  punish. 

Hermione. 

Not  your  jailor  then, 

But  your  kind  hostess.    Come,  I'll  question  you 

Of  my  lord's  tricks,  and  yours,  when  you  were 

You  were  pretty  lordings  then.  [boys  ; 

Polixenes. 

We  were,  fair  queen. 
1  wo  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  be- 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day,  [hind, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

Hermione. 
Was  not  my  lord  the  verier  wag  o'  the  two  ? 

Polixenes. 
We  were  as  twinn'd  lambs,  thnt  did  frisk  P 
the  sun, 
And  bleat  the  one  at  th*  other:  what  we  chang'd, 
Was  innocence  for  innocence  ;  we  knew  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  nor  dream 'd 
That  any  did.     Had  we  pursued  that  life, 
And  our  weak  spirits  ne  er  been  higher  rear'd 
With  stronger  blood,  we  should  have  answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly,  "  not  guilty  ;  "  the  imposition  clear'd, 
Hereditary  ours. 

Hermione. 
By  this  we  gather, 
You  have  tripp'd  since. 

Polixenes. 

O  !  my  most  sacred  lady, 
Temptations  have  since  then  been  born  to's;  for 
In  those  unfledg'd  days  was  my  wife  a  girl : 
Your  precious  self  had  then  not  cros6'd  the  eyes 
Of  my  young  play- fellow. 

Hermione. 

Grace  to  boot ! 
Of  this  make  no  conclusion,  lest  you  say, 
i  Your  queen  and  I  are  devils :  yet,  go  on  ; 
Th'  offences  we  h;»ve  made  you  do,  we'll  answer ; 
!  If  you  first  sinn'd  with  us,  and  that  with  us 
You  did  continue  fault,  and  that  you  slipp'd  not 
With  any,  but  with  us. 

Leontes. 

Is  he  won  yet  ? 
Hermione. 
He'll  stay,  my  lord. 


35* 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  ii. 


Leontes. 

At  ray  request  he  would  not. 
Hermione,  my  dearest,  thou  never  spok'st 
To  better  purpose. 

Hermione. 
Never  ? 
Leontes. 

Never,  but  once. 

Hermione. 

What  ?  have  I  twice  said  well  ?  when  was't 

before  ?  [make's 

I  pr'ythee,  tell  me.     Cram's  with  praise,  and 

As  fat  as  tame  things:  one  good  deed,  dying 

tongueless, 
Slaughters  a  thousand  waiting  upon  that. 
Our  praises  are  our  wages  :  you  may  ride  's 
With  one  soft  kiss  a  thousand  furlongs,  ere 
With  spur  we  heat  an  acre.    But  to  the  goal  :— 
My  last  good  deed  was  to  entreat  his  stay : 
What  was  my  first  ?  it  has  an  elder  sister, 
Or  I  mistake  you :  O,  would  her  name  were 

Grace  I 
But  once  before  I  spoke  to  the  purpose :  When  ? 
Nay,  let  me  have't ;  I  long. 

Leontes. 

Why,  that  was  when 
Three  crabbed  months  had  sour'd  themselves  to 

death, 
Ere  I  could  make  thee  open  thy  white  hand, 
And  clap  thyself  my  love :  then  didst  thou  utter, 
*'  1  am  yours  for  ever." 

Hermione. 

It  is  Grace,  indeed.— 
Why,  lo  you  now,  I  have  spoke  to  the  purpose 

twice : 
The  one  for  ever  earn'd  a  royal  husband, 
Th'  other  for  some  while  a  friend. 

I  Giving  her  hand  to  Polixenes. 

Leontes.  [Asid*- 

Too  hot,  too  hot ! 
To  mingle  friendship  far  is  mingling  bloods. 
I  have  tremor  cordis  on  me: — my  heart  dances. 
But  not  for  joy, — not  joy. — This  entertainment 
May  a  free  face  put  on  ;  derive  a  liberty 
From  heartiness,  from  bounty,  fertile  bosom, 
And  well  become  the  agent :  't  may,  1  grant ; 
But  to  be  paddling  palms,  and  pinching  fingers, 
As  now  they  are ;  and  making  practis'd  smiles, 
As  in  a  looking-glass  ; — and  then  to  sigh,  as 

'twere 
The  mort  o'  the  deer ;  O  !  that  is  entertainment 
My  bosom  likes  not,  nor  my  brows. — Mamillius, 
Art  thou  my  boy? 

Mamillius. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Leontes. 

T  fecks  ? 
Why,  that's  mybawcock.   What !  hastsmutch'd 

thy  nose  ? — 
They  say,  it  is  a  copy  out  of  mine. 
Come,  captain, 

We  must  be  neat ;  not  neat,  but  cleanly,  captain : 
And  yet  the  steer,  the  heifer,  and  the  calf, 
Are  all  calt'dneat — Still  virginaliing 

f  Observing  Polixenes  and  Hermione. 
Upon  his  palm  ?— How  now,  you  wanton  calf! 
Art  thou  my  calf  ? 

Mamillius. 

Yes,  if  you  will,  my  lord. 
Leontes. 
Thou  want'st  a  rough  pash,  and  the  shoots 
that  I  have, 
To  be  full  like  me : — yet,  they  say,  we  are 


Almost  as  like  as  eggs  :  women  say  so, 
That  will  say  any  thing:  but  were  they  false 
As  o'er-dyed  blacks,  as  wind,  as  waters ;  false 
As  dice  are  to  be  wish'd,  by  one  that  fixes 
No  bourn  'twixt  his  and  mine  ;  vet  were  it  true 
To  say  this  boy  were  like  me.— Come,  sir  page, 
Look  on  me  with  your  welkin  eye :  sweet  vil- 
lain !  [may't  be 

Most  dear'st!   my  collop  ! — Can  thy  dam? 

Affection  ?  thy  intention  stabs  the  centre : 
Thou  dost  make  possible  things  not  so  held, 
Communicat'st  with  dreams ;  — (how  can  this 
With  what's  unreal  thou  coactive  art,     [be  ?)— 
And  fellow'st  nothing.    Then,  'tis  very  credent, 
Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something ;  and  thou 

dost ; 
(And  that  beyond  commission  ;)  and  I  find  it, 
And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains, 
And  hardening  of  my  brows. 
Polixenes. 

What  means  Sicilia  t 
Hermione. 
He  something  seems  unsettled 
Polixenes. 

How,  my  lord  ! 
Leontes. 
What  cheer  ?  how  is't  with  you,  best  brother  ? 
Hermione. 

You  look, 
As  if  you  held  a  brow  of  much  distraction  : 
Are  you  mov'd,  my  lord  ? 

Leontes. 

No,  in  good  earnest.— 
How  sometimes  nature  will  betray  its  folly, 
Its  tenderness,  and  make  itself  a  pastime 
To  harder  bosoms  !    Looking  on  the  lines 
Of  my  boy's  face,  my  thoughts  I  did  recoil 
Twenty-three  years,  and  saw  myself  unbreech'd, 
In  my  green  velvet  coat ;  my  dagger  muzzled, 
Lest  it  should  bite  its  master,  and  so  prove, 
As  ornaments  oft  do,  too  dangerous. 
How  like,  methought,  I  then  was  to  this  kernel, 
This  squash,  this   gentleman.  —  Mine  honest 
Will  you  take  eggs  for  money  ?  [friend, 

MamllHut 
No,  my  lord,  I'll  fight. 

Leontes. 
You  will?  why,  happy  man  be  his  dole  I  — 
My  brother, 
Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince,  as  we 
Do  seem  to  be  of  ours  ? 

Polixene* . 

If  at  home,  sir, 
He's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter: 
Now  my  sworn  friend,  and  then  mine  enemy ; 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all. 
He  makes  a  July's  day  short  as  December  ; 
'  And  with  his  varying  childness  cures  in  me 
Thoughts  that  would  thick  my  blood. 
Leontes. 

So  stands  this  squire 
Offic'd  with  me.  We  two  will  walk,  my  lord, 
And  leave  you  to  your  graver  steps.  —Hermione, 
How  thou  lov'st  us,  show  in  our  brother's  wel- 
Let  what  is  dear  in  Sicily,  be  cheap.  [come : 
Next  to  thyself,  and  my  young  rover,  he's 
Apparent  to  my  heart. 

Hermio'ie. 

If  you  would  seek  us, 
We  are  yours  i'  the  garden :  shall's  attend  you 
there? 

Leontes. 
!     To  your  own  bents  dispose  you:   you'll  be 
found,  Be 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


353 


Be  you  beneath  the  sky.  — [Aside  )  I  am  angling 

now, 
Though  you  perceive  me  not  how  I  give  line. 
Go  to,  go  to  1 

How  she  holds  up  the  neb,  the  bill  to  him  ; 
And  arms  her  with  the  boldness  of  a  wife 
To  her  allowing  husband.    Gone  already  I 

rat  J'olixenes,  Hermione,  and   At- 
tendant*. 
Inch-thick,  knee- deep,   o'er  head  and  ears  a 

fork'd  one  1  — 
Go  play,  boy,  play  ;  — thy  mother  plays,  and  I 
Play  to'o,  but  so  disgrac'd  a  part,  whose  issue 
Will  hiss  me  to  my  grave :  contempt  and  clamour 
Will  be  my  knell. —  Go  play,  boy,  play There 

have  been, 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  cuckolds  ere  now  ; 
And  many  a  man  there  is,  (even  at  this  present, 
Now,  while  I  speak  this,)  holds  his  wife  by  th' 

arm  [sence, 

That  little  thinks  she  has  been  sluic'd  in's  ab- 
And  his  pond  fish'd  by  his  next  neighbour,  by 
Sir  Smile,  his  neighbour.     N  ay,  there's  comfort 

in't,  [open'd, 

Whiles  other  men  have  gates,  and  those  gates 
As  mine,  against  their  will.  Should  all  despair 
That  have  revolted  wives,  the  tenth  of  mankind 
Would  hang  themselves.  Physic  for't  there  is 
It  is  a  bawdy  planet,  that  will  strike  [none  : 
Where   'tis   predominant;   and  'tis  powerful, 

think  it, 
From  east,  west,  north,  and  south:  be  it  con- 
No  barricado  for  a  belly :  know  it ;         [eluded, 
It  will  let  in  and  out  the  enemy, 
Witli  bag  and  baggage.    Many  a  thousand  on's 
Have  the  disease,  and  feel't  not.  — How  now, 

boy? 

Mamlllius. 
1  am  like  you,  they  say. 

Leontes. 

Why,  that's  some  comfort 

What !  CamiUo  there  ? 

Camillo. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Leontes. 
Go  play,  Mamilliut ;  thou'rt  an  honest  man.  — 
[Exit  Mamillitts. 
CamiUo,  this  great  sir  will  yet  stay  longer. 

Camillo. 
You  had  much  ado  to  make  his  anchor  hold  : 
When  you  cast  out,  it  still  came  home. 
Leontes. 

Didst  note  it  ? 
Camillo. 
He  would  not  stay  at  your  petitions ;  made 
His  business  more  material, 
Leontes. 

Didst  perceive  it  ? — 
They're   here  with  me   already ;    whispering, 

rounding, 
'•  Sicitia  is  a  "  —  so-forth.    'Tis  far  gone, 
When  I  shall  gust  it  last — How  came't  Camillo, 
That  he  did  stay  ? 

Camillo. 
At  the  good  queen's  entreaty. 
Leontei. 
At  the  queen's,  be't:    good  should  be  perti- 
nent ; 
But  so  it  is,  it  is  not.    Was  this  taken 
By  any  understanding  pate  but  thine  ? 
For  thy  conceit  is  soaking,  will  draw  in 
More  than  the  common  blocks :— not  noted,  is't, 
But  of  the  finer  natures?  by  some  sever <*ls, 
Of  head-piece  extraordinary?  lower  messes, 
Perchance,  are  to  this  business  purblind:  say. 


Camillo. 
Business,  my  lord  ?    I  think,  most  understand 
Bohemia  stays  here  longer. 


Leontes. 
Camillo. 


Ha? 
Stays  here  longer. 


Leontes. 
Ay,  but  why  ? 

Camillo. 
To  satisfy  your  highness,  and  the  entreaties 
Of  our  most  gracious  mistress. 

Leontes. 

Satisfy 
The  entreaties  of  your  mistress  ? — satisfy  ? — 
Let  that  suffice.     I  have  trusted  thee,  Camillo, 
With  all  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart,  as  well 
My  chamber-councils,  wherein,  priest-like,  thou 
Hast  cleans'd  my  bosom :  1  from  thee  departed 
Thy  penitent  reform'd  ;  but  we  have  been 
Deceiv'd  in  thy  integrity,  deceiv'd 
In  that  which  seems  so. 

Camillo. 

Be  it  forbid,  my  lord  1 

Leontea. 
To  bide  upon't, — thou  art  not  honest ;  or. 
If  thou  inclin'st  that  way,  thou  art  a  coward, 
Which  hoxes  honesty  behind,  restraining 
From  course  requird;   or  else  thou  must  be 

counted 
A  servant  grafted  in  my  serious  trust, 
And  therein  negligent ;  or  else  a  fool, 
That  seest  a  game  play'd  home,  the  rich  stake 
And  tak'st  it  all  for  jest.  [drawn, 

Camillo. 

My  gracious  lord, 
I  may  be  negligent,  foolish,  and  fearful : 
In  every  one  ot  these  no  man  is  free, 
But  that  his  negligence,  his  folly,  fear, 
Amongst  the  infinite  doings  of  the  world, 
Sometime  puts  forth.     In  your  affairs,  my  lord, 
If  ever  I  were  wilful-negligent. 
It  was  my  folly ;  if  industriously 
I  play'd  the  fool,  it  was  my  negligence, 
Not  weighing  well  the  end  ;  if  ever  fearful 
To  do  a  thing,  where  I  the  issue  doubted, 
Whereof  the  execution  did  cry  out 
Against  the  non-performance,  'twas  a  fear 
Which  oft  infects  the  wisest.    These,  my  lord, 
Are  such  allow'd  infirmities,  that  honesty 
Is  never  free  of:  but,  beseech  your  grace, 
Be  plainer  with  me :  let  me  know  my  trespass 
Bv  its  own  visage  ;  if  I  then  deny  it, 
'Tis  none  of  mine. 

Leontes. 

Have  net  you  seen,  Camillo, 
(But  that's  past  doubt ;  you  have,  or  your  eye- 
glass 
Is  thicker  than  a  cuckold's  horn)  or  heard, 
( For,  to  a  vision  so  apparent,  rumour 
Cannot  be  mute)  or  thought,  (for  cogitation 
Resides  not  in  that  man  that  does  not  think) 
My  wife  is  slippery  ?    If  thou  wilt  confess, 
Or  else  be  impudently  negative,  [say. 

To  have  nor  eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  thought,  then 
My  wife's  a  hobby-horse ;  deserves  a  name 
As  rank  as  any  flax-wench,  that  puts  to 
Before  her  troth-plight :  say't  and  justify't. 

Camillo. 
1  would  not  be  a  stander-by.  to  hear 
My  sovereign  mistress  clouded  so,  without 
My  present  vengeance  taken.    'Shrew  my  heart,  j 
You  never  spoke  what  did  become  you  less 

a  A  Than 


354 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Than  this  ;  which  to  reiterate,  were  sin 
As  deep  as  that,  though  true. 

Leontes. 

Is  whispering  nothing  ? 
Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek  ?  is  meeting  noses  ? 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  ?  stopping  the  career 
Of  laughter  with  a  sigh  ?  (a  note  infallible 
Of  breaking  honesty)  horsing  foot  on  foot  ? 
Skulking  in  corners  ?  wishing  clocks  more  swift  ? 
Hours,  minutes  ?  noon,  midnight  ?  and  all  eyes 

blind 
With  the  pin  and  web,  but  theirs,  theirs  only, 
That  would  unseen  be  wicked  ?  is  this  nothing  ? 
Why,  then  the  world,  and  all  that  is  in't,  is 

nothing  ; 
The  covering  sky  is  nothing ;  Bohemia  nothing ; 
My  wife  is  nothing ;  nor  nothing  have  these 
If  this  be  nothing.  [nothings, 

Camillo. 
Good  my  lord,  be  cur'd 
Of  this  diseas'd  opinion,  and  betimes  ; 
For  'tis  most  dangerous. 

Leontes. 

Say,  it  be  ;  'tis  true. 

Camillo. 
No,  no,  my  lord. 

Leontes. 

It  is;  you  lie,  you  lie: 
I  say,  thou  liest,  Camillo,  and  I  hate  thee ; 
Pronounce  thee  a  gross  lout,  a  mindless  slave, 
Or  else  a  hovering  temporizer,  that 
Canst  with  thine  eyes  at  once  see  good  and  evil, 
Inclining  to  them  both  :  Were  my  wife's  liver 
Infected  as  her  life,  she  would  not  live 
The  running  of  one  glass. 

Camillo. 

Who  does  infect  her  ? 

Leontes. 
Why  he,  that  wears  her  like  her  medal,  hanging 
About  his  neck,  Bohemia  :  who — if  I 
Had  servants  true  about  me,  that  bare  eyes 
To  see  alike  mine  honour  as  their  profits, 
Their  own  particular  thrifts,  they  would  do  that 
Which  should  undo  more  doing  :  ay,  and  thou, 
His  cupbearer, — whom  I  from  meaner  form 
Have   blench'd,  and    rear'd    to  worship,  who 
may'st  see  [heaven, 

Plainly,  as  heaven  sees  earth,  and  earth  sees 
How  I  am  galled,— might'st  bespice  a  cup, 
To  give  mine  enemy  a  lasting  wink, 
Which  draught  to  me  were  cordial. 

Camillo. 

Sir,  my  lord, 
I  could  do  this,  and  that  with  no  rash  potion, 
But  with  a  lingering  dram,  that  should  not  work 
Maliciously,  like  poison  ;  but  I  cannot 
Believe  this  crack  to  be  in  my  dread  mistress, 
So  sovereignly  being  honourable. 
I  have  lov'd  thee,— 

I.eonte*. 
Make  that  thy  question,  and  go  rot ! 
Dost  think,  I  am  so  muddy,  so  unsettled, 
To  appoint  myself  in  this  vexation  ?  sully 
The  purity  and  whiteness  of  my  sheets, 
(Which    to   preserve   is    sleep ;    which,  being 

spotted, 
Is  goads,  thorns,  nettles,  tails  of  wasps,) 
Give  scandal  to  the  blood  o'  the  prince,  my  son, 
(Who,  I  do  think  is  mine,  and  love  as  mine) 
Without  ripe  moving  to't  ?    Would  I  do  this  ? 
Could  man  so  blench  ? 

Camillo. 

I  must  believe  you,  sir : 
I  do  ;  and  will  fetch  off  Bohemia  for't ; 


Provided,  that  when  he's  remov'd,  your  highness  J 
Will  take  again  your  queen,  as  yours  at  first, 
Even   for  your    son's    sake ;    and  thereby  for 

sealing 
The  injury  of  tongues,  in  courts  and  kingdoms 
Known  and  allied  to  yours. 
Leontes. 

Thou  dost  advise  me, 
Even  so  as  I  mine  own  course  have  set  down. 
I'll  give  no  blemish  to  her  honour,  none. 
Camillo. 
My  lord, 
Go  then  ;  and  with  a  countenance  as  clear 
As  friendship  wears  at  feasts,  keep  with  Bohemia, 
And  with  your  queen.     I  am  ids  cupbearer ; 
If  from  me  he  have  wholesome  beverage, 
Account  me  not  your  servant. 
Leontes. 

This  is  all : 
Do't,  and  thou  hast  the  one  half  of  my  heart ; 
Do't  not,  thou  split'st  thine  own. 
Camillo. 

I'll  do't,  my  lord. 
Leontes. 
I  will  seem  friendly,  as  thou  hast  advis'd  me. 
fKxit. 
Camillo. 
O,  miserable  lady  ! — But,  for  me, 
What  case  stand  I  "in  ?     I  must  be  the  poisoner 
Of  good  Polixenes;  and  my  ground  to  do't 
Is  the  obedience  to  a  master  ;  one. 
Who,  in  rebellion  with  himself,  will  have 
All  that  are  his  so  too. — To  do  this  deed, 
Promotion  follows:  if  I  could  find  example 
Of  thousands  that  had  struck  anointed  kings, 
And  flourish'd  after,  I'd  not  do't ;  but  since 
Nor  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  parchment,  bears  not 
Let  villany  itself  forswear't.     I  must  [one, 

Forsake  the  court :  to  do't,  or  no,  is  certain 
To  me  a  break-neck.    Happy  star,  reign  now  ! 
Here  comes  Bohemia. 

Enter  Polixenet. 
Polixenes. 
This  is  strange.    Methinks, 
My  favour  here  begins  to  warp.     Not  speak  ? — 
Good- day,  Camillo. 

Camillo. 

Hail,  most  royal  sir  I 
Polixenes. 
What  is  the  news  i'  the  court  ? 
Camillo. 

None  rare,  my  lord. 
Polixenes. 
The  king  hath  on  him  such  a  countenance, 
As  he  had  lost  some  province,  and  a  region 
Lov'd  as  he  loves  himself:  even  now  1  met  him 
With  customary  compliment,  when  he, 
Wafting  his  eyes  to  the  contrary,  and  falling 
A  lip  of  much  contempt,  speeds  from  me,  and 
So  leaves  me  to  consider  what  is  breeding 
That  changes  thus  his  manners. 
Camillo. 
I  dare  not  know,  my  lord. 
Polixenes. 
How  !  dare  not  ?  do  not !    Do  you  know,  and 
dare  not 
Be  intelligent  to  me  ?    'Tis  thereabouts  ; 
For,  to  yourself,  what  you  do  know,  you  must, 
And  cannot  say,  you  dare  not.     Good  Camillo, 
Your  chang'd  complexions  are  to  me  a  mirror, 
Which  shows  me  mine  chang'd  too  ;  for  I  must 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  finding  [be 

Myself  thus  alter'd  with  't.  ■      „, 

3  Camillo. 


Act  ii.  Sr.  i. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


555 


Camlllo. 

There  is  a  sickness 
Which  puts  some  of  us  in  distemper  ;  hut 
I  cannot  name  the  disease,  and  it  is  caught 
Of  you,  that  yet  are  well. 

Polixenes. 

How  caught  of  me  ? 
Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk  :     [better 
I  have  look'd  on  thousands,  who  have  sped  the 
By  my  regard,  but  kill'd  none  so.     Camilla,  — 
As  you  are  certainly  a  gentleman  ;  thereto 
Clerk-like,  experienc'd,  which  no  less  adorns 
Our  gentry  than  our  parents'  noble  names, 
In  whose  success  we  are  gentle, — I  beseech  you, 
If  you  know  aught  which  does  behove  my  know- 
Thereof  to  be  inform'd,  imprison  it  not     [ledge 
In  ignorant  concealment. 

Camlllo. 

I  may  not  answer. 

Polixenes. 
A  sickness  caught  of  me,  and  yet  I  well  ? 
I  must  be  answer'd. — Dost  thou  hear,  Camillo, 
I  conjure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man         [least 
Which  honour  does  acknowledge,— whereof  the 
Is  not  this  suit  of  mine,— that  thou  declare 
What  incidency  thou  dost  guess  of  harm 
Is  creeping  toward  me ;  how  far  off,  how  near ; 
Which  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be ; 
If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 

C.imlllo. 

Sir,  I  will  tell  you  ; 
Since  I  am  charg'd  in  honour,  and  by  him 
That  I  think  honourable.    Therefore,  mark  my 

counsel, 
Which  must  be  even  as  swiftly  follow'd,  as 
I  mean  to  utter  it,  or  both  yourself  and  me 
Cry,  "  lost,"  and  so  good  night. 

Polixenes. 

On,  good  Camillo. 
Camillo. 
I  am  appointed  him  to  murder  you. 

Polixenes. 
By  whom,  Camillo  f 

Camillo. 

By  the  king. 

Polixenes. 

For  what  ? 
Camillo. 
He  thinks,  nay,  with  all  confidence  he  swears, 
As  he  had  seen't,  or  been  an  instrument 
To  vice  you  to't  — that  you  have  touch'd  his 
Forbiddenly.  [queen 

Polixenes. 
O  !  then  my  best  blood  turn 
To  an  infected  jelly,  and  my  name 
Be  yok'd  with  his  that  did  betray  the  Best  ! 
Turn  then  my  freshest  reputation  to 
A  savour,  that  may  strike  the  dullest  nostril 
Where  I  arrive  ;  and  my  approach  be  shunn'd, 
Nay,  hated  too,  worse  than  the  great'st  in- 
That  e'er  was  heard,  or  read  !  [fection 

Camlllo. 

Swear  his  thought  over 
By  each  particular  star  in  heaven,  and 
By  all  their  influences,  you  may  as  well 
Forbid  the  sea  for  to  obey  the  moon, 
As,  or  by  oath,  remove,  or  counsel  shake, 
The  fabric  of  his  folly,  whose  foundation 
Is  pil'd  upon  his  faith,  and  will  continue 
The  standing  of  his  body. 

Polixenes. 

How  should  this  grow  ? 


Camillo. 
I  know  not ;  but,  I  am  sure,  'ti*  safer  to 
Avoid  what's  grown,  than  question  how  'tis 
If  therefore  you  dare  trust  my  honesty,     [born. 
That  lies  enclosed  in  this  trunk,  which  you 
Shall  bear  along  impawn'd,  away  to-night. 
Your  followers  I  will  whisper  to  the  business  ; 
And  will,  by  twos  and  threes   at  several  pos- 
terns, 
Clear  them  o'  the  city.     For  myself,  I'll  put 
My  fortunes  to  your  service,  which  are  here 
By  this  discovery  lost.    Be  not  uncertain  ; 
For,  by  the  honour  of  my  parents,  I 
Have  utter'd  truth,  which  if  you  seek  to  prove, 
I  dare  not  stand  by ;  nor  shall  you  be  safer 
Than  one  condemned  by  the  king's  own  mouth, 
Thereon  his  execution  sworn. 

Polixenes. 

I  do  believe  thee : 
I  saw  his  heart  in's  face.     Give  me  thy  hand  : 
Be  pilot  to  me,  and  thy  places  shall 
Still  neighbour  mine.    My  ships  are  ready,  and 
My  people  did  expect  my  nence  departure 
Two  days  ago.  —  This  jealousy 
Is  for  a  precious  creature :  as  she's  rare, 
Must  it  be  great ;  and,  as  his  person's  mighty, 
Must  it  be  violent ;  and,  as  he  does  conceive 
He  is  dishonour'd  by  a  man  which  ever 
Profess'd  to  him,  why,  his  revenges  must    [me: 
In  that  be  made  more  bitter.     Fear  o'ershades 
Good  expedition  be  my  friend,  and  comfort 
The  gracious  queen,  part  of  his  theme,  but 

nothing 
Of  his  ill-ta'en  suspicion  !    Come,  Camillo  : 
I  will  respect  thee  as  a  father,  if 
Thou  bear'st  my  life  off  hence.    Let  us  avoid. 

Camillo. 
It  is  in  mine  authority  to  command 
The  keys  of  all  the   posterns.     Please   your 

highness 
To  take  the  urgent  hour.    Come,  sir :  away ! 
[Fxeunt 


:0-###-#^###^' 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 

P.nter  Hermione,  Mamilliun,  and  Ladies. 

Hermlone. 
''FAKE  the  boy  to  you :  he  so  troubles  me, 
-*    Tis  past  enduring. 

First  Lady. 

Come,  my  gracious  lord : 
Shall  I  be  your  play-fellow  ? 

Mamillius. 

No,  I'll  none  of  you. 

First  Lady. 
Why,  my  sweet  lord  ? 

MamilUiM, 

You'll  kiss  me  hard,  and  speak  to  me  as  If 
I  were  a  baby  still — I  love  you  better. 
Second  Lady. 
And  why  so,  my  lord  ? 

Mimtlllui. 

Not  for  because  [say, 
Your  brows  are  blacker  ;  yet  black  brow^  they  ; 
Become  some  women  best,  so  that  there  be  not 
Too  much  hair  there,  but  in  a  semi -circle, 
Or  a  half-moon  made  with  a  pen. 

Second  J 
U 


356 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  u 


Second  Lady. 

Who  taught  this  ? 
Mamillius. 

I  learn'd  it  out  of  women's  faces Pray  now, 

I  What  colour  are  your  eyebrows  ? 
First  Lady. 

Blue,  my  lord. 
Mamtllius.  J 

Nay,  that's  a  mock :  I  have  seen  a  lady's  nose, 
That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eyebrows. 
Second  Lady. 

Hark  ye. 
The  queen,  your  mother,  rounds  apace :  we  shall 
Present  our  services  to  a  fine  new  prince, 
One  of  these  days,  and  then  you'd  wanton  with 
If  we  would  have  you.  [us, 

First  Lady. 

She  is  spread  of  late 
Into  a  goodly  bulk :  good  time  encounter  her ! 
Hermione. 
What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you ?   Come,  sir; 
I  am  for  you  again :  pray  you,  sit  by  us,     [now 
And  tell's  a  tale. 

Mamillius. 

Merry,  or  sad,  shall't  be  ? 
Hermione. 
As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mamillius. 
A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter. 
I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 
Hermione. 

Let's  have  that,  good  sir. 

Come  on  ;  sit  down : — come  on,  and  do  your 

best  [at  it. 

To  fright  me  with  your  sprites:  you're  powerful 

Mamillius. 

There  was  a  man,— 

Hermione. 

Nay,  come,  sit  down ;  then  on. 

Mamillius. 

Dwelt  by  a  church-yard.— I  will  tell  it  softly; 

Yond'  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Hermione. 

Come  on  then, 
And  give't  me  in  mine  ear. 

Enter  Leontes,  Antigonus,  Lords,  and  others. 

Leontes. 
Was  he  met  there  ?  his  train  ?    Camilla  with 
him? 

First  Lord. 
Behind  the  tuft  of  pines  I  met  them :  never 
Saw  1  men  scour  so  on  their  way.    I  ey'd  them 
Even  to  their  ships. 

Leontes. 
How  bless'd  am  I 
In  my  just  censure  I  in  my  true  opinion  !  — 
Alack,  for  lesser  knowledge !— How  accurs'd, 
In  being  so  blest !— There  may  be  in  the  cup 
A  spider  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink,  depart, 
And  yet  partake  no  venom,  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  infected  ;  but  if  one  present 
The  abhcrr'd  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drunk,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his 
sides,  [spider. 

With  violent  hefts— I  have  drunk,  and  seen  the 
Camilla  was  his  help  in  this,  his  pander.— 
There  is  a  plot  against  my  life,  my  crown : 
All's  true  that  is  mistrusted:— that  false  villain, 
Whom  I  employ'd,  was  pre-employ'd  by  him. 
He  has  discover'd  my  design,  and  I 
Remain  a  pinch'd  thing ;  yea,  a  very  trick 


For  them  to  play  at  will.— How  came  the  posterni 
So  easily  open  ? 

First  Lord. 
By  his  great  authority ; 
Which  often  hath  no  less  prevail'd  than  so, 
On  your  command. 

I.eontes. 

I  know't  too  well — 
Give  me  the  boy.     [To  IIermione.\    \  am  glad, 

you  did  not  nurse  him : 
Though  he  does  bear  some  signs  of  me,  yet  you 
Have  too  much  blood  in  him. 
Hermione. 

What  is  this?  sport? 
Leontes. 
Bear  the  boy  hence ;  he  shall  not  come  about 
Away  with  him  ;  and  let  her  sport  herself  [her. 
With  that  she's  big  with,  for  'tis  Polixenes 
Has  made  thee  swell  thus. 

Hermione. 

But  I'd  say  he  had  not, 
And,  I'll  be  sworn,  you  would  believe  my  saying, 
Howe'er  you  lean  to  the  nayward. 
f.eontes. 

You,  my  lords, 
Look  on  her,  mark  her  well ;  be  but  about 
To  say,  "  she  is  a  goodly  lady,"  and 
The  justice  of  your  hearts  will  thereto  add, 
u  'Tis  pity  she's  not  honest,  honourable:" 
Praise  her  but  for  this  her  without-door  form, 
(Which,  on  my  faith,  deserves  high  speech)  and 

straight 
The  shrug,  the  hum,  or  ha  (these  petty  brands, 
That  calumny  doth  use,— O,  1  am  out  !  — 
That  mercy  does,  for  calumny  will  sear     [ha's, 
Virtue  itself) — these  shrugs,  these  hums,  and 
When  you  have  said  "  she's  goodly,"  come  be- 
tween, 
Ere  you  can  say  "  she's  honest."  But  be't  known, 
From  him  that  has  most  cause  to  grieve   it 
She's  an  adult'ress.  [should  be, 

Hermione. 
Should  a  villain  say  so, 
The  most  replenish'd  villain  in  the  world, 
He  were  as  much  more  villain :  you,  my  lord, 
Do  but  mistake. 

Leontes. 
You  have  mistook,  my  lady, 
Polixenes  for  Leontes.    O,  thou  thing ! 
Which  I'll  not  call  a  creature  of  thy  place, 
Lest  barbarism,  making  me  the  precedent, 
Should  a  like  language  use  to  all  degrees, 
And  mannerly  distinguishment  leave  out 
Betwixt  the  prince  and  beggar  I— I  have  said 
She's  an  adult'ress ;  I  have  said  with  whom : 
More,  she's  a  traitor ;  and  Cami/lo  is 
A  federary  with  her,  and  one  that  knows 
What  she  should  shame  to  know  herself, 
But  with  her  most  vile  principal,  that  she's 
A  bed-swerver,  even  as  bad  as  those 
That  vulgars  give  bold'st  titles  ;  ay,  and  privy 
To  this  their  late  escape. 

Hermione. 

No.  by  my  life, 
Privy  to  none  of  this.  How  will  this  grieve  you, 
When  you  shall  come  to  clearer  know  ledge,  that 
You  thus  have  publish'd  me  ?  Gentle  my  lord, 
You  scarce  can  right  me  throughly  then,  to  say 
You  did  mistake. 

Leontes. 
No  ;  if  I  mistake 
In  those  foundations  which  I  build  upon, 
The  centre  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 
A  school-boy's  top — Away  with  her  to  prison  ! 

He 


Act  ii.  Sc.  H. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


357 


Be,  who  shall  speak  for  her,  is  afar  off  guilty, 
lint  that  he  speaks. 

tiermioue. 
There's  some  ill  planet  reigns : 
I  must  be  patient,  till  the  heavens  look 
With  an  aspect  more  favourable.— Good  my  lords, 
1  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  aie,  the  want  of  M  hich  vain  dew, 
Perchance,  shall  dry  yo-.ir  pities ;  but  I  have 
That  honourable  grief  lodg'd  here,  which  burns 
Worse  than  tears  drown.    Beseech  you  all,  my 

lords. 
With  thoughts  so  qualified  as  your  charities 
Shall  best  instruct  you,  measure  me ;— and  so 
The  king's  will  be  perform'd. 
Leontes. 

Shall  I  be  heard  ? 
[To  the  Guards. 
Hermione 
Who  is't.  that  goes  with  me  ?— Beseech  your 
highness, 
Mv  women  may  be  with  me  ;  for,  you  see, 
My  plight  requires  it.  Do  not  weep,  good  fools  ; 
There  is  no  cause:  when  you  shall  know,  your 

mistress 
Has  deserv'd  prison,  then  abound  in  tears, 
As  I  come  out:  this  action,  1  now  go  on, 
Is  for  my  better  grace — Adieu,  my  lord : 
1  never  wish'd  to  see  you  sorry ;  now,       [leave. 
I  trust,  I  shall.— My  women,  come  ;  you  have 
Leontes. 
Go,  do  our  bidding :  hence  1 

[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 
First  Lord. 
Beseech  your  highness,  call  the  queen  again. 

Antigonus. 

Be  certain  what  you  do,  sir,  lest  your  justice 

Prove  violence  ;  in  the  which  three  great  ones 

Yourself,  your  queen,  your  son.  [suffer, 

First  Lord. 

For  her,  my  lord, 
I  dare  my  life  lay  down,  and  will  do't,  sir, 
Please  you  t'  accept  it,  that  the  queen  is  spotless 
I*  the  eyes  of  heaven,  and  to  you  :  1  mean, 
In  this  which  you  accuse  her. 
Antigonus. 

If  it  prove 
She's  otherwise,  I'll  keep  my  stables  where 
I  lodge  my  wife  ;  I'll  go  in  couples  with  her  ; 
Thau  when  I  feel,  and  see  her,  no  further  trust 
For  every  inch  of  woman  in  the  world,       [her ; 
Ay,  every  dram  of  woman's  flesh,  is  false, 
If  she  be. 

sites  i 
Hold  your  peaces ! 
First  Lord. 

Good  my  lord,— 
Antigonus. 
It  is  for  you  we  sneak,  not  for  ourselves. 
You  are  abus'd,  and  by  some  putter-on, 
That  will  be  damn'd  for't ;  would  I  knew  the 
villain,  [flaw'd,— 

I    would    land-damn    him.      Be   she    honour- 
I  have  three  daughters  ;  the  eldest  is  eleven. 
The  second,  and  the  third,  nine,  and  some  five  ; 
If  this  prove  true,  they'll  pay  fort:  by  mine 

honour, 
I'll  geld  them  all :  fourteen  they  shall  not  see, 
To  bring  false  generations :  they  are  co-heirs. 
And  1  had  rather  glib  myself,  than  they 
Should  not  produce  fair  issue. 
LMBtM 

Cease !  no  more. 
You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 


At  Is  a  dead  man's  nose ;  but  I  do  see't,  and 
As  you  feel  doing  thus,  and  see  withal  [leel't. 
The  instruments  that  feel. 

Antigonus. 

If  it  be  so, 
We  need  no  grave  to  bury  honesty : 
i  There's  not  a  grain  of  it  the  lace  to  sweeten 
Of  the  whole  dungy  earth. 

Leontes. 

What !  lack  1  credit  ? 

First  Lord. 
I  had  rather  you  did  lack,  than  I,  my  lord. 
Upon  this  ground ;  and  more  it  would  content 

me 
To  have  her  honour  true,  than  your  suspicion, 
Be  blam'd  for't  how  you  might. 
Leontes. 

Why,  what  need  we 
Commune  with  you  of  this,  but  rather  follow 
Our  forceful  instigation  ?    Our  prerogative 
Calls  not  your  counsels,  but  our  natural  good- 
ness 
\  Imparts  this  ;  which,  if  you  (or  stupified, 
!  Or  seeming  so  in  skill)  cannot,  or  will  not, 
j  Relish  a  truth  like  us,  inform  yourselves, 
;  We  need  no  more  of  your  advice :  the  matter, 
!  The  loss,  the  gain,  the  ordering  on't,  is  all 
Troperly  ours. 

Antigonus. 
And  I  wish,  my  liege, 
You  had  only  in  your  silent  judgment  tried  it, 
Without  more  overture. 

Leontes. 

How  could  that  be  ? 
Either  thou  art  most  ignorant  by  age, 
Or  thou  wert  born  a  fool.     Camilla's  flight 
Added  to  their  familiarity, 
(  Which  was  as  gross  as  ever  touch'd  conjecture. 
That  lack'd  sight  only,  nought  for  approbation 
But  only  seeing,  all  other  circumstances 
Made  up  to  the  deed)  doth  push  on  this  pro- 
Yet,  for  a  greater  confirmation,  [ceeding  : 
(  For  in  an  act  of  this  importance  'twere     [post. 
Most  piteous  to  be  wild,)  I  have  despatch'd  in 
To  sacred  Velpkos,  to  Apollo's  temple, 
Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  you  know 
Of  stuffd  sufficiency.    Now,  from  the  oracle 
They  will  bring  all ;  whose  spiritual  counsel  had. 
Shall  stop,  or  spur  me.    Have  1  done  well  ? 
First  Lord. 
Well  done,  my  lord. 

Leontes. 
Though  I  am  satisfied,  and  need  no  more 
Than  what  1  know,  yet  shall  the  oracle 
Give  rest  to  the  minds  of  others  ;  such  as  he, 
Whose  ignorant  credulity  will  not  [good, 

Come  up  to  the  truth.     So  have  we  thought  it 
From  our  free  person  she  should  be  confin'd, 
Lest  that  the  treachery  of  the  two  fled  hence 
Be  left  her  to  perform.     Come,  follow  us : 
WTe  are  to  speak  in  public  ;  for  this  business 
Will  raise  us  all. 

Antigonus.  [Aside. 

To  laughter,  as  I  take  it, 
If  the  good  truth  were  known.  [Exeunt. 

>CENE  II.    The  Same.    The  outer  Room  of 
a  Prison 

Enter  Paulina  (md  Attendants. 
Paulina. 
The  keeper  of  the  prison,— call  to  him : 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 


S58 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it. 


Let  him  have  knowledge  who  I  am. —  Good  lady! 
No  court  in  Europe  is  too  good  for  thee, 
What  dost  thou  then  in  prison  ?— Now,  good  sir, 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  the  Jailor. 
You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Jailor. 

For  a  worthy  lady, 
And  one  whom  much  I  honour. 
Paulina. 

Pray  you  then, 
Conduct  me  to  the  queen. 

Jailor. 
I  may  not,  madam :  to  the  contrary 
I  have  express  commandment. 
Paulina. 

Here's  ado, 
To  lock  up  honesty  and  honour  from  [you, 

Th'  access  of  gentle  visitors  !—  Is't  lawful,  pray 
To  see  her  women  ?  any  of  them  ?  Emilia  t 

Jailor. 
So  please  you,  madam, 
To  put  apart  these  your  attendants,  I 
Shall  bring  Emilia  forth. 

Paulina. 

I  pray  now,  call  her. 
Withdraw  yourselves.  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

Jailor. 

And,  madam, 
I  must  be  present  at  your  conference. 
Paulina. 
Well,  be  't  so,  pr'ythee.  [Exit  Jailor. 

Here's  such  ado  to  make  no  stain  a  stain, 
As  passes  colouring. 

Re-enter  Jailor,  with  Emilia. 

Dear  gentlewoman, 
How  fares  our  gracious  lady  ? 

Emilia. 
As  well  as  one  so  great,  and  so  forlorn, 
May  hold  together.     On  her  frights,  and  griefs, 
(Which  never  tender  lidy  hath  borne  greater,) 
She  is,  something  before  her  time,  deliver'd. 

Paulina. 

A  boy? 

Emilia. 
A  daughter  ;  and  a  goodly  babe, 
Lusty,  and  like  to  live :  the  queen  receives 
Much  comfort  in't,  says,  "  My  poor  prisoner, 
I  am  innocent  as  you. ' 

Paulina. 

I  dare  be  sworn : — 
These  dangerous,  unsafe  lunes  i'  the  king,  be- 

shrew  them ! 
He  must  be  told  on't,  and  he  shall :  the  office 
Becomes  a  woman  best ;  I'll  take't  upon  me. 
If  I  prove  honey-mouth'd,  let  my  tongue  blister, 
And  never  to  my  red-look'd  anger  be 

The  trumpet  any  more Pray  you,  Emilia, 

Commend  my  best  obedience  to  the  queen  : 
If  she  dares  trust  me  with  her  little  babe, 
I'll  show't  the  king,  and  undertake  to  be 
Her  advocate  to  the  loud'st.     We  do  not  know 
How  he  may  soften  at  the  sight  o'  the  child : 
The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades,  when  speaking  fails. 

Emilia. 

Most  worthy  madam, 
Your  honour,  and  your  goodness,  is  so  evident, 
That  your  free  undertaking  cannot  miss 
A  thriving  issue:  there  is  no  lady  living     [ship 
So  meet  for  this  great  errand.    Please  your  lady- 


To  visit  the  next  room,  I'll  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  of  your  most  noble  offer, 
Who.  but  to-day,  hammer'd  of  this  design, 
But  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honour, 
Lest  she  should  be  denied. 

Paulina. 

Tell  her,  Emilia, 
I'll  use  that  tongue  I  have :  if  wit  flow  from  it, 
As  boldness  from  my  bosom,  let  it  not  be  doubted 
I  shall  do  good. 

Emilia. 
Now,  be  you  blest  for  it  f 
I'll  to  the  queen. — Please  you,  come  something 
nearer. 

Jailor. 
Madam,  if't  please  the  queen  to  send  the  babe, 
I  know  not  what  I  shall  incur  to  pass  it, 
Having  no  warrant. 

Paulina. 
You  need  not  fear  it,  sir  : 
The  child  was  prisoner  to  the  womb,  and  is, 
By  law  and  process  of  great  nature,  thence 
Freed  and  enfranchis'd  ;  not  a  party  to 
The  anger  of  the  king,  nor  guilty  of, 
If  any  be,  the  trespass  of  the  queen. 
Jailor. 
I  do  believe  it. 

Paulina. 
Do  not  you  fear :  upon  mine  honour,  I 
Will  stand  betwixt  you  and  danger.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Leonles,  Antigonus,  Loids,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Leontes. 
Nor  night,  nor  day,  no  rest.   It  is  but  weakness 
To  bear  the  matter  thus,  mere  weakness.    If 
The  cause  were  not  in  being,  part  o'  the  cause,    , 
She,  th*  adult'ress ;  for  the  harlot  king 
Is  quite  beyond  mine  arm,  out  of  the  blank 
And  level  of  my  brain,  plot-proof ;  but  she 
I  can  hook  to  me :  say,  that  she  were  gone, 
Given  to  the  fire,  a  moiety  of  my  rest 
Might  come  to  me  again — Who's  there  ? 

First  Attendant. 

My  lord. 
Leontes. 
How  does  the  boy  ? 

First  Attendant. 

He  took  good  rest  to-night : 
'Tis  hop'd,  his  sickness  is  discharg'd. 

Leontes. 

To  see  his  nobleness  ! 
Conceiving  the  dishonour  of  his  mother, 
He  straight  declin'd,  droop'd,  took  it  deeply, 
Fasten'd  and  fix'd  the  shame  on't  in  himself, 
Threw  off  his  spirit,  his  appetite,  his  sleep,  [go, 

And  downright  languish'd Leave  me  solely : — 

See  how  he  fares.     [Exit  Attendant.  J—  Fie,  fie! 

no  thought  of  him :  — 
The  very  thought  of  my  revenges  that  way 
Recoil  upon  me :  in  himself  too  mighty, 
And  in  his  parties,  his  alliance  ;— let  him  be, 
Until  a  time  may  serve :  for  present  vengeance, 
Take  it  on  her.     Camillo  and  Polixenes 
Laugh  at  me  ;  make  their  pastime  at  my  sorrow  : 
They  should  not  laugh,  if  I  could  reach  them  ; 
Shall  she,  within  my  power.  [nor 

Enter  Paulina,  with  a  Child. 
First  Lord. 

You  must  not  enter. 
Paulina,  j 


Ac  i  11.   Sr.  in. 


THE  WINTERS  TALE. 


359 


Paulina. 
Nay,  rather,  good  my  lords,  be  second  to  me. 
Fear  you  his  tyrannous  passion  more,  alas  I 
That  the  queen's  life?  a  gracious  innocent  soul, 
More  free  than  he  is  jealous. 

Antlgonus. 

That's  enough. 

First  Attendant. 

Madam,  he  hath  not  slept   to-night ;    com- 

None  should  come  at  him.  [manded 

raulina. 

Not  so  hot,  good  sir : 
I  come  to  bring  him  sleep.    'Tis  such  as  you, — 
That  creep  like  shadows  by  him,  and  do  sigh 
At  each  his  needless  hcavings, — such  as  you 
Nourish  the  cause  of  his  awaking:  I 
Do  come  with  words  as  medicinal  as  true, 
Honest  as  either,  to  purge  him  of  that  humour, 
That  presses  him  from  sleep. 

Leontes. 

What  noise  there,  ho  ? 
Paulina. 
No  noise,  my  lord  ;  but  needful  conference, 
About  some  gossips  for  your  highness. 
Leontes. 

How?— 
Away  with  that  audacious  lady.    Antigonus, 
1  charg'd  thee,  that  she  should  not  come  about 
1  knew  she  would.  [me: 

Antigonus. 
I  told  her  so,  my  lord, 
On  your  displeasure's  peril,  and  on  mine, 
She  should  not  visit  you. 

Leontes. 

What !  canst  not  rule  her  ? 
raulina. 
From  all  dishonesty  he  can  :  in  this, 
(Unless  he  take  the  course  that  you  have  done, 
Commit  me  for  committing  honour;  trust  it, 
He  shall  not  rule  me. 

Antigonus. 

Lo,  you  now  I  you  hear. 
When  she  will  take  the  rein,  1  let  her  run  ; 
But  she'll  not  stumble. 

Paulina. 

Good  my  liege,  I  come,— 
And,  I  beseech  you,  hear  me,  who  professes 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  your  physician, 
Your  most  obedient  counsellor,  yet  that  dares 
Less  appear  so  in  comforting  your  evils, 
Than  such  as  most  seem  yours, — I  say,  I  come 
From  your  good  queen. 

Leontes. 

Good  queen  I 
Paulina. 
Good  queen,  my  lord,  good  queen :  I  say,  good 
queen ; 
And  would  by  combat  make  her  good,  so  were  I 
A  man,  the  worst  about  you. 
Leontes. 

Force  her  hence. 
Paulina. 
Let  him  that  makes  but  trifles  of  his  eyes 
First  hand  me.    On  mine  own  accord  I'll  off, 
But  first  I'll  do  my  errand.— The  good  queen, 
For  she  is  good,  hath  brought    you    forth  a 

daughter : 
Here  'tis ;  commends  it  to  your  blessing. 

[Laying  down  the  child, 
Leontes. 

Out! 


A  mankind  witch  !   Hence  with  her, out  o'door : 
A  most  intelligencing  bawd  1 

Paulina. 

Not  so : 
1 1  am  as  ignorant  in  that,  as  you 
In  so  entitling  me,  and  no  less  honest         [rant, 
Than  you  are  mad  ;  which  is  enough,  I'll  war- 
As  this  world  goes,  to  pass  for  honest. 

Leontes. 

Traitors  !  [tard — 
Will  you  not  push  her  out  ?  Give  her  the  bas- 
Thou,  dotard,  [To  Antigonus,}  thou  art  woman- 

tir'd,  unroosted 
By  thy  dame  Partlet  here. —Take  up  thebastard ; 
Take  t  up,  I  say  j  give't  to  thy  crone. 

Paulina. 

For  ever 
Unvenerable  be  thy  hands,  if  thou 
Tak'st  up  the  princess  by  that  forced  baseness 
Which  he  has  put  upon't  I 

Leontes. 

He  dreads  his  wife. 

Paulina. 

So  1  would  you  did  ;  then,  'twere  past  all 

You'd  call  your  children  yours.  [doubt, 

Leontes. 

A  nest  of  traitors  ! 

Antigonus. 
I  am  none,  by  this  good  light. 

Paulina. 

Nor  I ;  nor  any, 
But  one  that's  here,  and  that's  himself ;  for  he 
The  sacred  honour  of  himself,  his  queen's, 
His  hopeful  son's,  his  babe's,  betrays  to  slander, 
Whose  sting  is  sharper  than  the  sword's,  and 

will  not 
(For,  as  the  case  now  stands,  it  is  a  curse 
He  cannot  be  compell'd  to't)  once  remove 
The  root  of  his  opinion,  which  is  rotten 
As  ever  oak,  or  stone,  was  sound. 

Leontes. 

A  callat,    [husband, 
Of  boundless  tongue,  who  late  hath  beat  her 
And  now  baits  me  ! — This  brat  is  none  of  mine : 
It  is  the  issue  of  Polixenes. 
Hence  with  it ;  and,  together  with  the  dam, 
Commit  them  to  the  fire. 

Paulina. 

It  is  yours  ;  [charge, 
And,  might  we  lay  the  old  proverb  to  your 
So  like  you,  'tis  the  worse.— Behold,  my  lords, 
Although  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 
And  copy  of  the  father  :  eye,  nose,  lip,  [valley. 
The  trick  of  his  frown,  his  forehead  ;  nay,  the 
The  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin,  and  cheek  ;  his 
smiles  ; 

The  very  mould  and  frame  of  hand,  nail,  finger 

I  And,  thou,  good  goddess  Nature,  which  hast 
■  So  like  to  him  that  got  it,  if  thou  hast    [made  it 
|  The  ordering  of  the  mind  too,  'mongst  all  colours 
No  yellow  in't ;  lest  she  suspect,  as  he  does, 
I  Her  children  not  her  husband's. 

Leontes. 

A  gross  hag  !— 
:  And,  lozel,  thou  art  worthy  to  be  hang'd, 
j  That  wilt  not  stay  her  tongue. 

Antigonus. 

Hang  all  the  husbands 
That  cannot  do  that  feat,  you'll  leave  yourself 
Hardly  one  subject. 

Leootes. 

Once  more,  take  her  hence. 
Paulina. 


360 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  11.  Sc.  in. 


Paulina. 
A  most  unworthy  and  unnatural  lord 
Can  do  no  more. 

Leontes. 
I'll  ha'  thee  burn'd. 
Paulina. 

I  care  not : 
It  is  an  heretic  that  makes  the  fire,        [tyrant ; 
Not  she  which  burns  in't.     I'll  not  call  you 
But  this  most  cruel  usage  of  your  queen 
(  Not  able  to  produce  more  accusation    [savours 
Than  your  own  weak  hing'd  fancy)  something 
Of  tyranny,  and  will  ignoble  make  you, 
Yea,  scandalous  to  the  world. 
Leontes. 

On  your  allegiance, 
Out  of  the  chamber  with  her.    Were  I  a  tyrant, 
Where  were  her  life  ?  she  durst  not  call  me  so, 
If  she  did  know  me  one.    Away  with  her  1 
Paulina. 
I  pray  you,  do  not  push  me ;  I'll  be  gone. 
Look  to  your  babe,  my  lord ;  'tis  yours :  Jove 
send  her  [hands  ? — 

A  better  guiding  spirit !  —  What  need   these 
You,  that  are  thus  so  tender  o'er  his  follies, 
Will  never  do  him  good,  not  one  of  you. 
So,  so:— farewell ;  we  are  gone.  [Exit. 

Leontes. 

Thou,  traitor,  hast  set  on  thy  wife  to  this 

My  child?  away  with't  1 — even  thou,  that  hast 
A  "heart  so  tender  o'er  it,  take  it  hence, 
And  see  it  instantly  consum'd  with  fire : 
Even  thou,  and  none  but  thou.     Take  it  up 

straight. 
Within  this  hour  bring  me  word  'tis  done. 
(And  by  good  testimony)  or  I'll  seize  thy  life, 
With  what  thou  else  call'st  thine.    If  thou  re- 
fuse, 
And  wilt  encounter  with  my  wrath,  say  so ; 
The  bastard-brains  with  these  my  proper  hands 
Shall  I  dash  out.     Go,  take  it  to  the  fire, 
For  thou  sett'st  on  thy  wife. 

Antlgonus. 

I  did  not,  sir : 
These  lords,  my  noble  fellows,  if  they  please, 
Can  clear  me  in't. 

First  Lord. 

We  can :  my  royal  liege, 
He  is  not  guilty  of  her  coming  hither. 
Leontes. 
You're  liar3  all. 

First  Lord. 
Beseech  your  highness,  give  us  better  credit. 
We  have  always  truly  serv'd  you,  and  beseech 
So  to  esteem  of  us  ;  and  on  our  knees  we  beg, 
(As  recompense  of  our  dear  services,         [pose  ; 
Past,  and  to  come)  that  you  do  change  this  pur- 
Which,  being  so  horrible,  so  bloody,  must 
Lead  on  to  some  foul  issue.    We  all  kneel. 
Leontes. 
I  am  a  feather  for  each  wind  that  blows  — 
Shall  I  live  on,  to  see  this  bastard  kneel 
And  call  me  father  ?    Better  burn  it  now, 
Than  curse  it  then.    But,  be  it ;  let  it  live :  — 
It  shall  not  neither — You,  sir,  come  you  hither; 
[To  Antigonus. 
You,  that  have  been  so  tenderly  officious 
With  lady  Margery,  your  midwife,  there, 
To  save  this  bastard's  life, — for  'tis  a  bastard, 
So  sure  as  thy  beard's  grey,— what  will  you 
To  save  this  brat's  life  ?  [adventure 

Antigonus. 

Any  thing,  my  lord, 


That  my  ability  may  undergo, 
And  nobleness  impose :  at  least,  thus  much  } 
I'll  pawn  the  little  blood  which  I  have  left, 
To  save  the  innocent :  any  thing  possible. 
Leontes. 
It  shall  be  possible.    Swear  by  this  sword, 
Thou  wilt  perform  my  bidding. 
Antigonus. 

I  will,  my  lord. 

Leontes. 

Mark,  and  perform  it,  seest  thou  ;  for  the  fail 

Of  any  point  in't  shall  not  only  be 

Death  to  thyself,  but  to  thy  lewd-tongued  wife, 

Whom  for  this  time  we  pardon.     We  enjoin 

thee, 
As  thou  art  liegeman  to  us,  that  thou  carry     [it 
This  female  bastard  hence ;  and  that  thou  bear 
To  some  remote  and  desert  place,  quite  out 
Of  our  dominions  ;  and  that  there  thou  leave  it, 
j  Without  more  mercy,  to  its  own  protection, 
And  favour  of  the   climate.     As    by  strange 

fortune 
It  came  to  us,  I  do  in  justice  charge  thee, 
On  thy  soul's  peril  and  thy  body's  torture, 
That  thou  commend  it  strangely  to  some  place, 
i  Where  chance   may  nurse  or  end  it.     Take 
it  up. 

Antigonus. 
1     I  swear  to  do  this,  though  a  present  death 
Had  been  more  merciful.  —  Come  on,  poor  babe : 
i  Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  the   kites   and 

ravens, 
;  To  be  thy  nurses  !    Wolves,  and  bears,  they  say. 
Casting  their  savageness  aside,  have  done 
Like  offices  of  pity.  —  Sir,  be  prosperous 
In   more  than   this  deed  doth  require  !  — and 
Against  this  cruelty  fight  on  thy  side,    [blessing 
Poor  thing,  condemn'd  to  loss  1 

[Exit  with  the  child. 
Leontes. 

No ;  I'll  not  rear 
Another's  issue. 

First  Attendant. 

Please  your  highness,  posts 
From  those  you  sent  to  the  oracle  are  come 
An  hour  since :  Cleomenes  and  Dion, 
Being  well    arriv'd    from   Delphos,   are   both 
Hasting  to  the  court.  [landed, 

First  Lord. 

So  please  you,  sir,  their  speed 
Hath  been  beyond  account. 
Leontes. 

Twenty-three  days 
They  have  been  absent :  'tis  good  speed,  foretels, 
The  great  Apollo  suddenly  will  have 
The  truth  of  this  appear.    Prepare  you,  lords : 
Summon  a  session,  that  we  may  arraign 
Our  most  disloyal  lady ;  for,  as  she  hath 
Been  publicly  accus'd,  so  shall  she  have 
A  just  and  open  trial.     While  she  lives, 
My  heart  will  be  a  burden  to  me.    Leave  me, 
And  think  upon  my  bidding.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  L   The  Same.    A  Street  m  some  town. 

Enter  Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

Cleomenes. 

THE  climate's  delicate,  the  air  most  sweet, 
Fertile  the  isle,  the  temple  much  surpassing 
The  common  praise  it  bears. 


Dion. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


36, 


Dion. 

I  shall  report, 
For  most  it  caught  me,  the  celestial  habits, 
(Methinks,   I  so  should  term  them)  and  the 

reverence 
Of  the  grave  wearers.    O,  the  sacrifice  1 
How  ceremonious,  solemn,  and  unearthly 
It  was  i'  the  offering  I 

Cleomenes. 

But,  of  all,  the  burst 
And  the  ear-deafening  voice  o'  the  oracle, 
Kin  to  Jove's  thunder,  so  surpris'd  my  sense, 
That  I  was  nothing. 

Dion. 

If  th'  event  o*  the  journey 
Prove  as  successful  to  the  queen,— O,  be't  so  !— 
At  it  hath  been  to  us  rare,  pleasant,  speedy, 
The  time  is  worth  the  use  on't. 
Cleomenes. 

Great  Apollo, 
Turn  all  to  the  best !    These  proclamations, 
So  forcing  faults  upon  Hermione, 
1  little  like. 

Dion. 
The  violent  carriage  of  it 
Will  clear,  or  end,  the  business :  when  the  oracle, 
(Thus  by  Apollo's  great  divine  seal'd  up) 
Shall  the  contents  discover,  something  rare, 
Even  then,  will  rush  to  knowledge — Go,— fresh 

horses  ;— 
And  gracious  be  the  issue  I  [Exeunt. 

SCESE  II.    The  same.    A  Court  of  Justice. 
Enter  Leontes,  Lords,  and  Qfficen. 

Leontes. 
This   sessions  (to  our  great  grief  we   pro- 
nounce) 
Even  pushes  'gainst  our  heart :  the  party  tried, 
The  daughter  of  a  king  ;  our  wife,  and  one 
Of  us  too  much  belov'd— Let  us  be  clear'd 
Of  being  tyrannous,  since  we  so  openly 
Proceed  in  justice,  which  shall  have  due  course, 

Even  to  the  guilt,  or  the  purgation 

Produce  the  prisoner. 

Officer. 
It  is  his  highness'  pleasure,  that  the  queen 
Appear  in  person  here  in  court.  [Silence. 

Enter  Hermione,  guarded ;  Paulino,  and  Ladies 
attending. 
Leontes. 

Read  the  indictment. 

Officer. 

"  Hermione,  queen  to  the  worthy  Leontes,  king 
of  Sicilia,  thou  art  here  accused  and  arraigned  of 
high  treason,  in  committing  adultery  with  Polix~ 
enes,  king  of  Bohemia;  and  conspiring  with 
Camillo  to  take  away  the  life  of  our  sovereign 
lord  the  king,  thy  royal  husband  :  the  pretence 
whereof  being  by  circumstances  partly  laid  open, 
thou,  Hermione,  contrary  to  the  faith  and  alle- 
giance of  a  true  subject,  didst  counsel  and  aid 
them,  for  their  better  safety,  to  fly  away  by 
night." 

Hermione. 

Since  what  I  am  to  say,  must  be  but  that 
Which  contradicts  my  accusation,  and 
The  testimony  on  my  part  no  other       [boot  me 
But  what  comes  from  myself,  it  shall  scarce 
To  say,  **  Not  guilty  :  "  mine  integrity, 
Being  counted  falsehood,  shall,  as  I  express  it, 
Be  so  receiv'd.     But  thus  :— If  powers  divine 
Behold  our  human  actions,  <"as  they  do.) 


I  doubt  not,  then,  but  innocence  shall  make 

False  accusation  blush,  and  tyranny 

Tremble  at  patience You,  my  lord,  best  know, 

iWho  least  will  seem  to  do  so)  my  past  life 
lath  been  as  continent,  as  chaste,  as  true. 
As  I  am  now  unhappy ;  which  is  more 
Than  history  can  pattern,  though  devis'd, 
And  play'd  to  take  spectators.     For  behold  me, 
A  fellow  of  the  royal  bed,  which  owe 
A  moiety  of  the  throne,  a  great  king's  daughter, 
The  mother  to  a  hopeful  prince,  here  standing 
To  prate  and  talk  for  life,  and  honour,  'fore 
Who  please  to  come  and  hear.     For  life,  I 

prize  it 
As  I  weigh  grief,  which  I  would  spare :  for  ho- 
'Tis  a  derivative  from  me  to  mine,  [nour. 

And  only  that  I  stand  for.     I  appeal 
To  your  own  conscience,  sir,  before  Polixenes 
Came  to  your  court,  how  I  was  in  your  grace, 
How  merited  to  be  so ;  since  he  came, 
With  what  encounter  so  uncurrent  I 
Have  strain'd,  t'  appear  thus:  if  one  jot  beyond 
The  bound  of  honour,  or,  in  act,  or  will, 
That  way  inclining,  harden'd  be  the  hearts 
Of  all  that  hear  me,  and  my  near'st  of  kin 
Cry,  "  Fie  1 "  upon  my  grave. 

Leontes. 

I  ne'er  heard  yet, 
That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted 
Less  impudence  to  gainsay  what  they  did, 
Than  to  perform  it  first. 

Hermione. 

That's  true  enough  ; 
Though  'tis  a  saying,  sir,  not  due  to  me. 

Leontes. 
You  will  not  own  it. 

Hermione. 

More  than  mistress  of, 
Which  comes  to  me  in  name  of  fault,  I  must  not 
At  all  acknowledge.    For  Polixenes, 
(WTith  whom  1  am  accus'd)  I  do  confess, 
I  lov'd  him,  as  in  honour  he  requir'd, 
With  such  a  kind  of  love  as  might  become 
A  lady  like  me ;  with  a  love,  even  such, 
So  and  no  other,  as  yourself  commanded  ;     [me 
Which  not  to  have  done,  I  think,  had  been  in 
Both  disobedience  and  ingratitude 
To  you,  and  toward  your  friend,  whose  love 

had  spoke, 
Even  since  it  could  speak  from  an  infant,  freely, 
That  it  was  yours.    Now,  for  conspiracy, 
I  know  not  how  it  tastes,  though  it  be  dish'd 
For  me  to  try  how  :  all  I  know  of  it 
Is,  that  Camillo  was  an  honest  man  ; 
And  why  he  left  your  court,  the  gods  themselves, 
Wotting  no  more  than  1,  are  ignorant. 

Leontes. 

You  knew  of  his  departure,  as  you  know 
What  you  have  underta'en  to  do  in's  absence. 

Hermione. 
Sir, 
You  speak  a  language  that  I  understand  not : 
j  My  life  stands  in  the  level  of  your  dreams, 
Which  111  lay  down. 

Leontes. 
Your  actions  are  my  dreams  : 
You  had  a  bastard  by  Polixenes,  [shame. 

And  I  but  dream'd  it — As  you  were  past  all 
(Those  of  your  fact  are  so)  so  past  all  truth, 
!  Which  to  deny  concerns  more  than  avails ;  for  as 
!  Thy  brat  hath  been  cast  out,  like  to  itself, 
I  No  father  owning  it,  (which  is,  indeed, 
I  More  criminal  in  the*  than  itj  so  thou 

Shalt 


3  6* 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Shalt  feel  our  justice,  in  whose  easiest  passage 
Look  for  no  less  than  death. 
Hermione. 

Sir,  spare  your  threats  : 
The  bug,  which  you  would  fright  me  with,  I  seek. 
To  me  can  life  be  no  commodity  : 
The  crown  and  comfort  of  my  life,  your  favour, 
1  do  give  lost ;  for  I  do  feel  it  gone, 
But  know  not  how  it  went.     My  second  joy, 
And  first-fruits  of  my  body,  from  his  presence 
I  am  barr'd,  like  one  infectious.     My  third 

comfort, 
Starr'd  most  unluckily,  is  from  my  breast, 
The  innocent  milk  in  its  most  innocent  mouth, 
Haled  out  to  murder :  myself  on  every  post 
Proclaim'd  a  strumpet :  with  immodest  hatred, 
The  child-bed  privilege  denied,  which  'longs 
To  women  of  all  fashion  :  lastly,  hurried 
Here  to  this  place,  i'  the  open  air,  before 
I  have  got  strength  of  limit.    Now,  my  liege, 
Tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here  alive, 
That  I  should  fear  to  die?    Therefore,  proceed. 
But  yet  hear  this  ;  mistake  me  not.— No  :  life, 
1  prize  it  not  a  straw ;  but  for  mine  honour, 
(Which  I  would  free)  if  I  shall  be  condemn'd 
Upon  surmises,  all  proofs  sleeping  else 
But  what  your  jealousies  awake,  I  tell  you, 
'Tis  rigour,  and  not  law.— Your  honours  all, 
I  do  refer  me  to  the  oracle : 
Apollo  be  my  judge. 

First  Lord. 
This  your  request 
Is  altogether  just.    Therefore,  bring  forth, 
And  in  Apollo's  name,  his  oracle.  ,      v 

[Exeunt  several  Officers. 

Hermione. 
The  emperor  of  Russia  was  my  father : 
O  !  that  he  were  alive,  and  here  beholding 
His  daughter's  trial ;  that  he  did  but  see 
The  flatness  of  my  misery,  yet  with  eyes 
Of  pity,  not  revenge  ! 
Ite-entor  (Officers,  with  Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

Officer. 
You  here  shall  swear  upon  this  sword  of  justice, 
That  you,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have    [brought 
Been  both  at  Dclphos ;  and  from  thence  have 
This  seal'd-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  deliver'd 
Of  great  Apollo's  priest ;  and  that,  since  then, 
You  have  not  dar'd  to  break  the  holy  seal, 
Nor  read  the  secrets  in't. 

Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

All  this  we  swear. 
Leontes. 
Break  up  the  seals,  and  read. 

Officer.  [Heads. 

"Hermione  is  chaste,  Polixenes  blameless, 
Camilla  a  true  subject,  Leontes  a  jealous  tyrant, 
his  innocent  babe  truly  begotten  ;  and  the  king 
shall  live  without  an  heir,  if  that  which  is  lost 
be  not  found." 

Lords. 
Now,  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo! 
Hermione. 

Praised.' 
Leontes. 
Hast  thou  read  truth  ? 

Officer. 

Ay,  my  lord ;  even  so 
As  it  is  here  set  down. 

Leontes. 

There  Is  no  truth  at  all  i'  the  oracle,      [hood. 

The  sessions  shall  proceed  :  this  is  mere  false- 


Enter  a  Servant,  hastily. 
Servant. 
My  lord  the  king,  the  king  ! 
Leontes. 

What  is  the  business  ? 
Servant. 
O  sir !  I  shall  be  hated  to  report  it : 
The  prince  your  son,  with  mere  conceit  and  fear 
Of  the  queen's  speed,  is  gone. 
Leontes. 

How !  gone  ? 
Servant. 

Is  dead. 
Leontes. 
Apollo's  angry,  and  the  heavens  themselves 
Do  strike  at  my  injustice.      [Hermione  faints  ] 
How  now  there  I 

Paulina. 
This  news  is  mortal  to  thequeen — Look  down. 
And  see  what  death  is  doing. 
Leontes - 

Take  her  hence : 
Her  heart  is  but  o'ercharged ;  she  will  recover — 
1  have  too  much  believ'd  mine  own  suspicion:— 
Beseech  you,  tenderly  apply  to  her 
Some  remedies  for  life. — Apollo,  pardon 

[Exeunt  Paulina  and  Ladies,  with  Hermione. 
My  great  profaneness  'gainst  thine  oracle !  — 
I'll  reconcile  me  to  Polixenes, 
New  woo  my  queen,  recall  the  good  Camillo, 
Whom  I  proclaim  a  man  of  truth,  of  mercy ; 
For,  being  transported  by  my  jealousies 
To  bloody  thoughts  and  to  revenge,  I  chose 
Camillo  for  the  minister,  to  poison 
My  friend  Polixenes:  which  had  been  done, 
But  that  the  good  mind  of  Camillo  tardied  [with 
My  swift  command  ;  though  I  with  death,  and 
Reward,  did  threaten  and  encourage  him, 
Not  doing  it,  and  being  done :  he,  most  humane. 
And  fill'd  with  honour,  to  my  kingly  guest 
Unclasp'd  my  practice  ;  quit  his  fortunes  here, 
Which  you  knew  great,  and  to  the  hazard 
Of  all  incertainties  himself  commended, 
No  richer  than  his  honour. — How  he  glisters 
Thorough  my  ru*t !  and  how  his  piety- 
Does  my  deeds  make  the  blacker  1 

Re-enter  Paulina. 
Paulina. 

Woe  the  while  ! 
O,  cut  my  lace,  lest  my  heart,  cracking  it, 
Break  too  I 

First  Lord 
What  fit  is  this,  good  lady  ? 

Paulina. 

What  studied  torments,  tyrant,  hast  for  me  ? 

What  wheels  ?  racks  ?  fires  ?     What  flaying  ? 

boiling, 
In  leads,  or  oils  ?  what  old,  or  newer  torture 
Must  I  receive,  whose  every  word  deserves 
To  taste  of  thy  most  worst  ?    Thy  tyranny, 
Together  working  with  thy  jealousies,— 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys,  too  green  and  idle 
For  girls  of  nine,— O  1  think,  what  they  have 

done, 
And  then  run  mad,  indeed  ;  stark  mad,  for  all 
Thy  by-gone  fooleries  were  but.  spices  of  it. 
That  thou  betray'dst  Polixenes,  'twas  nothing  ; 
That  did  but  show  thee  of  a  fool,  inconstant, 
And  damnable  ungrateful :  nor  was't  much, 
Thou   would'st  have  poison'd  good   Ctnnillo's 

honour, 
To  have  him  kill  a  king  ;  poor  trespasses, 
More  monstrous  standing  by  !  whereof  1  reckon 

The 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


163 


The  casting  forth  to  crows  thy  baby  daughter, 
To  be  or  none,  or  little  ;  though  a  devil 
Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire,  ere  don't : 
Nor  is't  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 
Of  the  young  prince,  whose  honourable  thoughts 
(Thoughts  high  for  one  so  tender)  cleft  the  heart 
That  could  conceive  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 
Blemish'd  his  gracious  dam :  this  is  not,  no, 
Laid  to  thy  answer:  but  the  last,— O,  lords  I 
When  1  have  said,  cry,  woe!— the  queen,  the 

queen, 
The  sweet'st,  dear'st  creature's  dead ;  and  ven- 

geance  for't 
Not  dropp'd  down  yet. 

First  Lord. 

The  higher  powers  forbid  I 
raulina. 
I  say,  she's  dead;  I'll  swear't:  if  word,  nor 
oath, 
Prevail  not,  go  and  see.    If  you  can  bring 
Tincture,  or  lustre,  in  her  lip,  her  eye, 
Heat  outwardly,  or  breath  within,  I  11  serve  you 
As  I  would  do  the  gods.  — But,  O  thou  tyrant  1 
Do  not  repent  these  things,  for  they  are  heavier 
Than  all  thy  woes  can  stir;  therefore,  betake 

thee 
To  nothing  but  despair.    A  thousand  knees 
Ten  thousand  years  together,  naked,  fasting, 
Upon  a  barren  mountain,  and  still  winter, 
In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the  gods 
To  look  that  way  thou  wert. 

I  >eoiitej. 

Go  on,  go  on ; 
Thou  canst  not  speak  too  much :  I  have  deserv'd 
All  tongues  to  talk  their  bitterest. 

First  Lord. 

Say  no  more : 
Howe'er  the  business  goes,  you  have  made  fault 
I'  the  boldness  of  your  speech. 

Paulina. 

I  am  sorry  for't: 
All  faults  1  make,  when  I  shall  come  to  know 

them, 
I  do  repent.     Alas !  I  have  show'd  too  much 
The  rashness  of  a  woman.     He  is  touch'd 
To  the  noble  heart What's  gone,  and  what's 

past  help, 
Should  be  past  grief:  do  not  receive  affliction 
At  my  petition,  I  beseech  you  ;  rather, 
Let  me  be  punish'd  that  have  minded  you 
Of  what  you  should  forget.     Now,  good  my 
Sir,  royal  sir,  forgive  a  foolish  woman :     [liege, 
The  love  I  bore  your  queen, — lo,  fool  again  1 — 
I'll  speak  of  her  no  more,  nor  of  your  children ; 
I'll  not  remember  you  of  my  own  lord, 
Who  is  lost  too.      Take  your  patience  to  you, 
And  I'll  say  nothing. 

Leoates. 

Thou  didst  speak  but  well, 
When  most  the  truth,  which  1  receive  much 

better, 
Than  to  be  pitied  of  thee.    Pr'ythee,  bring  me 
To  the  dead  bodies  of  my  queen  and  son. 
One  grave  shall  be  for  both :  upon  them  shall 
The  causes  of  their  death  appear,  unto 
Our  shame  perpetual.    Once  a  day  I'll  visit 
The  chapel  where  they  lie ;  and  tears  shed  there 
Shall  be  my  recreation:  so  long  as  nature 
Will  bear  up  with  this  exercise,  so  long 
I  daily  vow  to  use  it.     Come,  and  lead  me 
To  these  sorrows.  [Exeunt. 


SCESE  III.    Bohemia.    A  Desert  Country 
near  the  Sea. 

Rat«f  Antigonus,  with  the  Babe;  and  a  Mariner. 
Antigoniu. 
Thou  art  perfect,  then,  our  ship  hath  touch'd 
upon 
The  deserts  of  Bohemia  f 

•Mariner. 

Ay,  my  lord ;  and  fear 
We  have  landed  in  ill  time:    the  skies  look 

grimly, 
And  threaten  present  blusters.  In  my  conscience, 
The  heavens  with  that  we  have  in  hand  are 
And  frown  upon  us.  [angry, 

Antigonus. 
Their  sacred  wills  be  done!— Go,  get  aboard; 
Look  to  thy  bark:  I'll  not  be  long,  before 
I  call  upon  thee. 

Mariner. 
I     Make  your  best  haste,  and  go  not 
Too  far  i'  the  land:  'tis  like  to  be  loud  weather; 
;  Besides,  this  place  is  famous  for  the  creatures 
!  Of  prey  that  keep  upon't. 

Antigonus. 

Go  thou  away : 
III  follow  instantly. 

Mariner. 
I  I  am  glad  at  heart    - 

i  To  be  so  rid  o'  the  business.  [Exit. 

Antigonus. 

Come,  poor  babe :  — 
:  I  have  heard,  (but  not  believ'd)  the  spirits  o'  the 

dead 
May  walk  again :  if  such  thing  be,  thy  mother 
Appear'd  to  me  last  night,  for  ne'er  was  dream 
;  So  like  a  waking.     To  me  comes  a  creature, 
.  Sometimes  her  head  on  one  side,  some  another; 
j 1  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow, 
^o  fill'd,  and  so  becoming:  in  pure  white  robes, 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach 
My  cabin  where  I  lay,  thrice  bow'd  before  me, 
And,  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eyes 
Became  two  spouts :  the  fury  spent,  anon 
Did  this  break  from  her:—"  Good  Antigonus, 
"  Since  fate,  against  thy  better  disposition, 
*'  Hath  made  thy  person  for  the  thrower-out 
"  Of  my  poor  babe,  according  to  thine  oath, 
"  Places  remote  enough  are  in  Bohemia, 
"  There  weep,  and  leave  it  crying ;  and,  for  the 
"  Is  counted  lost  for  ever,  Perdita  [babe 

"  I  pr'ythee,  call't:  for  this  ungentle  business, 
"  Put  on  thee  by  my  lord,  thou  ne'er  shalt  see 
"Thy   wife    Paulina   more:"— and   so,  with 

shrieks 
She  melted  into  air.    Affrighted  much, 
I  did  in  time  collect  myself,  and  thought 
This  was  so,  and  no  slumber.     Dreams  are  toys ; 
Yet  for  this  once,  yea,  superstitiously, 
I  will  be  squar'd  by  this.     I  do  believe, 
Hermitme  hath  suffer'd  death  ;  and  that 
Afiollo  would,  this  being  indeed  the  issue 
Of  king  Polixenes,  it  should  here  be  laid, 
Either  for  life  or  death,  upon  the  earth 
Of  its  right  father.  — Blossom,  speed  thee  well ! 
[Laying  down  the  babe. 
There  lie ;  and  there  thy  character :  there  these, 
[Laying  down  a  bundle. 
Which  may,  if  fortune  please,  both  breed  thee, 

Srettv, 
11  rest  thine.  — The  storm  begins Poor 

wretch ! 
That  for  thv  mother's  fault  art  thus  expos'd 
To  loss,  and  what  may  follow.  —  Weep,  I  cannot. 

But 


%H 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE 


Act  iii.  5c.  m. 


But  my  heart  bleeds,  and  most  accurs'd  am  I, 
To  be  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this.  —  Farewell! 
The  day  frowns  more  and  more :  thou  art  like 
A  lullaby  100  rough.    I  never  saw  [to  have 

The  heavens  so  dim  by  day.     [Bear  roars.]  A 

savage  clamour  ? — 
Well  may  I  get  aboard!— This  is  the  chase; 
I  am  gone  for  ever.       [Exit,  pursued  by  a  bear, 

Enter  an  old  Shepherd. 
Shepherd. 

I  would  there  were  no  age  between  ten  and 
three-and-twenty,  or  that  youth  would  sleep  out 
the  rest ;  for  there  is  nothing  in  the  between  but 
getting  wenches  with  child,  wronging  the  an. 
cientry,  stealing,  fighting.  —  Hark  you  now  !  — 
Would  any  but  these  boiled-brains  of  nineteen, 
and  two-and-twenty,  hunt  this  weather?  They 
have  scared  away  two  of  my  best  sheep ;  which, 
I  fear,  the  wolf  will  sooner  find,  than  the  master: 
if  any  where  I  have  them,  'tis  by  the  sea-3ide, 
brow  zing  of  ivy.  Good  luck,  an't  be  thy  will! 
what  have  we  here?  [Taking  up  the  child.] 
Mercy  on's,  a  barn ;  a  very  pretty  barn  !  A  boy, 
or  a  child,  I  wonder?  A  pretty  one;  a  very 
pretty  one.  Sure  some  scape:  though  I  am  not 
bookish,  yet  I  can  read  waiting-gentlewoman  in 
the  scape.  This  has  been  some  stair,  work,  some 
trunk-work,  somebehiud-door-work:  they  were 
warmer  that  got  this,  than  the  poor  thing  is  here. 
I'll  take  it  up  for  pity;  yet  I'll  tarry  till  my  son 
come:  he  hallood  but  even  now.  — Whoa,  ho 
hoa! 

Enter  Clown. 
Clown. 

Hilloa,  loa ! 

Shepherd. 

What !  art  so  near  ?    If  thou'lt  see  a  thing  to 
talk  on  when  thou  art  dead  and  rotten,  come 
hither.    What  ail'st  thou,  man  ? 
Clown. 

I  have  seen  two  such  sights,  by  sea,  and  by 
land  !— but  I  am  not  to  say  it  is  a  sea,  for  it  is 
now  the  sky :  betwixt  the  firmament  and  it  you 
cannot  thrust  a  bodkin's  point. 

Shepherd. 

Why,  boy,  how  is  it  r 

Clown. 

I  would,  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  how  it 
rages,  how  it  takes  up  the  shore !  but  that's  not 
to  the  point.  O,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the 
poor  souls  !  sometimes  to  see  'ein,  and  not  to  see 
'em  :  now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her 
mainmast ;  and  anon  swallowed  with  yest  and 
froth,  as  you'd  thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogshead. 
And  then  for  the  land  service:— to  see  how  the 
bear  tore  out  his  shoulder  bone  ;  how  he  cried  j 
to  me  for  help,  and  said,  his  name  was  Anli- 
gonus,  a  nobleman. — But  to  make  an  end  of  the 
ship: — to  sec  how  the  sea  flap-dragoned  it;  — 
but,  first,  how  the  poor  souls  roared,  and  the 
sea  mocked  them  ;  —and  how  the  poor  gentle- 
man roared,  and  the  bear  mocked  him,  both 
roaring  louder  than  the  sea,  or  weather. 

Shepherd . 
Name  of  mercy  !  when  was  this,  boy  ? 

Clown. 
Now,  now ;   I  have  not  winked  since  1  saw 
these  sights :  the  men  are  not  yet  cold  under 
water,  nor  the  bear  half  dined  on  the  gentle- 
man :  he's  at  it  now. 

Shepherd . 
Would  I  had  been  by,  to  have  helped  the  old 
man  I 


Clown. 
I  would  you  had  been  by  the  ship's  side,  to 
have  helped  her:  there  your  charity  would  have 
lacked  footing. 

Shepherd. 
Heavy  matters !  heavy  matters  !  but  look  thee 
here,  boy.  Now  bless  thyself:  thou  met'st  with 
things  dying,  1  with  things  new  born.  Here's  a 
j  sight  for  thee:  look  thee,  a  bearing-cloth  for  a 
I  squire's  child!  Look  thee  here:  take  up,  take 
!up,  boy ;  open't.  So,  let's  see.  It  was  told  me, 
1  should  be  rich  by  the  fairies:  this  is  some 
i  changeling.  —  Open't :  what's  within,  boy  ? 

j     „r    .  Clown. 

l  ou  re  a  made  old  man :  if  the  sins  of  your 
.youth  are  forgiven  you,  you're  well  to  live. 
Gold!  all  gold  1 

_ ,  Shepherd. 

This  is  fairy  gold,  boy,  and  'twill  prove  so : 
up  with  it,  keep  it  close  ;  home,  home,  the  next 
way.  We  are  lucky,  boy ;  and  to  be  so  still 
requires  nothing  but  secrecy. — Let  my  sheep 
go. — Come,  good  boy,  the  next  way  home. 

Clown. 
Go  you  the  next  way  with  your  findings  :  I'll 
go  see  if  the  bear  be  gone  from  the  gentleman, 
and  how  much  he  hath  eaten :  they  are  never 
curst,  but  when  they  are  hungry.  If  there  be 
any  of  him  left,  I'll  bury  it. 

Shepherd. 
That's  a  good  deed.    If  thou  may'st  discern 
by  that  which  is  left  of  him,  what  he  is,  fetch 
me  to  the  sight  of  him. 

Clown. 
Marry,  will  I ;  and  you  shall  help  to  put  him 
i'  the  ground. 

Shepherd. 

'Tis  a  lucky  day,  boy,  and  we'll  do  good  deeds 

on't-  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Enter  Time,  the  Chorus. 

Time. 

I    THAT  please  some,  try  all;  both  joy,  and 
»        terror,  [error,— 

Of  good   and   bad;    that   make,    and    unfold 
Now  take  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wings.     Impute  it  not  a  crime 
To  me,  or  my  swift  passage,  that  1  slide 
O'er  sixteen  years,  and  leave  the  growth  untried 
Of  that  wide  gap ;  since  it  is  in  my  power 
To  o'erthrow  law,  and  in  one  self-born  hour 
To  plant  and  o'erwhelm  custom.    Let  me  pass 
The  same  I  am,  ere  ancient'st  order  was, 
Or  what  is  now  receiv'd :  1  witness  to 
The  times  that  brought  them  in  ;  so  shall  I  do 
To  the  freshest  things  now  reigning,  and  make 
The  glistering  of  this  present,  as  my  tale    [stale 
Now  seems  to  it.    Your  patience  this  allowing, 
I  turn  my  glass,  and  give  my  scene  such  growing, 
As  you  had  slept  between.     Leonles  leaving 
Th'  effects  of  his  fond  jealousies,  so  grieving 
That  he  shuts  up  himself,  imagine  me, 
Gentle  spectators,  that  1  now  may  be 
In  fair  Bohemia  ;  and  remember  well, 
I  mention'd  a  son  o'  the  king's,  which  Florizel 
I  now  name  to  you  ;  and  with  speed  so  pace 
To  speak  of  Perdita,  now  grown  in  grace 
Equal  with  wondering:  What  of  her  ensues, 
I  list  not  prophesy  ;  but  let  Time's  news 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iu 


Be  known    when  'tit  brought  forth:— a  shep- 
herd s  daughter, 
And  what  to  her  adheres,  which  follows  after, 
Is  th'  argument  of  Tune.    Of  this  allow, 
If  ever  you  have  spent  time  worse  ere  now : 
If  never,  yet  that  Time  himself  doth  say, 
He  wishes  earnestly  you  never  may.  [Kxlt. 

SCF.NE  I.    The  Same.    A  Koom  In  the  Palace 
of  Poh'renes. 

Enter  Polixcnet  and  Camillo. 

Pollxenes. 

I  pray  thee,  good  Camillo,  be  no  more  impor- 
tunate :  'tis  a  sickness  denying  thee  any  thing,  I 
a  death  to  grant  this. 

Camillo. 

It  is  fifteen  years,  since  I  saw  my  country: 
though  I  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  aired 
abroad,  I  desire  to  lay  my  bones  there.  Besides, 
the  penitent  king,  my  master,  hath  sent  for  me; 
to  whose  feeling  sorrows  I  might  be  some  allay, 
or  1  o'erween  to  think  so,  which  is  another  spur 
to  my  departure. 

Pnlixenes. 

As  thou  lovest  me,  Camillo,  wipe  not  out  the 
rest  of  thy  services,  by  leaving  me  now.  The 
need  I  have  of  thee,  thine  own  goodness  hath 
made:  better  not  to  have  had  thee,  than  thus  to 
want  thee.  Thou,  having  made  me  businesses, 
which  none  without  thee  can  sufficiently  manage, 
must  either  stay  to  execute  them  thyself,  or  take 
awav  with  thee  the  very  services  thou  hast  done ; 
which  if  I  have  not  enough  considered,  (as  too 
much  I  cannot)  to  be  more  thankful  to  thee 
shall  be  mv  study,  and  my  profit  therein,  the 
heaping  friendships.  Of  that  fatal  country, 
Sicilia,  pr'ythee  speak  no  more,  whose  very 
naming  punishes  me  with  the  remembrance  of 
that  penitent,  as  thou  call'st  him,  and  recon- 
ciled king,  my  brother ;  whose  loss  of  his  most 
Erecious  queen,  and  children,  are  even  now  to 
e  afresh  lamented.  Say  to  me,  when  saw'st 
thou  the  prince  Florizel,  my  son?  Kings  are 
no  less  unhappy,  their  issue  not  being  gracious, 
than  they  are  in  losing  them  when  they  have 
approved  their  virtues. 

Camillo. 

Sir,  it  is  three  days,  since  I  saw  the  prince. 
What  his  happier  affairs  may  be,  are  to  me  un. 
known  :  but  1  have  missingly  noted,  he  is  of  late 
much  retired  from  court,  and  is  less  frequent 
to  his  princely  exercises  than  formerly  he  hath 
appeared. 

Pollxenes. 

I  have  considered  so  much,  Camillo,  and  with 
some  care;  to  far,  that  I  have  eyes  under  my 
service,  which  look  upon  his  removedness:  from 
whom  I  have  this  intelligence;  that  he  is  seldom 
from  the  house  of  a  most  homely  shepherd ;  a 
man,  they  say,  that  from  very  nothing,  and  be- 

£ond  the'iroa'gination  of  ids  neighbours,  is  grown 
Ho  an  unspeakable  estate. 
Camillo 
I  have  heard,  sir,  of  such  a  man.  who  hath  a 
daughter  of  most  rare  note :  the  report  of  her  is 
extended  more,  than  can  be  thought  to  begin 
from  such  a  cottage. 

Polixenes. 
That's  likewise  part  of  my  intelligence,  but, 
I  fear,  the  angle  that  plucks  our  son  thither. 
Thou  shalt  accompany  us  to  the  place,  where 
we  will,  not  appearing  what  we  are,  have  some 
question  with  the  shepherd ;  from  whose  sim- 
plicity, I  think  it  not  uneasy  to  get  the  cause  of 


3*5 


my  son's  resort  thither.  Pr'ythee,  be  my  pre- 
sent partner  in  this  business,  aud  lay  aside  the 
thoughts  of  Sicilia. 

Camillo. 
1  willingly  obey  your  command. 

Pollxenes. 
My  best  Camillo!  —  We  must  disguise  our- 
selves. .i>..-M,:. 


SCESE  II.    The  Same.    A  Road  near  the 
ShepAerd't  Cottage. 

Knter  Autolycus,  singing. 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer,— 

With,  heigh !  the  doxy  over  the  dale, — 
Why,  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the  year  ; 

For  the  ri  d  blood  reigns  in  the  winter's  pale. 
The  white  sheet  bleaching  on  the  hedge, — 
With,  height  the  sweet  birds,  0,  how  they 
sing !  — 
Doth  set  my  prigging  tooth  on  edge  ; 

For  a  quart  vj  ale  is  a  dish  for  a  king. 
The  lark,  titat  lirra-lirra  chants,—  [Jay, 

With  heigh !  with  heigh !  the  thrush  and  the 
Are  summer  songs  for  me  and  my  aunts, 
While  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 
I  have  served  prince  Florizel,  and,  in  my  time, 
wore  three-pile;  but  now  1  am  out  of  service: 
But  shall  J  go  mourn  for  that,  my  dear? 

The  pale  moon  shines  by  night ; 
And  when  I  wander  here  and  lheret 

1  then  do  most  go  right. 
Jf  tinkers  may  have  leave  to  live, 
And  bear  the  sow-skin  budget, 
Then  my  account  I  well  may  give, 
And  in  the  stocks  avouch  it. 
My  traffic  is  sheets ;  when  the  kite  builds,  look 
to  lesser  linen .   My  father  named  me,  A  vtolycus  ; 
who,  being,  as  I  am,  littered  under  Mercury, 
was  likewise  a  snapper-up  of  unconsidered  trifles. 
With  die,  and  drab,  I  purchased  this  caparison, 
and  my  revenue  is  the  sidy  cheat.    Gallows,  and 
knock, are  too  powerful  on  the  highway:  beating, 
and  hanging,  are  terrors  to  me:  for  the  life  to 
come,  I  sleep  out  the  thought  of  it — A  prize ! 
a  prize ! 

Enter  Clown. 

Clown. 

Let  me  see :  —  Every  'leven  wether  tods ;  every 
tod  yields —pound  and  odd  shilling :  fifteen  huu  - 
dred  shorn,  — what  comes  the  wool  to? 

Autolycus.  [Aside. 

If  the  springe  hold,  the  cock's  mine. 
Clown. 

I  cannot  do't  without  counters. — Let  me  see; 
what  I  am  to  buy  for  our  sheep- shearing  feast? 
"  Three  pound  of  sugar ;  five  pound  of  currants ; 
rice"  —  What  will  this  sister  of  mine  do  with 
rice  ?  But  my  father  hath  made  her  mistress 
or  the  feast,  and  she  lays  it  on.  She  hath  made 
me  lour-and-twenty  nosegays  for  the  shearers ; 
three-man  song-men  all,  and  very  good  ones, 
but  they  are  most  of  them  means  arid  bases  :  but 
one  Puritan  amongst  them,  and  he  sings  psalms 
to  hornpipes  1  must  have  saffron,  to  colour 
the  warden  pies;  mace, —  dates, — none;  that's 
out  of  my  note:  "nutmegs,  seven:  a  race  or  two 
of  ginger ;"  but  that  I  may  beg: — "four  pound 
of  prunes,  and  as  many  of  raisins  o'  the  sun." 
Autolycus. 

O,  that  ever  I  was  born ! 

[Grovelling  on  the  ground. 
Clown. 


366 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Clown. 
1'  the  name  of  me !  — 

Autolycus. 
O,  help  me,  help  me !  pluck  but  off  these  rags, 
and  then,  death,  death  ! 

Clown. 
Alack,  poor  soul !  thou  hast  need  of  more  rags 
to  lay  on  thee,  rather  than  have  these  off. 
Autolycus. 
O,  sir  !  the  loathsomeness  of  them  offends  me 
more  than  the  stripes  I  have  received,  which  are 
mighty  ones,  and  millions. 
Clown. 
Alas,  poor  man !   a  million  of  beating  may 
come  to  a  great  matter. 

Autolycus. 
I  am  robbed,  sir,  and  beaten  ;  my  money  and 
apparel  ta'en  from  me,  and  these  detestable  things 
put  upon  me.  __ 

Clown. 

What,  by  a  horse-man,  or  a  foot-man  ? 

Autolycus. 
A  foot-man,  sweet  sir,  a  foot-man. 

Clown. 
Indeed,  he  should  be  a  foot-man,  by  the  gar- 
ments he  hath  left  with  thee :  if  this  be  a  horse- 
man's coat,  it  hath  seen  very  hot  service.  Lend 
me  thy  hand,  I'll  help  thee :  come :  lend  me  thy 
hand.  [Helping  him  up. 

Autolycus. 
O  !  good  sir,  tenderly,  O  ! 

Clown. 
Alas,  poor  soul ! 

Autolycus. 
O,  good  sir  !  softly,  good  sir.    1  fear,  sir,  my 
shoulder-blade  is  out. 

Clowu. 
How  now  ?  canst  stand  ? 

Autolycus. 
Softly,  dear  sir:  [Picks  his  pocket.]  good  sir, 
softly.     You  ha'  done  me  a  charitable  office. 
Clown. 
Dost  lack  any  money  ?    I  have  a  little  money 
for  thee. 

Autolycus. 
No,  good,  sweet  sir :  no,  I  beseech  you,  sir. 
I  have  a  kinsman  not  past  three  quarters  of  a 
mile  hence,  unto  whom  1  was  going:  I  shall 
there  have  money,  or  any  thing  1  want.  Offer 
me  no  money,  I  Pr<*v  you :  that  kills  my 
heart. 

Clown. 
What  manner  of  fellow  was  he  that  robbed 
you? 

Autolycus. 
A  fellow,  sir,  that  1  have  known  to  go  about 
with  trol-my-dames :  I  knew  him  once  a  ser- 
vant of  the  prince.     I  cannot  tell,  good  sir,  for 
which  of  his  virtues  it  was,  but  he  was  certainly 
whipped  out  of  the  court. 
Clown. 
His  vices,  you  would  say:  there's  no  virtue 
whipped  out  of  the  court :    they  cherish  it,  to 
make  it  stay  there,  and  yet  it  will  no  more  but 
abide. 

Autolycus. 
Vices  I  would  say,  sir.  I  know  this  man 
well :  he  hath  been  since  an  ape-bearer  ;  then  a 
process-server,  a  bailiff;  then  he  compassed  a 
motion  of  the  prodigal  son,  and  married  a 
tinker's  wife  within  a  mile  where  my  land  and 
living    lies ;    and,    having   flown    over   many 


knavish  professions,  he  settled  only  in  rogue: 
some  call  him  Autolycus. 
Clown. 
Out  upon  him !    Prig,  for  my  life,  prig :  he 
haunts  wakes,  fairs,  and  bear-baitings. 
Autolycus. 
Very  true,  sir ;  he,  sir,  he :  that's  the  rogue, 
that  put  me  into  this  apparel. 
Clown. 
Not  a  more  cowardly  rogue  in  all  Bohemia  : 
if  you  had  but  looked  big,  and  spit  at  him,  he'd 
have  run. 

Autolycus. 
I  must  confess  to  you,  sir,  I  am  no  fighter :  I 
am  false  of  heart  that  way,  and  that  he  knew,  I 
warrant  him. 

Clown. 
How  do  you  now  ? 

Autolycus. 
Sweet  sir,  much  better  than  I  was :  I  can 
stand,  and  walk.    I  will  even  take  my  leave  of 
you,  and  pace  softly  towards  my  kinsman's. 
Clown. 
Shall  I  bring  thee  on  the  way  ? 

Autolycus. 
No,  good-faced  sir  ;  no,  sweet  sir. 

Clown. 
Then  fare  thee  well.    I  must  go  buy  spices 
for  our  sheep-shearing. 

Autolycus. 
Prosper  you,  sweet  sir! — [Exit  Clown.] 
Your  purse  is  not  hot  enough  to  purchase  your 
spice.  I'll  be  with  you  at  your  sheep-shearing 
too.  If  I  make  not  this  cheat  bring  out  another, 
and  the  shearers  prove  sheep,  let  me  be  unrolled, 
and  my  name  put  in  the  book  of  virtue  1 
Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  uay, 

And  merrily  hent  the  stile-a  : 
A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Shepherd"* 
Cottage. 

Enter  Fiorixel  and  Perdita. 
Florizel. 
These,  your  unusual  weeds,  to  each  part  of 
Do  give  a  life:  no  shepherdess,  but  Flora  [you 
Peering  in  April's  front.  This,  your  sheep- 
Is  as  a  meeting  of  the  petty  gods,  [shearing, 
And  you  the  queen  on't. 

Perdita. 

Sir,  my  gracious  lord, 
To  chide  at  your  extremes  it  not  becomes  me  ; 
O  1  pardon,  that  I  name  them  :  your  high  self, 
The  gracious  mark  o'  the  land,  you  have  ob- 
scur'd  [maid, 

With  a  swain's  wearing,  and  me,  poor  lowly 
Most  goddess-like  prank'd   up.    But  that  our 

feasts 
In  every  mess  have  folly,  and  the  feeders 
Digest  it  with  a  custom,  I  should  blush 
To  see  you  so  attired,  sworn,  I  think, 
To  show  myself  a  glass. 

HorliH 

I  bless  the  time, 
When  my  good  falcon  made  her  flight  across 
Thy  father's  ground. 

Ptrdlta 

Now,  Jove  afford  you  cause  ! 
To  me  the  difference  forges  dread  ;  your  great- 
ness [ble 
Hath  not  been  us'd  to  fear.    Even  now  I  trem 

To 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m. 


THB  WINTER'S  TALE. 


367 


To  think,  your  father,  by  tome  accident, 
Should  pass  this  way,  as  you  did.     O,  the  fates  ! 
How  would  he  look,  to  see  his  work,  so  noble. 
Vilely  bound  up  ?    What  would  he  say  ?    Or 

how 
Should  I,  in  these  my  borrow'd  flaunts,  behold 
The  sternness  of  his  preseuce  ? 
FlorUol 

Apprehend 
Nothing  but  jollity.    The  gods  themselves, 
Humbling  their  deities  to  love,  have  taken 
The  shapes  of  beasts  upon  them  :  Jupiter 
Became  a  bull,  and  bellowM  ;  the  green  Nep- 
tune 
A  ram,  and  bleated  ;  and  the  fire-rob'd  god, 
Golden  Apollo,  a  poor  humble  swain, 
As  I  seem  now.    Their  transformations 
Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  ran- r. 
Nor  in  a  way  so  chaste  ;  since  my  desires 
Run  not  before  mine  honour,  nor  my  lusts 
Burn  hotter  than  my  faith. 
Perdita. 

O  1  but,  sir, 

Your  resolution  cannot  hold,  when  'tis  [king. 
Oppos'd,  as  it  must  be,  by  the  power  of  the 
One  of  these  two  must  be  necessities, 
Which  then  will  speak  —  that  you  must  change 
Or  I  my  life.  [this  purpose, 

Florliel. 
Thou  dearest  Perdita,  [not 

With  these  forc'd  thoughts,  I  pr'ythee,  darken 
The  mirth  o'  the  feast :  or  I'll  be  thine,  my  fair, 
Or  not  my  father's  ;  for  I  cannot  be, 
Mine  own,  nor  any  thing  to  any,  if 
I  be  not  thine :  to  this  1  am  most  constant, 
Though  destiny  say,  no.    Be  merry,  gentle  ; 
Strangle  such  thoughts  as  these  with  any  thing 
That  you  behold  the  while.    Your  guests  are 

coming : 
Lift  up  your  countenance,  as  it  were  the  day 
Of  celebration  of  that  nuptial,  which 
We  two  have  sworn  shall  come. 


Perdita. 


Stand  you  auspicious. 


O,  lady  fortune. 


Enter  Shepherd,  with  Polixenei  and  Camillo, 
disguised;  Clown,  Mopsa,  Dorcas,  and  others. 

Floriiel. 
See,  your  guests  approach  : 
Address  yourself  to  entertain  them  sprightly, 
And  let's  be  red  with  mirth. 
.Shepherd. 
Fie,  daughter  !  when  my  old  wife  liv'd,  upon 
This  day  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook  ; 
Both  dame  and  servant ;  welcom'd  all ;  serv'd 
all ;  [here, 

Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn  :  now 
At  upper  end  o'  the  table,  now,  i'  the  middle  ; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his  ;  her  face  o'  fire      [it, 
With  labour,  and  the  thing  she  took  to  quench 
She  would  to  each  one  sip.    You  are  retir'd, 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one,  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting :  pray  you,  bid 
These  unknown  friends  to  's  welcome ;  for  it  is 
A  way  to  make  us  better  friends,  more  known. 
Come  ;  quench  your  blushes,  and  present  your- 
self [on, 
That  which  you  are,  mistress  o'  the  feast :  come 
And  bid  us  welcome  to  your  sheep-shearing, 
As  your  good  flock  shall  prosper. 

Fvidlla.         [To  I'vllueins. 
Sir,  welcome. 
H  is  my  father's  will,  I  should  take  on  me 


The  hostess-ship  o*  the  day:— LTo  Camillo.'] 

You're  welcome,  sir. —  ['Irs- 

Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas — Reverend 
For  you  there's  rosemary,  and  rue ;  these  keep 
Seeming  and  savour  all  the  winter  long : 
Grace,  and  remembrance,  be  to  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing  I 
Polixenes. 

Shepherdess, 
(A  fair  one  are  you)  well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  ot  winter. 

Perdita. 
Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient,- 
Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter,— the  fairest  flowers  of  the 

season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streak'd  gillyflowers, 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards:  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden's  barren,  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Polixenei. 

Wherefore,  gentle  maiden, 
Do  you  neglect  them  ? 

Perdita. 

For  I  have  heard  it  said, 
There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 
Polixenei 

Say, there  be ; 
Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  o'er  that  art. 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we 
A  gentle  scion  to  the  wildest  stock,  [marry 

And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race :  this  is  an  art  [but 

Which  does  mend  nature,— change  it  rather; 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Perdita. 

So  it  is. 
Polixenes 
Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyflowers, 
And  do  not  call  them  bastards. 
Perdita. 

I'll  not  put 
The  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them  : 
No  more  than,  were  I  painted,  I  would  wish 
This  youth  should  say,  'twere  well,  and  only 
therefore 

Desire  to  breed  by  me Here's  flowers  for 

Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram  ;    [you  ; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  wi'  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping:  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age.    You  are  very  welcome. 
Camilla. 
I  should  leave  grazing,  were  I  of  your  flock, 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 

Perdita. 

Out.  alas  ! 
You'd  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through.— Now 
my  fair'st  friend,  [might 
I  would,  1  had  some  flowers  o'  the  spring,  that 
Become  your  time  of  day  ;  and  yours,  and  yours, 
That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing : — O  Proserpina  f 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let'st 
From  Dis'i  waggon  !  daffodils,  [fall 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty,  violets  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea'i  breath  ;  pale  primroses, 
That| 


368 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


That  die  unmarried  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown-imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one.     O  !  these  I  lack, 
To  make  you  garlands  of,  and,  my  sweet  friend, 
To  strew  him  o'er  and  o'er. 
Floriiel. 

What !  like  a  corse  ? 
Perdita. 
No,  like  a  bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on, 
Not  like  a  corse ;  or  if, — not  to  be  buried, 
But  quick,  and  in  mine  arms.    Come,  take  your 

flowers. 
Methinks,  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun-pastorals  :  sure,  this  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 
Floriiel. 

What  you  do     [sweet, 
Still  betters  what  is  done.    When  you  speak, 
I'd  have  you  do  it  ever :  when  you  sing, 
I'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so  ;  so  give  alms  ; 
Pray  so  ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs, 
To  sing  them  too.     When  you  do  dance,  I  wish 
A  wave  o'  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do    [you 
Nothing  but  that ;  move  still,  still  so, 
And  own  no  other  function  :  each  your  doing, 
So  singular  in  each  particular, 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds, 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 
Perdita. 

O  Doricles ! 
Your  praises  are  too  large :  but  that  your  youth, 
And  the  true  blood,  which  peeps  fairly  through 

it, 
Do  plainly  give  you  out  an  unstain'd  shepherd, 
With  wisdom  I  might  fear,  my  Doricles, 
You  woo'd  me  the  false  way. 
Florlz-il. 

I  think,  you  have 
As  little  skill  to  fear,  as  I  have  purpose 
To  put  you  to't.— But,  come ;  our  dance,  I  pray. 
Your  hand,  my  Perdita :  so  turtles  pair, 
That  never  mean  to  part. 

Perdita. 

I'll  swear  for  'em. 
Polixenes. 
This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass,  that  ever 
Ran  on  the  green-sward:  nothing  she  does,  or 

seems, 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself; 
Too  noble  for  this  place. 

Csmillo. 

He  tells  her  something, 
That  makes  her  blood  look  on't.  Good  sooth, 
The  queen  of  curds  and  cream.  [she  is 

Clown. 

Come  on,  strike  up. 

Dorcas. 

Mopsa  must  be  your  mistress  :  marry,  garlick, 
To  mend  her  kissing  with.— 
Mopsa. 

Now,  in  good  time— 

Clown. 
Not  a  word,  a  word :  we  stand  upon  our  man- 
ners— 
Come,  strike  up.  [Music. 

[Here  a  dance  of  Shepherds  and  Shepherdesses. 

Polixenes. 
Pray,  good  shepherd,  what  fair  swain  is  this, 
Which  dances  with  your  daughter  ? 

Shepherd. 
They  call  him  Doricles,  and  boasts  himself 


To  have  a  worthy  feeding  ;  but  I  have  it 

Upon  his  own  report,  and  I  believe  it : 

He  looks   like  sooth.    He  says,  he  loves  my 

daughter : 
I  think  so  too  ;  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 
Upon  the  water,  as  he'll  stand,  and  read, 
As  'twere,  my  daughter's  eyes  ;  and,  to  be  plain, 
I  think,  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose, 
Who  loves  another  best. 

Polixenes. 

She  dances  featly. 

Shepherd. 
So  she  does  any  thing,  though  I  report  it, 
That  should  be  silent.     If  young  Doricles 
Do  light  upon  her,  she  shall  bring  him  that 
Which  he  not  dreams  of. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Servant. 
O  master  !  if  you  did  but  hear  the  pedler  at 
the  door,  you  would  never  dance  again  after  a 
tabor  and  pipe  ;  no,  the  bagpipe  could  not  move 
you.     He  sings  several  tunes  faster  than  you'll 
tell  money;  he  utters  them  as  he  had  eaten 
ballads,  and  all  men's  ears  grew  to  his  tunes. 
Clown. 
He  could  never  come  better :  he  shall  come 
in.    1  love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well ;  if  it  be 
doleful  matter,  merrily  set   down,  or  a  very 
pleasant  thing  indeed,  and  sung  lamentably. 
Servant 
He  hath  songs,  for  man,  or  woman,  of  all 
sizes  :  no  milliner  can  so  fit  his  customers  with 
gloves.      He  has  the  prettiest   love-songs  for 
maids ;  so  without  bawdry,  which  is  strange ; 
with  such  delicate  burdens  of  "  dildos "  and 
"fadings,"  "jump  her  and  thump  her;"   and 
where  some  stretch'd-mouth'd  rascal  would;  as 
it  were,  mean  mischief,  and  break  a  foul  gap 
into  the  matter,  he  makes  the  maid  to  answer, 
"  Whoop,  do  me  no  harm,  good  man ; "  puts 
him  off,  slights  him  with  "  Whoop,  do  me  no 
harm,  good  man." 

Polixenes. 
This  is  a  brave  fellow. 

Clown. 
Believe  me,  thou  talkest  of  an  admirable-con- 
ceited fellow.     Has  he  any  unbraided  wares  ? 
Servant. 
He  hath  ribands  of  all  the  colours  i'  the  rain- 
bow; points,  more  than  all  the  lawyers  in  Bo- 
hemia can  learnedly  handle,  though  they  come 
to  him  by  the  gross  ;  inkles,  caddisses,  cambrics, 
lawns :  why,  he  sings  them  over,  as  they  were 
gods  or  goddesses.    You  would  think  a  smock 
were  a  she-angel,  he  so  chants  to  the  sleeve- 
hand,  and  the  work  about  the  square  on't. 
Clown. 
Pr'ythee,  bring  him  in,  and  let  him  approach 
singing. 

Perdita. 
Forewarn  him,  that  he  use  no  scurrilous  words 
in's  tunes. 

Clown. 
You  have  of  these  pedlers,  that  have  more  in 
them  than  you'd  think,  sister. 
Perdita. 
Ay,  good  brother,  or  go  about  to  think. 

Enter  Autolycus,  singing. 
Lawn,  as  white  as  driven  snow  ; 
Cyprus,  black  as  e'er  was  crow  ; 
Gloves,  as  sweet  as  damask  roses  ; 
Masks  for  faces,  and  for  noses  ; 

Bugle- 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


369 


Bugle-bracelet,  necklace  amber. 

Perfume  for  a  lady's  chamber : 

H olden  quoifs,  and  stomachers, 

For  my  lads  to  give  their  dears  ; 

Pins  and  poking-sticks  of  steel, 

What  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel : 

Come,  buy  of  me,  come;  come  buy,  come  buy ; 

Buy,  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry : 

Come,  buy. 

If  I  were  not  in  lore  with  Mopsa,  thou  should'st  J 
take  no  money  of  me ;  but  being  enthrall'd  as  1 1 
am,  it  will  also  be  the  bondage  01  certain  ribands  , 
and  gloves. 

I  was  promised  them  against  the  feast,  but 
they  come  not  too  late  now. 
Dorcas. 
He  hath  promised  you  more  than  that,  or 
there  be  liars. 

Mopsa. 
He  hath  paid  you  all  he  promised  you :  may 
ye,  he  has  paid  you  more,  which  will  shame  you 
to  give  him  again. 

Clown 
Is  there  no  manners  left  among  maids  ?  will 
they  wear  their  plackets,  where  they  should 
bear  their  faces?  Is  there  not  milking-time, 
when  you  are  going  to  bed,  or  kiln-hole,  to 
whistle  off  these  secrets,  but  you  must  be  tittle- 
tattling  before  all  our  guests  ?  "Tis  well  they 
are  whispering.  Clamour  your  tongues,  and  not 
a  word  more. 

Mopia. 
I  have  done.    Come,  you  promised  me  a  taw- 
dry lace,  and  a  pair  of  sweet  gloves. 
Clown. 
Have  I  not  told  thee,  how  I  was  cozened  by 
the  way,  and  lost  all  my  money  ? 
Autolycus. 
And.  indeed,  sir,  there  are  cozeners  abroad ; 
therefore,  it  behoves  men  to  be  wary. 
Clown. 
Fear  not  thou,  man,  thou  shalt  lose  nothing 
here. 

Autolycus. 
I  hope  so,  sir;  for  I  have  about  me  many 
parcels  of  charge. 

Clown. 
What  hast  here?  ballads? 
Mopsa. 
Pray  now,  buy  some :  I  love  a  ballad  in  print 
o'-life,  for  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 
Autolycus, 
Here's  one  to  a  very  doleful  tune.     How  a 
usurer's  wife  was  brought  to  bed  of  twenty 
money-bags  at  a  burden  ;  and  how  she  longed 
to  eat  adders'  heads,  and  toads  carbonadoed. 
Mopsa. 
Is  it  true,  think  you  ? 

Autolycus. 
Very  true  ;  and  but  a  month  old. 

Dorcas. 
Bless  me  from  marrying  a  usurer ! 

Autolycus. 

Here's  the  midwife's  name  to't,  one  mistress 

Taleporter,  and  five  or  six  honest  wives'  that 

were  present :  Why  should  I  carry  lies  abroad  ? 

Mopsa. 

•Pray  you  now,  buy  it. 

Clown. 
Come  on,  lay  it  by :  and  let's  first  see  more 
balfads  ;  we'll  buy  the  other  things  anon. 


Autolycus. 
Here's  another  ballad,' of  a  fish,  that  appeared 
upon  the  coast,  on  Wednesday  the  fourscore  of 
April,  forty  thousand  fathom  above  water,  and 
sung    this    ballad    against  the  hard  hearts  of 
maids:  it  was   thought  she  was  a  woman,  and 
was  turned  into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not 
exchange  flesh  with  one  that  loved  her.    The 
ballad  is  very  pitiful,  and  as  true. 
Dorcas. 
It  is  true  too,  think  you  ? 

Autolycus. 
Five  justices'  hands  at  it,  and  witnesses  more 
than  my  pack  will  hold. 

Clown. 
Lay  it  by  too :  another. 

Autolycus. 
This  is  a  merry  ballad,  but  a  very  pretty  one. 

Mopsa. 
Let's  have  some  merry  ones. 

Autolycus. 
Why  this  is  a  passing  merry  one,  and  goes 
to  the  tune  of,  "  Two  maids  wooing  a  man." 
There's  scarce  a  maid  westward  but  she  sings 
it :  'tis  in  request,  I  can  tell  you. 
Mopsa. 
We  can  both  sing  it :  if  thou'lt  bear  a  part, 
thou  shalt  hear  ;  'tis  in  three  parts. 
Dorcas. 
We  had  the  tune  on't  a  month  ago. 

Autolycus. 
I  can  bear  my  part ;  you  must  know,  'tis  my 
occupation :  have  at  it  with  you. 

Autoiyeni    Get  you  hence,  for  I  must  go, 
Where  it  fits  not  you  to  know. 
Dorcas.        Whither? 
Mopsa.  01  whither? 

Dorcas.        Whither? 
Mopsa.         //  becomes  thy  oath  full  well, 

Thou  to  me  thy  secrets  tell. 
Dorcas.       Me  too:  let  me  go  thither. 
Mopsa.         Or  thougo'st  to  the  grange,  or  mill : 
Dorcas.       if  to  either ;  thou  dost  ill. 
Autolycus.  Neither. 
Dorcas.        What,  neither? 
Autolycus.  Neither. 

Dorcas.        Thou  hast  sworn  my  love  to  be; 
Mopsa.         Thou  hast  sworn  it  more  to  me  : 
Thent  whither  go'st  ?  say,  whither? 
Clown. 
We'll  have  this  song  out  anon  by  ourselves. 
My  father  and  the  gentlemen  are  in  sad  talk, 
and  we'll  not  trouble  them :  come,  bring  away 
thy  pack  after  me.    Wenches,  I'll  buy  for  you 
both .  Pedler,  let's  have  the  first  choice.— Follow 
me,  girls. 

Autolycus. 
And  you  shall  pay  well  for  'em.  [Aside. 

Will  you  buy  any  tapet 
Or  lace  for  your  cape. 
My  dainty  duck,  my  dear -a? 
Any  silk,  any  thread, 
Any  toys  for  your  head, 
Of  the  new'st,  andfin'st,fin'st  wear-a  ? 
Come  to  the  pedler  j 
Money's  a  medler, 
That  doth  utter  all  men's  warc-a. 
[Exeunt  Clown,  Autolycus,  Dorcas,  and  Mopsa. 
Knter  a  Servant. 
Servant. 
Master,  there  is  three  carters,  three  shepherds, 
11  b  three  : 


37° 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m 


three  neat-herds,  three  swine-herds,  that  have 
made  themselves  all  men  of  hair :  they  call 
themselves  saltiers ;  and  they  have  a  dance 
which  the  wenches  say  is  a  gallimaufry  of 
gambols,  because  they  are  not  in't ;  but  they 
themselves  are  o'  the  mind,  (if  it  be  not  too 
rough  for  some,  that  know  little  but  bowling)  it 
will  please  plentifully. 

Shepherd. 
Away!   we'll  none  on't :  here  has  been  too 
much  homely  foolery  already — I  know,  sir,  we 
weary  you.  _  „ 

Polixenes. 

You  weary  those  that  refresh  us.  Pray,  let's 
see  these  four  threes  of  herdsmen. 
Servant. 
One  three  of  them,  by  their  own  report,  sir, 
hath  danced  before  the  king;  and  not  the  worst 
of  the  three,  but  jumps  twelve  foot  and  a  half  by 
the  squire. 

Shepherd. 

Leave  your  prating.    Since  these  good  men 

are  pleased,  let  them  come  in:  but  quickly  now. 

Servant. 

Why,  they  stay  at  door,  sir.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Servant,  with  twelve  Rustics  habited 

like  Satyrs.    They  dance,  and  then  exeunt. 

Polixenes. 
O  father!  you'll  knowmore  of  that  hereafter. — 
Is  it  not  too  far  gone?— 'Tis  time  to  part  them. — 
He's  simple,  and  tells  much.    How  now,  fair 

shepherd? 
Your  heart  is  full  of  something,  that  does  take 
Your  mind  from  feasting.    Sooth,  when  I  was 

young, 
And  handed  love  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
To  load  my  she  with  knacks  :  I  would  have  ran- 

sack'd 
The  pedler's  silken  treasury,  and  have  pour'd  it 
To  her  acceptance ;  you  have  let  him  go, 
And  nothing  marted  with  him.     If  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  abuse,  and  call  this 
Your  lack  of  love,  or  bounty,  you  were  straited 
For  a  reply,  at  least,  if  you  make  a  care 
Of  happy  holding  her. 

Fiorizet 

Old  sir,  I  know 
She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are. 
The  gifts  she  looks  from  me  are  pack'd  and 

lock'd 
Up  in  my  heart,  which  1  have  given  already, 
But  not  deliver 'd.  —  O  !  hear  me  breathe  my 

life 
Before  this  ancient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem, 
Hath  sometime  lov'd :   1  take  thy  hand  ;  this 

hand, 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it, 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow,  that's 
By  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er.  [bolted 

Polixenes. 

What  follows  this  ?— 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand,  was  fair  before!  — I  have  put  you 
But,  to  your  protestation :  let  me  hear     [out — 
What  you  profess. 

Florizel. 

Do,  and  be  witness  to't. 
Polixenes. 
And  this  my  neighbour  too  ? 
Florizel. 

And  he,  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men  ;  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and 

all; 


That  were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch, 
Thereof  most  worthy;  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve;  had  force,  and 
knowledge,  [them, 

More  than  was  ever  man's,  I  would  not  prize 
Without  her  love:  for  her  employ  them  all, 
Commend  them,  and  condemn  them  to  her  ser- 
Or  to  their  own  perdition.  [vice, 

Polixenes. 

Fairly  offer'd. 
Camillo. 
This  shows  a  sound  affection. 
Shepherd. 

But,  my  daughter, 
Say  you  the  like  to  him  ? 
Perdita 

I  cannot  speak 
So  well,  nothing  so  well ;  no,  nor  mean  better: 
By  the  pattern  of  mine  own  thoughts  I  cut  out 
The  purity  of  his. 

Shepherd. 

Take  hands ;  a  bargain  :  — 
And,  friends  unknown,  you  shall  bear  witness 

to't. 
I  give  my  daughter  to  him,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equal  his. 

Flori/el 

O  !  that  must  be 
I'  the  virtue  of  your  daughter:  one  being  dead, 
I  shall  have  more  than  you  can  dream  of  yet ; 
Enough  then  for  your  wonder.     But,  come  on ; 
Contract  us  'fore  these  witnesses. 
Shepherd. 

Come,  your  hand ; 
And,  daughter,  yours. 

Polixenes. 
Soft,  swain,  awhile,  beseech  you. 
Have  you  a  father? 

Florizel. 

I  have;  but  what  of  him? 
Polixenes. 
Knows  he  of  this? 

Florizel. 
He  neither  does,  nor  shall. 
Polixenes. 
Methinks,  a  father 
Is  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son  a  guest  [more: 

That  best  becomes  the  table.    Pray  you,  once 
Is  not  your  father  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  affairs?  is  he  not  stupid     [hear? 
With  age,  and  altering  rheums  ?  Can  he  speak  ? 
Know  man  from  man  ?  dispute  his  own  estate  ? 
Lies  he  not  bed-rid  ?  and  again,  does  nothing, 
But  what  he  did  being  childish  ? 
Florizel 

No,  good  sir : 
He  has  his  health,  and  ampler  strength,  indeed, 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 
Polixenes. 

By  my  white  beard, 
You  offer  him,  if  this  be  so,  a  wrong 
Something  unfilial.     Reason,  my  son     [reason, 
Should  choose  himself  a  wife ;    but  as  good 
The  father,  (all  whose  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity)  should  hold  some  counsel 
In  such  a  business. 

Florizel. 
I  yield  all  this  ; 
But  for  some  other  reasons,  my  grave  sir. 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  know,  I  not  acquaint. 
My  father  of  this  business. 

Polixenes. 


Act  iv.  Sc  in. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


37« 


rolixMMt 

Let  him  know't. 
Florizel. 
He  shall  not. 

Polixenes. 
l'ry'thee,  let  him. 
Floriiel. 

No,  he  must  nut. 
Shepherd. 
Let  him,  my  son :  he  shall  not  need  to  grieve 
At  knowing  of  thy  choice. 
Florizel. 

Come,  come,  he  must  not. — 
Mark  our  contract. 

Polixenei. 

Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir, 
[Discovering  himself 
Whom  son  I  dare  not  call :  thou  art  too  base 
To  be  acknowledge.    Thou  a  sceptre's  heir, 
That  thus  affect'st  a  sheep-hook!  —  Thou  old 

traitor, 
I  am  sorry,  that  by  hanging  thee  I  can       [piece 

Hut  shorten  thy  life  one  week And  thou  fresh 

Of  excellent  witchcraft,  who  of  force  must  know 
The  royal  fool  thou  cop'st  with  — 
Shepherd. 

O,  my  heart ! 

Polixenes 

I'll  have  thy  beauty  scratch'd  with  briars,  and 

made 

More  homely  than  thy  state.  —  For  thee,  fond 

If  I  may  ever  know,  thou  dost  but  sigh,      [boy, 

That  thou  no  more  shalt  never  see  this  knack, 

(as  never 
I  mean  thou  shalt)  we'll  bar  thee  from  succes- 
sion ; 
Not  hold  thee  of  our  blood,  no  not  our  kin, 
Far  than  Deucalion  off: —  mark  thou  my  words. 
Follow  us  to  the  court  —  Thou,  churl,  for  this 

time, 
Though  full  of  our  displeasure,  yet  we  free  thee 
From  the  dead  blow  of  it.  —  And  you,  enchant- 
ment, — 
Worthy  enough  a  herdsman ;  yea,  him  too, 
That  makes  himself,  but  for  our  honour  therein, 
Unworthy  thee,  —  if  ever  henceforth  thou 
These  rural  latches  to  his  entrance  open, 
Or  hoop  his  body  more  with  thy  embraces, 
I  will  devise  a  death  as  cruel  for  thee, 
As  thou  art  tender  tot.  [Exit. 

Perdtta. 

Kven  here  undone ! 
I  was  not  much  afeard  ;  for  once,  or  twice, 
I  was  about  to  speak,  and  tell  him  plainly, 
The  selfsame  sun  that  shines  upon  his  court, 
Hides  not  his  visage  from  our  cottage,  but 
Looks  on  alike.  —  Will't  please  you,  sir,   be 

gone  ?  (To  Florizel. 

1  told  you,  what  would  come,  of  this.    Beseech 

you, 
Of  your  own  state  take  care :  this  dream  of  mine, 
Being  now  awake,  I'll  queen  it  no  iuch  farther, 
But  milk  my  ewes,  and  weep. 

Camillo. 

Why,  how  now,  father  ? 
Speak,  ere  thou  diest. 

Shepherd 

I  cannot  speak,  nor  think, 
Nor  dare  to  know  that  which  1  know.  —  O,  sir  2 
[To  Florhel. 
You  have  undone  a  man  of  fourscore  three. 
That  thought  to  fill  his  grave  in  quiet ;  yea, 
To  die  upon  the  bed  my  father  died, 


To  lie  close  by  his  honest  bones  :  but  now, 
Some  hangman  must  put  on  my  shroud,  and 

lay  me 
Where  no  priest  shovels  in  dust.  —  O  cursed 
wretch  !  To  Penlita. 

That  knew'st  this  was  the  prince,  and  would'st 
adventure 

To  mingle  faith  with  him Undone  !  undone  ! 

If  I  might  die  within  this  hour,  1  have  liv'd 
To  die  when  1  desire.  [Exit. 

Florizel. 

Why  look  you  so  upon  me  » 
I  am  but  sorry,  not  afeard  ;  delay'd, 
:  But  nothing  alter'd.     What  1  was,  I  am  : 
1  More  straining  on,    for    plucking    back ;    not 
:  My  leash  unwillingly.  [following 

Camillo 

Gracious  my  lord, 
You  know  your  father's  temper  :  at  this  time 
j  He  will  allow  no  speech,  (which,  I  do  guess, 
■  You  do  not  purpose  to  him)  and  as  hardly 
\  Will  he  endure  your  sight  as  yet,  I  fear  : 
i  Then,  till  the  fury  of  his  highness  settle, 
Come  not  before  him. 


I  think,  Camillo  t 


Florizel. 

I  not  purpose  it. 


Camillo 

Even  he,  my  lord. 
Perdlta. 
How  often  have  I  told  you  'twould  be  thus  ? 
How  often  said  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known  ? 

Florizel. 

It  cannot  fail,  but  by 
The  violation  of  my  faith  ;  and  then, 
Let  nature  crush  the  sides  o'  the  earth  toge- 
ther, [looks :  — 
And    mar   the    seeds    within !  —  Lift    up    thy 
From  my  succession  wipe  me,  father  ;  I 
Am  heir  to  my  affection. 

Camillo. 

Be  advis'd. 
Florizel. 
I  am  ;  and  by  my  fancy :  if  my  reason 
Will  thereto  be  obedient,  1  have  reason  ; 
If  not,  my  senses,  better  pleas'd  with  madness, 
Do  bid  it  welcome. 

Camillo. 

This  is  desperate,  sir. 
Florizel. 
So  call  it ;  but  it  does  fulfil  my  vow  : 
I  needs  must  think  it  honesty.     Camillo, 
Not  for  Bohemia,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
Be  thereat  glean'd  ;  for  all  the  sun  sees,  or 
The  close  earth  wombs,  or  the  profound  seas 

hide 
In  unknown  fathoms,  will  I  break  my  oath 
To  this  my  fair  belov'd.    Therefore.  I  pray  you, 
As  you  have  ever  been  my  father's  honour'd 

friend, 
When  he  shall  miss  me,  (as,  in  faith,  I  mean  not 
To  see  him  any  more)  cast  your  good  counsels 
Upon  his  passion  :  let  myself  and  fortune. 
Tug  for  the  time  to  come.    This  you  may  know, 

And  so  deliver 1  am  put  to  sea 

With  her,  whom  here  1  cannot  hold  on  shore ; 
And,  most  opportune  to  her  need,  I  have 
A  vessel  rides  fast  by,  but  not  prepar'd 
For  this  design.     What  course  1  mean  to  hold 
Shall  nothing  benefit  your  knowledge,  nor 
Concern  me  the  reporting. 
Camillo. 

O,  my  lord ! 

I  would 


37* 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  tit. 


I  would  your  spirit  were  easier  for  advice, 
Or  stronger  for  your  need. 

Florizel. 

Hark,  Perdita 

[To  Camillo.]   I'll  hear  you  by  and  by. 

Camillo. 

He's  irremovable ; 
Resolv'd  for  flight.    Now  were  I  happy,  if 
His  going  I  could  frame  to  serve  my  turn  ; 
Save  him  from  danger,  do  him  love  and  honour, 
Purchase  the  sight  again  of  dear  Sicilia, 
And  that  unhappy  king,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see. 

Florizel. 

Now,  good  Camillo, 
I  am  so  fraught  with  curious  business,  that 
I  leave  out  ceremony.  [Going. 

Camillo. 

Sir,  I  think, 
You  have  heard  of  my  poor  services,  i'  the  love 
That  I  have  borne  your  father  ? 

Florizel. 

Very  nobly 
Have  you  deserv'd:  it  is  my  father's  music, 
To  speak  your  deeds  ;  not  little  of  his  care 
To  have  them  recompens'd,  as  thought  on. 

Camillo. 

Well,  my  lord, 
If  you  may  please  to  think  I  love  the  king,      [is 
And,  through  him,  what's  nearest  to  him,  which 
Your  gracious  self,  embrace  but  my  direction, 
(If  your  more  ponderous  and  settled  project 
May  suffer  alteration)  on  mine  honour 
I'll  point  you  where  you  shall  have  such  receiving 
As  shall  become  your  highness  ;  where  you  may 
Enjoy  your  mistress  ;  (from  the  whom,  I  see, 
There's  no  disjunction  to  be  made,  but  by, 
As  heavens  forefend,  your  ruin)  marry  her  ; 
And  (with  my  best  endeavours  in  your  absence) 
Your  discontenting  father  strive  to  qualify, 
And  bring  him  up  to  liking. 

r'lorizel. 

How,  Camillo, 
May  this,  almost  a  miracle,  be  done, 
|  That  I  may  call  thee  something  more  than  man, 
And,  after  that,  trust  to  thee. 

Camillo. 

Have  you  thought  on 
A  place  whereto  you'll  go  ? 

Florizel. 

Not  any  yet ; 
But  as  th'  unthought-on  accident  is  guilty 
To  what  we  wildly  do,  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance,  and  flies 
Of  every  wind  lhat  blows. 

Camillo. 

Then  list  to  me : 
This  follows : — if  you  will  not  change  your  pur- 
But  undergo  this  flight,  make  for  Sicilia,  [pose, 
And  there  present  yourself,  and  your  fair  princess, 
(For  so,  I  see,  she  must  be)  'fore  Leontes  : 
She  shall  be  habited,  as  it  becomes 
I  The  partner  of  your  bed.     Methinks,  I  see 
Leontes,  opening  his  free  arms,  and  weeping 
His  welcomes  forth  ;  asks  thee,  the  son,  for- 
giveness, 
As  'twere  i'  the  father's  person ;  kisses  the  hands 
Of  your  fresh  princess  ;  o'er  and  o'er  divides  him 
'Twixt  his  unkindness  and  his  kindness :  th'  one 
He  chides  to  hell,  and  bids  the  other  grow 
Faster  than  thought,  or  time. 


What  colour  for  my  visitation  shall  1 
Hold  up  before  him  ? 

Camillo. 

Sent  by  the  king,  your  father 
To  greet  him,  and  to  give  him  comforts.    Sir, 
The  manner  of  your  bearing  towards  him,  with 
What  you,  as  from  your  father,  shall  deliver, 
Things  known  betwixt  us  three,  I'll  write  you 

down: 
The  which  shall  point  you  forth  at  every  sitting 
What  you  must  say,  that  he  shall  not  perceive, 
But  that  you  have  your  father's  bosom  there, 
And  speak  his  verv  heart. 


Florizel. 
There  is  some  sap  in  this. 


I  am  bound  to  you. 


Florizel. 


Worthy  Camillo, 


Camillo. 

A  course  more  promising 
.  Than  a  wild  dedication  of  yourselves     [certain, 
;  To  unpath'd  waters,  undream'd  shores ;  most 
|  To  miseries  enough  :  no  hope  to  help  you, 
i  But,  as  you  shake  off  one,  to  take  another: 

Nothing  so  certain  as  your  anchors,  who 
:  Do  their  best  office,  if  they  can  but  stay  you 
;  Where  you'll  be  loth  to  be.    Besides,  you  know, 
1  Prosperity's  the  ve#  bond  of  love,  [gether, 

Whose  fresh  complexion,  and  whose  heart  to- 
Affliction  alters. 

Perdita. 

One  of  these  is  true : 
I  think,  affliction  may  subdue  the  cheek, 
But  not  take  in  the  mind. 

Camillo. 

•  Yea,  Bay  you  so  ? 

There  shall  not,  at  your  father's  house,  these 

Be  born  another  such.  [seven  years 

Fiorizel. 

My  good  Camillo, 
She  is  as  forward  of  her  breeding,  as 
She  is  i'  the  rear  our  birth. 
Camillo. 

I  cannot  say,  'tis  pity 
She  lacks  instructions,  for  she  seems  a  mistress 
To  most  that  teach. 

Perdita. 
Your  pardon,  sir ;  for  this 
;  I'll  blush  you  thanks. 

Florizel. 

My  prettiest  Perdita.  — 
I  But,  O,  the  thorns  we  stand  upon  !  —  Camillo, 
i  Preserver  of  my  father,  now  of  me, 
!  The  medicine  of  our  house,  how  shall  we  do  ? 
We  are  not  furnish'd  like  Bohemia's  son, 
Nor  shall  appear  in  Sicilia— 
Camillo. 

My  lord,      [tunet 
,  Fear  none  of  this.    I  think,  you  know,  my  for- 

Do  all  lie  there :  it  shall  be  so  my  care 

;  To  have  you  royally  appointed,  as  if  [sir, 

'.  The  scene  you  play  were  mine.    For  instance. 

That  you  may  know  you  shall  not  want, — one 

word.  [They  talk  aside. 

Enter  Autolycits. 
Autolycus. 
Ha,  ha !  what  a  fool  honesty  is  I  and  trust,  his 
sworn  brother,  a  very  simple  gentleman !      I 
have  sold  all  my  trumpery:  not  a  counterfeit 
stone,  not  a  riband,  glass,  pomander,  brooch, 
table-book,  ballad,  knife,  tape,  glove,  shoe-tie, 
■  bracelet,  horn-ring,  to  keep  my  pack  from  fast- 
ing :  they  throng  who  should  buy  first ;  as  if 
my  trinkets  had  been  hallowed,  and  brought  a 
benediction 


Act  iv.  Se.  in. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


373 


benediction  to  the  buyer:  by  which  means,  I 
saw  w  hose  purse  was  best  in  picture,  and  m  hat 
1  saw,  to  my  good  use  I  remembered.  My  clown 
(who  wants  but  something  to  be  a  reasonable 
man)  grew  so  in  love  with  the  wenches'  song, 
that  he  would  not  stir  his  pettitoes,  till  he  had 
both  tune  and  words  ;  which  so  drew  the  ret  of 
the  herd  to  me,  that  alltheir  other  senses  stuck 
in  ears:  you  might  have  pinched  a  placktt,  it 
was  senseless  ;  'twas  nothing  to  geld  a  codpiece 
of  a  purse:  I  would  have  filed  keys  off,  that 
hung  in  chains  :  no  hearing,  no  feeling,  but  my 
sir's  song,  and  admiring  the  nothing  of  it ;  so 
that,  in  this  time  of  lethargy,  I  picked  and  cut 
most  of  their  festival  purse's,  and  had  not  the 
old  man  come  in  with  a  whoo-bub  against  his 
daughter  and  the  kings  son,  and  scared  my 
choughs  from  the  chaff,  I  had  not  left  a  purse 
alive  in  the  whole  army. 
[Camillo,  t'tohzd,  ana  Perdiia,  come  forward. 

Caraillo. 
Nay,  but  my  letters,  by  this  means  being 
there 
So  soon  as  you  arrive,  shall  clear  that  doubt. 
Florizel. 
And  those  that    you'll  .procure   from   king 
Leontes  f  *- 

Camillo. 


Shall  satisfy  your  father. 
Perdita. 


i  All  that  you  speak  shows  fair 
Camillo. 


Happy  be  you 


Whom  have  we  here  ?— 
[Seeing  Autolycus. 

We'll  make  an  instrument  of  this  :  omit 
Nothing  may  give  us  aid. 

Autolycus. 
If  they  have  overheard  me  now,  —  why  hang- 

in&-  ,<      in 

Camillo. 

How  now,  good  fellow  !    Why  shakest  thou 

so  ?    Fear  not,  man  ;  here's  no  harm  intended 

to  thee. 

Autolycus. 

I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir. 

Camillo. 

Why,  be  so  still ;  here's  nobody  will  steal 

that  from  thee:  yet,  for  the   outside   of  thy 

poverty,  we  must  make  an  exchange :  therefore, 

disease  thee  instantly,  (thou  must  think,  there's 

a  necessity  in't)  and  change  garments  with  this 

gentleman.    Though  the  pennyworth    on    his 

side  be  the  worst,  yet  hold  thee,  there's  some 

boot. 

Autolycus. 

I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir.  —  [Aside.]  j  know 

ye  well  enough. 

Camillo. 

Nay,  pr'ythee,  dispatch :    the  gentleman  is 

half  flayed  already. 

Autolycus. 

Are  you  in  earnest,  sir9—  [Aside.  J  1  gmeii 

the  trick  of  it. 

Florizel. 

Dispatch,  I  pr'ythee. 

Autolycus. 

Indeed,  I  have  had  earnest ;  but   I  cannot 

with  conscience  take  it, 

Camillo. 

Unbuckle,  unbuckle.  — 

[FA>rfii/aud  Autolycus  exchange  garments. 

Fortunate  mistress,  (let  my  prophecy 


Come  home  to  you  !)  you  must  retire  yourself 
Into  some  covert :  take  your  sweetheart's  hat, 
And  pluck  it  o'er  your  brows  ;    muffle  your 
Dismantle  you,  and  as  you  can,  disliken    [lace ; 
The  truth  of  your  own  seeming,  that  you  may, 
(Tor  I  do  fear  eyes  ever)  to  ship-board 
Get  undescried. 

IVrdita. 

I  see,  the  play  so  lies, 
That  I  must  bear  a  part. 

Camillo. 

No  remedy.  — 
Have  you  done  there  ? 

Florizel. 
Should  I  now  meet  my  father, 
He  would  not  call  meson. 

Camulo. 
Nay,  you  shall  have  no  hat.  — 
Come  lady,  come.  — Farewell,  my  friend. 
Autolycus. 

,„     .     ,  Adieu,  sir. 

Florizel. 

0  Perdita  I  what  have  we  twain  forgot  ? 
Pray  you,  a  word.  L  rheJ'  converse  apart. 

Camillo. 
!     What  I  do  next  shall  be  to  tell  the  king 
Of  this  escape,  and  whither  they  are  bound  ; 
\\  herein,  my  hope  is,  I  shall  so  prevail, 
j  To  force  him  after :  in  whose  company 
I  shall  review  Sicilia,  for  whose  sight 
1  have  a  woman's  longing. 

Florizel. 

Fortune  speed  us  !  — 
Thus  we  set  on,  Camillo,  to  the  sea-side. 
(  ainillo. 

[kxourtt  f&raet,  Perdita,  and  Camillo. 
Autolycus. 

1  understand  the  business  ;  I  hear  it.  To 
have  an  open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble 
hand,  is  necessary  for  a  cut-purse :  a  good  nose 
is  requisite  also,  to  smell  out  work  for  the  other 
senses.  I  see,  this  is  the  time  that  the  unjust 
man  doth  thrive.  What  an  exchange  had  this 
been  without  boot !  what  a  boot  is  here  with 
this  exchange !  Sure,  the  gods  do  this  year 
;connive  at  us,  and  we  may  do  any  thing  extem- 
pore. The  prince  himself  is  about  a  piece  of 
iniquity ;  stealing  away  from  his  father,  with 
his  clog  at  his  heels.  If  1  thought  it  were  a 
ipiece  of  honesty  to  acquaint  the  king  withal,  I 
would  not  do't :  I  hold  it  the  more  knavery  to 
conceal  it,  and  therein  am  I  constant  to  my 
profession. 

Enter  Clown  and  Shepherd. 

Aside,  aside:— here  is  more  matter  for  a  hot 
brain.  Every  lane's  end,  every  shop,  church, 
session,  hanging,  yields  a  careful  man  work. 

Clown. 
!    See,  see,  what  a  man  you  are  now  1    There 
is  no  other  way,  but  to  tell  the  king  she's  a 
changeling,  and  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood. 
Shepherd. 
Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Clown. 
Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Shepherd. 
Go  to  then. 

Clown. 

;  She  being  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood,  your 
flesh  and  blood  has  not  offended  the  king ;  and 
,so  your  flesh  and  blood  is  not  to  be  punished  by 

him. 


A7± 

him.    Show  those  things  you  found  about  her ;  I 
those  secret  tilings,  all  but  what  she  has  with 
her.     This  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle  ; 
I  warrant  you.       a.     .      . 
J  Shepherd. 

1  will  tell  the  king  all,  every  word,  yea,  and 
his  son's  pranks  too;  who,  I  may  say,  is  no 
honest  man  neither  to  his  father,  nor  to  mo,  to 
go  about  to  make  me  the  king's  brother-in-law. 
Clown. 
Indeed,  brother-in-law  was  the  furthest  off 
you  could  have  been  to  him  ;  and  then  your 
blood  had  been  the  dearer,  by  I  know  how 
much  an  ounce.     .    .  , 

Autolycus.  [Aside. 

Very  wisely,  puppies  ! 

Shepherd. 
Well,  let  us  to  the  king :  there  is  that  in  this 
fardel  will  make  him  scratch  his  beard. 

Autolycus.  [Aside. 

I  know  not  what  impediment  this  complaint 
may  be  to  the  flight  of  my  master. 
Clown. 
Tray  heartily  he  be  at  palace. 

Autolycus.  [Aside. 

Though  I  am  not  naturally  honest,  I  am  so 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m. 


sometimes  by  chance  :-p  let  me  Pftcket  tin  my 
'     How  now,  rustics  !  whither  are  you 


jpedlet's    excrement. 

bound  ? 

-Shepherd. 

To  the  palace,  an  it  like  your  worship. 

Autolycus. 
Your  affairs  there  ?  what  ?  with  whom  ?  the 
condition  of  that  fardel,  the  place  of  your 
dwelling,  your  names,  your  ages,  of  what 
having,  breeding,  and  any  thing  that  is  fitting 
to  be  known  Y  discover. 

Clown. 
We  are  but  plain  fellows,  sir, 

Autolycu*. 
A  lie :    you  are  rough  and   hairy.    Let  me 
have  no  lying  :  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen, 
and  they  often  give  us  soldiers  the  lie  ;  but  we 
pay  them  for  it  with  stamped  coin,  not  stabbing 
steel :  therefore,  they  do  not  give  us  the  lie. 
Clown. 
Your  worship  had  like  to  have  given  us  one, 
if  you  had  not  taken  yourself  with  the  manner. 
Shepherd. 
Are  you  a  courtier,  an't  like  you,  sir  ? 

Autolycus. 
Whether  it  like  me,  or  no,  I  am  a  courtier. 
Seest  thou  not  the  air  of  the  court  in  these  en- 
foldings  ?  hath  not  my  gait  in  it  the  measure  of 
the  court?  receives  not  thy  nose  court-odour 
from  me  ?  reflect  I  not  on  thy  baseness  court- 
contempt  ?  Think'st  thou,  for  that  I  insinuate, 
or  touze  from  thee  thy  business,  I  am  therefore 
no  courtier  ?  I  am  courtier,  cap-a-pie  ;  and 
one  that  will  either  push  on,  or  pluck  back  thy! 
business  there  :  whereupon,  I  command  thee  to 
open  thy  affair. 

Shepherd. 
My  business,  sir,  is  to  the  king. 

Autolycus. 
What  advocate  hast  thou  to  him  ? 

Shepherd. 
I  know  not,  an't  like  you. 
Clown. 
Advocate's  the  court  word  for  a  pheasant :  say, 
you  have  none. 


Shepherd. 
None,  sir :  I  have  no  pheasant,  cock,  nor  hen. 

Autolycus. 
How  bless'd  are  we  that  are  not  simple  men  I 
Yet  nature  might  have  made  me  as  these  are, 
Therefore  I'll  not  disdain. 
Clown. 
This  cannot  be  but  a  great  courtier. 

Shepherd. 
His  garments  are  rich,  but  he  wears  them  not 
handsomely.  _ 

Clown. 
He  seems  to  be  the  more  noble  in  being  fan- 
-*  ■  a  great  man,  I'll  warrant ;  I  know,  by 


tastical 

the  picking~on's  teeth'. 

Autolycus. 
The   fardel    there?   what's    i'    the   fardel? 
Wherefore  that  box  ? 

Shepherd. 
Sir,  there  lies  such  secrets  in  this  fardel,  and 
box,  which  none  must  know  but  the  king  ;  and 
which  he  shall  know  within  this  hour,  if  I  may 
come  to  the  speech  of  him. 
Autolycus. 
Age,  thou  hast  lost  thy  labour. 

Shepherd. 
Why,  sir? 

Autolycus. 

The  king  is  not  at  the  palace:  he  is  gone 

aboard  a  new  ship  to  purge  melancholy,  and  air 

himself:  For,  if  thou  be'st  capable  of  things 

serious,  thou  must  know,  the  king  is  full  of 

grief>  cv,     u     A 

Shepherd. 

So  'tis  said,  sir;  about  his  son,  that  should 
have  married  a  shepherd's  daughter. 
Autolycus. 

If  that  shepherd  be  not  in  hand- fast,  let  him 
fly:  the  curses  he  shall  have,  the  tortures  he 
shall  feel,  will  break  the  back  of  man,  the  heart 
of  monster.  _. 

Clown. 

Think  you  so,  sir  ? 

Autolycus. 

Not  he  alone  shall  suffer  what  wit  can  make 
heavy,  and  vengeance  bitter,  but  those  that  are 
germane  to  him,  though  remove!  fifty  times, 
shall  all  come  under  the  hangman :  which, 
though  it  be  great  pity,  yet  it  is  necessary. 
An  old  sheep-whistling  rogue,  a  ram-tender,  to 
offer  to  have  his  daughter  come  into  grace  1 
Some  say,  he  shall  be  stoned;  but  that  death  is 
too  soft  for  him,  say  I.  Draw  our  throne  into  a 
sheep-cote  I  all  deaths  are  too  few,  the  sharpest 
too  easy. 

Clown. 

Has  the  old  man  e'er  a  son,  sir,  do  you  hear, 
a'nt  like  you,  sir? 

Autoljcuv 

He  has  a  son,  who  shall  be  flayed  alive,  then, 
'nomted  over  with  honey,  set  on  the  head  of  a 
wasp's  nest ;  then  stand,  till  he  be  three  quarters 
and  a  dram  dead :  then  recovered  again  with 
aqua-vitae,  or  some  other  hot  infusion ;  then, 
raw  as  he  is,  and  in  the  hottest  day  prognostica- 
tion proclaims,  shall  he  be  set  against  a  brick- 
wall,  the  sun  looking  with  a  southward  eye  upon 
him,  where  he  is  to  behold  him  with  flies  blown 
to  death.  But  what  talk  we  of  these  traitorly ! 
rascals,  whose  miseries  are  to  be  smiled  at,  their  j 
offences  being  so  capital?  Tell  me,  (for  youi 
seem  to  be  honest  plain  men)  what  you  have  to  i 
the  king  ?  being  something  gently  considered, ! 

I'll 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


375 


I'll  bring  you  where  he  is  aboard,  tender  your 
persons  to  his  presence,  whisper  him  in  your 
behalfs  ;  and,  if  it  be  in  man,  besides  the  king, 
to  effect  your  suits,  here  is  man  shall  do  it. 
Clown. 
He  seems  to  be  of  great  authority:  close  with 
him,  give  him  gold  ;  and  though  authority  be  a 
stubborn  bear,  yet  he  is  oft  led  by  the  nose  with 
gold,  show  the  inside  of  your  purse  to  the  out- 
side of  his  hand,  and  no  more  ado.  Remember, 
stoned,  and  flayed  alive  1 

Shepherd. 
An't  please  you,  sir,  to  undertake  the  business 
for  us,  here  is  that  gold  I  have:  I'll  make  it  at 
much  more  and  leave  this  young  man  in  pawn, 
till  i  bring  it  you. 

Autolycui. 
After  1  have  done  what  I  promised  ? 

Shepherd. 
Ay,  sir. 

Autolycus. 
Well,  give  me  the  moiety — Are  you  a  party 
in  this  business  ? 

Clown. 
In  some  sort,  sir:  but  though  my  case  be  a 
pitiful  one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flayed  out  of  it. 
Autolycus. 

0  !  that's  the  case  of  the  shepherd's  son. — 
Hang  him,  he'll  be  made  an  example. 

Clown 
Comfort,  good  comfort  !  We  must  to  the 
king,  and  show  our  strange  sights:  he  must 
know,  'tis  n  >ne  of  your  daughter  nor  my  sister  ; 
we  are  gone  else.  Sir,  I  will  give  you  as  much 
as  this  old  man  does,  when  the  business  is  per- 
formed ;  and  remain,  as  he  says,  your  pawn,  till 
it  be  brought  you. 

Autolycus. 

1  will  trust  you.  Walk  before  toward  the 
sea-side  :  go  on  the  right  hand  ;  I  will  but  look 
upon  the  hedge,  and  follow  you. 

I  Iowa 

We  are  blessed  in  this  man 
even  blessed. 

Shepherd. 

Let's  before,  as  he  bids  uf .     He  was  provided 
to  do  us  good.        [Exeunt  Shepherd  and  Clown. 
Autolycus. 

If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  honest,  I  see,  fortune 
would  not  suffer  me:  she  drops  booties  in  my 
mouth.  I  am  courted  now  with  a  double  occa- 
sion— gold,  and  a  means  to  do  the  prince  my 
master  good  ;  which,  who  knows  how  that  may 
turn  back  to  my  advancement?  1  will  bring 
these  two  moles,  these  blind  ones,  aboard  him  : 
if  he  think  it  tit  to  shore  them  again,  and  that 
the  complaint  they  have  to  the  king  concerns 
him  nothing,  let  him  call  me  rogue  for  being  so 
far  officious ;  for  I  am  proof  against  that  title, 
and  what  shame  else  belongs  to't.  To  him  will 
I  present  them  :  there  may  be  matter  in  it. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    SiciUa.    A  Room  in  the  Palace  of 

Leontet. 

Enter  Leontet,  Clcomenes,  Dion,  Paulina,  and 

others. 

Cleomenes. 

SIR,  vou  have  done  enough,  and  have  per- 
form M 


as  I  may  say 


form'd 


A  saint-like  sorrow  :  no  fault  could  you  make, 
Which  you  have  not  redeem'd  ;  indeed,  paid 
down  [last. 

More  penitence  than  done  trespass.  At  the 
Do,  as  the  heavens  have  done,  forget  your  evil ; 
With  them,  forgive  yourself. 

Leontes. 

Whilst  I  remember 
Her,  and  her  virtues,  I  cannot  forget 
My  blemishes  in  them,  and  so  still  think  of 
The  wrong  I  did  myself;  which  was  so  much, 
That  heirless  it  hath  made  my  kingdom,  and 
Destroy'd  the  sweet'st  companion,  that  e'er  man 
Bred  his  hopes  out  of :  true. 

Paulina. 

Too  true,  my  lord: 
If  one  by  one  you  wedded  all  the  world, 
Or  from  the  all  that  are  took  something  good, 
To  make  a  perfect  woman,  she  you  kill'd 
Would  be  unparallel'd. 

Leontes 

I  think  so.  Kill'd! 
She  I  kill'd  ?  I  did  so  ;  but  thou  strik'st  me 
Sorely,  to  say  I  did  :  it  is  as  bitter  [now. 

Upon  thy  tongue,  as  in  my  thought.  Now,  good 
Say  so  but  seldom. 

Cieoraenes 

Not  at  all,  good  lady  :     [would 
You  might  have  spoken  a  thousand  things  that 
Have  done  the  time  more  benefit,  and  grae'd 
Your  kindness  better. 

Paulina. 

You  are  one  of  those, 
Would  have  him  wed  again. 
Dion. 

If  you  would  not  so, 
You  pity  not  the  state,  nor  the*  remembrance 
Of  his  most  sovereign  name  ;  consider  little, 
What  dangers,  by  his  highness'  fail  of  issue, 
May  drop  upon  his  kingdom,  and  devour 
Incertain  lookers  on      What  were  more  holy, 
Than  to  rejoice  the  former  queen  is  well  ? 
What  holier  than,  for  royalty's  repair, 
For  present  comfort,  and  for  future  good, 
To  bless  the  bei  of  majesty  again 
With  a  sweet  fellow  to't  ? 
Pan1 

There  is  none  worthy. 
Respecting  her  that's  gone.     Besides,  the  gods 
Will  have  fulfill'd  their  secret  purposes  ; 
For  has  not  the  divine  Apollo  said, 
Is't  not  the  tenour  of  his  oracle, 
That  king  Leontes  shall  not  have  an  heir. 
Till  his  lost  child  be  found  ?  which,  that  it  shall, 
:  Is  all  as  monstrous  to  our  human  reason, 
:  As  my  Antigonus  to  break  his  grave, 
!  And  come  again  to  me  ;  who,  on  my  life, 
|  Did  perish  with  the  infant.    'Tis  your  counsel, 
My  lord  should  to  the  heavens  be  contrary, 
Oppose  against  their  wills — Care  not  for  issue  ■, 
The  crown  will  find  an  heir:  Great  Alexander 
Left  his  to  the  worthiest,  so  his  successor 
Was  like  to  be  the  best. 

Leontes. 

Good  Paulina,— 
Who  hast  the  memory  of  Hernu'one, 
I  know,  in  honour,— O,  that  ever  I  [now, 

Had  squar'd  me  to  thy  counsel  '—then,  even 
I  might  have  look'd  upon  my  queen's  full  eyes, 
Have  taken  treasure  from  her  lips,— 
Paulina. 

And  left  them 
More  rich,  for  what  they  yielded. 

Leontes. 


376 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Leontes. 
Thou  speak'st  truth,    [worse, 
No  more  such  wives  ;  therefore,  no  wire:  one 
And  better  us'd,  would  make  her  sainted  spirit 
Again  possess  her  corpse  {  and,  on  this  stage, 
(Where  we  offenders  now  appear)  soul-vex'd. 
Begin,  "  And  why  to  me?" 
Paulina. 

Had  she  such  power, 
She  had  just  cause. 

'  Leontes. 
She  had  ;  and  would  incense  me 
To  murder  her  I  married. 

Paulina. 

I  should  so : 
Were  I  the  ghost  that  walk'd,  I'd  bid  you  mark 
Her  eye,  and  tell  me  for  what  dull  part  in't 
You  chose  her  ?  then  I'd  shriek,  that  even  your 
ears  [low'd 

Should  rift  to  hear  me,  and  the  words  that  fol- 
Should  be,  "  Remember  mine." 
Leontes. 

Stars,  stars ! 
And  all  eyes  else  dead  coals.  —  Fear  thou  no 
I'll  have  no  wife,  Paulina.  [wife  ; 

Paulina. 

Will  you  swear 
Never  to  marry,  but  by  my  free  leave  ? 
Leontes. 
Never,  Paulina  ;  so  be  bless'd  my  spirit  ! 

Paulina. 
Then,  good  my  lords,  bear  witness  to  his  oath. 

Cleomenes. 
You  tempt  him  over-much. 
Paulina. 

Unless  another, 
As  like  Hermione  as  is  her  picture, 
Affront  his  eye. 

Cleomenes. 

Good  madam,— I  have  done. 
Paulina. 
Yet,  if  my  lord  will  marry, — if  you  will,  sir, 
No  remedy,  but  you  will— give  me  the  office 
To  choose  you  a  queen.    She  shall  not  be  so 

young 
As  was  your  former ;  but  she  shall  be  such 
As,  walk'd  your  first  queen's  ghost,  it  should 
To  see  her  in  your  arms.  [take  joy 

Leontes. 

My  true  Paulina, 
We  shall  not  marry,  till  thou  bidd'st  us. 
Paulina. 

That 
Shall  be  when  your  first  queen's  again  in  breath : 
Never  till  then. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
Gentleman. 
One  that  gives  out  himself  prince  Florixel, 
Son  of  Polixenes,  with  his  princess,  (she 
The  fairest  I  have  yet  beheld,)  desires  access 
To  your  high  presence. 

Leontes. 
What  with  him  ?  he  comes  not 
Like  to  his  father's  greatness  ;  his  approach, 
So  out  of  circumstance  and  sudden,  tells  us 
'Tis  not  a  visitation  fram'd,  but  forc'd 
By  need,  and  accident.     What  train  ? 
Gentleman. 

But  few, 
And  those  but  mean. 


Leontes. 

His  princess,  say  you,  with  him  ? 

Gentleman. 

Ay ;  the  most  peerless  piece  of  earth,  I  think, 

That  e'er  the  sun  shone  bright  on. 

Paulina. 

O  Hermione  ! 
As  every  present  time  doth  boast  itself 
Above  a  better,  gone,  so  must  thy  grace 
Give  way  to  what's  seen  now.    Sir,  you  yourself 
Have  said  and  writ  so,  but  your  writing  now 
Is  colder  than  that  theme—  She  had  not  been, 
Nor  was  not  to  be  equal  I'd ; — thus  your  verse 
Flow'd  with  her  beauty  once:    'tis  shrewdly 
To  say  you  have  seen  a  better.  [ebb'd, 

Gentleman. 

Pardon,  madam : 
The  one  I  have  almost  forgot,  (your  pardon) 
The  other,  when  she  has  obtained  your  eye, 
Will  have  your  tongue  too.    This  is  a  creature, 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  might  quench  the  zeal 
Of  all  professors  else,  make  proselytes 
Of  whom  she  but  did  follow. 
Paulina. 

How  !  not  women  ? 
Gentleman. 
Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man  ;  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women. 

Leontes. 

Go,  Cleomenes ; 
Yourself,  assisted  with  your  honour'd  friends, 
Bring  them  to  our   embracement. —  Still  'tis 
strange, 
[Exeunt  Cleomenes,  Lords,  and  Gentleman. 
He  thus  should  steal  upon  us. 
Paulina. 

Had  our  Prince, 
(Jewel  of  children)  seen  this  hour,  he  had  pair'd 
Well  with  this  lord :  there  was  not  full  a  month 
Between  their  births. 

Leontes. 
Pr'ythee,  no  more :  cease !  thou  know'st, 
He  dies  to  me  again,  when  talk'd  of:  sure, 
When  I  shall  see  this  gentleman,  thy  speeches 
Will  bring  me  to  consider  that,  which  may 
Unfurnish  me  of  reason.  —  They  are  come-  — 

Re-enter  Cleomenes,  with  Florixel,  Perdita,  and 

others. 

Your  mother  was  most  true  to  wedlock,  prince, 
For  she  did  print  your  royal  father  off, 
Conceiving  you.    Were  I  but  twenty-one, 
Your  father  s  image  is  so  hit  in  yoii, 
His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother, 
As  I  did  him  ;  and  speak  of  something,  wildly 
By  us  perform'd  before.    Most  dearly  welcome ! 
And  your  fair  princess,  goddess  !  —  O,  alas ! 
I  lost  a  couple,  that  'twixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  have  stood,  begetting  wonder  as 
You,  gracious  couple,  do.    And  then  I  lost 
(All  mine  own  folly)  the  society, 
Amity  too,  of  your  brave  father ;  whom, 
Though  bearing  misery,  I  desire  my  life 
j  Once  more  to  look  on  him. 
Florizel. 

By  his  command 
j  Have  I  here  touch 'd  Sicilia  ;  and  from  him 
;Give  you  all  greetings,  that  a  king,  as  friend, 
Can  send  his  brother :  and,  but  infirmity 
(Which  waits  upon  worn  times)  hath  something 
His  wish'd  ability,  he  had  himself  [seiz'd 

The  lands  and  waters  'twixt  your  throne  and  his 
Measur'd  to  look  upon  you,  whom  he  loves 

(He 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


377 


(He  bade  me  say  10)  more  than  all  the  sceptres, 
And  those  that  Dear  them,  living. 

Leontes. 

O,  my  brother ! 
Good  gentleman,  the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee 
'Afresh  within  me  ;  and  these  thy  offices,  [stir 
So  rarely  kind,  are  as  interpreters 

',  Of  my  behind-hand  slackness Welcome  hither, 

As  is  the  spring  to  th'  earth.     And  hath  he,  too, 
Expos'd  1 1 1 is  paragon  to  the  fearful  usage 
(At  least  ungentle)  of  the  dreadful  Neptune, 
To  greet  a  man  not  worth  her  pains,  much  less 


Leoiit.i. 
Lord. 


Who  ?  Camilla  t 


jTh'  adventure  of  her  person  ? 
Florizel. 


Good  my  lord, 


She  came  from  Libya. 

Leontes. 

Where  the  warlike  Smaltis, 
That  noble,  honour'd  lord,  is  fear'd,  and  lov'd  ? 

Florizel. 
Most  royal  sir, from  thence ;  from  him,  whose 

daughter 
His  tears  proclaim'd  his,  parting  with  her:  thence 
(A  prosperous  south-wind  friendly)  we  have 

cross'd. 
To  execute  the  charge  my  father  gave  me, 
For  visiting  your  highness.     My  best  train 
I  have  from  your  Sicilian  shores  dismissal, 
Who  for  Bohemia  bend,  to  signify, 
Not  only  my  success  in  Libya,  sir, 
jBut  my  arrival,  and  my  wife's,  in  safety 
!  Here,  where  we  are. 

!]. oontes. 
The  blessed  gods 
Purge  all  infection  from  our  air,  whilst  you 
'Do  climate  here  1    You  have  a  holy  father, 
i  A  graceful  gentleman,  against  whose  person, 
So  sacred  as  it  is,  1  have  done  sin ; 
For  which  the  heavens,  taking  angry  note. 
Have  left  me  issueless ;  and  your  father's  bless'd, 
t(As  he  from  heaven  merits  it)  with  you, 
Worthy  his  g  mdness.    What  might  I  have  been, 
Might  1  a  son  and  daughter  now  have  look'd  on, 
Such  goodly  things  as  you  ? 

Enter  a  Lord. 
Lord. 

Most  noble  sir, 
That  which  I  shall  report  will  bear  no  credit. 
Were  not  the  proof  so  nigh.    Please  you,  great 
Bohemia  greets  you  from  himself  by  me ;      [sir, 
Desires  you  to  attach  his  son,  who  has 
(His  dignity  and  duty  both  cast  off) 
Fled  from  his  father,  from  his  hopes,  and  with 
A  shepherd's  daughter. 

Leontes. 
Where's  Bohemia  f  speak. 
Lord. 
Here  in  your  city ;  I  now  came  from  him : 
I  speak  amazedly,  and  it  becomes 
My  marvel,  and  my  message.    To  your  court 
Whiles  he  was  hastening  (in  the  chase,  it  seems, 
Of  this  fair  couple)  meets  he  on  the  way 
The  father  of  this  seeming  lady,  and 
Her  brother,  having  both  their  country  quitted 
With  this  young  prince. 

Florizel. 

CamiVo  has  betray'd  me, 
Whose  honour,  and  whose  honesty,  till  now, 
Endur'd  all  weathers. 

Lord. 

Lay't  so  to  his  charge : 
He's  with  the  king  your  father. 


Camillo,  sir :  I  spake  with  him,  who  now 
Has  these  poor  men  in  question.     Never  saw  I 
Wretches  so  quake »  they  kneel,  they  kiss  the 

earth, 
Forswear  themselves  as  often  as  they  speak: 
Bohemia  stops  his  ears,  and  threatens  them 
With  divers  deaths  in  death. 
Perdita.   , 

O,  my  poor  father  !  — 
The  heaven  sets  spies  upon  us,  will  not  have 
Our  contract  celebrated. 

Leontes. 

You  are  married  ? 
Florizel. 
We  are  not,  sir,  nor  are  we  like  to  be ; 
(The  stars,  I  see,  will  kiss  the  valleys  first: 
;The  odds  for  high  and  low's  alike. 
Leontes. 

My  lord, 
Is  this  the  daughter  of  a  king  ? 
Florizel. 

She  is, 
When  once  she  is  my  wife. 
Leontes. 
That  once,  I  see,  by  your  good  father's  speed, 
Will  come  on  very  slowly.     I  am  sorry, 
Most  sorry,  you  have  broken  from  his  liking, 
Where  you  were  tied  in  duty  ;  and  as  sorry, 
Your  choice  is  not  so  rich  in  worth  as  beauty, 
That  you  might  well  enjoy  her.    - 
Florizel. 

Dear,  look  up : 
Though  fortune,  visible  an  enemy, 
■Should  chase  us  with  my  father,  power  no  jot 

Hath  she  to  change  our  loves Beseech  you,  sir, 

!  Remember  since  you  ow'd  no  more  to  time 
Than  I  do  now;  with  thought  of  such  affections, 
Step  forth  mine  advocate :  at  your  request, 
My  father  will  grant  precious  things  as  trifles. 
Leoutes. 
Would  he  do  so,  I'd  beg  your  precious  mistress, 
Which  he  counts  but  a  trifle. 
Paulina. 

Sir,  my  liege. 

Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't :  not  a  month 

'Fore  your  queen  died,  she  was  more  worth 

Than  what  you  look  on  now.  [such  gazes 

Leontes. 

I  thought  of  her, 
Even  in  these  looks  I  made.— But  your  petition 
[To  Florizel. 
Is  yet  unanswer'd.     I  will  to  your  father : 
Your  honour  not  o'erthrown  by  your  desires, 
I  am  a  friend  to  them,  and  you  ;  upon  which 

errand 
I  now  go  toward  him.    Therefore,  follow  me, 
And  mark  what  way  I  make.    Come,  good  my 
lord  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Autvlycus  and  a  Gentleman. 

Autolycus. 

Beseech  you,  sir,  were  you  present  at  this 

relation  ? 

First  Gentleman. 

I  was  by  at  the  opening  of  the  fardel,  heard 

the  old  shepherd  deliver  the  manner  how  he 

found  it :  whereupon,  after  a  little  amazedness, 

we  were  all  commanded  out  of  the  chamber; 

only 


37« 


THE  WINTERS  TALE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


only  this,  methought  I  heard  the  shepherd  say, 
he  found  the  child. 

Autolycus. 

I  would  most  gladly  know  the  issue  of  it. 
First  Gentleman. 

I  make  a  broken  delivery  of  the  business ;  but 
the  changes  I  perceived  in  the  king,  and  Camillo, 
were  very  notes  of  admiration  :  they  seemed 
almost,  with  staring  on  one  another,  to  tear  the 
cases  of,  their  eyes ;  there  was  speech  in  their 
dumbness,  language  in  their  very  gesture  ;  they 
looked,  as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  ransomed, 
or  one  destroyed.  A  notable  passion  of  wonder 
appeared  in  them  ;  but  the  wisest  beholder,  that 
knew  no  more  but  seeing,  could  not  say.  if  the 
importance  were  joy,  or  sorrow,  but  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  one  it  must  needs  be. 
Enter  another  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  a  gentleman,  that,  haply,  knows 
more.    The  news,  Rogero  f 

Second  Gentleman. 

Nothing  but  bonfires.     The  oracle  is  fulfilled ; 

the  king's  daughter  is  found:  such  a  deal  of 

wonder  is  broken  out  within  this  hour,  that 

ballad-makers  cannot  be  able  to  express  it. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  the  lady  Paulina's  steward  :  he  can 
deliver  you  more.  —  How  goes  it  now,  sir?  this 
news,  which  is  called  true,  is  so  like  an  old  tale, 
that  the  verity  of  it  is  in  strong  suspicion.  Has 
the  king  found  his  heir  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 

Most  true,  if  ever  truth  were  pregnant  by  cir- 
cumstance:  that  which  you  hear  you'll  swear 
you  see,  there  is  such  unity  in  the  proofs.  The 
mantle  of  queen  Hermione;  —  her  jewel  about 
the  neck  of  it :  -the  letters  of  Antigonus  found 
with  it,  which  they  know  to  be  his  character; — 
the  majesty  of  the  creature,  in  resemblance  of 
the  mother  ;  —the  affection  of  nobleness,  which 
nature  shows  above  her  breeding,  and  many 
other  evidences,  proclaim  her  with  all  certainty 
to  be  the  king's  daughter.  Did  you  see  the 
meeting  of  the  two  kings  ? 

Second  Gentleman 

No. 

Third  Gentleman. 

Then  you  have  lost  a  sight,  which  was  to  be 
seen,  cannot  be  spoken  of.  There  might  you 
have  beheld  one  joy  crown  another  ;  so,  and  in  j 
such  manner,  that,  it  seemed,  sorrow  wept  to! 
take  leave  of  them,  for  their  joy  waded  in  tears,  j 
There  was  casting  up  of  eyes,  holding  up  of  j 
hands,  with  countenance  of  such  distraction,  \ 
that  they  were  to  be  known  by  garment,  not  by : 
favour.  Our  king,  being  ready  to  leap  out  of' 
himself  for  joy  of  his  found  daughter,  as  if  that 
joy  were  now  become  a  loss,  cries,  "  O,  thy  j 
mother,  thy  mother!"  then  asks  Bohemia  for-  i 
giveness ;  then  embraces  his  son-in-law  ;  then 
again  worries  he  his  daughter  with  clipping' 
her :  now  he  thanks  the  old  shepherd,  which 
stands  by,  like  a  weather-bitten  conduit  of  many  : 
kinds'  reigns.  1  never  heard  of  such  another  \ 
encounter,  which  lames  report  to  follow  it,  and  j 
undoes  description  to  do  it. 

Second  Gentleman. 

What,  pray  you,  became  of  Antigonus,  that 
carried  hence  the  child  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 

Like  an  old  tale  still,  which  will  have  matter 
to  rehearse,  though  credit  be  asleep,  and  not  an 


ear  open.  He  was  torn  to  pieces  with  a  bear : 
this  avouches  the  shepherd's  son,  who  has  not 
only  his  innocence  (which  seems  much )  to  justify 
him,  but  a  handkerchief,  and  rings  of  his  that 
Paulina  knows. 

First  Gentleman. 

What  became  of  his  bark,  and  his  followers  ? 
Third  Gentleman. 

Wrecked,  the  same  instant  of  their  master's 
death,  and  in  the  view  of  the  shepherd  :  so  that 
all  the  instruments,  which  aided  to  expose  the 
child,  were  even  then  lost,  when  it  was  found. 
But.  O !  the  noble  combat,  that  'twixt  joy  and 
sorrow  was  fought  in  Paulina!  She  had  one 
eye  declined  for  the  loss  of  her  husband,  another 
elevated  that  the  oracle  was  fulfilled  :  she  lifted 
the  princess  from  the  earth,  and  so  locks  her  in 
embracing,  as  if  she  would  pin  her  to  her  heart, 
that  she  might  no  more  be  in  danger  of  losing. 
First  Gentleman. 

The  dignity  of  this  act  was  worth  the  audience 
of  kings  and  princes,  for  by  such  was  it  acted. 
Third  Gentleman. 

One  of  the  prettiest  touches  of  all,  and  that 
which  angled  for  mine  eyes  (caught  the  Water, 
though  not  the  fish)  was,  when  at  the  relation 
of  the  queen's  death,  (with  the  manner  how  she 
came  to't,  bravely  confessed,  and  lamented  by 
the  king)  howattentiveness  wounded  his  daugh- 
ter; till,  from  one  sign  of  dolour  to  another, 
she  did,  with  an  alas!  I  would  fain  say,  bleed 
tears,  for,  I  am  sure,  my  heart  wept  blood.  Who 
was  most  marble  there  changed  colour ;  some 
swooned,  all  sorrowed:  if  all  the.  world  could 
have  seen  it,  the  woe  had  been  universal. 
First  Gentleman. 

Are  they  returned  to  the  court? 
Third  Gentleman. 

No:  the  princess  hearing  of  her  mother's 
statue,  which  is  in  the  keeping  of  Paulina, — a 
piece  many  years  in  doing,  and  now  newly  per- 
formed by  that  rare  Italian  master,  Julio  Ro- 
mano ;  who,  had  he  himself  eternity  and  could 
put  breath  into  his  work,  would  beguile  nature 
of  her  custom,  so  perfectly  he  is  her  ape:  he  so 
near  to  Hermione  hatli  done  Hermione,  that, 
they  say,  one  would  speak  to  her,  and  stand  in 
hope  of  answer.  Thither  with  all  greediness  of 
affection,  are  they  gone,  and  there  they  intend 
to  sup. 

Second  Gentleman. 

I  thought,  she  had  some  great  matter  there 
in  hand,  for  she  hath  privately,  twice  or  thrice 
a  day,  ever  since  the  death  of  Hermione,  visited 
that  removed  house.  Shall  we  thither,  and 
with  our  company  piece  the  rejoicing? 
First  Gentleman 

Who  would  be  thence,  that  has  the  benefit  of 
access?  every  wink  of  an  eye.  some  new  grace 
will  be  born:  our  absence  makes  us  unthrifty 
to  our  knowledge.    Let's  along. 

[Exeunt  Gentlemen. 

Autolycus. 
Now,  had  I  not  the  dash  of  my  former  life  in 
me,  would  preferment  drop  on  my  head.  I 
brought  the  old  man  and  his  son  aboard  the 
prince;  told  him  I  heard  them  talk  of  a  fardel, 
and  I  know  not  what ;  but  he  at  that  time,  over- 
fond  of  the  shepherd's  daughter,  (so  he  then  took 
her  to  be)  who  began  to  be  much  sea-sick,  and 
himself  little  better,  extremity  of  weather  con- 
tinuing, this  mystery  remained  undiscovered. 
But  'tis  all  one  to  me;  for  had  I  been  the  finder 

out 


T  StofhariB-A.  TSXngi&e 


Am  v.  Sc.  in. 


THE  WINTER'S  TALK. 


379 


out  of  this  secret,  it  would  not  have  relished 
among  my  other  discredits. 

Kilter  Shephtrd  .\ 
Here  come  those  1  have  done  good  to  against  my 
will,  and  already  appearing  in  the  blossoms  of 
their  fortune. 

herd. 
Come,  boy:  I  am  past  more  children  ;  but  thy 
sons  and  daughters  will  be  all  gentlemen  born. 

You  are  well  met,  sir.  You  denied  to  fight 
with  me  this  other  day, because  1  was  no  gentle- 
man born:  see  you  these  clothes?  say,  you  see 
them  not,  and  think  me  still  no  gentleman  born: 
you  were  best  say,  these  robes  are  not  gentleman 
bom.  Give  me  the  lie,  do,  and  try  whether  I 
am  not  now  a  gentleman  born. 
Autolycus. 
1  know,  you  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  born. 

Clown. 
Ay,  and  have  been  so  any  time  these  four  hours. 

Shepherd. 
And  so  have  I,  boy. 

Clo*  si 
So  you  have;  — but  I  was  a  gentleman  born 
before  my  father,  for  the  king's  son  took  me  by 
the  hand,  and  called  me,  brother ;  and  then  the 
two  kings  called  my  father,  brother;  and  then 
tiie  priuce,  my  brother,  and  the  princess,  my 
sister,  called  my  father,  father;  and  so  we  wept: 
and  there  was  the  first  gentleman -like  tears  that 
ever  we  shed. 

Shepherd 
We  may  live,  son,  to  shed  many  more. 

♦  town. 
Ay  ;  or  else  'twere  hard  luck,  being  in  so  pre- 
posterous estate  as  we  are. 

I  humbly  beseech  you.  sir,  to  pardon  me  all  the 
faults  1  have  committed  to  your  worship,  and  to 
give  me  your  good  report  to  the  prince  my 
master. 

IfcephttA 

Pr'ythce,  son,  do ;  for  we  must  be  gentle,  now 
we  are  gentlemen. 

<  lown 
Thou  wilt  amend  thy  life? 

Autohcu* 
Ay,  an  it  like  your  good  worship. 

<"lown 
Give  me  thy  hand:  I  will  swear  to  the  prince, 
thou  art  as  honest  a  true  fellow  as  any  is  in  Bo- 
hemia. 

Shepherd. 
You  may  say  it,  but  not  swear  it. 

<  lout). 

Not  swear  it,  now  I  am  a  gentleman?    Let 
boors  and  franklins  say  it,  I'll  swear  it. 
shepherd. 
How  if  it  be  false,  son  ? 

am. 
If  it  be  ne'er  so  false,  a  true  gentleman  mav 
swear  it  in  the  behalf  of  his  friend:  — And  I'll 
swear  to  the  prince,  thou  art  a  tall  fellow  of  thy 
hands,  and  that  thou  wilt  not  be  drunk;  but  I 
know,  thou  art  no  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands,  and 
that  thou  wilt  be  drunk;  but  I'll  swear  it,  and  I 
would  thou  would'st  be  a  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands. 
Autolycus. 
I  will  prove  so,  sir,  to  my  power. 


Clown. 

Ay,  by  any  means  prove  a  tall  fellow:  if  I  do 
not  wonder  how  thou  darest  venture  to  be 
drunk,  not  being  a  tall  fellow,  trust  me  not. — 
Hark  !  the  kings  and  the  princes,  our  kindred, 
are  going  to  see  the  queen's  picture,  ,Come, 
follow  us:  we'll  be  thy  good  masters.  L  Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Chapel  In 
Paulina'*  House. 

Enter  Leontes,  Polixenes,  Floritel,  Perdita, 
Camilla,  Paulina,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Leontes. 
O  !  grave  and  good  Paulina,  the  great  comfort 
That  1  have  had  of  thee  1 

Paulina. 

What,  sovereign  sir, 
I  did  not  well,  I  meant  well.     All  my  services. 
You  have  paid  home;  but  that  you  have  vouch- 
safed 
With  your  crown  *d  brother,  and  these  your  con- 
tracted 
Heirs  of  your  kingdoms,  my  poor  house  to  visit, 
It  is  a  surplus  of  your  grace,  which  never 
My  life  may  last  to  answer. 
Leontes. 

O  Paulina! 
We  honour  you  with  trouble.     But  we  came 
To  see  the  statue  of  our  queen:  your  gallery 
Have  we  pass'd  through,  not  without   much 
In  many  singularities,  but  we  saw  not    [content 
That  which  my  daughter  came  to  look  upon, 
The  statue  of  her  mother. 
Paulina. 

As  she  liv'd  peerless, 
So  her  dead  likeness,  I  do  well  believe, 
Excels  whatever  yet  you  looked  upon, 
Or  hand  of  man  hath  done;  therefore  I  keep  it 
Lonely,  apart.    But  here  it  is :  prepare 
To  see  the  life  as  lively  mock'd,  as  ever     [well. 
Still  sleep  mock'd  death:  behold:  and  say,  'tis 
.Paulma  uiuUdws  a  curtain,  aiui  discovers 
•  «.■•*». 
I  like  your  silence:  it  the  more  shows  off" 
Your  wonder;   but  yet  speak:  — first  you,  my 
Comes  it  uot  something  near?  [liege. 

Leoatei 

Her  natural  posture. — 
Chide  me,  dear  stone,  that  I  may  say,  indeed. 
Thou  art  Hermione ,  or,  rather,  thou  art  she 
In  thy  not  chiding,  for  she  was  as  tender 
As  infancy,  and  grace.—  But  yet,  Pauilna, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled;  nothing 
So  aged,  as  this  seems. 

Polixenes. 

O !  not  by  much. 
Paulina. 
So  much  the  more  our  carver's  excellence; 
Which  lets  go  by  some  sixteen  years,  and  makes 
As  she  liv'd  now.  [her 

Leonte*. 
As  now  she  might  have  done, 
So  much  to  my  good  comfort,  as  it  is 
Now  piercing  to  my  soul.     O  1  thus  she  stood. 
Even  with  such  life  of  majesty,  (warm  life, 
As  now  it  coldly  stands)  when  first  I  woo'd  her. 
I  am  asham'd :  does  not  the  stone  rebuke  me, 
Tor  being  more  stone  than  it? — O,  royal  piece ! 
There's  magic  in  thy  majesty,  which  has 
My  evils  conjur'd  to  remembrance;  and 
From  thy  admiring  daughter  took  the  spirits, 
Standing  like  stone  with  thee. 

Perdita. 


3?o 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Perdita. 

And  give  me  leave, 
And  do  not  say  'tis  superstition,  that 
I  kneel,  and  then  implore  her  blessing. — Lady, 
Dear  queen,  that  ended  when  I  but  began, 
Give  me.that  hand  of  yours  to  kiss. 
Paulina. 

O,  patience ! 
The  statue  is  but  newly  fix'd,  the  colour's 
Not  dry. 

Camlllo. 
My  lord,  your  sorrow  was  too  sore  laid  on, 
Which  sixteen  winters  cannot  blow  away, 
So  many  summers  dry :  scarce  any  joy 
Did  ever  so  long  live ;  no  sorrow, 
But  kill'd  itself  much  sooner. 
Polixenes. 

Dear  my  brother, 
Let  him  that  was  the  cause  of  this  have  power 
To  take  off  so  much  grief  from  you,  as  he 
Will  piece  up  in  himself. 

Paulina. 

Indeed,  my  lord, 
If  I  had  thought,  the  sight  of  my  poor  image 
Would  thus  have  wrought  you,  (for  the  stone  is 
I'd  not  have  show'd  it.  [mine) 

Leontes. 

Do  not  draw  the  curtain. 
Paulina. 
No  longer  shall  you  gaze  on't,  lest  your  fancy 
May  think  anon  it  moves. 

Leontes. 

Let  be,  let  be  I 
Would  I  were  dead,  but  that,  methinks,  already— 
What  was  he  that  did  make  it  ?— See,  my  lord, 
Would  you  not  deem  it  breath'd,  and  that  those 
Did  verily  bear  blood  ?  [veins 

Polixenes. 

Masterly  done : 
The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 
Leontei. 
The  fixture  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't, 
As  we  are  mock'd  with  art. 
Paulina. 

I'll  draw  the  curtain. 
My  lord's  almost  so  far  transported,  that 
He'll  think  anon  it  lives. 

Leontes. 

O,  sweet  Paulina  ! 
Make  me  to  think  so  twenty  years  together : 
No  settled  senses  of  the  world  can  match 
The  pleasure  of  that  madness.    Left  alone. 
Paulina. 
I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  have  thus  far  stirr'd  you  ; 
1  could  afflict  you  farther.  [but 

Leontes. 

Do,  Paulina, 
For  this  affliction  has  a  taste  as  sweet 

As  any  cordial  comfort Still,  methinks, 

There  is  an  air  comes  from  her :  what  fine  chisel 
Could  ever  yet  cut  breath  ?  Let  no  man  mock 
For  I  will  kiss  her.  [me, 

Paulina. 
Good  my  lord,  forbear. 
The  ruddiness  upon  her  lip  is  wet : 
You'll  mar  it,  if  you  kiss  it ;  stain  your  own 
With  oily  painting.    Shall  I  draw  the  curtain  ? 
Leontes. 
No,  not  these  twenty  years. 
Perdita. 


Stand  by,  a  looker  on. 


So  long  could  1 


Paulina. 

Either  forbear, 
•  Quit  presently  the  chapel,  or  resolve  you 
For  more  amazement.     If  you  can  behold  it, 
j  I'll  make  the  statue  move  indeed ;  descend, 
And  take  you  by  the  hand ;  but  then  you'll  think, 
•(Which  I  protest  against)  I  am  assisted 
\  By  wicked  powers. 

Leontes. 

What  you  can  make  her  do, 
( I  am  content  to  look  on  :  what  to  speak, 
I  am  content  to  hear  ;  for  'tis  as  easy 
To  make  her  speak,  as  move. 
Paulina. 

It  is  requir'd, 
.You  do  awake  your  faith.    Then,  all  stand  still, 
j  On,  those  that  think  it  is  unlawful  business 
.  I  am  about ;  let  them  depart. 
Leontes. 

Proceed : 
!No  foot  shall  stir. 

Paulina. 
Music  awake  her.    Strike!—       [Music. 
I'Tis  time;  descend;  be  stone  no  more:  ap- 
proach ; 
Strike  all  that  look  upon  with  marvel.    Come ; 
I'll  fill  your  grave  up  :  stir  ;  nay,  come  away ; 
'Bequeath  to  death  your  numbness,  for  from  him 
(Dear  life  redeems  you — You  perceive,  she  stirs. 
[Hermione  descends  lrom  the  pedestal. 
I  Start  not :  her  actions  shall  be  holy,  as 
;  You  hear  my  spell  is  lawful :  do  not  shun  her, 
i  Until  you  see  her  die  again,  for  then 
You  kill  her  double.    Nay,  present  your  hand  : 
■  When  she  was  young  you  woo'd  her;  now,  in 
'  Is  she  become  the  suitor  ?  [age, 

Leontes. 
O  !  she's  warm.   [Embracing  her. 
If  this  be  magic,  let  it  be  an  art 
j  Lawful  as  eating. 

Polixenes. 
She  embraces  him. 
Ciimillo. 
She  hangs  about  his  neck. 
j  If  she  pertain  to  life,  let  her  speak  too. 
Polixenes. 
Ay ;  and  make  it  manifest  where  she  has  liv'd, 
Or  how  stol'n  from  the  dead  ? 
Paulina. 

That  she  is  living, 
Were  it  but  told  you,  should  be  hooted  at 
Like  an  old  tale ;  but  it  appears  she  lives, 
Though   yet   she  speak   not.     Mark   a  little 

while.— 
Please  you  to  interpose,  fair  madam  :  kneel, 
And  pray  your  mother's  blessing.— Turn,  good 
Our  Perdita  is  found.  [lady, 

[Perdita  kneels  to  Hermione. 
Hermione. 

You  gods,  look  down, 
And  from  your  sacred  vials  pour  your  graces 
Upon  my  daughter's  head  !— Tell  me,  mine  own, 
Where  hast  thou  been  preserv'd  ?  where  liv'd  ? 

how  found 
Thy  father's  court  ?  for  thou  shalt  hear,  that  I, 
Knowing  by  Paulina  that  the  oracle 
Gave  hope  thou  wast  in  being,  have  preserv'd 
Myself  to  see  the  issue. 

Paulina. 
There's  time  enough  for  that, 
Lest  they  desire  upon  this  push  to  trouble 
Your  joys  with  like  relation.— Go  together, 
You  precious  winners  all :  your  exultation 
Partake  to  every  one.    I,  an  old  turtle, 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  JOHN. 


38i 


Will  w  ing  111.'  to  some  wither'd  bough,  anil  there 
My  mate,  that's  never  to  be  found  again, 
Lament  till  I  am  lost. 

Leontes.        _     ., 
0  peace,  Paulina ! 
Thou  should'st  a  husband  take  by  my  consent, 
As  I  by  thine,  a  wife :  this  is  a  match, 
And  made  between '»  by  tows.    Thou  hast  found 

mine ; 
But  how  is  to  be  question'd,  for  I  saw  her, 
As  I  thought,  dead  ;  and  have  in  vain  said  many 
A  prayer  upon  her  grave :  I'll  not  seek  far 
(For  him,  I  partly  know  his  mind)  to  find  thee 
An  honourable  husband. — Come,  Catnillo, 


.  And  take  her  by  the  hand,  whose  worth,  and 
Is  richly  noted,  and  here  justified         [honesty, 
!  By  us,  a  pair  of  kings.— Let's  from  this  place.-*- 
What  1  — Look  upon  my  brother: —both  your 
pardons, 
1  That  e'er  I  put  between  your  holy  looks 
!  My  ill  suspicion. — This  your  son-in-law, 
!  And  son  unto  the  king,  (whom  heavens  directing) 
;  Is  troth-plight  to  your  daughter.   Good  Paulina, 
Lead  us  Irom  hence,  where  we  may  leisurely 
Each  one  demand,  and  answer  to  his  part 
I  Perform'd  in  this  wide  gap  of  time,  since  first 
We  were  dissever'd.    Hastily  lead  away. 

[Exeunt. 


KING  JOHN. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  JOHN. 
Prince  Henry,  his  Son. 
Arthur,  Duke  of  Bretagne. 
William  Mareshall,  Earl  oj Pembroke. 
Geffrey  Fitz-Peter,  Eat  I  of  Essex. 
William  Longsword,  Earl  of  Salisbury. 
Robert  Bigot,  Earl  of  Norfolk. 
Hubert  de  Burgh,  Chamberlain  to  the  King. 
Robert  Faulconbridge. 
Philip  Faulconbridge. 

James  Gurney,  Servant  to  Lady  Faulconbridge. 
Peter  o/Pomfret. 
Philip,  King  of  France. 
Dauphin. 


Lewis,  the 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  1.     Northampton.     A  Room  of  State 
In  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  John,   Queen   Elinor,  Pembroke, 

Estes,  Salisbury,  and  others,  with  I'hatiUan. 

King  John. 

NOW,  say,  C/iaiillon,  what  would  France  with 
us? 

Chatillon. 
Thus,  after  greeting,  speaks  the  king  of  France, 
In  my  behaviour,  to  the  majesty, 
The  borrow'd  majesty,  of  England  here. 
Elinor. 
A  strange  beginning  I— borrow'd  majesty? 

King  John. 
Silence,  good  mother  :  hear  the  embassy. 


Archduke  of  Austria. 

Cardinal  Pandulph,  the  Pope's  Legate. 

Melun,  a  French  Lord. 

Chatillon,  Ambassador  from  France. 

Elinor,  Widow  of  King  Henry  II. 

Constance,  Mother  to  Arthur. 

Blanch,  Daughter  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Castile. 

Lady  Faulconbridge. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Citizens  of  Anglers,  Sheriff", 
Heralds,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and 
Attendants. 

SCENE,  sometimes  in  England  and  sometime* 
in  France. 


[  Chatillon. 

Philip  of  France,  in  right  and  true  behalf 
Of  thy  deceased  brother  Geffrey's  son, 
;  Arthur  Plantagenet,  lays  most  lawful  claim 
!  To  this  fair  island,  and  the  territories, 
1  To  Ireland,  Poictiers,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine; 
1  Desiring  thee  to  lay  aside  the  sword 

Which  sways  usurpingly  these  several  titles, 
,  And  put  the  same  into  young  Arthur'&  hand, 
Thy  nephew,  and  right  royal  sovereign. 
King  John. 
What  follows,  if  we  disallow  of  this  ? 

Clutillon. 
The  proud  control  of  fierce  and  bloody  war, 
[  To  enforce  these  rights  so  forcibly  withheld. 
King  John. 
Here  have  we  war  for  war,  and  blood  for  blood, 
Controlment  for  controlment :  so  answer  France. 
Chatillon. 


38x 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Chatillon. 
Then  take  my  king's  defiance  from  my  mouth, 
The  farthest  limit  of  my  embassy. 

King  John. 
Bear  mine  to  him,  and  so  depart  in  peace. 
Be  thou  as  lightning  in  the  eyes  of  France  ; 
For  ere  thou  canst  report  I  will  be  there, 
The  thunder  of  my  cannon  shall  be  heard. 
So,  hence' !     Be  thou  the  trumpet  of  our  wrath, 
And  sullen  presage  of  your  own  decay.— 
An  honourable  conduct  let  him  have : 
Pembroke,  look  to't.     Farewell,  Chatillon. 

[Exeunt  Chatillon  and  Pembroke. 

Elinor. 
What  now,  my  son  ?  have  I  not  ever  said, 
How  that  ambitious  Constance  would  not  cease, 
Till  she  had  kindled  France,  and  all  the  world, 
Upon  th  e  right  and  party  of  her  son  ? 
Thismighthavebeen  prevented,  and  made  whole, 
With  very  easy  arguments  of  love, 
Which  now  the  manage  of  two  kingdoms  must 
With  fearful  bloody  issue  arbitrate. 

King  John. 
Our  strong  possession,  and  our  right  for  us. 

Elinor. 
Your  strong  possession,  much  more  than  your 
right. 
Or  else  it  must  go  wrong  with  you,  and  me : 
So  much  my  conscience  whispers  in  your  ear, 
Which  none  but  heaven,  and  you,  and  I,  shall 
hear. 

Enter  the  Sheriffot  Northamptonshire,  who 
whispers  Essex. 

Essex. 

My  liege,  here  is  the  strongest  controversy, 
Come  from  the  country  to  be  judg'd  by  you, 
That  e'er  I  heard :  shall  1  produce  the  men  ? 

King  John. 
Let  them  approach.—  [Exit  Sheriff: 

Our  abbeys,  and  our  priories  shall  pay 

Re-enter  Sheriff,  with  Robert  Faulconbridge,  and 

Philip,  his  bastard  Brother. 
This  expedition's  charge — What  men  are  you  ? 

Bastard. 

Your  faithful  subject  I ;  a  gentleman 
Born  in  Northamptonshire,  and  eldest  son, 
As  I  suppose,  to  Robert  Faulconbridge, 
A  soldier,  by  the  honour- giving  hand 
Of  Cceur-de-lion  knighted  in  the  field. 

King  John.      . 
What  art  thou  ? 

Robert. 
The  son  and  heir  to  that  same  Faulconbridge. 

King  John. 

Is  that  the  elder,  and  art  thou  the  heir  ? 
You  came  not  of  one  mother,  then,  it  seems. 

Bastard. 
Most  certain  of  one  mother,  mighty  king ; 
That  is  well  known,  and,  as  1  think,  one  father: 
But,  for  the  certain  knowledge  of  that  truth, 
1  put  you  o'er  to  heaven,  and  to  my  mother : 
Of  that  I  doubt,  as  all  men's  children  may. 

Elinor. 
Out  on  thee,  rude  man  1  thou  dost  shame  thy 
mother, 
And  wound  her  honour  with  this  diffidence. 

Bastard. 
I,  madam  ?  no,  I  have  no  reason  for  it : 
That  is  my  brother's  plea,  and  none  of  mine; 
The  which  if  he  can  prove,  'a  pops  me  out 
At  least  from  fair  live  hundred  pound  a  year. 


Heaven  guard  my  mother's  honour,  and  my 
landl 

A  good  blunt  fellow.— why,  being  younger 
born, 
Doth  he  lay  claim  to  thine  inheritance? 

Bastard. 
I  know  not  why,  except  to  get  the  land. 
But  once  he  slander'd  me  with  bastardy : 
But  whe'r  I  be  as  true  begot,  or  no, 
That  still  I  lay  upon  my  mother's  head ; 
But,  that  I  am  as  well  begot,  my  liege, 
(Fair  fall  the  bones  that  took  the  pains  for  me !) 
Compare  our  faces,  and  be  judge  yourself. 
If  old  sir  Robert  did  beget  us  both, 
And  were  our  father,  and  this  son  like  him, 

0  !  old  sir  Robert,  father,  on  my  knee 

1  give  heaven  thanks,  I  was  not  like  to  thee. 

King  John 
Why,  what  a  madcap  hath  heaven  lent  us 
here  I 

Elinor. 
He  hath  a  trick  of  Caeur  de-lion's  face  ; 
The  accent  of  his  tongue  affecteth  him. 
Do  you  not  read  some  tokens  of  my  son 
In  the  large  composition  of  this  man  ? 

King  John. 
Mine  eye  hath  well  examined  his  parts, 
And  finds  them  perfect  Richard — Sirrah,  speak ; 
What  doth  move  you  to  claim  your  brother's 
land? 

Bastard. 

Because  he  hath  a  half-face,  like  my  father, 

With  that  half-face  would  he  have  all  my  land; 

A  half-  fae'd  groat  five  hundred  pound  a  year  1 

Robert 

My  gracious  liege,  when  that  my  father  liv'd, 
Your  brother  did  employ  my  father  much. — 

Bastard 

Well,  sir;  by  this  you  cannot  get  my  land  : 

Your  tale  must  be,  how  he  employ'd  my  mother. 

Robert. 
And  once  despatch'd  him  in  an  embassy 
To  Germany,  there,  with  the  emperor, 
To  treat  of  high  affairs  touching  that  time. 
The  advantage  of  his  absence  took  the  king, 
And  in  the  mean  time  sojourn'd  at  my  father's ; 
Where  how  he  did  prevail  I  shame  to  speak, 
But  truth  is  truth :  large  lengths  of  seas  and 
Between  my  father  and  my  mother  lay,  [shores 
As  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  himself, 
When  this  same  lusty  gentleman  was  got. 
Upon  his  death-bed  he  by  will  bequeath'd 
His  lands  to  me  ;  and  took  it,  on  his  death, 
That  this,  my  mother's  son,  was  none  of  his  : 
And,  if  he  were,  he  came  into  the  world 
Full  fourteen  weeks  before  the  course  of  time. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  let  me  have  what  is  mine, 
My  father's  land,  as  was  my  father's  will. 

King  John.  . 

Sirrah,  your  brother  is  legitimate  : 
Your  father's  wife  did  after  wedlock  bear  him ; 
And  if  she  did  play  false,  the  fault  was  hers, 
Which  fault  lies  on  the  hazards  of  all  husbands 
That  marry  wives.    Tell  me,  how  if  my  brother, 
Who,  as  you  say,  took  pains  to  get  this  son, 
Had  of  your  father  claiin'd  this  son  for  his? 
In  sooth,  good  friend,  your  father  might  have 

kept 
This  calf,  bred  from  his  cow,  from  all  the  world ; 
In  sooth,  he  might:  then,  if  he  were  my  brother's, 
My  brother  might  not  claim  him,  nor  your  father, 
Being  none  of  his,  refuse  him.  This  concludes.— 

My 


Act  i.   Sc.  I. 


KING  JOHN. 


38  3 


H|  mother's  >on  did  pel  your  father's  heir; 
Your  father's  heir  must  have  your  father's  land. 
Ro! 
Shall,  then,  mv  father's  will  be  of  no  force 
To  disposes*  that  child  u  hich  is  not  his  ? 
Bastard. 
Of  no  more  force  to  dispossess  me,  sir, 
Thau  was  his  will  to  get  me,  as  1  think. 
F.linor. 
\Y  nether  hadst  thou  rather  be  a  Faulconbridge, 
And  like  thy  brother  to  enjoy  thy  land, 
Or  the  reputed  son  of  Catur-de-lion, 
Lord  of  thy  presence,  and  no  land  beside  ? 
Bastard 
Madam,  an  if  my  brother  had  my  shape, 
And  I  had  his,  sir  Robert  his,  like  him  ; 
And  if  my  legs  were  two  such  riding-ro.ls, 
My  arms  such  eel -skins  stuff'd:  my  fare  so  thin, 
That  in  mine  ear  1  durst  not  stick  a  rose, 
Lest  men  should  say,  "  Look,  where  three-far- 
things goes," 
And.  to  his  shape,  were  heir  to  all  this  land, 
Would  I  might  never  stir  from  off  this  place, 
I'd  give  it  every  foot  to  have  this  face: 
It  would  not  be  sir  Nob  in  any  case. 
Klmot 
1  like  thee  well.  Wilt  thou  forsake  thy  fortune, 
Bequeath  thy  land  to  him,  and  follow  me? 
I  am  a  soldier,  and  now  bound  to  France  t 
Bastard. 
Brother,  take  you  my  land.  I'll  take  my  chance. 
Your  face  hath  got  five  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
Yet  sell  your  race  for  five  pence,  and  'tis  dear. — 
Madam,  I'll  follow  you  unto  the  death. 
Klinor. 
Nay,  I  would  have  you  go  before  me  thither. 

Bastard. 
Our  country  manners  give  our  betters  way. 

King  John. 
What  is  thy  name? 

Bastard. 


Ph 


Philip,  my  liege ;  so  is  my  name  begun  ; 
r  Robert's  w  "*  ' 
King  John. 


V(i7i>.  mv 
Hip,  good 


old  sir  Robert's  wife's  eldest  son. 


From  henceforth  bear  his  name  whose  form 
thou  bearest : 
Kneel  thou  down  Philip,  but  rise  more  great ; 
Arise  sir  Richard,  and  Plantugenet. 
Bastard. 
Brother,  by  the  mother's  side,  give  me  your 
hand  : 
My  father  gave  me  honour,  yours  gave  land  — 
Now  blessed  be  the  hour,  by  night  or  day. 
When  I  wa3  got  sir  Robert  was  away. 
F.linor. 
The  very  spirit  of  Planlagenel  f — 
I  am  thy  grandame,  Richard :  call  me  so. 
Bastard 
Madam,  by  chance,  but  not  by  truth:  what 
though  P 
Something  about,  a  little  from  the  right, 

In  at  the  window,  or  else  o'er  the  hatch  : 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  day,  must  walk  by  night, 

And  have  is  have,  however  men  do  catch. 
Near  or  far  off,  well  won  is  still  well  shot, 
And  1  am  1,  howe'er  1  was  begot. 
King  John. 
Oo,  Faulconbridge :  now  hast  thou  thy  desire ; 
A  landless  knight  makes  thee  a  landed  'squire. — 
Come,  madam,  and  come,  Richard:   we  must 

speed 
For  France,  for  France,  for  it  is  more  than  need. 


Bastard. 
Brother,  adieu  :  good  fortune  come  to  thee, 
For  thou  wast  got  P  the  way  qf  honesty. 

*       [Exeunt  all  but  th«  Bastard. 
A  foot  of  honour  better  than  I  was, 
But  many  a  many  foot  of  land  the  worse. 
Well,  now  can  I  make  any  Joan  a  lady:  — 
*'  Good  den,  sir  Richard.'—1'  God-a-mercy,  fel- 
low;"— 
And  if  his  name  be  George,  I'll  call  him  Peter; 
For  new-made  honour  doth  forget  men's  names: 
'Tis  too  respective,  and  too  sociable, 
For  your  conversion.     Now  your  traveller, — 
He  and  his  tooth-pick  at  my  worship's  mess  ; 
And  when  my  knightly  stomach  is  suftie'd, 
Why  then  1  suck  my  teeih,  and  catechize 
My  pieked  man  of  countries  : — "  My  dear  sir," 
Thus  leaning  on  mine  elbow  I  begin, 
"  1  shall  beseech  you  "—that  is  question  now ; 
And  then  comes  answer  like  an  absey-book  :  — 
"  O  sir."  says  answer,  "  at  your  best  command : 
At  your  employment;  at  your  service,  sir:*'  — 
*'  No,  sir,"  says  question,"  I,s\veetsir.  at  yours:" 
And  so,  ere  answer  knows  what  question  would. 
Saving  in  dialogue  of  compliment, 
And  talking  of  the  Alps,  and  Apennines, 
The  Pyretiean,  and  the  river  Po, 
It  draws  toward  supper,  in  conclusion  so. 
But  this  is  worshipful  society. 
And  fits  the  mounting  spirit,  like  myself ; 
For  he  is  but  a  bastard  to  the  time, 
That  doth  not  smack  of  observation  ; 
And  so  am  I,  whether  I  smack,  or  no ; 
And  not  alone  in  habit  and  device, 
Exterior  form,  outward  accoutrement, 
But  from  the  inward  motion  to  deliver 
Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  poison  for  the  age's  tooth  : 
Which,  though  I  will  not  practise  to  deceive, 
Yet,  to  avoid  deceit,  I  mean  to  learn, 
For  it  shall  strew  the  footstei  s  of  my  rising. — 
But  who  comes  in  such  haste,  in  riding  robes  ? 
What  woman-post  is  this  ?  hath  she  no  husband, 
That  will  take  pains  to  blow  a  horn  before  her? 
F.nter  Lady  Faulconbridge  and  James  Gurnet/. 

O  me !  it  is  my  mother. —  How  now,  good  lady  ! 
What  brings  you  here  to  court  so  hastily  ? 
Lady  Faulconbridge. 
Where  is  that  slave,  thy  brother  ?  where  is  he, 
That  holds  in  chase  mine  honour  up  and  down  ? 
Bastard. 
My  brother  Robert  ?  old  sir  Robert's  son  ? 
Co/brand  the  giant,  that  same  mighty  man  ? 
Is  it  sir  Robert's  son,  that  you  seek  so  ? 
Lady  Faulconbridge. 
Sir  Robert's  son  !     Ay,  thou  unreverend  boy, 
Sir  Robert's  son  :  why  scorn'st  thou  at  sir  Ro. 
He  is  sir  Robert's  sonj  and  so  art  thou,      [pert  t 
Bastard. 
James  Gurney,  wilt  thou  give  us  leave  a  while  ? 

Gurney. 
Good  leave,  good  Philip. 
Bastard. 

Philip  t — sparrow  \  — James, 
There's  toys  abroad  :  anon  I'll  tellthee  more. 
'  [Exit  Gurney. 

Madam,  I  was  not  old  sir  Robert's  son  : 
Sir  Robert  might  have  eat  his  part  in  me 
Upon  Good-Jriday,  and  ne'er  broke  his  fast. 
Sir  Robert  could  do  w  ell :  marry,  to  confess, 
Could  he  get  me?     Sir  Robert  could  not  do  it: 
We  know  his  handy-work. — Therefore,    good 

mother. 
To  whom  am  I  beholding  for  these  limbs  ? 
Sir  Robert  never  holp  to  make  this  leg. 


384 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  1.  Sc.  h 


Lady  Faulconbridge. 

Hast  thou  conspired  with  thy  brother,  too, 

That  for  thine  own  gain  should'st  defend  mine 

honour  ?  [knave  ? 

What  means  this  scorn,  thou  most  untoward 

Bastard. 

Knight,  knight,  good  mother,— Basilisco-like. 
What !  I  am  dubb'd;  I  have  it  on  my  shoulder. 
But,  mother,  I  am  not  sir  Robert's  son  ; 
I  have  disclaim'd  sir  Robert,  and  my  land  ; 
Legitimation,  name,  and  all  is  gone. 
Then,  good  my  mother,  let  me  know  my  father: 
Some  proper  man,  1  hope  ;  who  was  it,  mother  ? 
Lady  Faulconbridge. 

Hast  thou  denied  thyself  a  Faulconbridge  t 
Bastard. 

As  faithfully  as  I  deny  the  devil. 
Lady  Faulconbridge. 

King  Richard  Cceur-de-lion  was  thy  father. 
By  long  and  vehement  suit  I  was  seduc'd 
To  make  room  for  him  in  my  husband's  bed.— 
Heaven  !  lay  not  my  transgression  to  my  charge, 
That  art  the  issue  of  my  dear  offence, 
Which  was  so  strongly  urg'd,  past  my  defence. 
Bastard. 

Now,  by  this  light,  were  I  to  get  again, 
Madam,  1  would  not  wish  a  better  father. 
Some  sins  do  bear  their  privilege  on  earth, 
And  so  doth  yours ;  your  fault  was  not  your  folly : 
Needs  must  you  lay  your  heart  at  his  dispose, 
Subjected  tribute  to  commanding  love, 
Against  whose  fury  and  unmatched  force 
The  aweless  lion  could  not  wage  the  fight, 
Nor  keep  his  princely  heart  from  Richard's  hand. 
He,  that  perforce  robs  lions  of  their  hearts, 
May  easily  win  a  woman's.    Ay,  my  mother, 
With  all  my  heiirt  I  thank  thee  for  my  father  ! 
Who  lives,  and  dares  but  say  thou  didst  not  well 
When  I  was  got,  I'll  send  his  soul  to  hell. 
Come,  lady,  I  will  show  thee  to  my  kin ; 

And  they  shall  say,  when  Richard  me  begot, 
If  thou  hadst  said  him  nay,  it  had  been  sin : 

Who  says  it  was,  he  lies:  I  say,  'twas  not. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  n. 


I  give  you  welcome  with  a  powerless  hand, 
But  with  a  heart  full  of  unstained  love : 
Welcome  before  the  gates  of  Angiers,  duke. 

Lewis. 
A  noble  boy  1    Who  would  not  do  thee  right  ? 

Austria. 
Upon  thy  cheek  lay  I  this  zealous  kiss, 
Ks  seal  to  this  indenture  of  my  love  ; 
That  to  my  home  I  will  no  more  return, 
Till  Angiers,  and  the  right  thou  hast  in  France, 
Together  with  that  pale,  that  white-fac'd  shore, 
Whose  foot  spurns  back  the  ocean's  roaring 
And  coops  from  other  lands  her  islanders,  [tides, 
Even  till  that  England,  hedg'd  in  with  the  main, 
That  water-walled  bulwark,  still  secure 
And  confident  from  foreign  purposes, 
Even  till  that  utmost  corner  of  the  west 
Salute  thee  for  her  king:  till  then,  fair  boy, 
Will  I  not  think  of  home,  but  follow  arms. 

Constance. 
01   take   his   mother's   thanks,   a   widow's 
thanks,  [strength, 

Till  your  strong  hand  shall  help  to  give  him 
To  make  a  more  requital  to  your  love. 

Austria. 

The  peace  of  heaven  is  theirs,  that  lift  their 

In  such  a  just  and  charitable  war.  [swords 

King  Philip. 

Well  then,  to  work.  Our  cannon  shall  be  bent 
Against  the  brows  of  this  resisting  town :  — 
Call  for  our  chiefest  men  of  discipline, 
To  cull  the  plots  of  best  advantages. 
We'll  lay  before  this  town  our  royal  bones, 
Wade  to  the  market-place  in  Frenchmen's  blood, 
But  we  will  make  it  subject  to  this  boy. 
Constance 

Stay  for  an  answer  to  your  embassy, 
Lest  unadvis'd  you  stain  your  swords  with  blood. 
My  lord  Chalillon  may  from  England  bring 
That  right  in  peace,  which  here  we  urge  in  war ; 
And  then  we  shall  repent  each  drop  of  blood, 
That  hot  rash  haste  so  indirectly  shed. 


Enter  Chatillon. 

King  Philip. 
A  wonder,  lady !— Io,  upon  thy  wish, 
•*:§?■  ^'        Our  messenger,  Chatillon,  is  arnv'd.— 

What  England  says,  say  briefly,  gentle  lord: 
We  coldly  pause  for  thee:  Chatillon,  speak. 

Chatillon. 
Then  turn  your  forces  from  this  paltry  siege, 
SCENE  I.    France.    Before  the  Walls  of         And  stir  them  up  against  a  mightier  task. 
Angiers.  England,  impatient  of  your  just  demands, 

m.     4    i.t.v.  «*•  j..».~.„      Hath  put  himself  in  arms :  the  adverse  winds. 
Enter,  on  one  side,  the  Archduke  of  Austria  j  WhQs£  ,eisure  ,  have  gt     ,d    have     iven  him 
and  Forcet ;   on  the  other,  Phthp    King  01     T    ,     d  his  1     ions  all  as  /oon  as  L  [time 

France,  and  Force*;  Lewis,  Constance,  Arthur,  !  HU  marche8  a5re  expedient  to  this  town  ; 
and  Attendants.  His  forces  strong,  his  soldiers  confident. 

Lewis.  i  With  him  along  is  come  the  mother-queen, 

BEFORE  Angiers  well  met,  brave  Austria.—  \  An  ^  stirring  him  to  blood  and  strife : 
Arthur,  that  great  fore-runner  of  thy  blood, .  With  her  her  niece,  the  lady  Blanch  of  Spain  ; 
Richard,  that  robb'd  the  lion  of  his  heart, 


And  fought  the  holy  wars  in  Palestine, 
I  By  this  brave  duke  came  early  to  his  grave : 
1  And,  for  amends  to  his  posterity, 
1  At  our  importance  hither  is  he  come, 
;  To  spread  his  colours,  boy,  in  thy  behalf; 

And  to  rebuke  the  usurpation 
1  Of  thy  unnatural  uncle,  English  John  : 

Embrace  him,  lovehim,  give  him  welcome  hither 

Arthur. 

God  shall  forgive  you  Cceur-de-lion's  death, 

The  rather,  that  you  give  his  offspring  life, 

Shadowing  their  right  under  your  wings  of  wai 


'•■  With  them  a  bastard  of  the  king's  deceas'd, 
i  And  all  th'  unsettled  humours  of  the  land : 
:  Rash,  inconsiderate,  fiery  voluntaries, 

With  ladies'  faces,  and  fierce  dragons'  spleens, 
!  Have  sold  their  fortunes  at  their  native  homes, 
;  Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs, 

To  make  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes  here. 
I  In  brief,  a  braver  choice  of  dauntless  spirits, 
Than  now  the  English  bottoms  have  waft  o'er, 
Did  never  float  upon  the  swelling  tide, 
To  do  offence  and  scath  in  Christendom. 

}  Drums  heard  within 
The  interruption  of  their  "churlish  drums 

Cuts 


A.  1  n.  8c.  i. 


KING  JOHN. 


3«5 


CuU  off  more  circumstance :  they  are  at  hand, 
To  parley,  or  to  fight ;  therefore,  prepare. 
King  Philip. 
How  much  unlook'd  for  it  this  expedition  I      j 

frf.i. 
By  how  much  unexpected,  by  so  much 
We  must  awake  endeavour  for  defence, 
For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion  : 
Let  them  be  welcome,  then  ;  we  are  prepar'd. 

Enter  King  John,  Elinor,  Blanch,  the  Bastard, 
broke,  and  Forces. 

King  John. 

Peace  be  to  France ;  if  France  in  peace  permit 
Our  just  and  lineal  entrance  to  our  own : 
If  not,  bleed  France,  and  peace  ascend  to  heaven ;  \ 
Whiles  we,  God's  wrathful  agent,  do  correct 
Their  proud  contempt  that  beats  his  peace  to , 
heaven. 

King  Philip. 

Peace  be  to  England;  if  that  war  return 
From  France  to  England,  there  to  live  in  peace. : 
England  we  love ;  and,  for  that  England  s  sake, 
With  burden  of  our  armour  here  we  sweat. 
This  toil  of  ours  should  be  a  work  of  thine  ; 
But  thou  from  loving  England  art  so  far. 
That  thou  hast  under-wrought  his  lawful  king, 
Cut  off  the  sequence  of  posterity, 
Outfaced  infant  state,  and  done  a  rape 
Upon  the  maiden  virtue  of  the  crown. 
Look  here  upon  thy  brother  Geffrey's  face:  [his : 
These  eyes,  these  brows,  were  moulded  out  of 
This  little  abstract  doth  contain  that  large, 
Which  died  in  Geffrey,  and  the  hand  of  time 
Shall  draw  this  brief  into  as  huge  a  volume. 
That  Geffrey  was  thy  elder  brother  born, 
And  this  his  son :  England  was  Geffrey's  right, 
And  this  is  Geffrey's.     In  the  name  of  God, 
How  comes  it,  then,  that  thou  art  calPd  a  king, 
When  living  blood  doth  in  these  temples  beat, 
Which  owe  the  crown  that  thou  o'ermasterest  ? 
King  John. 

From  whom  hast  thou  this  great  commission. 
To  draw  my  answer  from  thy  articles  ?  [France, 
King  Philip 

From  that  supernal  Judge,  that  stirs  good 
In  any  breast  of  strong  authority,         [thought* 
To  look  into  the  blots  and  stains  of  right. 
That  Judge  hath  made  me  guardian  to  this  boy ; 
Under  whose  warrant  I  impeach  thy  wrong, 
And  by  whose  help  I  mean  to  chastise  it. 
King  Jote; 

Alack  !  thou  dost  usurp  authority. 
King  Philip. 

Excuse:  it  is  to  beat  usurping  down. 
Elinor. 

Who  is  it,  thou  dost  call  usurper,  France  t 
Constance. 

Let  me  make  answer:  — thy  usurping  son. 
Klinor. 

Out,  insolent !  thy  bastard  shall  be  kin?, 
That  thou  roay'st  be  a  queen,  and  check  the 
world  1 

Constance 

Mv  bed  was  ever  to  thy  son  as  true, 
As  thine  was  to  thy  husband,  and  this  boy 
Liker  in  feature  to  his  father  Geffrey, 
Than  thou  and  John,  in  manners  being  as  like, 
As  rain  to  water,  or  devil  to  his  dam. 
My  boy  a  bastard !    By  my  soul,  I  think, 
His  father  never  was  so  true  begot : 
It  cannot  be,  an  if  thou  wert  his  mother. 


Elinor. 
There's  a  good  mother,  boy,  that  blots  thy 
father. 

Constance. 
There's  a  good  grandam,  boy,  that  would  blot 
thee. 

Austria. 
Peace  I 

Bastard. 
Hear  the  crier. 
Austria. 

What  the  devil  art  thou* 
Bastird. 
One  that  will  play  the  devil,  sir,  with  you, 
An  'a  may  catch  your  hide  and  you  alone. 
You  are  the  hare  of  whom  the  proverb  goes, 
Whose  valour  plucks  dead  lions  by  the  beard. 
I'll  smoke  your  skin-coat,  an  I  catch  you  right: 
Sirrah,  look  to't ;  i'  faith,  I  will,  i'  faith. 
Blanch. 
O  !  well  did  he  become  that  lion's  robe, 
That  did  disrobe  the  lion  of  that  robe. 
Bastard. 
It  lies  as  sightly  on  the  back  of  him, 
As  great  Alcides'  shoes  upon  an  ass. — 
But,  ass,  I'll  take  that  burden  from  your  back, 
Or  lay  on  that  shall  make  your  shoulders  crack. 
Austria. 
What  cracker  is  this  same,  that  deafs  our  ears 
With  this  abundance  of  superfluous  breath  ? 
King  Philip. 
Lewis,  determine  what  we  shall  do  straight. 

Lewis. 
Women  and  fools,  break  off  your  conference. — 
King  John,  this  is  the  very  sum  of  all : 
Englat.d,  and  Ireland,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine, 
In  right  of  Arthur  do  I  claim  of  thee. 
Wilt  thou  resign  them,  and  lay  down  thy  arms  ? 
King  John. 
My  life  as  soon  :  I  do  defy  thee,  France.  — 
Arthur  of  Bretagne,  yield  thee  to  my  hand, 
And  out  of  my  dear  love  I'll  give  thee  more, 
Than  e'er  the  coward  hand  of  France  can  win : 
Submit  thee,  boy. 

Elinor. 
Come  to  thy  grandam,  child. 
Constance 
Do,  child,  go  to  it*  grandam,  child : 
Give  grandam  kingdom,  and  it'  grandam  will 
Oive  it  a  plum,  a  cherry,  and  a  fig : 
There's  a  good  grandam. 

Arthur . 

Good  my  mother,  peace  1 
I  would  that  I  were  low  laid  in  my  grave ; 
I  am  not  worth  this  coil  that's  made  for  me. 
Klinor. 
His  mother  shames    him    so,  poor  boy,   he 
weeps. 

Constance. 
Now  shame  upon  you,  whe'r  she  does,  or  no  I 
His  gramlams  wrongs,  and  not  his  mother's 
shames,  [eyes, 

Draw  those  heaven-moving  pearls  from  his  poor 
Which  heaven  shall  take  in  nature  of  a  fee: 
Ay,  with  these  crystal  heads  hea/en  shall  be 
To  do  him  justice,  and  revenge  on  you.    [brib'd 
Elinor 
Thou   monstrous   slanderer   of  heaven   and 
earth  1 

Constance. 
Thou  monstrous  injurer  of  heaven  and  earth  ! 
Call  not  me  slanderer:  thou,  and  thine,  usurp 
c  c  The 


386 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


The  dominations,  royalties,  and  rights,       [son, 

Of  this  oppressed  boy.    This  is  thy  eldest  son's 

Infortunate  in  nothing  but  in  thee: 

Thy  sins  are  visited  in  this  poor  child  ; 

The  canon  of  the  law  is  laid  on  him, 

Being  but  the  second  generation 

Removed  from  thy  sin-conceiving  womb. 

King  John. 
Bedlam,  have  done. 

Constance 

I  have  but  this  to  say, — 
That  he  is  not  only  plagued  for  her  sin, 
But  God  hath  made  her  sin  and  her,  the  plague 
On  this  removed  issue,  plagu'd  for  her, 
And  with  her  plague  her  sin  :  his  injury 
Her  injury  the  tieadle  to  her  sin, 
All  punish'd  in  the  person  of  this  child, 
And  all  for  her,  a  plague  upon  her  ! 

Elinor. 
Thou  unadvised  scold,  I  can  produce 
A  will,  that  bars  the  title  of  thy  son. 

Constance. 
Ay,  who  doubts  that  ?  a  will  !  a  wicked  will ; 
A  woman's  will :  a  canker'd  grandam's  will ! 

King  Philip. 
Peace,  lady  !  pause,  or  be  more  temperate. 
It  ill  beseems  this  presence,  to  cry  aim 
To  these  ill-tuned  repetitions. — 
Some  trumpet  summon  hither  to  the  walls 
These  men  of  Anglers:  let  us  hear  them  speak, 
Whose  title  they  admit,  Arthur's  or  John's. 

Trumpets  sound.  Enter  Cittzetts  upon  the  walls. 

Citizen. 
Who  is  it,  that  hath  warn'd  us  to  the  walls? 

King  Philip. 
*Tis  France,  for  England. 

King  John. 

England,  for  itself. 
You  men  of  Angiers,  and  my  loving  subjects,,— 

King  Philip. 
Youlo\ing  men  of  Angiers,  Arthur's  subjects, 
Our  trumpet  call'd  you  to  this  gentle  parle. 

King  John. 
For  our  advantage  ;  therefore,  hear  us  first — 
These  flags  of  France,  that  are  advanced  here 
Before  the  eye  and  prospect  of  your  town, 
Have  hither  march'd  to  your  endamagement : 
The  cannons  have  their  bowels  full  of  wrath, 
And  ready  mounted  are  they,  to  spit  forth 
Their  iron  indignation  'gainst  your  walls  : 
All  preparation  for  a  bloody  siege, 
And  merciless  proceeding  by  these  French, 
Confront  your  city's  eyes,  your  winking  gates  ; 
And, but  for  our  approach,  those  sleeping  stones, 
That  as  a  waist  do  girdle  you  about, 
Bv  the  compulsion  of  their  ordnance 
By  this  time  from  their  fixed  beds  of  lime 
Had  been  dishabited,  and  wide  havoc  made 
For  bloody  power  to  rush  upon  your  peace. 
But,  on  the  sight  of  us,  your  lawful  king, 
Who  painfully,  with  much  expedient  march, 
Have  brought  a  countercheck  before  your  gates, 
To  save  unscratch'd  your  city's  threaten'd  cheeks, 
Behold,  the  French  amaz'd  vouchsafe  a  parle  ; 
And  now,  instead  of  bullets  wrapp'd  in  fire, 
To  make  a  shaking  fever  in  your  w  alls. 
They  shoot  but  calm  words,  folded  up  in  smoke, 
To  make  a  faithless  error  in  your  ears : 
Which  trust  accordingly,  kind  citizens, 
And  let  us  in,  your  king ;  whose  labimr'd  spirits, 
Forwearied  in  this  action  of  swift  speed, 
Crave  harbourage  within  your  city  walls. 


When  I  have  said,  make  answer  to  us  both. 
Lo  !  in  this  right  hand,  whose  protection 
Is  most  divinely  vow'd  upon  the  right 
Of  him  it  holds,  stands  young  Plan/agenet, 
Son  to  the  elder  brother  of  this  man, 
And  king  o'er  him.  and  all  that  he  enjoys. 
For  this  down-trodden  equity,  we  tread 
In  warlike  march  these  greens  before  your  town; 
Being  no  farther  enemy  to  you. 
Than  the  constraint  of  hospitable  zeal, 
In  the  relief  of  this  oppressed  child, 
Religiously  provokes.     Be  pleased,  then, 
To  pay  that  duty,  which  you  truly  owe, 
To  him  that  owes  it,  namely,  this'young  prince  ; 
And  then  our  arms,  like  to  a  muzzled  bear, 
Save  in  aspect,  have  all  offence  seal'd  up : 
Our  cannons'  malice  vainly  shall  be  spent 
Against  th'  invulnerable  clouds  of  heaven  ; 
And  with  a  blessed  and  unvex'd  retire, 
With  unhack'd  swords,  and   helmets  all  un- 

bruis'd, 
We  will  bear  home  that  lusty  blood  again, 
Which  here  we  came  to  spout  against  your  town, 
And  leave  your  children,  wives,  and  you,  jn 

pt'ace. 
But  if  you  fondly  pass  our  proffer'd  offer, 
'Tis  not  the  roundure  of  your  old-fae'd  walls 
Can  hide  you  from  our  messengers  of  war, 
Though  all  these  English,  and  their  discipline, 
Were  haibour'd  in  their  rude  circumference. 
Then,  tell  us;   shall  your  city  call  us  lord, 
In  that  behalf  which  we  have  challeng'd  it, 
Or  shall  we  give  the  signal  to  our  rage, 
And  stalk  ip  blood  to  our  possession  ? 

Citizen. 
In  brief,  we  are  the  king  of  England's  sub- 
jects : 
For  him,  and  in  his  right,  we  hold  this  town. 

Kin?  John 
Acknowledge  then  the  king,  and  let  me  in. 

Citizen. 
That  can  we  not ;  but  he  that  proves  the  king, 
To  him  will  we  prove  loyal:  till  that  time, 
Have  we  ramm'd  up  our   gates   against   the 
world. 

King  John. 

Doth  not  the  crown  of  England  prove  the 

And,  if  not  that,  1  bring  you  witnesses,    [king  ? 

Twice  fifteen   thousand  hearts    of    England'* 

breed, — 

Bastard. 
Bastards,  and  else. 

King  John. 
To  verify  our  title  with  their  lives. 

King  Philip. 
As  many,  and  as  well-born  bloods  as  those,  — 

Bastard. 
Some  bastards,  too. 

King  Philip- 
Stand  in  his  face  to  contradict  his  claim. 

Citizen. 
Till  you  compound  whose  right  is  worthiest, 
We  for  the  worthiest  hold  the  right  from  both. 
King  John. 
Then  God  forgive  the  sin  of  all  those  souls, 
That  to  their  everlasting  residence 
Before  the  dew  of  evening  fall  shall  fleet, 
In  dreadful  trial  of  our  kingdom's  king  1 
King  Philip. 
Amen,  Amen.  —  Mount,  chevaliers !  to  arms ! 

Bastard. 
S.  George,  that  swing'd  the  dragon.,  and  e'er 
since, 

Sits 


Act  ii.  So.  n. 


KING  JOHN. 


387 


Say.  shall  the  current  of  our  right  roam  on  ? 
Whose  passage,  vex'd  with  thy  impediment. 
Shall  leave  his  native  channel,  and  o'er-swell 
With  course  distnrb'd  even  thy  confining  shores, 
Unlet!  tluni  let  his  silver  water  keep 
A  peaceful  progress  to  the  ocean. 

England,  thou  bast  not  sav*d  one  drop  of  blood. 
In  this  h  t  trial,  more  than  wc  of  I  ranee  ; 
Rather,  lost  more :  and  by  this  hand  I  swear, 
That  sways  the  earth  this  climate  overlooks, 
Before  we  will  lay  down  our  just-borne  arms, 
We'll  put  thee  down,  'gainst  whom  these  arms 
Or  add  a  royal  number  to  the  dead,      [we  bear, 
Gracing  the  scro  1.  that  tells  of  this  war's  loss, 
With  slaughter  coupled  to  the  name  of  kings. 

Ha  !  majesty,  how  high  thy  glory  towers, 
When  the  rich  blood  of  kings  is  set  on  fire. 
O  !  now  doth  death  line  his  dead  chaps  with  steel ; 
The  swords  of  soldiers  are  his  teeth,  his  fangs  ; 
And  now  he  feasts,  mousing  the  flesh  of  men, 
In  undetermin'd  differences  of  kings — 
Wrhy  stand  these  royal  fronts  amazed  thus  ? 
Cry,  havock,  kings  1  back  to  the  stained  field, 
You  equal  potenis,  tiery-kindled  spirits  ! 
Then  let  confusion  of  one  part  confirm   [death ! 
The  other's  peace  ;  till  then,  blows,  blood,  and 

King  John.  ,    .  „ 

Whose  party  do  the  townsmen  yet  admit  ? 

King.  Philip. 
Speak,  citizens,  for  England,  who's  your  king? 

Citizen 
The  king  of  England,  when  we  know  the  king. 

King  Philip, 
Know  him  In  us,  that  here  hold  up  his  right. 

King  John 
In  us.  that  are  our  own  great  deputy, 
Ami  bear  possession  of  our  person  here  ; 
Lord  of  our  presence,  Anglers,  and  of  you. 

Citizen, 
A  greater  power  than  we  denies  all  this  ; 
And.  till  it  be  undoubted,  we  do  lock 
Our  former  scruple  in  our  strong-barr'd  gates, 
Kings  of  our  feaf ;  until  our  fears,  resolv'd, 
Be  by  some  certain  king  purg'd  and  depos'd. 

Bastard 
By  heaven,  these  scroyles  of  Anglers  flout  you, 
And  stand  securely  on  their  battlements,  [kings, 
As  in  a  theatre,  whence  they  gape  and  point 
At  your  industrious  scenes  and  acts  of  death. 
Your  royal  presences  be  rul'd  by  me: 
Do  like  the  mntines  of  Jerusalem, 
Be  friends  awhile,  and  both  conjointly  bend 
Your  sharpest  deeds  of  malice  on  this  town. 
By  east  and  west  let  France  and  England  mount 
Their  battering  cannon,  charged  to  the  mouths, 
Till  their  soul-fearing  clamours  have  brawl'd 

down 
The  flinty  ribs  of  this  contemptuous  city : 
I'd  play  incessantly  upon  these  jades, 
Kven  till  unfenced  desolation 
Leave  them  as  naked  as  the  vulgar  air. 
That  done,  dissever  your  united  strengths, 
And  part  your  mingled  colours  once  again  ; 
Turn  face  to  face,  and  bloody  point  to  point ; 
Then,  in  a  moment,  fortune  shall  cull  foith 
Out  of  one  side  her  happy  minion, 
To  whom  in  favour  she  shall  give  the  day, 
And  kiss  him  with  a  glorious  victory. 
How  like  you  this  wild  counsel,  mighty  states? 


Sits  on  his  horseback  at  mine  hostess'  door, 
Teach  us  some  fence  1    [To  Austria.]    Sirrah, 

wire  1  at  home, 
At  your  den,  sirrah,  with  your  lioness, 
I  would  set  an  ox -head  10  \our  lion's  hide, 
And  make  a  monster  of  you. 

Austria.    _ 

Peace  I  no  more. 

O  1  tremble,  for  you  hear  the  lion  roar. 

King  John.  '     , 

Up  higher  to  the  plain  ;  where  we'll  set  forth 
In  best  appointment  oil  our  regiments. 

Speed,  then,  to  take  advantage  of  the  field. 

King  Philip. 
It  shall  be  so:— Mo   Lewis]    and    at    tne 
other  hill 
Command  the  rest  to  stand.  — God,  and  our 
right!  [Kxeunt. 

SCESE  II.    The  saute. 

Alarums  and  Excursion! ;  then  a  Retreat 
Enter  n  French  Herald,  with  trumpets,  to  the 

French  Herald. 

You  men  of  Angiers,  open  wide  your  gates, 

And  let  young  Arthur,  duke  of  Bretugne,  in. 

Who  by  the  hand  of  France  this  day  nath  made 

Much    work   for    tears   in    many    an    English 

mother, 
WTiose  sons  liescatter'd  on  thebleedlng  ground : 
Many  a  widow's  husband  grovelling  l>es, 
Coldly  embracing  the  discolour'd  earth, 
And  victory,  with  little  loss,  doth  play 
Upon  the  dancing  banners  of  the  French, 
Who  are  at  hand,  triumphantly  display'd, 
To  enter  conquerors,  and  to  proclaim 
Arthur  of  Bretagne,  England's  king,  and  yours. 

l.nglish  Herald,  with  tiumnfts. 

English  Herald. 
Rejoice,  you  men  of  Angiers,  ring  your  bells  : 
King  John,  your  kins,  and  England's,  doth  ap- 
Commander  of  this  hot  malicious  day.   [proach, 
Their  armours,  that  march'd  hence  so  silver- 
bright, 
Hither  return  all  gilt  with  Frenchmen's  blood. 
There  stuck  no  plume  in  any  English  crest, 
That  is  removed  by  a  staff  of  France  : 
<  >ur  colours  do  return  in  those  same  hands, 
That  did  display  them  when  we  first  march'd 
And  like  a  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen  come  [forth  ; 
Our  lusty  English,  all  with  purpled  hands, 
Dved  in  the  dying  slaughter  of  their  foes. 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way. 

(  ifizeu 
Heralds,  from  off  our  towers  we  might  behold, 
From  first  to  last,  the  onset  and  retire 
Of  both  your  armies  ;  whose  equality 
By  our  best  eyes  cannot  be  censured : 
Blood  hath  bought  blood,  and  blows  have  an- 
swer'd  blows ;  [fronted  power : 

Strength  match  d  with  strength,  and  power  con- 
Both  are  alike  ;  and  both  alike  we  like,  [even, 
One  must  prove  greatest :  while  they  weigh  so 
We  hold  our  town  for  neither,  yet  for  both. 

Enter,  at  one  side,  King  John,  with  his  power, 
Elinor,  Blanch,  and  the  Bustard;  at  the  other, 
King  Philip,  Lewis,  Austria,  and  Forces. 

Kiug  John. 
Fran-re.  hast  thou  y<  t  more  blood  to  cast  away? 


Smacks  it  not  something  of  the  policy  ' 


King 


388 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


King  John. 
Now,  by  the  sky  that  hangs  above  our  heads, 
I  like  it  well.— France,  shall  we  knit  our  powers, 
And  lay  this  Angiers  even  with  the  ground, 
Then,  after,  fight  who  shall  be  king  of  it  ? 
Bastard. 
An  if  thou  hast  the  mettle  of  a  king, 
Being  wrong'd  as  we  are  by  this  peevish  town,     j 
Turn  thou  the  mouth  of  thy  artillery, 
As  we  will  ours,  against  these  saucy  walls  ; 
And  when  that  we  have  dash'd  them  to  the  -j 

ground, 
Why,  then  defy  each  other,  and.  pell-mell, 
Make  work  upon  ourselves  for  heaven,  or  hell. 
King  Philip. 
Let  it  be  so.— Say,  where  will  you  assault  ? 

King  John. 
We  from  the  west  will  send  destruction 
Into  this  city's  bosom. 

Austria . 
I  from  the  north. 

King  Philip. 
Our  thunder  from  the  south, 
Shall  rain  their  drift  of  bullets  on  this  town. 
Bastard. 
O,  prudent  discipline  !    From  north  to  south, 
Austria  and  France,  shoot  in  each  other's  mouth  : 

[Aside. 
I'll  stir  them  to  it— Come,  away,  away  ! 
Citizen. 
Hear  us,  great  kings:  vouchsafe  a  while  to 
stay,  [league ; 

And  I  shall  show  you    peace,  and   fair-fac'd 
Win  you  this  city  without  stroke,  or  wound  ; 
Rescue  those  breathing  lives  to  die  in  beds, 
That  here  come  sacrifices  for  the  field. 
Persever  not,  but  hear  me,  mighty  kings. 
King  John. 
Speak  on,  with  favour  :  we  are  bent  to  hear. 

Citizen. 
That  daughter  there  of  Spain,  the  lady  Blanch, 
Is  near  to  England  :  look  upon  the  years 
Of  Lewis  the  Dauphin,  and  that  lovely  maid. 
If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty, 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch  ? 
If  zealous  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue, 
Where  should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch  ? 
If  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth, 
Whose  veins  bound   richer   blood   than   lady 

Blanch? 
Such  as  she  is,  in  beauty,  virtue,  birth, 
Is  the  young  Dauphin  every  way  complete: 
If  not  complete  of,  say,  he  is  not  she  ; 
And  she  again  wants  nothing,  to  name  want, 
If  want  it  be  not,  that  she  is  not  he : 
He  is  the  half  part  of  a  blessed  man, 
Left  to  be  finished  by  such  a  she  ; 
And  she  a  fair  divided  excellence, 
Whose  fulness  of  perfection  lies  in  him. 
O  1  two  such  silver  currents,  when  they  join 


In  mortal  fury  half  so  peremptory, 
As  we  to  keep  this  city. 

Bastard. 

Here's  a  stay, 
That  shakes  the  rotten  carcase  of  old  death 
Out  of  his  rags  !    Here's  a  large  mouth,  indeed, 
That  spits  forth  death,  and  mountains,  rocks, 
Talks  as  familiarly  of  roaring  lions,    [and  seas  ; 
As  maids  of  thirteen  do  of  puppy-dogs. 
What  cannoneer  begot  this  lusty  blood  ? 
He  speaks  plain  cannon-fire,  and  smoke,  and 

bounce ; 
He  gives  the  bastinado  with  his  tongue  ; 
Our  ears  are  cudgell'd :  not  a  word  of  his, 
But  buffets  better  than  a  fist  of  France. 
Zounds  !  I  was  never  so  bethump'd  with  words, 
Since  I  first  call'd  my  brother's  father  dad. 
Elinor. 

Son,  list  to  this  conjunction ;  make  this  match  ; 
Give  with  our  niece  a  dowry  large  enough, 
For  by  this  knot  thou  shalt  so  surely  tie 
Thy  now  unsur'd  assurance  to  the  crown, 
That  yond'  green  boy  shall  have  no  sun  to  ripe 
The  bloom  that  promiseth  a  mighty  fruit. 
I  see  a  yielding  in  the  looks  of  France ; 
Mark,  how  they  whisper :  urge  them  while  their 
Are  capable  of  this  ambition,  [soul* 

Lest  zeal,  now  melted  by  the  windy  breath 
Of  soft  petitions,  pity,  and  remorse, 
Cool  and  congeal  again  to  what  it  was. 
Citizen. 

Why  answer  not  the  double  majesties 
This  friendly  treaty  of  our  threaten'd  town  ? 

King  Philip. 

Speak  England  first,  that  hath  been  forward 
To  speak  unto  this  city :  what  say  you  ?     [first 
King  John 

If  that  the  Dauphin  there,  thy  princely  son. 
Can  in  this  book  of  beauty  read,  I  love, 
Her  dowry  shall  weigh  equal  with  a  queen : 
For  Anjou,  and  fair  Touraine,  Maine,  Poictiers, 
And  all  that  we  upon  this  side  the  sea 
( Except  this  city  now  by  us  besieg'd) 
Find  liable  to  our  crown  and  dignity, 
Shall  gild  her  bridal  bed,  and  make  her  rich 
In  titles,  honours,  and  promotions, 
As  she  in  beauty,  education,  blood, 
Holds  hand  with  any  princess  of  the  world. 
King  Philip. 

What  say'st  thou,  boy?  look  in  the  lady's  face. 
Lewis. 

I  do,  my  lord  ;  and  in  her  eye  I  find 
A  wonder,  or  a  wondrous  miracle, 
The  shadow  of  myself  form'd  in  her  eye, 
Which,  being  but  the  shadow  of  your  son, 
Becomes  a  sun,  and  makes  your  son  a  shadow. 
I  do  protest,  I  never  lov'd  myself, 
Till  now  infixed  I  beheld  myself 
Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye. 

[Whispers  with  Blanch. 

Bastard. 


?„°/!°.rify  ,thue^n,k2  ta^™^™± ;  £S& !  Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye, 


And  two  such  shores  to  two  such  streams  made 
Two  such  controlling  bounds  shall  you  be,  kings. 
To  these  two  princes,  if  you  marry  them. 
This  union  shall  do  more  than  battery  can 
To  our  fast-closed  gates  ;  for,  at  this  match, 
With  swifter  spleen  than  powder  can  enforce, 
The  mouth  of  passage  shall  we  fling  wide  ope, 
And  give  you  entrance  ;  but,  without  this  match 
The  sea  enraged  is  not  half  so  deaf, 
Lions  more  confident,  mountains  and  rocks 
More  free  from  motion  :  no,  not  death  himself 


Hang'd  in  the  frowning  wrinkle  of  her  brow, 
And  quarter'd  in  her  heart,  he  doth  espy 
Himself  love's  traitor  :  this  is  pity  now, 
That  hang'd,  and  drawn,  and  quarter'd,  there 

should  be, 
In  such  a  love,  so  vile  a  lout  as  he. 
Blanch. 
My  uncle's  will  in  this  respect  is  mine : 
If  he  see  aught  in  you,  that  makes  him  like, 
That  any  thing  he  sees,  which  moves  his  liking, 

I  can 


Act  hi.  Sc  i. 


KING  JOHN. 


389 


1  can  with  ease  translate  It  to  my  will ; 

Or  if  you  will,  to  speak  more  properly, 

1  wiU'cnforce  it  easily  to  my  love. 

Farther  I  will  not  flatter  you,  my  lord, 

That  all  I  see  in  you  i>  worthy  lore, 

Than  this,— that  nothing  do  I  see  in  JTOO, 

Though  churlish  thoughts  themselves  should 

oe  your  judge, 
That  I  can  find  should  merit  any  hate. 

King  John. 
What  say  these  young  ones  ?     What  say  you, 
my  niece  ? 

Blanch. 
That  she  is  bound  In  honour  still  to  do 
What  you  in  wisdom  still  vouchsafe  to  say. 

King  John. 
Speak  then,  prince  Dauphin:  can  you  love 
this  lady  ? 

Lewis. 
Nay,  ask  me  if  I  can  refrain  from  love. 
For  1  do  love  her  most  unfeignedly. 

King  John. 
Then  do  I  give  Volquessen,  Tour  nine,  Maine, 
Poictiers,  and  Anjou,  these  five  provinces, 
With  her  to  thee  ;  and  this  addition  more, 

Full  thirty  thousand  marks  of  English  coin 

Philip  of  France,  if  thou  be  pleas'd  withal, 
Command  thy  son  and  daughter  to  join  hands. 

King  Philip. 
It  likes  us  well — Young  princes,  close  your 
hands. 

Austria. 
And  your  lips  too ;  for,  I  am  well  assur'd, 
That  I  did  so,  when  1  was  first  assur'd. 

King  Philip. 
Now,  citizens  of  Angiers,  ope  your  gates, 
Let  in  that  amity  which  you  have  made  ; 
For  at  saint  Mary's  chapel  presently 
The  rites  of  marriage  shall  be  solemniz'd. — 
Is  not  the  lady  Constance  in  this  troop  ? 
I  know,  she  is  not ;  for  this  match,  made  up, 
Her  presence  would  have  interrupted  much. 
Where  is  she  and  her  son  ?  tell  me,  who  knows. 

Lewis. 

She  is  sad  and  passionate  at  your  highness* 
tent. 

King  Philip 
And,  by  my  faith,  this  league,  that  we  have 

Will  give  her  sadness  very  little  cure [made, 

Brother  of  England,  how  may  we  content 
This  widow  lady  ?    In  her  right  we  came, 
Which  we,  God  knows,  have  turn'd  another  way, 
To  our  own  vantage. 

KlngJohu 

We  will  heal  up  all; 
For  we'll  create  young  Arthur  duke  of  Bretagne, 
And  earl  of  Richmond,  and  this  rich  fair  town 
We  make  him  lord  of— Call  the  lady  Constance: 
Some  speedy  messenger  bid  her  repair 
To  our  solemnity. — I  trust  we  shall, 
If  not  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  will, 
Yet  in  some  measure  satisfy  her  so, 
That  we  shall  stop  her  exclamation. 
Co  we,  as  well  as  haste  will  suffer  us. 
To  this  unlook'd  for,  unprepared  pomp. 

[Kxeunt  all  but  the  Bastard.—  The  Citizens 
retire  from  the  walls. 


Bastard, 
kii 


Mad  world  !  mad  kings  !  mad  composition  I 
John,  to  stop  Arthur's  title  in  the  whole, 
Hath  willingly  departed  with  a  part ;  [on, 

And  Fiance,  whose  armour  conscience  buckled 


I  Whom  zeal  and  charity  brought  to  the  field, 
As  God's  own  soldier,  rounded  in  the  ear 
With  that  same  purpose-changer,  that  fly  devil. 
That  broker  that  still  breaks  the  pate  of  faith, 
That  daily  break- vow,  he  that  wins  of  all, 
Of  kings,  of  beggars,  old  men,  young  men, 

maids, — 
:  Who  having  no  external  thing  to  lose        [that ; 
'But  the  word  maid, — cheats  the  poor  maid  of 
That  smooth-faced  gentleman,  tickling  commo- 
j  Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world  ;  [dity,— 

;  The  world,  who  of  itself  is  peised  well, 
Made  to  run  even,  upon  even  ground, 
Till  this  advantage,  this  vile  drawing  bias, 
This  sway  of  motion,  this  commodity, 
Makes  it  take  head  from  all  indifferency, 
From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent: 
And  this  same  bias,  this  commodity, 
This  bawd,  this  broker,  this  all-changing  word, 
Clapp'd  on  the  outward  eye  of  fickle  France, 
Hath  drawn  him  from  his  own  determin'd  aid, 
From  a  resolv'd  and  honourable  war, 
To  a  most  base  and  vile -concluded  peace. 
And  why  rail  I  on  this  commodity? 
But  for  because  he  hath  not  woo'd  me  yet : 
Not  that  I  have  the  power  to  clutch  my  hand, 
When  his  fair  angels  would  salute  my  palm; 
But  for  my  hand,  as  unattempted  yet, 
Like  a  poor  beggar,  raileth  on  the  rich. 
Well,  whiles  I  am  a  beggar,  I  will  rail, 
And  say,  there  is  no  sin,  but  to  be  rich ; 
And  being  rich,  my  virtue  then  shall  be, 
To  say,  there  is  no  vice  but  beggary. 
Since  kings  break  faith  upon  commodity. 
Gain,  be  my  lord,  for  I  will  worship  thee. 

[Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.     The  same.    The  French  King's 
Tent. 

Enter  Constance,  Arthur,  and  Salisbury. 

Constance 
/~J.ONE  to  be  married  ?  gone  to  swear  a  peace  ? 
^""   False  blood  to  false  blood  join'd!  Gone  to  be 

friends  ?  [vinces  ? 

Shall  Lewis  have  Blanch,  and  Blanch  those  pro- 
It  is  not  so  ;  thou  hast  misspoke,  misheard: 
Be  well  advis'd,  tell  o'er  thy  tale  again : 
It  cannot  be  ;  thou  dost  but  say  'tis  so. 
I  trust,  I  may  not  trust  thee,  for  thy  word 
Is  but  the  vain  breath  of  a  common  man  : 
Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  thee,  man  ; 
I  have  a  king's  oath  to  the  contrary. 
Thou  shalt  be  punish 'd  for  thus  frighting  me, 
For  I  am  sick,  and  capable  of  fears  ; 
Oppress'd  with  wrongs,  and  therefore  full   of 
A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears  ;   [fears  ; 
A  woman,  naturally  born  to  fears ; 
And  though  thou  now  confess,  thou  didst  but  jest 
With  my  vex'd  spirits,  I  cannot  take  a  truce, 
But  they  will  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day. 
What  dost  thou  mean  by  shaking  of  thy  head  ? 
Why  dost  thou  look  so  sadly  on  my  son  ? 
■What  means  that  hand  upon  that  breast  of 

thine  ? 
Why  holds  thine  eye  that  lamentable  rheum, 
Like  a  proud  river  peering  o'er  his  bounds  ? 
Be  these  sad  signs  confirmers  of  thy  words  ? 
Then  speak  again  ;  not  all  thy  former  tale. 
But  this  one  word,  whether  thy  tale  be  true. 

Salisbury. 


39° 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  hi.  Sc. 


Salisbury. 
A  true,  as,  1  believe,  you  think  them  false, 
That  give  you  cause  to  prove  my  saying  true. 
Constance 
O !  if  thou  teach  me  to  believe  this  sorrow, 
Teach  thou  this  sorrow  how  to  make  me  die  ; 
And  let  belief  and  life  encounter  so. 
As  doth  the  fury  of  two  desperate  men, 
Which  in  the  very  meeting  fall,  and  die, — 
Lewis  marry  Blanch!     O,  boy  1  then  where  art 
thou?  [me?  — 

France  friend  with  England!  what  becomes  of 
Fellow,  be  gone ;  I  cannot  brook  thy  sight  : 
This  news  hath  made  thee  a  most  ugly  man. 
Salisbury. 
What  other  harm  have  I,  good  lady,  done, 
But  spoke  the  harm  that  is  by  others  done  ? 
Ton  stance. 
Which  harm  within  itself  so  heinous  is, 
As  it  makes  harmful  all  that  speak  of  it. 
Arthur. 
I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  be  content. 

Constance 
If  thou,  that  bidd'st  me  be  content,  wert  grim, 
Ugly,  and  slanderous  to  thy  mother's  womb, 
Full"  of  unpleasing  blots,  and  sightless  stains, 
|  Lame,  foolish,  crooked,  swart,  prodigious, 
[Patch  d  with     foul    moles,   and   eye-offending 
marks, 

•  I  would  not  care,  I  then  would  be  content ; 
For  then  I  should  not  love  thee  ;  no,  nor  thou 

!  Become  thy  great  birth,  uor  deserve  a  crown. 

•  But  thou  art  fair  ;  and  at  thy  birth,  dear  boy, 

;  Nature  and  fortune  join'd  to  make  thee  great: 
|  Of  nature's  gifts  thou  may'st  with  lilies  boast. 
'  And  with  the  half-blown  rose.  But  fortune,  O  ! 
;  She  is  corrupted,  chang'd.  and  won  from  thee : 
Sh'  adulterates  hourly  with  thine  uncle  John; 
And  with  her  golden   hand  hath  pluck  d  on 

France 
To  tread  down  fair  respect  of  sovereignty, 
And  made  his  majesty  the  bawd  to  theirs. 
France  is  a  bawd  to  fortune,  and  king  John  ; 
That  -trumpet  fortune,  that  usurping  John  I  — 
Tell  me,  thou  fellow,  is  not  France  forsworn  ? 
Envenom  him  with  words,  or  get  thee  gone, 
And  leave  those  woes  alone,  which  I  alone 
Am  bound  to  under-bear. 

Salisbury. 

Pardon  me,  madam, 
I  may  not  go  without  you  to  the  kings. 
Constance. 
Thou  may'st,  thou  shalt :    I  will  not  go  with 
I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud,      [thee. 
For  grief  is  proud,  and  makes  his  owner  stoop. 
To  me,  and  to  the  state  of  my  great  grief, 
Let  kings  assemble  ;  for  my  griefs  so  great, 
That  no  supporter  hut  the  huge  firm  earth 
Can  hold  it  up:  here  I  and  sorrows  sit ; 
Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  bow  to  it. 

[Sne  sits  on  the  ground. 

Enter  King  John,  King  Philip,  Lewis,  Blanch, 
Elinor,  Bastard,  Austria,  and  Attendants. 

King  Philip. 
'Tis  true,  fair  daughter ;  and  this  blessed  day, 
Ever  in  France  shall  be  kept  festival : 
To  solemnize  this  day,  the  glorious  sun 
Stays  in  his  course,  and  plays  the  alchymist, 
Turning,  with  splendour  of  his  precious  eye, 
The  meagre  cloddy  earth  to  glittering  gold : 
The  yearly  course,  that  brings  this  day  about, 
Shall  never  see  it  but  a  holyday. 


Constance. 

A  wicked  day,  and  not  a  holy  day  !       [Rising. 

What  hath  this  day  deserv'd?  what  hath  "it  done. 

That  it  in  golden  letters  should  be  set, 

Among  the  high  tides,  in  the  calendar  ? 

Nay,  rather,  turn  this  day  out  of  the  week ; 

This  day  of  shame,  oppression,  perjury  : 

Or  if  it  must  stand  still,  let  wives  with  child 

Pray,  that  their  burdens  may  not  fall  this  day, 

Lest  that  their  hopes  prodigiously  be  cross'd: 

But  on  this  day,  let  seamen  fear  no  wreck ; 

No  bargains  break,  that  are  not  this  day  made  ; 

This  day  all  things  begun  come  to  ill  end  ; 

Yea,  faith  itself  to  hollow  falsehood  change  ! 

King  Philip. 

By  heaven,  lady,  you  shall  have  no  cause 

To  curse  tne  fair  proceedings  of  this  day. 

Have  I  not  pawn'd  to  you  my  majesty  ? 

Constance. 

You  have  beguil'd  me  with  a  counterfeit, 

Resembling  majesty,  which,  being  touch'd  and 

tried, 

Proves  valueless.    You  are  forsworn,  forsworn  ; 

You  came  in  arms  to  spill  mine  enemies'  blood, 

But  now  in  arms  you  strengthen  it  with  yours: 

The  grappling  vigour,  and  rough  frown  of  war, 

Is  cold  in  amity  and  painted  peace, 

And  our  oppression  hath  made  up  this  league. — 

Arm,  arm,  you  heavens,  against  these  perjur'd 

kings  ! 

A  widow  cries :  be  husband  to  me,  heavens  1 

Let  no*  the  hours  of  this  ungodly  day 

Wear  out  the  day  in  peace ;  but,  ere  sunset, 

Set  armed  discord  'twixt  these  perjur'd  kings  1 

Hear  me !    O,  hear  me ! 

Austria. 

Lady  Constance,  peace ! 

Constance 

War !  war  !  no  peace !  peace  is  to  me  a  war. 

JO,  Lymoges!  O,  Austria!  thou  dost  shame 

JThat  bloody  spoil:  thou  slave,  thou  wretch,  thou 

coward ; 

Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villainy! 

I  Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side! 

;Thou  fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 

But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 

7'o  teach  thee  safety  !  thou  art  perjur'd  too, 

i  And  sooth'st  up  greatness.  What  a  fool  art  thou, 

A  ramping  fool,  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  swear, 

Upon  my  party !     Thou  cold-blooded  slave, 

Hast  thou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side? 

Been  sworn  my  soldier?  bidding  me  depend 

Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fortune,  and  thy  strength? 

And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  "foes  ? 

Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide!  doff  it  for  shame, 

And  hang  a  calfs-skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

Austria. 

O,  that  a  man  should  speak  those  words  to 

me  •'  «    » 

Bastard. 

And  hang  a  calfs-skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

Austria. 
Thou  dar'st  not  say  so,  villian,  for  thy  life. 

Bastard. 
And  hang  a  calf  s-skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

King  John. 
We  like  not  this:  thou  dost  forget  thyself. 
Enter  Pandulph. 
King  Philip. 
Here  comes  the  holy  legate  of  the  pope. 

Pandulph. 
Hail,  you  anointed  deputies  of  heaven. 
To  thee,  King  John,  my  holy  errand  is. 

I  Pan. 


Act  in.  Sc.  i. 


KING  JOHN. 


J21 


!  Pandulph,  of  fair  Milan  cardinal, 
Ami  from  Pope  Inaocfri  the  legate  here, 
Do  in  his  name  religiously  demand, 
Why  thou  against  the  church,  our  holv  mother, 
So  wilfully  dost  spurn  ;  and,  force  perforce, 
KM  Strphm  l.angton.  chosen  archbishop 
Of  Cantcrbunj,  from  that  holy  see? 
This,  in  our  'foresaid  holy  father's  name, 
Pope  Innoctnt,  1  do  demand  of  thee. 
King  John 

WM  earthly  name  b»  interrogatories 
Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  king? 
Thou  canst  not,  cardinal,  devise  a  name 
So  slight,  unworthy,  and  ridiculous, 
To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  pope,   {land, 
Tell  him  this  tale;  and  from  the  month  of  Eng- 
Add  thus  much  more — that  no  Italian  priest 
Shall  tithe  or  toll  in  our  dominions ; 
But  as  we  under  heaven  are  supreme  head, 
So,  under  him,  that  great  supremacy, 
Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  alone  uphold, 
Without  th'  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand: 
So  tell  the  pope;  all  reverence  set  apart 
To  him,  and  his  usurp'd  authority. 
King  IMiilip 

Brother  of  England,  you  blaspheme  in  this. 
King  John. 

Though  yon,  and  all  the  kings  of  Christendom, 
Are  led  so  grossly  by  this  meddling  priest, 
Dreading  the  curse  that  money  may  buy  out, 
And,  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust, 
Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man. 
Who,  in  that  sale,  >ells  pardon  from  himself; 
Though  you,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led. 
This  juggling  witchcraft  with  revenue  cherish, 
Yet  I.  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose 
Against  the  pope,  and  count  his  friends  my  foes. 
Pandulph. 

Then,  by  the  lawful  power  that  T  have, 
Thou  shalt  stand  curs'd,  and  excommunicate: 
And  blessed  shall  he  be,  that  doth  revolt 
From  his  allegiance  to  an  heretic ; 
And  meritorious  sha'I  that  hand  be  call'd, 
Canonized,  and  worshipp'd  as  a  saint, 
That  takes  awav  by  any  secret  course 
Thy  hateful  life.      Conitance. 

O :  lawful  let  it  be, 
That  I  have  room  with  Rome  to  curse  awhile. 
Good  father  Cardinal,  cry  thou  amen 
To  my  keen  curses  ;  for  without  my  wrong 
There  is  no  tongue  hath  power  to  curse  him 

ri»ht'  Pandulph. 

There's  law  and  warrant,  lady,  for  my  curse. 
Constance. 

And  for  mine  too:  when  law  can  do  no  right, 
Let  it  be  lawful  that  law  bar  no  wrong. 
Law  cannot  give  my  child  his  kingdom  here, 
For  he  that  holds  his  kingdom  holds  the  law: 
Therefore,  since  law  itself  is  per  ect  wrong, 
How  can  the  law  forbid  my  tongue  to  curse? 
Pandulph. 

Philip  of  France,  on  peril  of  a  curse, 
Let  go  the  hand  of  that  arch-heretic, 
And  raise  the  power  of  France  upon  his  head, 
Unless  he  do  submit  himself  to  Rome. 
Elinor. 

Look'st  thou  pale,  France?  do  not  let  go  thy 
hand.  „ 

Constance. 

Look  to  that,  devil,  lest  that  France  repent, 
And  by  disjoining  hands  hell  lose  a  soul. 


Aus' | 

King  Philip,  listen  td  the  cardinal. 
Basf. 

And  hang  a  calf's -skin  on  his  recreant  limbi 
Austria. 

Well,  ruffian,  I  must  pocket  up  these  wronga, 
Because-  Baftard# 

Your  breeches  best  may  carry  them. 
King  John. 

Philip,  what  say'st  thou  to  the  cardinal? 
Constance. 


What  should  he  say,  but  a 
T.cwla. 


the  cardinal  ? 


Bethink  you,  father ;  for  the  difference 
Is  purchase  of  a  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  light  loss  of  England  for  a  friend: 
Forego  the  easier.     B,anch 

That's  the  curse  of  Rome . 
Constance. 

O  Lewis,  stand  fast!   the  devil  tempts  thee 
here, 
In  likeness  of  a  new  untrimmed  bride. 
Blanch. 

The  lady  Constance  speaks  not  from  her  faith, 
But  from  her  need. 

Constance. 

O !  if  thou  grant  my  need, 
Which  only  lives  but  by  the  death  of  faith, 
That  need  must  needs  infer  this  principle, 
That  faith  would  live  again  by  death  of  need : 
O  !  then,  tread  down  my  need,  and  faith  mounts 

up; 
Keep  my  need  up,  and  faith  is  trodden  down. 
King  John. 

The  king  is  mov'd,  and  answers  not  to  this. 
Constance. 

O !  be  remor'd  from  him,  and  answer  well. 
Austria. 

Do  so,  King  Philip:  hang  no  more  in  doubt. 
mstarcT. 

Hang  nothing  but  a  calfs-skin,  most  sweet 


lout. 


King  Philip. 


I  am  perplex'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 

What  canst  thou  say,  but  will  perplex  thee 
more, 
If  thou  stand  excommunicate,  and  curs'd? 
King  Philip. 

Good  reverend  father,  make  my  person  yours, 
And  tell  me  how  you  would  bestow  yorrself. 
This  royal  hand  and  mine  are  newly  knit, 
And  the  conjunction  of  our  inward  souls 
Married  in  league,  coupled  and  link'd  together 
With  all  religious  strength  of  sacred  vows; 
The  latest  breath  that  gave  the  sound  of  words, 
Was  deep-sworn  faith,  peace,  amity,  true  love, 
Between  our  kingdoms,  and  our  royal  selves  ; 
And  even  before  this  truce,  but  new  before, 
No  longer  than  we  well  could  wash  our  hands. 
To  clap  this  royal  bargain  up  of  peace,    [stain'd 
Heaven  knows,  they  were  besmear'd  and  over- 
With    slaughter's   pencil ;    where  revenge  did 
The  fearful  difference  of  incensed  kings:  [paint 
And  shall  these  hands,  so  lately  put  g'd  of  blood. 
So  newly  join'd  in  love,  so  strong  in  both, 
Unyoke  this  seizure,  and  this  kind  regreet? 
Play  fast  and  loose  with   faith?  so  jest  with    | 

heaven, 
Make  such  unconstant  children  of  ourselves, 
Z_ As) 


39* 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  hi.  iSr.  i. 


As  now  again  to  snatch  our  palm  from  palm  ; 
Unswear  faith  sworn ;  and  on  the  marriage  bed 
Of  smiling  peace  to  march  a  bloody  host, 
And  make  a  riot  on  the  gentle  brow 
Of  true  sincerity  ?    O !  holy  sir, 
My  reverend  father,  let  it  not  be  so: 
Out  of  your  grace,  devise,  ordain,  impose 
Some  gentle  order,  and  then  we  shall  be  bless'd 
To  do  your  pleasure,  and  continue  friends. 
Pandulph. 

All  form  is  formless,  order  orderless, 
Save  what  is  opposite  to  England's  love. 
Therefore,  to  arms !  be  champion  of  our  church, 
Or  let  the  church,  our  mother,  breathe  her  curse, 
A  mother's  curse,  on  her  revolting  son. 
France,  thou  may'st  hold  a  serpent  by  the  tongue, 
A  chafed  lion  by  the  mortal  paw, 
A  fasting  tiger  safer  by  the  tooth,  [hold. 

Than  keep  in  peace  that  hand  which  thou  dost 
King  Philip. 

I  may  disjoin  my  hand,  but  not  my  faith. 
Pandulph. 

So  mak'st  thou  faith  an  enemy  to  faith ; 
And,  like  a  civil  war,  set'st  oath  to  oath, 
Thy  tongue  against  thy  tongue.  0 1  let  thy  vow 
First  made  to  heaven,  first  be  to  heaven  per- 
form'd  ; 
That  is,  to  be  the  champion  of  our  church. 
What  since  thou  swor'st  is  sworn  against  thyself, 
And  may  not  be  performed  by  thyself: 
For  that,  which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do  amiss, 
Is  not  amiss  when  it  is  truly  done; 
And  being  not  done,  where  doing  tends  to  ill, 
The  truth  is  then  most  done  not  doing  it. 
The  better  act  of  purposes  mistook 
Is  to  mistake  again:  though  indirect, 
Yet  indirection  thereby  grows  direct, 
And  falsehood  falsehood  cures ;  as  fire  cools  fire 
Within  the  scorched  veins  of  one  new  burn'd. 
It  is  religion  that  doth  make  vows  kept, 
But  thou  hast  sworn  against  religion,  [swear'st, 
By  what  thou  swear'st,  against  the  thing  thou  I 
And  mak'st  an  oath  the  surety  for  thy  truth 
Against  an  oath :  the  truth,  thou  art  unsure 
To  swear,  swears  only  not  to  be  forsworn ; 
Else,  what  a  mockery  should  it  be  to  swear? 
But  thou  dost  swear  only  to  be  forsworn ; 
And  most  forsworn,  to  keep  what  thou  dost 

swear. 
Therefore,  thy  later  vows,  against  thy  first, 
Is  in  thyself  rebellion  to  thyself; 
And  better  conquest  never  canst  thou  make, 
Than  arm  thy  constant  and  thy  nobler  parts 
Against  these  giddy  loose  suggestions : 
Upon  which  better  part  our  prayers  come  in, 
If  thou  vouchsafe  them ;  but,  if  not,  then  know, 
The  peril  of  our  curses  light  on  thee, 
So  heavy,  as  thou  shalt  not  shake  them  off, 
But  in  despair  die  under  their  black  weight. 
Austria. 

Rebellion,  flat  rebellion ! 
Bastard. 

Will'tnotbe? 
Will  not  a  calPs-skin  stop  that  mouth  of  thine? 
Lewis. 

Father,  to  arms ! 

Blanch 

Upon  thy  wedding  day  ? 
Against  the  blood  that  thou  hast  married  ? 
What !  shall  our  feast  be  kept  with  slaughter'd 

men? 
Shall  braying  trumpets,  and  loud  churlish  drums, 
Clamours  of  hell,  be  measures  to  our  pomp  ? 
O  husband,  hear  me! — ah,  alack!  how  new 
Is  husband  in  my  mouth ! — even  for  that  name,- 


Which  till  this  time  my  tongue  did  ne'er  pro- 
nounce, 
Upon  my  knee  I  beg,  go  not  to  arms 
Against  mine  uncle. 

Constance. 

O  !  upon  my  knee, 
Made  hard  with  kneeling,  I  do  pray  to  thee, 
Thou  virtuous  Dauphin,  alter  not  the  doom 
Fore-thought  by  heaven. 

Blanch. 

Now  shall  I  see  thy  love.    What  motive  may 

Be  stronger  with  thee  than  the  name  of  wife  ? 

Constance. 

That  which  upholdeth  him  that  thee  upholds. 

His  honour.     O!  thine  honour,  Lewis,  thine 

honour. 

Lewis. 
I  muse,  your  majesty  doth  seem  so  cold, 
When  such  profound  respects  do  pull  you  on. 
Pandulph. 
I  will  denounce  a  curse  upon  his  head. 

King  Philip. 
Thou  shalt  not  need — England  I'll  fall  from 
thee. 

Constance. 
O,  fair  return  of  banish'd  majesty! 

Klinor. 
O,  foul  revolt  of  French  inconstancy  ! 

King  John. 
France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  hour  within  this 
hour.  _ 

Bastard. 
Old  Time  the  clock-setter,  that  bald  sexton 
Time, 
Is  it  as  he  will?  well  then,  France  shall  rue. 
Blanch. 
The  sun's  o'ercast  with  blood :  fair  day,  adieu  1 
Which  is  the  side  that  I  must  go  withal ! 
I  am  with  both:  each  army  hath  a  hand, 
And  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both, 
They  whirl  asunder,  and  dismember  me. 
Husband,  I  cannot  pray  that  thou  may'st  win  ; 
Uncle,  I  needs  must  pray  that  thou  may'st  lose; 
Father,  1  may  not  wish  the  fortune  thine ; 
Grandam,  I  will  not  wish  thy  wishes  thrive: 
Whoever  wins,  on  that  side  shall  I  lose ; 
Assured  loss,  before  the  match  be  play'd. 
Lewis. 
Lady,  with  me;  with  me  thy  fortune  lies. 

Blanch. 
There  where  my  fortune  lives,  there  my  life 
dies. 

King  John. 
Cousin,  go  draw  our  puissance  together. — 

[Exit  Bastard. 
Francs,  I  am  burn'd  up  with  inflaming  wrath  ; 
A  rage,  whose  heat  hath  this  condition, 
That  nothing  can  allay,  nothing  but  blood. 
The  blood,  and  dearest- valu'd  blood  of  France. 
King  Philip. 
Thy  rage  shall  burn  thee  up,  and  thou  shalt 
turn 
To  ashes,  ere  our  blood  shall  quench  that  fire. 
Look  to  thyself:  thou  art  in  jeopardy. 
King  John. 
No  more  than  he  that  threats.— To  arms  let's 
hie !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    Plains  near  Anglers. 

Alarums,  Excursions.    Enter  the  Bastard  with 

Austria's  Head. 

Bastard. 

Now,  by  my  life,  this  day  grows  wondrous  hot ; 

Some 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  JOHN. 


393 


Some  airy  devil  hovers  In  the  sky, 

And  pours  down  mischief.    Austria'*  head,  lie 

While  Philip  breathes.  [there, 

:  John,  Arthur,  and  Hubert. 


F.nt. 


King  John. 


Hubert,  keep  this  boy — Philip,  make  up : 
My  mother  is  assailed  in  our  tent. 
And  ta'en,  I  fear. 

Bast  . 

My  lord,  I  rescued  her ; 
Her  highness  is  in  safety,  fear  you  not : 
Hut  on,  my  liege;  for  very  little  pains 
Will  bring  this  labour  to  an  happy  end. 

[Exeunt. ! 

SCENE  111.    The  same. 

Alarums;  Excursions;  Retreat.  Enter  King  I 
John,  Elinor,  Arthur,  the  Bastard,  Hubert,  j 
and  Lords. 

King  John. 
So  shall  it  be ;  your  grace  shall  stay  behind, 
[To  Elinor,  j 
So  strongly  guarded.— Cousin,  look  not  sad; 

[To  Arthur.  ' 
Thy  grandam  loves  thee,  and  thy  uncle  will 
As  dear  be  to  thee  as  thy  father  was. 

Arthur. 
O !  this  will  make  my  mother  die  with  grief. 

King  John. 
Cousin,  [To  the  Bastard,]  away  for  England:  ; 
haste  before ; 
And  ere  our  coming,  see  thou  shake  the  bags 
Of  hoarding  abbots ;  imprisoned  angels 
Set  at  liberty:  the  fat  ribs  of  peace 
Must  by  the  hungry  now  be  fed  upon : 
Use  our  commission  in  his  utmost  force. 
Bastard. 
Bell,  book,  and  candle  shall  not  drive  me  back, 
When  gold  and  silver  becks  me  to  come  on. 
I  leave  your  highness  : — Grandam,  I  will  pray 
( if  ever  I  remember  to  be  holy,) 
For  your  fair  s  ;fety :  so  1  kiss  your  hand. 
Elinor. 
Farewell,  gentle  cousin. 

King  John. 
Coz,  farewell.     [Exit  Bastard. 
Elinor. 
Come  hither,  little  kinsman ;  hark,  a  word.     • 
[She  takes  Arthur  aside. 
King  John. 
Come  hither,  Hubert.    O !  my  gentle  Hubert, 
We  owe  thee  much  :  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
There  is  a  soul,  counts  thee  her  creditor, 
And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love : 
And.  my  good  friend,  thy  voluntary  oath 
Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 
Give  me  thy  hand.     I  had  a  thing  to  say, — 
But  I  will  fit  it  with  some  better  time. 
By  heaven,  Hubert,  I  am  almost  asham'd 
To  say  what  good  respect  I  have  of  thee. 
Hubert. 
I  am  much  bounden  to  your  majesty. 

King  John. 
Good  friend,  thou  hast  no  cause  to  say  so  yet ; 
But  thou  shalt  have:  and  creep  time  ne'er  so 

slow, 
Yet  it  shall  come,  for  me  to  do  thee  good. 
I  had  a  tiling  to  say, — but  let  it  go. 
The  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day, 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  full  of  gawds, 


To  give  me  audience:— if  the  midnight  bell 
Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 
Sound  one  into  the  drowsy  race  of  night : 
If  this  same  were  a  churchyard  where  we  stand, 
And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs ; 
Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy, 
Had  bak'd  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy,  thick, 
(Which,  else,  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the 

veins, 
Making  that  idiot,  laughter,  keep  men's  eyes. 
And  strain  their  cheeks  to  idle  merriment, 
A  passion  hateful  to  my  purposes,) 
Or  if  that  thou  could'st  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit  alone. 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words, 
Then,  in  despite  of  brooded  watchful  day, 
1  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts. 
But  ah !  I  will  not :— yet  I  love  thee  well ; 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  think,  thou  lov'st  me  welL 
Hubert. 
So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake, 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act, 
By  heaven,  I  would  do  it. 

King  John. 
Do  not  1  know,  thou  would'st  ? 
Good  Hubert!   Hubert— Hubert,  throw  thine 

eye 
On  yond'  young  boy :  I'll  tell  thee  what,  my 
He  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way ;  [friend. 

And  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread, 
He  lies  before  me.    Dost  thou  understand  me  ? 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hubert. 

And  I'll  keep  him  »o, 
That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty. 
King  John. 
Death. 

Hubert. 
My  lord  ? 

King  John . 
A  grave. 
Hubert. 

He  shall  not  live. 
King  John. 

Enough. 
I  could  be  merry  now.    Hubert,  I  love  thee ; 
Well,  I'll  not  say  what  I  intend  for  thee  : 
Remember.— Madam,  fare  you  well : 
I'll  send  those  powers  o'er  to  your  majesty. 
Elinor. 
My  blessing  go  with  thee  I 
King  John. 

For,  England,  cousin  :  go. 
Hubert  shall  be  your  man,  attend  on  you 

With  all  true  duty On  toward  Cala'is,  ho  I 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    The  French  King's 
lent. 

Enter  King  Philip,  Lrwis,  Pandulph,  and 
Attendants. 
King  Philip. 
So,  by  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  armado  of  convicted  sail 
Is  scatter'd,  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 
Pandulph. 
Courage  and  comfort !  all  shall  yet  go  well. 

King  Philip. 
What  can  go  well,  when  we  have  run  so  111  ? 
Are  we  not  beaten  ?    Is  not  Angiers  lost  ? 
Arthur  ta'en  prisoner  ?  divers  dear  friends  slain  r 

Ana 


'394 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  it. 


And  bloody  England  into  England  gone, 
O'erbearing  interruption,  spite  of  France  t 
Lewis. 
What  he  hath  won,  that  hath  he  fortified: 
So  hot  a  speed  with  such  advice  dispos'd, 
Such  temperate  order  in  so  fierce  a  cause, 
Doth  want  example.    Who  hath  read,  or  heard, 
Of  any  kindred  action  like  to  this  ? 
King  Philip. 
Well  could   I  bear  that  England   had  this 
praise, 
So  we  could  find  some  pattern  of  our  shame. 
Enter  Constance. 

Look,  who  comes  here  ?  a  grave  unto  a  soul ; 
Holding  th'  eternal  spirit  against  her  will, 
In  the  vile  prison  of  afflicted  breath — 
1  pr'ythee  lady,  go  away  with  me. 
Constance. 
Lo  now,  now  see  the  issue  of  your  peace ! 

King  Philip. 
Patience,  good  lady:   comfort,  gentle  Con- 
stance. _ 

Constance. 

No,  I  defy  all  counsel,  all  redress, 
But  that  which  ends  all  counsel,  true  redress, 

Death,  death O,  amiable  lovely  death  ! 

Thou  odoriferous  stench  !  sound  rottenness  ! 
Arise  forth  from  the  couch  of  lasting  night, 
Thou  hate  and  terror  to  prosperity, 
And  I  will  kiss  thy  detestable  bones  ; 
And  put  my  eye-balls  in  thy  vaulty  brows  ; 
And  ring   these   fingers  with   thy  household 

worms  ; 
And  stop  this  gap  of  breath  with  fulsome  dust, 
And  be  a  carrion  monster  like  thyself: 
Come,  grin  on  me;  and  1  will  think  thou  smilVt, 
And  buss  thee  as  thy  wife  !    Misery's  love, 
O,  come  to  me  ! 

King  Philip. 

O,  fair  affliction,  peace  ! 

Constance. 

No,  no,  I  will  not,  having  breath  to  cry — 
O !  that  my  tongue  were  in  the  thunder's  mouth ; 
Then  with  a  passion  would  I  shake  the  world, 
And  rouse  from  sleep  that  fell  anatomy, 
Which  cannot  hear  a  lady's  feeble  voke, 
Which  scorns  a  modern  invocation. 
Pandulph. 

Lady,  you  utter  madness,  and  not  sorrow. 
Constance. 

Thou  art  not  holy  to  belie  me  so. 
I  a<n  not  mad :  this  hair  1  tear,  is  mine; 
My  name  is  Constance;  I  was  Geffny's  wife  ; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost ! 
I  am  not  mad : — I  would  to  heaven,  1  were, 
For  then,  'tis  like  I  should  forget  myself: 
O,  if  I  could,  what  grief  should  I  forget ! — 
Preach  s>me  philosophy  to  make  me  mad, 
And  thou  shalt  he  canoniz'd,  cardinal ; 
For,  being  not  mad,  but  sensible  of  grief, 
My  reasonable  part  produces  reason 
How  I  may  be  deliver'd  of  these  woes, 
And  teaches  me  to  kill  or  hang  myself: 
If  I  were  mad,  I  should  forget  my  son, 
Or  madly  think,  a  babe  of  clours  were  he. 
I  am  not  mad :  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 
The  different  plague  of  each  calamity. 
King  Philip. 

Bind  up  those  tresses.    O  !  what  love  1  note 
In  the  lair  multitude  of  those  her  hairs  ! 
Where  but  by  chance  a  silver  drop  hath  fallen, 
Even  to  that  drop  ten  thousand  wiry  friends 


Do  glue  themselves  in  sociable  grief; 
Like  true,  inseparable,  faithful  loves, 
Sticking  together  in  calamity. 
Constance. 

To  England,  if  you  will. 

King  Philip. 

Bind  up  your  hairs 
Constance. 

Yes,  that  I  will ;  and  wherefore  will  I  do  it  ? 
I  tore  them  from  their  bonds,  and  cried  aloud, 
"  O,  that  these  hands  could  so  redeem  my  son, 
As  they  have  given  these  hairs  their  liberty  l" 
But  now,  1  envy  at  their  liberty, 
And  will  again  commit  them  to  their  bonds, 
Because  my  poor  child  is  a  prisoner.— 
And,  father  cardinal,  I  have  heard  you  say, 
That  we  shall  see  and  know  our  friends  ir 

heaven : 
If  that  be  true,  I  shall  see  my  boy  asain  ; 
For,  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child, 
To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire, 
There  was  not  such  a  gracious  creature  born. 
But  now  will  canker  sorrow  eat  my  bud, 
And  chase  the  native  beauty  from  his  cheek, 
And  he  will  look  as  hollow  as  a  ghost, 
As  dim  and  meagre  as  an  ague's  fit, 
And  so  he'll  die  ;  and,  rising  so  again, 
When  I  shall  meet  him  in  the  court  of  heaven 
I  shall  not  know  him  :  therefore  never,  never 
Must  I  behold  my  pretty  Arthur  more. 
Pandulph. 

You  hold  too  heinous  a  respect  of  grief. 
Constance. 

He  talks  to  me,  that  never  had  a  son. 
King  Philip. 

You  are  as  fond  of  grief,  as  of  your  child. 
Constance 

Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  rfle ; 
Puts  on  his  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Eemembers  me  o'f  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stuffs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form: 
Then,  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief. 
Fare  you  well :  had  you  such  a  loss  as  I, 
I  could  give  better  comfort  than  you  do. — 
1  will  not  keep  this  form  upon  my  head, 
When  there  is  such  disorner  in  my  wit. 
O  lord  !  my  boy,  my  Arthur,  my  lair  son  ! 
My  life,  my  joy,  my  food,  my  all"  the  world, 
My  widow-comfort,  and  my'sorrow's  curef      . 

King  Philip. 
I  fear  some  outrage,  and  I'll  follow  her. 

Lewis. 
There's  nothing  in  this  world,  can  make  me 
Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale,  [joy : 

Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man  ;       [tasie, 
And  bitter  shame  hath  spoil'd  the  sweet  world's 
That  it  yields  nought,  but  shame,  and  bitterness. 
Pandulph. 
Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health, 
The  fit  is  sti  ougest :  evils  that  take  leave, 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil. 
What  have  you  lost  by  losing  of  this  day  ? 
Lewis. 
All  days  of  glory,  joy,  and  happiness. 

Pandulph. 
If  you  had  won  it,  certainly,  you  had. 
No,  no :  when  fortune  means  to  men  most  good, 
She  looks  upon  them  with  a  threatening  ev*=. 

•Til 


SKJ3      ! 


Act  it.    V.  i. 


KING  JOHN. 


**« 


*Tii  strange,  to  think  how  much   King  John 

hath  lost 
Tn  this  which  he  accounts  so  clearly  won. 
Are  not  you  griov'd,  that  Arthur  is  his  pri.oner  ? 
Lewis. 

As  heartily,  as  he  Is  glad  he  hath  him. 
l'andulph . 

Your  mind  is  all  as  youthful  as  your  blood. 
Now  hear  me  speak  with  a  prophetic  spirit ; 
For  even  tin-  bre.tth  of  what  I  mean  to  tpstl 
Shall  blow  each  dust,  each  straw,  each  little  rub, 
Out  ol  the  path  which  shall  directly  had  [mark. 
Thy  foot  to   England's  throne,  and  therefore 
John  hath  seiz'd  Arthur;  and  it  cannot  be, 
That  whiles  warm  life  plays  in  that  infant's  veins, 
The  misplac'd  John  should  entertain  an  hour, 
One  minute,  nay,  one  quiet  breath  of  rest. 
A  sceptre,  snatch' d  with  an  unruly  hand. 
Must  be  as  boisterously  maintain'il  as  g.iin'd  ; 
Ami  he.  that  stands  upon  a  slipp  ry  place, 
Malm  nice  ol  no  vile  hold  to  stay  him  un  : 
That  John  may  stand,  then  Arthur  needs  must 
So  be  it,  for  it  cannot  be  but  so.  [tall ; 

Lewis. 

But  what  shall  I  gain  by  young  Arthur's  fall  ? 
Pandulph. 

You,  in  the  right  of  lady  Blanch  your  wife, 
May  then  make  all  the  claim  that  Arthur  did. 

And  lose  it,  life  and  all,  as  Arthur  did. 
Pandulph 

How  green  yon  are.  and  fresh  in  this  old  world  1 
John  lays  you  plots :  the  times  conspire  with  you, 
For  lie  that  steeps  his  safety  in  true  blood 
Shall  find  hut  bloody  sa  ety,  and  untrue. 
This  act.  so  evilly  born,  shall  cool  the  hearts 
Of  all  his  jieoplc,  and  freeze  up  their  zeal. 
That  none  so  small  advantage  shall  step  forth 
To  check  his  reign,  but  they  will  cherish  it: 
No  natural  exhalation  in  the  sky, 
No  scope  of  nature,  no  distemprr'd  day, 
No  common  wind,  no  customed  event, 
But  the*  will  pluck  away  his  natural  cause, 
And  call  them  meteors,  prodigies,  and  signs, 
Abortives,  presaees,  and  tongues  of  heaven, 
Plainly  denouncing  vengeance  upon  John. 
Lewis. 

May  be,  he  will  not  touch  young  Arthur's  life, 
But  hold  himself  safe  in  his  prisonment. 
l'andulph. 

O  !  sir.  when  he  shall  hear  of  your  approach, 
If  that  young  Arthur  be  not  gone  already, 
Even  at  that  news  he  dies;  and  then  the  hearts 
Of  all  his  people  shall  revolt  irom  him, 
And  kiss  ti.e  lips  of  unacquainted  change; 
And  pick  strong  matter  of  revolt,  and  wrath, 
Out  ol  the  bloody  fingers'  ends  of  John. 
Methii.ks,  I  see  this  hurl y  all  on  foot : 
And,  O  !  what  better  matter  breeds  for  you. 
Than  I  have  nam 'd. — The  bastard  Faulcnn bridge 
Is  now  in  England  ransacking  the  church, 
Offending  charity:  ifbutadozen  French 
Were  there  in  arms,  they  would  be  as  a  call 
To  train  ten  thousand  English  to  their  side ; 
Or  as  a  little  snow,  tumbled  about. 
Anon  becomes  a  mountain.     O,  noble  Dauphin ! 
Go  with  me  to  the  king.     'Tis  wonderful, 
What  may  be  wrought  out  of  their  discontent : 
Now  that  their  souls  are  topfull  of  offence, 
For  England  go ;  1  will  whet  on  the  king. 
Lewis. 

Strong  reasons  make  strange  actions.     Let  us 
ro: 
If  vou  say,  ay,  the  king  will  not  sajr.  no. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  I. 


ACT  IV. 

Northampton. 
Castle. 


A    Room   in  the 


Enter  Hubert  and  two  Attendants. 

Hubert. 

1_I  EAT  me  these  ironshot;  and,  look  thou  stand 

■■-*■    Within  the  arras  :  when  I  strike  my  foot 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth, 

And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  me. 

Fast  to  the  chair :  be  heedful.    Hence  and  watch. 

First  Attendaut. 

I  hope,  your  warrant  will  bear  out  the  deed. 

Hubert. 
Uncleanly  scruples :  fear  not  vou:  look  to*t— 
[Exeunt  Attendant*. 
Young  lad,  come  forth  ;  I  have  to  say  with  you. 
Fitter  Arthur. 
Arthur. 
Good  morrow,  Hubert. 

Hubert. 

Good  morrow,  little  prince. 
Arthur 
As  little  prince  (having  so  great  a  title 
I  To  be  more  prince,)  as  may  be.  —  You  are  sad 

Hubert. 
I     Indeed,  I  have  been  merrier. 
Arthur. 

Mercy  on  me  I 
Methinks,  no  body  should  be  sad  but  I : 
i  Yet,  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  Fiance. 
I  Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 

I  Only  for  wantonness.     By  my  Christendom, 
So  f  were  out  of  prison,  and  kept  sheep, 

j  I  should  be  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long  ; 
;  And  so  I  would  he  here,  but  that  I  doubt 
My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me: 
lie  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  <>f  him. 
Is  it  my  fault  that  1  was  Geffrey's  son  ? 
No.  indeed,  is't  not ;  and  I  would  to  heaven, 
I  were  your  son,  so  you  would  love  ir.e,  Hubert. 
Hubert.  T  Aside. 

If  I  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 
He  will  awake  my  mercy,  which  lies  dead: 
Therefore  I  will  be  sudden,  and  dispatch. 
Arthur. 
Are  you  sick,  Hubert  f  you  look  pale  to-day. 
In  sooth,  1  would  you  were  a  little  sick ; 
That  I  might  sit  all  night,  and  watch  with  you : 
I  warrant,  I  love  you  more  than  you  do  me. 

Hubert.  [Aside. 

j     His  words  do  take  possession  of  my  bosom 

Read  here,  young  Arthur.     [Showing  a  paper.] 
t  Aside.]  How  now,  foolish  rheum  I 
[Turning  dispiteous  torture  out  of  door  ? 

I I  must  be  brief;  lest  resolution  drop 

Out  at  mine  eyes  in  tender  womanish  tears. — 
(Can  you  not  read  it  ?  is  it  not  fair  writ  ? 
Arthur. 
Too  fairly.  Hubert*  for  so  foul  effect,     [eyes  ? 
Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine 
Hubert. 
Young  boy,  I  must. 

Arthur. 

And  will  you? 

Hubert. 


3q6 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Hubert. 

And  I  will. 

Arthur. 
Have  you  the  heart  ?    When  your  head  did 
but  ache, 
I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows, 
(The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again : 
And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head,   ; 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 
Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavy  time,  [grief?  \ 
Saying,  What  lack  you  ?  and,  Where  lies  your  ; 
Or,  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you? 
Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  have  lain  still, 
And  "ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you ; 
But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 
Nay  you  may  think  my  love  was  crafty  love, 
And  call  it  cunning:  do,  an  if  you  will. 
If  heaven  be  pleas'd  that  you  will  use  me  ill, 

Why,  then,  you  must Will  you  put  out  mine 

eyes? 
These  eyes,  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall 
So  much  as  frown  on  you  ? 

Hubert. 

I  have  sworn  to  do  it,  | 
And  with  hot  irons  must  I  burn  them  out. 

Arthur. 
Ah !  none  but  in  this  iron  age  would  do  it. 
The  iron  of  itself,  though  heat  red-hot, 
Approaching  near  these  eyes  would  drink  my| 
And  quench  this  fiery  indignation,  [tears,  i 

Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence : 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust, 
But  for  containing  fire  to  harm  mine  eye. 
Are  you  more  stubborn-hard  than  hammer'd| 
An  if  an  angel  should  have  come  to  me,    [iron  ? 
And  told  me  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes,   I 
1  would  not  have  believ'd  him ;  no  tougue  but ! 
Hubert's. 

Hubert. 
Come  forth.  [Stamps. 

Re-enter  Attendants,  with  Cord,  Irons,  &c. 

Do  as  I  bid  you. 

Arthur. 

O !  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me !  my  eyes  are  out, 

Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 

Hubert. 

Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  and  bind  him  here. 

Arthur. 
Alas !  what  need  you  be  so  boisterous-rough  ? 
I  will  not  struggle  ;  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound. 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert :  drive  these  men  away, 
And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  look  upon  the  iron  angerly. 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I'll  forgive  you,  j 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to. 
Hubert. 
Go  stand  within:  let  me  alone  with  him. 

First  Attendant. 
I  am  best  pleas'd  to  be  from  such  a  deed. 

[Exeunt  Attendants 
Arthur. 
Alas  !  I  then  have  chid  away  my  friend ; 
He  hath  a  stern  look,  but  a  gentle  heart. — 
Let  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may 
Give  life  to  yours. 

Hubert. 

Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself. 
Arthur. 
Is  there  no  remedy? 


Hubert. 

None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Arthur. 
O  heaven!— that  there  were  but  a  mote  in 
A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wandering  hair,  [yours, 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense  I  [there, 
Then,  feeling  what  small  things  are  boisterous 
Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hubert. 
Is  this  your  promise?  go  to ;  hold  your  tongue. 

Arthur. 
Hubert,  the  utterance  of  a  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes : 
Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue;  let  me  not,  Hubert: 
Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue, 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes.     O !  spare  mine  eyes ; 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you. 
Lo  1  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold, 
And  would  not  harm  me. 

Hubert. 

I  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Arthur. 
No,  in  good  sooth ;  the  fire  is  dead  with  grief, 
Being  create  for  comfort,  to  be  us'd 
In  undeserv'd  extremes ;  see  else  yourself ; 
There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal  ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out, 
And  strew'd  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hubert. 
But  with  my  breath  I  can  revive  it,  boy. 

Arthur. 
And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  it  blush, 
And  glow  with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hu- 
bert : 
Nay,  it,  perchance,  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes  ; 
And  like  a  dog  that  is  compell'd  to  fight, 
Snatch  at  his  master  that  doth  tarre  him  on. 
All  things  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong, 
Deny  their  office:  only  you  do  lack 
That  mercy,  which  fierce  fire,  and  iron,  extends, 
Creatures  of  note  for  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hubert. 
Well,  see  to  live ;  I  will  not  touch  thine  eyes 
For  all  the  treasure  that  thine  uncle  owes  : 
Yet  am  I  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy, 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 

Arthur. 
O !  now  you  look  like  Hubert :  all  this  while 
You  were  disguised. 

Hubert. 

Peace !  no  more.     Adieu. 
Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead  : 
I'll  fill  these  dogged  spies  with  false  reports  ; 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubfless,  and  secure, 
That  Hubert  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Will  not  offend  thee. 

Arthur. 
O  heaven  !— I  thank  you,  Hubert. 

Hubert. 

Silence !  no  more.    Go  closely  in  with  me  ; 

Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State  in 
the  Palace. 

Enter  King  John,  crowned ;  Pembroke,  Salis- 
bury, and  other  Lords.  The  King  takes  bis 
State. 

King  John. 
Here  once  as?ain  we  sit,  once  again  crown'd. 
And  look'd  upon,  I  hope,  with  cheerful  eyis. 

Pembroke. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


KING  JOHN'. 


397 


roke. 

Tills   once   again,  but  that   your   highness 
pleas'd. 
Was  once  superfluous :  you  were  crown'd  before, 
And  that  high  royalty  was  ne'er  pluck 'd  off; 
The  faiths  of  men  ne'er  stained  with  revolt; 
Fresh  expectation  troubled  not  the  land, 
With  any  longd-for  change,  or  bettor  state. 
Salisbury. 

Therefore,  to  be  possess'd  with  double  pomp, 
To  guard  a  title  that  was  rich  before. 
To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-ligtit 
To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garnish, 
Is  wasteful,  and  ridiculous  excess. 
Pembroke. 

But  that  your  rojal  pleasure  must  be  done, 
This  act  is  as  an  ancient  tale  new  told, 
And  in  the  last  repeating  troublesome, 
Being  urged  at  a  time  unseasonable. 

SalMmrj 

In  this,  the  antique  and  well -noted  face 
Of  plain  old  form  is  much  disfigured; 
And,  like  a  shifted  wind  unto  a  sail, 
It  makes  the  course  of  thoughts  to  fetch  about, 
Startles  and  frights  consideration. 
Makes  sound  opinion  sick,  and  truth  suspected, 
For  putting  on  so  new  a  fashion'd  robe. 
Pembroke 

When  workmen  strive  to  do  better  than  well, 
They  do  confound  their  skill  in  covetousness  ; 
And,  oftentimes,  excusing  of  a  fault 
Doth  make  the  fault  the  worse  by  the  excuse: 
As  patches,  set  upon  a  little  breach, 
Discredit  more  in  hiding  of  the  fault, 
Than  did  the  fault  before  it  was  so  patch'd. 
Salisbury. 

To  this  effect,  before  you  were  new-crown 'd, 
We  breath'd  our  counsel;  but  it  pleas'd  your 

highness 
To  overbear  it,  and  we  are  all  well  pleas'd; 
Since  all  and  every  part  of  what  we  would, 
Doth  make  a  stand  at  what  your  highness  will. 
King  John. 

Some  reasons  of  this  double  coronation 
I  have  possess'd  you  with,  and   think    them 

strong; 
And  more,  more  strong  than  lesser  is  my  fear,     1 
I  shall  indue  you  with:  mean  time,  but  ask 
What  you  would  have  reform 'd  that  is  not  well,! 
And  well  shall  you  perceive,  how  willingly 
I  will  both  hear  and  grant  you  your  requests.     ' 

Then  I,  as  one  that  am  the  tongue  of  these,     • 
To  sound  the  purposes  of  all  their  hearts. 
Both  for  myself  and  them,  but,  chief  of  all, 
Your  safety,  for  the  which  myself  and  them 
Bend  their  best  studies,  heartily  request 
Th*  enfranchisement  of  Arthur ;  whose  restraint! 
Doth  move  the  murmuring  lips  of  discontent 
To  break  into  this  dangerous  argument:  — 
If  what  in  rest  you  have,  in  right  you  hold, 
Why  then  your  fears,  which,  as  they  say,  attend 
The  steps  of  wrong,  shoujd  move  you  to  mew  upl 
Your  tender  kinsman,  and  to  choke  his  days 
With  barbarous  ignorance,  and  deny  his  youth 
The  rich  advantage  of  good  exercise  ?  — 
That  the  time's  enemies  may  not  have  this 
To  grace  occasions,  let  it  be  our  suit, 
That  you  have  bid  us  ask  his  liberty ; 
Which  for  our  goods  we  do  no  farther  ask, 


Than  whereupon  our  weal,  on  you  depending,  j 
Counts  it  your  weal  he  have  his  liberty. 

King  John. 
Let  it  be  so:  I  do  commit  his  youth 

Enter  Hubert. 

To  your  direction.  —  Hubert,  what  news  with' 
you?  [Hubert  whispers  the  King. 

I'embroke. 

This  is  the  man  should  do  the  bloody  deed : 
He  show'd  his  warrant  to  a  friend  of  mine. 
The  image  of  a  wicked  heinous  fault 
Lives  in  his  eye :  that  close  aspect  of  his 
Does  show  the  mood  of  a  much-troubled  breast ; 
And  I  do  fearfully  believe  'tis  done, 
What  we  so  fear'd  he  had  a  charge  to  do. 
Salisbury. 

The  colour  of  the  king  doth  come  and  go, 
Between  his  purpose  and  his  conscience, 
Like  heralds  'twixt  two  dreadful  battles  set: 
His  passion  is  so  ripe,  it  needs  must  break. 

Pembroke. 
And  when  it  breaks,  I  fear,  will  issue  thence 
The  foul  corruption  of  a  sweet  child's  death. 

King  John. 

We  cannot  hold  mortality's  strong  hand 

Good  lords,  although  my  will  to  give  is  living, 
The  suit  which  you  demand  is  gone  and  dead: 
He  tells  us,  Arthur  is  deceas'd  to-night. 
Salisbury. 
Indeed,  we  fear'd  his  sickness  was  past  cure 

Pembroke. 
Indeed,  we  heard  how  near  his  death  he  was, 
Before  the  child  himself  felt  he  was  sick. 
This  must  be  answer'd,  either  here,  or  hence. 
King  John. 
Why  do  you  bend  such  solemn  brows  on  me  ? 
Think  you,  I  bear  the  shears  ol  destiny? 
Have  1  commandment  on  the  pulse  of  life  ? 
Salisbury. 
It  is  apparent  foul-play  ;'and  'tis  shame, 
That  greatness  should  so  grossly  offer  it. 
So  thrive  it  in  your  game ;  and  so  farewell. 
Pembroke. 
Stay  yet,  lord  Salisbury  ;  I'll  go  with  thee,      t 
And  find  th*  inheritance  of  this  poor  child, 
I  lis  little  kingdom  of  a  forced  grave.  [isle, ' 

That  blood  which  ow'd  the  breadth  of  all  this 
Three  foot  of  it  doth  hold :  bad  world  the  while. 
This  must  not  be  thus  borne:  this  will  break ; 

out 
To  all  our  sorrows,  and  ere  long,  I  doubt. 

[Exeunt  lords.  '■ 
King  John. 
They  burn  in  indignation.     I  repent : 
There  is  no  sure  foundation  set  on  blood, 
No  certain  life  achiev'd  by  others'  death. 

Hntcr  a  Messenger. 
A  fearful  eye  thou  hast :  where  is  that  blood, 
That  I  have  seen  inhabit  in  those  cheeks  ? 
So  foul  a  sky  clears  not  without  a  storm : 
Pour  down  thy  weather.  —  How  goes  all    in 
France t 

Messenger. 
From    France  to  England.  —  Never  such  a 
power 
For  any  foreign  preparation, 
Was  levied  in  the  body  of  a  land. 
The  copy  of  your  speed  is  learn'd  by  them  ; 
For,  when  you  should  be  told  they  do  prepare, 
The  tiding!  come  that  they  are  all  arriv'd. 

King  I 


398 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  if, 


King  John. 

O  !  where  hath  our  intelligence  been  drunk  ? 

Where  hath  it  slept  ?    VN  here  is  my  mother's 

care, 
That  such  an  army  could  be  drawn  in  France, 
And  she  not  hear  of  it  ? 

Messenger. 

My  liege,  her  ear 
Is  stopp'd  with  dust :  the  first  of  April,  died 
Your  noble  mother ;  and,  as  1  hear,  my  lord, 
The  lady  Constance  in  a  frenzy  died 
Threedavsbefore:  butthis  trom  rumour's  tongue 
1  idly  heard;  if  true,  or  false,  I  know  not. 

King  John. 
Withhold  thy  speed,  dreadful  Occasion  ! 

0  !  make  a  league  with  me.  till  I  have  pleas'd 
My  discontented  peers.— What !  mother  dead  ? 
How  wildly,  then,  walks  my  estate  in  France! — 
Under  whose  conduct  came  those  powers  of 

France, 
That  thou  lor  truth  giv'st  out  are  landed  here? 

Messenger. 
Under  the  Dauphin. 

Enter  the  Bastard,  and  titer  of  PomJreL 

King  John. 

Thou  hast  made  me  giddy 
With  these  ill  tidings — Now,  what  says  the  world 
To  your  proceedings  ?  do  not  seek  to  stuff 
My  head  with  more  ill  news,  for  it  is  full. 
Bastard. 
But  if  you  be  afeard  to  hear  the  worst, 
Then  let  the  worst,  unheard,  fall  on  your  head. 
King  John. 
Bear  with  me,  cousin,  for  I  was  amaz'd 
Under  the  tide;  but  now  I  breathe  again 
Aloft  the  flood,  and  can  give  audience 
To  any  tongue,  speak  it  of  what  it  will. 
Bastard. 
How  I  have  sped  among  the  clergymen, 
The  sums  I  have  collected  shall  express  : 
But  as  1  travelPd  hither  through  the  land, 

1  find  the  people  strangely  fantasied; 
Possi  ss'd  with  rumours,  full  of  idle  dreams, 
Not  knowing  what  they  fear,  but  full  of  fear :      j 
And  here's  a  prophet,  that  I  brought  with  me     ' 
From  forth  the  streets  of  Pom/ret,  whom  I  found 
With  many  hundreds  treading  on  his  heels; 
To  whom   he   sung,  in   rude   harsh-sounding 

rhvmes, 
That  ere"  the  next  Ascension-day  at  noon, 
Your  highness  should  deliver  up  your  crown. 
King  John. 
Thou  idle  dreamer,  wherefore  didst  thou  so? 

Peter. 
Foreknowing  that  the  truth  will  fall  out  so. 

King  John. 
Hubert,  away  with  him  :  imprison  him ; 
And  on  that  day  at  noon,  whereon,  he  says, 
I  shall  yield  up  my  crown,  let  him  be  hang'd. 
Deliver  him  to  safety,  ami  return, 
For  1  must  use  thee — O  my  gentle  cousin  I 

[Kxit  Hubert,  with  Peter. 
Hear'st  thou  the  news  abroad,  who  are  arriv'd  ? 
Bastard. 
The  French,  my  lord ;  men's  mouths  are  full 
of  it : 
Besides,  I  met  lord  Bigot,  and  lord  Salisbury, 
With  eves  as  red  as  new-enkindled  fire, 
And  others  more,  going  to  seek  the  grave 
Of  Arthur,  who,  they  say,  is  kill'd  to-night 
On  your  suggestion. 


King  John. 

Gentle  kinsman,  go, 
And  thrust  thyself  into  their  companies. 
I  have  a  way  to  win  their  loves  again  : 
Bring  them" before  me. 

Bastard. 

I  will  seek  them  out. 

King  John. 
Nay,  but  make  haste ;  the  better  foot  before.— 
O  !  let  me  have  no  subject  enemies, 
When  adverse  foreigners  affright  my  towns 
With  dreadful  pomp  of  stout  invasion. 
Be  Mercury ;  set  feathers  to  thy  heels, 
And  fly  like  thought  from  them  to  me  again 

Bastard. 
The  spirit  of  the  time  shall  teach  me  speed. 
(Exit. 
King  John. 
Spoke  like  a  spriteful,  noble  gentleman.— 
Go  after  him;  for  he,  perhaps,  shall  need 
Some  messenger  betwixt  me  and  the  peers, 
And  be  thou  he. 

Messenger. 
With  all  my  heart,  my  liege,    [Exit. 
King  John. 
My  mother  dead  1 

Re-enter  Hubert. 
Hubert. 
My  lord,  they  say,  five  moons  were  seen  to- 
Four  fixed ;  and  the  fifth  did  whirl  about  [night : 
The  other  four  in  wouderous  motion. 
King  John . 
Five  moons  ? 

Hubert. 
Old  men,  and  beldams,  in  the  streets 
Do  prophesy  upon  it  dangerously.  [mouths, 
Young  Arthur's  death  is  common  in  their 
And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their 
And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear:  [heads, 
And  he  that  sneaks,  doth  gripe  the  hearer'*  wrist, 
Whilst  he  that  hears,  makes  fearful  action, 
With  wrinkled  brows,  with  nods,  with  rolling 

eyes. 
I  saw  a  smith  stand  with  his  hammer,  thus, 
The  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool, 
With  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor  s  news ; 
Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  his  hand, 
Standing  on  slippers,  (which  his  nimble  haste 
Had  falsely  thrust  upon  contrary  feet) 
Told  of  a  many  thousand  warlike  Frenrh, 
That  were  embattailed  and  rank'd  in  Kent. 
Another  lean,  unwash'd  artificer 
Cuts  off  his  tale,  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 
King  John. 
Why  seek'st  thou  to  possess  me  with  these 
fears  ?  f 

Why  urgest  thou  so  oft  young  Arthur's  death  ? 
Thy  hand  hath  murder'd  him  :  1  had  a  mighty 
cause  [him 

To  wish  him  dead,  but  thou  hadst  none  to  kill 
Hubert. 
Had  none,  my  lord !  why,  did  you  not  provoke 
me? 

King  John. 
It  is  the  curse  of  kings,  to  be  attended 
By  slaves,  that  take  their  humours  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life; 
And,  on  the  winking  of  authority, 
To  understand  a  law ;  to  know  the  meaning 
Ofdangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 
M  .re  upon  humour  than  advis'd  respect. 
Hubert. 
Here  is  your  hand  and  seal  for  what  I  did, 

King 


A.  i  iv.   Sc.  ill. 


KING  JOHN. 


399 


King  Job 
t  shook  thy  head,  or  made  a 


King  John. 
O !  when  the  last  account  'twixt  heaven  and 
earth 
Ii  to  be  made,  then  shall  this  hand  and  seal 
Witness  against  us  to  damnation. 
How  oft  the  ti'.'ht  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds, 
Makes  deeds  ill  done !    Had'st  not  thou  heen  by, 
A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  mark'd, 
Quoted,  and  sign'd,  to  do  a  deed  of  shame, 
This  murder  had  not  come  Into  my  mind; 
But,  taking  note  of  thy  abhorr'd  aspect, 
Finding  thee  fit  for  bloody  villainy, 
Apt,  liable  to  be  emnloy'u  in  danger, 
1  faintly  broke  with  thee  of  Arthur'*  death; 
And  thou,  to  be  endeared  to  a  king, 
Made  it  no  conscience  to  destroy  a  prince. 

u    ,    a  Hubert. 

My  lord,< 

lladst  thou  but 
When  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed ;   [pause, 
Or  turu'd  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face, 
As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words,       [off, 
Decpshame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break 
And  those  thy  fears  might  hare  wrought  fears 

in  me : 
But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs, 
And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  with  sin  ; 
Yea,  without  stop,  didst  let  thy  heart  consent, 
And  consequently  thy  rude  hand  to  act 
The  deed  which  both  our  tongues  held  vile  to 

name. 
Out  of  my  sight,  and  never  see  me  more  ! 
My  nobles  leave  me  ;  and  my  state  is  brav'd, 
Kven  at  my  gates,  with  ranks  of  foreign  powers: 
Nay,  in  the  body  of  this  fleshly  land, 
This  kingdom,  this  confine  of  blood  and  breath, 
Hostility  and  civil  tumult  reigns 
Between  my  conscience,  and  my  cousin's  death. 

Hubert. 
Arm  you  against  your  other  enemies, 
I'll  make  a  peace  between  your  soul  and  you. 
Young  Arthur  is  alive:  this  hand  of  mine 
Is  yet  a  maiden  and  an  innocent  hand, 
Not  painted  with  the  crimson  spots  of  blood. 
Within  this  bosom  never  enterd  yet 
The  dreadful  motion  of  a  murderous  thought, 
And  you  have  slander'd  nature  in  my  form  ; 
Which,  howsoever  rude  exteriorly, 
Is  yet  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind. 
Than  to  be  butcher  of  an  innocent  child. 

Doth   Arthur  live?    of'haste  thee  to  the 
peers  : 
Throw  this  report  on  their  incensed  rage, 
And  make  them  tame  to  their  obedience. 
Forgive  the  comment  that  my  passion  made 
Upon  thy  feature  ;  foriny  rage  was  blind, 
And  foul  imaginary  eyes  of  blood 
Presented  thee  more  hideous  than  thou  art. 

0  1  answer  not ;  but  to  my  closet  bring 
The  angry  lords,  with  all  expedient  haste: 

1  conjure  thee  but  slowly  ;  run  more  fast. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI.    The  same.    Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Arthur,  on  the  Walls. 

The  wall  Is  hign  ;  and  yet  will  I  leap  down 

Good  ground,  be  pitiful,  and  hurt  me  not  !— 
There's  few,  or  none,  do  know  me ;  if  thev  did. 
This  ship-boy's  semblance  hath  disguis'd  me 
I  am  afraid  ;  and  yet  I'll  venture  it.  [quite. 

If  I  get  down,  and  do  not  break  my  limbs, 


I'll  find  a  thousand  shifts  to  get  away; 
As  good  to  die  and  go,  as  die  and  stay. 

I>s  down. 
O  me  !  my  uncle's  spirit  Is  In  these  stones.— 
Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my 
bones  I  [Dies. 

Enter  Pembroke,  Salisbury,  and  Ligot. 

Salisbury. 
Lords,  I  will  meet  him   at    Saint   Edmund's 
It  is  our  safety,  and  we  must  embrace     [Bury  : 
This  gentle  offer  of  the  perilous  time. 

Pembroke. 
Who  brought  that  letter  from  the  cardinal  ? 

Salisbury. 

The  count  Melnn,  a  noble  lord  of  France  ; 

W'hose  private  with  me.  of  the  Dauphin's  love. 

Is  much  more  general  than  these  lines  import. 

rr,  BigOt. 

To-morrow  morning  let  us  meet  him  then. 

Salisbury. 
Or,  rather  then  set  forward  :  for  'twill  be 
Two  long  days'  journey,  lords,  or  e'er  we  meet. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 

Bastard. 

Once  more  to-day  well  met,  distemper'd  lords. 

The  king  by  me  requests  your  presence  straight. 

_  Salisbury, 

The  king  hath  dispossessed  himself  of  us: 
We  will  not  line  his  thin  bestained  cloak 
With  our  pure  honours,  nor  a'tend  the  foot 
That  leaves  the  print  of  blood  where-e'er  It 

walks. 
Return,  and  tell  him  so  :  we  know  the  worst. 

Bastard. 
Whate'er  you  think,  good  words,  I  think,  were 
best. 

Salisbury. 
Our  griefs,  and  not  our  manners,  reason  now. 

Bastard. 
But  there  is  little  reason  in  your  grief; 
Therefore,  'twere  reason  you  had  manners  now. 

,     ,  Pembroke 

Sir,  sir,  impatience  hath  his  privilege. 

Bastard. 
Tis  true ;  to  hurt  his  master,  no  man  else. 

Salisbury. 
This  is  the  prison.    WThat  is  he  lies  here  ? 

[Seeing  Arthur 
Pembroke. 
O  death  !  made  proud  with  pure  and  princely 
beauty. 
The  earth  had  not  a  hole  to  hide  this  deed. 

Salisbury. 
Murder,  as  hating  what  himself  hath  done. 
Doth  lay  it  open  to  urge  on  revenge. 

Bigot. 
__  Or  when  he  doom*d  this  beauty  to  a  grave, 
Found  it  too  precious-princely  for  a  grave. 
Salisbury. 
Sir  Richard,  what  think  you  ?    Have  you  be- 
_     .  h*ld,  [think? 

Or  have  you  read,  or  heard  ?   or  could  you 
Or  do  you  almost  think,  although  you  see, 
That  you  do  see  ?  could  thought,  without  this 

object, 
Form  such  another  ?    This  is  the  very  top. 
The  height,  the  crest,  or  crest  unto  the  crest, 
Of  murder's  arms :  this  is  the  bloodiest  shame, 
The  wildest  savagery,  the  vilest  stroke. 

That 


4-o 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  iv.  Se.  in, 


That  ever  wall-ey'd  wrath,  or  staring  rag?, 
Presented  to  the  tear*  of  soft  remorse. 
Pembroke. 
All  murders  past  do  stand  excus'd  In  this  j 
And  this,  so  sole  and  so  unmatchable, 
Shall  give  a  holiness,  a  purity 


To  the  yet  unbegotten  sin  of  times  i 
And  prove  a  deadly  bloods) 
Kxampled  by  this  heinous  spectacle. 


bloodshed  but  a  Jest, 


Bastard. 


Stand  by,  or  I  shall  gall  you,  Faukonbrktge. 
Bastard. 

Thou  wort  hotter  gall  tho  devil,  Salisbury : 
If  thou  but  Mown  on  mo,  or  stir  tin   foot, 
Or  touch  tliv  hastv  spleen  to  do  me  shame, 
I'll  strike  thee  dead.     Put  up  thy  sword  botime, 
Or  I'll  so  maul  you  and  your  toasting-iron, 
I  That  you  shall  think  the  devil  is  come  from 
hell. 


It  Is  a  damned  and  a  bloody  work  t 
The  graceless  action  of  a  heavy  hand, 
If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand. 
Salisbury. 

If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand  ?— 
We  had  a  kind  of  light,  what  would  ensue: 
It  Is  the  shameful  work  of  Hubert'*  hand  ; 
The  practice,  and  the  purpose,  of  the  king : 
From  whose  obedience  I  forbid  my  soul, 
Kneeling  before  this  ruin  of  sweet  life. 
And  breathing  to  his  breathless  excellence 
The  incense  of  •  tow,  a  holy  tow. 
Never  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
NeTer  to  be  infected  with  delight. 
Nor  conversant  with  ease  and  idleness, 
Till  I  have  set  a  glory  to  this  hand, 
By  giving  it  the  worship  of  revenge. 
Pembroke  and  Bigot. 

Our  souls  religiously  confirm  thy  words. 

Enter  Hubert. 

Huboit. 

Lords.  I  am  hot  with  haste  in  seeking  you. 

Arthur  doth  live :  the  king  hath  seut  for  you. 

Salisbury. 

0  1  he  is  bold,  and  blushes  not  at  death.  — 
A  Taunt,  thou  hateful  villain  1  get  thee  gone. 

Hubert. 

1  am  no  villain.    , 

Salisbury. 

Must  1  rob  the  law  f 

[DrHWtng  hit  sword. 

Bastard. 
Your  sword  is  bright,  sir :  put  it  up  again. 

Salisbury. 
Not  till  I  sheath  It  in  a  murderer's  skiu. 

Hubert. 
Stand  back,  lord  Salisbury :    stand  back.  I 
say  |  [yours. 

By  heaven.   I  think,  my  sword's  as  sharp  as 
1  would  not  haTe  you,  lord,  forget  yourself, 
Nor  tempt  the  danger  of  my  true  defence  ; 
I  .  >t  1.  by  marking  of  your  rage,  forget 
Your  worth,  your  greatness,  and  nobility. 
Bigot. 
Out,  dunghill  I  dar'st  thou  brave  a  nobleman  ? 

Hubert. 
Not  for  mv  life ;  but  yet  I  dare  defend 
My  innocent  life  against  an  emperor. 
Salisbury. 
Thou  art  a  murderer. 

Hubert. 

Do  not  proTe  me  so ; 
Yet,  I  am  none.    Whose  tongue  soe'er  speaks 
Mm, 
!  Not  truly  speaks ;  who  speaks  not  truly  lies. 
Pembroke. 
Cut  him  to  piece*. 


What  wilt  thou  do,  ror 
Second  a  villain,  and  a  ui 


rAferf 


Kiop  the  peace,  I  say. 


Hubert. 
Lord  Bigot,  I  am  none. 
Bigot. 

Who  klU'd  this  prince  ? 
Hubert 
*Tis  not  an  hour  since  I  left  him  well : 
I  honour'd  him,  I  lov'd  him  ;  and  will  weep, 
My  date  of  life  out  for  his  sweet  life's  loss. 
Salisbury. 
Trust  not  those  cunning  waters  of  his  eyes, 
For  villainy  is  not  without  such  rheum  ; 
And  he,  long  traded  In  it,  makes  it  seem 
Like  riTers  of  remorse  and  innocency. 
Away,  with  me,  all  you  whose  souls  abhor 
Th*  uncleanly  savours  of  a  slaughter-house, 
For  I  am  stifled  with  this  smell  of  sin. 
Bigot. 
Away,  toward  Bury :  to  the  Dauphin  there  1 

Pembroke. 
There,  tell  the  king,  he  may  inquire  us  out 

.v.-       ■    ' 

Here's  a  good  world  t  —  Knew  you  of  this 
fair  work  ? 
Beyond  the  infinite  and  boundless  reach 
Of  mercy,  if  thou  didst  this  deed  of  death, 
Art  thou  damn'd,  Hubert, 
Hubert. 

Do  but  hear  me,  sir. 
BAStard 
Ha!  Ill  toll  thee  what: 
Thou  art  damn'd  as  black  — nay.  nothing  Is  sc 

black ; 
Thou  art  more  deep  damn'd  than  prince  Lucifer  i 
There  is  not  yet  so  ugly  a  fiend  of  hell 
As  thou  shalt  be,  if  thou  didst  kill  this  child. 
Hubert. 
Upon  my  soul,  — 

Bastard. 
If  thou  didst  but  consent 
To  this  most  cruel  act.  do  but  despair  ; 
And  If  thou  want'&t  a  cord,  the  smallest  thread 
That  ever  spider  twisted  from  her  womb 
Will  serve  to  strangle  thee;  a  rush  will  be  a 

beam 
To  hang  thee  on :  or  would 'st  thou  drown  th 
Put  but  a  little  water  in  a  spoon. 
And  it  shall  bo  as  aH  tho  ocean, 
Enough  to  stifle  such  a  villain  up. 
I  do  suspect  thee  very  grievously. 

If  1  in  act.  consent,  or  sin  of  thought 
Be  guilty  of  the  stealing  that  sweet  breath. 
Which  was  emlvundod  in  this  bounteous  clay, 
1  et  he  1  want  pains  enough  to  torture  me. 
I  left  him  well. 

Bastard 
Go,  bear  him  in  thine  arms.-. 
I  am  amas'd,  met  hinks ;  and  lose  my  way 

AJMttf 


I  t h v- 
[self. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


KING  JOHN. 


401 


Among  the  thorns  and  dangers  of  this  world 

How  easy  dost  thou  take  all  England  up  1 
From  forth  this  morsel  of  dead  royalty, 
The  life,  the  right,  and  truth  of  all  this  realm 
Is  tied  to  heaven  ;  amir-England  now  Is  left 
To  tug  and  scalable,  and  to  part  by  the  teeth 
The  OOOWad  intere.st  of  proud  swelling  state. 
Now  for  the  bare-pick'd  bone  of  majesty 
Doth  dogged  war  bristle  his  angry  crest. 
And  snarleth  in  the  gentle  eyes  of  peace :  [home. 
Now  powers  from   home,  and  discontents    at 
Meet  in  one  line  ;  and  vast  confusion  waits, 
As  doth  a  raven  on  a  sick-fallen  beast, 
The  imminent  decay  of  wrested  pomp. 
Now  happy  he,  whose  cloak  and  cincture  can 

Hold  out  this  tempest Bear  away  that  child, 

And  follow  me  with  speed  :  I'll  to  the  king. 
A  thousand  businesses  are  brief  in  hand, 
And  heaven  itself  doth  frown  upon  the  land. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    A  Room  hi  the 
Palace. 

Enter  King  John,  Pandulph  with  the  Crown, 
and  Attendant!, 

King  John. 
TTHUS  have  I  yielded  up  Into  your  hand 
•*•  The  circle  of  my  glory. 

I'andulph. 

Take  again 
[Giving  John  the  Crown.  [ 
From  this  my  hand,  as  holding  of  the  pope, 
Your  sovereign  greatness  and  authority. 
King  John. 
Now  keep  your  holy  word:    go   meet   the 
French "; 
And  from  his  holiness  use  all  your  power 
To  stop  their  marches,  'fore  we  are  inflam'd. 
Our  discontented  counties  do  revolt, 
Our  people  quarrel  with  obedience, 
Swearing  allegiance,  and  the  love  of  soul, 
To  stranger  blood,  to  foreign  royalty. 
This  inundation  of  mistemper'd  humour 
Bests  by  you  only  to  be  qualified  : 
Then  pause  not ;  for  the  present  time's  so  sick, 
That  present  medicine  must  be  minister'd, 
Or  overthrow  incurable  ensues. 
Pan>t' 
It  was  my  breath  that  blew  this  tempest  up, 
Upon  your  stubborn  usage  of  the  pope  ; 
But  since  you  are  a  gentle  convertite. 
My  tongue  shall  hush  again  this  storm  of  war, 
And  make  fair  weather  in  your  blustering  land. 
On  this  Ascension-day,  remember  well, 
Upon  your  oath  of  service  to  the  pope. 
Go  I  to  make  the  French  lay  down  their  arms. 

<Txlt 
King  John. 
It  this  Ascension-day  t    Did  not  the  prophet 
Say  that  before  Ascension-day  at  noon, 
My  crown  I  should  give  off?    Even  so  I  have. 
I  aid  suppose  it  should  be  on  constraint ; 
But,  heaven  be  thank'd,  it  is  but  voluntary. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 
*rd. 
All  Kent  hath  yielded  ;  nothing  there  holds 
But  Dover  castle:  London  hath  receiv'd,   [out, 


Like  a  kind  host,  the  Dauphin  and  his  powers. 
Your  nobles  will  not  hear  you,  but  are  gone 
To  offer  service  to  your  enemy  ; 
And  wild  amazement  hurries  up  and  down 
The  little  number  of  your  doubtful  friends. 

King  John. 
Would  not  my  lords  return  to  me  again. 
After  they  heard  young  Arthur  was  alive  ? 

Bastard. 

They  found  him  dead,  and  cast  into  the  streets ; 
An  empty  casket,  where  the  jewel  of  life 
By  some  damn'd  hand  was  robb'd  and  ta'en  away. 
King  John. 

That  villain  Hubert  told  me  he  did  live. 
Bastard. 

So,  on  my  soul,  he  did,  for  aught  he  knew. 
But  wherefore  do  you  droop?  why  look  you  sad  ? 
Be  great  in  act,  as  you  have  been  in  thought ; 
Let  not  the  world  see  fear,  and  sad  distrust, 
Govern  the  motion  of  a  kingly  eye : 
Be  stirring  as  the  time  ;  be  tire  with  fire  ; 
Threaten  the  threatener,  and  outface  the  brow 
Of  bragging  horror :  so  shall  inferior  eyes, 
That  borrow  their  behaviours  from  the  great, 
Grow  great  by  your  example,  and  put  on 
The  dauntless  spirit  of  resolution. 
Away !  and  glister  like  the  god  of  war, 
When  he  intendeth  to  become  the  field  : 
Show  boldness,  and  aspiring  confidence. 
What !  shall  they  seek  the  lion  in  his  den, 
And  fright  him  there?  and  make  him  tremble 
O !  let  it  not  be  said — Forage,  and  run  [there? 
To  meet  displeasure  further  from  the  doors, 
And  grapple  with  him  ere  he  come  so  nigh. 
King  John. 

The  legate  of  the  pope  hath  been  with  me, 
And  I  have  made  a  happy  peace  with  him  ; 
And  he  hath  promis'd  to  dismiss  the  powers 
Led  by  the  Dauphin. 

is* 

O,  inglorious  league ! 
Shall  we,  upon  the  footing  of  our  land, 
Send  fair-play  orders,  and  make  compromise, 
Insinuation,  parley,  and  base  truce, 
To  arms  invasive?  shall  a  beardless  boy, 
A  cocker'd  silken  wanton,  brave  our  fields, 
And  flesh  his  spirit  in  a  warlike  soil, 
Mocking  the  air  with  colours  idly  spread, 
And  find  no  check  ?    Let  us,  my  liege,  to  arms : 
Perchance,  the  cardinal  cannot  make  your  peace ; 
Or  if  he  do,  let  it  at  least  be  said, 
They  saw  we  had  a  purpose  of  defence. 
King  John 

Have  thou  the  ordering  of  this  present  time. 
Bastard 

Away  then,  with  good  courage  ;  yet,  I  know, 
Our  party  may  well  meet  a  prouder  foe. 

SCFXE  II.    A  Plain,  near  S.  Edtimnd's  Burg. 

I'.nttr,  in  arms,  Lewis,  Salisbury,  Mehin,  t'rm- 
brokf,  Bigot,  and  Somtti  ■ 
Lewis. 
My  lord  Mclun,  let  this  be  copied  out. 
And  keep  it  safe  for  our  remembrance. 
Return  the  precedent  to  these  lords  again  ; 
That,  having  our  lair  order  written  down, 
Both  they,  and  we,  perusing  o'er  these  notes, 
May  know  wherefore  we  took  the  sacrament, 
And  keep  our  faiths  firm  and  inviolable. 
Salisbury. 
Upon  our  sides  It  never  shall  be  broken. 

i>  d  And, 


402 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  v.  Sc.  u. 


And,  noble  Dauphin,  albeit  we  swear 

A  voluntary  zeal,  and  an  unurg'd  faith, 

To  your  proceedings ;  yet,  believe  me,  prince,    i 

I  am  not  glad  that  such  a  sore  of  time 

Should  seek  a  plaster  by  contemn *d  revolt, 

And  heal  the  inveterate  canker  of  one  wound,    j 

By  making  many.     O  !  it  grieves  my  soul, 

That  I  must  draw  this  metal  from  my  side 

To  be  a  widow-maker  ;  O  !  and  there, 

Where  honourable  rescue,  and  defence, 

Cries  out  upon  the  name  of  Salisbury. 

But  such  is  the  infection  of  the  time, 

That,  for  the  health  and  physic  of  our  right, 

We  cannot  deal  but  with  the  very  hand 

Of  stern  injustice  and  confused  wrong. — 

And  is't  not  pity,  O,  my  grieved  friends  ! 

That  we,  the  sons  and  children  of  this  isle, 

Were  born  to  see  so  sad  an  hour  as  this  ; 

Wherein  we  step  after  a  stranger,  march 

Upon  her  gentle  bosom,  and  fill  up 

Her  enemies'  ranks,  ( I  must  withdraw,  and  weep 

Upon  the  spot  of  this  enforced  cause) 

To  grace  the  gentry  of  a  land  remote, 

And  follow  unacquainted  colours  here  ?  [move ! 

What,  here? — O  nation,  that  thou  could'st  re- j 

That  Neptune's  arms,  who  clippeth  thee  about,  i 

Would  bear  thee  from  the  knowledge  of  thyself, ! 

And  grapple  thee  unto  a  pagan  shore  ; 

Where  these  two  Christian  armies  might  com- 

The  blood  of  malice  in  a  vein  of  league,      [bine 

And  not  to  spend  it  so  unneighbourly ! 

Lewi*. 

A  noble  temper  dost  thou  show  in  this  ; 
And  great  affections  wrestling  in  thy  bosom 
Do  make  an  earthquake  of  nobility. 
O  !  what  a  noble  combat  hast  thou  fought, 
Between  compulsion,  and  a  brave  respect ! 
Let  me  wipe  off  this  honourable  dew, 
That  silverly  doth  progress  on  thy  cheeks. 
My  heart  hath  melted  at  a  lady's  tears, 
Being  an  ordinary  inundation  ; 
But  this  effusion  of  such  manly  drops, 
This  shower,  blown  up  by  tempest  of  the  soul, 
Startles  mine  eyes,  and  makes  me  more  amaz'd 
Than  had  I  seen  the  vaulty  top  of  heaven 
Figur'd  quite,  o'er  with  burning  meteors. 
Lift  up  thy  brow,  renowned  Salisbury, 
And  with  a  great  heart  heave  away  this  storm : 
Commend  these  waters  to  those  baby  eyes, 
That  never  saw  the  giant-world  enrag'd  ; 
Nor  met  with  fortune  other  than  at  feasts, 
Full  warm  of  blood,  of  mirth,  of  gossiping. 
Come,  come  ;  for  thou  shalt  thrust  thy  hand  as 
Into  the  purse  of  rich  prosperity,  [deep 

As  Lewis  himself:  —  so,  nobles,  shall  you  all, 
That  knit  your  sinews  to  the  strength  of  mine. 

Enter  Pandulph,  attended. 
And  even  there,  methinks,  an  angel  spake : 
Look,  where  the  holy  legate  comes  apace, 
To  give  us  warrant  from  the  hand  of  heaven, 
And  on  our  actions  set  the  name  of  right 
With  holy  breath. 

Pandulph. 

Hail,  noble  prince  of  France.  > 
The  next  is  this:  — king  John  hath  reconcil'd 
Himself  to  Home  ;  his  spirit  is  come  in, 
That  so  stood  out  against  the  holy  church, 
The  great  metropolis  and  see  of  Rome  : 
Therefore,  thy  threat'ning  colours  now  wind  up, 
And  tame  the  savage  spirit  of  wild  war, 
That,  like  a  lion  foster'd  up  at  hand, 
It  may  lie  gently  at  the  foot  of  peace, 
And  be  no  farther  harmful  than  in  show. 

Lewis. 
Your  grace  shall  pardon  me ;  I  will  not  back  :  i 


I  am  too  high-born  to  be  propertied, 
To  be  a  secondary  at  control, 
Or  useful  serving-man,  and  instrument, 
To  any  sovereign  state  throughout  the  world. 
Your  breath  first  kindled  the  dead  coal  of  wars 
Between  this  chastis'd  kingdom  and  myself, 
And  brought  in  matter  that  should  feed  this  fire ; 
And  now  'tis  far  too  huge  to  be  blown  out 
With  that  same  weak  wind  which  enkindled  it. 
You  taught  me  how  to  know  the  face  of  right, 
Acquainted  me  with  interest  to  this  land, 
Yea,  thrust  this  enterprize  into  my  heart, 
And  come  ye  now  to  tell  me,  John  hath  made 
His  peace  with  Rome  ?    What  is  that  peace  to 
I,  by  the  honour  of  my  marriage  bed,  [me  ?"• 

After  young  Arthur,  claim  this  land  for  mine  ; 
And  now  it  is  half-conquer'd,  must  I  back, 
Because  that  John  hath  made  his  peace  with 
Rome?  [borne, 

Am  \  Rome's  slave?    What  penny  hath  Rome 
What  men  provided,  what  munition  sent, 
To  underprop  this  action  ?  is't  not  I, 
That  undergo  this  charge  ?  who  else  but  I, 
And  such  as  to  my  claim  are  liable. 
Sweat  in  this  business,  and  maintain  this  war  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  these  islanders  shout  out, 
Vive  le  roy!  as  I  have  bank'd  their  towns  ? 
Have  I  not  here  the  best  cards  for  the  game, 
To  win  this  easy  match,  play'd  for  a  crown, 
And  shall  I  now  give  o'er  the  yielded  set  ? 
No,  no,  on  my  soul,  it  never  shall  be  said. 

Pandulph. 
You  look  but  on  the  outside  of  this  work. 

Lewi*. 
Outside  or  inside,  I  will  not  return 
Till  my  attempt  so  much  be  glorified, 
As  to  my  ample  hope  was  promised 
Before  I  drew  this  gallant  head  of  war, 
And  cull'd  these  fiery  spirits  from  the  world, 
To  outlook  conquest,  and  to  win  renown 
Even  in  the  jaws  of  danger  and  of  death.— 

[Trumpet  sounds. 
What  lusty  trumpet  thus  doth  summon  us  ? 

Enter  the  Bastard  attended. 
Bastard. 

According  to  the  fair  play  of  the  world, 

Let  me  have  audience :  I  am  sent  to  speak 

My  holy  lord  of  Milan,  from  the  king 
I  come,  to  learn  how  you  have  dealt  for  him  ; 
And,  as  you  answer,  I  do  know  the  scope 
And  warrant  limited  unto  my  tongue. 
Pandulph. 

The  Dauphin  is  too  wilful-opposite, 
And  will  not  temporize  with  my  entreaties  : 
He  flatly  says,  he'll  not  lay  down  his  arms. 
Bastard. 

By  all  the  blood  that  ever  fury  breath'd, 
The  youth  says  well— Now,  hear  our  English 
For  thus  his  royalty  doth  speak  in  me.       [king, 
He  is  prepar'd  ;  and  reason,  too,  he  should : 
This  apish  and  unmannerly  approach, 
This  harness'd  masque,  and  unadvised  revel, 
This  unhair'd  sauciness,  and  boyish  troops. 
The  king  doth  smile  at ;  and  is  well  prepar'd 
To  whip  this  dwarfish  war,  these  pigmy  arms, 
From  out  the  circle  of  his  territories. 
That  hand,  which  had  the  strength,  even  at 

your  door, 
To  cudgel  you,  and  make  you  take  the  hatch  ; 
To  dive  like  buckets  in  concealed  wells  ; 
To  crouch  in  litter  of  your  stable  planks  ; 
To  lie  like  pawns  lock'd  up  in  chests  and  trunks ; 
To  hug  with  swine  ;  to  seek  sweet  safety  out 
In  vaults  and  prisons  ;  and  to  thrill,  and  shake, 

Even 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  JOHN. 


V>\ 


Kvtn  at  the  crying  of  your  nation's  crow, 
Thinking  thU  voice  an  armed  Englishman : 
Shall  that  victorious  hand  be  feebled  here, 
That  in  your  chambers  gave  you  chastisement? 
No  !     Know,  the  gallant  monarch  is  in  arms  ; 
And  like  an  eagle  o'er  his  aiery  towers. 
To  souse  annoyance  that  comes  near  his  nest — 
And  you  degenerate,  you  ingrate  revolts, 
You  bloody  Neroes,  ripping  up  the  womb 
Of  your  dear  mother  England,  blush  for  shame: 
For  your  own  ladies,  and  pale-visag'd  maids, 
Like"  Amazons  come  tripping  after  drums  ; 
Their  thimbles  into  armed  gauntlets  change. 
Their  needl's  to  lances,  and  their  gentle  hearts 
To  fierce  and  bloody  inclination. 

There  end  thy  brave,  and  turn  thy  face  in 
peace :  [well : 

We  grant  thou  canst  outscold  us.    Fare  thee 
We  hold  our  time  too  precious  to  be  spent 
With  such  a  brabbler. 

Pandulph. 

Give  me  leave  to  speak. 
Bastard. 
No,  I  will  speak. 

Lewis. 

We  will  attend  to  neither — 
Strike  up  the  drums  !  and  let  the  tongue  of  war 
Plead  for  our  interest,  and  our  being  here. 
Bastard. 
Indeed,  your  drums,  being  beaten,  will  cry  out ; 
And  so  shall  you,  being  beaten.    Do  but  start 
An  echo  with  the  clamour  of  thy  drum, 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  brae'd, 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud  as  thine  ; 
Sound  but  another,  and  another  shall, 
As  loud  as  thine,  rattle  the  welkin's  ear,    [hand 
And  mock  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder:  for  at 
(Not  trusting  to  this  halting  legate  here, 
Whom  he  hath  us'd  rather  for  snort  than  need) 
Is  warlike  John  ;  and  in  his  forehead  sits  i 

A  bare-ribb'd  death,  whose  office  is  this  day 
To  feast  upon  whole  thousands  of  the  French.     \ 
Lewii. 
Strike  up  our  drums  to  find  this  danger  out. 

.1. 
And  thou  shalt  find  it,  Dauphin,  do  not  doubt. ' 
[F.xeunt. 

SCENE  Ul.    The  same.    A  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarums.    Enter  King  John  and  Hubert. 

King  John. 
How  goes  the  day  with  us?    O!   tell  me, 
Hubert. 

Hubert. 
Badly,  I  fear.    How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

King  John. 
This  fever,  that  hath  troubled  me  so  long, 
Lies  heavy  on  me:  O I  my  heart  is  sick. 


F.nter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
My  lord,  your  valiant  kinsman,  Fautconbridge,  \ 
Desires  your  majesty  to  leave  the  field, 
And  send  him  word  by  me  which  way  you  go. 
King  John. 
Tell  him,  toward  Swinstead,  to  the  abbey  there.  \ 

Messenger. 
Be  of  good  comfort ;  for  the  great  supply, 
That  was  expected  by  the  Dauphin  here. 
Are  wreck'd  three  nights  ago  on  G  ooawin  sands:  , 
This  news  was  brought  to  Richard  but  even  now. 
The  French  fight  coldly,  and  retire  themselves,  j 


Kins  John. 
Ah  me  I  this  tyrant  fever  burns  me  up, 
And  will  not  let  me  welcome  this  good  news. 
Set  on  toward  Swinstead ;  to  my  litter  straight: 
Weakness  possesseth  me,  and  1  am  faint. 

[F.xeiint. 

E  I V.    The  same.    Another  part  of  the 
same. 

Knter  Salisbury,  Pembroke,  Bigot,  and  others. 

Sal  isbury. 
I  did  not  think  the  king  so  stor'd  with  friend*. 

Pembroke. 
Up  once  again ;  put  spirit  in  the  French : 
If  they  miscarry,  we  miscarry  too. 
Salisbury. 
That  misbegotten  devil,  Paulconbridge, 
In  spite  of  spite,  alone  upholds  the  day. 
Pembroke. 
They  say,  king  John  sore  sick  hath  left  the 

Enter  Melun  wounded,  and  led  by  Soldiers. 

Melun. 
Lead  me  to  the  revolts  of  England  here. 

Salisbury. 
When  we  were  happy  we' had  other  name*. 

Pembroke. 

It  is  the  count  Melun. 

Salisbury. 

Wounded  to  death 
Melun. 

Fly,  noble  English ;  you  are  bought  and  sold : 
Unthread  the  rude  eye  of  rebellion, 
And  welcome  home  again  discarded  faith. 
Seek  out  king  John,  and  fall  before  his  feet 
For  if  the  French  be  lords  of  this  loud  day, 
He  means  to  recompense  the  pains  you  take. 
By  cutting  off  your  heads.    Thus  hath  he  sworn. 
And  I  with  him,  and  many  more  with  me, 
Upon  the  altar  at  Saint  Edmund's  Bury  ; 
Even  on  that  altar,  where  we  swore  to  you 
Dear  amity  and  everlasting  love. 
Salisbury. 

May  this  be  possible?  may  this  be  true? 
Melun. 

Have  I  not  hideous  death  within  my  view, 
Retaining  but  a  quantity  of  life, 
Which  bleeds  away,  even  as  a  form  of  wax 
Resolveth  from  his  figure  'gainst  the  fire? 
What  in  the  world  should  make  me  now  deceive, 
Since  I  must  lose  the  use  of  all  deceit? 
Why  should  I  then  be  false,  since  it  is  true 
That  1  must  die  here,  and  live  hence  by  truth  ? 
I  say  again,  if  Lewis  do  win  the  day, 
He  is  forsworn,  if  e'er  those  eyes  of  yours 
Behold  another  day  break  in  the  east :      [breath 
But  even  this  night,  whose  black  contagious 
Already  smokes  about  the  burning  crest 
Of  the  old,  feeble,  and  day. wearied  sun, 
Even  this  ill  night,  your  breathing  shall  expire, 
Paying  the  fine  of  rated  treachery, 
Even  with  a  treacherous  fine  of  all  your  lives. 
If  Lewis  by  your  assistance  win  the  day. 
Commend  me  to  one  Hubert,  with  your  king ; 
The  love  of  him, — and  this  respect  besides, 
For  that  my  grandsire  was  an  Englishman, — 
Awakes  my  conscience  to  confess  all  this. 
In  lieu  whereof,  I  pray  you,  bear  me  hence 
From  forth  the  noise  and  rumour  of  the  field ; 
Where  I  may  think  the  remnant  of  my  thoughts 
In  peace,  and  part  this  body  and  my  soul 
With  contemplation  and  devout  desires. 

Salisbury. 


4°4 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


Salisbury. 
We  do  believe  thee,  and  beshrew  my  soul, 
But  I  do  love  the  favour  and  the  form 
Of  this  most  fair  occasion,  by  the  which 
We  will  untread  the  steps  of  damned  flight; 
And,  like  a  bated  and  retired  flood, 
Leaving  our  rankness  and  irregular  course, 
Stoop  low  within  those  bounds  we  have  o'er- 
And  calmly  run  on  in  obedience,  [look'd, 

Even  to  our  ocean,  to  our  great  King  John. — 
My  arm  shall  give  thee  help  to  bear  thee  hence, 
For  I  do  see  the  cruel  pangs  of  death 

Right  in  thine  eye Away,  my  friends!    New 

flight, 
And  happy  newness,  that  intends  old  right. 

[Exeunt,  leading  afrMihtn.  , 

j     SCENE  V.    The  same.    The  French  Camp. 
Enter  Lewis  and  his  Train. 
Lewis. 
The  sun  of  heaven,  methought,  was  loath  to  , 


set, 

But  stay'd,  and  made  the  western  welkin  blush, 
When  English  measur'd  backward  their  own 

ground, 
In  faint  retire.    O !  bravely  came  we  off, 
When  with  a  volley  of  our  needless  shot, 
After  such  bloody  toil  we  bid  good  night, 
And  wound  our  tattering  colours  clearly  up, 
Last  in  the  field,  and  almost  lords  of  it  1 

Knter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Where  is  my  prince,  the  Dauphin  ? 
Lewis. 

Here. — What  news? 
Messenger. 
The  count  Melun  is  slain:  the  English  lords,  • 
By  his  persuasion,  are  again  fallen  off; 
And  your  supply,  which  you  have  wish'd  so  long, 
Are  cast  away,  and  sunk,  on  Goodwin  sands. 
Lewis 
Ah,  foul  shrewd  news!  — Beshrew  thy  very. 
I  did  not  think  to  be  so  sad  to-night,        [heart ! 
As  this  hath  made  me.  — Who  was  he,  that  said, 
King  John  did  fly  an  hour  or  two  before 
The  stumbling  night  did  part  our  weary  powers  ? 
Messenger. 
Whoever  spoke  it,  it  is  true,  my  lord. 

Lewis. 
Well ;  keep  good  quarter,  and  good  care  to- 
The  day  shall  not  be  up  so  soon  as  I,      [night : 
To  try  the  fair  adventure  of  to-morrow.  . 

'  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    An  open  Place  in  the  Neighbour- 
hood oi  Sw  instead- Abbey. 

Enter  the  Bastard  and  Hubert,  severally. 

Hubert. 
Who's  there?  speak,  ho  !  speak  quickly,  or  I 
shoot.  • 

Bastard. 

A  friend.—  What  art  thou  ? 
Hubert. 

Of  the  part  of  England. 
Bastard. 
Whither  dost  thou  go  ? 

Hubert. 
What's  that  to  thee  ?    Why  may  not  I  demand 
Of  thine  affairs,  as  well  as  thou  of  mine  ? 


Bastard. 
Hubert,  I  think.    . 

Hubert. 
Thou  hast  a  perfect  thought : 
I  will,  upon  all  hazards,  well  believe 
Thou  art  my  friend,  that  know'st  my  tongue  so 
Who  art  thou  ?  [well. 

Bastard. 
Who  thou  wilt :  and,  if  thou  please, 
Thou  may'st  befriend  me  so  much,  as  to  think 
I  come  one  way  of  the  Plantagenets. 
Hubert. 
Unkind   remembrance !    thou,   and   endless 
night, 
Have  done  me  shame : — brave  soldier,  pardon  m<% 
That  any  accent  breaking  from  thy  tongue 
Should  'scape  the  true  acquaintance  of  mine  ear. 
Bastard. 
Come,  come;  sans  compliment,  what  news 
abroad?  „  , 

Hubert. 

Why,  here  walk  I,  in  the  black  brow  of  night, 
To  find  you  out. 

Bastard. 
Brief,  then  ;  and  what's  the  news  ? 
Hubert. 
O  !  my  sweet  sir,  news  fitting  to  the  night, 
Black,  fearful,  comfortless,  and  horrible. 
Bastard. 
Show  me  the  very  wound  of  this  ill  news : 
I  am  no  woman ;  I'll  not  swoon  at  it. 
Hubert. 
The  king,  I  fear,  is  poison'd  by  a  monk : 
1  left  him  almost  speechless,  and  broke  out 
To  acquaint  you  with  this  evil,  that  you  might 
The  better  arm  you  to  the  sudden  time, 
Than  if  you  had  at  leisure  known  of  this. 
Bastard, 
How  did  he  take  it  ?  who  did  taste  to  him  ? 

Hubert. 
A  monk,  I  tell  you  ;  a  resolved  villain, 
Whose  bowels  suddenly  burst  out :  the  king 
Yet  speaks,  and  peradventure,  may  recover. 
Bastard 
Whom  didst  thou  leave  to  tend  his  majesty  ? 

Hubert. 
Why,  know  you  not  ?  the  lords  are  all  come 
back, 
And  brought  prince  Henry  in  their  company ; 
At  whose  request  the  king  hath  pardon'd  them, 
And  they  are  all  about  his  majesty. 
Bastard. 
Withhold  thine  indignation,  mighty  heaven, 
And  tempt  us  not  to  bear  above  our  power. 
I'll  tell  thee,  Hubert,  half  my  power  this  night, 
Passing  these  flats,  are  taken  by  the  tide ; 
These  Lincoln  washes  have  devoured  them : 
Myself  well-mounted  hardly  have  escap'd. 
Away,  before:  conduct  me  to  the  king ; 
I  doubt,  he  will  be  dead  or  ere  I  come,, 

i  CEXE  V !  I.    l  he  Orchard  of  Swinstead-Abbey. 
Enter  Prince  Henry,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

Prince  Henry. 
It  is  too  late :  the  life  of  all  his  blood 
Is  touch'd  corruptibly  ;  and  his  pure  brain 
(Which  some  suppose  the  soul's  frail  dwelling- 
house) 
Doth,  by  the  idle  comments  that  it  makes, 


Foretell  the  ending  of  mortality. 


Enter 


Act  v.  Sc.  vn. 


KING  JOHN. 


405 


His  highness  yet  doth  speak  ;  and  holds  belief, 
Th.it  befit*  brought  into  the  open  air, 
It  would  allay  the  burning  quality 
Of  that  fell  poison  which  assaileth  him. 

Prince  Henry. 

Let  him  be  brought  into  the  orchard  here.  — 

Doth  he  still  rage  ?  [Kxit  Bigvt. 

roke. 
He  Is  more  patient 
Than  when  you  left  him :  even  now  he  sung. 

»ry. 
O,  vanity  of  sickness  !  fierce  extremes 
In  their  continuance  will  not  feel  themselves. 
Death,  having  prey'd  upon  the  outward  parts, 
Leaves  them,  invisible ;  and  his  siege  is  now 
Against  the  mind,  the  which  he  pricks  and 

wounds 
With  many  legions  of  strange  fantasies, 
Which,  in  their  throngand  press  to  that  last  hold, 
Confound  themselves,    'lis  strange  that  death 

should  sing. 
I  am  the  cygnet  to  this  pale  faint  swan, 
Who  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death, 
And  from  the  organ-pipe  of  frailty  sings 
His  soul  and  body  to  their  lasting  rest. 

falMwrr. 

Be  of  good  comfort,  prince ;  for  you  are  born 
To  set  a  form  upon  that  indigest, 
Which  he  hath  left  so  shapeless  and  so  rude. 

Re-enter  B^nt  and  Attendants,  who  bring  in 
King  John  in  a  Chair. 

King  John. 
Ay,  marry,  now  my  soul  hath  elbow-room ; 
It  would  not  out  at  windows,  nor  at  doors. 
There  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom, 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust: 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment,  and  against  this  fire 
Do  1  shrink  up. 

'rince  Henrv. 

low  fares  your  majesty  ? 

King  John- 
Poison 'd,— ill-fare;— dead,  forsook,  cast  off, 
And  none  of  you  will  bid  the  winter  come, 
To  thrust  his  icy  fingers  in  my  maw  ; 
Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 
Through  my  burn'd  bosom ;    nor  entreat  the  j 

north 
To  make  his  bleak  winds  kiss  my  parched  lips, 
And  comfort  me  with  cold.  —  I  do  not  ask  you 

much  : 
I  beg  cold  comfort ;  and  you  are  so  strait, 
And  so  ingrateful,  you  deny  me  that. 

Prince  Henry. 
O,  that  there  were  some  virtue  in  my  tears, 
That  might  relieve  you ! 

Kine  John.    ,     , 

The  salt  in  them  is  hot — 
Within  me  is  a  hell;  and  there  the  poison 
Is,  as  a  fiend,  confin'd  to  tyrannize 
On  unreprievable  condemned  blood. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 


lie 


Are  turned  to  one  thread,  one  little  hair: 
My  heart  hath  one  poor  string  to  stay  it  by, 
Which  holds  but  till  thy  news  be  utur.  <1, 
And  then  all  this  thou  seest  is  but  a  clod, 
And  model  of  confounded  royalty. 

rd. 

The  Dauphin  is  preparing  hitherward,  [him ; 
Where,  heaven  he  Knows,  how  we  shall  answer 
For,  in  a  night,  the  best  part  of  my  power, 
As  I  upon  advantage  did  remove, 
Were  in  the  washes,  all  unwarily, 
Devoured  by  the  unexpected  flood. 
[The 
Salisbury. 
You  breathe  these  dead"  news  in  as  dead  an 
ear — 
My  liege  1  my  lord !— But  now  a  king,  now  thus. 

f'rir,<o  lit  nrr. 
Even  so  must  I  run  on,  and  even  so  stop. 
What  surety  of  the  worid,  what  hope,  what  stay, 
When  this  was  now  a  king,  and  now  is  clay? 

BasUrd. 
Art  thou  gone  so  ?    I  do  but  stay  behind, 
To  do  the  office  for  thee  of  revenge, 
And  then  my  soul  shall  wait  on  thee  to  heaven, 
As  it  on  earth  hath  been  thy  servant  still — 
Now,  now,  you  stars,  that  move  in  your  right 

spheres, 
Where  be  your  powers  ?  Show  now  your  mended 
And  instantly  return  with  me  again,        [faiths, 
To  push  destruction,  and  perpetual  shame, 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  fainting  land. 
Straight  let  us  seek,  or  straight  we  shall  be 
The  Dauphin  rages  at  our  very  heels,  [sought: 

SalUbi 

It  seems  you  know  not,  then,  so  much  as  we. 
The  cardinal  Pandulph  is  within  at  rest, 
Who  half  an  hour  since  came  from  the  Dauphin, 
And  brings  from  him  such  offers  of  our  peace 
As  we  with  honour  and  respect  may  take, 
With  purpose  presently  to  leave  this  war. 

Bastard. 
He  will  the  rather  do  it,  when  he  sees 
Ourselves  well  sinewed  to  our  defence. 

Salisbury. 
Nay,  it  is  in  a  manner  done  already ; 
For  many  carriages  he  hath  despatch'd 
To  the  sea-side,  and  put  his  cause  and  quarrel 
To  the  disposing  of  the  cardinal : 
With  whom  yourself,  myself,  and  other  lorda, 
If  you  think  meet,  this  afternoon  will  post 
To  consummate  this  business  happily. 


Bastard, 
id  you, 1 


Bastard.  j 

O  !  I  am  scalded  with  my  violent  motion, 
And  spleen  of  speed  to  see  your  majesty. 

King  John. 

O  cousin !  thou  art  Come  to  set  mine  eye: 

The  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack 'd  and  burn'd ; 

And  all  the  shrouds,  wherewith  my  life  should 

6ail, 


Let  it  be  so.— And  you,  my  noble  prince, 
With  other  princes  that  may  best  be  spar'd, 
Shall  wait  upon  your  father's  funeral. 

Prince  Henry. 
At  Worcester  must  his  body  be  interred ; 
For  so  he  will'd  it. 

Thither  shall  it  then. 
And  happily  may  your  sweet  self  put  on 
The  lineal  state  and  glory  of  the  land : 
To  whom,  with  all  submission,  on  my  knee, 
I  do  bequeath  my  faithful  services, 
And  true  subjection  everlastingly. 

>..lisbur\- 
And  the  like  tender  of  odr  love  we  make, 
To  rest  without  a  spot  for  evermore. 

1  have  a  kind  soui',Cthat\rou1d  give  thanks, 
And  knows  not  how  to  do  it,  but  with  tears. 

Bastard. 


4o6 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Bastard: 

O !  let  us  pay  the  time  but  needful  woe, 
Since  it  hath  been  beforehand  with  our  griefs.- 
This  England  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror, 
But  when  it  first  did  help  to  wound  itself. 


Now  these,  her  princes,  are  come  home  again, 
Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world  in  arms, 
And  we  shall  shock  them.    Nought  shall  make 

us  rue, 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true. 

[Exeunt. 


THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  RICHARD  THE  SECOND. 

Edmund  of  Langley,  Duke  of  York. 

John  of  Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster. 

Henry  Bolingbroke,  Duke  of  Hereford. 

Duke  of  Aumerle,  Son  to  the  Duke  of  York. 

Thomas  Mowbray,  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

Duke  of  Surrey. 

Earl  of  Salisbury.    Earl  Berkley. 

Bushy,  7 

Bagot,  >  Creatures  to  King  Richard. 

Green,  3 

Earl  of  Northumberland. 

Henry  Percy,  his  Son. 


ACT  I. 

!    SCENE  I.    London.    A  Room  In  the  Palace. 

i  Enter  King  Richard,  attended ;  John  of  Gaunt, 

I  and  other  Nobles,  with  hirn. 

King  Richard. 
OLD  John  of  Gf«wnf,time-honour'd  Lancaster, 
Hast  thou,  according  to  thy  oath  and  band, 
Brought  hither  Henry  Hereford,  thy  bold  son ; 
Here  to  make  good  the  boisterous  late  appeal, 
Which  then  our  leisure  would  not  let  us  hear, 
Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray  ? 
flaunt. 


I  have,  my  liege. 

King  Richard. 
Tell  me,  moreover,  hast  thou  sounded  him, 
If  he  appeal  the  duke  on  ancient  malice, 
Or  worthily,  as  a  good  subject  should, 
On  some  known  ground  of  treachery  in  him  ? 
Gaunt. 
As  near  as  I  could  sift  him  on  that  argument, 


Lord  Ross.  Lord  Willoughby.  Lord  Fitz water. 

Bishop  of  Carlisle.     Abbot  of  Westminster. 

Lord  Marshal ;  and  another  Lord. 

Sir  Pierce  o/Exton.    Sir  Stephen  Scroop. 

Captain  of  a  Band  of  Welchmen. 

Queen  to  King  Richard. 

Duchess  of  Gloster. 

Duchess  of  York. 

Lady  attending  the  Queen. 

L.ords,  Heralds,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Gardeners, 
Keeper,   Messenger,   Groom,   and   other  At- 
tendants. 
SCENE,  dispersedly  in  England  and  Wales. 


On  some  apparent  danger  seen  in  him, 
Aim'd  at  your  highness ;  no  inveterate  malice. 
King  Richard. 
Then  call  them  to  our  presence :  face  to  face, 
And  frowning  brow  to  brow,  ourselves  will  hear 
Th'  accuser,  and  th'  accused,  freely  speak — 

[Exeunt  some  Attendants, 
High-stomach'd  are  they  both,  and  full  of  ire, 
In  rage  deaf  as  the  sea,  hasty  as  fire. 

Re-enter  Attendants  with  Bolingbroke  and 
Norfolk. 
Bolingbroke. 
Many  years  of  happy  days  befal 
My  gracious  sovereign,  my  most  loving  liege ! 
Norfolk. 
Each  day  still  better  other's  happiness ; 
Until  the  heavens,  envying  earth's  good  bap, 
Add  an  immortal  title  to  your  crown ! 
King  Richard. 
We  thank  you  both:  yet  one  but  flatters  us, 
As  well  appeareth  by  the  cause  you  come; 

Namely, 


Act  i.  5c. 


KING  KICIIARDH. 


407 


Namely,  to  appeal  each  other  of  high  treason —     Besides,  I  say,  and  will  in  battle  prove, 
Cousin  Of  Hen  ford,  what  dost  thou  object  Or  tier.-,  or  elsewhere,  to  the  furthest  verge 

Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray T  ■  That  ever  was  survey'd  by  Knglish  eye 


First,  heaven  be  the  record  to  my  speech  ! 
Tn  the  iWftJOT  of  a  subject's  love, 
Tendering  the  precious  safety  of  my  prince, 
And  free  from  other  misbegotten  hate, 
Come  1  appellant  to  this  princely  presence — 
Now,  Thomas  Mowbray,  do  I  turn  to  thee, 
And  mark  mv  greeting  well ;  for  what  I  speak, 
My  body  shall  make  good  upon  this  earth, 
Or  my  divine  soul  answer  it  in  heaven. 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  and  a  miscreant  ; 
Too  good  to  be  so,  and  too  bad  to  live, 
Since  the  more  fair  and  crystal  is  the  sky. 
The  uglier  seem  the  clouds  that  in  it  fly. 
Once  more,  the  more  to  aggravate  the  note, 
With  a  foul  traitor's  name  stuff  I  thy  throat ; 
And  wish,  (so  please  my  sovereign)  ere  1  move. 
What  my  tongue  speaks,  my  right-drawn  sword 
may  prove. 

Norfolk. 

Let  not  my  cold  words  here  accuse  my  zeal. 
'Tis  not  the  trial  of  a  woman's  war, 
The  bitter  clamour  of  two  eager  tongues, 
Can  arbitrate  this  cause  betwixt  us  twain  : 
The  blood  is  hot  that  must  be  cool'd  for  this  ; 
Yet  can  1  not  of  such  tame  patience  boast, 
As  to  be  hush'd,  and  naught  at  all  to  say.      [me 
First,  the  fair  reverence  of  your  highness  curbs 
From  giving  reins  and  spurs  to  my  free  speech, 
Which  else  would  post,  until  it  had  return'd 
These  terms  of  treason  doubled  down  his  throat- 
Setting  aside  his  high  blood's  royalty, 
And  let  him  be  no  kinsman  to  my  liege, 
I  do  defy  him,  and  I  spit  at  him ; 
Call  him  a  slanderous  coward,  and  a  villain : 
Which  to  maintain  I  would  allow  him  odds, 
And  meet  him,  were  I  tied  to  run  a-foot 
Even  to  the  frozen  ridges  of  the  Alps, 
Or  any  other  ground  inhabitable 
Where  ever  Englishman  durst  set  his  foot. 
Mean  time,  let  this  defend  my  loyalty  : — 
By  all  my  hopes,  most  falsely  doth  he  lie, 
Bolingbroke. 

Pale  trembling  coward,  there  I  throw  my  gage, 
Disclaiming  here  the  kindred  of  the  king ; 
And  lay  aside  my  high  blood's  royalty, 
Which  fear,  not  reverence, makes  thee  to  except: 
If  guilty  dread  have  left  thee  so  much  strength, 
As  to  take  up  mine  honour's  pawn,  then  stoop. 
By  that  and  all  the  rites  of  knighthood  else, 
Will  I  make  good  against  thee,  arm  to  arm, 
What  I  have  spoke,  or  thou  canst  worse  devise. 

I  take  it  up  ;  and,  by  that  sword  I  swear, 
Which  gently  laid  my  knighthood  on  my  shoul- 
1*11  answer  thee  in  any  fair  degree,  [der, 

Or  chivalrous  design  of  knightly  trial : 
And,  when  I  mount,  alive  may  I  not  light, 
If  I  be  traitor,  or  unjusjly  fight ! 
.   ' 
What   doth    our    cousin    lay  to    Mowbray's 
It  must  be  great,  that  can  inherit  us     [charge  ? 
80  much  as  of  a  thought  of  ill  in  him. 
Bolingbroke. 
Look,  what   I  speak,  my  life  shall  prove  it 
true : —  [nobles, 

That   Mowbray  hath  receiv'd  eight   thousand 
In  name  of  tendings  for  your  highness'  soldiers, 
The  which  he  hath  detain'd  for  lewd  employ- 
ments, 
Like  a  false  traitor,  and  injurious  villain. 


That  all  the  treasons,  for  these  eighteen  years 
j  Complottcd  and  contrived  in  this  land, 
'  Fetch  from  false  Mowbray  their  first  head  and 

spring. 
;  Farther,  I  say,  and  farther  will  maintain 
;  Upon  his  bad  life  to  make  all  this  good, 
That  he  did  plot  the  duke  of  Gloster't  death  ; 
Suggest  his  soon-believing  adversaries, 
j  And,  consequently,  like  a  traitor  coward, 
Sluic'd  out  his  innocent  soul  through  streams 

of  blood: 
Which  blood,  like  sacrificing  AbeTs,  cries, 
Even  from  the  tongueless  caverns  of  the  earth, 
1  To  me  for  justice,  and  rough  chastisement ; 
>  And,  by  the  glorious  worth  of  my  descent, 
Tins  arm  shall  do  it,  or  this  life  be  spent. 
King  Richard. 
How  high  a  pitch  his  resolution  soars  ! — 
Thomas  of  Norfolk,  what  say'st  thou  to  this  ? 
Norfolk. 
O  !  let  my  sovereign  turn  away  his  face, 
And  bid  his  ears  a  little  while  be  deaf, 
Till  I  have  told  this  slander  of  his  blood, 
How  God,  and  good  men,  hate  so  foul  a  liar. 
King  Richard. 
Mowbray,  impartial  are  our  eyes,  and  ears  : 
Were  he  my  brother,  nay,  my  kingdom's  heir, 
j  As  he  is  but  my  father's  "brother's  son, 
'  Now  by  my  sceptre's  awe  I  make  a  vow, 
1  Such  neighbour  nearness  to  our  sacred  blood 
Should  nothing  privilege  him,  nor  partialize 
The  unstooping  firmness  of  my  upright  soul. 
He  is  our  subject,  Mowbray,  so  art  thou : 
Free  speech  and  fearless,  I  to  thee  allow. 
Norfolk. 
Then,  Bolingbroke,  as  low  as  to  thy  heart, 
Through  the  false  passage  of  thy  throat,  thou 
liest. 
!  Three  parts  of  that  receipt  I  had  for  Calais, 
i  Disburs'd  I  duly  to  his  highness'  soldiers  : 
The  other  part  reserv'd  I  by  consent ; 
For  that  my  sovereign  liege  was  in  my  debt, 
!  Upon  remainder  of  a  dear  account, 
i  Since  last  I  went  to  France  to  fetch  his  queen. 
Now,  swallow  down  that  lie — For  Gloster't 

death, 
I  slew  him  not ;  but  to  mine  own  disgrace, 

Neglected  my  sworn  duty  in  that  case 

For  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Lancaster, 

The  honourable  father  to  my  foe, 

Once  did  I  lay  an  ambush  for  your  life, 

A  trespass  that  doth  vex  my  grieved  soul ; 

But,  ere  I  last  receiv'd  the  sacrament, 

I  did  confess  it,  and  exactly  begg'd 

Your  grace's  pardon,  and,  I  hope,  I  had  it. 

This  is  my  fault :  as  for  the  rest  appeal'd, 

It  issues  from  the  rancour  of  a  villain, 

A  recreant  and  most  degenerate  traitor  ; 

Which  in  myself  I  boldly  will  defend, 

And  interchangeably  hurl  down  my  gage 

Upon  this  overweening  traitor's  foot, 

To  prove  myself  a  loyal  gentleman 

Even  in  the  best  blood  chamber'd  in  his  bosom. 

In  haste  whereof,  most  heartily  I  pray 

Your  highness  to  assign  our  trial  day. 

ird 

Wrath-kindled  gentleman,  be  rul'd  by  me. 
Let's  purge  this  choler  without  letting  blood: 
This  we  prescribe,  though  no  physician  ; 
Deep  malice  makes  too  deep  incision. 
1  Forget,  forgive;  conclude,  and  be  agreed  ; 
Our  doctors  say  this  is  no  month  to  bleed.— 

Good 


4-o8 


KING  RICHARD  LT. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Good  uncle,  let  this  end  where  It  begun ; 
We'll  calm  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  you  your  son.    I 
Gaunt! 

To  be  a  make-peace  shall  become  my  age 

Throw  down,  my  son,  the  duke  of  Nojfolk's  gage. 
King  R'chard. 
And,  Norfolk,  throw  down  his. 
Gaunt. 

When,  Harry ?  when?  \ 
Obedience  bids,  I  should  not  bid  again. 
King  Richard. 
Norfolk,  throw  down ;  we  bid ;  there  is  no  boot. 

Norfolk. 
Myself  I  throw,  dread  sovereign,  at  thy  foot. 
My  life  thou  shalt  command,  but  not  my  shame : 
The  one  my  duty  owes  ;  but  my  fair  name, 
Despite  of  death  that  lives  upon  my  grave, 
To  dark  dishonour's  use  thou  shalt  not  have. 
I  am  disgrae'd,  impeach'd,  and  baffled  here  ; 
Pierc'd  to  the  soul  with  slander's  venom'd  spear ; 
The  which  no  balm  can  cure,  but  his  heart-blood 
Which  breath'd  this  poison. 

King  Klchard. 

Rage  must  be  withstood. 
Give  me  his  gage:— lions  make  leopards  tame. 
Norfolk. 
Yea,  but  not  change  his  spots:  take  but  my 
shame, 
And  1  resign  my  gage.    My  dear,  dear  lord, 
The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  afford 
Is  spotless  reputation  ;  that  away, 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam,  or  painted  clay. 
A  jewel  in  a  ten  times  barr'd-up  chest 
Is  a  bold  spirit  in  a  loyal  breast. 
Mine  honour  is  my  life ;  both  grow  in  one : 
Take  honour  from  me,  and  my  life  is  done. 
Then,  dear  my  liege,  mine  honour  let  me  try  ; 
In  that  I  live,  and  for  that  will  1  die. 
King  Richard. 
Cousin,  throw  down  your  gage:  do  you  begin. 

Bolingbroke. 
O  !  God  defend  my  soul  from  such  deep  sin. 
Shall  I  seem  crest-fall'n  in  my  father's  sight  ? 
Or  with  pale  beggar-fear  impeach  my  height 
Before  this  outdar'd  dastard  ?    Ere  my  tongue 
Shall   wound   mine  honour  with  such  feeble 

wrong, 
Or  sound  so  base  a  parle,  my  teeth  shall  tear 
The  slavish  motive  of  recanting  fear, 
And  spit  it  bleeding  in  his  high  disgrace,   [face. 
Where  shame  doth  harbour,  even  in  Mowbray's 
[Exit  Gaunt. 
King  Richard. 
We  were  not  born  to  sue,  but  to  command : 
Which  since  we  cannot  do  to  make  you  friends, 
Be  ready,  as  your  lives  shall  answer  it, 
At  Coventry,  upon  Saint  Lambert's  day. 
There  shall  your  swords  and  lances  arbitrate 
The  swelling  difference  of  your  settled  hate : 
Since  we  cannot  atone  you,  we  shall  see 
Justice  design  the  victor's  chivalry — 
Lord  Marshal,  command  our  officers  at  arms 
Be  ready  to  direct  these  home-alarms.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.    The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Duke 
of  Lancaster's  Palace. 

Enter  Gaunt,  and  Duchess  of  Gloster. 
Gaunt. 
Alas!  the  part  I  had  in  Gloster's  blood 
Doth  more  solicit  me,  than  your  exclaims, 
To  stir  against  the  butchers  of  his  life : 
But  since  correction  lieth  in  those  hands, 


Which  made  the  fault  that  we  cannot  correct, 
Put  we  our  quarrel  to  the  will  of  heaven : 
Who  when  they  see  the  hours  ripe  on  earth, 
Will  rain  hot  vengeance  on  offenders'  heads. 
Duchess. 
Finds  brotherhood  in  thee  no  sharper  spur  ? 
Hath  love  in  thy  old  blood  no  living  fire  ? 
Edward's  seven  sons,  whereof  thyself  art  one, 
Were  as  seven  phials  of  his  sacred  blood, 
Or  seven  fair  branches  springing  from  one  root: 
Some  of  those  seven  are  dried  by  nature's  course, 
Some  of  those  branches  by  the  destinies  cut ; 
But  Thomas,  my  dear  lord,  my  life,  my  Gloster, 
One  phial  full  of  Edward's  sacred  blood. 
One  flourishing  branch  of  his  most  royal  root, 
Is  crack'd,  and  all  the  precious  liquor  spilt ; 
Is  hack'd  down,  and  his  summer  leaves  all  faded, 
By  envy's  hand,  and  murder's  bloody  axe. 
Ah  !  Gaunt,  his  blood  was  thine :  that  bed,  that 

womb, 
That  metal,  that  self-mould,  that  fashion 'd  thee, 
Made  him  a  man  ;  and  though  thou  liv'st,  and 

breath  'st, 
Yet  art  thou  slain  in  him.     Thou  dost  consent 
In  some  large  measure  to  thy  father's  death, 
In  that  thou  seest  thy  wretched  brother  die, 
Who  was  the  model  of  thy  father's  life. 
Call  it  not  patience,  Gaunt,  it  is  despair : 
In  suffering  thus  thy  brother  to  be  slaughter'd, 
Thou  show'st  the  naked  pathway  to  thy  life, 
Teaching  stern  murder  how  to  butcher  thee. 
That  which  in  mean  men  we  entitle  patience, 
Is  pale  cold  cowardice  in  noble  breasts. 
What  shall  I  say?  to  safeguard  thine  own  life, 
The  best  way  is  to  venge  my  Gloster's  death. 
Gaunt. 
God's  is  the  quarrel;  for  God's  substitute, 
His  deputy  anointed  in  his  sight, 
Hath  caus'd  his  death ;  the  which,  if  wrongfully, 
Let  heaven  revenge,  for  I  may  never  lift 
An  angry  arm  against  his  minister. 
Duchess. 
Where  then,  alas  !  may  I  complain  myself? 

Gaunt. 
To  God,  the  widow's  champion  and  defence. 

Duchess- 
Why,  then,  I  will.  —  Farewell,  old  Gaunt. 
Thou  go'st  to  Coventry,  there  to  behold 
Our  cousin  Hereford  and  fell  Mowbray  fight. 

0  !  sit  my  husband's    wrongs  on    Hereford'* 

spear, 
That  it  may  enter  butcher  Mowbray's  breast ; 
Or  if  misfortune  miss  the  first  career, 
Be  Mowbray's  sins  so  heavy  in  his  bosom, 
That  they  may  break  his  foaming  courser's  back, 
And  throw  the  rider  headlong  in  the  lists, 
A  caitiff  recreant  to  my  cousin  Hereford. 
Farewell,  old  Gaunt :  thy  sometimes  brother's 

wife 
With  her  companion  grief  must  end  her  life. 
Gaunt. 
Sister,  farewell :  I  must  to  Coventry. 
As  much  good  stay  with  thee,  as  go  with  me  ! 
Duchess. 
Yet  one  word  more.  —  Grief  boundeth  where 
it  falls, 
Not  with  the  empty  hollowness,  but  weight : 

1  take  my  leave  before  I  have  begun, 

For  sorrow  ends  not  when  it  seemeth  done. 
Commend  me  to  my  brother,  Edmund  York* 
Lo  !  this  is  all :  —  nay,  yet  depart  not  so  ; 
Though  this  be  all,  do  not  so  quickly  go  ; 
1  shall  remember  more.    Bid  him— O  !  what?— 
With  all  good  speed  at  Plashy  visit  me. 

Alack  I 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


409 


Alack  !  and  what  shall  good  old  York  there  see, 
Hut  empty  lodgings  and  unfurnish'd  walls, 
Unpeopled  offices,  untroddi-n  stones  ? 
And    what  hear  there  for    welcome,  but    my 
groans  ?  [there. 

Therefore  commend  me ;    let  him    not   come 
To  seek  out  sorrow  that  dwells  every  where. 
Desolate,  desolate,  will  I  hence,  and  die: 
The  last  leave  of  thee  takes  my  weeping  eye. 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Gosford  Green,  near  Coventry. 

Lists  set  out,  and  a  Throne.    Herald*,  &c, 

attending. 

Enter  the  Lord  Marshal,  and  Aumerle. 

Marshal. 

My  lord  Aumerle,  is  Harry  Hertford  arm'd  ? 

Aumerle. 
Yea,  at  all  points,  and  longs  to  enter  in. 

Marshal. 
The  duke  of  Norfolk,  sprightfully  and  bold, 
Stays    but   the   summons    of  the    appellant's 
trumpet. 

Aumsrle. 
Why  then,  the  champions  are  prepar'd,  and 
For  nothing  but  his  majesty's  approach,      [stay 

Flourish.     Knter  King  Richard,  who  takes  his 
seat  on  his   Throne ;  Haunt,  Bushy,  Bagot, 
lireen,  and  others,  who  take  their  places.     A 
Trumpet  is  sounded,  and  answered  by  another 
Trumpet  within.     Then  enter  Norfolk  in  ar- 
mour, preceded  by  a  Herald. 
King  Richard. 
Marshal,  demand  of  yonder  champion 
The  cause  of  his  arrival  here  in  arms  : 
Ask  him  his  name  ;  and  orderly  proceed 
To  swear  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 
Marshal. 
In  God's  name,  and  the  king's,  say  who  thou 
art,  [arms : 

And  why  thou  com'st  thus  knightly  clad  in 
Against  what  man  thou  com'st,  and  what  thy 

quarrel. 
Vspoak  truly,  on  thy  knighthood,  and  thine  oath, 
As  so  defend  thee  heaven,  and  thy  valour  1 
Norfolk. 
My  name  is  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Nor- 
Who  hither  come  engaged  by  my  oath,      [folk  ; 
( Which,  God  defend,  a  knight  should  violate  !) 
Both  to  defend  my  loyalty  and  truth, 
To  God,  my  king,  and  my  succeeding  issue. 
Against  the  duke  of  Hereford,  that  appeals  me  ; 
And,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  this  mine  arm, 
To  prove  him,  in  defending  of  myself, 
A  traitor  to  my  God,  my  king,  and  me : 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  defend  me  heaven  ! 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Bolingbroke,  in    ar- 
mour, preceded  by  a  Herald. 
King  Richard. 
Marshal,  ask  yonder  knight  in  arms, 
Both  who  he  is,  and  why  he  cometh  hither 
Thus  plated  in  habiliments  of  war  ; 
And  formally,  according  to  our  law, 
Depose  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

Marshal. 
What  is  thy  name,  and  wherefore  com'st  thou 
hither. 
Before  King  Richard  in  his  royal  lists  ? 
Against  whom  com'st  thou?  and  what  is  thy 

quarrel  ? 
Speak  like  a  true  knight,  so  defend  thee  heaven  ! 


Bolingbroke. 
Harry  of  Hercfmf,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Am  1  ;  who  ready  here  do  stand  in  arms, 
To  prove  by  God's  grace,  and  my  body's  valour, 
In  lists,  on  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Norfolk, 
That  ho's  a  traitor,  foul  and  dangerous, 
To  God  of  heaven,  king  Richard,  and  to  me  ; 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  defend  me  heaven  ! 

Marshal. 
On  pain  of  death  no  person  be  so  bold, 
Or  daring  hardy,  as  to  touch  the  lists  ; 
Except  the  marshal,  and  such  officers 
Appoiuted  to  direct  these  fair  designs. 

BoMaJhl 

Lord  marshal,  let  me    kiss  my  sovereign's 
And  bow  my  knee  before  his  majesty  :       [hand, 
For  Mowbrai/  and  myself  are  like  two  men 
That  vow  a  long  and  weary  pilgrimage  ; 
Then  let  us  take  a  ceremonious  leave, 
And  loving  farewell  of  our  several  friends. 
Maisiial. 

The  appellant  in  all  duty  greets  your  high- 
ness, 
And  craves  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  take  his  leave. 

King  Richard. 
We  will  descend,  and  fold  him  in  our  arms 
Cousin  of  Hereford,  as  thy  cause  is  right, 
So  be  thy  fortune  in  this  royal  fight. 
Farewell,  my  blood  ;  which  if  to-day  thou  shed, 
Lament  we  may,  but  not  revenge  thee  dead. 

Bolingbroke. 
O  !  let  no  noble  eye  profane  a  tear 
For  me,  if  1  be  gor'd  with  Mowbray' %  spear. 
As  confident  as  is  the  falcon's  flight 

Against  a  bird,  do  I  with  Mowbray  fight . 

My  loving  lord,  I  take  my  leave  of  you  ;  — 
Of  you,  my  noble  cousin,  lord  Aumerle  ;  — 
Not  sick,  although  I  have  to  do  with  death, 
But  lusty,  young,  and  cheerly  drawing  breath. 
Lo  !  as  at  English  feasts,  so  I  regreet 
;  The  daintiest  last,  to  make  the  end  most  sweet: 
!  O  !  thou   [To  Gaunt.'  the  earthly  author  of  my 
blood, — 
Whose  youthful  spirit,  in  me  regenerate, 
Doth  with  a  two-fold  vigour  lift  me  up 
To  reach  at  victory  above  my  head, 
Add  proof  unto  mine  armour  with  thy  prayers  ; 
j  And  with  thy  blessings  steel  my  lance's  point, 
i  That  it  may  enter  Mowbray's  waxen  coat, 
j  And  furbish  new  the  name  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
j  Even  in  the  lusty  'haviour  of  his  son. 

Gaunt. 
I      God  in  thy  good  cause  make  thee  prosperous ! 
1  Be  swift  like  lightning  in  the  execution ; 
;  And  let  thy  blows,  doubly  redoubled, 

Fall  like  amazing  thunder  on  the  casque 

Of  thy  adverse  pernicious  enemy : 

Rouse  up  thy  youthful  blood,  be  valiant  and  live. 

Bolingbroke. 

Mine  innocence,  and  Saint  George  to  thrive  ! 
Norfolk. 

However  God,  or  fortune,  cast  my  lot, 
There  lives  or  dies,  true  to  king  Richard's  throne, 
A  loyal,  just,  and  upright  gentleman. 
Never  did  captive  with  a  freer  heart 
Cast  off  his  chains  of  bondage,  and  embrace 
His  golden  uncontroll'd  enfranchisement, 
More  than  my  dancing  soul  doth  celebrate 

This  feast  of  battle  with  mine  adversary 

Most  mighty  liege,  and  my  companion  peers, 
Take  from  my  mouth  the  wish  of  happy  years : 
As  gentle  and  as  jocund,  as  to  jest, 
Go  I  to  fight.     Truth  bath  a  quiet  breast. 

King 


4io 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  i.  Sc.  m 


1 


Norfolk. 
A  heavy  sentence,  my  most  sovereign  liege, 

;  And  all  unlook'd  for  from  your  highness'  mouth: 

i  A  dearer  merit,  not  so  deep  a  maim 
As  to  be  cast  forth  in  the  common  air, 
Have  I  deserved  at  your  highness'  hands. 
The  language  1  have  learn'd  these  forty  years, 
My  native  English,  now  I  must  forego  ; 
And  now  my  tongue's  use  is  to  me  no  more, 
Than  an  unstringed  viol,  or  a  harp  ; 
Or  like  a  cunning  instrument  cas'd  up, 


King  Richard. 
Farewell,  my  lord :  securely  I  espy 
Virtue  with  valour  couched  in  thine  eye.— 
Order  the  trial,  marshal,  and  begin. 
Marshal. 
Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Receive  thy  lance ;  and  God  defend  the  right ! 
Bolingbroke. 
Strong  as  a  tower  in  hope,  I  cry,  amen. 

Marshal. 
Go  bear  this  lance  [To  an  Officer^  Thomas,  I  ^tS^^^iSSShSS 

duke  of  NorfiK.  ^  VZl£™™^^*J&?*l 

Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Stands  here  for  God,  his  sovereign,  and  himself, 
On  pain  to  be  found  false  and  recreant, 
To  prove  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray, 
A  traitor  to  his  God,  his  king,  and  him; 
And  dares  him  to  set  forward  to  the  fight. 
Second  Herald. 
Here  standeth   Thomas  Mowbray,   duke  of 
Norfolk, 


On  pain  to  be  found  false  and  recreant, 
Both  to  defend  himself,  and  to  approve 
Henry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
To  God,  his  sovereign,  and  to  him,  disloyal ; 
Courageously,  and  with  a  free  desire, 
Attending  but  the  signal  to  begin. 
Marshal. 
Sound,  trumpets ;  and  set  forward,  combatants, 

Stay,  the  king  hath  thrown  his  warder  down. 
King  Richard. 
Let  them  lay  by  their  helmets   and   their 
spears, 
And  both  return  back  to  their  chairs  again.— 
Withdraw  with  us  ;  and  let  the  trumpets  sound, 

While  we  return  these  dukes  what  we  decree 

[A  long  nourish 


Within  my  mouth  you  have  enjail'd  my  tongue, 
Doubly  portcullis'd,  with  my  teeth  and  lips  ; 
And  dull,  unfeeling,  barren  ignorance 
Is  made  my  jailor  to  attend  on  me. 
I  am  too  old  to  fawn  upon  a  nurse, 
Too  far  in  years  to  be  a  pupil  now  ; 
>  What  is  thy  sentence,  then,  but  speechless  death, 
Which  robs  my  tongue  from  breathing  native 
breath  ? 

King  Richard. 
It  boots  thee  not  to  be  compassionate : 
After  our  sentence  plaining  comes  too  late. 
Norfolk. 
Then,  thus  I  turn  me  from  my  country's  light, 
To  dwell  in  solemn  shades  of  endless  night. 

[Retiring. 
King  Richard. 
Return  again,  and  take  an  oath  with  thee. 
Lay  on  our  royal  sword  your  banish'd  hands  ; 
Swear  by  the  duty  that  ye  owe  to  God, 
(Our  part  therein  we  banish  with  yourselves) 
To  keep  the  oath  that  we  administer  :  — 
You  never  shall  (so  help  you  truth  and  God  !) 
Embrace  each  other's  love  in  banishment ; 
Nor  never  look  upon  each  other's  face  ; 
Nor  never  write,  regreet,  nor  reconcile 
This  lowering  tempest  of  your  home-bred  hate ; 


Draw  near.  [To  the  Combatants,]  and  list  what    ^or  never  by  advised  purpose  meet, 


with  our  council  we  have  done. 
For  that  our  kingdom's  earth  should  not  be  soil'd 
With  that  dear  blood  which  it  hath  fostered  ; 
And  for  our  eyes  do  hate  the  dire  aspect 
Of  civil  wounds  plough'd  up  with  neighbours' 

swords ; 
[And  for  we  think  the  eagle-winged  pride 
Of  sky-aspiring  and  ambitious  thoughts, 
With  rival-hating  envy,  set  on  you 
To  wake  our  peace,  which  in  our  country's  cradle 
Draws  the  sweet  infant  breatli  of  gentle  sleep ;] 
Which  so  rous'd  up  with  boisterous  untun'd 

drums, 
With  harsh  resounding  trumpets'  dreadful  bray, 
And  grating  shock  of  wrathful  iron  arms, 
Might  from  our  quiet  confines  fright  fair  peace, 
And  make  us  wade  even  in  our  kindred's  blood: 
Therefore,  we  banish  you  our  territories  :  — 
You,  cousin  Hereford,  upon  pain  of  life, 
Till  twice  five  summers  have  enrich'd  our  fields, 
Shall  not  regreet  our  fair  dominions, 
But  tread  the  stranger  paths  of  banishment. 

Your  will  be  done.    This  must  my  comfort  be, 
That  sun  that  warms  you  here  shall  shine  on  me ;  j 
And  those  his  golden  beams,  to  you  here  lent, 
Shall  point  on  me,  and  gild  my  banishment. 

Norfolk,  for  thee  remains  a  heavier  doom, 
Which  I  with  some  unwillingness  pronounce: 
The  sly  slow  hours  shall  not  determinate 
The  dateless  limit  of  thy  dear  exile. 
The  hopeless  word  of— never  to  return 
Breathe  I  against  thee,  upon  pain  of  life. 


To  plot,  contrive,  or  complot  any  ill, 
'Gainst  us,  our  state,  our  subjects,  or  our  land. 
Bolingbroke. 
I  swear. 

Norfolk. 
And  I,  to  keep  all  this. 

Bolingbroke. 
Norfolk,  so  fare,  as  to  mine  enemy.  — 
By  this  time,  had  the  king  permitted  us, 
One  of  our  souls  had  wander'd  in  the  air, 
Banish'd  this  frail  sepulchre  of  our  flesh, 
As  now  our  flesh  is  banish'd  from  this  land  : 
Confess  thy  treasons,  ere  thou  fly  the  realm  ; 
Since  thou  hast  far  to  go,  bear  not  along 
The  clogging  burden  of  a  guilty  soul. 
Norfolk. 
No,  Bolingbroke :  if  ever  I  were  traitor, 
My  name  be  blotted  from  the  book  of  life, 
And  I  from  heaven  banish'd  as  from  hence. 
But  what  thou  art,  God,  thou,  and  I  do  know ; 

And  all  too  soon,  I  fear,  the  king  shall  rue 

Farewell,  my  liege. — Now  no  way  can  I  stray : 
Save  back  to  England,  all  the  world's  my  way. 

[Exit. 
King  Richard. 
Uncle,  even  in  the  glasses  of  thine  eyes 
I  see  thy  grieved  heart :  thy  sad  aspect 
Hath  from  the  number  of  his  banish'd  years 
Pluck'd  four  away.—  To  Bolingbrok- .]      Six 

frozen  winters  spent, 
Return  with  welcome  home  from  banishment. 
Bolingbroke. 
How  long  a  time  lies  in  one  little  word  ! 

Four 


A«  r  i. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


4»> 


]  <mr  lagging  winters  and  four  wanton  spring*. 
End  in  a  word  :  such  is  the  breath  of  kings. 

1  thank  my  liege,  that  in  regard  of  me 
He  shortens  four  years  of  my  son's  exile  ; 
But  little  vantage  shall  I  reap  thereby, 
For,  ere  the  six  years,  that  he  hath  to  spend, 
Can  change  their  moons,  and  bring  their  time* 

about, 
My  oil-dried  lamp,  and  time-bewasted  light, 
Shall  be  extinct  with  age  and  endless  night : 
Mv  inch  of  taper  will  bfl  burnt  and  done, 
And  blindfold  death  not  let  me  see  my  son. 

King  Richard. 
Why,  uncle,  thou  hast  many  years  to  live. 

But  not  a  minute,  king,  that  thou  canst  give: 
Shorten  my  days  thou  canst  with  sullen  sorrow. 
And  pluck   nights  from    me,  but  not  lend  a 

morrow. 
Thou  canst  help  time  to  furrow  me  with  age, 
But  stop  no  wrinkle  in  his  pilgrimage  : 
Thy  word  is  current  with  him  for  my  death, 
But,  dead,  thy  kingdom  cannot  buy  my  breath. 
K:n*  Klchard. 

Thy  son  is  banish'd  upon  good  advice, 
Whereto  thy  tongue  a  party-verdict  gave : 
Why  at  our'justice  seem'st  thou,  then,  to  lower? 

Things  sweet  to  taste  prove  in  digestion  sour. 
You  urg'd  me  as  a  judge ;  but  1  had  rather, 
You  would  have  bid  me  argue  like  a  father. 
[O  !  had  it  been  a  stranger,  not  my  child, 
To  smooth  his  fault  I  should  have  been  more 
A  partial  slander  sought  1  to  avoid,  [mild : 

And  in  the  sentence  my  own  life  destroy'd.] 
Alas  !  1  look'd  when  some  of  you  should  say, 
I  was  too  strict,  to  make  mine  own  away  ; 
But  you  gave  leave  to  my  unwilling  tongue, 
Against  my  will,  to  do  myself  this  wrong. 
I  Richard. 

Cousin,  farewell ;— and,  uncle,  bid  him  so : 
Six  years  we  banish  him,  and  he  shall  go. 

[nourish.     Exeunt  King  Richard  and  Traiu. 
Aunierle. 

Cousin,   farewell:    what  presence  must  not 
know, 
From  where  do  you  remain,  let  paper  show. 

My  lord,  no  leave  take  I ;  for  I  will  ride, 
As  far  as  land  will  let  me,  by  your  side. 

O !  to  what  purpose  dost  thou  hoard  thy  words, 
That  thou  return'st  no  greeting  to  thy  friends  ? 

I  have  too  few  to  take  my  leave  of  you. 

When  the  tongue's  office  should  be  prodigal 

To  breathe  th'  abundant  dolour  of  the  heart. 

int. 

Thy  grief  is  but  thy  absence  for  a  time. 

Bolinc 
Joy  absent,  grief  is  present  for  that  time. 

What  is  six  winters  ?  they  are  quickly  gone. 

Bollni 
To  men  in  joy  ;  but  grief  makes  one  hour  ten. 

Call  it  a  travel,  that  thou  tak'st  for  pleasure. 

Bolingbroke. 
My  heart  will  sigh  when  I  miscall  it  so. 
Which  tinds  it  an  enforced  pilgrimage. 


tot, 
The  sullen  passage  of  thy  weary  steps 
Esteem  a  foil,  wherein  thou  art  to  net 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  home-return. 

[Bolinebroke. 
Nay,  rather,  every  tedious  stride  I  make 
,  Will  but  remember  me,  what  a  deal  of  world 
1  1  wander  from  the  jewels  that  1  love. 

Must  I  not  serve  a  long  apprenticehood 
I  To  foreign  passages,  and  in  the  end. 
Having  my  freedom,  boast  of  nothing  else 
But  that  1  was  a  journeyman  to  grief? 

Gaunt. 
All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits, 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens. 
Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  thus  ; 
'  There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity  : 
Think  not  the  king  did  banish  thee, 
But  thou  the  king  :  woe  doth  the  heavier  sit, 
Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faiutly  borne. 
Go,  say  I  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honour, 
And  not  the  king  exil'd  thee  ;  or  suppose, 
Devouring  pestilence  hangs  in  our  air, 
And  thou  art  flying  to  a  fresher  clime : 
Look,  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st,  not  whence  thou 
Suppose  the  singing  birds  musicians,      [com'st : 
The  grass  whereon  thou  tread'st  the  presence 

strew 'd, 
The  flowers  fair  ladies,  and  thy  steps  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure,  or  a  dance ; 
For  gnarling  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  that  mocks  at  it,  and  sets  it  light.] 

Bolingbroke. 

0  t  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand, 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus  ? 
Or  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite, 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast  ? 

Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow, 
By  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat  ? 
O  1  no :  the  apprehension  of  the  good, 
Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse  : 
Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more, 
Than  when  it  bites,  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 
Gaunt. 
Come,  come,  my  son,  I'll  bring  thee  on  thy 
way : 
Had  I  thy  youth  and  cause,  I  would  not  stay. 

Then,  England's  ground  farewell :  sweet  soil, 
adieu ; 
My  mother,  and  my  nurse,  that  bears  me  yet ! 
;  Where-e'er  I  wander,  boast  of  this  1  can. 
Though  banish'd,  yet  a  trueborn  Englishman. 
[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  IV.    The  same.     A  Boom  in  the 
King's  Castle. 

;  Enter  King  Richard,  Bagot,  and  Green,  at  one 

I  door  ;  Aumerle  at  another. 

King  Richard. 

We  did  observe Cousin  Aumerle, 

How  far  brought  you  high  Hereford  on  his  way  ? 
Aumerle. 

1  brought  high  Hereford,  if  you  call  him  so. 
But  to  the  next  highway,  and  there  I  left  him. 

King  Kit-hard. 
And  say,  what  store  of  parting  tears  were  shed  ? 

Aumerle. 
'Faith,  none  for  me :  except  the  north-east 
wind, 
Which  then  blew  bitterly  against  our  faces, 

Awak'd 


4-ia 


KING  RICHARD  H 


Act  i.  Sc.  ix. 


Awak'd  the  sleeping  rheum,  and  so  by  chance 
Did  grace  our  hollow  parting  with  a  tear. 
King  Richard. 
What  said  our  cousin,  when  you  parted  with  i 

him' 

Aumerle. 
Farewell:  and,  for  my  heart  disdained  that , 

my  tongue 
Should  so  profane  the  word,  that  taught  me  craft 
To  counterfeit  oppression  of  such  grief, 
That  words  seem'd  buried  in  my  sorrow's  grave. 
Marry,  would  the  word  "  farewell "  have  length- 

eo'd  hours, 
And  added  years  to  his  short  banishment, 
He  should  have  had  a  volume  of  farewells  ; 
But,  since  it  would  not,  he  had  none  of  me. 
King  Richard. 
He  is  our  cousin,  cousin  ;  but  'tis  doubt, 
When  time  shall  call  him  home  from  banishment, : 
Whether  our  kinsman  come  to  see  his  friends. 
Ourself,  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here,  and  Green, 
Observ'd  his  courtship  to  the  common  people :   I 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts, 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy  ; 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves  ;    \ 
Wooing  poor  craftsmen  with  the  craft  of  smiles, ' 
And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune, 
As  'twere  to  banish  their  affects  witli  him. 
Off  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench  ; 
A  brace  of  draymen  bid  God  speed  him  well, 
And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee, 
With— "Thanks,  my  countrymen,  my  loving i 

friends;" — 
As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his, 
And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope.  - 

Green. 
Well,  he  is  gone;  and  with  him   go  these 
thoughts. 
Now  for  the  rebels,  which  stand  out  in  Ireland, 
Expedient  manage  must  be  made,  my  liege, 
Ere  farther  leisure  yield  them  farther  means, 
For  their  advantage,  and  your  highness'  loss. 

King  Richard. 

We  will  ourself  in  person  to  this  war : 
And,  for  our  coffers  with  too  great  a  court, 
And  liberal  largess,  are  grown  somewhat  light, 
We  are  enfore'd  to  farm  our  royal  realm  ; 
The  revenue  whereof  shall  furnish  us 
For  our  affairs  in  hand.     If  that  come  short, 
Our  substitutes  at  home  shall  have  blank  char-j 
ters  ;  [rich,  | 

Whereto,  when  they  shall  know  what  men  are 
They  shall  subscribe  them  for  large  sums  of  gold, 
And  send  them  after  to  supply  our  wants, 
For  we  will  make  for  Ireland  presently. 

Enter  Bushy. 
Bushy,  what  news  ? 

Bushy. 
Old  John  of  Gaunt  is  grievous  sick,  my  lord, 
Suddenly  taken,  and  hath  sent  post-haste, 
To  entreat  your  majesty  to  visit  him. 

King  Richard. 
Where  lies  he  ? 

Bushy. 

At  Ely-house. 

King  Richard. 
Now  put  it,  God,  in  his  physician's  mind, 
To  help  him  to  his  grave  immediately  ! 
The  lining  of  his  coffers  shall  make  coats 
To  deck  our  soldiers  for  these  Irish  wars. — 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  all  go  visit  him  : 
Pray  God,  we  may  make  haste,  and  come  too 
late !  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

.  SCENE  I.    London.    An  Apartment  in  Ely. 
house. 

Gaunt  on  a  Couch  ;  the  Duke  of  York,  and  " 
others,  standing  by  him. 
Gaunt. 
W/"ILL  the  king  come,  that  I  may  breathe  my 
*T      last 

In  wholesome  counsel  to  his  unstaid  youth  ? 

York. 

Vex  not  yourself,  nor  strive  not  with  your 

For  all  in  vain  comes  counsel  to  his  ear.  [breath  ; 

Gaunt 

O  !  but  they  say,  the  tongues  of  dying  men 

Enforce  attention  like  deep  harmony :  [in  vain ; 

Where  words  are  scarce,  they  are  seldom  spent 

For  they  breathe  truth  that  breathe  their  words 

in  pain. 
He  that  no  more  must  say  is  listen 'd  more, 
Than  they  whom  youth  and  ease  have  taught 
to  glose ;  [before. 

More  are  men's  ends  mark'd,  than  their  lives 

The  setting  sun,  and  music  at  the  close, 
As  the  last  taste  of  sweets,  is  sweetest  last, 
Writ  in  remembrance  more  than  things  long  past. 
Though  Richard  my  life's  counsel  would  not 

hear, 
My  death's  sad  tale  may  yet  undeaf  his  ear. 

York 
No ;  it  is  stopp'd  with  other  nattering  sounds, 
As  praises  of  his  state  :  then,  there  are  found 
Lascivious  metres,  to  whose  venom  sound 
The  open  ear  of  youth  doth  always  listen  : 
Report  of  fashions  in  proud  Italy  ; 
Whose  manners  still  our  tardy  apish  nation 
Limps  after,  in  base  imitation. 
Where  doth  the  world  thrust  forth  a  vanity, 
So  it  be  new  there's  no  respect  how  vile, 
That  is  not  quickly  buzz'd  into  his  ears  ? 
Then,  all  too  late  comes  counsel  to  be  heard, 
Where  will  doth  mutiny  with  wit's  regard. 
Direct  not  him,  whose  way  himself  will  choose: 
'Tis  breath  thou  lack'st,  and  that  breath  wilt 

thou  lose. 

Gaunt 
Methinks,  I  am  a  prophet  new  inspir'd, 
And  thus,  expiring,  do  foretell  of  him. 
His  rash  fierce  blaze  of  riot  cannot  last, 
For  violent  fires  soon  burn  out  themselves ; 
Small  showers  last  long,  but  sudden  storms  are 

short ; 
He  tires  betimes,  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes  ; 
With  eager  feeding  food  doth  choke  the  feeder: 
Light  vanity,  insatiate  cormorant, 
Consuming  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself. 
This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  scepter'd  isle, 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise ; 
This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herself, 
Against  infection,  and  the  hand  of  war ; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world, 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 
Against  tlie  envy  of  less  happier  lands ; 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this 

England, 
This  nurse,  this  teeming  womb  of  royal  kinsrs, 
Fear'd  by  their  breed,  and  famous  by  their  birth. 
Renowned 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


KING  IilCIIARDIL 


4H 


Renowned  for  their  deeds  as  far  from  home, 

lor  Christian  service  and  true  chivalry, 

As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jewry 

Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  Son  : 

This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear,  dear  I 

land, 
Dear  for  her  reputation  through  the  world, 
Is  now  leas'd  out,  I  die  pronouncing  it, 
Like  to  a  tenement,  or  pelting  farm. 
England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea, 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
Of  watery  Neptmme.  is  now  bound  in  with  shame, 
With  inky  blots,  and  rotten  parchment  bonds :    I 
That  England,  that  was  wont  to  conquer  others, 
Hath  made  a  shameful  conquest  of  itself. 
Ah  I  would  the  scandal  vanish  with  my  life, 
How  happy  then  were  my  ensuing  death. 

Knter  King  Richard,  and  Quern;  Aumerle,    \ 
Bushy,  Qrwnt  Iiagot,  Host,  and  H'tlloughhy.     i 

York. 
The  king  is  come:  deal  mildly  with  his  youth; 
For  young  hot  colts,  being  raged,  do  rage  the 
more. 

Queen. 
How  fares  our  noble  uncle,  Lancaster? 

King  Kicliard. 
What,  comfort,  man  !     How  is't  with  aged 
Gaunt  f 

Gaunt. 
O,  how  that  name  befits  my  composition ! 
Old  Gaunt,  indeed ;  and  gaunt  in  being  old : 
Within  me  grief  hath  kept  a  tedious  fast ; 
And  who  abstains  from  meat,  that  is  not  gaunt? 
For  sleeping  England  long  time  have  I  watch'd ;  j 
Watching  breeds  leanness, leanness  is  all  gaunt: 
The  pleasure  that  some  fathers  feed  upon 
Is  my  strict  fast,  I  mean  my  children's  looks ; 
And  therein  fasting  hast  thou  made  me  gaunt. 
Gaunt  am  I  for  the  grave,  gaunt  as  a  grave, 
Wiiose  hollow  womb  inherits  nought  but  bones. 
King  Richard 
Can  sick  men  play  so  nicely  with  their  names? 

Gaunt. 
No ;  misery  makes  sport  to  mock  itself: 
Since  thou  dost  seek  to  kill  my  name  in  me, 
I  mock  my  name,  great  king,  to  flatter  thee. 
King  Kicliard. 
Should  dying  men  flatter  with  those  that  live' 

Gaunt. 
No,  no;  men  living  flatter  those  that  die. 

King  Richard. 
Thou,  now  a-dying,  say'st— thou  flatter'st  me.  ''■ 

Gaunt. 
O I  no ;  thou  diest,  though  I  the  sicker  be. 

King  Richard. 
I  am  in  health,  I  breathe,  and  see  thee  ill. 

Gaunt. 
Now,  He  that  made  me  knows  I  see  thee  ill ; 
111  in  myself  to  see,  and  in  thee  seeing  ill. 
1'hy  death-bed  is  no  lesser  than  the  land, 
Wherein  thou  liest  in  reputation  sick  ; 
And  thou,  too  careless  patient  as  thou  art, 
Commit' st  thy  'nointed  body  to  the  cure 
Of  those  physicians  that  first  wounded  thee. 
A  thousand  flatterers  sit  within  thy  crown, 
Whose  compass  is  no  bigger  than  thy  head, 
And  yet,  incaged  in  so  small  a  verge, 
The  waste  is  no  whit  lesser  than  thy  land. 
0 1  had  thy  grandsire,  with  a  prophet's  eye. 
Seen  how  nis  son's  son  should  destroy  his  sons, 
From  forth  thy  reach  he  would  have  laid  thy 
shame, 


Deposing  thee  before  thou  wert  possess'd. 
Which  art  possess'd  now  to  depose  thyself. 
Why,  cousin,  wert  thou  regent  of  the  world, 
It  were  a  shame  to  let  this  land  by  lease; 
But  for  thy  world  enjoying  but  this  land, 
Is  it  not  more  than  shame  to  shame  it  so? 
Landlord  of  England  art  thou  now,  not  king : 
Thy  state  of  law  is  bondslave  to  the  law, 
And  thou — 

King  Richard. 
A  lunatic  lean-witted  fool, 
Presuming  on  an  ague's  privilege, 
Dar'st  with  thy  frozen  admonition 
Wake  pale  our  cheek,  chasing  the  royal  blood 
With  fury  from  his  native  residence. 
Now,  by  my  seat's  right  royal  majesty, 
Wert  thou  not  brother  to  great  Edward's  son, 
This  tongue  that  runs  so  roundly  in  thy  head, 
Should   run   thy   head    from    thy  unreverend 
shoulders. 

Gaunt. 
0 1  spare  me  not,  my  brother  Edward's  son, 
For  that  1  was  his  father  Edward's  son  : 
That  blood  already,  like  the  pelican, 
Hast  thou  tapp'd  out,  and  drunkenly  carous'd. 
My  brother  Gloster,  plain  well-meaning  soul, 
Whom  fair  befal  in  heaven  'mongst  happy  souls  ! 
May  be  a  precedent  and  witness  good, 
That  thou  respect'st  not  spilling  Edward's  blood. 
Join  with  the  present  sickness  that  I  have, 
And  thy  unkindness  be  like  crooked  age, 
To  crop  at  once  a  too-long  withered  flower. 
Live  in  thy  shame,  but  die  not  shame  with  thee: 
These  words  hereafter  thy  tormentors  be ! — 
Convey  me  to  my  bed,  then  to  my  grave : 
Love  they  to  live,  that  love  and  honour  have. 
[  Kxit,  born"  out  by  his  Attendants. 

King  Richard. 
And  let  them  die,  that  age  and  sullens  have, 
For  both  hast  thou,  and  both  become  the  grave. 
York. 
I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  impute  his  words 
To  wayward  sickliness  and  age  in  him  : 
He  loves  you,  on  my  life,  and  holds  you  dear 
As  Harry,  duke  of  Hereford,  were  he  here. 
King  Richard. 
Right,  you  say  true ;  as  Hereford's  love,  so 
As  theirs,  so  mine  ;  and  all  be  as  it  is.        [his : 

Knter  Northumberland. 
Northumberland. 
My  liege,  old  Gaunt  commends  him  to  your 
majesty. 

King  Richard. 
What  says  he  ? 

Northumberland. 
Nay,  nothing  ;  all  is  said. 
His  tongue  is  now  a  stringless  instrument : 
Words,  life,  and  all,  old  Lancaster  hath  spent. 
York. 

Be  York  the  next  that  must  be  bankrupt  so  ! 
Though  death  be  poor,  it  ends  a  mortal  woe. 
King  Richard. 

The  ripest  fruit  first  falls,  and  so  doth  he : 
His  time  is  spent ;  our  pilgrimage  must  be. 
So  much  for  that.  —  Now  for  our  Irish  wars. 
We   must   supplant   those   rough   rug-headed 

kerns. 
Which  live  like  venom,  where  no  venom  else,     j 
But  only  they,  hath  privilege  to  live : 
And  for  these  great  affairs  do  ask  some  charge, 
Towards  our  assistance  we  do  seize  to  us 
The  plate,  coin,  revenues,  and  moveables, 
Whereof  our  uncle  Gaunt  did  stand  possess'd. 

York 


4H 


KING  RICHARD  H 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Voik. 
How  long  shall  I  be  patient  ?    Ah  !  how  long 
Shall  tender  duty  make  me  suffer  wrong? 
Not  Gloster's   death,  nor  Hereford's   banish- 
ment,  [wrongs, 

Not  G aunt's  rebukes,  nor  England's  private 
Nor  the  prevention  of  poor  Bolingbroke 
About  his  marriage,  nor  my  own  disgrace. 
Have  ever  made  me  sour  my  patient  cheek, 
Or  bend  one  wrinkle  on  my  sovereign's  face. 
I  am  the  last  of  noble  Edward's  sons, 
Of  whom  thy  father,  prince  of  Wales,  was  first: 
In  war  was  never  lion  rag'd  more  fierce, 
In  peace  was  never  gentle  lamb  more  mild, 
Than  was  that  young  and  princely  gentleman. 
His  face  thou  hast,  for  even  so  look'd  he, 
Accomplish'd  with  the  number  of  thy  hours  ; 
But  when  he  frown'd,  it  was  against  the  French, 
And  not  against  his  friends  :  his  noble  hand 
Did  win  what  he  did  spend,  and  spent  not  that 
Which  his  triumphant  father's  hand  had  won  : 
His  hands  were  guilty  of  no  kindred  blood, 
But  bloody  with  the  enemies  of  his  kin. 
O,  Richard!     York  is  too  far  gone  with  grief, 
Or  else  he  never  would  compare  between. 

King  Richard. 
Why,  uncle,  what's  the  matter  ? 


O,  my  liege ! 
Pardon  me,  if  you  please  ;  if  not,  I,  pleas'd 
Not  to  be  pardoned,  am  content  withal. 
Seek  you  to  seize,  and  gripe  into  your  hands, 
The  royalties  and  rights  of  banish'd  Hereford  f    J 
Is  not  Gaunt  dead,  and  doth  not  Hereford  live?  i 
Was  not  Gaunt  just,  and  is  not  Harry  true  ? 
Did  not  the  one  deserve  to  have  an  heir  ? 
Is  not  his  heir  a  well-deserving  son  ? 
Take  Hereford's  rights  away,  and  take  from  j 
His  charters  and  his  customary  rights  ;      [time  j 
Let  not  to-morrow,  then,  ensue  to-day  ; 
Be  not  thyself;  for  how  art  thou  a  king, 
But  by  fair  sequence  and  succession  ? 
Now,  afore  God  (God  forbid,  I  say  true  !) 
If  you  do  wrongfully  seize  Hereford's  rights, 
Call  in  the  letters  patents  that  he  hath 
By  his  attornies-general  to  sue 
His  livery,  and  deny  his  offer'd  homage, 
You  pluck  a  thousand  dangers  on  your  head, 
You  lose  a  thousand  well-disposed  hearts, 
And  prick  my  tender  patience  to  those  thoughts,  .' 
Which  honour  and  allegiance  cannot  think. 

King  Richard. 
Think  what  you  will :    we   seize   into  our  j 
hands 
His  plate,  his  goods,  his  money,  and  his  lands. 

York. 
I'll  not  be  by  the  while.    My  liege,  farewell :    ! 
What  will  ensue  hereof,  there's  none  can  tell ; 
But  by  bad  courses  may  be  understood, 
That  their  events  can  never  fall  out  good. 

[Exit. 
King  Richard. 
Go,  Bushy,  to  the  earl  of  Wiltshire  straight : 
Bid  him  repair  to  us  to  Ely-house, 
To  see  this  business.    To-morrow  next 
We  will  for  Ireland;  and  'tis  time,  I  trow  : 
And  we  create,  in  absence  of  ourself, 
Our  uucle  York  lord  governor  of  England, 
For  he  is  just,  and  always  lov'd  us  well.  — 
Come  on,  our  queen :  to-morrow  must  we  part ; 
Be  merry,  for  our  time  of  stay  is  short. 

[Flourish. 
[Exeunt  King,   Queen,    Bushy,    Aumerle, 
Green,  and  Bagot. 


„,  ,,  ,     .      Northumberland, 

Well,  lords,  the  duke  of  Lancaster  is  dead. 

Ross. 

And  living  too,  for  now  his  son  is  duke. 

_  Willoughby. 

Barely  in  title,  not  in  revenues. 

„.  , .    .  Northumberland. 

Richly  m  both,  if  justice  had  her  right. 

My  heart  is  great ;  but  it  must  break  with 
silence, 
Ere't  be  disburden'd  with  a  liberal  tongue. 

Northumberland. 
Nay,  speak  thy  mind  ;  and  let  him  ne'er  speak 
more, 
That  speaks  thy  words  again  to  do  thee  harm  ! 

Willoughby. 
Tends  that  thou'dst  speak,  to  the  duke  of 
If  it  be  so,  out  with  it  boldly,  man  ;   [Hereford  f 
Quick  is  mine  ear  to  hear  of  good  towards  him. 

No  good  at  all  that  I  can  do  for  him, 
Unless  you  call  it  good  to  pity  him, 
Bereft  and  gelded  of  his  patrimony. 

Northumberland . 
Now,  afore  God,  'tis  shame  such  wrongs  are 
In  him,  a  royal  prince,  and  manv  more    [borne 
Of  noble  blood  in  this  declining'land. 
The  king  is  not  himself,  but  basely  led 
By  flatterers  ;  and  what  they  will  inform, 
Merely  in  hate,  'gainst  any  of  us  all, 
That  will  the  king  severely  prosecute,     [heirs. 
'Gainst  us,  our  lives,  our  children,  and  our 
Ross. 
The  commons  hath  he  pill'd  with  grievous 
taxes.  [fin'd 

And  quite  lost  their  hearts  :  the  nobles  hath  he 
For   ancient   quarrels,   and    quite    lost   their 
hearts. 

Willoughby. 
And  daily  new  exactions  af  e  devis'd  ; 
As  blanks,  benevolences,  and  I  wot  not  what: 
But  what,  o'  God's  name,  doth  become  of  this  ? 
Northumberland. 
Wars  have  not  wasted  it,  for  warr'd  he  hath 
not. 
But  basely  yielded  upon  compromise       [blows. 
That  which  his  noble  ancestors  achiev'd  with 
More  hath  he  spent  in  peace,  than  they  in  wars. 

Ross. 
The  earl  of  Wiltshire  hath  the  realm  in  farm. 

Willoughbr. 
The  king's  grown  bankrupt',  like  a  broken  man. 

Northumberland. 
Reproach,  and  dissolution,  hangeth  over  him 

Ross. 
He  hath  not  money  for  these  Irish  wars, 
His  burdenous  taxations  notwithstanding, 
But  by  the  robbing  of  the  banish'd  duke. 

Northumberland. 
His  noble  kinsman :  most  degenerate  king  ! 
But,  lords,  we  hear  this  fearful  tempest  sing, 
Yet  seek  no  shelter  to  avoid  the  storm : 
We  see  the  wind  sit  sore  upon  our  sails. 
And  yet  we  strike  not,  but  securely  perish. 


We  see  the  very  wreck  that  we  must  suffer ; 
And  unavoided  is  the  danger  now, 
For  suffering  so  the  causes  of  our  wreck. 

Northumberland. 
Not  so:  even  through  the  hollow  eyes  of  death, 

I  spy 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


4^5 


I  epv  lifo  peering ;  but  I  dare  not  say 
Mow  near  the  tidings  of  our  comfort  is. 
Wlllou 
Nay,  let  us  share  thy  thoughts,  as  thou  dost 
ours. 

Kocs. 
Be  confident  to  speak,  Northumberland : 
We  three  are  but  thyself;  and,  speaking  so, 
Thy  words  are  but  as  thoughts :   therefore,  be 
bold. 

Then  thus.—  I  have  from  Port  le  Blanc,  a  bay 
In  Btitanny,  receiv'd  intelligence, 
That  Harry  duke  of  Hereford,  Reginald  lord 

Cobham, 
That  late  broke  from  the  duke  of  Exeter, 
His  brother,  archbishop  late  of  Canterbury, 
Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  sir  John  Hamston, 
Sir  John  Norbtry,  sir  Robert   Waterton,  and 

Francis  Quoint, 
All  these  well  furnish  d  by  the  duke  of  Brctagne, 
With  eight  tall  ships,  three  thousand  men  of  war. 
Are  making  hither  with  all  due  expedience, 
And  shortly  mean  to  touch  our  northern  shore : 
Perhaps,  they  had  ere  this,  but  that  they  stay 
The  first  departing  of  the  king  for  Ireland. 
If,  then,  we  shall  shake  off"  our  slavish  yoke, 
Imp  out  our  drooping  country's  broken  wing, 
Redeem  from  broking  pawn  the  blemish'd  crown, 
Wipe  off  the  dust  that  hides  our  scepter's  gilt, 
And  make  high  majesty  look  like  itself, 
Away  with  me  in  post  to  Ravenspurg  ; 
But  if  you  faint,  as  fearing  to  do  so, 
Stay  and  be  secret,  and  myself  will  go. 

To  horse,  to  horse  !  urge  doubts  to  them  that 
fear. 

Willoughby. 
Hold  out  my  horse,  and  I  will  first  be  there. 
[Exeunt 

>7?  H.     The  same.    An  Apartment  in 
the  Palace. 

Enter  Queen,  Rushy,  and  Bagot. 
f. 

Madam,  your  majesty  is  too  much  s*d : 
You  promis'd,  when  you  parted  with  the  king, 
To  lay  aside  life-harming  heaviness, 
And  entertain  a  cheerful  disposition. 
Qui 

To  please  the  king,  I  did ;  to  please  myself, 
I  cannot  do  it ;  yet  I  know  no  cause 
Why  1  should  welcome  such  a  guest  as  grief, 
Save  bidding  farewell  to  so  sweet  a  guest 
As  my  sweet  Richard.    Yet,  ag.-dn,  methinks, 
Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  fortune's  womb, 
Is  coming  towards  me ;  and  my  inward  soul 
With  nothing  trembles :  at  some  thing  it  grieves, 
More  than  with  parting  from  my  lord,  the  king. 

Bu«hy. 
Each  substance  of  a  grief  hath  twenty  sha- 
dows, 
Which  show  like  grief  itself,  but  are  not  so : 
For  sorrow's  eye,  glazed  with  blinding  tears, 
Divides  one  thing  entire  to  many  objects; 
Like  perspectives,  which,  rightly  gaz'd  upon, 
Show  nothing  but  confusion  :  ey'd  awry. 
Distinguish  form :  so  your  sweet  majesty. 
Looking  awry  upon  your  lord's  departure, 
Finds  shapes  "of  grief  more  than  himself  to  wail ; 
Which,  look'd  on  as  it  is,  is  nought  but  shadows 
Of  what  it  is  not.    Then,  thrice- gracious  queen, 
More  than  your  lord's   departure  weep  not: 
more's  not  seen ; 


Or  If  it  be,  'tU  with  false  sorrow's  eye, 
!  Which  for  things  true  weeps  things  imaginary. 

It  may  be  so ;  but  yet  my  inward  soul 
Persuades  me,  it  is  otherwise :  howe'er  it  be, 

:  I  cannot  but  be  sad ;  so  heavy  sad, 

'  As, — though  in  thinking  on  no  thought  I  think,— 
Makes  me  with  heavy  nothing  faint  and  shrink. 

,      *Tis  nothing  but  conceit,  my  gracious  lady. 
Que 
'Tis  nothing  less:  conceit  is  still  deriv'd 
From  some  forefather  grief;  mine  is  not  so, 
j  For  nothing  hath  begot  my  something  grief; 
Or  something  hath  the  nothing  that  I  grieve: 
'Tis  in  reversion  that  I  do  possess, 
But  what  it  is,  that  is  not  yet  known  ;  what 
I  cannot  name;  'tis  nameless  woe,  I  wot. 

Enter  Green. 
Green. 
God  save  your  majesty !— and  well  met,  gen- 
tlemen  

I  hope,  the  king  is  not  yet  shipp'd  for  Ireland. 

Queen. 

Why  hop'st  thou  so  ?  'tis  better  hope  he  is, 

I  For  his  designs  crave  haste,  his  haste  good  hope ; 

I  Then,  wherefore  dost  thou  hope,   he   is   not 

shipp'd  ? 

Greeu. 
j     That  he,  our  hope,  might  have  retir'd  his 

power, 
j  And  driven  into  despair  an  enemy's  hope. 
Who  strongly  hath  set  footing  in  this  land. 
The  banish'd  Bolingbroke  repeals  himself, 
And  with  uplifted  arms  is  safe  arriv'd 
At  Ravenspurg. 

Queen. 

Now,  God  in  heaven  forbid ! 

Green. 

Ah !  madam,  'tis  too  true:  and  that  is  worse, 

The  lord  Northumberland,  his  son,  young  Henry 

Percy, 
The  lords  of  Ross,  Beaumond,  and  fVilloughby, 
With  all  their  powerful  friends,  are  fled  to  him. 

Bushy. 

Why  have  you  not  proclaim 'd  Northumberland, 

And  all  the  rest  of  the  revolted  faction,  traitors  ? 

Green. 
We  have:  whereupon  the  earl  of  Worcester 
Hath  broken  his  staff,  resign'd  his  stewardship, 
And  all  the  household  servants  fled  with  him 
To  Bolingbroke. 

Queen. 
So,  Green,  thou  art  the  midwife  to  my  woe, 
!  And  Bolingbroke  my  sorrow's  dismal  heir: 
Now  hath  my  soul  brought  forth  her  prodigy, 
And  I,  a  gasping  new-deliver'd  mother. 
Have  woe  to  woe,  sorrow  to  sorrow  join'd. 
Bushy. 
Despair  not,  madam. 

Que- 

Who  shall  hinder  me? 
I  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 
With  cozening  hope:  he  is  a  flatterer, 
A  parasite,  a  keeper-back  of  death, 
1  Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life, 
j  Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity. 

Kilter  the  Duke  of  York. 


Green. 
Here  comes  the  duke  ol  York. 


Queen. 


Ill 


KING  KICHARD  II. 


Act  ii.  Se.  n. 


Queen. 
With  signs  of  war  about  his  aged  neck. 
0 1  full  of  careful  business  are  his  looks. — 
Uncle,  for  God's  sake,  speak  comfortable  words. 

York. 

[Should  I  do  so,  I  should  belie  my  thoughts :]  | 
Comfort's  in  heaven  ;  and  we  are  on  the  earth, 
Where  nothing  lives  but  crosses,  care,  and  grief. 
Your  husband,  he  is  gone  to  save  far  off, 
Whilst  others  come  to  make  him  lose  at  home: 
Here  am  I  left  to  underprop  his  land, 
Who,  weak  with  age,  cannot  support  myself. 
Now  comes  the  sick  hour  that  his  surfeit  made ; 
Now  shall  he  try  his  friends  that  fiatter'd  him. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Servant. 
My  lord,  your  son  was  gone  before  I  came. 

York. 
He  was?— Why,  so:— go  all  which  way  it 
will!— 
The  nobles  they  are  fled,  the  commons  they  are 

cold, 
And  will,  I  fear,  revolt  on  Hereford's  side. — 
Sirrah,  get  thee  to  Plashy,  to  my  sister  Gloster; 
Bid  her  send  me  presently  a  thousand  pound. 
Hold ;  take  my  ring. 

Servant. 
My  lord,  I  had  forgot  to  tell  your  lordship: 
To-day,  as  I  came  by,  I  called  there; 
But  1  shall  grieve  you  to  report  the  rest. 
York. 
What  is't,  knave. 

Servant. 
An  hour  before  I  came  the  duchess  died. 

York. 
God  for  his  mercy !  what  a  tide  of  woes 
Comes  rushing  on  this  woeful  land  at  once! 
I  know  not  what  to  do:  —  I  would  to  God, 
(So  my  untruth  had  not  provok'd  him  to  it) 
The  king  had  cut  offmy  head  with  my  brother's. — 
What!  are  there  no  posts  dispatch'd  for  Ire- 
land?— 
How  shall  we  do  for  money  for  these  wars  ?  — 
Come,  sister, — cousin,  I  would  say:  pray,  pardon 

me 

Go,  fellow,  [In  the  Servant, ^   get  thee  home; 

provide  some  carts, 
And  bring  away  the  armour  that  is  there. — 

[Exit  Servant. 
Gentlemen,  will  you  go  muster  men? 
If  I  know  how,  or  which  way,  to  order  these 
Thus  disorderly  thrust  into  my  hands,   [affairs, 
Never  believe  me.    Both  are  my  kinsmen : 
Th'  one  is  my  sovereign,  whom  both  my  oath 
And  duty  bids  defend ;  th'  other  again, 
Is  my  kinsman,  whom  the  king  hath  wrong'd, 
Whom  conscience  and  my  kindred  bids  to  right. 
Well,  somewhat  we  must  do.  — Come,  cousin, 
I'll  dispose  of  you — Gentlemen,  go  muster  up 
And  meet  me  presently  at  Berkley,    [your  men, 
I  should  to  Plashy  too, 
But  time  will  not  permit.— All  is  uneven, 
And  every  thing  is  left  at  six  and  seven. 

[Exeunt  York  and  Queen. 
Bushy. 
The  wind  sits  fair  for  news  to  go  for  Ireland, 
But  none  returns.    For  us  to  levy  power, 
Proportionable  to  the  enemy, 
Is  all  impossible. 

Green. 
Besides,  our  nearness  to  the  king  in  love 
Is  near  the  hate  of  those  love  not  the  king. 


Bagot. 
And  that's  the  wavering  commons ;  for  their 
love 
Lies  in  their  purses,  and  whoso  empties  them, 
By  so  much  fills  their  hearts  with  deadly  hate. 

Bushy. 
Wherein  the  king  stands  generally  condemn'd. 

Bagot. 
If  judgment  lie  in  them,  then  so  do  we, 
Because  we  ever  have  been  near  the  king. 

Green. 
Well,  I'll  for  refuge  straight  to  Bristol  castle: 
The  earl  of  Wiltshire  is  already  there. 
Bushy. 
Thither  will  I  with  you;  for  little  office 
Will  the  hateful  commons  perform  for  us, 

Except  like  curs  to  tear  us  all  to  pieces 

Will  you  go  along  with  us  ? 

Bagot. 
No ;  I  will  to  Ireland  to  his  majesty. 
Farewell :  if  heart's  presages  be  not  vain, 
We  three  here  part,  that  ne'er  shall  meet  again. 
Bushy. 
That's  as  York  thrives  to  beat  back  Boling- 
broke. 

Green. 
Alas,  poor  duke !  the  task  he  undertakes 
Is  numbering  sands,  and  drinking  oceans  dry: 
Where  one  on  his  side  fights,  thousands  will  fly. 
Farewell  at  once ;  for  once,  for  all,  and  ever. 
Bushy. 
Well,  we  may  meet  again. 
Bagot. 


I  fear  me,  never. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 1 1.    The  Wilds  in  Gloster  shire. 

Enter  Bolingbroke  and  Northmnberland,  with 

Forces. 

Bolingbroke. 

How  far  is  it,  my  lord,  to  Berkley  now  ? 
Northumberland. 

Believe  me,  noble  lord, 
I  am  a  stranger  here  in  Glostershire. 
These  high  wild  hills,  and  rough  uneven  ways, 
Draw  out  our  miles,  and  make  them  wearisome ; 
And  yet  your  fair  discourse  hath  been  as  sugar, 
Making  the  hard  way  sweet  and  delectable. 
But,  I  bethink  me,  what  a  weary  way 
From  Ravenspurg  to  Cotswold  will  be  found 
In  Ross  and  Willoughby,  wanting  your  company, 
Which,  I  protest,  h;ith  very  much  beguil'd 
The  tediousness  and  process  of  my  travel : 
But  theirs  is  sweeten'd  with  the  hope  to  have 
The  present  benefit  which  I  possess: 
And  hope  to  joy  is  little  less  in  joy, 
Than  hope  enjoy'd:  by  this  the  weary  lords 
Shall  make  their  way  seem  short,  as  mine  hath 

done 
By  sight  of  what  I  have,  your  noble  company. 

Bolingbroke. 
Of  much  less  value  is  my  company, 
Than  your  good  words.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Harry  Percy. 

Northumberland. 

It  is  my  son,  voung  Harry  Percy, 

Sent  from  my  brother   Worcester,  whenceso- 

Harry,  how  fares  your  uncle  ?  [ever.  — 

Porcjr. 
I  had  thought,  my  lord,  to  have  learn'd  his 
health  of  you. 

Northumberland. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


KING  RICHARD  H 


4*7 


Northumberland. 
Why,  is  he  not  with  the  queen  ? 

No,  my  good  lord :  he  hath  forsook  the  court, 
Broken  his  stiff  of  office,  and  dispers'd 
The  household  of  the  king. 

'hiimbt'rlami. 

What  was  his  reason  ? 
He  was  not  so  resolv'd,  when  last  we  spake 
Together. 

Percy. 
Because  your  lordship  was  proclaimed  traitor. 
But  he,  my  lord,  is  gone  to  Ravenspurg. 
To  offer  service  to  the  duke  of  Hertford; 
And  sent  me  over  by  Berkley,  to  discover 
What  power  the  duke  of  York  had  levied  there ; 
Then,  with  directions  to  repair  to  Ravenspurg. 
Northumberland. 
Have  you  forgot  the  duke  of  Hereford,  boy  ? 

IV  rry. 

No,  my  good  lord ;  for  that  is  not  forgot, 

Which  ne'er  1  did  remember:  to  my  knowledge, 

,  I  never  in  my  life  did  look  on  him. 

Northumberland. 

Then  learn  to  know  him  now :  this  is  the  duke. 

Percy. 
My  gracious  lord,  I  tender  you  my  service, 
Such  as  it  is,  being  tender,  raw,  and  young, 
Which  elder  days  shall  ripen,  and  confirm 
To  more  approved  service  and  desert. 
Kolingbroke. 
I  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy ;  and  be  sure, 
I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy, 
As  in  a  soul  remembering  my  good  friends; 
And  as  my  fortune  ripens  with  thy  love. 
It  shall  be  still  thy  true  love's  recompense: 
My  heart  this  covenant  makes,  my  hand  thus 
seals  it. 

Northumberland. 

How  far  is  it  to  Berkley  t    And  what  stir 

Keeps  good  old  York  there,  with  his  men  of  war  ? 

Percy. 

There  stands  the  castle,  by  yond'  tuft  of  trees, 

Mann'd  with  three  hundred  men,  as   I  have 

heard ; 
And  in  it  are  the  lords  of  York,  Berkley,  and 

St-ymour; 
None  else  of  name,  and  noble  estimate. 

Knter  Ross  and  fi'illoughby 
Northumberland. 
Here  come  the  lords  of  Ross  and  WHloughby, 
Bloody  with  spurring,  fiery-red  with  haste. 
Bolingbroke 
Welcome,  my  lords.   1  wot,  your  love  pursues 
A  banish'd  traitor:  all  my  treasury 
Is  yet  but  unfelt  thanks,  which,  more  enrich'd, 
Shall  be  your  love  and  labour's  recompense. 
Boss. 
Your  presence  makes  us  rich,  most  noble  lord. 
Willoughby. 
I     And  far  surmounts  our  labour  to  attain  it. 

Bolingbroke. 
I     Evermore  thanks,  th'  exchequer  of  the  poor ; 
Which,  till  my  infant  fortune  comes  to  years, 
; Stands  for  my' bounty.     But  who  comes  here? 

Knter  Berkley. 

Northumberland. 

1     It  is  my  lord  of  Berkley,  as  I  guess. 

Berkley. 

My  lord  of  Hereford,  my  message  is  to  you. 


liolili; 

My  lord,  my  answer  is  — to  Lancaster, 
And  I  am  come  to  seek  that  name  in  England  ; 
And  I  must  find  that  title  in  your  tongue, 
Before  I  make  reply  to  aught  you  say. 
Berkley. 
Mistake  me  not,  my  lord :  'tis  not  my  meaning. 
To  raze  one  title  of  your  honour  out. 
To  you,  my  lord,  I  come,  what  lord  you  will, 
From  the  most  gracious  regent  of  this  land, 
The  duke  of  lor*,  to  know  what  pricks  you  on 
To  take  advantage  of  the  absent  time, 
And  fright  our  native  peace  with  self-borne 
arms. 

Knter  York,  attended. 

Bolingbroke. 

I  shall  not  need  transport  my  words  by  you . 

Here  comes  his  grace  in  person. — My.nobje 


uncle. 


'Kneels. 


York. 


Show  me  thy  humble  heart,  and  not  thy  knee, 
Whose  duty  is  deceivable  and  false. 
Bolingbroke. 

My  gracious  uncle — 

York. 

Tut,  tut !    Grace  me  no  grace,  nor  uncle  me 
no  uncle: 
I  am  no  traitor's  uncle ;  and  that  word  "  grace," 
In  an  ungracious  mouth,  is  but  profane. 
Why  have  those  banish'd  and  forbidden  legs 
Dar'd  once  to  touch  a  dust  of  England's  ground  ? 
But  then,  more  why, — why  have  they  dar'd  to 
So  many  miles  upon  her  peaceful  bosom,  [march 
Frighting  her  pale-fac'd  villages  with  war, 
And  ostentation  of  despised  arms  ? 
Com'st  thou  because  th'  anointed  king  is  hence  ? 
Why,  foolish  boy,  the  king  is  left  behind, 
And  in  my  loyal  bosom  lies  his  power. 
Were  I  but  now  the  lord  of  such  hot  youth, 
As  when  brave  Gaunt,  thy  father,  and  myself, 
Rescued  the  Black  Prince,  that  young  Mars  of 

men, 
From  forth  the  ranks  of  many  thousand  French, 

0  !  then,  how  quickly  should  this  arm  of  mine, 
1  Now  prisoner  to  the  palsy,  chastise  thee, 

And  minister  correotipn  to  th v  fault ! 

I     My  gracious  uncle,  let  me  know  my  fault  : 
,On  what  condition  stands  it,  and  wherein  ? 

York. 
1     Even  in  condition  of  the  worst  degree ; 
I  In  gross  rebellion,  and  detested  treason  : 
(Thou  art  a  banish'd  man,  and  here  art  come 
{Before  the  expiration  of  thy  time, 
1  In  braving  arms  against  thy  sovereign. 

Holingbroke. 
I     As  I  was  banish'd,  I  was  banish'd  Hereford; 
I  But  as  I  come,  I  come  for  Lancaster. 
i  And,  noble  uncle,  I  beseech  your  grace, 
] Look  on  my  wrongs  with  an  indifferent  eye: 
I  You  are  my  father,  for,  methinks,  in  you 

1  see  old  Gaunt  alive :  O I  then,  my  father, 
Will  you  permit  that  I  shall  stand  condemn'd 

jA  wandering  vagabond,  my  rights  and  royalties 
[Pluck  *d  from  my  arms  perforce,  and  given  away 
I  To  upstart  unthrifts  ?     Wherefore  was  I  born  ? 
1  If  that  my  cousin  king  be  king  of  England, 
It  must  be  granted  I  am  duke  of  Lancaster. 
You  have  a  son,  Aumerle,  my  noble  kinsman  ; 
Had  you  first  died,  and  he  been  thus  trod  down, 
He  should  have  found  his  uncle  Gaunt  a  father. 
To  rouse  his  wrongs,  and  chase  them  to  the  bay. 
I  am  denied  to  sue  my  livery  here, 
And  yet  my  letters  patent  give  me  leave : 

es  My 


4-iS 


KING  RICHARD  H. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


My  father's  goods  are  all  distrain'd,  and  sold ; 
And  these,  and  all,  are  all  amiss  employ'd. 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ?    I  am  a  subject,  ! 
And  challenge  law  :  attornies  are  denied  me, 
And  therefore  personally  I  lay  my  claim 
To  my  inheritance  of  free  descent. 
Northumberland. 
The  noble  duke  hath  been  too  much  abused. 

Ross. 
It  stands  your  grace  upon  to  do  him  right. 

Willoughby. 
Base  men  by  his  endowments  are  made  great 

York. 
Mv  lords  of  England,  let  me  tell  you  this : 
I  have  had  feeling  of  my  cousin's  wrongs, 
And  labour'd  all  I  could  to  do  him  right ; 
But  in  this  kind  to  come ;  in  braving  arms, 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way, 
To  find  out  right  with  wrong, — it  may  not  be : 
And  you,  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind, 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels  all. 
Northumberland. 
The  noble  duke  hath  sworn,  his  coming  is 
But  for  his  own  ;  and  for  the  right  of  that, 
We  all  have  strongly  sworn  to  give  him  aid,        | 
And  let  him  ne'er  see  joy  that  breaks  that  oath.  ; 
York. 
Well,  well,  I  see  the  issue  of  these  arms. 
I  cannot  mend  it,  I  must  needs  confess, 
Because  my  power  is  weak,  and  all  ill  left ; 
But  if  I  could,  by  him  that  gave  me  life, 
I  would  attach  you  all,  and  make  you  stoop 
Unto  the  sovereign  mercy  of  the  king : 
But,  since  I  cannot,  be  it  known  unto  you, 
I  do  remain  as  neuter.    So,  fare  you  well ; 
Unless  you  please  to  enter  in  the  castle, 
And  there  repose  you  for  this  night. 
Bolingbroke. 
An  offer,  uncle,  that  we  will  accept : 
But  we  must  win  your  grace,  to  go  with  us 
To  Bristol  castle  ;  which,  they  say,  is  held 
By  Bushy,  Bagot,  and  their  complices, 
The  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth, 
Which  I  have  sworn  to  weed  and  pluck  away. 
York. 
It  may  be,  I  will  go  with  you ;— but  yet  I'll 
pause, 
For  I  am  loath  to  break  our  country's  laws. 
Nor  friends,  nor  foes,  to  me  welcome  you  are : 
Things  past  redress  are  now  with  me  past  care. 
[Exeunt.  . 
I 

SCENE  IV.    A  Camp  in  Wales. 
Enter  Salisbury,  and  a  Welsh  Captain. 
Captain. 
My  lord  of  Salisbury,  we  have  stay'd  ten  days, 
And  hardly  kept  our  countrymen  together, 
And  yet  we  hear  no  tidings  from  the  king ; 
Therefore,  we  will  disperse  ourselves.    Fare- 
well. 

Salisbury. 
Stay  yet  another  day,  thou  trusty  Welshman :] 
The  king  reposeth  all  his  confidence  in  thee. 
Captain. 
•Tis  thought,  the  king  is  dead:  we  will  not 
stay.  j 

The  bay-trees  in  our  country  are  all  wither'd,  , 
And  meteors  fright  the  fixed  stars  of  heaven  ; 
The  pale-fac'd  moon  looks  bloody  on  the  earth,: 
And  lean-look'd  prophets  whisper  fearful  change:' 
Rich  men  look  sad,  and  ruffians  dance  and  leap,! 
The  one  in  fear  to  lose  what  they  enjoy, 


The  other  to  enjoy  by  rage  and  war : 
These  signs  forerun  the  death  or  fall  of  kings. 
Farewell :  our  countrymen  are  gone  and  fled, 
As  well  assur'd  Richard,  their  king,  is  dead. 

[Exit. 
Salisbury. 
Ah,  Richard!  with  the  eyes  of  heavy  mind, 
I  see  thy  glory,  like  a  shooting  star, 
Fall  to  the  base  earth  from  the  firmament. 
Thy  sun  sets  weeping  in  the  lowly  west, 
Witnessing  storms  to  come,  woe,  and  unrest : 
Thy  friends  are  fled  to  wait  upon  thy  foes, 
And  crossly  to  thy  good  all  fortune  goes.  [Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Bolingbroke' &  Camp  at  Bristol. 

Enter    Bolingbroke,     York,    Northumberland, 
'   Percy,  Willoughby,  Ross :  Bushy  and  Green, 
prisoners. 

Bolingbroke. 

BRING  forth  these  men.— 
Bushy,  and  Green,  I  will  not  vex  your  souls, 
Since  presently  your  souls  must  part  your  bodies, 
With  too  much  urging  your  pernicious  lives, 
For  'twere  no  charity ;  yet,  to  wash  your  blood 
From  off  my  hands,  here  in  the  view  of  men, 
I  will  unfold  some  causes  of  your  deaths. 
You  have  misled  a  prince,  a  royal  king, 
A  happy  gentleman  in  blood  and  lineaments, 
By  you  unhappied  and  disfigur'd  clean : 
You  have,  in  manner,  with  your  sinful  hours, 
Made  a  divorce  betwixt  his  queen  and  him, 
Broke  the  possession  of  a  royal  bed, 
And  stain'd  the  beauty  of  a  fair  queen's  cheeks 
With  tears,  drawn  from  her  eyes  by  your  foul 

wrongs. 
Myself,  a  prince  by  fortune  of  my  birth, 
Near  to  the  king  in  blood,  and  near  in  love, 
Till  you  did  make  him  misinterpret  me. 
Have  stoop'd  my  neck  under  your  injuries, 
And  sigh'd  my  English  breath  in  foreign  clouds, 
Eating  the  bitter  bread  of  banishment, 
Whilst  you  have  fed  upon  my  signories, 
Dispark'd  my  parks,  and  fell'd  my  forest  woods. 
From  mine  own  windows  torn  my  household 

coat, 
Raz'd  out  my  impress,  leaving  me  no  sign, 
Save  men's  opinions,  and  my  living  blood, 
To  show  the  world  I  am  a  gentleman.  [this, 
This  and  much  more,  much  more  than  twice  all 
Condemns  you  to  the  death.—  See  them  deliver'd 
To  execution,  and  the  hand  of  death.  [over 

Bushy. 
More  welcome  is  the  stroke  of  death  to  me 
Than  Bolingbroke  to  England — Lords,  farewell. 
Green. 
My  comfort  is,  that  heaven  will  take  our  souls 
And  plague  injustice  with  the  pains  of  hell. 
Bolingbroke. 
My  lord  Northumberland,  see  them  dispatch'd 
[Exeunt  Northumberland  and  others,  with 
Bushy  and  Green. 
Uncle,  you  say  the  queen  is  at  your  house  ; 
For  God's  sake,  fairly  let  her  be  entreated : 
Tell  her  I  send  to  her  my  kind  commends  ; 
Take  special  care  my  greetings  be  deliver'd. 
York. 
A  gentleman  of  mine  I  have  dispatch'd 
With  letters  of  your  love  to  her  at  large. 

Bolingbroke. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


KING  RICHAKD  1L 


4»9 


Bolingbroke. 
Thanks,  gentle  uncle — Come,  lords,  away, 
To  fight  with  GUndower  and  hi*  complied  : 
Awhile  to  work,  and  after  holiday         [Exeunt. 

SCESE  lh     The  Coast  of  Walci.    A  Castle  in 
view. 

Flourish :  Drums  and  Trumpets.    Enter  King 
Hichard,  Bishop  of   Carlisle,   Aumerle,  and 
urs. 

King  Richard. 
Barkloughly  castle  call  they  this  at  hand  ? 

Aumerle. 

Yea,  my  lord.    How  brooks  your  grace  the  air, 
After  jour  late  tossing  on  the  breaking  seas? 
King  Richard. 

Needs  must  I  like  it  well :  I  weep  for  joy, 
To  stand  upon  my  kingdom  once  a^ain.— 
Dear  earth,  I  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand, 
Though  rebels  wound  thee  with  their  horses' 
Asa  long  parted  mother  with  her  child  [hoofs : 
Plays  fondly  with  her  tears  and  smiles  in  meeting, 
So,  weeping,  smiling,  greet  I  thee,  ray  earth, 
And  do  thee  favour  with  my  royal  hands. 
Feed  not  thy  sovereign's  foe,  my  gentle  earth, 
Nor  with  thy  sweets  comfort  his  ravenous  sense; 
But  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy  venom, 
And  heavy-gaited  toads,  lie  in  their  way, 
Doing  annoyance  to  the  treacherous  feet, 
Which  with  usurping  steps  do  trample  thee. 
Yield  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies  ; 
And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower, 
Guard  it,  I  pray  thee,  with  a  lurking  adder, 
Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  mortal  touch 
Throw  death  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies — 
Mock  not  my  senseless  conjuration,  lords : 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling,  and  these  stones 
Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king 
Shall  falter  under  foul  rebellion's  arms. 
Bishop. 

Fear  not,  my  lord :  that  power  that  made  you 
king. 
Hath  power  to  keep  you  king,  in  spite  of  all. 
[The  means  that  heaven  yields  must  be  embrae'd, 
And  not  neglected  ;  else,  if  heaven  would, 
And  we  will  not,  heaven's  offer  we  refuse, 
The  proffer 'd  means  of  succour  aud  redress.] 
Aumerle. 

He  means,  my  lord,  that  we  are  too  remiss  ; 
Whilst  Bolingbroke,  through  our  security, 
Grows  strong  and  great  in  substance,  and  in 
power. 

King  Richard. 

Discom  for  table  cousin  1  know'st  thou  not. 
That  when  the  searching  eye  of  heaven  is  hid 
Behind  the  globe,  and  lights  the  lower  world, 
Then  thieves  and  robbers  range  abroad  unseen, 
In  murders  and  in  outrage,  boldly  here  ; 
But  when  from  under  this  terrestrial  ball 
He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines, 
And  dirts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole, 
Then  murders,  treasons,  and  detested  sins. 
The  cloak  of  night  being  pluck'd  from  off*  their 

backs, 
Stand  bare  and  naked,  trembling  at  themselves  ?  : 
So  when  this  thief,  this  traitor  Buliiif>broke, 
Who  all  this  while  hath  revell'd  in  the  night,      j 
[Whilst  we  were  wandering  with  the  antipodes,]  ' 
Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  throne,  the  east, 
His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face, 
Not  able  to  endure  the  sight  of  day, 
But,  self-affrighted,  tremble  at  his  sin. 
Not  all  the  water  in  the  rough  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  king  : 


The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 

The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord. 

For  everv  man  that  Bolingbroke  hath  press'd, 

To  lift  shrewd  steel  against  our  golden  crown, 

God  for  his  Richard  hath  in  heavenly  pay 

A  glorious  angel :  then,  if  angels  fight,     [right. 

Weak  men  must  fall,  for  heaven  still  guards  the 

Enter  Salisbury. 

Welcome,  my  lord.   How  far  off  lies  your  power  ? 

bury. 

Nor  near,  nor  farther  off,  my  gracious  lord. 

Than  this  weak  arm.     Discomfort  guides  my 

tongue, 
And  bids  me  speak  of  nothing  but  despair. 
One  day  too  late,  I  fear,  my  noble  lord, 
Hath  clouded  all  thy  happy  days  on  earth. 
O !  call  back  yesterday,  bid  time  return, 
And  thou  shaft  have  twelve  thousand  fighting 


To-day,  to-day,  unhappy  day  too  late,       [men  : 
i,  friends, 
state ; 


O'erthrows  thy  joys, 


fortune,  and  thy 


For  all  the  Welshmen,  hearing  thou  wert  dead, 
Are  gone  to  Bolingbroke,  dispers'd,  and  fled. 
Aumerle. 
Comfort,  my  liege  1  why  looks  your  grace  so 
pale? 

King  Richard. 
But  now,  the  blood  of  twenty  thousand  men 
Did  triumph  in  my  face,  and  they  are  fled ; 
And  till  so  much  blood  thither  come  again. 
Have  1  not  reason  to  look  pale  and  dead  ? 
All  souls  that  will  be  safe,  fly  from  my  side ; 
For  time  hath  set  a  blot  upon  my  pride. 
Aumerle. 
Comfort,  my  liege  I  remember  who  you  are. 

King  Richard. 
I  had  forgot  myself.    Am  I  not  king  ? 
Awake,  thou  coward  majesty  !  thou  sleepest. 
Is  not  the  king's  name  twenty  thousand  names  ? 
Arm,  arm,  my  name  1  a  puny  subject  strikes 

At  thy  great  glory Look  not  to  the  ground, 

Ye  favourites  of  a  king:  are  we  not  high? 
High  be  our  thoughts.     I  know,  my  uncle  York 
Hath  power  enough  to  serve  our  turn.  But  who 
comes  here  ? 

Enter  Scroop. 
Scroop. 
More  health  and  happiness  betide  my  liege. 
Than  can  my  care-tun'd  tongue  deliver  him. 

King  Richard. 
Mine  ear  is  open,  and  my  heart  prepar'd : 
The  worst  is  worldly  loss  thou  canst  unfold. 
Say,  is  my  kingdom  lost  ?  why,  'twas  my  care ; 
And  what  loss  is  it  to  be  rid  of  care  ? 
Strives  Bolingbroke  to  be  as  great  as  we  ? 
Greater  he  shall  not  be :  if  he  serve  God, 
We'll  serve  him  too,  and  be  his  fellow  so. 
Revolt  our  subjects  ?  that  we  cannot  mend  ; 
They  break  their  faith  to  God,  as  well  as  us. 
Cry  woe,  destruction,  ruin,  loss,  decay, 
The  worst  is  death,  and  death  will  have  his  day. 

Scroop. 
Glad  am  I,  that  your  highness  is  so  arm  d 
To  bear  the  tidings  of  calamity. 
Like  an  unseasonable  stormy  day, 
Which  makes  the  silver  rivers  drown  their  shores, 
As  if  the  world  were  all  diss.  Iv'd  to  tears  ; 
So  high  above  his  limits  swells  the  rage 
Of  Bolingbroke.  covering  your  fearful  land 
With  hard  bright  steel,  and  hearts  harder  than 
steel.  [scalps 

White-beards  have  arm'd  their  thin  and  hairless 
Against  thy  majesty  ;  and  boys,  with  women's 
voices, 

Strive 


420 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Strive  to  speak  big,  and  clap  their  female  joints 
In  stiff  unwieldy  arms  against  thy  crown  : 
Thy  very  beadsmen  learn  to  bend  their  bows 
Of  double-fatal  yew  against  thy  state  ; 
Yea,  distaff-women  manage  rusty  bills 
Against  thy  seat:  both  young  and  old  rebel, 
And  all  goes  worse  than  I  have  power  to  tell. 
King  Kichard. 
Too  well,  too  well,  thou  tell'st  a  tale  so  ill. 
Where  is  the  earl  of  Wiltshire?  where  is  Bagot? 
What  is  become  of  Bushy  ?  where  is  Green? 
That  they  have  let  the  dangerous  enemy 
Measure  our  confines  with  such  peaceful  steps  ? 
If  we  prevail,  their  heads  shall  pay  for  it. 
I  warrant  they  have  made  peace  with  Boling- 
broke. 

Scroop. 
Peace  have  they  made  with  him,  indeed,  my 
lord. 

King  Richard. 
O  villains,  vipers,  damn'd  without  redemp- 
Dogs,  easily  won  to  fawn  on  any  man  !      [tion  I 
Snakes  in  my  heart-blood  war m 'd,  that  sting  my 

heart ! 
Three  Judases,  each  one  thrice  worse  than  Judas  I 
Would  they  make  peace?  terrible  hell  make 

war 
Upon  their  spotted  souls  for  this  offence  ! 
Scroop. 
Sweet  love,  I  see,  changing  his  property, 
Turns  to  the  sourest  and  most  deadly  hate. 
Again  uncurse  their  souls ;  their  peace  is  made 
With  heads  and  not  with  hands:  those  whom 

you  curse, 
Have  felt  the  worst  of  death's  destroying  wound, 
And  lie  full  low,  grav'd  in  the  hollow  ground. 
Aumerle. 
Is  Bushy,  Green,  and  the  earl  of  Wiltshire, 
dead? 

Scroop. 
Yea,  all  of  them  at  Bristol  lost  their  heads. 

Aumerle. 
Where  is  the  duke,  my  father,  with  his  power  ? 

King  Richard. 
No  matter  where.    Of  comfort  no  man  speak  : 
Let's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms,  and  epitaphs ; 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let's  choose  executors,  and  talk  of  wills  : 
And  yet  not  so, — for  what  can  we  bequeath, 
Save  our  deposed  bodies  to  the  ground  ? 
Our  lands,  our  lives,  and  all  are  Bolingbroke's, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own  but  death, 
And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth, 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  God's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground, 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings  :— 
How  some  have  been  depos'd,  some  slain  in  war, 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  depos'd, 
Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping 

kill'd, 
All  murder'd  ;— for  within  the  hollow  crown, 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court,  and  there  the  antick  sits, 
Scoffing  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp ; 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene, 
To  monarchize,  be  fear'd,  and  kill  with  looks  j 
Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit, 
As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable  ;  and,  humour'd  thus, 
Comes  at  the  last,  and  with  a  little  pin     [king  ! 
Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and — farewell 
<  'over  your  heads,  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 
With  solemn  reverence :  throw  away  respect, 
Tradition,  form,  and  ceremonious  duty, 


For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while: 
I  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want, 
Taste  grief,  need  friends :  subjected  thus, 
How  can  you  say  to  me— I  am  a  king  ? 
Bishop. 
My  lord,  wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their 
woes, 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail. 
To  fear  the  foe,  since  fear  oppresseth  strength, 
!  Gives,  in  your  weakness,  strength  unto  your  foe, 
|  [And  so  your  follies  fight  against  yourself.] 
!  Fear,  and  be  slain  ;  no  worse  can  come  to  fight : 
And  fight  and  die  is  death  destroying  death  ; 
Where  fearing  dying  pays  death  servile  breath. 
Aumerle. 
j      My  father  hath  a  power,  enquire  of  him, 
And  learn  to  make  a  body  of  a  limb. 
King  Richard 
Thou  chid'st  me  well.— Proud  Bolingbroke, 
I  come 
To  change  blows  with  thee  for  our  day  of  doom. 
This  ague-fit  of  fear  is  over-blown: 

An  easy  task  it  is,  to  win  our  own 

Say,  Scroop,  where  lies  our  uncle  with  his  power  ? 
Speak  sweetly,  man,  although  thy  looks  be  sour. 

Scroop. 
Men  judge  by  the  complexion  of  the  sky 
The  state  and  inclination  of  the  day  ; 
So  may  you  by  my  dull  and  heavy  eye, 

My  tongue  hath  but  a  heavier  tale  to  say. 
I  play  the  torturer,  by  small  and  small, 
To  lengthen  out  the  worst  that  must  be  spoken. 
Your  uncle  York  is  join'd  with  Bolingbroke; 
And  all  your  northern  castles  yielded  up, 
And  all  your  southern  gentlemen  in  arms 
Upon  his  party. 

King  Richard. 
Thou  hast  said  enough — 
Beshrew thee, cousin,  \To  Aumerl,  Jwhich  didst 

lead  me  forth 
Of  that  sweet  way  I  was  in  to  despair !     [now  ? 
What  say  you  now?     What  comfort  have  we 
By  heaven,  I'll  hate  him  everlastingly, 
That  bids  me  be  of  comfort  any  more. 
Go  to  Flint  castle :  there  I'll  pine  away; 
A  king,  woe's  slave,  shall  kingly  woe  obey. 
That  power  1  have,  discharge ;  and  let  them  go 
To  ear  the  land  that  hath  some  hope  to  grow, 
For  I  have  none — Let  no  man  speak  again 
To  alter  this,  for  counsel  is  but  vain. 
Aumerle. 
My  liege,  one  word. 

King  Richard. 

He  does  me  double  wrong. 

That  wounds  me  with  the  flatteries  of  his  tongue. 

Discharge  my  followers :  let  them  hence  away, 

From  Richard's  night  to  Bolingbroke' &  fair  day. 

[fcxeuiu. 

SCENE  \\l.     Wales.    A  Plain  before  Flint 
Castle. 

Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours,  Bolingbroke  and 
Forces ;  York,  Northumberland,  and  others. 

Bolingbroke. 
So  that  by  this  intelligence  we  learn. 
The  Welshmen  are  dispers'd;  and  Salisbury 
Js  gone  to  meet  the  king,  who  lately  landed 
With  some  few  private  friends  upon  this  coast. 
Northumberland. 
The  news  is  very  fair  and  good,  my  lord : 
Richard,  not  far  from  hence,  hath  hid  his  head. 
York. 
It  would  beseem  the  lord  Northumberland, 

To 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


KING  KICHAKDII. 


4*i 


To  gay,  king  Richard:— Alack  the  heavy  day, 
'When  such  a  sacred  king  should  hide  his  head  I 
Northumberland. 
Your  grace  mistakes ;  only  to  be  brief, 
Left  1  his  title  out. 

Y»rk. 
The  time  hath  been, 
Would  you  have  been  so  brief  with  him,  he  would 
Have  been  so  brief  with  you,  to  shorten  you, 
For  taking  so   the   head,  your  whole  head's 
length. 

Dolingbroke. 
Mistake  not,  uncle,  farther  than  you  should. 

York. 
Take    not,   good   cousin,   farther  than   you 
should, 
Lest  you  mistake:  the  heavens  are  o'er  our  heads. 
Bolingbroke 
1  know  It,  uncle;  and  oppose  not  myself 
Against  their  will — But  who  comes  here? 

Enter  I'ercy. 

Welcome,  Harry.    What,  will  not  this  castle 
yield? 

Percy. 

The  castle  royally  is  mann'd,  my  lord, 
Against  thy  entrance. 

Bolingbroke. 

Royally? 
Why,  it  contains  no  king. 
Percy. 

Yes,  my  good  lord, 
It  doth  contain  a  king :  king  Richard  lies 
Within  the  limits  of  yond'  lime  and  stone; 
And  with  him  are  the  lord  Aumerle,  lord  Salt's- 
Sir  Stephen  Scroop;  besides  a  clergyman    [bury, 
Of  holy  reverence,  who,  I  cannot  learn. 
Northumberland. 

0 1  belike  it  is  the  bishop  of  Carlisle. 
Bolirgbroke. 

Noble  lord,  [To  Northumberland. 

Go  to  the  rude  ribs  of  that  ancient  castle ; 
Through  brazen  trumpet  send  the  breath  of  parle 
Into  his  ruin'd  ears,  and  thus  deliver. 
Henry  Rolingbroke 

On  both  his  knees  doth  kiss  king  Richard's  hand, 
And  sends  allegiance,  and  true  faith  of  heart, 
To  his  most  royal  person ;  hither  come 
Even  at  his  feet  to  lay  my  arms  and  power, 
Provided  that,  my  banishment  repeal'd, 
And  lands  restor'd  again,  be  freely  granted. 
If  not,  I'll  use  th'  advantage  of  my  power, 
And  lay  the  summer's  dust  with  showers  of  blood. 
Rain'd  from  the  wounds  of  slaughter'd  English! 
men :  [broke 

The  which,  how  far  off  from  the  mind  of  Holing. 
It  is,  such  crimson  tempest  should  bedrench 
The  fresh  green  lap  of  fair  king  Richard's  land, 
My  stooping  duty  tenderly  shall  show. 
Go ;  signify  as  much  while  here  we  march 
Upon  the  grassy  carpet  of  this  plain.        [drum, 
Let's  march  without  the  noise  of  threat'ning 
That  from  the  castle's  tatter'd  battlements 
Our  fair  appointments  may  be  well  perus'd. 
Methinks,  king  Richard  and  myself  should  meet 
With  no  less  terror  than  the  elements 
Of  fire  and  water,  when  their  thundering  shock 
At  meeting  tears  the  cloudy  cheeks  of  heaven. 
Be  he  the  fire,  I'll  be  the  yielding  water: 
The  rage  be  his.  while  on  the  earth  I  rain 

My  waters ;  on  the  earth,  and  not  on  him 

March  on,  and  mark  king  Richard  how  he  looks. 


A  parley  sounded,  and  answer'd  by  a  Trumpet 
i      within.    Flourish.     Enter  on  the  walls  King 
l      Richard,   the    Bishop   of  Catliile,   Aumerle, 
.Vxki/i,  tttd  StiUthury. 

Bolingbroke. 
I     See,  see,  king  Richard  doth  him« elf  appear, 
I  As  doth  the  blushing  discontented  sun 
From  out  the  fiery  portal  of  the  east, 
When  he  perceives  the  envious  clouds  are  bent 
To  dim  his  glory,  and  to  stain  the  track 
Of  his  bright  passage  to  the  Occident. 
York. 
Yet  looks  he  like  a  king:  behold,  his  eye. 
As  bright  as  is  the  eagle's,  lightens  forth 
Controlling  majesty.    Alack,  alack,  for  woe. 
That  any  harm  should  stain  so  fair  a  show  ! 
King  Hichard. 
We  are  amaz'd ;  and  thus  Jong  haye  we  stood 
[  1 0  Nor  thumbtr  land. 
To  watch  the  fearful  bending  of  thy  knee, 
Because  we  thought  ourself  thy  lawful  king: 
And  if  we  be,  how  dare  thy  joints  forget 
To  pay  their  awful  duty  to  our  presence  ? 
If  we  be  not,  show  us  the  hand  of  God 
J  That  hath  dismiss'd  us  from  our  stewardship  ; 
For  well  we  know,  no  hand  of  blood  and  bone 
Can  gripe  the  sacred  handle  of  our  sceptre, 
Unless  he  do  profane,  steal,  or  usurp. 
And  though  you  think  that  all,  as  you  have  done, 
Have  torn  their  souls  by  turning  them  from  us, 
And  we  are  barren  and  bereft  of  friends, 
Yet  know,  my  master,  God  omnipotent, 
I  Is  mustering  in  his  clouds  on  our  behalf 
i  Armies  of  pestilence ;  and  they  shall  strike 
I  Your  children  yet  unborn,  and  unbegot, 
i  That  lift  your  vassal  hands  against  my  head, 
|  And  threat  the  glory  of  my  precious  crown. 
Tell  Bolingbroke,  for  yond',  methinks,  he  stands, 
That  every  stride  he  makes  upon  my  land 
|  Is  dangerous  treason.     He  is  come  to  ope 
[  The  purple  testament  of  bleeding  war; 
I  But  ere  the  crown  he  looks  for  live  in  peace, 
1  Ten  thousand  bloody  crowns  of  mothers'  sons 
Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face, 
1  Change  the  complexion  of  her  maid-pale  peace 
To  scarlet  indignation,  and  bedew 
Her  pastures'  grass  with  faithful  English  blood. 

Northumberland. 
The  King  of  heaven  forbid,  our  lord  the  king 
Should  so  with  civil  and  uncivil  arms 
i  Be  rush'd  upon  1     Thy  th  rice-noble  cousin, 
Harry  Bolingbroke,  doth  humbly  kiss  thy  hand ; 
And  by  the  honourable  tomb  he  swears, 
That  stands  upon  your  royal  grandsire's  bones, 
And  by  the  royalties  of  both  your  bloods, 
Currents  that  spring  from  one  most  gracious 

head, 
And  by  the  buried  hand  of  warlike  Gaunt, 
And  by  the  worth  and  honour  of  himself. 
Comprising  all  that  may  be  sworn  or  said, 
His  coming  hither  hath  no  farther  scope. 
Than  for  his  lineal  royalties,  and  to  beg 
Enfranchisement  immediate  on  his  knees: 
Which  on  thy  royal  party  granted  once, 
His  glittering  arms  he  will  commend  to  rust. 
His  barbed  steeds  to  stables,  and  his  heart 
'  To  faithful  service  of  your  majesty. 
This  swears  he,  as  liu  is  a  prince,  is  just, 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  credit  him. 
King  Kichard. 
Northumberland,  say,  —  thus  the  king  returns. 
His  noble  cousin  is  right  welcome  hither; 
And  all  the  number  of  his  fair  demands 
Shall  be  accomplish'd  without  contradiction. 

With 


421 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


With  all  the  gracious  utterance  thou  hast, 
Speak  to  his  gentle  hearing  kind  commends.  — 
[Northumberland  retires  to  Bolingbroke. 
We  do  debase  ourself,  cousin,  [To  Aumerle,']  do 

we  not, 
To  look  so  poorly,  and  to  speak  so  fair  ? 
Shall  we  call  back  Northumberland,  and  send 
Defiance  to  the  traitor,  and  so  die? 
Aumerle. 
No,  good  my  lord:  let's  fight  with  gentlewords, 
Till  time  lend  friends,  and  friends  their  helpful 
swords. 

King  Richard. 
O  God !  O  God !  that  e'er  this  tongue  of  mine, 
That  laid  the  sentence  of  dread  banishment 
On  yond'  proud  man,  should  take  it  off  again 
With  words  of  sooth.     O  !  that  I  were  as  great 
As  is  my  grief,  or  lesser  than  my  name, 
Or  that  I  could  forget  what  I  have  been, 
Or  not  remember  what  I  must  be  now  ! 
Swell'st  thou,  proud  heart?   I'll  give  thee  scope 

to  beat, 
Since  foes  have  scope  to  beat  both  thee  and  me. 

Aumerle. 
Northumberland  comes  back  from  Boling- 
broke. 

King  Richard. 
What   must   the  king  do  now  ?     Must  he 
submit  ? 
The  king  shall  do  it.    Must  he  be  depos'd  ? 
The  king  shall  be  contented.    Must  he  lose 
The  name  of  king  ?  o'  God's  name,  let  it  go ; 
I'll  give  my  jewels  for  a  set  of  beads, 
My  gorgeous  palace  for  a  hermitage, 
My  gay  apparel  for  an  alms-man's  gown, 
My  figur'd  goblets  for  a  dfsh  of  wood, 
My  sceptre  for  a  palmer's  walking-staff, 
My  subjects  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints, 
And  my  large  kingdom  for  a  little  grave, 
A  little  little  grave,  an  obscure  grave : 
Or  I'll  be  buried  in  the  king's  highway, 
Some  way  of  common  trade,  where  subjects'  feet 
May  hourly  trample  on  their  sovereign's  head; 
For  on  my  heart  they  tread,  now  whilst  I  live, 
And,  buried  once,  why  not  upon  my  head  ? — 
Aumerle,    thou   weep'st ;    my   tender-hearted 

cousin !  — 
We'll  make  foul  weather  with  despised  tears ; 
Our  sighs  and  they  shall  lodge  the  summer  corn, 
And  make  a  dearth  in  this  revolting  land : 
Or  shall  we  play  the  wantons  with  our  woes, 
And  make  some  pretty  match  with  shedding 

tears  ? 
As  thus  ;— to  drop  them  still  upon  one  place, 
Till  they  have  fretted  us  a  pair  of  graves 
Within  the  earth  ;  and,  therein  laid,  there  lies 
Two  kinsmen  digg'd  their  graves  with  weeping 

eyes. 
Would  not  this  ill  do  well?— Well,  well,  I  see 
1  talk  but  idly,  and  you  mock  at  me — 
Most  mighty  prince,  my  lord  Northumberland, 
What  says  king  Bolingbroke?  will  his  majesty 
Give  Bichard  leave  to  live  till  Richard  die  ? 
You  make  a  leg,  and  Bolingbroke  says  ay. 
Northumberland. 
My  lord,  in  the  base  court  he  doth  attend 
To  speak  with  you :  may't  please  you  to  come 
down  ? 

King  Richard. 
Down,  down,  I  come  ;  like  glistering  Phaeton, 
Wanting  the  manage  of  unruly  jades. 

[Northumberland  retires  again  to  Boling- 
broke. 
In  the  base  court?     Base  court,  where  kings 
grow  base, 


To  come  at  traitors'  calls,  and  do  them  grace. 
In  the  base  court  ?    Come  down  ?  Down,  court 
down,  king  !  [should  sing. 

For  night-owls  shriek,  where  mounting  larks 
[Exeunt,  from  above. 
Bolingbroke. 
What  says  his  majesty  ? 

Northumberland. 

Sorrow  and  grief  of  heart 
Makes  him  speak  fondly,  like  a  frantic  man : 
Yet  he  is  come. 

Enter  King  Bichard,  and  his  Attendants,  below. 
Bolingbroke. 
Stand  all  apart, 
And  show  fair  duty  to  his  majesty. — 
My  gracious  lord, —  [Kneeling. 

King  Richard. 
Fair  cousin,  you  deDase  your  princely  knee, 
To  make  the  base  earth  proud  with  kissing  it: 
Me  rather  had,  my  heart  might  feel  your  love, 
Than  my  unpleas'd  eye  see  your  courtesy. 
Up,  cousin,  up:  your  heart  is  up,  I  know, 
Thus  high  at  least,  although  your  knee  be  low. 
Bolingbroke. 
My  gracious  lord,  I  come  but  for  mine  own. 

King  Richard. 
Your  own  is  yours;  and  I  am  yours,  and  all. 

Bolingbroke. 
So  far  be  mine,  my  most  redoubted  lord, 
As  my  true  service  shall  deserve  your  love. 
King  Richard. 
Well  you  deserve :  —  they  well  deserve  to  have, 
That  know  the  strong'st  and  surest  way  to  get — 
Uncle,  give  me  your  hand:  nay,  dry  your  eyes; 
Tears  show  their  love,  but  want  their  remedies — 
Cousin,  I  am  too  young  to  be  your  father, 
Though  you  are  old  enough  to  be  my  heir. 
What  you  will  have,  I'll  give,  and  willing  too ; 
For  do  we  must  what  force  will  have  us  do — 
Set  on  towards  London.— Cousin,  is  it  so? 
Bolingbroke. 
Yea,  my  good  lord. 

King  Richard. 

Then,  I  must  not  say  no. 
[Flourish.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Langley.    The  Duke  of  York's 
Garden. 

Enter  the  Queen,  and  two  Ladies. 
Queen. 
What  sport  shall  we  devise  here  in  this  garden, 
To  drive  away  the  heavy  thought  of  care? 
First  Lady. 
Midam,  we'll  play  at  bowls. 

Queen. 
'Twill  make  me  think  the  world  is  full  of  rubs, 
And  that  my  fortune  runs  against  the  bias. 
First  Lady. 
Madam,  we'll  dance. 

Queen. 

My  legs  can  keep  no  measure  in  delight, 

When  my  poor  heart  no  measure  keeps  in  grief: 

Therefore,  no  dancing,  girl;  some  other  sport. 

First  Lady. 

Madam,  we'll  tell  tales. 

Queen. 
Of  sorrow,  or  of  joy? 

First  Lady. 
Of  either,  madam. 

Queen. 


Act  iv.  Sc  i. 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


4*3 


Queen. 
Of  neither,  girl; 
For  if  of  joy,  being  altogether  wanting, 
It  doth  remember  me  the  more  of  sorrow ; 
Or  if  of  grief,  being  altogether  had. 
It  adds  more  sorrow  to  my  want  of  joy ; 
For  what  I  have  I  need  not  to  repeat. 
And  what  I  want  it  boots  not  to  complain. 

First  Lady. 
Madam,  I'll  sing. 

Queen. 
'Tis  well  that  thou  hast  cause; 
But  thou  should'st  please  me  better,  would'st 
thou  weep. 

First  Lady. 
1  could  weep,  madam,  would  it  do  you  good. 

Queen. 
And  I  could  sing,  would  weeping  do  me  good, 
And  never  borrow  any  tear  of  thee. 
But  stay,  here  come  the  gardeners: 
Let's  step  into  the  shadow  of  these  trees.— 
My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins, 
They'll  talk  of  state;  for  every  one  doth  so 
Against  a  change.    Woe  is  forerun  with  woe. 

[Queen  and  Ladiet  retire. 

Enter  a  Gardener  and  two  Servantt. 
Gardener. 
Go,  bind  thou  up  yond'  dangling  apricocks, 
Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight: 
Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twigs. — 
Go  thou,  and  like  an  executioner, 
Cut  oflfthe  heads  of  too-fast-growing  sprays, 
That  look  too  lofty  in  our  commonwealth: 
All  must  be  even  in  our  government.— 
You  thus  employ'd,  I  will  go  root  away 
The  noisome  weeds,  that  without  profit  suck 
The  soil's  fertility  from  wholesome  flowers. 

First  Servant. 
Why  should  we,  in  the  compass  of  a  pale, 
Keep  law,  and  form,  and  due  proportion, 
Showing,  as  in  a  model,  our  firm  estate. 
When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land, 
Is  full  of  weeds ;  her  fairest  flowers  chok'd  up, 
Her  fruit-trees  all  unprun'd,  her  hedges  ruin'd, 
Her  knots  disorder'd,  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars  ? 


|  Which  waste  of  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown 
down. 

First  Servant. 
What!  think  you,  then,  the  king  shall  be 
depos'd  ? 


is  already;  and  depos'd, 
'Tis  doubt,  he  will  be:  letters  came  last  night 


Depress'd  he  Is  aire 


oner. 

Hold  thy  peace. 
He  that  hath  suffer'd  this  disorder'd  spring, 
Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf: 
The  weeds  that  his  broad-spreading  leaves  did 

shelter, 
That  seem'd  in  eating  him  to  hold  him  up, 
Are  pluck'd  up,  root  and  all,  by  Bolingbroke  i 
I  mean,  the  earl  of  Wiltshire,  Bushy,  Green. 
First  Servant. 
What  1  are  they  dead? 

Gardener. 
They  are ;  and  Bolingbroke 
Hath  seiz'd  the  wasteful  king — O!  what  pity 

is  it, 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  land, 
As  we  this  garden.    We  at  time  of  year 
Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees, 
Lest,  being  over- proud  in  sap  and  blood, 
With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself: 
Had  he  done  so  to  great  and  growing  men, 
Thev  might  have  liv'd  to  bear,  and  he  to  taste 
Their  fruits  of  duty.    Superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live: 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  had  borne  the  crown, 


To  a  dear  friend  of  the  good  duke  of  York's, 
That  tell  black  tidings. 

!     O !  I  am  press'd  to  death,  through  want  of 

speaking.  CComing  forward. 

Thou,  old  Adam's  likeness,  set  to  dress  this 

garden. 
How  dares  thy  harsh,  rude  tongue  sound  this 
unpleasing  news  ? 
j  What  Eve,  what  serpent  hath  suggested  thee 
;  To  make  a  second  fall  of  cursed  man  ? 
|  Why  dost  thou  say  king  Richard  is  depos'd? 
1  Dar  st  thou,  thou  little  better  thing  than  earth. 
Divine  his  downfall?    Say,  where,  when,  and 

how, 
j  Cam'st  thou  by  these  ill  tidings?  speak,  thou 
wretch. 

!     Pardon  me,  madam :  lfttfe  Joy  have  I, 

j  To  breathe  these  news,  yet  what  I  say  is  true. 

King  Richard,  he  is  in  the  mighty  hold 
I  Of  Bolingbroke :  their  fortunes  both  are  weigh 'd: 

In  your  lord's  scale  is  nothing  but  himself, 
>  And  some  few  vanities  that  make  him  light; 

But  in  the  balance  of  great  Bolingbroke, 

Besides  himself,  are  all  the  English  peers, 

And  with  that  odds  he  weighs  king  Richard 
down. 

Post  you  to  London,  and  you'll  find  it  so ; 

I  speak  no  more  than  every  one  doth  know. 

Queen. 
Nimble  mischance,  that  art  so  light  of  foot, 
Doth  not  thy  embassage  belong  to  me, 
And  am  I  last  that  knows  it  ?    O !  thou  think'st 
To  serve  me  last,  that  I  may  longest  keep 
Thy  sorrow  in  my  breast. — Come,  ladies,  go 
To  meet  at  London  London's  king  in  woe.— 
What !  was  I  born  to  this,  that  my  sad  look 
Should  grace  thetriumph  of  great  Bolingbroke  f — 
Gardener,  for  telling  me  these  news  of  woe, 
Pray  God,  the  plants  thou  graft'st  may  never 
grow.  [Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 

Cardener. 
Poor  queen !  so  that  thy  state  might  be  no 
worse, 
I  would  my  skill  were  subject  to  thy  curse. 
Here  did  she  fall  a  tear ;  here,  in  this  place, 
I'll  set  a  bank  of  rue,  sour  herb  of  grace : 
Rue,  even  for  ruth,  here  shortly  shall  be  seen, 
In  the  remembrance  of  a  weeping  queen. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.  London.  Westminster  Hall. 
The  Lords  spiritual  on  the  right  side  of  the 
Throne  ;  the  Lords  temporal  on  the  left ;  the 
Commons  below.  Enter  Bolingbroke,  Aumerle, 
Surrey,  Northumberland,  Percy,  Fitzveater, 
another  Lord,  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  the  Ab- 
bot of  Westminster,  and  Attendants.  Officers 
behind,  with  Bagot. 

Bolingbroke. 

CALL  forth  Bagot.— 
Now,  Bagot,  freely  speak  thy  mind, 

Wh«t 


424 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


What  thou  dost  know  of  noble  Gloster's  death  ; 
Who  wrought  it  with  the  king,  and  who  perform'd 
The  bloody  office  of  his  timeless  end. 
Bagot. 

Then  set  before  my  face  the  lord  Aumerle. 
Bolingbroke. 

Cousin,  stand  forth,  ana  look  upon  that  man. 
Bagot. 

My  lord  Aumerle,  I  know  your  daring  tongue 
Scorns  to  unsay  what  once  it  hath  deliver'd. 
In  that  dead  time  when  Glnster's  death  was 

plotted, 
I  heard  you  say,—"  Is  not  my  arm  of  length, 
That  reacheth  from  the  restful  English  court, 
As  far  as  Calais,  to  mine  uncle's  head  ?  " 
Amongst  much  other  talk,  that  very  time, 
I  heard  you  say,  that  you  had  rather  refuse 
The  offer  of  an  hundred  thousand  crowns, 
Than  Bolingbroke's  return  to  England; 
Adding  withal,  how  blest  this  land  would  be 
In  this  your  cousin's  death. 

Aumerle. 

Princes,  and  noble  lords, 
What  answer  shall  I  make  to  this  base  man  ? 
Shall  I  so  much  dishonour  my  fair  stars, 
On  equal  terms  to  give  him  chastisement  ? 
Either  I  must,  or  have  mine  honour  soil'd 

With  the  attainder  of  his  slanderous  lips 

There  is  my  gage,  the  manual  seal  of  death. 
That  marks  thee  out  for  hell :  I  say,  thou  liest, 
And  will  maintain  what  thou  hast  said  is  false 
In  thy  heart-blood,  though  being  all  too  base 
To  stain  the  temper  of  my  knightly  sword. 

Bolingbroke. 
Bagot,  forbear :  thou  shalt  not  take  it  up. 

Aumerle. 
Excepting  one,  I  would  he  were  the  best 
In  all  this  presence,  that  hath  mov'd  me  so. 

Fitx  water. 
If  that  thy  valour  stand  on  sympathy, 
There  is  my  gage,  Aumerle,  in  gage  to  thine. 
By  that  fair  sun  which  shows  me  where  thou  ! 

stand'st, 
I  heard  thee  say,  and  vauntingly  thou  spak'st  it,  j 
That  thou  wert  cause  of  noble  Gloster's  death,     j 
If  thou  deny'st  it  twenty  times,  thou  liest ; 
And  I  will  turn  thy  falsehood  to  thy  heart, 
Where  it  was  forged,  with  my  rapier's  point. 

Aumerle. 
Thou  dar'st  not,  coward,  live  to  see  that  day. 

Fitzwater. 
Now,  by  my  soul,  I  would  it  were  this  hour. 

Aumerle. 
Fitzwater,  thou  art  damn'd  to  hell  for  this. 

Percy. 
Aumerle,  thou  liest ;  his  honour  is  as  true 
In  this  appeal,  as  thou  art  all  unjust ; 
And,  that  thou  art  so,  there  I  throw  my  gage, 
To  prove  it  on  thee  to  th'  extremest  point 
Of  mortal  breathing.    Seize  it  if  thou  dar'st. 

Aumerle. 
And  if  I  do  not,  may  my  hands  rot  off, 
And  never  brandish  more  revengeful  steel 
Over  the  glittering  helmet  of  my  foe  1 


I  have  a  thousand  spirits  in  one  breast, 
To  answer  twenty  thousand  such  as  you.] 
Surrey. 
My  lord  Fitzwater,  I  do  remember  well 
The  very  time  Aumerle  and  you  did  talk. 
Fitzwater. 
'Tis  very  true :  you  were  in  presence  then  ; 
And  you  can  witness  with  me  this  is  true. 

Surrey. 
As  false,  by  heaven,  as  heaven  itself  is  true. 

Fitzwater. 
Surrey,  thou  liest. 


Suire 


/Lord, 
to  the  like,  forsworn  Aumerle; 


I  task  the  earth 
And  spur  thee  on  with  full  as  many  lies 
As  may  be  holla'd  in  thy  treacherous  ear 
From  sun  to  sun.    There  is  my  honour's  pawn : 
Engage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 
Aumerle. 

Who  sets  me  else  ?  by  heaven,  I'll  throw  at  all. 


Dishonourable  boy ! 
That  lie  shall  lie  so  heavy  on  my  sword, 
That  it  shall  render  vengeance  and  revenge, 
Till  thou,  the  lie-giver,  and  that  lie,  do  lie 
In  earth  as  quiet  as  thy  father's  scull. 
In  proof  whereof,  there  is  my  honour's  pawn  : 
Engage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Fitzwater. 
How  fondly  dost  thou  spur  a  forward  horse  I 
If  I  dare  eat,  or  drink,  or  breathe,  or  live, 
I  dare  meet  Surrey  in  a  wilderness, 
And  spit  upon  him,  whilst  I  say  he  lies, 
And  lies,  and  lies.    There  is  my  bond  of  faith, 
To  tie  thee  to  my  strong  correction. 
As  I  intend  to  thrive  in  this  new  world, 
Aumerle  is  guilty  of  my  true  appeal : 
Besides,  I  heard  the  banish'd  Norfolk  say, 
That  thou,  Aumerle,  didst  send  two  of  thy  men 
To  execute  the  noble  duke  at  Calais. 

Aumerle. 
Some  honest  Christian  trust  me  with  a  gage. 
That  Norfolk  lies,  here  do  I  throw  down  this, 
If  he  may  be  repeal'd  to  try  his  honour. 

Bolingbroke. 

These  differences  shall  all  rest  under  gage, 

Till  Norfolk  be  repeal'd  :  repeal'd  he  shall  be, 

And,  though  mine  enemy,  restor'd  again 

To  all  his  lands  and  signories.    When  he's  re- 

turn'd, 
Against  Aumerle  we  will  enforce  his  trial. 

Bishop. 
That  honourable  day  shall  ne'er  be  seen. 
Many  a  time  hath  banish'd  Norfolk  fought 
For  Jesu  Christ  in  glorious  Christian  field, 
Streaming  the  ensign  of  the  Christian  cross 
Against  black  pagans,  Turks,  and  Saracens  ; 
And  toil'd  with  works  of  war,  retir'd  himself 
To  Italy,  and  there,  at  Venice,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasant  country's  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  captain  Christ, 
Under  whose  colours  he  had  fought  so  long. 
Bolingbroke. 
Why,  bishop,  is  Norfolk  dead? 

Bishop. 
As  surely  as  I  live,  my  lord. 
Bolingbroke. 
Sweet  peace  conduct  his  sweet  soul  to  the 
bosom 
Of  good  old  Abraham! — Lords  appellants, 
Your  differences  shall  all  rest  under  gage, 
Till  we  assign  you  to  your  days  of  trial. 

Enter  York,  attended. 

York. 

Great  duke  of  Lancaster,  I  come  to  thee  [soul 

From  plume  pluck'd  Richard,  who  with  willing 

Adopts  thee  heir,  and  his  high  sceptre  yields 

To  the  possession  of  thy  royal  hand. 

Ascend 


Act  iv.  So.  i. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


415 


I  Ascend  his  throne,  descending  now  from  him,— 

And  long  live  Henri/,  of  that  name  the  fourth  1 

Iloliugbroke. 

In  God's  name  I'll  ascend  the  regal  throne. 

Bishop. 

I     Marry,  God  forbid  !— 
Worst  in  this  royal  presence  may  I  speak, 
Yet  best  beseeming  me  to  speak'the  truth. 
Would  God  that  any  in  this  noble  presence 

i    Were  enough  noble  to  be  upright  judge 
Of  noble  Richard:  then,  true  nobless  would 
Learn  him  forbearance  from  so  foul  a  wrong. 
What  subject  can  give  sentence  on  his  king? 
And  who  sits  here  that  is  not  Richard's  subject? 
Thieves  are  not  jndg'd  but  they  are  by  to  hear, 

I  Although  apparent  guilt  be  seen  in  them ; 
And  shall  the  figure  of  God's  majesty, 
His  captain,  steward,  deputy  elect, 
Anointed,  crowned,  planted  many  years, 
Be  judg'd  by  subject  and  inferior  breath. 
And  he  himself  not  present  ?  O !  fort'end  it,  God, 
That,  in  a  Christian  climate,  souls  refln'd 
Should  show  so  heinous,  black,  obscene  a  deed  I 
I  speak  to  subjects,  and  a  subject  speaks, 
Stirr'd  up  by  God  thus  boldly  for  his  king. 

1  My  lord  of  Hereford  here,  whom  you  call  king, 

•  Is  a  foul  traitor  to  proud  Hereford's  king  ; 
And  if  you  crown  him,  let  me  prophesy 
The  blood  of  English  shall  manure  the  ground, 

!  And  future  ages  groan  for  this  foul  act : 

1  Peace  shall  go  sleep  with  Turks  and  infidels, 
And  in  this  seat  of  peace  tumultuous  wars 
Shall  kin  with  kin,  and  kind  with  kind  confound ; 
Disorder,  horror,  fear,  and  mutiny, 
Shall  here  inhabit,  and  this  land  be  call'd 

'  The  field  of  Golgotha,  and  dead  men's  sculls. 
Ol  if  you  raise  this  house  against  this  house, 
It  will  the  woefullest  division  prove. 
That  ever  fell  upon  this  cursed  earth. 
Prevent  it,  resist  it,  let  it  not  be  so,  f  woe ! 

Lest  child,  child's  children,  cry  against  you — 
Northumberland. 
Well  have  you  argu'd,  sir  ;  and,  for  your  pains, 

Of  capital  treason  we  arrest  you  here 

My  lord  of  Westminster,  be  it  your  charge 
To  keep  him  safely  till  his  day  of  trial.        [suit. 
May  it  please  you,  lords,  to  grant  the  commons' 
Bolingbroke. 
Fetch  hither  Richard,  that  in  common  view 
He  may  surrender :  so  we  shall  proceed 
Without  suspicion.    y 

I  will  be  his  conduct.  CE*'t- 
Bolingbroke. 
Lords,  you  that  here  are  under  our  arrest, 

Procure  your  sureties  for  your  days  of  answer 

Little  are  we  beholding  to  your  like,  , 

[To  the  Bishop. 

And  little  look  for  at  your  helping  hands. 
Re-enter  York,  with  King  Richard,  and  Officers 
bearing  the  Crown,  &c. 

King  Richard. 
Alack !  why  am  I  sent  for  to  a  king, 
Before  I  have  shook  off  the  regal  thoughts 
\N  ti  rewith  I  reign'd  ?     I  hardly  yet  have  learn'd 
1 1  To  insinuate,  flatter,  bow,  and  bend  my  limbs : 
1 1  Give  sorrow  leave  a  while  to  tutor  me 
To  this  submission.    Yet  1  well  remember 
The  favours  of  these  men  :  were  they  not  mine? 
Did  they  not  sometime  cry,  All  hail !  to  me  ? 
I  So  Judas  did  to  Christ  ;  but  he,  in  twelve, 
Found  truth  in  all,  but  one:  I,  in  twelve  thou- 
sand, none. 
God  save  the  king !  —  Will  no  man  say,  amen  ? 


Am  I  both  priest  and  clerk  ?  well  then,  amen. 
God  «aw- the  king]  although  I  be  not  he; 
And  yet.  amen,  if  heaven  do  think  him  me— 
To  do  what  service  am  I  sent  for  hither  ? 
York. 


To  do  that  office  of  thine  own  good  will, 
;  Which  tired  majesty  did  make  thee  offer  ; 
The  resignation  of  thy  state  and  crown 
To  Harry  Bolingbroke. 

King  Richard. 
Give  me  the  crown. —  Here,  cousin,  seize  the 
crown ;  [side,  yours. 

Here,  cousin,  on  this  side  my  hand,  and  on  that 
Now  is  this  golden  crown  like  a  deep  well, 
That  owes  two  buckets,  filling  one  another  ; 
The  emptier  ever  dancing  in  the  air, 
The  other  down,  unseen,  and  full  of  water: 
That  bucket  down,  and  full  of  tears,  am  I, 
Drinking  my  grief,  whilst  you  mount  up  on  high. 
Bolingbroke. 
I  thought  you  had  been  willing  to  resign. 

King  Richard. 
My  crown,  I  am  ;  but  still  my  griefs  are  mine. 
You  may  my  glories  and  my  state  depose, 
But  not  my  griefs  :  still  am  I  king  of  those. 
Bolingbroke. 
Part  of  your  cares  you  give  me  with  your 
crown. 

King  Richard. 
Your  cares  set  up  do  not  pluck  my  cares  down. 
My  care  is  loss  of  care,  by  old  care  done  ; 
Your  care  is  gain  of  care,  by  new  care  won  : 
The  cares  I  give,  I  have,  though  given  away ; 
They  tend  the  crown,  yet  still  with  me  they 
stay. 

Bolingbroke. 

Are  you  contented  to  resign  the  crown  ? 

King  Richard. 
Ay,  no  ;  —  no.  ay ;  —  for  I  must  nothing  be  ; 
Therefore  no  no,  for  I  resign  to  thee. 
Now  mark  me  how  I  will  undo  myself.— 
I  give  this  heavy  weight  from  off  my  head, 
And  this  unwieldy  sceptre  from  my  hand. 
The  pride  of  kingly  sway  from  out  my  heart : 
With  mine  own  tears  I  wash  away  my  balm, 
With  mine  own  hands  I  give  away  my  crown, 
With  mine  own  tongue  deny  my  sacred  state, 
With  mine  own  breath  release  all  duties,  rites : 
All  pomp  and  majesty  I  do  forswear  ; 
My  manors,  rents,  revenues,  I  forego ; 
My  acts,  decrees,  and  statutes,  I  deny : 

I  God  pardon  all  oaths  that  are  broke  to  me  ! 

i  God  keep  all  vows  unbroke  that  swear  to  thee  ! 

i  Make  me,  that    nothing   have,  with    nothing 
griev'd, 
And  thou  with  all  pleas'd,  that  hast  all  achiev'd  ! 
Long  may'st  thou  live  in  Richard's  seat  to  sit, 
And  soon  lie  Richard  in  an  earthy  pit ! 
God  save  king  Henry,  unking'd  Richard  says, 
And  send  him  many  years  of  sunshine  days  1  — 
What  more  remains  ? 

Northumberland. 

No  more,  but  that  you  read 
[Offering  l  paper. 

These  accusations,  and  these  grievous  crimes, 
Committed  by  your  person,  and  your  followers. 
Against  the  state  and  profit  of  this  land  ; 
That,  by  confessing  them,  the  souls  of  men 
May  deem  that  you  are  worthily  depos'd. 
King  Richard. 
Must  I  do  so  ?  and  must  I  ravel  out 
My  weav'd  up  folly?    Gentle  Northumberland, 
If  thy  offences  were  upon  record, 
Would  it  not  shame  thee,  in  so  fair  a  troop, 

To 


4.26 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  1. 


To  read  a  lecture  of  them  ?    If  thou  would'st, 
There  should'st  thou  find  one  heinous  article, 
Containing  the  deposing  of  a  king, 
And  cracking  the  strong  warrant  of  an  oath, 
Mark'd  with  a  blot,  damn'd  in  the  book  of 

heaven. — 
Nay,  all  of  you,  that  stand  and  look  upon  me, 
Whilst  that  my  wretchedness  doth  bait  myself, 
Though  some  of  you,  with  Pilate,  wash  your 

hands, 
Showing  an  outward  pity ;  yet  you  Pilates 
Have  here  deliver'd  me  to  ray  sour  cross, 
And  water  cannot  wash  away  your  sin. 

Northumberland. 
My  lord,  dispatch :  read  o'er  these  articles. 

King  Richard. 
Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  I  cannot  see ; 
And  yet  salt  water  blinds  them  not  so  much, 
But  they  can  see  a  sort  of  traitors  here. 
Nay,  if  I  turn  mine  eyes  upon  myself, 
I  find  myself  a  traitor  with  the  rest ; 
For  I  have  given  here  my  soul's  consent, 
To  undeck  the  pompous  body  of  a  king  ; 
Made  glory  base,  and  sovereignty  a  slave, 
Proud  majesty  a  subject ;  state  a  peasant. 
Northumberland. 
My  lord,  — 

King  Richard. 
No  lord  of  thine,  thou  haught,  insulting  man, 
Nor  no  man's  lord  :  I  have  no  name,  no  title, 
No,  not  that  name  was  given  me  at  the  font, 
But  'tis  usurp'd —  Alack,  the  heavy  day  ! 
That  I  have  worn  so  many  winters  out, 
And  know  not  now  what  name  to  call  myself. 
O  1  that  I  were  a  mockery  king  of  snow, 
Standing  before  the  sun  of  Bolingbroke, 
To  melt  myself  away  in  water  drops  !  — 
Good  king,  —  great  king, — and  yet  not  greatly 

good, 
An  if  my  name  be  sterling  yet  in  England, 
Let  it  command  a  mirror  hither  straight, 
That  it  may  show  me  what  a  face  I  have, 
Since  it  is  bankrupt  of  his  majesty. 
Bolingbroke. 
Go  some  of  you,  and  fetch  a  looking-glass. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
Northumberland. 
Read  o'er  this  paper,  while  the  glass  doth 
come. 

King  Richard. 
Fiend !  thou  torment'st  me  ere  I  come  to 
hell. 

Bolingbroke. 
Urge  it  no  more,  my  lord  Northumberland. 

Northumberland. 
The  commons  will  not  then  be  satisfied. 

King  Richard. 
They  shall  be  satisfied:  I'll  read  enough, 
When  I  do  see  the  very  book  indeed, 
Where  all  my  sins  are  writ,  and  that's— myself.  [ 

Re-enter  Attendant  with  a  Glass. 
Give  me  the  glass,  and  therein  will  I  read.  — 
No  deeper  wrinkles  yet  ?    Hath  sorrow  struck 
So  many  blows  upon  this  face  of  mine, 
And  made  no  deeper  wounds  ?  —  O,  flattering 
Like  to  my  followers  in  prosperity,  [glass  ! ! 

Thou  dost  beguile  me.    Was  this  face  the  face,  i 
That  every  day  under  his  household  roof 
Did  keep  ten  thousand  men?    Was  this  the; 

face. 
That  like  the  sun  did  make  beholders  wink  ? 
Was  this  the  face,  that  fac'd  so  many  follies, 
And  was  at  last  out-fac'd  by  Bolingbroke  f 


A  brittle  glory  shineth  in  this  face : 
As  brittle  as  the  glory  is  the  face  ; 

[J>ashes  the  glass  against  the  ground. 
For  there  it  is,  crack'd  in  a  hundred  shivers.  — 
Mark,  silent  king,  the  moral  of  this  sport : 
How  soon  my  sorrow  hath  destroy'd  my  face. 

Bolingbroke. 
The  shadow  of  your  sorrow  hath  destroy'd 
The  shadow  of  your  face. 

King  Richard. 

Say  that  again. 
The  shadow  of  my  sorrow  ?    Ha  I  let's  see :  — 
'Tis  very  true,  my  grief  lies  all  within  ; 
And  these  external  manners  of  lament 
Are  merely  shadows  to  the  unseen  grief, 
That  swells  with  silence  in  the  tortur'd  soul ; 
There  lies  the  substance :  and   1  thank  thee, 
For  thy  great  bounty,  that  not  only  giv'st  [king, 
Me  cause  to  wail,  but  teachest  me  the  way 
How  to  lament  the  cause.    I'll  beg  one  boon, 
And  then  begone  and  trouble  you  no  more. 
Shall  I  obtain  it  ? 

Bolingbroke. 
Name  it,  fair  cousin. 

King  Richard. 
Fair  cousin  !  I  am  greater  than  a  king  ; 
For,  when  I  was  a  king,  my  flatterers 
Were  then  but  subjects ;  being  now  a  subject, 
I  have  a  king  here  to  my  flatterer. 
Being  so  great,  I  have  no  need  to  beg. 

Bolingbroke. 
Yet  ask. 

King  Richard. 
And  shall  I  have  it  ? 

Bolingbroke. 
You  shall. 

King  Richard. 
Why  then  give  me  leave  to  go. 

Bolingbroke. 
Whither  ? 

King  Richard. 
Whither  you  will,  so  I  were  from  your  sights. 

Bolingbroke. 
Go,  some  of  you  ;  convey  him  to  the  Tower. 

King  Richard. 
O,  good !    Convey  ? — Conveyers  are  you  all, 
That  rise  thus  nimbly  by  a  true  king's  fall. 

[Exeunt  King  liichard,  and  Guard. 
Bolingbroke. 
On  Wednesday  next  we  solemnly  set  down 
Our  coronation :  lords,  prepare  yourselves. 
[Exeunt  all  but  the  Abbot,  Bishop  of  Car- 
lisle, and  Aumerle. 

Abbot. 
A  woeful  pageant  have  we  here  beheld. 

Bishop. 
The  woe's  to  come :  the  children  yet  unborn 
Shall  feel  this  day  as  sharp  to  them  as  thorn. 
Aumerle. 
You  holy  clergymen,  is  there  no  plot 
To  rid  the  realm  of  this  pernicious  blot  ? 
Abbot. 
My  lord,  before  I  freely  speak  my  mind  herein, 
You  shall  not  only  take  the  sacrament 
To  bury  mine  intents,  but  also  to  effect 
Whatever  I  shall  happen  to  devise. 
I  see  your  brows  are  full  of  discontent, 
Your  hearts  of  sorrow,  and  your  eyes  of  tears  : 
Come  home  with  me  to  supper  ;  1  will  lay 
A  plot,  shall  show  us  all  a  merry  day. 

[lOxeunt. 

act 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


KING  RICIIAKI)  II. 


4*7 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    London.    A  Street  leading  to  the 
Touer. 

Enter  Queen,  and  Attendants. 

Queen. 

THIS  way  the  king  will  come :  this  is  the  way 
To  Julius  Ccesar'%  ill-erected  tower, 
To  whose  flint  bosom  my  condemned  lord 
Is  doom'd  a  prisoner  by  proud  Rolingbroke. 
Here  let  us  rest,  if  this  rebellious  earth 
Hare  any  resting  for  her  true  king's  queen. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  Guard. 
But  soft,  but  see,  or  rather  do  not  see. 
My  fair  rose  wither :  yet  look  up,  behold, 
That  you  in  pity  may  dissolve  to  dew, 
And  wash  him  fresh  again  with  true-love  tears  — 
Ah  !  thou,  the  model  where  old  Troy  did  stand ; 
Thou  map  of  honour;  thou  king  Richard's  tomb, 
And  not  king  Richard;  thou  most  beauteous  inn, 
Why  should  hard-favour'd  grief  be  lodg'd  in 

thee, 
When  triumph  is  become  an  alehouse  guest  ? 

King  Richard. 
Join  not  with  grief,  fair  woman,  do  not  so, 
To  make  my  end  too  sudden  :  learn,  good  soul, 
To  think  our  former  state  a  happy  dream  ; 
From  which  awak'd,  the  truth  of  what  we  are 
Shows  us  but  this.     I  am  sworn  brother,  sweet, 
To  grim  necessity  ;  and  he  and  I 
Will  keep  a  league  till  death.   Hie  thee  to  France, 
And  cloister  thee  in  some  religious  house  : 
Our  holy  lives  must  win  a  new  world's  crown, 
Which  our  profane  hours  here  have  stricken 
down. 

What  1  is  my  Richard  both  in  shape  and  mind 
Transform'd  and  weakened  ?  Hath  Bolingbroke 
Depos'd  thine  intellect  ?  hath  he  been  in  thy 

heart? 
The  lion,  dying,  thrusteth  forth  his  paw, 
And  wounds  the  earth,  if  nothing  else,  with  rage 
To  be  o'erpower'd ;  and  wilt  thou,  pupil-like, 
Take  thy  correction  mildly  ?  kiss  the  rod, 
And  fawn  on  rage  with  base  humility, 
Which  art  a  lion,  and  a  king  of  beasts  ? 
King  Richard. 

A  king  of  beasts,  indeed  ;  if  aught  but  beasts, 
I  had  been  still  a  happy  king  of  men.    [France : 
Good  sometimes  queen,  prepare  thee  hence  for 
Think  I  am  dead ;  and  that  even  here  thou  tak'st, 
As  from  my  death-bed,  my  last  living  leave. 
In  winter's  tedious  nights  sit  by  the  fire 
With  good  old  folks,  and  let  them  tell  thee  tales 
Of  woeful  ages  long  ago  betid  ; 
And,  ere  thou  bid  good  night,  to  quit  their  grief, 
Tell  thou  the  lamentable  tale  of  me, 
And  send  the  hearers  weeping  to  their  beds. 
For  why,  the  senseless  brands  will  sympathize 
The  heavy  accent  of  thy  moving  tongue, 
And  in  compassion  weep  the  fire  out ; 
And  some  will  mourn  in  ashes,  some  coal-black, 
For  the  deposing  of  a  rightful  king. 

Enter  Northumberland,  attended. 
Northumberland. 
My  lord,  the  mind  of  Bolingbroke  is  chang'd : 
You  must  to  Po»\fret,  not  unto  the  Tower 


And,  madam,  there  is  order  ta'en  for  y-ui : 
With  all  swift  speed  you  must  away  to  France. 
King  Richard. 
Northumberland,  thou  ladder,  wherewithal 
The  mounting  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne, 
The  time  shall  not  be  many  hours  of  age 
More  than  it  is,  ere  foul  sin  gathering  head 
Shall  break  into  corruption.    Thou  shalt  think. 
Though  he  divide  the  realm .  and  give  thee  half, 
It  is  too  little,  helping  him  to  all :  [way 

He  shall  think,  that  thou,  which  knowest  the 
To  plant  unrightful  king*,  wilt  know  again, 
Being  ne'er  so  little  urg'd,  another  way 
To  pluck  him  headlong  from  the  usurped  throne. 
The  love  of  wicked  friends  converts  to  fear  ; 
That  fear  to  hate  ;  and  hate  turns  one,  or  both, 
To  worthy  danger  and  deserved  death. 
Northumberland. 
My  guilt  be  on  my  head,  and  there  an  end. 
Take  leave,  and  part,  for  you  must  part  forth- 
with. 

King  Richard. 
Doubly  divore'd  ! — Bad  men,  ye  violate 
A  twofold  marriage  ;  'twixt  my  crown  and  me, 
And  then,  betwixt  me  and  my  married  wife — 
Let  me  unkiss  the  oath  'twixt  thee  and  me ; 
And  yet  not  so,  for  with  a  kiss  'twas  made — 
Part  us,  Northumberland  :  I  towards  the  north, 
Where  shivering  cold  and  sickness  pines  the 

clime; 
My  wife  to  France •'  from  whence,  set  forth  in 

pomp. 
She  came  adorned  hither  like  sweet  May, 
Sent  back  like  Hallowmas,  or  short'st  of  day. 
Queen. 
And  must  we  be  divided  ?  must  we  part  ? 

King  Richard. 
Ay,  hand  from  hand,  my  love,  and  heart  from 
heart. 

Queen. 
Banish  us  both,  and  send  the  king  with  me. 

Northumberland 
That  were  some  love,  but  little  policy. 

Queen. 
Then  whither  he  goes,  thither  let  me  go. 

King  Richard. 
So  two,  together  weeping,  make  one  woe. 
Weep  thou  for  me  in  France,  I  for  thee  here ; 
Better  far  off,  than  near,  be  ne'er  the  near. 
Go ;  count  thy  way  with  sighs,  I  mine  with 
groans. 

Queen. 
j     So  longest  way  shall  have  the  longest  moans. 

King  Richard. 
j     Twice  for  one  step  I'll  groan,  the  way  being 

short, 
|  And  piece  the  way  out  with  a  heavy  heart. 
I  Come,  come,  in  wooing  sorrow  let's  be  brief, 
i  Since,  wedding  it,  there  is  such  length  in  grief. 
One  kiss  shall  stop  our  mouths,  and  dumbly  part: 
Thus  give  1  mine,  and  thus  take  I  thy  heart. 

[They  kiss. 
Queen. 
Give  me  mine  own  again ;  'twere  no  good  part, 
To  take  on  me  to  keep,  and  kill  thy  heart. 

[They  kiss  again. 
So,  now  I  have  mine  own  again,  begone, 
That  1  may  strive  to  kill  it  with  a  groan. 
King  Richard. 
We  make  woe  wanton  with  this  fond  delay : 
Once  more,  adieu  ;  the  rest  let  sorrow  say. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


4*8 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ix. 


SCENE  II.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Duke  of 
York's  Palace. 

Enter  York,  and  the  Duchess. 
Duchess. 
My  lord,  you  told  me,  you  would  tell  the  rest, 
"When  weeping  made  you  break  the  story  off, 
Of  our  two  cousins  coming  into  London. 
York. 
Where  did  I  leave  ? 

Duchess. 

At  that  sad  stop,  my  lord, 
Where  rude  misgovern'd  hands,  from  windows' 

tops, 
Threw  dust  and  rubbish  on  king  Richard's  head. 
York. 
Then,  as  I  said,  the  duke,  great  Bolingbroke, 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed, 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know, 
With  slow  but  stately  pace  kept  on  his  course, 
While  all  tongues  cried—"  God  save  thee,  Boling- 
broke! " 
You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage  ;  and  that  all  the  walls 
With  painted  imagery  had  said  at  once, — 
"Jetu  preserve  thee  1  welcome  Bolingbroke !  " 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning, 
Bare-headed,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  them  thus, — "  I  thank  you,  country. 

men : " 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  pass'd  along. 

Duchess 
Alas,  poor  Richard!  where  rode  he  thewhilst? 

York. 
As  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men, 
After  a  well-grac'd  actor  leaves  the  stage, 
Are  idly  bent  on  him  that  enters  next, 
Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious ;  [eyes 

Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's 
Did  scowl  on  gentle  Richard:  no  man  cried, 

God  save  him ; 
No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home ; 
But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  head, 
Which  with  such  gentle  sorrow  he  shook  off, 
His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles, 
The  badges  of  his  grief  and  patience,       [steel'd 
That  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose, 
The  hearts  of  men,  they  must  perforce  have 
And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him.    [melted, 
But  heaven  hath  a  hand  in  these  events, 
To  whose  high  will  we  bound  our  calm  contents. 
To  Bolingbroke  are  we  sworn  subjects  now, 
Whose  state  and  honour  I  for  aye  allow. 

Duchess 
Here  comes  my  son  Aumcrle. 

York. 

Aumerle  that  was ; 
But  that  is  lost  for  being  Richard's  friend, 
And,  madam,  you  must  call  him  Rutland  now. 
1  am  in  parliament  pledge  for  his  truth, 
And  lasting  fealty  to  the  new-made  king. 

Enter  Aumerle. 

Duchess. 
Welcome,  my  son.    Who  are  the  violets  now, 
That  itrew  the   green   lap  of  the  new-come 
spring? 
,,  ,        . .  Aumerle. 

Madam,  I  know  not,  nor  I  greatly  care  not : 
God  knows,  I  had  as  lief  be  none,  as  one. 


Well,  bear  you  well 


£& 


new  spring  of  time, 


Lest  you  be  cropp'd  before  you  come  to  prime. 
What  news  from  Oxford?  hold  those  justs  and 
triumphs  ? 

Aumerle. 
For  aught  I  know,  my  lord,  they  do. 

York. 
You  will  be  there,  I  know. 
Aumerle. 
If  God  prevent  not;  I  purpose  so. 

York. 
What  seal  is  that,  that  hangs  without  thy 
bosom  ? 
Yea,  look'st  thou  pale?  let  me  see  the  writing. 
Aumerle. 
My  lord,  'tis  nothing. 

York. 
No  matter  then  who  sees  it : 
I  will  be  satisfied,  let  me  see  the  writing. 
Aumerle. 
I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me. 
It  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence, 
Which  for  some  reasons  I  would  not  have  seen. 
York. 
Which  for  some  reasons,  sir,  I  mean  to  see. 
I  fear,  I  fear,— 

Duchess. 

What  should  you  fear? 

'Tis  nothing  but  some  bond  that  he  is  enter'd 

For  gay  apparel  "gainst  the  triumph  day.    [into 

York. 

Bound  to  himself?  what  doth  he  with  a  bond 

That  he  is  bound  to  ?    Wife,  thou  art  a  fool 

Boy,  let  me  see  the  writing. 
Aumerle. 
I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me :   I  may  not 
show  it. 

York. 
I  will  be  satisfied :  let  me  see  it,  I  say. 

[Snatches  it,  and  reads- 
Treason  !  foul  treason  .'—villain !  traitor  1  slave  1 

Ducket*. 

What  is  the  matter,  my  lord? 

York. 
Ho !  who  is  within  there  ?    Saddle  my  horse. 
God  for  his  mercy  1  what  treachery  is  here ! 
Duchess. 
Why,  what  is  it,  my  lord  ? 

York. 
Give  me  my  boots,  I  say :  saddle  my  horse- 
Now  by  mine  honour,  by  my  life,  my  troth, 
I  will  appeach  the  villain. 

Duchess. 

What's  the  matter? 
York. 
Peace,  foolish  woman. 

Duchess. 
I  will  not  peace — What  is  the  matter,  Au- 
merle? 

Aumerle. 
Good  mother,  be  content:  it  is  no  more 
Than  my  poor  life  must  answer. 
Duchess. 

Thy  life  answer? 
York. 
Bring  me  my  boots  :  I  will  unto  the  king. 

Enter  Servant  with  boots. 
Duchess. 
Strike  him,  Aumerle. — Poor  boy,  thou  art 
amaz'd.— 

Hence,  villain  !  never  more  come  in  my  sight 

[Exit  Servant. 
York. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


f*9 


York. 
Give  me  my  boot*,  I  *ay. 

Duchess. 
Why,  York,  what  wilt  thou  do ! 
Wilt  thou  not  hide  the  trespass  of  thine  own  ? 
i  Have  we  more  sons,  or  are  we  like  to  have  ? 
Is  not  my  teeming  date  drunk  up  with  time, 
And  wilt  thou  pluck  my  fair  son  from  mine  age, 
And  rob  me  of  a  happy  mother's  name  ? 

!li  he  not  like  thee  ?  is  he  not  thine  own  ? 
York. 
Thou  fond,  mad  woman. 
Wilt  thou  conceal  this  dark  conspiracy? 
A  dozen  of  them  here  have  ta'en  the  sacrament, 
And  interchangeably  set  down  their  hands, 
To  kill  the  king  at  Oxford. 

Dm  I 

He  shall  be  none ; 
We'll  keep  him  here :  then,  what  is  that  to  him  ? 
York. 
Away,  fond  woman !  were  he  twenty  times 
My  son,  I  would  appeach  him. 

Duchess. 

Hadst  thou  groan'd  for  him, 
As  I  have  done,  thou  would'st  be  more  pitiful. 
But  now  I  know  thy  mind  :  thou  dost  suspect, 
That  I  have  been  disloyal  to  thy  bed, 
And  that  he  is  a  bastard,  not  thy  son. 
Sweet  York,  sweet  husband,  be  not  of  that  mind: 
He  is  as  like  thee  as  a  man  may  be, 
Not  like  to  me,  nor  any  of  my  kin, 
And  yet  I  love  him. 

York. 
Make  way,  unruly  woman.     [Exit. 

Duchess. 
After,  Aumcrlel  Mount  thee  upon  his  horse : 
Spur,  post,  and  get  before  him  to  the  king, 
And  beg  thy  pardon  ere  he  do  accuse  thee. 
I'll  not  be  long  behind :  though  1  be  old, 
I  doubt  not  but  to  ride  as  fast  as  York : 
And  never  will  I  rise  up  from  the  ground, 
Till  Bolingbroke  have  pardon 'd  thee.     Away! 
begone.  [Exeunt. 

SCF.SE  111.    Windtor.    A  Koom  In  the  Castle. 

Knter  Bolingbroke  as  King;  Percy,  and  other 
Lord*. 

Bolingbroke. 

Can  no  man  tell  me  of  my  unthrifty  son  ? 
'Tis  full  three  months,  since  1  did  see  him  last : 
If  any  plague  hang  over  us,  'tis  he. 
I  would  to  God,  my  lords,  he  might  be  found. 
Inquire  at  London,  'mongst  the  taverns  there, 
For  there,  they  say,  he  daily  doth  frequent, 
With  unrestrained  loose  companions ; 
Even  such,  they  say,  as  stand  in  narrow  lanes, 
And  beat  our  watch,  and  rob  our  passengers  ; 
While  he,  young  wanton,  and  effeminate  boy, 
Takes  on  the  point  of  honour  to  support 
So  dissolute  a  crew. 

Percy. 

My  lord,  some  two  days  since  I  saw  the  prince, 
And  told  him  of  these  triumphs  held  at  Oxford. 

Bolingbroke. 
And  what  said  the  gallant  ? 

Percy. 
His  answer  was, — he  would  unto  the  stews ; 
And  from  the  common'st  creature  pluck  a  glove, 
And  wear  it  as  a  favour  ;  and  with  that 
He  would  unhorse  the  lustiest  challenger. 


Bolingbroke. 

As  dissolute,  as  desperate :  yet,  through  both 

I  see  some  sparks  of  better  hope,  which  elder 

days 
May  happily  bring  forth.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Aumerle,  in  great  baste. 
Aumerle. 
Where  is  the  king  ? 

Bolingbroke. 
What  means  our  cousin,  that  he  stares  and 
So  wildly?  [looks 

Aumerle. 
God  save  your  grace.     I  do  beseech  your 
majesty, 
To  have  some  conference  with  your  grace  alone. 
Bolingbroke. 
Withdraw   yourselves,   and   leave   us    here 
alone. —  [Exeunt  Percy  andCorrfi. 

What  is  the  matter  with  our  cousin  now  ? 
Aumerle. 
For  ever  may  my  knees  grow  to  the  earth, 

[Kneels. 
My  tongue  cleave  to  my  roof  within  my  mouth, 
Unless  a  pardon,  ere  1  rise,  or  speak. 
Bolingbroke. 
Intended,  or  committed,  was  this  fault  ? 
If  on  the  first,  how  heinous  e'er  it  be, 
To  win  thy  after  love  I  pardon  thee. 
Aumerle. 
Then  give  me  leave  that  I  may  turn  the  key, 
That  no  man  enter  till  my  tale  be  done. 
Bolingbroke. 
Have  thy  desire.        [Aumerle  locks  the  door. 
York.  [Within. 

My  liege,  beware  !  look  to  thyself: 
Thou  hast  a  traitor  in  thy  presence  there. 
Bolingbroke. 
Villain,  I'll  make  thee  safe.  [Drawing. 

Aumerle. 
Stay  thy  revengeful  hand :  thou  hast  no  cause 
to  fear. 

York.  [Within. 

Open  the  door,  secure,  fool-hardy  king : 
Shall  I  for  love  speak  treason  to  thy  face? 
Open  the  door,  or  I  will  break  it  open. 

[Bolingbroke  opens  the  door. 

Enter  York. 
Bolingbroke. 
What  is  the  matter,  uncle  ?  speak ; 
Recover  breath :  tell  us  how  near  is  danger, 
,  Tiiat  we  may  arm  us  to  encounter  it. 
York. 
Peruse  this  writing  here,  and  thou  shalt  know 
i  The  treason  that  my  haste  forbids  me  show. 
Aumerle 
Remember,  as  thou  read'st,  thy  promise  past 
I  do  repent  me ;  read  not  my  name  there : 
My  heart  is  not  confederate  with  my  hand. 
York. 

It  was,  villain,  ere  thy  hand  did  set  it  down 

I  tore  it  from  the  traitor's  bosom,  king : 
t  Fear,  and  not  love,  begets  his  penitence. 
Forget  to  pity  him,  lest  thy  pity  prove 
'  A  serpent  that  will  sting  thee  to  the  heart. 
Bolingbroke. 
O,  heinous,  strong,  and  bold  conspiracy  I  — 
O,  loyal  father  of  a  treacherous  son  ! 
Thou  sheer,  immaculate,  and  silver  fountain, 
From  whence  this  stream  through  muddy  pas- 
sages 

Hath 


43° 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  v.  Sc.  in, 


Hath  held  his  current,  and  defil'd  himself! 
Thy  overflow  of  good  converts  to  bad ; 
And  thy  abundant  goodness  shall  excuse 
This  deadly  blot  in  thy  digressing  son. 

York. 
So  shall  my  virtue  be  his  vice's  bawd, 
And  he  shall  spend  mine  honour  with  his  shame, 
As  thriftless  sons  their  scraping  fathers'  gold.     I 
Mine  honour  lives  when  his  dishonour  dies, 
Or  my  sham'd  life  in  his  dishonour  lies : 
Thou  kill'st  me  in  his  life  ;  giving  him  breath, 
The  traitor  lives,  the  true  man's  put  to  death. 

Duchess.  [Within. 

What  ho  t  my  liege  1  for  God's  sake  let  me  in. 

What  slirill-voic  d  suppliant  makes  this  eager 
cry? 

Duchess. 
A  woman,  and  thine  aunt,  great  king ;  'tis  I. 
Speak  with  me,  pity  me,  open  the  door : 
A  beggar  begs,  that  never  begg'd  before. 

Bolingbroke. 

Our  scene  is  altered,  from  a  serious  thing, 

And  now  chang'd  to  "The  Beggar  and  the 

King."— 
My  dangerous  cousin,  let  your  mother  in : 
I  know,  she's  come  to  pray  for  your  foul  sin. 

York. 
If  thou  do  pardon,  whosoever  pray, 
More  sins  for  this  foregiveness  prosper  may. 
This  fester'd  joint  cut  off",  the  rest  rest  sound ; 
This,  let  alone,  will  all  the  rest  confound. 

Enter  Duchess. 

O  king !  believe  not  this  hard-hearted  man : 
Love,  loving  not  itself,  none  other  can. 

York. 
Thou  frantic  woman,  what  dost  thou  make 
here? 
Shall  thy  old  dugs  once  more  a  traitor  rear  ? 

Duchess. 
Sweet   York,  be  patient.     Hear  me,  gentle 
liege.  (Kneels. 

Bolingbroke. 
Rise  up,  good  aunt. 

Duchess. 

Not  yet,  I  thee  beseech: 
For  ever  will  I  walk  upon  my  knees, 
And  never  see  day  that  the  happy  sees. 
Till  thou  give  joy  ;  until  thou  bid  me  joy, 
By  pardoning  Rutland,  my  transgressing  boy. 

Aumerle. 
Unto  my  mother's  prayers,  I  bend  my  knee. 
[Kneels. 
York. 
Against  them  both,  my  true  joints  bended  be. 
[Kneels. 
[Ill  may'st  thou  thrive,  if  thou  grant  any  grace !] 

Duchess. 

Pleads  he  in  earnest?  look  upon  his  face; 
His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears,  his  prayers  are  in  jest ; 
His  words  come  from  his  mouth,  ours  from  our 

breast : 
He  prays  but  faintly,  and  would  be  denied  ; 
We  pray  with  heart,  and  soul,  and  all  beside: 
His  weary  joints  would  gladly  rise,  I  know ; 
Our  knees  shall  kneel  till  to  the  ground  they 
His  prayers  are  full  of  false  hypocrisy  ;     [grow : 
Ours  of  true  zeal  and  deep  integrity. 
Our  prayers  do  out-pray  his ;  then,  let  them  have 
That  mercy  which  true  prayers  ought  to  have. 


Bolingbroke. 
Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duchess. 
Nay,  do  not  say — stand  up  ; 
But,  pardon  first,  and  afterwards,  stand  up. 
An  if  I  were  thy  nurse,  thy  tongue  to  teach, 
Pardon  should  be  the  first  word  of  thy  speech. 
I  never  long'd  to  hear  a  word  till  now ; 
Say— pardon,  king ;  let  pity  teach  thee  how  : 
The  word  is  short,  but  not  so  short  as  sweet ; 
No  word  like  pardon,  for  kings'  mouths  so  meet. 

York. 
Speak  it  in  French,  king :  say,  pardonnez  moi. 

Duchess. 
Dost  thou  teach  pardon  pardon  to  destroy  ? 
Ah !  my  sour  husband,  my  hard-hearted  lord, 
That  set'st  the  word  itself  against  the  word  ! 
Speak,  pardon,  as  'tis  current  in  our  land  ; 
The  chopping  French  we  do  not  understand. 
Thine  eye  begins  to  speak,  set  thy  tongue  there, 
Or  in  thy  piteous  heart  plant  thou  thine  ear, 
That  hearing  how  our  plaints  and  prayers  do 

pierce, 
Pity  may  move  thee  pardon  to  rehearse. 
Bolingbroke. 
Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duchess. 

I  do  not  sue  to  stand  : 
Pardon  is  all  the  suit  I  have  in  hand. 
Bolingbroke . 
I  pardon  him,  as  God  shall  pardon  me. 
Duchess. 

0  !  happy  vantage  of  a  kneeling  knee  ! 
Yet  am  I  sick  for  fear  :  speak  it  again  ; 
Twice  saying  pardon  doth  not  pardon  twain, 
But  makes  one  pardon  strong. 

Bolingbroke. 

1  pardon  him  with  all  my  heart. 

Duchess. 

A  god  on  earth  thou  art. 
Bolingbroke - 
But  for  our  trusty  brother-in-law,  and  the 
abbot, 
With  all  the  rest  of  that  consorted  crew, 
Destruction  straight  shall  dog  them  at  the  heels.. 
Good  uncle,  help  to  order  several  powers 
To  Oxford,  or  where'er  these  traitors  are  : 
They  shall  not  live  within  this  world,  I  swear, 
But  I  will  have  them,  if  I  once  know  where 
Uncle,  farewell, — and  cousin  too,  adieu  :    [true. 
Your  mother  well  hath  pray'd,  and  prove  you 
Duchess. 
Come,  my  old  son :  I  pray  God  make  thee 
new.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Sir  Pierce  of  Exton,  and  a  Servant. 
Exton. 
Didst  thou  not  mark  the  king,  what  words  he 
spake? 
"  Have  I  no  friend  will  rid  me  of  this  living 
Was  it  not  so?  [fear?" 

Servant. 
Those  were  his  very  words. 
Exton. 
"  Have  I  no  friend  ?  "  quoth  he :  he  spake  it 
And  urg'd  it  twice  together,  did  he  not  ?  [twice, 
Servant. 
He  did. 

Exton. 
And,  speaking  it,  he  whistly  look'd  on  me ; 


Wright  Ad. 


isECSiAm]©  im. 


Act  v.  Sc  v. 


KING  RICHARD  H. 


4J» 


At  who  should  say, — I  would  thou  wert  the  man 
That  would  divorce  this  terror  from  my  heart ; 
Meaning  the  king  at  Pomjret.  Come,  let's  go  : 
1  am  the  king's  friend,  and  will  rid  his  foe. 

6  [Exeunt. 

SCESE  V.    Pomfrrt.    The  Dungeon  of  the 
Castle. 

Enter  King  Richard. 
King  Richard. 
I  hare  been  studying  how  I  may  compare 
This  prison,  where  I  live,  unto  the  world : 
And,  for  because  the  world  is  populous, 
And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 
I  cannot  do  it :  yet  I'll  hamraer't  out. 
My  brain  I'll  prove  the  female  to  my  soul ; 
My  soul,  the  father :  and  these  two  beget 
A  generation  of  still-breeding  thoughts, 
And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world ; 
In  humours  like  the  people  of  this  world, 
For  no  thought  is  contented.    The  better  sort, 
As  thoughts  of  things  divine,  are  interraix'd 
With  scruples,  and  do  set  the  word  itself 
Against  the  word : 

As  thus, — "  Come,  little  ones ; "  and  then  again, — 
"  It  is  as  hard  to  come,  as  for  a  camel 
To  thread  the  postern  of  a  small  needle's  eye." 
Thoughts  tending  to  ambition,  they  do  plot 
Unlikely  wonders  :  how  these  vain  weak  nails 
May  tear  a  passage  through  the  flinty  ribs 
Of  this  hard  world,  my  ragged  prison  walls ; 
And,  for  they  cannot,  die  in  their  own  pride. 
Thoughts  tending  to  content  flatter  themselves, 
That  they  are  not  the  first  of  fortune's  slaves, 
Nor  shall  not  be  the  last ;  like  silly  beggars, 
Who,  sitting  in  the  stocks,  refuge  their  shame 
That  many  have,  and  others  must  sit  there : 
And  in  this  thought  they  find  a  kind  of  ease, 
Bearing  their  own  misfortune  on  the  back 
Of  such  as  have  before  endur'd  the  like. 
Thus  play  I,  in  one  person,  many  people, 
And  none  contented :  sometimes  am  I  king ; 
Then,  treason  makes  me  wish  myself  a  beggar, 
And  so  I  am  :  then,  crushing  penury 
Persuades  me  I  was  better  when  a  king : 
Then,  am  I  king'd  again  ;  and,  by  and  by, 
Think  that  I  am  unking'd  by  Bolingbroke, 
And  straight  am  nothing  —But  whate'er  I  am, 
Nor  I,  nor  any  man,  that  but  man  is, 
With  nothing  shall  be  pleas'd,  till  he  be  eas'd 
With  being  nothing. — Music  do  I  hear  ?  [Music. 
Ha,  ha  !  keep  time. — How  sour  sweet  music  is, 
When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept ! 
So  is  it  in  the  music  of  men's  lives: 
And  here  have  I  the  daintiness  of  ear, 
To  check  time  broke  in  a  disorder'd  string, 
But  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time, 
Had  not  an  ear  to  hear  my  true  time  broke. 
I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  time  waste  me  ; 
For  now  hath  time  made  me  his  numbering 

clock : 
My  thoughts  are  minutes,  and  with  sighs  they  jar, 
Their  watches  on  unto  mine  eyes  the  outward 

watch. 
Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 
Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 
Now.  sir,  the  sound,  that  tells  what  hour  it  is, 
Are  clamorous  groans,  that  strike  upon  my  heart, 
Which  is  the  bell:  so  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans, 
Show  minutes,  times,  and  hours  ;  hut  my  time 
Runs  posting  on  in  Bolingbroke 's  proud  joy, 
While  I  stand  fooling  here,  his  Jack  o'  the  clock. 
This  music  mads  me:  let  it  sound  no  more. 
For  though  it  hath  holpe  madmen  to  their  wits, 
In  me,  it  seems,  it  will  make  wise  men  mad. 
Yet,  blessing  on  his  heart  that  gives  it  me  1 


For  'tis  a  sign  of  love,  and  love  to  Richard 
Is  a  strange  brooch  in  this  all-hating  world. 

Enter  Groom. 
Groom. 
Hail,  royal  prince  I 

King  Richard 

Thanks,  noble  peer ; 
The  cheapest  of  us  is  ten  groats  too  dear. 
What  art  thou  ?  and  how  comest  thou  hither. 
Where  no  man  never  comes,  but  that  sad  dog 
That  brings  me  food  to  make  misfortune  live  ? 
Groom. 
I  was  a  poor  groom  of  thy  stable,  king, 
When  thou  wert  king  ;  who,  travelling  towards 

York, 
With  much  ado,  at  length  have  gotten  leave 
To  look  upon  my  sometimes  royal  master's  face. 
O  1  how  it  yern'd  my  heart,  when  I  beheld 
In  London  streets  that  coronation  day, 
i  When  Bolingbroke  rode  on  roan  Barbary  ! 
!  That  horse  that  thou  so  often  hast  bestrid, 
That  horse  that  I  so  carefully  have  dress'd  ! 
King  Richard. 
Rode  he  on  Barbary?  Tell  me,  gentle  friend, 
How  went  he  under  him  ? 
Groom. 
So  proudly,  as  if  he  disdain'd  the  ground. 

King  Richard. 
So  proud  that  Bolingbroke  was  on  his  back  ? 
That  jade  hath  eat  bread  from  my  royal  hand  ; 
This  hand  hath  made  him  proud  with  clapping 
him.  [down, 

Would  he  not  stumble?    Would  he  not  fall 
(Since  pride  must  have  a  fall)  and  break  the 

neck 
Of  that  proud  man  that  did  usurp  his  back  ? 
Forgiveness,  horse  !  why  do  I  rail  on  thee, 
Since  thou,  created  to  be  aw'd  by  man, 
Wast  born  to  bpar  ?     I  was  not  made  a  horse  ; 
And  yet  I  bear  a  burden  like  an  ass, 
Spur-gall'd,  and  tir'd,  by  jauncing  Bolingbroke. 

Enter  Keeper,  with  a  Dish. 

Keeper. 

Fellow,  give  place :  here  is  no  longer  stay. 

[To  the  Groom. 
King  Richard. 
If  thou  love  me,  'tis  time  thou  wert  away. 

Groom. 
What  my  tongue  dares  not,  that  my  heart 
shall  say.  [Exit. 

Keeper. 
My  lord,  will't  please  you  to  fall  to  ? 

King  Richard. 
Taste  of  it  first,  aslhou  art  wont  to  do. 

Keeper. 
My  lord,   I  dare  not:   sir  Pierce  of  Exion, 
who  lately  came  from  the  king,  commands  the 
contrary. 

King  Richard. 
The  devil  take  Henry  of  Lancaster,  and  thee  1 
Patience  is  stale,  and  I  am  weary  of  it. 

[Strikes  the  Keeper. 
Keeper. 
Help,  help,  help  I 

Enter  Sir  Pierce  of  Exton,  and  Servants,  armed. 

King  Richard. 

How  now  !  what  means  death  In  this  rude 

assault  ?  [ment. 

Villain,  thine  own  hand  yields  thy  death's  instru- 

[Snatching  a  weapon,  and  killing  one. 


41* 


KING  RICHARD  H. 


Act  v.  &.  yi. 


Go  thou,  and  fill  another  room  in  hell. 

[He  kills  another :  Exton  strikes  him  down. 
That  hand  shall  burn  in  never-quenching  fire, 
That  staggers  thus  my  person.— Exton,  thy  fierce 
hand  [land. 

Hath  with  the  king's  blood  stain'dthe  king's  own 
Mount,  mount,  my  soul  !  thy  seat  is  up  on  high, 
Whilst  my  gross  flesh  sinks  downward,  here  to 
die.  „  [Dies. 

Exton. 
As  full  of  valour,  as  of  royal  blood  : 
Both  have  I  spilt :  O,  would  the  deed  were  good  ! 
For  now  the  devil,  that  told  me  I  did  well, 
Says  that  this  deed  is  chronicled  in  hell. 

This  dead  king  to  the  living  king  I'll  bear 

Take  hence  the  rest,  and  give  them  burial  here. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.     Windsor.    An  Apartment  in  the 
Castle. 

Flourish.     Enter  Bolingbroke,  and  York,  with 
Lords  and  Attendants. 

Bolingbroke. 
Kind  uncle  York,  the  latest  news  we  hear 
Is,  that  the  rebels  have  consum'd  with  fire 
Our  town  of  Ciceter  in  Glostershire  ; 
But  whether  they  be  ta'en,  or  slain,  we  hear  not 

Enter  Northumberland. 
Welcome,  my  lord.    What  is  the  news  ? 

Northumberland. 
First,  to  thy  sacred  state  wish  I  all  happiness: 
The  next  news  is.  —  I  have  to  London  sent 
The  heads  of  Salisbury,  Spencer,  Blunt,  and 
The  manner  of  their  taking  may  appear  [Kent: 
At  large  discoursed  in  this  paper  here. 

[Presenting  a  paper 

Bolingbroke. 
We  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy,  for  thy  pains, 
And  to  thy  worth  will  add  right  worthy  gains. 

Enter  Fitxwater. 
FiUwater. 
My  lord,  I  have  from  Oxford  sent  to  London 
The  heads  of  Brocas,  and  Sir  Bennet  Seely, 
Two  of  the  dangerous  consorted  traitors, 
That  sought  at  Oxford  thy  dire  overthrow. 


Bolingbroke. 
Thy  pains,  Fitxwater,  shall  not  be  forgot ; 
Right  noble  is  thy  merit,  well  I  wot. 

Enter  Percy,  with  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle. 
Percy. 
The  grand  conspirator,  abbot  of  Westrninster, 
With  clog  of  conscience,  and  sour  melancholy 
Hath  yielded  up  his  body  to  the  grave  ; 
But  here  is  Car/isle  living,  to  abide 
Thy  kingly  doom,  and  sentence  of  his  pride. 
Bolingbroke. 
Carlisle,  this  is  your  doom  : —  [room, 

Choose  out  some  secret  place,  some  reverend 
More  than  thou  hast,  and  with  it  joy  thy  life ; 
So,  as  thou  liv'st  in  peace,  die  free  from  strife : 
For  though  mine  enemy  thou  hast  ever  been, 
High  sparks  of  honour  in  thee  have  I  seen. 

Enter  Exton,  with  Attendants  bearing  a  Coffin. 
Exton. 

Great  king,  within  this  coffin  I  present 
Thy  buried  fear :  herein  all  breathless  lies 
The  mightiest  of  thy  greatest  enemies, 
Bichard  of  Bordeaux,  by  me  hither  brought. 
Bolingbroke. 

Exton,  I  thank  thee  not ;  for  thou  hast  wrought 
A  deed  of  slander  with  thy  fatal  hand 
Upon  my  head,  and  all  this  famous  land. 
.Exton. 

From  your  own  mouth,  my  lord,  did  I  this 
deed. 

Bolingbroke 

They  love  not  poison  that  do  poison  need, 
Nor  do  1  thee :  though  I  did  wish  him  dead, 
I  hate  the  murderer,  love  him  murdered. 
The  guilt  of  conscience  take  thou  for  thy  labour, 
But  neither  my  good  word,  nor  princely  favour: 
With   Cain  go  wander  through  the  shades  of 

night, 
And  never  show  thy  head  by  day  nor  light.  — 
Lords,  I  protest,  my  soul  is  full  of  woe, 
That  blood  should  sprinkle  me  to  make  me  grow : 
Come,  mourn  with  me  for  that  I  do  lament, 
And  put  on  sullen  black  incontinent. 
I'll  make  a  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land, 
To  wash  this  blood  off  from  my  guilty  hand. 
March  sadly  after  :  grace  my  mdurnings  here. 
In  weeping  after  this  untimely  bier.      (Exeunt. 


Acr  i.  Sc.  i. 


FIRST  TAUT  OF  KING  HENRY  IV 


♦*3 


FIRST  PART 


OF 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


KING    HENRY    THE    FOURTH. 

Henry,  Prince  of  Wales. 

Prince  John  of  Lancaster. 

Earl  of  Westmoreland. 

Stir  Walter  Blunt. 

Thomas  Percy,  Earl  of  Worcester. 

Henry  Percy,  Earl  of  Northumberland. 

Henry  Percy,  sumamed  Hotspur,  his  Son. 

Edmund  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March. 

Scroop,  Archbishop  tf  York. 

Archibald,  Earl  of  Douglas. 

Owen  Glendower. 

Sir  Richard  Vernon. 


Sir  John  Falstaff. 

Sir  Michael,  a  Friend  of  the  Archbishop  qf  York. 

Poins. 

GadshiU. 

Pet... 

Bardolph. 

Lady  Percy,  Wife  to  Hotspur. 

J.ady  Mortimer.  Daughter  to  Glendower. 

Mrs.  Quickly,  Hostess  of  a  Tavern  in  Eastcheap. 

Lords,  Officers,  Sheriff",  Vintner,  Chamberlain, 
Drawers,  Carriers,  Travellers,  and  Attendants. 


SCENE,  England. 


■^■^♦♦■&4JK' 


ACT  I. 


SCESE  I.    London.    An  Apartment  In  the 
Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Westmoreland,  Sir  Walter 

/Hunt,  and  others. 

King  Henry. 

SO  shaken  as  we  are,  so  wan  with  care, 
Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant, 
And  breathe  short-winded  accents  of  new  broils 
To  be  commene'd  in  stronds  afar  remote. 
No  more  the  thirsty  entrance  of  this  soil 
Shall  daub  her  lips  with  her  own  children's  blood; 
No  more  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields, 
Nor  bruise  her  Mow  rets  with  the  armed  hoofs 
Of  hostile  paces  :  those  opposed  eyes, 
Which,  like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven, 
AH  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred, 
Did  lately  meet  in  the  intestine  shock 
And  furious  close  of  civil  butchery, 
Shall  now,  in  mutual,  well-beseeming  ranks, 
March  all  one  way,  and  be  no  more  oppos'd 
Against  acquaintance,  kindred,  and  allies  : 
The  edge  of  war,  like  an  ill-sheathed  knife, 
No   more    shall    cut    his   master.     Therefore, 
As  far  as  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ.       [friends, 
Whose  soldier  now,  under  whose  blessed  cross, 
We  are  impressed,  and  engag'd  to  fight, 
Forthwith  a  power  of  English  shall  we  levy, 

I 


Whose  arms  were  moulded  In  their  mother's 

womb 
To  chase  these  pagans,  in  those  holy  fields. 
Over  whose  acres  walk'd  those  blessed  feet, 
Which  fourteen  hundred  years  ago  were  nail'd 
For  our  advantage  on  the  bitter  cross. 
But  this  our  purpose  is  a  twelve-month  old, 
And  bootless  'tis  to  tell  you  we  will  go: 
Therefore  we  meet  not  now — Then,  let  me  hear 
Of  you,  my  gentle  cousin  Westmoreland, 
What  yesternight  our  council  did  decree, 
In  forwarding  this  dear  expedience. 

Weatraorebiul. 

My  liege,  this  haste  was  hot  in  question, 
And  many  limits  of  the  charge  set  down 
But  yesternight ;  when,  all  athwart,  there  came 
A  post  from  Wales  loaden  with  heavy  news ; 
Whose  worst  was,  that  the  noble  Mortimer, 
Leading  the  men  of  Herefordshire  to  fight 
Against  the  irregular  and  wild  Glendower, 
Was  by  the  rude  hands  of  that  Welchman  taken, 
A  thousand  of  his  people  butchered; 
Upon  whose  dead  corpse  there  was  such  misuse, 


By  those  Welcbwomen  done,  as  may  not  be 


Such  beastly,  shameless  transformation, 
By  those  Wei  " 

Without  much  shame  re-told  or  spoken  of. 
King  Henry. 
It  seems,  then,  that  the  tidings  of  this  bruil 
Brake  ofTour  business  for  the  Holy  Land. 

v  v  Westmoreland. 


434 


FIKST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc. 


Westmoreland. 
This,  match'd  with  other,  did,  my  gracious 
lord; 
For  more  uneven  and  unwelcome  news 
Came  from  the  north,  and  thus  it  did  import. 
On  Holy-rood  day,  the  gallant  Hotspur  there, 
Young  Harry  Percy,  and  brave  Archibald, 
That  ever  valiant  and  approved  Scot, 
At  Holmedon  met; 

Where  they  did  spend  a  sad  and  bloody  hour, 
As  by  discharge  of  their  artillery, 
And  shape  of  likelihood,  the  news  was  told ; 
For  he  that  brought  them,  in  the  very  heat 
And  pride  of  their  contention  did  take  horse, 
Uncertain  of  the  issue  any  way. 

King  Henry. 
Here  is  a  dear,  a  true-industrious  friend, 
Sir  Walter  Blunt,  new  lighted  from  his  horse, 
Stain'd  with  the  variation  of  each  soil 
Betwixt  that  Holmedon  and  this  seat  of  ours ; 
And  he  hath  brought  us  smooth  and  welcome 
The  earl  of  Douglas  is  discomfited ;  [news. 

Ten    thousand    bold    Scots,    two-and -twenty 

knights, 
Balk'd  in  their  own  blood,  did  Sir  Walter  see 
Ou  Holmedon's  plains:   of  prisoners,  Hotspur 
Mordakc  earl  of  F(fe,  and  eldest  son  [took 

To  beaten  Douglas,  and  the  earl  of  Athol, 
Of  Murray,  Angus,  and  Menteith  ; 
And  is  not  this  an  honourable  spoil? 
A  gallant  prize?  ha!  cousin,  is  it  not? 

Westmoreland. 
In  faith, 
It  is  a  conquest  for  a  prince  to  boast  of. 

King  Henry. 
Yea,  there  thou  mak'st  me  sad,  and  mak'st  me 
sin, 
In  envy  that  my  lord  Northumberland 
Should  be  the  father  to  so  blest  a  son: 
A  son,  who  is  the  theme  of  honour's  tongue; 
Amongst  a  grove  the  very  straightest  plant ; 
Who  is  sweet  fortune's  minion,  and  her  pride: 
Whilst  I,  by  looking  on  the  praise  of  him, 
See  riot  and  dishonour  stain  the  brow 
Of  my  young  Harry.    O !  that  it  could  be  prov'd, 
That  some  night-tripping  fairy  had  exchang'd 
In  cradle- clothes  our  children  where  they  lay, 
And  call'd  mine  Percy,  his  Plantagenet  : 
Then,  would  1  have  his  Harry,  and  he  mine. 
But  let  him  from  my  thoughts.  — What  think 

you,  coz, 
Of  this  young  Percy's  pride?  the  prisoners, 
Which  he  iii  this  adventure  hath  surpriz'd, 
To  his  own  use  he  keeps ;  and  sends  me  word, 
I  shall  have  none  but  Mordake  earl  of  Fife. 

Westmoreland. 

This  is  his  uncle's  teaching,  this  is  Worcester, 

Malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects ;  [up 

Which  makes  him  prune  himself,  and  bristle 

The  crest  of  youth  against  your  dignity. 

King  Henry. 
But  I  have  sent  for  him  to  answer  this ; 
And  for  this  cause  awhile  we  must  neglect 
Our  holy  purpose  to  Jerusalem. 
Cousin,  on  Wednesday  next  our  council  we 
Will  hold  at  Windsor:  so  inform  the  lords; 
But  come  yourself  with  speed  to  us  again, 
For  more  is  to  be  said,  and  to  be  done, 
Than  out  of  anger  can  be  uttered. 


I  will,  my  liege. 


Westmoreland. 


[Kxeunt, 


SCENE  II.    The  same.    Another  Apartment 
in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Falstaff. 

Falstaff. 

Now,  Hal;  what  time  of  day  is  it,  lad? 

Prince  Henry. 

I     Thou  art  so  fat-witted,  with -drinking  of  old 

;  sick,  and  unbuttoning  thee  after  supper,  and 

|  sleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou 

hast  forgotten  to  demand  that  truly,  which  thou 

'  would'st  truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to 

J  do  with  the  time  of  the  day?  unless  hours  were 

J  cups  of  sack,  and  minutes  capons,  and  clocks  the 

!  tongues  of  bawds,  and  dials  the  signs  of  leaping- 

;  bouses,  and  the  blessed  sun  himself  a  fair  hot 

j  wench  in  flame-colour'd  taffeta,  I  see  no  reason 

•  why  thou  should'st  be  so  superfluous  to  demand 

■  the  time  of  the  day. 

Falstaff. 
j     Indeed,  you  come  near  me,  now,  Hal ;  for  we, 

■  that  take  purses,  go  by  the  moon  and  the  seven 
,  stars,  and  not  by  Phoebus,  —  he, "  that  wandering 

•  knight  so  fair."  And,  I  pr'ythee,  sweet  wag, 
|  when  thou  art  king,  — as,  God  save  thy  grace, — 
j  majesty,  1  should  say,  for  grace  thou  wilt  have 
inone, — 

Prince  Henry. 
I     What  I  none?  ,      „. 

Falstaff. 
j     No,  by  my  troth ;  not  so  much  as  will  serve 
;to  be  prologue  to  an  egg  and  butter. 

Prince  Henry. 
Well,  how  then  ?  come,  roundly,  roundly. 

Falstaff. 
Marry,  then,  sweet  wag,  when  thou  art  kin<r, 
let  not  us,  that  are  squires  of  the  night's  body,  be 
! called  thieves  of  the  day's  beauty:  let  us  be  Di- 
cwa's  foresters,  gentlemen  of  the  shade,  minions 
of  the  moon;  and  let  men  say,  we  be  men  of 
Igood  government,  being  governed  as  the  sea  is, 
■by  our  noble  and  chaste  mistress  the  moon, 
iunder  whose  countenance  we  steal. 

Prince  Henry. 
|  Thou  say'st  well,  and  it  holds  well,  too ;  for 
jthe  fortune  of  us,  that  are  the  moon's  men,  doth 
jebb  and  flow  like  the  sea,  being  governed  as  the 
jsea  is,  by  the  moon.  As  for  proof  now :  a  purse 
jof  gold  most  resolutely  snatched  on  Monday 
Inight,  and  most  dissolutely  spent  on  Tuesday 
'morning;  got  with  swearing — layby;  and  spent 
;with  crying — bring  in;  now,  in  as  low  an  ebb 
[as  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and,  by  and  by,  in  as 
jhigh  a  flow  as  the  ridge  of  the  gallows. 

Falstaff. 
I    By  the  Lord,  thou  say'st  true,  lad.    And  is 
jnot  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
i     As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old  lad  of  the 
(castle.    And  is  not  a  buff  jerkin  a  most  sweet 
'robe  of  durance  ? 

Falstaff. 
How  now,  how  now,  mad  wag  !  what,  in  thy 
quips,  and  thy  quiddities  ?  what  a  plague  have 
I  to  do  with  a  buffjerkin  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
!    Why,  what  a  pox  have  I  to  do  with    my 
hostess  of  the  tavern  ? 

Falstaff. 
|    Well,  thou  hast  called  her  to  a  reckoning 
many  a  time  and  oft. 

I  Prince 


Act  i.  Sc.  ft. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


4*5 


Did  I  ever  call  for  thee  to  pay  thy  part  ? 

..at. 

No ;  I'll  give  thee  thy  due  ;  thou  hast  paid  all 
there. 

Prince  Henry. 

Yi a,  and  elsewhere,  so  far  as  my  coin  would 
stretch  ;  and,  where  it  would  not,  1  have  used 
my  credit. 

YM|  and  so  used  it,  that  were  it  not  here  ap- 
parent that  thou  art  heir  apparent, —  Hut,  I 
prVtheo,  sweet  wag,  shall  there  be  gallows 
standing  in  England  when  thou  art  king,  and 
resolution  thus  fobbed,  as  it  is,  with  the  rusty 
curb  of  old  father  antick,  the  law  ?  Do  not 
thou,  when  thou  art  a  king,  hang  a  thief. 
Prince  Ilenry. 
No :  thou  shalL 

Falstaff. 
Shall   I  ?    O  rare  1    By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a 
brave  judge. 

Prince  Henry. 
Thou  judgest  false  already:    I  mean,  thou 
shalt  have  the  hanging  of  the  thieves,  and  so 
become  a  rare  hangman. 

Falstaff. 
Well,  Hal,  well ;  and  in  some  sort  it  Jumps 
with  my  humour,  as  well  as  waiting  in  the 
court,  I  can  tell  you. 

Prince  Henry. 
For  obtaining  of  suits  ? 

Falstaff. 
Yea,  for  obtaining  of  suits,  whereof  the  hang- 
man hath  no  lean  wardrobe.    'Sblood,  I  am  as 
melancholy  as  a  gib  cat,  or  a  lugged  bear. 
Prince  Henry. 
Or  an  old  lion  ;  or  a  lover's  lute. 

Falstaff. 
Yea,  or  the  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  bagpipe. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  sayest  thou  to  a  hare,  or  the  melan- 
choly of  Moor-ditch  T 

Falstaff. 
Thou  hast  the  most  unsavoury  similes  ;  and 
art,  indeed,  the  most  comparative,  rascallest, 
sweet   young    prince.  —  But,   Hal,  1  pr'ythee, 
trouble  me  no  more  with  vanity.     I  would  to 
God,  thou  and  1  knew  where  a  commodity  of 
good  names  were  to  be  bought.    An  old  lord  of 
the  council  rated  me  the  other  day  in  the  street 
about  yon,  sir ;  but  I  marked  him  not :  and  yet 
he  talked  very  wisely  ;  but  I  regarded  him  not : 
and  yet  he  talked  wisely,  and  in  the  street  too. 
Prince  Henry. 
Thou  didst  well ;  for  wisdom  cries  out  in  the 
streets,  and  no  man  regards  it 
Falstaff. 
O  !  thou  hast  damnable  iteration,  and  art, 
Indeed,  able  to  corrupt  a  saint   Thou  hast  done 
much    harm   upon    me,    Hal:  —  God    forgive 
thee  for  it.    Before  I  knew  thee,  Hal,  1  knew 
nothing  ;  and  now  am  I,  if  a  man  should  speak 
truly,  Tittle  better  than  one  of  the  wicked.     I 
must  give  over  this  life,  and  I  will  give  it  over  ; 
by  the  Lord,  an  I  do  not,  I  am  a  villain  :  I'll  be 
damned  for  never  a  king's  son  in  Christendom. 
Prince  Henry. 
Where  shall  we  take   a   purse   to-morrow, 
Jack? 

FaLuff. 
Zounds  !  where  thou  wilt,  lad,  I'll  make  one ; 
an  I  do  not,  call  me  villain,  and  baffle  me. 


DM  Henry. 
I  see  a  good  amendment  of  life  in  thee ;  from 
praying,  to  purse-taking. 

at  a  distance. 
Fal  staff. 
Why,  Hal,  'tis  my  vocation,  Hal:  'tis  no  tin 
for  a  man  to  labour  in  his  vocation.  Point !  — 
Now  shall  we  know  if  Gadshill  have  set  a 
match.  —  O  !  if  men  were  to  be  saved  by  merit, 
what  hole  in  hell  were  hot  enough  for  him  ? 
This  is  the  most  omnipotent  villain,  that  ever 
cried,  Stand  !  to  a  true  man. 

Prince  Henry. 
Good  morrow,  Ned. 

Poins. 
Good  morrow,  sweet  Hal.  —  What  says  mon- 
sieur Remorse?  What  says  Sir  John  Sack-and- 
Sugarf  Jack,  how  agrees  the  devil  and  thee 
about  thy  soul,  that  thou  soldest  him  on  Good- 
Friday  last,  for  a  cup  of  Madeira,  and  a  cold 
capon  s  leg  ? 

Priuce  Henry. 
Sir  John  stands  to  his  word :  the  devil  shall 
have  his  bargain,  for  he  was  never  yet  a  breaker 
of  proverbs  ;  he  will  give  the  devil  his  due. 
Poins. 
Then,  art  thou  damned  for  keeping  thy  word 
with  the  devil. 

Prince  Henry. 
Else  he  had  been  damned  for  cozening  the 
devil. 

Poinj. 
But,  my  lads,  my  lads,  to-morrow  morning, 
by  four  o'clock,  early  at  Gadshill.  There  are 
pilgrims  going  to  Canterbury  with  rich  offer- 
ings, and  traders  riding  to  London  with  fat 
Eurses:  I  have  visors  for  you  all,  you  have 
orses  for  yourselves.  Gadshill  lies  to-night  in 
Rochester ;  I  have  bespoke  supper  to-morrow 
night  in  Eastcheap  :  we  may  do  it  as  secure  as 
sleep.  If  you  will  go,  I  will  stuff  your  purses 
full  of  crowns  ;  if  you  will  not,  tarry  at  home, 
and  be  hanged. 

Falstaff. 
Hear  ye,  Yedward :  if  I  tarry  at  home,  and  go 
not,  I'll  hang  you  for  going. 
Point. 
You  will,  chops  ? 

Falstaff. 
Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
Who,  I  rob  ?  la  thief?  not  I,  by  my  faith. 

Falstaff. 
There's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor  good 
fellowship  in  thee,  nor  thou  cam'st  not  of  the 
blood  royal,  if  thou  darest  not  stand  for  ten 
shillings. 

Prince  Henry. 
Well  then,  once  in  my  days  I'll  be  a  madcap. 

Falstaff. 
Why,  that's  well  said. 

Prince  Henry, 
Well,  come  what  will,  I'll  tarry  at  home. 

FaUtaff. 
By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a  traitor  then,  when  thou 
:  art  king. 

Prince  Henry. 
!     I  care  not. 

Poins. 
|      Sir  John,  I  pr'vthee,  leave  the  prince  and  me 
alone:  I  will  lav  him  down  such  reasons  for  this 
adventure,  that  he  shall  go. 

Falstaff. 


436 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  il 


Falstaff. 

Well,  God  give  thee  the  spirit  of  persuasion, 
and  him  the  ears  of  profiting,  that  what  thou 
speakest  may  move,  and  what  he  hears  may  be 
believed,  that  the  true  prince  may  (for  recreation 
sake)  prove  a  false  thief;  for  the  poor  abuses  of 
the  time  want  countenance.  Farewell:  you  shall 
find  me  in  Eastcheap. 

Prince  Henry. 

Farewell,  thou  latter  spring  1  Farewell,  All- 
hallown  summer !  [Exit  FaUtaff. 

Poins. 

Now,  my  good  sweet  honey  lord,  ride  with 
us  to-morrow  :  I  have  a  jest  to  execute,  that  I 
cannot  manage  alone.  Falstaff,  Bardolph.  Feto, 
and  Gadshill,  shall  rob  those  men  that  we  have 
already  way-laid:  yourself  and  I  will  not  be  there; 
and  when  they  have  the  booty,  if  you  and  I 
do  not  rob  them,  cut  this  head  off  from  my 
shoulders. 

Prince  Henry. 

How  shall  we  part  with  them  in  setting  forth  ? 

Poins. 

Why,  we  will  set  forth  before  or  after  them, 
and  appoint  them  a  place  of  meeting,  wherein  it 
is  at  our  pleasure  to  fail;  and  then  will  they 
adventure  upon  the  exploit  themselves,  which 
they  shall  have  no  sooner  achieved,  but  we'll  set 
upon  them. 

Prince  Henry. 

Yea,  but  'tis  like,  that  they  will  know  us,  by 
our  horses,  by  our  habits,  and  by  every  other 
appointment,  to  be  ourselves . 
Poin*. 

Tut!  our  horses  they  shall  not  see;  I'll  tie 
them  in  the  wood :  our  visors  we  will  change, 
after  we  leave  them;  and,  sirrah,  I  have  cases 
of  buckram  for  the  nonce,  to  immask  our  noted 
outward  garments. 

Prince  Henry. 

Yea,  but  I  doubt  they  will  be  too  hard  for  us. 
Poins. 

Well,  for  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be  as 
true-bred  cowards  as  ever  turned  back ;  and  for 
the  third,  if  he  fight  longer  than  he  sees  reason, 
I'll  forswear  arms.  The  virtue  of  this  jest  will 
be,  the  incomprehensible  lies  that  this  same  fat 
rogue  will  tell  us,  when  we  meet  at  supper:  how 
thirty  at  least  he  fought  with;  what  wards,  what 
blows,  what  extremities  he  endured;  and  iu  the 
reproof  of  this  lies  the  jest. 

Prince  Henry. 

Well,  I'll  go  with  thee :  provide  us  all  things 
necessary,   and  meet  me  to-morrow  night  in 
Eastcheap,  there  I'll  sup.    Farewell. 
Poins. 

Farewell,  my  lord.  [Rxit  Poins. 

Prince  Henry. 

I  know  you  all,  and  will  a  while  uphold 
The  unyok'd  humour  of  your  idleness : 
Yet  herein  will  I  imitate  the  sun, 
Who  doth  permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 
To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world, 
That  when  he  please  again  to  be  himself, 
Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wonder'd  at, 
By  breaking  through  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 
Of  vapours,  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 
If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays, 
To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work ; 
But  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wish'd-for 
And  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents,  [come, 
So,  when  this  loose  behaviour  I  throw  off, 
And  pay  the  debt  I  never  promised, 
By  how  much  better  than  my  word  I  am, 


By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes ; 
And,  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen  ground, 
My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault, 
Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes, 
Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 
I'll  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill 
Redeeming  time,  when  men  think  least  I  will. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    Another  Apartment 
in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Northumberland,  Worcester, 
Hotspur,  Sir  Walter  Blunt,  and  others. 
King  Henry. 
My  blood  hath  been  too  cold  and  temperate, 
Unapt  to  stir  at  these  indignities, 
And  you  have  found  me ;  for,  accordingly, 
You  tread  upon  my  patience :  but,  be  sure, 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  myself, 
Mighty,  and  to  be  fear'd,  than  my  condition, 
Which  hath  been  smooth  as  oil,  soft  as  young 

down, 
And  therefore  lost  that  title  of  respect,   [proud. 
Which  the  proud  soul  ne'er  pays  but  to  the 
Worcester. 
Our  house,  my  sovereign  liege,  little  deserves 
The  scourge  of  greatness  to  be  used  on  it ; 
And  that  same  greatness,  too,  which  our  own 
Have  holp  to  make  so  portly.  [hands 

Northumberland. 
My  lord,— 

King  Henry. 
Worcester,  get  thee  gone;  for  I  do  see 
Danger  and  disobedience  in  thine  eye. 
O,  sir !  your  presence  is  too  bold  and  peremptory. 
And  majesty  might  never  yet  endure 
The  moody  frontier  of  a  servant  brow. 
You  have  good  leave  to  leave  us:  when  we  need 
Your  use  and  counsel,  we  shall  send  for  you.— 
[Exit  Worcester. 
You  were  about  to  speak.  [  To  Northumberland. 

Northumberland. 
Yea,  my  good  lord,     [manded, 
Those  prisoners  in  your  highness'  name  de- 
Which  Harry  Percy,  here,  at  Holmedon  took, 
Were,  as  he  says,  not  with  such  strength  denied 
As  is  deliver'd  to  your  majesty : 
Either  envy,  therefore,  or  misprision 
Is  guilty  of  this  fault,  and  not  my  son. 

Hotspur. 
My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners ; 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  and  trimly 

dress'd, 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  hischin,  new  reap'd, 
Show'd  like  a  stubble-land  at  harvest-home  : 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner, 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  again ; 
Who,  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 
Took  it  in  snuff:— and  still  he  smil'd,  and  talk'd ; 
And,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 
He  call'd  them  untaugnt  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 
With  many  holiday  and  lady  terms 
He  question'd  me  ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 
My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 
I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold, 
To  be  so  pester'd  with  a  popinjay, 
Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience, 
Ansuer'd  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what, 

He 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


437 


He  should,  or  he  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad, 
To  »ee  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman. 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  God  save  the 

mark  1 
And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmaceti  for  an  inward  bruise  ; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
This  villainous  salt-petre  should  be  digg'd 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroy'd 
So  cowardly  ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald,  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said  ; 
And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  hia  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation, 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 
Blunt. 

The  circumstance  considcr'd,  good  my  lord, 
Whate'er  Lord  Hurry  Percy  then  had  said, 
To  such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place, 
At  such  a  time,  with  all  the  rest  re-told, 
May  reasonably  die,  and  never  rise 
To  do  him  wrong,  or  any  way  impeach 
What  then  he  said,  so  he  unsay  it  now. 
King  Henry. 

Why,  yet  he  doth  deny  his  prisoners, 
But  with  proviso,  and  exception, 
That  we,  at  our  own  charge,  shall  ransom  straight 
His  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer ; 
Who,  on  my  soul,  hath  wilfully  betray'd 
The  lives  of  those  that  he  did  lead  to  fight 
Against  that  great  magician,  damn'd  Glcndo*eer, 
Whose  daughter,  as  we  hear,  that  earl  of  March 
Hath  lately  married.     Shall  our  coffers,  then, 
Be  emptied  to  redeem  a  traitor  home  ? 
Shall  we  buy  treason,  and  indent  with  fears, 
When  they  nave  lost  and  forfeited  themselves? 
No,  on  the  barren  mountains  let  him  starve ; 
For  I  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend, 
Whose  tongue  shall  ask  me  for  one  penny  cost, 
To  ransom  home  revolted  Mortimer. 
Hotspur. 

Revolted  Mortimer ! 
He  never  did  fall  off,  my  sovereign  liege, 
But  by  the  chance  of  war :  to  prove  that  true, 
Needs  no  more  but  one  tongue  for  all  those 

wounds, 
Those  mouthed  wounds,  which  valiantly  he  took, 
When  on  the  gentle  Severn's  sedgv  bank, 
In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand, 
He  did  confound  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
In  changing  hardiment  with  great  Glendower. 
Three  times  they  breath'd,  and  three  times  did 

they  drink, 
Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn"*  flood : 
Who  then,  affrighted  with  their  bloody  looks, 
Ban  fearfully  among  the  trembling  reeds, 
And  hid  his  crisp  head  in  the  hollow  bank 
Blood-stained  with  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  base  and  roiten  policy 
Colour  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds  ; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly : 
Then,  let  him  not  be  slander'd  with  revolt. 

King  Henry. 
Thou  dost 'belie  him,  Percy,  thou  dost  belle 
He  never  did  encounter  with  Glendower.  [him: 
1  tell  thee, 

He  durst  as  well  have  met  the  devil  alone, 
As  Owen  Glendower  for  an  enemy. 
Art  thou  not  asham'd  ?     But,  sirrah,  henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer. 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means, 

i 


Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
1  As  will  displcaseyou. — My  lord  Ndrthumbrrland, 
We  license  your  departure  with  your  son — . 
Send  mypur  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of.it.     . 
[■KxeirU  King  itetify.  Blunt,  and  Train. 

Hotspur. 
And  if  the  devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  thorn.— 1  will  after  straight, 
And  tell  him  so ;  for  I  will  ease  my  heart, 
Albeit  I  make  a  hazard  of  my  head. 
Northumberland. 
What!  drunk  with  choler?  stay,  and  pause 
Here  comes  your  uncle.  [awhile : 

Re-enter  Worcttter. 
Hotspur- 
Speak  of  Mortimer ! 
'Zounds  1  I  will  speak  of  him  ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him  : 
Yea,  on  his  part,  I'll  empty  all  these  veins, 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'  the  dust, 
But  1  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  i*  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king, 
As  this  ingrate  and  canker'd  Bolingbroke. 
Northumberland. 
Brother,  [To  Worcetler,]the  king  hath  made 
your  nephew  mad. 

Worcester. 
Who  struck  this  heat  up  after  I  was  gone  ? 

Hotspur. 
He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners  ; 
And  when  I  urg'd  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  my  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  look'd  pale. 
And  on  my  face  he  turn'd  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 
Worcester. 
I  cannot  blame  him.    Was  he  not  proclaim'd, 
By  Richard,  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood  ? 
Northumberland. 
He  was :  I  heard  the  proclamation : 
And  then  it  was  when  the  unhappy  king 
(Whose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon  !)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition  ; 
From  whence  he  intercepted  did  return 
To  be  depos'd,  and  shortly  murdered. 
Worcester. 
And  for  whose  death,  we  in  the  world's  wide 
Live  scandaliz'd,  and  foully  spoken  of.    [mouth 
Hotspur. 
But,  soft  I  I  pray  you,  did  king  Richard,  then. 
Proclaim  my  brother  Edmund  Mortimer 
Heir  to  the  crown  ? 

Northumberland. 

He  did :  myself  did  hear  it. 
Hotspur. 
Nay  then,  1  cannot  blame  his  cousin  king, 
That'wish'd  him  on  the  barren  mountains  starve. 
But  shall  it  be,  that  you,  that  set  the  crown 
Upon  the  head  of  this  forgetful  man, 
And  for  his  sake  wear  the  detested  blot 
Of  murd'rous  subornation,  shall  it  be, 
That  you  a  world  of  curses  undergo, 
Being  the  agents,  or  base  second  means. 
The  cords,  the  ladder,  or  the  hangman  rather  ? — 
O  !  pardon  me,  that  1  descend  so  low. 
To  show  the  line,  and  the  predicament, 
Wherein  you  range  under  this  subtle  king. 
Shall  it  for  shame  be  spoken  in  these  days, 
Or  till  up  chronicles  in  time  to  come, 
That  men  of  your  nobility  and  power, 
Did  gage  them  both  in  an  unjust  behalf,— 
(As  both  of  you,  God  pardon  it !  have  done''  — 
To  put  down  Ricfiard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose. 

And 


+38 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


And  plant  this  thorn,  this  canker,  Bolingbroke  t  \ 
And  shall  it,  in  more  shame,  be  farther  spoken,  I 
That  you  are  fool'd,  discarded,  and  shook  off 
By  him,  for  whom  these  shames  ye  underwent?  j 
No  !  yet  time  serves,  wherein  you  may  redeem    | 
Your  banish'd  honours,  and  restore  yourselves 
Into  the  good  thoughts  of  the  world  again. 
Revenge  the  jeering,  and  disdain'd  contempt, 
Of  this  proud  king ;  who  studies  day  and  night   ' 
To  answer  all  the  debt  he  owes  to  you, 
Even  with  the  bloody  payment  of  your  deaths.    j 
Therefore,  I  say, — 

Worcester. 

Peace,  cousin  !  say  no  more. } 
And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous ; 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit, 
As  to  o'er-walk  a  current,  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hotspur. 
If  he  fall  in,  good  night !— or  sink  or  swim, 
Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west, 
So  honour  cross  it,  from  the  north  to  south, 
And  let  them  grapple:—  O !  theblood  more  stirs, 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 

Northumberland. 
Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 


Hotspur. 
By  heaven,  methinks,  it  were  an  easy  leap, 
To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  pale- fac'd moon: 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep, 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  ground, 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honour  by  the  locks, 
So  he  that  doth  redeem  her  thence  might  wear 
Without  corrival  all  her  dignities : 
But  out  upon  this  half- fac'd  fellowship  ! 
Worcester. 
He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here, 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend.—. 
Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 
Hotspur. 
I  cry  you  mercy. 

Worcester. 

Those  same  noble  Scots, 
That  are  your  prisoners,— 

Hotspur. 

I'll  keep  them  all. 
By  God,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them : 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not.    ' 
I'll  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 
Worcester. 

You  start  away,    ; 
And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 
Hotspur. 

Nay,  I  will ;  that's  flat. 
He  said,  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer  ; 
Forbad  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer  ; 
But  I  will  find  him  when  he  lies  asleep, 
And  in  his  ear  I'll  holla—  Mortimer! 
Nay,  I'll  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak 
Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him, 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 
Worcester. 
Hear  you,  cousin,  a  word. 
Hotspur. 
All  studies  here  I  solemnly  defy, 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke :      ; 
And  that  same  sword-and-buckler   prince   of 

Wales, 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not, 


And  would  be  glad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
I  would  have  him  poison'd  with  a  pot  of  ale. 
Worcester. 
Farewell,  kinsman.    I  will  talk  to  you, 
W  hen  you  are  better  temper'd  to  attend. 
Northumberland . 
Why,  what  a  wasp-stung  and  impatient  fool 
Art  thou  to  break  into  this  woman's  mood, 
Tying  thine  ear  to  no  tongue  but  thine  own  I 
Hotspur. 
Why,  look  you,  I  am  whipp'd  and  scourg'd 
with  rods, 
Nettled,  and  stung  with  pismiren,  when  I  hear 
Of  this  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke. 
In  Richard's  time,— what  do  yecall  the  place?— 
A  plague  upon't— it  is  in  Gloucestershire  ;  — 
'Twas  where  the  mad-cap  duke  his  uncle  kept, 
His  uncle  York,— where  I  first  bow'd  my  knee 
Unto  this  king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
'Sblood !    when  you  and  he  came  back  from 
Ravenspurg. 

Northumberland. 
At  Berkley  castle. 

Hotspur. 

You  say  true 

Why,  what  a  candy  deal  of  courtesy 
This  fawning  greyhound  then  did  proffer  me  1 
Look, — "when  his  infant  fortune  came  to  age," 
And,  — "gentle  Harry  Percy,"  —  and,  "kind 
cousin,"—  [me! — 

O,  the  devil  take  such  cozeners  !— God  forgive 
Good  uncle,  tell  your  tale :  I  have  done. 
Worcester. 
Nay,  if  you  have  not,  to't  again, 
We'll  stay  your  leisure. . 

Hotspur. 

I  have  done,  i'faith. 

Worcester. 

Then  once  more  to  your  Scottish  prisoners. 

Deliver  them  up  without  their  ransom  straight, 

And  make  the  Douglas'  son  your  only  mean 

For   powers   in  Scotland;    which,  for  divers 

reasons 
Which  I  shall  send  you  written,  be  assur'd, 

Will  easily  be  granted  you My  lord, 

[To  Northumberland. 
Your  son  in  Scotland  being  thus  employ'd, 
Shall  secretly  into  the  bosom  creep 
Of  that  same  noble  prelate,  well  belov'd, 
The  archbishop. 

Hotspur. 
Of  York,  is  it  not? 

Worcester. 
True ;  who  beat  s  hard 
His  brother's  death  at  Bristol,  the  lord  Scroop. 
I  speak  not  this  in  estimation, 
As  what  I  think  might  be,  but  what  I  know 
Is  ruminated,  plotted,  and  set  down  ; 
And  only  stays  but  to  behold  the  face 
Of  that  occasion  that  shall  bring  it  on. 
Hotspur. 
I  smell  it : 
Upon  my  life,  it  will  do  wondrous  well. 
K  or  thumber  lai  1  d . 
Before  the  game's  afoot,  thou  still  let'st  slip. 

Hotspur. 
Why,  it  cannot  choose  but  be  a  noble  plot.  — 
And  then  the  power  of  Scotland,  and  of  York, 
To  join  with  Mortimer,  ha  ? 
Worcester. 

And  so  they  shall. 
Hotspur. 
In  faith,  it  is  exceedingly  well  aim'd. 

Worcester. 


Act  ii.  Se.  i. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


439 


And  'tis  no  little  reason  bids  ut  speed, 
our  heads  by  raising  of  a  hend  ; 
For,  bear  ourselves  as  even  as  we  can, 
The  king  will  always  think  him  in  our  debt, 
And  think  we  think  ourselves  unsatisfied. 
Till  he  hath  found  a  time  to  pay  us  home : 
And  see  already  how  he  doth  begin 
To  make  us  strangers  to  his  looks  of  love. 

He  does,  he  does :Ve*il  be  reveng'd  on  him. 

Cousin,  farewell.— No  farther  go  in  this, 
Than  1  by  letters  shall  direct  vonr  course. 
When  time  is  ripe,  (which  will  be  suddenly) 
I'll  steal  to  Glevdower,  and  lord  Mortimer  ; 
Where  you,  and  Dot/gins,  and  our  powers  at  once,; 
As  I  will  fashion  it,  shall  happily  meet, 
To  bear  our  fortunes  in  our  own  strong  arms,    '. 
Which  now  we  hold  at  much  uncertainty. 

Farewell,  gooa  brother:' we  shall  thrive,  I 
trust. 

Uncle,  adieu.  —  0  !  let  the  hours  be  short, 
Till  fields,  and  blows,  and  groans  applaud  our 
sport.  [Exeunt 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.     Rochester.    An  Inn  Yard. 
Enter  a  Carrier,  with  a  Lantern  in  his  hand. 

XJ  EIGH  ho  !  ^ijH  oe  notVour  by  the  day,  I'll 
"■  be  hanged :  Charles'  wain  is  over  the  new, 
chimney,  and  yet  our  horse  not  packed.  What, 
ostler  1 

Her.  [Within. 

Anon, anon. 

I  pr'ythee,  Tom,  beat' Cw/V saddle,  put  a  fewi 
flocks  in  the  point ;  the  poor  jade  is  wrung  in 
the  withers  out  of  all  cess. 

Enter  another  Carrier, 

Peas  and  beans  °are  asrdahk  here  as  a  dog.i 
and  that  is  the  next  way  to  give  poor  jades  the 
bots  :  this  house  is  turned  upside  down,  since 
Robin  ostler  died. 

Poor  fellow!  never  joyea*  since  the  price  of 
oats  rose :  it  was  the  death  of  him. 

I  think,  this  be  the  most  villainous  house  in 
all  Londm  road  for  fleas :  I  am  stung  like  a 
tench. 

Like  a  tench  ?  by  the  mass,  there  is  ne'er  a 
king  in  Christendom  could  be  better  bit,  than  I 
have  been  since  the  first  cock. 

Why,  they  will  allow  us  ne'er  a  Jordan,  and 
then  we  leak  in  your  chimney  ;  and  your  cham- 
ber-lie breeds  fleas  like  a  loach. 

What,  ostler  !  come  away  and  be  hanged ; 
come  away. 


rler. 

I  have  a  gammon  of  bacon,  and  two  razes  ol 
ginger,  to  be  delivered  as  far  as  Charing. cross, 

First  Carrier. 
'Odsbody  !  the  turkeys  In  my  pannier  ai 
quite  starved.— What,  ostler!— A  plague  on 
thee  !  hast  thou  never  an  eye  in  thy  head  ?  canst 
not  hear?  An  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as 
drink,  to  break  the  pate  of  thee,  I  am  a  rery 
villain.  —  Come,  and  be  hanged:  — hast  no  faith 
in  thee  ? 

Enter  Gud 
Gadshill. 
Good  morrow,  carriers.    What's  o'clock  ? 

First  Carrier. 
I  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 

Gadshill. 
I  pr'ythee,  lend  me  thy  lantern,  to  see  my 
gelding  in  the  stable. 

First  Carrier. 
Nay,  soft,  I  pray  ye :  I  know  a  trick  worth 
two  of  that,  i'  faith. 

Gadshill. 
I  pr'ythee,  lend  me  thine. 

Second  Carrier. 
Ay,  when?  canst  tell  ?— Lend  me  thy  lantern, 
quoth  a  ? — marry,  I'll  see  thee  hanged  first. 

Gadshill. 
Sirrah  carrier,  what  time  do  you  mean  to 
come  to  London  f 

Second  Carrier. 
Time  enough  to  go  to  bed  with  a  candle,  I 
warrant  thee.  —  Come,  neighbour  Mugs,  we'll 
call  up  the  gentlemen:  they  will  along  with 
company,  for  they  have  great  charge. 

[Exeunt  Carriers. 


Gadshill. 
W  hat,  ho  !  chamberlain  ! 

Chamberlain. 
At  hand,  quoth  pick-purse. 


[Within. 


Gadshill. 
That's  even  as  fair  as  —  at  hand,  quofn  the 
chamberlain  ;   for  thou  variest  no  more  from 


picking  of  purses,  than  giving  direction  doth 
from  labouring  ;  thou  lay'st  the  plot 


how. 


Enter  Chamberlain. 


Good  morrow,  master  Gadshill.  It  holds  cur- 
rent, that  I  told  you  yesternight :  there's  a 
franklin  in  the  wild  of  Kent,  hath  brought  three 
hundred  marks  with  him  in  gold:  I  heard  him 
tell  it  to  one  of  his  company,  last  night  at  sup- 
per ;  a  kind  of  auditor ;  one  that  hath  abund- 
ance of  charge  too,  God  knows  what.  They 
are  up  already,  and  call  for  eggs  and  butter: 
they  will  away  presently. 

Gadshill. 
Sirrah,  if  they  meet  not  with  saint  Nicholas* 
clerks,  I'll  give  thee  this  neck. 

No,  I'll  none  of  It  il  pVythee,  keep  that  for 
the  hangman  ;  for,  I  know,  thou  worship's! 
saint  Nicholas  as  truly  as  a  man  of  falsehood 
may. 

Gadshill. 

What  talkest  thou  to  me  of  the  hangman  ?  if 
I  hang,  I'll  make  a  fat  pair  of  gallows  ;  for,  if  I 
hang,  old  sir  John  hangs  with  me,  and  thou 
knowest  he's  no  starveling.  Tut!  there  are 
other  Trojans  that  thou  dreamest  not  of,  the 
which,  for  6port  sake,  are  content  to  do  the  pro- 
fession 


440 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc. 


fession  some  grace,  that  would,  if  matters  should 
be  looked  into,  for  their  own  credit  sake,  make 
all  whole.  I  am  joined  with  no  foot  land-rakers, 
no  long-  staff,  sixpenny  strikers :  none  of  these 
mad,  mustachio  purple-hued  malt-worms  ;  but 
with  nobility  and  tranquillity ;  burgomasters, 
and  great  oneyers  ;  such  as  can  hold  in ;  such 
as  will  strike  sooner  than  speak,  and  speak  sooner 
than  drink,  and  drink  sooner  than  pray :  and 
yet  I  lie ;  for  they  pray  continually  to  their 
saint,  the  commonwealth ;  or,  rather,  not  pray 
to  her,  but  prey  on  her,  for  they  ride  up  and 
down  on  her,  and  make  her  their  boots. 
Chamberlain. 

What !  the  commonwealth  their  boots  ?  will 
she  hold  out  water  in  foul  way  ? 
Gadshill. 

She  will,  she  will ;  justice  hath  liquored  her. 
We  steal  as  in  a  castle,  cock-sure  ;  we  have  the 
receipt  of  fern-seed,  we  walk  invisible. 
Chamberlain. 

Nay,  by  my  faith ;  I  think  you  are  more  be- 
holding to  the  night,  than  to  fern-seed,  for  your 
walking  invisible. 

Gadshill. 

Give  me  thy  hand:  thou  shalt  have  a  share  In 
our  purchase,  as  I  am  a  true  man. 
Chamberlain. 

Nay,  rather  let  me  have  it,  as  you  are  a  false 
thief. 

Gadshill. 

Go  to;  homo  is  a  common  name  to  all  men. 
Bid  the  ostler  bring  my  gelding  out  of  the  stable. 
Farewell,  you  muddy  knave-  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  Road  by  Gadshill. 

Enter  Prince  Henri/,  and  Poins  ;  Bardolph  and 

Peto,  at  some  distance. 

Poins. 

Come,  shelter,  shelter:  I  have  removed  Fal- 

stajf's  horse,  and  he  frets  like  a  gummed  velvet. 

Prince  Henry. 

Stand  close. 

Enter  Falstaff". 
Falstaff. 
Poins  !  Poins,  and  be  hanged  !    Poins ! 

Prince  Henry. 
Peace,  ye  fat-kidneyed  rascal !  What  a  brawl- 
ing dost  thou  keep  ? 

Falstaff. 
Where's  Poins,  Hal? 

Prince  Henry. 
He  is  walked  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill:  I'll  go 
seek  him.  [Pretends  to  seek  Poins. 

Falstaff. 
I  am  accursed  to  rob  in  that  thief's  company : 
the  rascal  hath  removed  my  horse,  and  tied  him 
1  know  not  where.  If  I  travel  but  four  foot  by 
the  squire  further  afoot  I  shall  break  my  wind. 
Well,  I  doubt  not  but  to  die  a  fair  death  for  all 
this,  if  I  'scape  hanging  for  killing  that  rogue. 
I  have  forsworn  his  company  hourly  any  time 
this  two-and-twenty  years,  and  yet  I  am  be- 
witched with  the  rogue's  company.  If  the 
rascal  have  not  given  me  medicines  to  make  me 
love  him,  I'll  be  hang'd ;  it  could  not  be  else :  I 

have  drunk  medicines Poins! — Hal!  a  plague 

upon  you  both !— Bardolph !  —Peto  /—I'll  starve, 
ere  I'll  rob  a  foot  further.    An  'twere  not  as 

f;ood  a  deed  as  drink,  to  turn  true  man,  and 
eave  these  rogues,  I  am  the  veriest  varlet  that 


ever  chewed  with  a  tooth.  Eight  yards  of  un- 
even ground  is  three  score  and  ten  miles  afoot 
with  me,  and  the  stony-hearted  villains  know  it 
well  enough.  A  plague  upon't..when  thieves 
cannot  be  true  to  one  another  !  L l  hey  whistle.] 
Whew  !— A  plague  upon  you  all !  Give  me  my 
horse,  you  rogues :  give  me  my  horse,  and  be 
hanged. 

Prince  Henry. 

Peace,  ye  fat-guts  !  lie  down  :  lay  thine  ear 
close  to  the  ground,  and  list  if  thou  canst  hear 
the  tread  of  travellers. 

Falstaff. 

Have  you  any  levers  to  lift  me  up  again,  being 
down  ?  'Sblood  !  I'll  not  bear  mine  own  flesh 
so  far  afoot  again,  for  all  the  coin  in  thy  father's 
exchequer.  What  a  plague  mean  ye  to  colt  me 
thus? 

Prince  Henry. 

Thou  liest :  thou  art  not  colted,  thou  art  un- 
colted.  „  ,  .  «. 

Falstaff. 

I  pr'ythee,  good  prince  Hal,  help  me  to  my 
horse ;  good  king's  son. 

Prince  Henry. 
Out,  you  rogue  !  shall  I  be  your  ostler? 

Falstaff. 
Go,  hang  thyself  in  thine  own  heir-apparent 
garters  I  If  I  be  ta'en,  I'll  peach  for  this.  An 
I  have  not  ballads  made  on  you  all,  and  sung  to 
filthy  tunes,  let  a  cup  of  sack  be  my  poison : 
when  a  jest  is  so  forward,  and  afoot  too,—  I 
hate  it. 

Enter  Gadshill. 

Gadshill. 
Stand.  „  ,      _ 

Falstaff. 
So  I  do,  against  my  will. 
Poins. 
O  !  'tis  our  setter :  I  know  his  voice. 

Enter  Bardolph 
Bardolph. 
What  news? 

Gadshill. 
Case  ye,  case  ye  ;  on  with  your  visors  :  there's 
money  of  the  king's  coming  down  the  hill ;  'tis 
going  to  the  king's  exchequer. 
Falstaff. 
You  lie,  you  rogue :  'tis  going  to  the  king's 
tavern.  _ 

Gadshill. 
There's  enough  to  make  us  all. 

Falstaff. 
To  be  hanged. 

Prince  Henry. 
Sirs,  you  four  shall  front  them  in  the  narrow 
lane  ;  Ned  Poins  and  1  will  walk  lower  :  if  they 
'scape  from  your  encounter,  then  they  light  oil 

us-  „  . 

Peto. 

But  how  many  be  there  of  them  ? 

Gadshill. 
Some  eight,  or  ten. 

Falstaff. 
Zounds  1  will  they  not  rob  us  ? 

Prince  Henry, 
What,  a  coward,  sir  John  Paunch  T 

FaUtaff. 
Indeed,  I  am  not  John  of  Gaunt,  your  grand- 
Prince 


father ;  but  yet  no  coward,  Hal. 


Tirosnr  tpatkt  ©ff 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


441 


Prince  Henry. 

Well,  we  leave  that  to  the  proof. 

Poins. 
Sirrah  Jack,  thy  horse  stands  behind  the  hedge : 
when  thou  need'est  him,  there  thou  shalt  find 
him.     Farewell,  and  stand  fast. 
Fihf.iff. 
Now  cannot    I    strike   him,  if   I  should  be 
hanged. 

Prince  Henry. 
Kedt  [Aside  to  Point)   wnere  arc  our  dis- 
guises? 

Poins. 
Here,  hard  by :  stand  close... 

[Exeunt  Pnncc  Henry  and  Poms. 

Falstaff. 
Now,  my  masters,  happy  man  be  his  dole,  say 
I:  every  man  to  his  business. 

Enter  Travellers. 
Fir»t  Traveller. 
Come,  neighbour:    the   boy  shall  lead  our 
horses  down  the  hill ;  we'll  walk  afoot  awhile, 
and  ease  our  legs. 

Thieves. 
Stand  ! 

Traveller. 
Jesu  bless  us ! 

Falstaff. 
Strike ;   down  with   them  ;   cut  the  villains' 
throats.    Ah!  whorson  caterpillars  1  bacon-fed 
knaves  !  they  hate  us  youth  :  down  with  them  ; 
fleece  them. 

First  Traveller. 
O  I  we  are  undone,  both  we  and  ours,  for  ever. 

Falstaff. 
Hang  ye,  gorbellied  knaves.  Are  ye  undone? 
No,  ye  fat  chuffs;  I  would,  your  store  were 
here  f  On,  bacons,  on  I  What !  ye  knaves,  young 
men  must  live.  You  are  grand-jurors  are  ye  ? 
We'lljure  ye,  i' faith, 

[Exeunt  Falstaff,  &c.  driving  the  Travellers 
out. 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 
Prince  Henry. 
The  thieves  have  bound  the  true  men.    Now 
could  thou  and  I  rob  the  thieves,  and  go  merrily 
to  London,  it  would  be  argument  for  a  week, 
laughter  for  a  month,  and  a  good  jest  for  ever. 
Poins. 
Stand  close;  I  hear  them  coming. 
Re-enter  Thieves. 
Falstaff. 
Come,  my  masters ;  let  us  share,  and  then  to 
horse  before  day.    An  the  prince  and  Poins  be 
not  two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity  stirring: 
there's  no  more  valour  in  that  Poins,  than  in  a 
wild  duck. 

Prince  Henry. 
Your  money.  [Rushing  out  upon  them. 

Poins. 
Villains. 

[As  they  are  sharing,  the  Prince  and  Poins 
set  upon  them.    They  all  run  away,  and 
Falstaff,  after  a  blow  or  two,  runs  away 
too,  leaving  the  booty  behiud  them.] 
Prince  Henry. 
Got  with  much  ease.    Now  merrily  to  horse : 
The  thieves  are  scatter'd,  and  possessed  with  fear 
So  strongly,  that  they  dare  not  meet  each  other; 
Each  takes  his  fellow  for  an  officer. 
Away,  good  Kcd.    Falstaff  sweats  to  death, 


And  lards  the  lean  earth  as  he  walks  along: 
Wert  not  for  laughing,  I  should  pity  him. 


How  the  rogue  roar'd  I 


[Exeunt. 


,VJ5  III.     JVarkworth.    A  Room  In  the 
Castle. 

Enter  Hotspur,  reading  a  Letter. 

— "  But  for  mine  own  part,  my  lord,  I  could 
be  well  contented  to  be  there,  In  respect  of  the 
love  I  bear  your  house."— He  could  be  con- 
tented,—why  is  he  not  then?  In  respect  of  the 
love  he  bears  our  house:— he  shows  in  this,  he 
loves  his  own  barn  better  than  he  loves  our 
house.  Let  me  see  some  more.  "  The  purpose 
you  undertake,  is  dangerous;"— Why,  that's 
certain  :  'tis  dangerous  to  take  a  cold,  to  sleep, 
to  drink;  but  I  tell  you,  my  lord  fool,  out  of 
this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  this  flower,  safety. 
"  The  purpose  you  undertake,  is  dangerous ;  the 
friends  you  have  named,  uncertain;  the  time 
itself  unsorted,  and  your  whole  plot  too  light  for 
the  counterpoise  of  so  great  an  opposition."— 
Say  you  so,  say  you  so  ?  I  say  unto  you  again, 
you  are  a  shallow,  cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie. 
What  a  lackbrain  is  this !  By  the  Lord,  our 
plot  is  a  good  plot  as  ever  was  laid  ;  our  friends 
true  and  constant :  a  good  plot,  good  friends,  and 
full  of  expectation:  an  excellent  plot,  very  good 
friends.  What  a  frosty-spirited  rogue  is  this! 
Why,  my  lord  of  York  commends  the  plot,  and 
the  general  course  of  the  action.  'Zounds  I 
an  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I  could  brain  him 
with  his  lady's  fan.  Is  there  not  my  father,  my 
uncle,  and  myself?  lord  Edmund  Mortimer,  my 
lord  of  York,  and  Owen  Glendower?  Is  there 
not,  besides,  the  Douglas?  Have  I  not  all  their 
letters,  to  meet  me  in  arms  by  the  ninth  of  the 
next  month,  and  are  they  not,  some  of  them,  set 
forward  already?  What  a  pagan  rascal  is  this  ! 
an  infidel  1  Ha!  you  shall  see  now,  in  very 
sincerity  of  fear  and  cold  heart,  will  he  to  the 
king,  and  lay  open  all  our  proceedings.  O !  I 
could  divide  myself,  and  go  to  buffets,  for  moving 
such  a  dish  of  skimmed  milk  with  so  honourable 
an  action.  Hang  him!  let  him  tell  the  king: 
we  are  prepared.  I  will  set  forward  to-night. 
Enter  Lady  Percy. 

How  now,  Kate?    I  must  leave  you  within 

these  two  hours. 

Lady  Percy. 
O,  my  good  lord !  why  are  vou  thus  alone? 
For  what  offence  have  I  this  fortnight  been 
A  banish'd  woman  from  my  Harry's  bed  ?  [thee 
Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  is't  that  takes  from 
Thy  stomach,  pleasure,  and  thy  golden  sleep  ? 
Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth, 
And  start  so  often  when  thou  sit'st  alone? 
Why  hast  thou  lost  the  fresh  blood  in  thy  cheeks, 
And  given  my  treasures,  and  my  rights  of  thee. 
To  thick-ey'd  musing,  and  curs1d  melancholy  ? 
In  thy  faint  slumbers,  I  by  thee  have  watch'd, 
And  heard  thee  murmur  tales  of  iron  wars; 
Speak  terms  of  manage  to  thv  bounding  steed ; 
Cry,  "  Courage  !_  to  the  field  I"     And  thou 

hast  talk'd 
Of  sallies,  and  retires;  of  trenches,  tents, 
Of  palisadoc8,  frontiers,  parapets; 
;  Of  basilisks,  of  cannon,  culverin; 
Of  prisoners'  ransom,  and  of  soldiers  slain, 
And  all  the  currents  of  a  heady  fight. 
Thy  spirit  within  thee  hath  been  so  at  war, 
And  thus  hath  so  bestirr'd  thee  in  thy  sleep, 
I  That 


44* 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in 


That  beads  of  sweat  have  stood  upon  thy  brow,' 
Like  bubbles  in  a  late  disturbed  stream  : 
And  in  thy  face  strange  motions  have  appear'd, 
Such  as  we  see  when  men  restrain  their  breath  J 
On  some  great  sudden  hest.    O I  what  portents! 

are  these? 
Some  heavy  business  hath  my  lord  in  hand, 
And  I  must  know  it,  else  he  loves  me  not. 

Hotspur, 
What,  ho !  is  GiUiams  with  the  packet  gone? 

Enter  Servant, 

Servant. 
He  is,  my  lord,  an  hour  ago.  - 

Hotspur. 

Hath  Butler  brought  those  horses  from  the 
sheriff? 

Servant. 
One  horse,  my  lord,  he  brought  even  now. 

Hotspur. 
What  horse?  a  roan,  a  crop-ear,  is  it  not? 


.     .       Servant. 
It  Is,  my  lord. 

Hotspur. 

That  roan  shall  be  my  throne, 
Well,  I  will  back  him  straight:  O,  esperance!  I 
Hid  Butler  lead  him  forth  into  the  park. 

[Exit  Servant 


Lady  Percy. 
7  ford. 


But  hear  you,  my  1 

Hotspur. 
What  say'st  thou,  my  lady  ? 

Lady  Percy. 
What  is  it  carries  you  away? 


Why,  my  horse, 
My  love,  my  horse 


Hotspur. 


Out,  you  mad-headed  ape! 
A  weasel  hath  not  such  a  deal  of  spleen, 
As  you  are  toss'd  with.     In  faith, 
I'll  "know  your  business,  Harry,  that  I  will. 
I  fear,  my  brother  Mortimer  doth  stir 
About  iiis  title ;  and  hath  sent  for  you, 
To  line  his  enterprize:  but  if  you  go — 

So  far  afoot,  I  shall  be  weary,  love. 

Lady  Percy. 
Come,  come,  you  paraquito,  answer  me 
Directly  unto  this  question  that  I  ask. 
In  faith,  I'll  break  thy  little  finger,  Harry, 
An  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  things  true. 

Hotspur. 
Away! 
Away,  you  trifler  !  —  Love  ?—  I  love  thee  not, 
I  care  not  for  thee,  Kate.    This  is  no  world, 
To  play  with  mammets,  and  to  tilt  with  lips: 
We  must  have  bloody  noses,  and  crack'd  crowns, 
And  pass  them   current  too.  — Gods  me,    my 

horse! — 
What  say'st  thou,  Kate?  what  would'st  thou 

have  with  me? 

Do  you  not  love  me  ?  do  you  not,  indeed  ? 
Well,  do  not  then ;  for  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself.    Do  you  not  love  me?     j 
Nay,  tell  me,  if  you  speak  in  jest,  or  no? 

Hotspur. 
Come;  wilt  thou  see  me  ride? 
And  when  I  am  o'  horseback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  infinitely.    But  hark  you,  Kate; 


I  must  not  have  you  henceforth  question  me 
Whither  I  go,  nor  reason  whereabout. 
Whither  1  must,  I  must;  and,  to  conclude, 
This  evening  must  I  leave  you,  gentle  Kate. 
I  know  you  wise;  but  yet  no  farther  wise 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife:  constant  you  are; 
But  yet  a  woman:  and  for  secrecy, 
N  o  lady  closer ;  for  I  well  believe 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know ; 
And  so  far  will  1  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate. 

Lady  Percy. 
How!  so  far? 

Hotspur. 
Not  an  inch  farther.    But  hark  you,  Kate? 
Whither  I  go,  thither  shall  you  go  too ; 
To-day  will  I  set  forth,  to-morrow  you. 
Will  this  content  you,  Kale? 

Lady  Percy. 
It  must,  of  force.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Eastcheap.    A  Room  in  the 
Boar's  Head  Tavern. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 
Prince  Henry. 
Ned,  pr'ythee,  come  out  of  that  fat  room,  and 
lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

Poins. 
Where  hast  been,  Hal? 

Prince  Henry. 
With  three  or  four  loggerheads,  amongst  three 
or  four-score  hogsheads.  I  have  sounded  the 
very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirrah,  I  am  sworn 
brother  to  a  leash  of  drawers,  and  can  call  them 
all  by  their  Christian  names,  as —  Tom,  Dick. 
and  Francis.  They  take  it  already  upon  their 
salvation,  that  though  I  be  but  prince  of  Wales, 
yet  1  am  the  king  of  courtesy,  and  tell  me  flatly 
I  am  no  proud  Jack,  like  Falstaff;  but  a  Co-i 
rinthian,  a  lad  of  mettle,  a  good  boy,  (by  the 
Lord,  so  they  call  me,)  and  when  I  am  king  of 
England,  I  shall  command  all  the  good  lads  in 
Eastcheap.  They  call  drinking  deep,  dying 
scarlet ;  and  when  you  breathe  in  your  watering, 
they  cry  hem!  and  bid  you  play  it  off. — To 
conclude,  I  am  so  good  a  proficient  in  one 
quarter  of  an  hour,  that  I  can  drink  with  any 
tinker  in  his  own  language  during  my  life.  I 
tell  thee,  Ned,  thou  hast  lost  much  honour,  that 
thou  wert  not  with  me  in  this  action.  But,  sweet 
Ned,— to  sweeten  which  name  of  Ned,  I  give 
thee  this  pennyworth  of  sugar,  clapped  even 
now  into  my  hand  by  an  under- skinker;  one 
that  never  spake  other  English  in  his  life,  than 
— "  Eight  shillings  and  sixpence,"  and — "  You 
are  welcome ;"  with  this  shrill  addition, — "  Anon, 
anon,  sir !  Score  a  pint  of  bastard  in  the  Half- 
Moon,"  or  so.  But,  Ned,  to  drive  away  the  time 
till  Fa Istaff come,  I  pr'ythee,  do  thou  stand  in 
some  by-room,  while  I  question  my  puny  drawer 
to  what  end  he  gave  me  the  sugar ;  and  do  thou 
never  leave  calling — Francis!  that  his  tale  to 
me  maybe  nothing  but— anon.  Step  aside,  and 
I'll  show  thee  a  precedent. 

Poins. 
Francis! 

IViuce  Henry. 
Thou  art  perfect. 


Francis! 


Anon,  anon,  sir. 
granate,  Ralph. 


Enter  Francis. 
Francis. 


[Kxit  Point. 


•  Look  down  into  the  Pome- 


Act  ii.  Sc  iv. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


HI 


;iry. 
Come  hither,  Francis. 

Franci*. 
My  lord. 

Pr: 
How  long  hut  thou  to  serve,  Francis  t 

Forsooth,  fire  years,  and  as  much  as  to— 

Poins.  [Within. 

Francis  I 

Francis. 
Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince  Henry. 
Fire  years  I  by'r  lady,  a  long  lease  for  the 
clinking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis,  darest  thou 
be  so  valiant,  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy 
indenture,  and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair  of  heels, 
and  run  from  it  ? 

Francis. 
O  lord,  sir  I  1*11  be  sworn  upon  all  the  book* 
in  England,  I  could  find  in  my  heart 

Polns.  CWlthin. 

Francis  ! 

Francis. 
Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince  Henry. 
How  old  art  thou,  Francis  t 


Let  me  see, 


Francis, 
-about  Michaelmas  next  I  shall 


Poins.  (Within. 

Francis  ! 

Francis. 
Anon,  sir — Pray  you,  stay  a  little,  my  lord. 

Prince  Henry. 
Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis.  For  the  sugar  thou 
gavest  me, — 'twas  a  pennyworth,  was't  not? 
Francis. 

0  lord,  sir !  I  would  it  had  been  two. 

Prince  Henry. 

1  will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound:  ask 
me  when  thou  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it 

Poins.  [Within. 

Francis! 

Francis. 
Anon,  anon. 

Prince  Henry. 
Anon,  Francis?     No,  Francis;  but  to-mor- 
row, Francis;  or,  Francis,  on   Thursday ;  or, 
indeed,  Francis,  when  thou  wilt.  But,  Francis,—  I 
Francis. 
My  lord? 

Prince  Henrv. 

Wilt  thou  rob  this  leathern-jerkin,  crrstal- 

Lutton,  knot-pated,  agate-ring,  puke-ftocking,  I 

caddis-garter,  smooth-tongue,  Spanish-pouch,  — 

Francis. 

O  Lord,  sir,  who  do  you  mean? 

Prince  Henry. 
\\  hy,  then,  your  brown  bastard  is  vour  only 
Irink:  for,  look  you,  Francis,  your  wh'ite  canvas 
doublet  will  sully.     In  Barbary,  sir,  it  cannot 
come  to  so  much. 

What,  sir?  FrandS 

Poms.  [Within. 

Francis  l 

Prince  Henry. 
Away,  you  rogue  I    Dost  thou  not  hear  them 
call? 

[Here  they  both  call  him  ;  the  Drawer 
stands  amazed,  not  knowing  which  wav 
to  go. 


Vint. 

What !  stand'st  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such  a 

calling?      Look  to  the  guests  within.  [Exit 

My  lord,  old  sir  John,  with  half  a 

dozen  more,  are  at  the  door :  shall  I  let  them  la  ? 

■ 

Let  them  alone  awhile,  and  then  open  the 

door.   [Exit  Vintner.']     Poins  I 

Re-enter  Poins. 
Polns. 
Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince  Henry. 
Sirrah,  Falstaff  and.  the  rest  of  the  thieves  are 
at  the  door.    Shall  we  be  merry  ? 
Poins. 
As  merry  as  crickets,  my  lad.    But  hark  ye ; 
what  cunning  match  have  you  made  with  this 
jest  of  the  drawer  ?  come,  what's  the  issue  ? 
Prince  Henry. 
I  am  now  of  all  humours,  that  have  show'd 
themselves  humours,  since  the  old  days  of  good  - 
man  Adam  to  the  pupil  age  of  this  present  twelve 
o'clock  at  midnight.    [Re-enter  Francis,  with 
wine.]    What's  o'clock,  Francis? 
Francis. 
Anon,  anon,  sir.  [Exit. 

Prince  Henry. 
That  ever  this  fellow  should  have  fewer  words 
than  a  parrot,  and  yet  the  son  of  a  woman  1  Hi* 
industry  is —up -stairs,  and  down- stairs ;  his  elo- 
quence, the  parcel  of  a  reckoning.  I  am  not 
yet  of  Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the  North  ; 
he  that  kills  me  some  six  or  seven  dozen  of  Scots 
at  a  breakfast,  washes  his  hands,  and  says  to  his 

work." 
how  many 
iyi" 
horse  a  drench,"  says  he 
fourteen,"  an  hour  after;  "a  trifle,  a  trifle. 
I  pr'ythee,  call  in  Falstaff:  I'll  play  Percy,  and 
that  damned  brawn  shall  play  dame  Mortimer 
his  wife.  "  Rivo ! "  says  the  drunkard.  Call  in 
ribs,  call  in  tallow. 

Entei  FaUtaJT,  Gadshill,  Bardolph,  and  PetoK 
Poins. 

Welcome,  Jack .    Where  hast  thou  been  ? 
Falstaff. 

A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say,  and  a  vengeance 
too!  marry,  and  amen  '  —  Give  me  a  cup  of  sack, 
boy.  — Ere  I  lead  this  life  long,  I'll  sew  nether- 
stocks,  and  mend  them,  and  foot  them  too.  A 
plague  of  all  cowards  ! — Give  me  a  cup  of  sack, 
rogue— Is  there  no  virtue  extant?  [He  drinks. 
Prince  henry.. 

Didst  thou  never  see  Titan  kiss  a  dish  of  but- 
ter ?  pitiful-heaited  Titan,  that  melted  at  the 
sweet  tale  of  the  sun  1  if  thou  didst,  then  behold 
that  compound. 

Falstaff. 

You  rogue, here's  lime  in  this  sack  too:  there 
is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villainou*  :' 
man  :  yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of  sack 
with  lime  in  it;  a  villainous  coward.— Go  thy  '■ 
ways,  old  Jack ;  die  when  thou  wilt,  if  manhood, 
good  manhood,  be  not  forgot  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth,  then  am  I  a  shotten  herring.  There  live 
not  three  good  men  unhanged  in  England,  and 
one  of  them  is  fat,  and  grows  old :  God  help  the 
while !  a  bad  world,  1  say.  I  would  I  were  a 
weaver ;  I  could  sing  psalms  or  any  thing.  A 
plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say  still. 


ai  a  ureaniasi,,  wasnes  nis  nanas,  anu  saj 
wife,—"  Fie  upon  this  quiet  life  !  I  want 
"  O  my  sweet  Harry*  says  she,  "  hoi 
hast  thou  killed  to-day?'*     "Give  n 


my  roan 
answers, "  Some 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Prince  Henry. 
How  now,  wool-sack  !  what  mutter  you  ? 

Falstaff. 
A  king's  son  !  If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of  thy 
kingdom  with  a  dagger  of  lath,  and  drive  all  thy 
subjects  afore  thee  like  a  flock  of  wild  geese,  I'll 
never  wear  hair  on  my  face  more.  You  prince 
of  Wales! 

Prince  Henry. 
Why,  you  whoreson  round"  man,  what's  the 
matter  ? 

Falstaff. 
Are  you  not  a  coward  ?  answer  me  to  that  ? 
and  Poms  there  ? 

Poins. 
'Zounds  I  ye  fat  paunch,  an  ye  call  me  coward, 
I'll  stab  thee. 

Falstaff. 
I  call  thee  coward  !  I'll  see  thee  damned  ere 
I  call  thee  coward  ;  but  I  would  give  a  thousand 
pound,  I  could  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst.  You  are 
straight  enough  in  the  shoulders ;  you  care  not 
who  sees  your  back.  Call  you  that  backing  of 
your  friends?  A  plague  upon  such  backing! 
give  me  them  that  will  face  me.  — Give  me 
a  cup  of  sack  :  I  am  a  rogue,  if  1  drunk  to-day. 

Prince  Henry. 

0  villain  I  thy  lips  are  scarce  wip'd  since  thou 
drunk'st  last. 

Falstaff. 
All's  one  for  that.   [He  drinks.]  A  plague  of 
all  cowards,  still  say  I. 

Prince  Henry. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

Falstaff. 
What's  the  matter  ?  there  be  four  of  us  here 
have  ta'en  a  thousand  pound  this  day  morning. 
Prince  Henry. 
Where  is  it,  Jack?  where  is  it  ? 

Falstaff. 
Where  is  it?  taken  from  us  it  is:  a  hundred 
upon  poor  four  of  us. 

Prince  Henry. 
What,  a  hundred,  man  ? 
Falstaff. 

1  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword  with 
a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.  I  have 
'scap'd  by  miracle.  I  am  eight  times  thrust 
through  the  doublet;  four  through  the  hose; 
my  buckler  cut  through  and  through  ;  my  sword 
hacked  like  a  hand-saw:  ecce  signum.  I  never 
dealt  better  since  I  was  a  man:  all  would  not 
do.  A  plague  of  all  cowards!  —  Let  them  speak : 
if  they  speak  more  or  less  than  truth,  they  are 
villains,  and  the  sons  of  darkness. 

Prince  Honry. 

Speak,  sirs :  how  was  it  ? 

Bardolph. 
We  four  set  upon  some  dozen,— 

Falstaff. 
Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 
Bardolph. 
And  bound  them. 

Peto. 
No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Falstaff. 

You  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  man  of 

them  ;  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Bardolph. 

As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seven  fresh 

men  set  upon  us, — 


Falstaff. 
And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in  the 
other. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  fought  ye  with  them  all  ? 

Falstaff. 
All  ?  I  know  not  what  ye  call  all ;  but  if  I 
fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I  am  a  bunch  of 
radish  :  if  there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fifty 
upon  poor  old  Jack,  then  am  I  no  two-legged 
creature. 

Prince  Henry. 
Pray  God,  you  have  not  murdered  some  of 
them. 

Falstaff. 
Nay,  that's  past  praying  for  :  I  have  peppered 
two  of  them  :  two,  I  am  sure,  I  have  paid  ;  two 
rogues  in  buckram  suits.  I  tell  thee  what,  Hal, 
—  if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call  me 
horse.  Thou  knowest  my  old  ward:  —  here  I 
lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in 
buckram  let  drive  at  me, — 

Prince  Henry. 
What  four  ?  thou  saidst  but  two  even  now. 

Falstaff. 
Four,  Hal;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poins. 
Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Falstaff. 

These  four  came  all  a-front,  and  mainly  thrust 

at  me.    I  made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took  all 

their  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus. 

Prince  Henry. 

Seven  ?  why,  there  were  but  four  even  now. 

Falstaff. 
In  buckram. 

Poins. 
Ay,  four,  in  buckram  suits. 
Falstaff. 
Seven,  by  these  hilts,  or  I  am  a  villain  else. 

Prince  Henry. 
Pr'ythee,  let  him  alone  ;  we  shall  have  more 
anon. 

Falstaff. 
Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal? 

Prince  Henry. 
Ay,  and  mark  thee  too,  Jack. 

Falstaff. 
Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  the  listening  to.     These 
nine  in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of, — 
Prince  Henry. 
So,  two  more  already. 

Falstaff. 
Their  points  being  broken,— 

Poins. 
Down  fell  their  hose. 

Falstaff. 
Began  to  give  me  ground  ;  but  I  followed  me 
close,  came  in ,  foot  and  hand,  and  with  a  thought, 
seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

Prince  Henrr. 
O  monstrous  !  eleven  buckram  men  grown 
out  of  two. 

Falstaff. 
But,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  misbe- 
gotten knaves,  in  Kendal  green,  came  at  my 
back  and  let  drive  at  me  ;  —  for  it  was  so  dark, 
Hal,  that  thou  could'st  not  see  thy  hand. 
Prince  Henry 
These  lies  are  like  the  father  that   begets 
them  ;  gross  as  a  mountain  ;  open,  palpnble. 

Why: 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HESUY  IV. 


445 


Why,  thou  clay-brained  guts,  thou  knotty .outed 
Tool,  thou  whoreson,  obscene,  greasy  tallow- 
keech, — 

Falstaff. 
What !  art  thou  mad  ?  art  thou  mad  ?  is  not 
the  truth,  the  truth  ? 

Prince  Honry. 
Why,  how  could'st  thou  know  these  men  in 
Kendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thou  could'st 
not  see  thy  hand  ?  come,  tell  us  your  reason : 
w  i  Kit  say  est  thou  to  this  ? 
Poins 
Come,  your  reason,  Jack,  your  reason. 

Fal  staff. 
What,  upon  compulsion  ?  No ;  were  I  at  the 
strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I  would 
not  tell  you  on  compulsion.  Give  you  a  reason 
on  compulsion  !  if  reasons  were  as  plenty  as 
blackberries,  I  would  give  no  man  a  reason  upon 
compulsion,  I. 

Prince  Henry. 
I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  this  sin  :  this  san- 
guine coward,  this  bed-presser,  this  horse-back- 
breaker,  this  huge  hill  of  fltsh  ;  — 
Falstaff. 
Away,  you  starveling,  you  elf-skin,  you  dried 
neat's-tongue,  bull's  pizzle,  you  stock-fish,— 
O.  for  breath  to  utter  what  is  like  thee  !  —  you 
tailor's  yard,  you  sheath,  you  bow-case,  you  vile 
standing  tuck ;  — 

Prince  Henry. 
Well,  breathe  awhile,  and  then  to  it  again  ; 
and  when  thou  hast  tired  thyself  in  base  com- 
parisons, hear  me  speak  but  this. 
Poln*. 
Mark,  Jack. 

Prince  llcnr) 
We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four :  you  bound 
them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth. — Mark 

now,  how  plain  a  tale  shall  put  you  down 

Then  did  we  two  set  on  you  four,  and,  with  a 
word,  out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have 
it  :  yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the  house. 
—  And,  Falstaff,  you  carried  your  guts  away  as 
nimbly,  with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for 
,  mercy,  and  still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard 
bull-calf.    What  a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy 
1  sword  as  thou  hast  done,  and  then  say,  it  was  in 
\  fight !    What  trick,  what  device,  what  starting- 
hole,  canst  thou  now  find  out,  to  hide  thee  from 
this  open  and  apparent  shame  ? 

Come,  let's  bear,  Jack :  what  trick  bast  thou 
now  ? 

-taff 

By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that 
made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters:  was  it 
for  me  to  kill  the  heir  apparent  ?  Should  I  turn 
upon  the  true  prince?  Why,  thou  knowest,  I 
am  as  valiant  as  Hercules  ;  but  beware  instinct : 
the  lion  will  not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct 
is  a  great  matter,  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I 
shall  think  the  better  of  myself  and  thee,  during 
my  life  ;  I,  for  a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true 

Krince.  But,  by  the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you 
ave  the  money. — Hostess,  clap  to  the  doors: 
watch  to-night,  pray  to-morrow.— Gallants,  lads, 
boys,  hearts  of  gold,  all  the  titles  of  good  fellow- 
ship come  to  you  !  What  2  shall  we  be  merry  ? 
shall  we  have  a  play  extempore  ? 
Prince  Honry. 
Content ;  —  and  the  argument  shall  be  thy 
running  away. 


Falstaff. 
Ah  !  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovest  me. 

F.nter  Hottcts. 
Hostess. 
O  Jew !     My  lord  the  prince,— 

Prince  Henry. 
How  now,  my  lady  the  hostess  1  what  say  "st 
thou  to  me  ? 

Hostess. 
Marry,  my  lord,  there  is  a  nobleman  of  the 
court  at  door  would  speak  with  you :  be  says,  he 
comes  from  your  father. 

Prince  Henry. 
G>e  him  as  much  as  will  make  him  a  royal 
man,  and  send  him  back  again  to  my  mother. 
Falstaff. 
What  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 

Hostess. 
An  old  man. 

Falstaff. 
What  doth  gravity  out  of  his  bed  at  midnight? 
—Shall  I  give  him  his  answer  ? 
Prince  Henry. 
Pr'ythee,  do,  Jack. 

Falstaff. 
•Faith,  and  I'll  send  him  packing.  [Exit. 

Prince  Henry. 
Now,  sirs  ;  by'r  lady,  you  fought  fair  ;_so  did 
you,  Ptto ;— so  did  you,  Bardolph :  you  are  lions 
too,  you  ran  away  upon  instinct,  you  will  not 
touch  the  true  prince,  no ;— fie  I 
Bardolph. 
'Faith,  I  ran  when  I  saw  others  run. 

Prince  Henry. 
'Faith,  tell  me  now  in  earnest:  how  came 
Falstaff"s  sword  so  hacked  ? 
Poto. 
Why,  he  hacked  it  with  his  dagger,  and  said, 
he  would  swear  truth  out  of  England,  but  he 
would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  in  fight ; 
and  persuaded  us  to  do  the  like. 
Bardolph . 
Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  spear  grass, 
to  make  them  bleed  ;  and  then  to  beslubber  our 
garments  with  it,  and  to  swear  it  was  the  blood 
of  true  men.     I  did  that  I  did  not  this  seven 
year  before;  I  blushed  to  hear  his  monstrous 
devices. 

Prince  Henry 

0  villain  !  thou  stolest  a  cup  of  sack  eighteen 
years  ago,  and  wert  taken  with  the  manner,  and 
ever  since  thou  hast  blushed  extempore.  Thou 
hadst  fire  and  sword  on  thy  side,  and  yet  thou 
ran's t  away :  what  instinct  hadst  thou  for  it  ? 

Bardolph. 
My  lord,  do  you  see  these  meteors  ?  do  you 
behold  these  exhalations  ? 

Prince  Henry. 

1  do. 

Bardolph. 
What  think  you  they  portend  ? 

Prmce  Henry. 
Hot  livers  and  cold  purses.' 
Bardolph. 
Choler,  my  lord,  if  rightly  taken. 

Prince  Henry. 
No,  if  rightly  taken,  halter. 

He-enter  Falstttf: 
Here  comes  le&n  Jack;  here  comes  bare-bone. 

How 


446 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc  iv. 


How  now,  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast  !  How 
long  is't  ago,  Jack,  since  thou  sawest  thine  own 
knee? 

F&Utaff. 

My  own  knee  ?  when  I  was  about  thy  years, 
Hal,  1  was  not  an  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist ;  I 
could  have  crept  into  any  alderman's  thumb- 
ring  :  a  plague  of  sighing  and  grief !  it  blows  a 
man  up  like  a  bladder.  There's  villainous  news 
abroad :  here  was  sir  John  Bracy  from  your 
father :  you  must  to  the  court  in  the  morning. 
That  same  mad  fellow  of  the  north,  Percy  ;  and 
he  of  Wales,  that  gave  Amaimon  the  bastinado, 
and  made  Lucifer  cuckold,  and  swore  the  devil 
his  true  liegeman  upon  the  cross  of  a  Welsh 
book,— what,  a  plague,  call  you  him  ?— 

Poins. 
Ol  Glendower. 

Falstaff. 
Owen,  Owen;  the  same;— and  his  son-in-law, 
Mortimer  ;  and  old  Northumberland ;  and  that 
sprightly  Scot  of  Scots,  Douglas,  that  runs  o' 
horseback  up  a  hill  perpendicular. 

Prince  Henry. 
He  that  rides  at  high  speed,  and  with  his 
pistol  kills  #a  sparrow  flying. 

Falstaff. 
You  have  hit  it. 

Prince  Henry. 
So  did  he  never  the  sparrow. 

Falstaff. 
Well,  that  rascal  hath  good  mettle  in  him  ;  he 
will  not  run. 

Prince  Henry. 
Why,  what  a  rascal  art  thou,  then,  to  praise 
him  so  for  running  ? 

Falstaff. 
O'  horseback,  ye  cuckoo  !  but,  afoot,  he  will 
not  budge  a  foot. 

Prince  Henry. 
Yes,  Jack,  upon  instinct. 

Falstaff. 

1  grant  ye,  upon  instinct.  Well,  he  is  there 
too,  and  one  Mordake,  and  a  thousand  blue-caps 
more.  Worcester  is  stolen  away  to-night ;  thy 
father's  beard  is  turned  white  with  the  news ; 
you  may  buy  land  now  as  cheap  as  stinking 
mackarel. 

.    Prince  Henry. 

Why  then,  it  is  like,  if  there  come  a  hot 
June,  and  this  civil  buffeting  hold,  we  shall  buy 
maidenheads  as  they  buy  hob-nails,  by  the 
hundreds. 

FaUtaff. 

By  the  mass,  lad,  thou  sayest  true  ;  it  is  like, 
we  shall  have  good  trading  that  way,— But,  tell 
me,  Hal,  art  thou  not  horribly  af'eard?  thou 
being  heir  apparent,  could  the  world  pick  thee 
out  three  such  enemies  again,  as  that  fiend 
Douglas,  that  spirit  Percy,  and  that  devil  Glen- 
dower? Art  thou  not  horribly  afraid?  doth 
not  thy  blood  thrill  at  it  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
Not  a  whit,  i'faith :  I  lack  some  of  thy  instinct. 

FalstafT. 
Well,  thou  wilt  be  horribly  chid  to-morrow, 
when  thou  comest  to  thy  father:  if  thou  love 
me,  practise  an  answer. 

Prince  Henry. 
Do  thou  stand  for  my  father,  and  examine  me 
upon  the  particulars  of  my  life. 


Falstaif. 
Shall  I?  content — This  chair  shall  be  my 
state,  this  dagger  my  sceptre,  and  this  cushion 
j  my  crown. 

Prince  Henry. 
Thy  state  is  taken  for  a  joint-stool,  thy  golden 
sceptre  for  a  leaden  dagger,  and  thy  precious 
rich  crown  for  a  pitiful  bald  crown  ! 

Falstaff. 
Well,  an  the  fire  of  grace  be  not  quite  out  of 
thee,  now  shalt  thou  be  moved.— Give  me  a  cup 
,  of  sack,  to  make  mine  eyes  look  red,  that  it  may 
!  be  thought  I  have  wept ;  for  1  must  speak  in 
passion,  and  1  will  do  it  in  king  Cambyses'  vein. 

Prince  Henry. 
Well,  here  is  my  leg. 

:•''_■;       .  Falstaff. 

And  here  is  my  speech — Stand  aside,  nobility. 

Hostess. 
O,  Jesu!  This  is  excellent  sport,  i'  faith. 

Falstaff. 
Weep  not,  sweet  queen,  for  trickling  tears  are 
vain. 

Hostess. 
O,  the  father  !  how  he  holds  his  countenance. 

Falstaff. 
For   God's  sake,  lords,  convey  my  tristful 
queen, 
For  tears  do  stop  the  flood-gates  of  her  eyes. 

Hostess. 
O,  Jesu !  he  doth  it  as  like  one  of  these  har- 
lotry players  as  ever  I  see. 

Falstaff. 
Peace,  good  pint-pot !  peace,  good  tickle- 
brain  !  —  Harry,  I  do  not  only  marvel  where 
thou  spendest  thy  time,  but  also  how  thou  art 
accompanied :  for  though  the  camomile,  the 
more  it  is  trodden  on,  the  faster  it  grows*  yet 
youth,  the  more  it  is  wasted,  the  sooner  it  wears. 
That  thou  art  my  son,  I  have  partly  thy  mother's 
word,  partly  my  own  opinion  ;  but  chiefly,  a  vil- 
lainous trick  of  thine  eye,  and  a  foolish  hanging 
of  thy  nether  lip,  that  doth  warrant  me.  If, 
then,  thou  be  son  to  me,  here  lies  the  point — 
why,  being  son  to  me,  art  thou  so  pointed  at? 
Shall  the  blessed  sun  of  heaven  prove  a  micher, 
and  eat  blackberries  ?  a  question  not  to  be  asked. 
Shall  the  son  of  England  prove  a  thief,  and  take 
purses  ?  a  question  to  be  asked.  There  is  a  thing, 
Harry,  which  thou  hast  often  heard  of,  and  it  is 
known  to  many  in  our  land  by  the  name  of  pitch : 
this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do  report,  doth 
defile  :  so  doth  the  company  thou  keepest ;  for, 
Harry, now  I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in  drink,  but 
in  tears  ;  not  in  pleasure,  but  in  passion  ;  not  in 
words  only,  but  in  woes  also. — And  yet  there  is 
a  virtuous  man,  whom  I  have  often  noted  in  thy 
company,  but  I  know  not  his  name. 

Prince  Hem  v. 

What  manner  of  man,  an  "it  like  your  ma- 
jesty ? 

Falstaff, 

A  goodly  portly  man,  i'faith,  and  a  corpulent: 
of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a  most 
noble  carriage ;  and,  as  I  think,  his  age  some 
fifty,  or,  by'r  lady,  inclining  to  threescore,  and 
now  I  remember  me,  his  name  is  Falstaff:  if 
that  man  should  be  lewdly  given,  he  deceiveth 
me ;  for,  Harry,  1  see  virtue  in  his  looks.  If 
then  the  tree  may  be  known  by  the  fruit,  as  the 
fruit  by  the  tree,  then  peremptorily  1  speak  it, 
there  is  virtue  in  that  Falstaff':  him  keep  with, 

the 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


447 


the  rest  banUh.  And  tell  me.  now,  thou  naughty 
▼arlet,  tell  me,  where  hast  thou  beeu  this 
mouth? 

Prince  Henry. 
Dost  thou  spe.ik  like  a  king  ?    Do  thou  stand 
for  me,  and  I'll  play  my  father. 
Falstaff. 
Depose  me  ?  if  thou  dost  it  half  so  gravely,  so 
majestically,  both  in  word  and  matter,  hang  me 
up  by  the  heels  for  a  rabbit-sucker,  or  a  poulter's 
hare. 

Prince  Henry. 
Well,  here  I  am  set. 

Falstaff. 
And  here  I  stand — Judge,  my  masters. 

Prince  Henry. 
Now,  Harry !  whence  come  you  ? 

Falstaff. 
My  noble  lord,  from  Eastcheap. 

Prince  Henry. 
The  complaints  1  hear  of  thee  are  grievous. 

Falstaff. 
•Sblood,  my  lord,  they  are  false:— nay,  I'll 
tickle  thee  for  a  young  prince,  i'  faith. 
Prince  Henry. 
Swearest  thou,  ungracious*  boy  ?  henceforth 
ne'er  look  on  me.  Thou  art  violently  carried 
away  from  grace  :  there  is  a  devil  haunts  thee, 
in  the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man  :  a  tun  of  man  is 
thy  companion.  Why  dost  thou  converse  with 
that  trunk  of  humours,  that  bolting-hutch  of 
beastliness,  that  swoln  parcel  of  dropsies,  that 
huge  bombard  of  sack,  that  stuffed  cloak-bag  of 
guts,  that  roasting  Manningtree-ox  with  the 
pudding  in  his  bellv,  that  reverend  vice,  that 
grey  iniquity,  that  father  ruffian,  that  vanity  in 
years?  Wherein  is  he  good,  but  to  taste  sack 
aud  drink  it  ?  wherein  neat  and  cleanly,  but  to 
carve  a  capon  and  eat  it  t  wherein  cunning,  but 
in  craft  ?  wherein  crafty,  but  in  villainy?  where- 
in  villainous,  but  in  all  things  ?  wherein  worthy, 
but  in  nothing  ? 

Falstaff. 
I  would  your  grace  would  take  mc  with  you : 
whom  means  your  grace  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
That  villainous  abominable  misleaderof  youth, 
Falstaff,  that  old  white-bearded  Salon. 

Falstaff. 
My  lord,  the  man  1  know. 

Prince  Henry. 

I  know  thou  dost. 

Falstaff 

But  to  say,  I  know  more  harm  In  him  than  in 
myself,  were  to  say  more  than  I  know.  That  he 
is  old,  the  more  the  pity,  his  white  hairs  do  wit- 
ness it :  but  that  he  is,  saving  your  reverence,  a 
whoremaster,  that  I  utterly  deny.  If  sack  and 
sugar  be  a  fault,  God  help  the  wicked  I  If  to  be 
old  and  merry  be  a  sin,  then  many  an  old  host 
that  I  know,  is  damned :  if  to  be  fat  be  to  be 
hated,  then  Pharaoh's  lean  kine  are  to  be  loved. 
No,  my  good  lord :  banish  Peto,  banish  Bar- 
dolph,  banish  Pains;  but  for  sweet  Jack  Fa  Is  tuff, 
kind  Jack  Falstaff,  true  Jack  Falstaff  valiant 
Jack  Falstqffi;  and,  therefore  more  valiant,  being, 
as  he  is,  old  Jack  Falstaff  banish  not  him  thy 
Harry's  company,  banish  not  him  thv  Harry's 
company :  banish  plump  Jack,  and  banish  all 
the  world. 

Prince  Henry. 

I  do,  I  will.  [A  knocking  heard. 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Francis,  and  Batdolph. 


Ke-enter  Bardolph,  running. 
iph. 
O  I  my  lord,  my  lord !  the  sheriff,  with  a  most 
monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door. 
Falstaff. 
Out,  you  rogue  I  play  out  the  play :  I  have 
much  to  say  In  the  behalf  of  that  Falstaff: 

Re-enter  Hostess. 
Hostess. 

0  Jesu  I  my  lord,  my  lord  !  — 

Prince  Henry. 
Heigh,  heigh !  the  devil  rides  upon  a  fiddle- 
stick.   What's  the  matter  ? 
Hostess. 
The  sheriff  and  all  the  watch  are  at  the  door  : 
they  are  come  to  search  the  house.     Shall  I  let 
them  iu? 

Falstaff. 
Dost  thou  hear,  Half  never  call  a  true  piece 
of  gold  a  counterfeit :  thou  art  essentially  mad, 
without  seeming  so. 

Prince  Henry. 

And  thou  a  natural  coward,  without  instinct. 

Falstaff. 

1  deny  your  major.  If  you  will  deny  the 
sheriff,  so;  if  not,  let  him  enter:  if  I  become 
not  a  cart  as  well  as  another  man,  a  plague  on 
my  bringing  up !  I  hope  I  shall  as  soon  be 
strangled  with  a  halter  as  another. 

Prince  Henry. 
Go,  hide  thee  behind  the  arras :— the  rest  walk 
up  above.  Now,  my  masters,  for  a  true  face,  and 
good  conscience. 

Falstaff. 
Both  which  I  have  had  ;  but  their  date  Is  out, 
and  therefore  I'll  hide  ma 

(Exeunt  all  but  the  Prince  and  Peto. 

Prince  Henry. 
Call  in  the  sheriff. 

Enter  SA«-(|f  and  Carrier. 
Now,  master  sheriff,  what's  your  will  with  me  ? 
Sheriff. 
First,  pardon  me,  my  lord.    A  hue  and  cry 
Hath  follow'd  certain  men  unto  this  house. 
Prince  Henry. 
What  men? 

Sheriff. 
One  of  them  is  well  known,  my  gracious  lord ; 
A  gross  fat  man.  a 

Carrier. 
As  fat  as  butter. 
Prince  Henry. 
The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here, 
For  1  myself  at  this  time  have  employ'd  him. 
[And,  sheriff,  I  will  engage  my  word  to  thee, 
i  That  I  will,  by  to-morrow  dinner-time, 
I  Send  him  to  answer  thee,  or  anv  man. 
For  any  thing  he  shall  be  charg'd  withal : 
And  so,  let  me  entreat  you,  leave  the  house. 

Sheriff. 
'     I  will,  my  lord.     There  are  two  gentlemen 
Have  in  this  robbery  lost  three  hundred  marks. 
Prince  Henry. 
It  may  be  so :  if  he  have  robb'd  these  men, 
He  shall  be  answerable  ;  and  so,  farewell. 
Sheriff. 
Good  night,  my  noble  lord. 

Prince  Henry. 
I  think  it  is  good  morrow,  is  it  not  ? 

Sheriff. 


448 


FIRST  PART  OF 


2s  2d. 

id. 

bsM. 

2s  Gd 


Sheriff. 
Indeed,  my  lord,  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 

[Exeunt  Sheriff" and  Carrier. 

Prince  Henry. 
This  oily  rascal  is  known  as  well  as  Paul's. 
Go,  call  him  forth. 

Peto. 
Falrtqjf!  —  fast  asleep  behind  the  arras,  and 
snorting  like  a  horse. 

Prince  Henry. 
Hark,  how  hard  he  fetches  breath.    Search 
his  pockets.   [Peto  searches]     What  hast  thou 
found  ? 

Peto. 
Nothing  but  papers,  my  lord. 
Prince  Henry. 
Let's  see  what  they  be:  read  them. 
Peto. 

Item,  A  capon, 

Item,  Sauce, 

Item,  Sack,  two  gallons,     .    .    . 
Item,  Anchovies,  and  sack  after  sup 

per, 

Item,  Bread, 

Prince  Henry. 
O  monstrous !   but  one  half-pennyworth  of 
bread  to  this  intolerable  deal  of  sack  !  —  What 
there  is  else,  keep  close:  we'll  read  it  at  morel 
advantage.    There  let  him  sleep  till  day,     I'll 
to  the  court  in  the  morning :  we  must  all  to  the . 
wars,  and  thy  place  shall  be  honourable.    Pllj 
procure  this  fat  rogue  a  charge  of  foot ;  and,  I  i 
know,  his  death  will  be  a  march  of  twelve-score,  j 
The  money  shall  be  paid  back  again  with  ad-i 
vantage.    Be  with  me  betimes  in  the  morning ; 
and  so  good  morrow,  Peto. 
Peto. 
Good  morrow,  good  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

SCENF.  I.    Bangor.    A  Room  in  the  Arch- 
deacon's House. 

Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  Mortimer,  and 
Glendotoer. 
Mortimer. 

THESE  promises  are  fair,  the  parties  sure, 
And  our  induction  full  of  prosperous  hope. 

Hotspur, 
Lord  Mortimer,  and  cousin  Glendower,  will 
you   sit  down  ?  —  And,    uncle    Worcester.  —  A 
plague  upon  it !    1  have  forgot  the  map. 
Glendower. 
No,  here  it  is. 
Sit,  cousin  Percy  ;  sit,  good  cousin  Hotspur  ; 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
Doth  speak  of  you, 

His  cheek  looks  pale,  and  with  a  rising  sigh 
He  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 
Hotspur. 
And  you  in  hell,  as  oft  as  he  hears  Owen 
Glendower  spoke  of. 

Glendower. 
cannot  blame  him  :  at  my  nativity, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes, 
Of  burning  cressets  ;  and  at  my  birth, 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shak'd  like  a  coward. 


Hotspur. 

Why,  so  it  would  have  done  at  the  same 

season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had  but  kitten'd, 

though  yourself  had  never  been  born. 

Glendower. 

I  say,  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was  born. 

Hotspur. 
And  I  say  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind, 
If  you  suppose  as  fearing  you  it  shook. 
Glendower. 
The  heavens  were  all  on  fire  ;  the  earth  did 
tremble. 

Hotspur. 

0  !  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens 
And  not  in  fear  of  your  nativity.  [on  fire, 
Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 

In  strange  eruptions  :  oft  the  teeming  earth 

Is  with  a  kind  of  colic  pinch'd  and  vex'd 

By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 

Within  her   womb;    which,   for   enlargement 

striving, 
Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth,  and  topples  down 
Steeples,  and  moss-grown    towers.     At   your 

birth 
Our  grandam  earth,  having  this  distemperature, 
In  passion  shook. 

Glendower. 
Cousin,  of  many  men 
I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.     Give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  once  again,  —  that  at  my  birth, 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes  ; 
The  goats  ran  from  the  mountains,  and  the 

herds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  signs  have  mark'd  me  extraordinary, 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show, 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 
Where  is  he  living,  —  clipp'd  in  with  the  sea 
That  chides  the  banks  of  England,  Scotland, 

Wales,— 
Which  calls  me  pupil,  or  hath  read  to  me  ? 
And  bring  him  out,  that  is  but  woman's  son, 
Can  trace  me  in  the  tedious  ways  of  art, 
And  hold  me  pace  in  deep  experiments. 
Hotspur. 

1  think,  there  is  no  man  speaks  better  Welsh. 
I'll  to  dinner. 

Mortimer. 
Peace,  cousin  Percy!    you  will   make   him 
mad. 

Glendower. 
I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep. 

Hotspur. 
Why,  so  can  I,  or  so  can  any  man  ; 
But  will  they  come,  when  you  do  call  for  them  ? 
Glendower 
Why,  I  can  teach  you,  cousin,  to  command 
the  devil. 

Hotspur. 

And  I  can  teach  thee,  coz,   to   shame  the 

devil,  [devil. — 

By  telling  truth :  tell   truth,   and  shame   the 

If  thou  have  power  to  raise  him,  bring  him 

hither,  [hence. 

And  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  power  to  shame  him 

O  !  while  you  live,  tell  truth,  and  shame  the 

devil. 

Mortimer. 
Come,  come ; 
No  more  of  this  unprofitable  chat. 
Glendower, 
Three  times  hath  Henry  Bvlingbroke  made 
head  [Wye, 

Against  my  power:  thrice  from  the  banks  of 

And 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


449 


Ami  sandy- bottom'd  Severn,  have  I  sent  him, 
bout  less  home,  and  weather-beaten  back. 
Hot  1 1 
Home  without  boots,  and  in  foul  weather  too  ! 
How  'scapes  he  agues,  in  the  devil's  name  ? 
Glendower. 
Come,  here's  the  map  ;  shall  wo  divide  our 
right, 
According  to  our  three-fold  order  ta'en  ? 
Mortimer. 
The  archdeacon  hath  divided  it 
Into  three  limits,  very  equally. 
England,  from  Trent  and  Severn  hitherto, 
By  south  and  east  is  to  my  part  assign'd : 
All  westward,  Wales,  beyond  the  Severn  shore, 
And  all  the  fertile  land  within  that  bound, 
To  Owen  Glendower  :  —  and,  dear  coz.to  you 
The  remnant  northward,  lying  oflf  from  Trent. 
And  our  indentures  tripartite  are  drawn, 
Which  being  sealed  interchangeably, 
(A  business  that  this  night  may  execute) 
To-morrow,  cousin  Percy,  you,  and  I, 
And  ray  good  lord  of  Worcester,  will  set  forth, 
To  meet  your  father,  and  the  Scottish  power, 
As  is  appointed  us,  at  Shrewsbury. 
My  father  Glendower  is  not  ready  yet, 
Nor  shall   we  need  his    help    these    fourteen 

days [gether 

Within  that  space  you  may  have  drawn  to- 
Your  tenants,  friends,  and  neighbouring  gentle- 
men. 

Glendower. 
A  shorter  time  shall  send  me  to  you,  lords  ; 
And  in  my  conduct  shall  your  ladies  come : 
From  whom  you  now  must  steal,  and  take  no 
For  there  will  be  a  world  of  water  shed,  [leave  ; 
Upon  the  parting  of  your  wives  and  you. 
Hotspur. 
Methinks,  my  moiety,  north    from    Burton 
In  quantity  equals  not  one  of  jours.  [here, 

See,  how  this  river  comes  me  cranking  in, 
And  cuts  me  from  the  best  of  all  my  land 
A  huge  half-moon,  a  monstrous  cantle  out. 
I'll  have  the  current  in  this  place  damm'd  up, 
And  here  the  smug  and  silver  Trent  shall  run, 
In  a  new  channel,  fair  and  evenly : 
It  shall  not  wind  with  such  a  deep  indent, 
To  rob  me  of  so  rich  a  bottom  here. 
Glendower 
Not  wind  ?   it  shall ;  it   must :   you  see,  it 
doth. 

Mortimer. 
Yea,  but  mark,  how  he  bears  his  course,  and 
runs  me  up 
With  like  advantage  on  the  other  side  ; 
Gelding  the  opposed  continent,  as  much 
As  on  the  other  side  it  takes  from  you. 
Worcester 
Yea,  but  a  little  charge  will  trench  h<m  here, 
And  on  this  north  side  win  this  cape  of  land  ; 
And  then  he  runs  straight  and  even. 
Hotspur. 
I'll  have  it  so  :  a  little  charge  will  do  it. 

Glendower 
I  will  not  have  it  alter'd 
Hotspur 

Will  not  you  ? 
Glendower. 
No,  nor  you  shall  not. 

Hotspur. 

Who  shall  say  me  nay  ? 
Glendower 
Why,  that  will  I. 


Hounur. 
Let  me  not;  understand  you  then : 
Speak  it  in  Welsh. 

Glendower. 
I  can  speak  English,  lord,  as  well  as  you, 
For  I  was  train'd  up  in  the  English  court ; 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
Many  an  EnglUh  ditty,  lovely  well, 
And  gave  the  tongue  a  helpful  ornament ; 
A  virtue  that  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hotspur. 
Marry,  and  I'm  glad  ofit  with  all  my  heait. 
1  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry  mew, 
Than  one  of  these  same  metre  ballad-mongers : 
I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  canstick  turn'd, 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  the  axle-tree  ; 
And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge, 
Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry. 
'Tis  like  the  fore'd  gait  of  a  shuffling  nag. 
Glendower. 
Come,  you  shall  have  Trent  turn'd. 
Hotspur. 

I  do  not  care. 
I'll  give  thrice  so  much  land  to  any  well-de- 
serving friend ; 
But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 
I'll  cavil  on  the  ninth  part  of  a  hair. 
Are  the  indentures  drawn?  shall  we  be  gone? 
Glendower. 
The  moon  shines  fair,  you  may  away  by  night: 
I'll  haste  the  writer,  and  withal, 
Break  with  your  wives  of  your  departure  hence. 
I  am  afraid  my  daughter  will  run  mad, 
So  much  she  doteth  on  her  Mortimer.       [Exit. 
Mortimer. 
Fie,  cousin  Percy!  how  you  cross  my  father. 

Hotspur. 
I  cannot  choose :  sometime  he  angers  me 
With  telling  me  of  the  mold  warp  and  the  ant, 
j  Of  the  dreamer  Merlin  and  his  prophecies ; 
And  of  a  dragon,  and  a  Unless  fish, 
A  clip-wing'd  griffin,  and  a  moulten  raven, 
i  A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat, 

•  And  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 

j  As  puts  me  from  my  faith.     1  tell  you  what, 
|  He  held  me,  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours, 
i  In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  names, 
I  That  were  his  lackeys :  I  cried,  "  humph,"  and 

"  well,"  "  go  to," 
I  But  mark'd  him  not  a  word.   O !  he's  as  tedious 
As  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife; 

•  Worse  than  a  smoky  house:  I  had  rather  live 
I  With  cheese  and  garlick  in  a  windmill,  far, 

Than  feed  on  cates,  and  have  him  talk  to  me, 
In  any  summer-house  in  Christendom. 

Mortimer. 
In  faith,  he  is  a  worthy  gentleman ; 
Exceedingly  well  read,  and  profited 
In  strange  concealments  ;  valiant  as  a  lion, 
And  wondrous  affable,  and  as  bountiful 
As  mines  of  India.     Shall  I  tell  you,  cousin  ? 
He  holds  your  temper  in  a  high  respect, 
And  curbs  himself  even  of  his  natural  scope, 
When  you  do  cross  his  humour ;  'faith  he  does. 
I  warrant  you,  that  man  is  not  alive, 
Might  so  have  tempted  him  as  you  have  done, 
Without  the  taste  of  danger  and  reproof: 
1  But  do  not  use  it  oft,  let  me  entreat  you. 

Worcester. 

In  faith,  my  lord,  you  are  too  wilful-blame. 

And  since  your  coming  hither  have  done  enough 

To  put  him  quite  beside  his  patience. 

You  must  needs  learn,  lord,  to  amend  this  fault : 

u  g  Though 


45o 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Though  sometimes  it  show  greatness,  courage, 

blood, 
And  that's  the  dearest  grace  it  renders  you, 
Yet  oftentimes  it  doth  present  harsh  rage, 
Defect  of  manners,  want  of  government, 
Pride,  haughtiness,  opinion,  and  disdain: 
The  least  of  which,  haunting  a  nobleman, 
Loseth  men's  hearts,  and  leaves  behind  a  stain 
Upon  the  beauty  of  all  parts  besides, 
Beguiling  them  of  commendation. 

Hotspur. 
Well,  I  am  school 'd:  good  manners  be  your 
speed ! 
Here  come  our  wives,  and  let  us  take  our  leave. 

Re-enter  Glendower,  with  the  Ladies. 

Mortimer. 
This  is  the  deadly  spite  that  angers  me, 
My  wife  can  speak  no  English,  I  no  Welsh. 

Glendower. 

My  daughter  weeps:  she  will  not  part  with 

She'll  be  a  soldier  too ;  she'll  to  the  wars,  [you, 

Mortimer. 
Good  father,  tell  her,  that  she,  and  my  aunt 
Shall  follow  in  your  conduct  speedily.    [Percy, 
[Glendower  speaks  to  her  In  Welsn,  and 
she  answers  him  in  the  same. 

Glendower. 
She's  desperate  here;  a  peevish  self-will'd 
harlotry,  one 
That  no  persuasion  can  do  good  upon. 

[She  speaks  to  Mortimer  in  Welsh. 

Mortimer. 

I  understand  thy  looks :  that  pretty  Welsh 

Which  thou  pourest  down  from  these  swelling 

heavens, 
I  am  too  perfect  in  ;  and,  but  for  shame, 
In  such  a  parley  would  I  answer  thee. 

[She  speaks  again. 
I  understand  thy  kisses,  and  thou  mine, 
And  that's  a  feeling  disputation : 
But  I  will  never  be  a  truant,  love, 
Till  I  have  learn'd  thy  language ;  for  thy  tongue 
Makes  Welsh  as  sweet  as  ditties  highly  penn'd, 
Sung  by  a  fair  queen  in  a  summer's  bower, 
With  ravishing  division,  to  her  lute. 
Glendower. 
Nay,  if  you  melt,  then  will  she  run  mad. 

[She  speaks  again. 
Mortimer. 
O !  I  am  ignorance  itself  in  this. 

Glendower. 
She  bids  you  on  the  wanton  rushes  lay  you 
down, 
And  rest  your  gentle  head  upon  her  lap, 
And  she  will  sing  the  song  that  pleaseth  you, 
And  on  your  eye-lids  crown  the  god  of  sleep, 
Charming  your  blood  with  pleasing  heaviness ; 
Making  such  difference  'twixt  wake  and  sleep, 
As  is  the  difference  betwixt  day  and  night, 
The  hour  before  the  heavenly-  harness'd  team 
Begins  his  golden  progress  in  the  east. 
Mortimer. 
With  all  my  heart  I'll  sit,  and  hear  her  sing: 
By  that  time  will  our  book,  I  think,  be  drawn. 
Glendower. 
Do  so; 
And  those  musicians  that  shall  play  to  you, 
Hang  in  the  air  a  thousand  leagues  from  hence ; 
And  straight  they  shall  be  here.  Sit,  and  attend. 
Hotspur. 
Come,  Kate,  thou  art  perfect  in  lying  down : 


Come,  quick,  quick ;  that  I  may  lay  my  head  in 
thy  lap. 

Lady  Percy. 
Go,  ye  giddy  goose.  [The  Music  Plays. 

Hotspur. 
Now  I  perceive,  the  devil  understands  Welsh  ; 
And  'tis  no  marvel,  he  is  so  humorous. 
By'r  lady,  he's  a  good  musician. 
Lady  Percy. 
Then,  should  you  be  nothing  but  musical, 
For  you  are  altogether  governed  by  humours. 
Lie  still,  ye  thief,  and  hear  the  lady  sing 
In  Welsh. 

Hotspur. 
I  had  rather  hear  Lady,  my  brach,  howl  in 
Irish. 

Lady  Percy. 
Would'st  thou  have  thy  head  broken  ? 

Hotspur. 
No. 

Lady  Percy 
Then  be  stilL 

Hotspur. 
Neither;  'tis  a  woman's  fault . 

Lady  Percy. 
Now,  God  help  thee ! 

Hotspur. 
To  the  Welsh  lady's  bed. 

Lady  Percy. 
What's  that? 

Hotspur. 
Peace  1  she  sings. 

[A  Welsh  Song  by  Lady  Mortimer. 
Hotspur. 
Come,  Kate,  I'll  have  your  song  too. 

Lady  Percy. 
Not  mine,  in  good  sooth. 

Hotspur. 
Not  yours,  in  good  sooth !  'Heart !  you  swear 
like  a  comfit-maker's  wife.    Not  you,  in  good 
sooth  ;  and,  as  true  as  I  live;  and,  as  God  shall 
mend  me;  and,  as  sure  as  day: 
And  giv'st  such  sarcenet  surety  for  thy  oaths, 
As  if  thou  never  walk'dst  farther  than  Finsbury. 
Swear  me,  Kate,  like  a  lady  as  thou  art, 
A  good-mouth-filling  oath ;  and  leave  in  sooth, 
And  such  protest  of  pepper-gingerbread, 
To  velvet-guards,  and  St«iflfa#-citizens. 
Come,  sing. 

Lady  Percy. 
I  will  not  sing. 

Hotspur. 
'Tis  the  next  way  to  turn  tailor,  or  be  red- 
breast teacher.    An  the  indentures  be  drawn, 
I'll  away  within  these  two  hours  ;  and  so  come 
in  when  ye  will.  [Exit. 

Glendower. 
Come,  come,  lord  Mortimer  ;  you  are  as  slow, 
As  hot  lord  Percy  is  on  fire  to  go. 
By  this  our  book  is  drawn  :  we'll  but  seal,  and 
To  horse  immediately.  [then 

Mortimer. 
With  all  my  heart.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Lords. 

King  Henry. 

Lords,  give  us  leave.    The  Prince  of  Wales 

and  I,  [at  hand, 

Must  have  some  private  conference :  but  be  near 

For  we  shall  presently  have  need  of  you. — 

[Exeunt  L.ords. 

I  know 


Act  in.  Se.  ii. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


45* 


I  know  not  whether  God  will  have  it  so. 
For  some  displeasing  service  I  have  done, 
That,  in  his  secret  doom,  out  of  my  hlood 
He'll  breed  revcn>:cment  and  a  scourge  for  me ; 
But  thou  dost,  in  thy  passages  of  life, 
Make  me  believe,  that  th>ti  ait  only  mark'd 
For  the  hot  vengeance  and  the  rod  of  heaven, 
To  punish  my  mistreadings.     Tell  ine  else, 
Could  such  inordinate,  and  low  desires,  [tempts, 
Such  poor,  such  bare,  such  lewd,  such  mean  at- 
Suc  h  barren  pleasures,  rude  society, 
At  thou  art  match'd  withal,  and  grafted  to, 
Accompany  the  greatness  of  thy  blood, 
And  hold  their  level  with  thy  princely  heart 
l'rince  Henry. 

So  please  your  majesty,  I  would,  I  could 
Quit  all  offences  with  as  clear  excuse, 
As  well  as,  I  am  doubtless,  I  can  purge 
Myself  of  many  I  am  charg'd  withal : 
Yet  such  extenuation  let  me  beg, 
As,  in  reproof  of  many  tales  devis'd, 
Which  oft  the  ear  of  greatness  needs  must  hear, 
By  smiling  pick-thanks  and  base  newsmongers, 
I  may,  for  some  things  true,  wherein  my  youth  ; 
Hath  faulty  wander'd,  and  irregular, 
Find  pardon  on  my  true  submission. 
King  Henry 

God  pardon  thee  !— yet  let  me  wonder,  Harry,  '■ 
At  thy  affections,  which  do  hold  a  wing 
Quite  from  the  flight  of  all  thy  ancestors. 
Thy  place  in  council  thou  hast  rudely  lost, 
Which  by  thy  younger  brother  is  supplied  ; 
And  art  almost  an  alien  to  the  hearts 
Of  all  the  court,  and  princes  of  my  blood : 
The  hope  and  expectation  of  thy  time 
Is  ruin'd  ;  and  the  soul  of  every  man 
Prophetically  does  fore- think  thy  falL 
Had  I  so  lavish  of  my  presence  been, 
So  common-hackney  d  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
So  stale  and  cheap  to  vulgar  company, 
Opinion,  that  did  help  me  to  the  crown, 
Had  still  kept  loyal  to  possession, 
And  left  me  in  reputeless  banishment, 
A  fellow  of  no  mark,  nor  likelihood. 
By  being  seldom  seen,  I  could  not  stir, 
But  like  a  comet  1  was  wonder'd  at ;  [he : "  • 

That  men  would  tell  their  children,  "This  is 
Others  would  say, — "  Where  ?  which  is  Baling-  ■ 

broke?" 
And  then  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven, 
And  dress'd  myself  in  such  humility, 
That  I  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts,    [ 
Loud  shouts  and  salutations  from  their  mouths, 
Kven  in  the  presence  of  the  crowned  king. 
Thus  did  1  keep  my  person  fresh,  and  new  ; 
My  presence,  like  a  robe  pontifical, 
Ne'er  seen  but  wonder'd  at :  and  so  my  state, 
Seldom,  but  sumptuous,  showed  like  a  feast ; 
And  won  by  rareness  such  solemnity. 
The  skipping  king,  he  ambled  up  and  down 
With  shallow  jesters,  and  rash  bavin  wits, 
Soon  kindled,  and  soon  burn'd :  carded  his  state ; 
Mingled  his  royalty  with  capring  fools  ; 
Had  his  great  name  profaned  with  their  scorns  ;  ; 
And  gave  his  countenance,  against  his  name, 
To  laugh  at  gibing  boys,  and  stand  the  push 
Of  every  beardless  vain  comparative: 
Grew  a  companion  to  the  common  streets, 
Enfeoffed  himself  to  popularity: 
That  being  daily  swallow'd  by  men's  eyes, 
They  surfeited  with  honey ;  and  began 
To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little  ' 
More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 
So,  when  he  had  occasion  to  be  seen, 
He  was  but  as  the  cuckoo  is  in  June, 
Heard,  not  regarded  ;  seen,  but  with  such  eyes, 


As,  sick  and  blunted  with  community, 
Afford  no  extraordinary  gaze, 
Such  as  is  bent  on  sun-like  majesty. 
When  it  shines  seldom  in  admiring  eyes  ;  [down, 
But  rather  drowz'd,  and  hung  their  eye-lids 
Slept  in  his  face,  and  render'd  such  aspect 
As  cloudy  men  use  to  their  adversaries, 
Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  gorg'd,  and  full. 
And  In  that  very  line,  Harry,  staud'st  thou  ; 
For  thou  hast  lost  thy  princely  privilege, 
With  vile  participation:  not  an  eye 
But  is  a-wearv  of  thy  common  sight, 
Save  mine,  which  hath  desir'd  to  see  thee  more ; 
Which  now  doth  that  I  would  not  have  it  do, 
Make  blind  itself  with  foolish  tenderness. 
Prince  Henry. 

I  shall  hereafter,  my  thrice- gracious  lord, 
Be  more  myself. 

King  Henry. 
For  all  the  world, 
As  thou  art  to  this  hour,  was  Richard  then, 
When  I  from  France  set  foot  at  Iiavcnspurg ; 
And  even  as  1  was  then,  is  Percy  now. 
Now  by  my  scepter,  and  my  soul  to  boot, 
He  hath  more  woithy  interest  to  the  state. 
Than  thou  the  shadow  of  succession : 
For  of  no  right,  nor  colour  like  to  right, 
He  doth  fill  fields  with  harness  in  the  realm, 
Turns  head  against  the  lion's  armed  jaws, 
And,  being  no  more  in  debt  to  years  than  thou, 
Leads  ancient  lords  and  reverend  bishops  on 
To  bloody  battles,  and  to  bruising  arms. 
What  never-dying  honour  hath  he  got 
Against  renowned  Douglas ;  whose  high  deeds, 
Whose  hot  incursions,  and  great  name  in  arms, 
Holds  from  all  soldiers  chief  majority, 
And  military  title  capital,  [Christ. 

Through  all  the  kingdoms  that  acknowledge 
Thrice  hath  this  Hotspur,  Mars  in  swathing 
This  infant  warrior,  in  his  enterprizes   [clothes, 
Discomfited  great  Douglas;  ta'en  him  once, 
Enlarged  him,  and  made  a  friend  of  him, 
To  fill  the  mouth  of  deep  defiance  up, 
And  shake  the  peace  and  safety  of  our  throne. 
And  what  say  you  to  this?    Percy,  Northum- 
berland, 
The  archbishop's  grace  of  York,  Douglas,  Mor- 
Capitulate  against  us,  and  are  up.  [timer, ; 

But  wherefore  do  I  tell  these  news  to  thee? 
Why,  Harry,  do  I  tell  thee  of  my  foes, 
Which  art  my  near'st  and  dearest  enemy? 
Thou  that  art  like  enough,  through  vassal  fear, 
Base  inclination,  and  the  start  of  spleen, 
To  fight  against  me  under  Percy's  pay, 
To  dog  his  heels,  and  court'sy  at  his  frowns, 
To  show  how  much  thou  art  degenerate. 
Prince  Henry. 

Do  not  think  so ;  you  shall  not  find  it  so : 
And  God  forgive  them,  that  so  much  have  sway'd 
Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me  I 
1  will  redeem  all  this  on  Percy's  head, 
And  in  the  closing  of  some  glorious  day, 
Be  bold  to  tell  you  that  I  am  your  son ; 
When  I  will  wear  a  garment  all  of  blood, 
And  stain  my  favours  in  a  bloody  mask,  [it. 

Which,  wash'd  away,  shall  scour  my  shame  with 
And  that  shall  be  the  day,  whene'er  it  lights, 
That  this  same  child  of  honour  and  renown, 
This  gallant  Hotspur,  this  all-praised  knight, 
And  your  unthought-of  Harry,  chance  to  meet. 
For  every  honour  sitting  on  his  helm, 
'Would  they  were  multitudes ;  and  on  my  head 
My  shames  redoubled  I  for  the  time  will  come, 
That  I  shall  make  this  northern  youth  exchange 


His  glorious  deeds  for  my  indignities. 


Percy 


45* 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Percy  is  but  my  factor,  good  my  lord, 

To  engross  up  glorious  deeds  on  my  behalf; 

And  1  will  call  him  to  so  strict  account, 

That  he  shall  render  every  glory  up, 

Yea,  even  the  slightest  worship  of  his  time, 

Or  I  will  tear  the  reckoning  from  his  heart. 

This,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  promise  here : 

The  which,  if  he  be  pleas 'd,  I  shall  perform, 

I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  may  salve 

The  long-grown  wounds  of  my  intemperance  : 

If  not,  the  end  of  life  cancels  all  bands ; 

And  I  will  die  a  hundred  thousand  deaths, 

Ere  break  the  smallest  parcel  of  this  vow. 

King  Henry. 
A  hundred  thousand  rebels  die  in  this  ! 
Thou  shalt  have  charge,  and  sovereign  trust 
herein. 

Enter  Blunt. 

How  now,  good  Blunt?  thy  looks  are  full  of 
speed. 

Blunt. 
So  hath  the  business  that  I  come  to  speak  of. 
Lord  Mortimer  of  Scotland  hath  sent  word, 
That  Douglas,  and  the  English  rebels  met, 
The  eleventh  of  this  month,  at  Shrewsbury. 
A  mighty  and  a  fearful  head  they  are, 
If  promises  be  kept  on  every  hand, 
As  ever  offer'd  foul  play  in  a  state. 
Kins  Henry. 
The  earl  of  Westmoreland  set  forth  to-day, 
With  him  my  son,  lord  John  of  Lancaster; 
For  this  advertisement  is  five  days  old. — 
On  Wednesday  next,  Hurry,  you  shall  set  for- 
On  Thursday  we  ourselves  will  march :    [ward ; 
Our  meeting  is  Bridgnorth  ;  and,  Harry,  you 
Shall  march  through  Glostershire ;  by  which 
account, 
I   Our  business  valued,  some  twelve  days  hence 
Our  general  forces  at  Bridgnorth  shall  meet. 
Our  hands  are  full  of  business  :  let's  away ; 
Advantage  feeds  him  fat,  while  men  delay. 

[Exeunt,  j 

SCENE  IU.   Easitheap.    A  Room  In  the Boat'%  I 
Head  Tavern. 

EnUr  Falstaff vai  Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 

Bardolph,  am  I  not  fallen  away  vilely  since 
this  last  action  ?  do  I  not  bate?  do  I  not  dwindle? 
Why,  my  skin  hangs  about  me  like  an  old  lady's 
loose  gown :  I  am  wither'd  like  an  old  apple- 
John.  Well,  I'll  repent,  and  that  suddenly, 
while  I  am  in  some  liking;  I  shall  be  out  of 
heart  shortly,  and  then  I  shall  have  no  strength  I 
to  repent.  An  I  have  not  forgotten  what  the  I 
inside  of  a  church  is  made  of,  I  am  a  pepper-  I 
corn,  a  brewer's  horse.  The  inside  of  a  church  !  I 
Company,  villainous  company,  hath  been  the 
■poll  of  me. 

Bardolph. 

Sir  John,  you  are  so  fretful,  you  cannot  live 
long. 

FaUuff. 

Why,  there  is  it.  — Come,  sing  me  a  bawdy 
song ;  make  me  merry.  I  was  as  virtuously  j 
given  as  a  gentleman  need  to  be ;  virtuous  j 
enough:  swore  little;  diced  not  above  seven  ! 
times  a  week ;  went  to  a  bawdy-house  not  above  ' 
once  in  a  quarter — of  an  hour ;  paid  money  that  ; 
I  borrowed  three  or  four  times ;  lived  well,  and  ! 
in  good  compass;  and  now  I  live  out  of  all 
order,  out  of  all  compass. 

Bardoluh. 

Why,  you  are  so  fat,  sir  John,  that  you  must 


needs  be  out  of  all  compass ;  out  of  all  reason- 
able compass,  sir  John. 

Falstaff. 

Do  thou  amend  thy  face,  and  I'll  amend  my 

life.    Thou  art  our  admiral,  thou  bearest  the 

lantern  in  the  poop,— but  'tis  in  the  nose  of  thee: 

thou  art  the  knight  of  the  burning  lamp. 

Bardolph. 

Why,  sir  John,  my  face  does  you  no  harm. 

Falstaff: 
No  ;  I'll  be  sworn,  I  make  as  good  use  of  it  as 
many  a  man  doth  of  adeath's  head,  or  a  memento 
mori :  I  never  see  thy  face,  but  I  think  upon 
hell-fire,  and  Dives  that  lived  in  purple  ;  (or 
there  he  is  in  his  robes,  burning,  burning.  If 
thou  wert  any  way  given  to  virtue,  I  would 
swear  by  thy  face :  my  oath  should  be,  By  this 
fire,  that's  God's  angel :  but  thou  art  altogether 
given  over,  and  wert,  indeed,  but  for  the  light  in 
thy  face,  the  son  of  utter  darkness.  When  thou 
ran'st  up  Gads-hill  in  the  night  to  catch  my 
horse,  if  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst  been  an  ignis 
faluus,  or  a  ball  of  wild-fire,  there's  no  purchase 
in  money.  O  !  thou  art  a  perpetual  triumph,  an 
everlasting  bonfire-light.  Thou  hast  saved  me 
a  thousand  marks  in  links  and  torches,  walking 
with  thee  in  the  night  betwixt  tavern  and 
tavern :  but  the  sack  that  thou  hast  drunk  me, 
would  have  bought  me  lights  as  good  cheap,  at 
the  dearest  chandler's  in  Europe.  I  have  main- 
tained that  salamander  of  yours  with  fire  any 
time  this  two  and  thirty  years  :  God  reward  me 
for  it  1 

Bardolph. 
'Sblood  !  I  would  my  face  were  in  your  belly. 

Falstaff. 
God-a-mercy  1  so  should  I  be  sure  to  be  heart- 
burned. 

Knter  Hosiers. 
How  now,  dame  Partlet  the  hen  ?  have  you  in- 
quired yet  who  picked  my  pocket  ? 
Ho,ste*s. 
Why,  sir  John,  what  do  you  think,  sir  John? 
Do  you  think  I  keep  thieves  in  my  house  ?     I 
have  searched,  I  have  inquired,  so  has  my  hus- 
band, man  by  man,  boy  by  boy,  servant  by  ser- 
vant :  the  tithe  of  a  hair  was  never  lost  in  my 
house  before. 

Y*Ut&tt. 
You  lie,  hostess :  Bardolph  was  shaved,  and 
lost  many  a  hair  ;  and  I'll  be  sworn,  my  pocket 
was  picked.    Go  to,  you  are  a  woman  ;  go. 
Hmnm, 
Who  I?    No.    I  defy  thee:  God's  light!    I 
was  never  called  so  in  mine  own  house  before. 
Fftisiart. 
Go  to  ;  I  know  you  well  enough. 

Ho»te.<*. 
No,  sir  John  ;  you  do  not  know  me,  sir  John  : 
I  know  you,  sir  John  :  you  owe  me  money,  sir 
John,  and  now  you  pick  a  quarrel  to  beguile  me 
of  it.  I  bought  you  a  dozen  of  shirts  to  your 
back. 

FuUtaff. 
Dowlas,  filthy  dowlas :   I  have  given  them 
away  to  bakers'  wives,  and  they  have  made 
bolters  of  them. 

Hottest. 
Now,  as  I  am  a  true  woman,  holland  of  eight 
shillings  an  ell.    You  owe  money  here  besides, 
sir  John,  for  your  diet,  and  by-drinkings,  and 
money  lent  you,  tour  and  twenty  pound. 

FsutttB 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


453 


ftwtjur.  , 

fit:  let  him  pay. 


lie  had  his  part  ol 

Hostess. 
He  ?  alas  1  he  is  poor :  he  hath  nothing. 

(aft 
How  !  poor  ?  look  upon  his  face  ;  what  call 
you  rich  ?  let  them  coin  his  nose,  let  them  coin 
his  cheeks.  I'll  not  pay  a  denier.  What,  will 
you  make  a  younker  of  me  ?  shall  I  not  take 
mine  ease  in  mine  inn,  but  I  shall  have  my 
pocket  picked  ?  I  have  lost  a  seal  ring  of  my 
grandfather's,  worth  forty  mark. 

Hostess. 
O  Jesu!  I  have  heard  the  prince  tell  him,  I 
know  not  how  oft,  that  that  ring  was  copper. 

Falstaff. 
How!    the  prince  is  a  Jack,  a  sneak-cup; 
'Sblood  !  an  he  were  here,  I  would  cudgel  him 
like  a  dog,  if  he  would  say  so 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins.  marching. 
Fahli0'u\eet*  tlie  Prince,  playing  on  his  trun- 
cheon, like  a  life. 

FalstafT. 

How  now,  lad !  is  the  wind  in  that  door,  i' 
faith  ?  must  we  all  march  ? 

Bardolph. 
Yea,  two  and  two,  Afetrgafc-fashion  ? 

Hostess. 
My  lord,  I  pray  you,  hear  me. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  sayest  thou,  mistress  Quickly  T    How 
does  thy  husband?    I  love  him  well:  he  is  an  ■ 
honest  man. 

Hostess. 
Good  my  lord,  hear  me. 

FaUtaff. 
Fr'ythee,  let  her  alone,  and  list  to  me. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  sayest  thou,  Jack  T 

FalstafT. 
The  other  night  I  fell  asleep,  here,  behind  the 
arras,  and  had  my  pocket  picked  :  this  house  is 
turned  bawdy-house ;  they  pick  pockets. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  didst  thou  lose,  Jack  ? 

FalstafT. 
Wilt  thou  believe  me.  Half  three  or  four 
bonds  of  forty  pound  a-piece,  and  a  seal  ring  of  j 
my  grandfather's. 

Prince  Henry. 
A  trifle  ;  some  eight-penny  matter. 

Hostess. 
So  I  told  him,  my  lord ;  and  I  said  I  heard  , 
your  grace  say  so :  and,  my  lord,  he  speaks  most  j 
vilely  of  you,  like  a  foul-mouthed  man  as  he  is, 
and  said,  he  would  cudgel  you 

Prince  Henry. 
What !  he  did  not  ? 

Hostess. 
There's  neither  faith,  truth,  nor  womanhood 
in  me  else. 

FalstafT. 
There's  no  more  faith  in  thee  than  in  a  stewed  i 
prune;  nor  no  more  truth  in  thee,  than  in  a  , 
drawn  fox ;  and  for  womanhood,  maid  Marian  j 
may  be  the  deputy's  wife  of  the  ward  to  thee.  ! 
Go,  you  thing,  go. 

Hostess. 
Say,  what  thing  ?  what  thing  ? 


FalstafT. 
What  thing  ?  why,  a  thing  to  thank  God  on. 

Hostess. 

1  am  no  thing  to  thank  God  on.  I  would  thou 
should'st  know  it :  I  am  an  honest  man's  wife  ; 
and,  setting  thy  knighthood  aside,  thou  art  a 
knave  to  call  me  so. 

FaUtaff. 
Setting  thy  womanhood  aside,  thou  art  a  beast 
to  say  otherwise. 

Hostess. 
Say,  what  beast,  thou  knave  thou  ? 

FaUtaff. 

What  beast  ?  why  an  otter. 

Prince  Henry. 
An  otter,  sir  John:  why  an  "otter  ? 

FalstafT. 
Why  ?  she's  neither  fish   nor  flesh ;   a  man 
knows  not  where  to  have  her. 

Hostess. 
Thou  art  an  unjust  man  in  saying  so:  thou  or 
any  man  knows  where  to  have  me,  thou  knave 
thou  ! 

Prince  Henry. 
Thou  sayest  true,  hostess ;  and  he  slanders 
thee  most  grossly. 

Hostess. 
So  he  doth  you,  my  lord  ;  and  said  this  other 
day,  you  ought  him  a  thousand  pound. 

Prince  Henry. 
Sirrah  !  do  I  owe  you  a  thousand  pound  ? 

FalstafT. 
A  thousand  pound,  Hal!  a  million  :  thy  love 
is  worth  a  million  ;  thou  owest  me  thy  love. 

Htsstw. 

Nay,  my  lord,  he  called  you  Jack,  and  said  he 
would  cudgel  you. 

FalstafT. 
Did  I,  Bardolph  f 

Bardolph. 
Indeed,  sir  John,  you  said  so. 

FalstafT. 
Yea  ;  if  he  said  my  ring  was  copper. 

Prince  Henry. 
I  say,  'tis  copper :  darest  thou  be  as  good  as 
thy  word  now  ? 

FalstafT. 

W7hy,  Hal,  thou  knowest,  as  thou  art  but  man, 

I  dare ;  but  as  thou  art  prince,  I  fear  thee,  as  I 

fear  the  roaring  of  the  lion's  whelp. 

Prince  Henry. 

And  why  not,  as  the  lion  ? 

FalstafT. 

The  king  himself  is  to  be  feared  as  the  lion. 
Dost  thou  think,  I'll  fear  thee  as  I  fear  thy 
father  ?  nay,  an  I  do,  I  pray  God,  my  girdle 
break  I 

Prince  Henry. 

O  1  if  it  should,  how  would  thy  guts  fall 
about  thy  knees  1  But,  sirrah,  there  s  no  room 
for  faith,  truth,  nor  honesty,  in  this  bosom  of 
thine  ;  it  is  filled  up  with  guts  and  midriff. 
Charge  an  honest  woman  with  picking  thy 
pocket  1  Why,  thou  whoreson,  impudent,  em- 
bossed rascal,  if  there  were  any  thing  in  thy 
pocket  but  tavern  reckonings,  memorandums  of 
bawdy-houses,  and  one  poor  penny-worth  of] 
sugar-candy  to  make  thee  long  winded  ;  if  thy 
pocket  were  enriched  with  any  other  injuries 
but  these,  I  am  a  villain  :  and  yet  you  will  stand 
to  it ;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong.  Art  thou 
not  ashamed  ? 

I  alstaff. 


454 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


Falstaff. 
Dost  thou  hear,  Half  thou  knowest  in  the 
state  of  innocency,  Adam  fell ;  and  what  should 
poor  Jack  Falstaff  do,  in  the  days  of  villainy? 
Thou  seest  I  have  more  flesh  than  another  man, 
and  therefore  more  frailty.  You  confess,  then, 
you  picked  my  pocket  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
It  appears  so  by  the  story. 
FalstafT. 
Hostess,   I   forgive  thee.      Go,  make  ready 
breakfast;  love  thy  husband,  look  to  thy  ser- 
vants, cherish  thy  guests :  thou  shalt  find  me 
tractable  to  any  honest  reason :  thou  seest,  I  am 
pacified. — Still? — Nay,  pr'ythee,  begone.     [Exit 
Hostess]    Now,  Hal,  to  the  news  at  court :  for 
the  robbery,  lad,— how  is  that  answered  ? 
Prince  Henry. 
O  !  my  sweet  beef,  I  must  still  be  good  angel 

to  thee The  money  is  paid  back  again. 

Falstaff. 

0  !   I  do  not  like  that  paying  back  ;  'tis  a 
double  labour. 

Prince  Henry, 

1  am  good  friends  with  my  father,  and  may  do 
any  thing. 

Falstaff. 
Rob  me  the  exchequer  the  first  thing  thou 
dost,  and  do  it  with  unwashed  hands  too. 
Bardolph. 
Do,  my  lord. 

Prince  Henry. 
1  have  procured  thee,  Jack,  a  charge  of  foot. 

Falstaff. 
I  would,  it  had  been  of  horse.    Where  shall  1 
find  one  that  can  steal  well  ?    O,  for  a  fine  thief, 
of  the  age  of  two-and-twenty,  or  thereabouts  1  I 
am  heinously  unprovided.  Well,  God  be  thanked 
for  these  rebels  ;  they  offend  none  but  the  vir- 
tuous :  I  laud  them,  I  praise  them. 
Prince  Henry. 
Bardolph ! 

Bardolph. 
My  lord. 

Prince  Henry- 
Go  bear  this  letter  to  lord  John  of  Lancaster, 
To  my  brother  John  ;  this  to  my  lord  of  West- 
moreland.— 
Go,  Pvins,  to  horse,  to  horse  !  for  thou,  and  I, 
Have  thirty  miles  to  ride  yet  ere  dinner  time.— 
Jack,  meet  me  to-morrow  in  the  Temple-hall 
At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon : 
There  shalt  thou  know  thy  charge  ;  and  there 
Money,  and  order  for  their  furniture,     [receive 
The  land  is  burning,  Percy  stands  on  high, 
And  either  they,  or  we,  must  lower  lie. 

[Exeunt  Prince,  Poins,  and  Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 
Rare   words  !   brave   world  !  —  Hostess,   my 
breakfast ;  come.  — 
O  !  I  could  wish,  this  tavern  were  my  drum. 

[Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Rebel  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 

Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  and  Douglas. 

Hotspur. 

WELL  said,  my  noble  Scot :  if  speaking  truth, 
In  this  fine  age  were  not  thought  flattery, 


Such  attribution  should  the  Douglas  have, 
As  not  a  soldier  of  this  season's  stamp 
Should  go  so  general  current  through  the  world. 
By  God,  I  cannot  flatter:  1  defy 
The  tongues  of  soothers  ;  but  a  braver  place 
In  my  heart's  love  hath  no  man  than  yourself. 
Nay,  task  me  to  my  word  ;  approve  me,  lord. 
Douglas. 
Thou  art  the  king  of  honour  : 
No  man  so  potent  breathes  upon  the  ground, 
But  I  will  beard  him. 

Hotspur. 

Do  so,  and  'tis  well 

Enter  a  Messenger,  with  Letters. 

What  letters    hast   thou   there  ?  —  I  can   but 
thank  you. 

Messenger. 
These  letters  come  from  your  father. 

Hotspur. 
Letters  from  him !  why  comes  he  not  him- 
self? 

Messenger. 
He  cannot  come,  my  lord :  he's  grievous  sick. 

Hotspur. 

'Zounds  1  how  has  he  the  leisure  to  be  sick, 

In  such  a  justling  time?   Who  leads  his  power? 

Under  whose  government  come  they  along  ? 

Messenger. 

His  letters  bear  his  mind,  not  I,  my  lord. 

Worcester. 
I  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  doth  he  keep  his  bed  ? 

Messenger. 
He  did,  my  lord,  four  days  ere  I  set  forth  ; 
And  at  the  time  of  my  departure  thence, 
He  was  much  fear'd  by  his  physicians. 
Worcester. 
I  would  the  state  of  time  had  first  been  whole, 
Ere  he  by  sickness  had  been  visited  : 
His  health  was  never  better  worth  than  now. 
Hotspur. 
Sick  now  !  droop  now  !  this  sickness  doth  in- 
The  very  life-blood  of  our  enterprize :  [feet 

'Tis  catching  hither,  even  to  our  camp. 

He  writes  me  here that  inward  sickness  — 

And  that  his  friends  by  deputation  could  not 
So  soon  be  drawn  ;  nor  did  he  think  it  meet, 
To  lay  so  dangerous  and  dear  a  trust 
I  On  any  soul  remov'd,  but  on  his  own. 
'  Yet  doth  he  give  us  bold  advertisement, 
',  That  with  our  small  conjunction  we  should  on, 
!  To  see  how  fortune  is  dispos'd  to  us  ; 
>  For,  as  he  writes,  there  is  no  quailing  now, 
Because  the  king  is  certainly  possess'd 
Of  all  our  purposes.     What  say  you  to  it  ? 
Worcester. 
Your  father's  sickness  is  a  maim  to  us. 

Hotspur. 
A  perilous  gash,  a  very  limb  lopp'd  off:  — 
And  yet,  in  faith,  'tis  not ;  his  present  want 
Seems  more  than   we  shall  find  it — Were  it 
To  set  the  exact  wealth  of  all  our  states     [good, 
All  at  one  cast  ?  to  set  so  rich  a  main 
On  the  nice  hazard  of  one  doubtful  hour  ? 
It  were  not  good  ;  for  therein  should  we  read 
The  very  bottom  and  the  soul  of  hope, 
The  very  list,  the  very  utmost  bound 
Of  all  our  fortunes. 

Douglas. 
'Faith,  and  so  we  should, 
Where  now  remains  a  sweet  reversion  : 

W* 


Act  iv.  Sc.  11. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


455 


We  may  boldly  spend  upon  the  hope 
Of  what  is  to  come  in  : 
A  comfort  of  retirement  Jives  in  this. 
Hotspur. 
A  rendezvous,  a  home  to  fly  unto, 
If  that  the  devil  and  mischance  look  big 
Upon  the  maidenhead  of  our  affairs. 
Worcester. 

But  yet,  I  would  your  father  had  been  here. 
The  quality  and  hair  of  our  attempt 
Brooks  no  division :  it  will  be  thought 
By  some,  that  know  not  why  he  is  away, 
That  wisdom,  loyalty,  and  mere  dislike 
Of  our  proceedings,  kept  the  earl  from  hence. 
And  think,  how  such  an  apprehension 
May  turn  the  tide  of  fearful  faction, 
And  breed  a  kind  of  question  in  our  cause : 
For,  well  you  know,  we  of  the  offering  side 
Must  keep  aloof  from  strict  arbitrement, 
And  stop  all  sight-holes,  every  loop  from  whence 
The  eye  of  reason  may  pry  in  upon  us. 
This  absence  of  your  father's  draws  a  curtain, 
That  shows  the  ignorant  a  kind  of  fear 
Before  not  dreamt  of. 

Hotspur. 

You  strain  too  far. 
I.  rather,  of  his  absence  make  this  use:  — 
'.  It  lends  a  lustre,  and  more  great  opinion, 
A  larger  dare  to  our  great  enterprize, 
,  Than  if  the  earl  were  here:  for  men  must  think, 
1  If  we,  without  his  help,  can  make  a  head 
■  To  push  against  the  kingdom,  with  his  help, 
We  shall  o'erturn  it  topsy-turvy  down.— 
Yet  all  goes  well ;  yet  all  our  joints  are  whole. 
Douglas. 
A»  heart  can  think :  there  is  not  such  a  word 
Spoke  of  in  Scotland  as  this  terra  of  fear. 

Knter  Sir  Richard  I'ernon. 


Hotspur. 
My  cousin  Vernon!  welcome,  by  my  soul. 

Vernon 
Pray  God  my  news  be  worth  a  welcome,  lord. 
The   earl   of    Westmoreland,    seven    thousand 

strong, 
Is  marching  hit  her  wards;  with  h  im,  prince  John. 
Hotspur 
No  harm :  what  more? 

Vernon. 

And  farther,  I  havelearn'd, 
The  king  himself  in  person  is  set  forth, 
Or  hitherwards  intended  speedily. 
With  strong  and  mighty  preparation. 
HotspV. 
He  shall  be  welcome  too.    Where  is  his  son, 
The  nimble-footed  mad-cap  prince  of  Wales, 
And  his  comrades,  that  daffd  the  world  aside, 
And  bid  it  pass  ? 

\ernon. 

All  furnish'd,  all  in  arms, 
All  plum'd  like  estridges,  that  with  the  wind 
Bated,  like  eagles  having  lately  bath'd ; 
Glittering  in  golden  coats,  like  images  ; 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer ; 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry,  with  his  beaver  on. 
His  cuisses  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  ann'd, 
Rise  from  the  ground  like  feather' d  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat, 
As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 
To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 
And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 


Hotspur. 
No  more,  no  more :   worse  than  the  sun  In 
March, 
This  prai  se  doth  nourish  agues.   Let  them  come ; 
They  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim, 
And  to  the  fire-ey'd  maid  of  smoky  war, 
All  hot,  and  bleeding,  will  we  offer  them : 
The  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit, 
Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.     I  am  on  fire, 
To  hear  this  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigh. 
And  yet  not  ours. — Come,  let  me  taste  my  horse, 
Who  is  to  bear  me,  like  a  thunderbolt. 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  prince  of  Wales : 
Harry  to  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse, 
Meet,  and  ne'er  part,  till  one  drop  down   a 
O,  that  Ulendower  were  come  1  [corse. — 

V'emon. 

There  is  more  news : 
I  learn 'd  In  Worcester,  as  I  rode  along, 
He  cannot  draw  his  power  this  fourteen  days. 
Douglas. 
That's  the  worst  tidings  that  I  hear  of  yet. 

Worcester. 
Ay,  by  my  faith,  that  bears  a  frosty  sound. 

Hotspur. 
What  may  the  king's  whole  battle  reach  unto? 

Vernon. 
To  thirty  thousand. 

Hotspur. 

Forty  let  It  be: 
My  father  and  Glendower  being  both  away, 
The  powers  of  us  may  serve  so  great  a  day. 
Come,  let  us  take  a  muster  speedily: 
Doomsday  is  near ;  die  all,  die  merrily. 
Douglas. 
Talk  not  of  dying :  I  am  out  of  fear 
Of  death,  or  death's  hand,  for  this  one  half  year. 


SCtNE  I  (.    A  public  Road  near  Coventry. 

Enter  Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 

Bardolph,  get  thee  before  to  Coventry :   fill 

me  a  bottle  of  sack.    Our  soldiers  shall  march 

through ;  we'll  to  Sutton- Colfleld  to-night. 

Bardolph. 

Will  you  give  me  money,  captain  ? 

Falstaff. 
Lay  out,  lay  out.  _     ,  ,  , 

3  }  Bardolph. 

This  bottle  makes  an  angel. 

Falstaff. 
An  if  it  do,  take  it  for  thy  labour :  and  if  it 
make  twenty,  take  them  all,  I'll  answer  the 
coinage.    Bid  my  lieutenant  Peto  meet  me  at 
j  the  town's  end.        „ 

Bardolph. 
!     I  will,  captain :  farewell.  [Exit. 

Falstaff. 

|     If  I  be  not  ashamed  of  my  soldiers,  I  am  a 

1  soused  gurnet.     I  have  misused  the  king's  presa 

1  damnably.    I  have  got,  in  exchange  of  a  hun- 

l  dred  and  fifty  soldiers,  three  hundred  and  odd 

!  pounds.    I  press  me  none  but  good  householders, 

j  yeomen '8  sons :  inquire  me  out  contracted  bache. 

I  lors,  such  as  had  been  asked  twice  on  the  bans  ; 

such  a  commodity  of  warm  slaves,  as  had  as 

lief  hear  the  devil  as  a  drum  ;    such  as  fe.ir 

the  report  of  a  caliver,  worse  than  a  struck 

foul  or  a  hurt  wild-duck.     I  pressed  me  none 

but  such  toasts  and  butter,  with  hearts  in  their 

bellies  no  bigger  than  pins'  heads,  and  they  have 

bought 


iii 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  5c.  11. 


bought  out  their  services ;  and  now  my  whole  I 
charge  consists  of  ancients,  corporals,  lieutenants, 
gentlemen  of  companies,  slaves  as  ragged  as  j 
Lazarus  in  the  painted  cloth,  where  the  glut-  ■. 
ton's  dogs  licked  his  sores ;  and  such  as,  indeed,  | 
were  never  soldiers,  but  discarded  unjust  serving  : 
men,  younger  sons  to  younger  brothers,  revolted  '< 
tapsters,  and  ostlers  trade-fallen  ;  the  cankers  of  ! 
of  a  calm  world,  and  a  long  peace ;  ten  times 
more  dishonourable  ragged  than  an  old  faced 
Ancient:  and  such  have  1,  to  fill  up  the  rooms 
of  them  that  have  bought  out  their  services,  that 
you  would  think  that  1  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  I 
tattered  prodigals,   lately  come   from    swine- 
keeping,  from  eating  draff  and  husks.    A  mad 
fellow  met  me  on  the  way,  and  told  me  I  had 
unloaded  all  the  gibbets,  and  pressed  the  dead  : 
bodies.    No  eye  hath  seen  such  scarecrows.    I'll, 
not  march  through  Coventry  with  them,  that's 
flat:— nay,  and  the  villains  march  wide  betwixt 
the  legs,  as  if  they  had  gyves  on ;  for,  indeed,  I 
had  the  most  of  them'  out  of  prison.    There's 
not  a  shirt  and  a  half  in  all  my  company :  and 
the  half-shirt  is  two  napkins,  tacked  together, 
and  thrown  over  the  shoulders  like  a  herald's 
coat  without  sleeves ;  and  the  shirt,  to  say  the 
truth,  stolen  from  my  host  at  S.  Albans,  or  the 
red-nose  inn-keeper  of  Daventry.    But  that's 
all  one ;    they'll    find  linen  enough  on  every 
hedge. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Westmoreland. 
Prince  Henry. 
How  now,  blown  Jack!  how  uow,  quilt ! 

Falstaff. 
What,  Hal !  How  now,  mad  wag  !  what  a 
devil  dost  thou  in  Warwickshire? — My  good 
lord  of  Westmoreland,  I  cry  you  mercy:  I 
thought  your  honour  had  already  been  at 
Shrewsbury.       Wegtmorelandi 

*Faith,  sir  John,  'tis  more  than  time  that  I 
were  there  and  you  too;  but  my  powers  are 
there  already.  The  king,  1  can  tell  you,  looks 
for  us  all :  we  must  away  all  night. 
Falstaff. 
Tut,  never  fear  me :  I  am  as  vigilant  as  a  cat 
to  steal  cream. 

Prince  Henry. 

I  think,  to  steal  cream  indeed  ;  for  thy  theft 

hath  already  made  thee  butter.    But  tell  me, 

Jack:  whose  fellows  are  these  that  come  after? 

Falstaff. 

Mine,  Hal,  mine. 

Prince  Henry. 

I  did  never  see  such  pitiful  rascals. 

Falstaff. 
Tut,  tut !  good  enough  to  toss  ;  food  for  pow- 
der, food  for  powder  ;  they'll  fill  a  pit,  as  well 
as  better :  tush,  man,  mortal  men,  mortal  men. 
Westmoreland. 
Ay,  but,  sir  John,  methinks  they  are  exceed- 
ing poor  and  bare ;  too  beggarly. 
FalstaffT 
'Faith,  for  their  poverty,  I  know  not  where 
they  had  that :  and  for  their  bareness,  I  am  sure, 
they  never  learned  that  of  me. 
Prince  Henry. 
No,    I'll   be   sworn;   unless  you  call  three 
fingers  on  the  ribs,  bare.     But,  sirrah,  make 
haste  :  Percy  is  already  in  the  field. 
Falstaff. 
What,  is  the  king  encamped  ? 


Westmoreland 
He  is,  sir  John :  I  fear  we  shall  stay  too  long. 

Falstaff. 

Well,  [a  feast, 

To  the  latter  end  of  a  fray,  and  the  beginning  of 

Fits  a  dull  fighter,  and  a  keen  guest.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.  The  Rebel  Camp  near  Shrews- 
bury. 

Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  Douglas,  and  Vernon. 

Hotspur. 

We'll  fight  with  him  to-night. 

Worcester. 

_       .  It  may  not  be. 

Douglas. 

You  give  him,  then,  advantage. 

Vernon. 

Not  a  whit. 
Hotspur. 

Why  say  you  so  ?  looks  he  not  for  supply  ? 

Vernon. 

So  do  we.  ..  . 

Hotspur. 

His  is  certain,  ours  is  doubtful. 
Worcester. 
Good  cousin,  be  advis'd :  stir  not  to-night. 

Vernon. 
Do  not,  my  lord. 

Douglas, 
You  do  not  counsel  well. 
You  speak  it  out  of  fear,  and  cold  heart. 
Vernon. 
Do  me  no  slander,  Douglas :  by  my  life, 
And  I  dare  well  maintain  it  with  my  life, 
If  well-respected  honour  bid  me  on, 
I  hold  as  little  counsel  with  weak  fear, 
As  you,  my  lord,  or  any  Scot  that  this  day  lives: 
Let  it  be  seen  to-morrow  in  the  battle, 
Which  of  us  fears. 

Douglas. 
Yea,  or  to-night. 
Vernon. 

Content. 
Hotspur. 

To-night,  say  I. 

Vernon. 

Come,  come,  it  may  not  be. 
I  wonder  much. 

Being  men  of  such  great  leading  as  you  are, 
That  you  foresee  not  what  impediments 
Drag  back  our  expedition  :  certain  horse 
Of  my  cousin  Vernon's  are  not  yet  come  up : 
Your  uncle  Worcester's  horse  came  but  to-day , 
And  now  their  pride  and  mettle  is  asleep, 
Their  courage  with  hard  labour  tame  and  dull, 
That  not  a  horse  is  half  the  half  of  himself. 
Hotspur. 
So  are  the  horses  of  the  enemy, 
In  general,  journey-bated,  and  brought  low  ; 
The  better  part  of  ours  are  full  of  rest. 
Worcester. 
The  number  of  the  king  exceedeth  ours : 
For  God's  sake,  cousin,  stay  till  all  come  in. 

[The  trumpet  sounds  a  parley. 

Enter  Sir  Walter  Blunt. 
Blunt. 
I  come  with  gracious  offers  from  the  king, 
If  you  vouchsafe  me  hearing  and  respect. 

Hotspur.  ; 


At  i  iv.   Sc.  iv. 


MKNUYIV. 


4-57 


,'ur. 
Welcome,  sir  Walter  Blunt;  and  would  to  God 
You  were  of  our  determination  ! 
Some  of  us  love  you  well  ;  and  even  those  some 
Envy  your  great  deservings,  and  good  name, 
Because  you  arc  not  of  our  quality. 
But  stand  against  us  like  an  enemy. 

B  tint. 
And  God  defend  but  still  I  should  stand  so, 
So  long  as  out  of  limit  and  true  rule, 
Yoi»  stand  against  anointed  majesty. 
But,  to  my  charge — The  king  hath  sent  to  know 
The  nature  of  your  griefs ;  and  whereupon 
You  conjure  from  the  breast  of  civil  peace 
Such  bold  hostility,  teaching  his  duteous  land 
Aud  icious  cruelty  ?     If  that  the  king 
Have  any  way  your  good  deserts  forgot, 
Which  he  confesseth  to  be  manifold, 
He  bids  you  name  your  griefs,  and  with  all  speed, 
You  shall  have  your  desires  with  interest, 
And  pardon  absolute  for  yourself,  and  these, 
Herein  misled  by  your  suggestion . 

Rotapur 

The  king  is  kind  ;  and,  well  we  know,  the  king 
Knows  at  what  time  to  promise,  when  to  pay. 
My  father,  and  my  uncle,  and  myself, 
Did  give  him  that  same  royalty  he  wears ; 
And  when  he  was  not  six-and-twenty  strong, 
Sick  in  the  world's  regard,  wretched  and  low, 
A  poor  unminded  outlaw  sneaking  home, 
My  father  gave  him  welcome  to  the  shore : 
And,  when  he  heard  him  swear,  and  vow  to  God, 
He  came  but  to  be  duke  of  Lancaster, 
To  sue  his  livery,  and  beg  his  peace, 
With  tears  of  innocency,  and  terms  of  zeal, 
My  father,  in  kind  heart  and  pity  mov'd, 
Swore  him  assistance,  and  perform'd  it  too. 
Now,  when  the  lords  and  barons  of  the  realm 
Perceiv'd  Northumberland  did  lean  to  him, 
The  more  and  less  came  in  with  cap  and  knee  ; 
Met  him  in  boroughs,  cities,  villages, 
Attended  him  on  bridges,  stood  in  lanes, 
Laid  gifts  before  him,  proffer'd  him  their  oaths, 
Gave  him  their  heirs,  as  pages  follow'd  him, 
Even  at  the  heels,  in  golden  multitudes. 
He  presently,  as  greatness  knows  itself, 
Steps  me  a  little  higher  than  his  vow 
Made  to  my  father,  while  his  blood  was  poor, 
Upon  the  naked  shore  at  Bavenspurg  ; 
And  now,  forsooth,  takes  on  him  to  reform 
Some  certain  edicts,  and  some  strait  decrees, 
That  lie  too  heavy  on  the  commonwealth  ; 
Cries  out  upon  abuses,  seems  to  weep 
Over  his  country's  wrongs  ;  and,  by  this  face, 
This  seeming  brow  of  justice,  did  he  win 
The  hearts  of  all  that  he  did  angle  for  : 
Proceeded  farther ;  cut  me  off  the  heads 
Of  all  the  favourites,  that  the  absent  king 
In  deputation  left  behind  him  here, 
When  he  was  personal  in  the  Irish  war. 
Blunt. 

Tut !  I  came  not  to  hear  this. 

Hotspur. 

Then,  to  the  point. 
In  short  time  after  he  depos'd  the  king  ; 
Soon  after  that,  depriv'd  him  of  his  life  ; 
And,  in  the  neck  of  that,  task'd  the  whole  state ; 
To  make  that  worse,  suffer'd  his  kinsman  March 
(Who  is,  if  every  owner  were  well  plac'd, 
Indeed  his  king)  to  be  engag'd  in  Wales, 
Tiiere  without  ransom  to  lie  forfeited ; 
Disgrac'd  me  in  my  happy  victories  ; 
Sought  to  entrap  me  by  intelligence  ; 
Rated  my  uncle  from  the  council-board  ; 
In  rage  dismiss'd  my  father  from  the  court  ; 


'Broke  oath  on  oath, committed  wrong  on  wrong. 
And,  in  conclusion,  drove  us  to  seek  out 
This  head  of  safety  j  and,  withal,  to  pry 
Into  his  title,  the  which  we  find 
Too  indirect  for  long  continuance. 

Blunt. 
Shall  I  return  this  answer  to  the  king? 

Hotspur. 
Not  so,  sir  Walter:  we'll  withdraw  awhile. 
jGo  to  the  king  ;  and  let  there  be  impawn'd 
(Some  surety  for  a  safe  return  again, 
And  in  the  morning  early  shall  mine  uncle 
,  Bring  him  our  purposes  ;  and  so  farewell. 

Hunt. 
I  would  you  would  accept  of  grace  and  love. 


Hotspur. 
And,  may  be,  so  we  shall. 

Blunt. 
'Pray  God  you  do ! 


[KxeUllt. 


SCENE  \V.   York.  A  Room  \ni\\% Archbishop'* 
House. 

I  Ent«r  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  Sir  Michael. 

Archbishop. 
I     Hie,  good  sir  Michael;  bear  this  sealed  brief, 
!  With  winged  haste  to  the  lord  marshal : 
This  to  my  cousin  Scroop;  and  all  the  rest 
I  To  whom  they  are  directed.     If  you  knew 
j  How  much  they  do  import,  you  would  make 
haste. 

Sir  Michael. 
i     My  good  lord, 

•  I  guess  their  tenor. 

Archbishop. 
Like  enough,  you  do. 
To-morrow,  good  sir  Michael,  is  a  day, 
:  Wherein  the  fortune  of  ten  thousand  men 
;  Must  bide  the  touch  !  for,  sir,  at  Shrewsbury, 
As  I  am  truly  given  to  understand, 
The  king,  with  mighty  and  quick-raised  power, 
;  Meets  with  lord  Harry :  and,  I  fear,  sir  Michael, 
!  What  with  the  sickness  of  Northumberland, 
,  Whose  power  was  in  the  first  proportion, 
I  And  what  with  Owen  Glendowery8  absence  thence, 
Who  with  them  was  a  rated  sinew  too, 
And  comes  not  in,  o'er-rul'd  by  prophecies, 
I  fear,  the  power  of  Percy  is  too  weak 
To  wage  an  instant  trial  with  the  king. 

Sir  Michael. 
Why,  my  good  lord,  you  need  not  fear  ; 
There  is  Douglas,  and  lord  Mortimer. 

Archbishop. 
No,  Mortimer  is  not  there. 

Sir  Michael. 
But  there  is  Mordake,   Vernon,  lord  Harry 
Percy, 
And  there's  my  lord  of  Worcester  ;  and  a  head 
Of  gallant  warriors,  noble  gentlemen. 

Archbishop. 
And  so  there  is  ;  but  yet  the  king  hath  drawn 
The  special  head  of  all  the  land  together : 
I  The  prince  of  Wales,  lord  John  of  Lancaster, 

•  The  noble  Westmoreland,  and  warlike  Blunt, 
And  many  more  corrivals,  and  dear  men 

Of  estimation  and  command  in  arms. 

Sir  Michael. 
!      Doubt  not,  my  lord,  they  shall  be  well  op- 
pos'd. 

Archbishop. 
\      I  hope  no  less,  yet  needful  'tis  to  fear, 
!  And,  to  prevent  the  worst,  sir  Michael  speed  , 

For 


453 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


For,  if  lord  Percy  thrive  not,  ere  the  king 
Dismiss  his  power,  he  means  to  visit  us, 
For  he  hath  heard  of  our  confederacy, 
And  'tis  but  wisdom  to  make  strong  against  him : 
Therefore,  make  haste.     I  must  go  write  again 
To  other  friends  ;  and  so  farewell,  sir  Michael, 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.   The  King's  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 

Knter  King  Henry,  Prince  Henry,  Prince  John 
of  Lancaster,  Sir  Walter  Blunt,  and  Sir  John 
Falstaff. 

King  Henry. 

HOW  bloodily  the  sun  begins  to  peer 
Above  yond'  busky  hill :  the  day  looks  pale 
At  his  distemperature. 

Prince  Henry. 

The  southern  wind 
Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes  ; 
I  And  by  his  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves 
'  Foretels  a  tempest,  and  a  blustering  day. 
King  Henry. 
Then,  with  the  losers  let  it  sympathise, 
For  nothing  can  seem  foul  to  those  that  win. 

[Trumpet  sounds. 

Knter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

How  now,  my  lord  of  Worcester!  'tis  not  well, 
That  you  and  I  should  meet  upon  such  terms 
As  now  we  meet.    You  have  deceiv'd  our  trust, 
i  And  made  us  doff  our  easy  robes  of  peace, 
To  crush  our  old  limbs  in  ungentle  steel : 
This  is  not  well,  my  lord ;  this  is  not  well. 
What  say  you  to  it?  will  you  again  unknit 
This  churlish  knot  of  all-abhorred  war, 
And  move  in  that  obedient  orb  again, 
Where  you  did  give  a  fair  and  natural  light; 
And  be  no  more  an  exhal'd  meteor, 
A  prodigy  of  fear,  and  a  portent 
Of  broached  mischief  to  the  unborn  times? 
Worcester. 

Hear  me,  my  liege. 
For  mine  own  part,  I  could  be  well  content 
To  entertain  the  lag-end  of  my  life 
With  quiet  hours  ;  for,  I  do  protest, 
I  have  not  sought  the  day  of  this  dislike. 
King  Henry. 

You  have  not  sought  it !  how  comes  it  then  ? 
Falstaff. 

Rebellion  lay  in  his  way,  and  he  found  it. 
Prince  Henry. 

Peace,  chewet,  peace ! 

Worcester. 

It  pleas'd  your  majesty,  to  turn  your  looks 
Of  favour,  from  myself,  and  all  our  house ; 
And  yet  I  must  remember  you,  my  lord, 
We  were  the  first  and  dearest  of  your  friends. 
For  you  my  staff  of  office  did  I  break 
In  Richard's  time ;  and  posted  day  and  night 
To  meet  you  on  the  way,  and  kiss  your  hand, 
When  yet  you  were  in  place,  and  in  account, 
:  Nothing  so  strong  and  fortunate  as  I. 
It  was  myself,  my  brother,  and  his  son, 
That  brought  you  home,  and  boldly  did  outdare 
The  dangers  of  the  time.    You  swore  to  us, 
And  you  did  swear  that  oath  at  Doncaster, 
That  you  did  nothing  purpose  "gainst  the  state, 


Nor  claim  no  farther  than  your  new-fall'n  right, 
The  seat  of  Gaunt,  dukedom  of  Lancaster. 
To  this  we  swore  our  aid  ;  but,  in  short  space, 
It  rain'd  down  fortune  showering  on  your  head, 
And  such  a  flood  of  greatness  fell  on  you, 
What  with  our  help,  what  with  the  absent  king, 
What  with  the  injuries  of  a  wanton  time, 
The  seeming  sufferances  that  you  had  borne, 
And  the  contrarious  winds  that  held  the  king 
So  long  in  his  unlucky  Irish  wars, 
That  all  in  England  did  repute  him  dead : 
And,  from  this  swarm  of  fair  advantages, 
You  took  occasion  to  be  quickly  woo'd 
To  gripe  the  general  sway  into  your  hand ; 
Forgot  your  oath  to  us  at  Doncaster, 
And,  being  fed  by  us,  you  us'd  us  so 
As  that  ungentle  gull,  the  cuckoo's  bird, 
Useth  the  sparrow,  did  oppress  our  nest, 
Grew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a  bulk,    [sight, 
That  even  our  love  durst  not  come  near  your 
For  fear  of  swallowing;  but  with  nimble  wing 
We  were  enfore'd,  for  safety  sake,  to  fly 
Out  of  your  sight,  and  raise  this  present  head : 
Whereby  we  stand  opposed  by  such  means 
As  you  yourself  have  forg'd  against  yourself, 
By  unkind  usage,  dangerous  countenance, 
And  violation  of  all  faith  and  troth 
Sworn  to  us  in  your  younger  enterprize. 

King  Henry- 
I     These  things,  indeed,  you  have  articulate, 
|  Proclaim'd  at  market-crosses,  read  in  churches, 
To  face  the  garment  of  rebellion 
With  some  fine  colour,  that  may  please  the  eye 
Of  fickle  changelings,  and  poor  discontents, 
Which  gape,  and  rub  the  elbow,  at  the  news 
Of  hurlyburly  innovation : 
And  never  yet  did  insurrection  want 
Such  water-colours  to  impaint  his  cause; 
Nor  moody  beggars,  starving  for  a  time 
Of  pellmell  havoc  and  confusion. 

I'rince  Henry, 
t     In  both  our  armies,  there  is  many  a  soul 
Shall  pay  full  dearly  for  this  encounter, 
i  If  once  they  join  in  trial.     Tell  your  nephew, 
[  The  prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 
i  In  praise  of  Henry  Percy :  by  my  hopes, 
(This  present  enterprize  set  off  his  head, 
I  do  not  think,  a  braver  gentleman, 
More  active-valiant,  or  more  valiant-young, 
More  daring,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds. 
For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry, 
And  so,  I  hear,  he  doth  account  me  too ; 
j  Yet  this  before  my  father's  majesty : 
!  I  am  content,  that  he  shall  take  the  odds 
j  Of  his  great  name  and  estimation, 
i  And  will,  to  save  the  blood  on  either  side, 
|  Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  fight. 
King  Henry. 
And,  prince  of  Wales,  so  dare  we  venture  thee. 
Albeit  considerations  infinite 
:Do  make  against  it — No,  good  Worcester,  no, 
We  love  our  people  well ;  even  those  we  love, 
That  are  misled  upon  your  cousin's  part; 
And,  will  they  take  the  offer  of  our  grace, 
Both  he,  and  they,  and  you,  yea,  every  man 
Shall  be  my  friend  again,  and  I'll  be  his. 
So  tell  your  cousin,  and  bring  me  word 
What  he  will  do ;  but  if  he  will  not  yield, 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  wait  on  us, 
And  they  shall  do  their  office.    So,  be  gone 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply  : 
We  offer  fair,  take  it  advisedly. 

[Exeunt  Worcester  and  fernon. 
Princa 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


4  59 


Prince  Henry. 

It  will  not  bo  arc-opted,  on  my  life. 
The  Dou^/as  and  the  Hotspur  both  together 
Are  confident  against  the  world  in  arras. 
King  Henry. 

Hence,  therefore,  every  leader  to  his  charge, 
For,  on  their  answer,  will  we  set  on  them  ; 


And  Goii  befriend, us 


[F-xcu 


^^^^n^Ujoh, 


Falstaff. 
Hal,  if  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and 
bestride  me,  so;  'tis  a  point  of  friendship. 
Prince  Henry. 
Nothing  but  a  colossus  can  do  thee  that  friend- 
ship.   Say  thy  prayers,  and  farewell. 
Falstaff. 
1  would  it  were  bed  time,  Hal,  and  all  well. 

Prince  Henry. 
Why,  thou  owest  God  a  death. 

Falstaff. 

•  Tis  not  due  yet :  I  would  be  loath  to  pay  him 

before  his  day.   What  need  I  be  so  forward  with 

him  that  calls  not  on  me?   Well,  'tis  no  matter; 

honour  pricks  me  on.     Yea,  but  how  if  honour 

Erick  me  off  when  I  come  on  ?  how  then  ?  Can 
onour  set  to  a  leg  ?  No.  Or  an  arm  ?  No. 
Or  take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound  ?  No. 
Honour  hath  no  skill  in  surgery,  then?  No. 
What  is  honour?  A  word.  What  is  in  that 
word,  honour?  What  is  that  honour?  Air.  A 
trim  reckoning!— Who  hath  it?  He  that  died 
o*  Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel  it  ?  No.  Doth  he 
hear  it  ?  No.  Is  it  insensible,  then  ?  Yea,  to 
the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live  with  the  living  ? 
No.  Why?  Detraction  will  not  suffer  it:— 
therefore,  Pll  none  of  it :  honour  is  a  mere 
scutcheon,  and  so  ends  my  catechism.        [»•*> 

SCENE  U.    The  Rebel  Camp. 

Enter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

Worcester. 

O,  no !  my  nephew  must  not  know,  sir  Richard, 

The  liberal  kind  offer  of  the  king. 

Vernon. 

"Twere  best,  he  did. 

Worcester. 

Then  are  we  all  undone. 
It  Is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be, 
The  king  should  keep  his  word  in  loving  us; 
He  will  suspect  us  still,  and  find  a  time 
To  punish  this  offence  in  other  faults: 
Suspicion  all  our  lives  shall  be  stuck  full  of  eyes; 
For  treason  is  but  trusted  like  the  fox. 
Who,  ne'er  so  tame,  socherish'd,  and  lock'd  up, 
WW  have  a  wild  trick  of  his  ancestors. 
Look  how  we  can,  or  sad,  or  merrily, 
Interpretation  will  misquote  our  looks ; 
And  we  shall  feed  like  oxen  at  a  stall, 
The  better  cherish'd,  still  the  nearer  death. 
My  nephew's  trespass  may  be  well  forgot, 
It  hath  the  excuse  of  youth,  and  heat  of  blood ; 
And  an  adopted  name  of  privilege, 
A  hare-brain'd  Hotspur,  govern'd  by  a  spleen. 
All  his  offences  live  upon  my  head. 
And  on  his  father's :  we  did  train  him  on ; 
And,  his  corruption  being  ta'en  from  us, 
We,  as  the  spring  of  all,  shall  pay  for  all. 
T  herefore,  good  cousin,  let  not  Harry  know 
In  any  case  the  offer  of  the  king. 
Vernon. 
Deliver  what  you  will,  I'll  say,  'tis  so. 
Here  comes  your  cousin. 


Fnter  Hotspur  and  Douglas;  Officers  and 
Soldiers,  behind. 

Hotspur. 
My  uncle  is  return'd:  — Deliver  up 
My  lord  of  Westmoreland—  Uncle,  what  news? 
Worcester. 
The  king  will  bid  you  battle  presently. 

Douglas. 
Defy  him  by  the  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Hotspur. 
Lord  Douglas,  go  you  and  tell  him  so. 

Douglas. 
Marry,  and  shall,  and  very  willingly. 

Worcester. 
There  is  no  seeming  mercy  in  the  king. 

Hotspur. 
Did  you  beg  any  ?    God  forbid ! 

Worcester 
I  told  him  gently  of  our  grievances, 
Of  his  oath-breaking;  which  he  mended  thus, 
j  By  now  forswearing  that  he  is  forsworn : 
;  He  calls  us  rebels,  traitors;  and  will  scourge 
I  With  haughty  arras  this  hateful  name  in  us. 
Re-enter  Douglas. 
Douglas. 
!     Arm,  gentlemen !  to  arms !  for  I  have  thrown 
\  A  brave  defiance  in  King  Henry's  teeth, 
;  And  Westmoreland,  that  was  engag'd,  did  bear  it, 
i  Which  cannot  choose  but  bring  him  quickly  on. 
Worcester. 
The  prince  of  Wales  stepp'd  forth  before  the 
king, 
1  And,  nephew,  challeng'd  you  to  single  fight. 
Hotspur. 
O !  would  the  quarrel  lay  upon  our  heads; 
And  that  no  man  might  draw  short  breath  to- 
day, 
But  I  and  Harry  Monmouth!     Tell  me,  tell  me, 
How  show'd  his  tasking?  seem'd  it  in  contempt  ? 
Vernon. 
No,  by  my  soul :  I  never  in  my  life 
Did  hear  a  challenge  urg'd  more  modestly, 
[  Unless  a  brother  should  a  brother  dare 
1  To  gentle  exercise  and  proof  of  arms. 
I  He  gave  you  all  the  duties  of  a  man, 
i  Trimm'd  up  your  praises  with  a  princely  tongue, 
I  Spoke  your  deservings  like  a  chronicle, 
Making  you  ever  better  than  his  praise, 
By  still  dispraising  praise,  valued  with  you ; 
'  And,  which  became  him  like  a  prince  indeed, 
He  made  a  blushing  cital  of  himself; 
'  And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 
j  As  if  he  master'd  there  a  double  spirit, 
j  Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instantly. 
There  did  he  pause:  but  let  me  tell  the  world,— 
■  If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 
England  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 
So  much  misconstrued  in  bis  wantonness. 
Hotspur. 
Cousin,  I  think  thou  art  enamoured 
j  On  his  follies ;  never  did  I  hear 
Of  any  prince  so  wild  o'  liberty. 
But  be  lie  as  he  will,  yet  ouce  ere  night 
I  will  embrace  him  with  a  soldier's  arm, 
That  he  shall  shrink  under  my  courtesy. 
Arm,  arm,  with  speed!— And,  fellows,  soldiers, 

friends, 
Better  consider  what  you  have  to  do, 
Than  I,  that  have  not  well  the  gift  of  tongue, 
Can  lift  your  blood  up  with  persuasion.      ..   . 

r.nier 


460 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  11. 


Enter  a  Metsenger. 

Messenger. 
My  lord,  here  are  letters  for  you. 

Hotspur. 
1  cannot  read  them  now. — 
O  gentlemen  J  the  time  of  life  is  short ; 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely,  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour. 
An  if  we  live,  we  live  to  tread  on  kings ; 
If  die,  brave  death,  when  princes  die  with  us. 
Now,  for  our  consciences,  the  arms  are  fair, 
When  the  intent  of  bearing  them  is  just. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

Messenger. 
My  lord,  prepare ;  the  king  comes  on  apace. 

Hotspur. 
I  thank  him,  that  he  cuts  me  from  my  tale, 
For  I  profess  not  talking.     Only  this  — 
Let  each  man  do  his  best :  and  "here  draw  I 
A  sword,  whose  temper  I  intend  to  stain 
With  the  best  blood  that  I  can  meet  withal 
In  the  adventure  of  this  perilous  day. 
Now ,  —  Esperance !  —  Percy} — and  set  on !  — 
Sound  all  the  lofty  instruments  of  war, 
And  by  that  music  let  us  all  embrace; 
For,  heaven  to  earth,  some  of  us  never  shall 
A  second  time  do  such  a  courtesy. 

[The  trumpets  sound.    They  embrace,  and 
exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Plain  near  Shrewsbury. 

Excursions,  and  Parties  'fighting.  Alarum  to 
the  Battle.  Then  enter  Douglas  and  Blunt, 
meeting. 

Blunt. 
What  is  thy  name,  that  in  battle  thus 
Thou  crossest  me?  what  honour  dost  thou  seek 
Upon  my  head  ? 

Douglas. 
Know,  then,  my  name  is  Douglas  } 
And  I  do  haunt  thee  in  the  battle  thus, 
Because  some  tell  me  that  thou  art  a  king. 

Blunt. 
They  tell  thee  true. 

Douglas. 
The  lord  of  Stafford  dear  to-day  hath  bought 
Thy  likeness  ;  for,  instead  of  thee,  king  Harry , 
This  sword  hath  ended  him  :  so  shall  it  thee, 
Unless  thou  yield  thee  as  my  prisoner. 

Blunt. 
I  was  not  born  a  yielder,  thou  proud  Scot ; 
And  thou  shalt  find  a  king  that  will  revenge 
Lord  Stafford's  death. 

[They  fight,  and  Blunt  is  slain. 

Enter  Hotspur. 

Hotspur. 

O  Douglas!  hadst  thou  fought  at  Holmedon 

I  never  had  triumph'd  upon  a  Scot.  [thus, 

Douglas. 
All's  done,  all's  won  :  here  breathless  lies  the 
king. 

Hotspur. 
Where  ? 


Here. 


Douglas. 

Hotspur. 
Ikn 


This,  Douglas?  no ;  I  know  this  face  full  well : 
A  gallant  knight  he  was,  his  name  was  Blunt, 
Semblably  fumish'd  like  the  king  himself. 


Douglas. 

A  fool  go  with  thy  soul,  whither  it  goes  ! 

A  borrow'd  title  hast  thou  bought  too  dear  : 

Why  didst  thou  tell  me  that  thou  wert  a  king? 

Hotspur. 

The  king  hath  many  marching  in  his  coats. 

Douglas. 
Now,  by  my  sword,  I  will  kill  all  his  coats  ; 
:  I'll  murder  all  his  wardrobe,  piece  by  piece, 
:  Until  I  meet  the  king 

Hotspur. 

Up,  and  away ! 
Our  soldiers  stand  full  fairly  for  the  dav. 

[Exeunt. 

Alarums.    Enter  Fahtaff. 

Fal  staff. 

Though  I  could  'scape  shot-free  at  London,  I 

fear  the  shot  here  ;  here's  no  scoring,  but  upon 

I  the  pate — Soft !    who  art  thou  ?     Sir   Walter 

Blunt: — there's    honour    for    you;   here's  no 

vanity — I  am  as  hot  as  molten  lead,  and  as 

heavy  too :  God  keep  lead  out  of  me  1    I  need 

no  more  weight  than  mine  own  bowels I  have 

led  my  raggamuffins  where  they  are  peppered: 
theres  not  three  of  my  hundred  and  fifty  left 
alive,  and  they  are  for  the  town's  end,  to  beg 
during  life.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 

Prince  Henry. 

What !  stand'st  thou  idle  here?  lend  me  thy 

Many  a  nobleman  lies  stark  and  stiff       [sword: 

Under  the  hoofs  of  vaunting  enemies, 

Whose  deaths  are  yet  unreveng'd.     I  pr'ythee, 

lend  me  thy  sword. 

Falstaff. 

0  Hal!  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  breathe 
a  while. — Turk  Gregory  never  did  such  deeds 
in  arms,  as  I  have  done  this  day.  I  have  paid 
Percy,  I  have  made  him  sure. 

Prince  Henry. 
He  is,  indeed  ;  and  living  to  kill  thee. 
I  pr'ythee  lend  me  thy  sword. 
Falstaff. 
Nay,  before  God,  Hal,  if  Percy  be  alive,  thou 
get'st  not  my  sword  ;  but  take  my  pistol,  if  thou 
wilt. 

Prince  Henry. 
Give  it  me.    What,  is  it  in  the  case  ? 

Falstaff. 
Ay,  Hal ;  'tis  hot,  'tis  hot:  there's  that  will 
sack  a  city. 

[The  Prince  draws  out  a  bottle  of  sack. 
Prince  Henry. 
What ;  is't  a  time  to  jest  and  dally  now  ? 

[Throws  It  at  him,  and  exit. 
Falstaff. 
Well,  if  Percy  be  alive,  I'll  pierce  him.  If  he 
do  come  in  my  way,  so :  if  he  do  not,  if  I  come 
in  his,  willingly,  let  him  make  a  carbonado  of 
me.  I  like  not  such  grinning  honour  as  sir 
Waller  hath  :  give  me  life  ;  which  if  I  can  save, 
so  ;  if  not,  honour  comes  unlooked  for,  and 
there's  an  end.  [Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    Auother  Part  of  the  Field. 

A  larums.    Excursions.    Enter  the  King.  Prince 
Henry,  Prince  John,  and  Westmoreland. 
King  Henry. 

1  pr'ythee,  [much. — 
Harry,  withdraw  thyself;  thou  bleed'st  too 
Lord  John  of  Lancaster,  go  you  with  him. 

Prince  j 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


461 


Prince  John. 
Not  I,  my  lord,  unless  1  did  bleed  too. 

Prince  Henry. 
I  beseech  vour  majesty,  make  up, 

ar  retirement  do  amaze  your  friends. 
King  Henry. 

1  will  do  so My  lord  of  Westmoreland, 

Lead  him  to  his  tent. 

Westmoreland. 
Come,  my  lord,  I'll  lead  you  to  your  tent. 

Prince  Henry 
Lead  me,  my  lord  ?    I  do  not  need  your  help : 
And   heaven  forbid,  a  shallow  scratch  should 

drive 
The  prince  of  Wales  from  such  a  field  as  this, 
Where  stain'd  nobility  lies  trodden  on, 
And  rebels'  arms  triumph  in  massacres  ! 
Prince  John. 
We  breathe  too  long — Come,  cousin  West- 
moreland, 
Our  duty  this  way  lies :  for  God's  sake,  come, 
fr.xeunt  Prince  John  and  Westmoreland. 

Prince  Henry. 
By  God  thou  hast  deceiv'd  me,  Lancaster, 
I  did  not  think  thee  lord  of  such  a  spirit : 
Before,  1  lov'd  thee  as  a  brother,  John, 
But  now,  I  do  respect  thee  as  my  soul. 
King  Henry. 
I  saw  him  hold  lord  Percy  at  the  joint, 
With  lustier  maintenance  than  I  did  look  for 
Of  such  an  ungrown  warrior. 
Prince  Henry. 

O  1  this  boy 
Lends  mettle  to  us  all.  [Exit. 

Alarums.  Enter  Douglas, 
1  nmglas. 
Another  king  !  they  grow  like  Hydra's  heads. 
I  am  the  Douglas,  fatal  to  all  those  [thou. 

That  wear  those  colours  on  them : — what  art 
That  counterfeit'st  the  person  of  a  king  ? 
King  Henry. 
The  king  himself;  who,  Douglas,  grieves  at 
heart, 
So  many  of  his  shadows  thou  hast  met, 
And  not  the  very  king.     I  have  two  boys 
Seek  Percy,  and  thyself,  about  the  field : 
But,  seeing  thou  fall'st  on  me  so  luckily, 
I  will  assay  thee  ;  and  defend  thyself. 
Douglas. 
I  fear  thou  art  another  counterfeit, 
And  yet,  in  faith,  thou  bear'st  thee  like  a  king : 
But  mine  I  am  sure  thou  art,  whoe'er  thou  be, 
And  thus  I  win  thee. 

[They  fight :  the  King  being  In  danger,  enter 
Prioce  Henry. 

Prince  Henry. 
Hold  up  thy  head,  vile  Scot,  or  thou  art  like 
Never  to  hold  it  up  again  !  the  spirits      [arms : 
Of  valiant  Shirley,  Stafford,  Blunt,  are  in  my 
It  is  the  prince  of  Wales  that  threatens  thee, 
Who  never  promiseth,  but  he  means  to  pay. — 

[They  fight:  Douglas  flies. 
Cheerly,  my  lord  :  how  fares  your  grace  ? — 
Sir  X/c'holas  Gnwsey  hath  for  succour  sent, 
And  so  hath  Clifton  ;  I'll  to  Cltfton  straight. 
King  Henry. 
Stay,  and  breathe  a  while. 
Thou  hast  redeem 'd  thy  lost  opinion; 
And  show'd  thou  mak'st  some  tender  of  my  life, 
In  this  fair  rescue  thou  hast  brought  to  me. 


Prince  Henry 

0  God  I  they  did  me  too  much  injury. 
That  ever  said  I  hearken'd  for  your  death. 
If  it  were  so,  I  might  have  let  alone 

The  insulting  hand  of  Douglas  over  you  ; 
Which  would  have  been  as  speedy  in  your  end, 
As  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world, 
And  sav'd  the  treacherous  labour  of  your  son. 
King  Henry. 
Make  up  to  Clifton :  1*11  to  sir  NuholasGaw- 

Enter  Hotspur. 

Hotspur. 
If  I  mistake  not,  thou  art  Harry  Monmouth. 

Prince  Henry. 
Thou  speak'st  as  if  I  would  deny  my  name. 

Hotspur. 
My  name  is  Harry  Percy. 

Prince  Henry. 

Why,  then  I  see 
A  very  valiant  rebel  of  that  name. 
I  am  the  prince  of  Wales  ;  and  think  not,  Percy, 
To  share  with  me  in  glory  any  more : 
Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere ; 
Nor  can  one  England  brook  a  double  reign, 
Of  Harry  Percy,  and  the  prince  of  Wales. 
Hotspur. 
Nor  shall  it,  Harry,  for  the  hour  is  come 
To  end  the  one  of  us  ;  and  would  to  God, 
Thy  name  in  arms  were  now  as  great  as  mine ! 
Prince  Henry. 
I'll  make  it  greater,  ere  I  part  from  thee ; 
And  all  the  budding  honours  on  thy  crest 
I'll  crop,  to  make  a  garland  for  my  head. 
Hotspur. 

1  can  no  longer  brook  thy  vanities. 

'  "They  flght. 

Enter  Fuls/aff. 
FalsMff. 
Well  said,  Hal!  to  it,  Hal!— Nay,  you  shall 
find  no  boy's  play  here,  I  can  tell  you. 

Enter  Douglas:  he  fights  with  Faktaff,  who 
falls  down  as  if  he  were  dead,  and  exit  Dou- 
glas.   Hotspur  is  wounded,  and  falls. 

Hotspur. 
O,  Harry !  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my  youth. 
!  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life, 
Than  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me  ; 
They  wound  my  thoughts  worse  than  thy  sword 
my  flesh  :—  [fool  ; 

But  thought's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's 
And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world, 
Must  have  a  stop.    O  1  I  could  prophesy. 
But  that  the  earthy  and  cold  hand  of  death 

Lies  on  my  tongue No,  Percy,  thou  art  dust, 

And  food  lor—                                            [Dies. 
Prince  Henry. 
For  worms,  brave  Percy.    Fare  thee  well, 
great  heart  1— 
Ill-weav'dambition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk! 
When  that  this  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound  ; 
But  now,  two  paces  of  the  vilest  earth       [dead, 
(Is  room  enough:— this  earth  that  bears  thee 
!  Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
I  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal : — 
;  But  let  my  favours  hide  thy  mangled  face, 
And,  even  in  thy  behalf,  I'll  thank  myself 
For  doing  these  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven: 
} Thy 


462 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV.        Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


Thy  ignomy  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave, 
But  not  reuaember'd  in  thy  epitaph  1 — 

[He  sees  Falstaff  on  the  ground. 
What !  old  acquaintance !  could  not  all  this  flesh 
Keep  in  a  little  life  ?    Poor  Jack,  farewell : 
1  could  have  better  spar'd  a  better  man. 

0  I  I  should  have  a  heavy  miss  of  thee, 
If  I  were  much  in  love  with  vanity. 
Death  hath  not  struck  so  fat  a  deer  to-day, 
Though  many  dearer,  in  this  bloody  fray. — 
Embowell'd  will  I  see  thee  by  and  by; 

Till  then,  in  blood  by  noble  Percy  lie.      [Exit. 

Falstaff.  [Rising. 

Embowelled !  if  thou  embowel  me  to-day,  Pll 
give  you  leave  to  powder  me,  and  eat  me,  too, 
to-morrow.  'Sbloodl  'twas  time  to  counterfeit, 
or  that  hot  termagant  Scot  had  paid  me  scot  and 
lot  too.  Counterfeit  ?  I  lie ;  I  am  no  counter- 
feit: to  die,  is  to  be  a  counterfeit;  for  he  is  but 
the  counterfeit  of  a  man,  who  hath  not  the  life 
of  a  man ;  but  to  counterfeit  dying,  when  a  man 
thereby  liveth,  is  to  be  no  counterfeit,  but  the 
true  and  perfect  image  of  life  indeed.  The 
better  part  of  valour  is  discretion,  in  the  which 
better  part,  I  have  saved  my  life.  'Zounds  !  I 
am  afraid  of  this  gunpowder  Percy,  though  he 
be  dead.  How,  if  he  should  counterfeit  too, 
and  rise  ?  By  my  faith,  I  am  afraid  he  would 
prove  the  better  counterfeit.  Therefore  I'll 
make  him  sure ;  yea,  and  I'll  swear  I  killed 
him.  Why  may  not  he  rise,  as  well  as  I  ? 
Nothing  confutes  me  but  eyes,  and  nobody  sees 
me:  therefore,  sirrah,  with  a  new  wound  in 
your  thigh  come  you  along  with  me. 

[He  takes  Hotspur  on  his  back. 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John, 

Prince  Henry. 
Come,  brother  John  ;  full  bravely  hast  thou 
flesh'd 
Thy  maiden  sword. 

Prince  John. 
But  soft !  whom  have  we  here  ? 
Did  you  not  tell  me  this  fat  man  was  dead  ? 
Prince  Henry. 
I  did ;    1    saw  him   dead,  breathless,   and 
bleeding 
On  the  ground.  — 

Art  thou  alive  ?  or  is  it  phantasy  [speak  ; 

That  plays  upon  our  eyesight !      I   pr'ythee, 
We  will  not  trust  our  eyes,  without  our  ears. 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st. 
Falstaff. 
No,  that's  certain :  I  am  not  a  double  man  ; 
but  if  I  be  not  Jack  Falstaff,  then  am  I  a  Jack. 
There  is  Percy :  if  your  father  will  do  me  any 
honour,  so ;  if  not,  let  him  kill  the  next  Percy 
himself.    I  look  to  be  either  earl  or  duke,  I  can 
assure  you. 

Prince  Henry. 
Why,  Percy  I  killed  myself,  and  saw  thee 
dead. 

Falstaff. 
Didst  thou  ?  —  Lord,  lord,  how  this  world  is 
given  to  lying  1  —  I  grant  you  I  was  down  and 
out  of  breath,  and  so  was  he  ;  but  we  rose  both 
at  an  instant,  and  fought  along  hour  by  Shrews- 
bury clock.  If  I  may  be  believed,  so ;  if  not, 
let  them  that  should  reward  valour  bear  the 
sin  upon  their  own  heads.  I'll  take  it  upon  my 
death,  1  gave  him  this  wound  in  the  thigh :  if 
the  man  were  alive,  and  would  deny  it,  'zounds  1 

1  would  make  him  eat  a  piece  of  my  sword. 

Prince  John. 
This  is  the  strangest  tale  that  e'er  I  heard. 


Prince  Henry. 
This  is  the  strangest  fellow,  brother  John.  — 
Come,  bring  your  luggage  nobly  on  your  back  ; 
For  my  part,  if  a  lie  may  do  thee  grace, 
I'll  gild  it  with  the  happiest  terms  I  have. 

[A  Retreat  is  sounded. 
The  trumpet  sounds  retreat ;  the  day  is  ours. 
Come,  brother,  let  us  to  the  highest  of  the 

field, 
To  see  what  friends  are  living,  who  are  dead. 
[Exeunt  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John. 

Falstaff. 

I'll  follow,  as  they  say,  for  reward.    He  that 

rewards  me,  God  reward   him  !     If  I  do  grow 

great,  I'll  grow  less  ;  for  I'll  purge,  and  leave 

sack,  and  live  cleanly,  as  a  nobleman  should  do. 

[Exit,  bearing  off  the  body. 


SCENE  V.    Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

The  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  King  Henry, 
Prince  Henry,  Prince  John,  Westmoreland, 
and  others,  with  Worcester,  and  Vernon,  pri- 
soners. 

King  Henry. 
Thus  ever  did  rebellion  find  rebuke.  — 

Ill-spirited  Worcester,  did  we  not  send  grace, 

Pardon,  and  terms  of  love  to  all  of  you  ? 

And  would'st  thou  turn  our  offers  contrary  ? 

Misuse  the  tenor  of  thy  kinsman's  trust  ? 

Three  knights  upon  our  party  slain  to-day, 

A  noble  earl,  and  many  a  creature  else, 

Had  been  alive  this  hour, 

If,  like  a  Christian,  thou  hadst  truly  borne 

Betwixt  our  armies  true  intelligence. 

Worcester. 
What  I  have  done,  my  safety  urg'd  me  to, 
And  I  embrace  this  fortune  patiently, 
Since  not  to  be  avoided  it  falls  on  me. 

King  Henry. 
Bear  Worcester  to  the  death,  and  Vernon  too  : 
Other  offenders  we  will  pause  upon.  — 

[Exeunt  Worcester  and  lemon,  guarded. 
How  goes  the  field  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
The  noble  Scot,  lord  Douglas,  when  he  saw 
The  fortune  of  the  day  quite  turn'd  from  him, 
The  noble  Percy  slain,  and  all  his  men 
Upon  the  foot  of  fear,  fled  with  the  rest ; 
And  falling  from  a  hill,  he  was  so  bruis'd, 
That  the  pursuers  took  him.    At  my  tent 
The  Douglas  is,  and  I  beseech  your  grace, 
I  may  dispose  of  him. 

King  Henry. 

With  all  my  heart. 

Prince  Henry. 
Then,  brother  John  of  Lancaster,  to  you 
This  honourable  bounty  shall  belong. 
Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  pleasure,  ransomless  and  free : 
His  valour,  shown  upon  our  crests  to-day, 
Hath  taught  us  how  to  cherish  such  high  deeds, 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries. 

Prince  John. 
I  thank  your  grace  for  this  high  courtesy, 
Which  I  shall  give  away  immediately. 

King  Henry. 
Then    this    remains,  —  that  we   divide   our 
power — 
You,  son  John,  and  my  cousin  Westmoreland, 
Towards  York  shall  bend  you,  with  your  dearest 
speed,  _ 

To 


induction.  SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  IV. 463^ 

To    meet    Northumberland  ,  and    the  prelate  I  Rebellion  In  this  land  shall  lose  his  sway, 
V\  ho.  as  we  hear,  are  busily  in  arms  :     [Scroop,  ;  Meeting  the  check  of  such  another  day  : 
Myself,  and    you,    ton    Harry,    will    towards  ,  And  since  this  business  so  fair  is  done, 

Wales,  Let  us  not  leave  till  all  our  own  be  won. 

To  fight  with  Glendower  and  the  earl  of  March.  <  [Exeunt. 


SECOND  PART 


or 


KING  HENEY  IV. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  HENRY  THE  FOURTH 
Henry,  Prince  of  Wales, 
Thomas,  Duke  of  Clarence, 


Prince  John  of  Lancaster 


•'I 

iterj 


his  Sons. 


Prince  Humphrey  of  Gloster, 

Earl  of  Warwick,  T 

Earl  of  Westmoreland,  V  Of  the  King's  Party. 

Gower,  Harcourt,  J 

Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench. 

A  Gentleman  attending  on  the  Chief  Justice. 

Earl  of  Northumberland, 

Scroop,  Archbishop  of  York, 

Lord  Mowbray,  I  Opposite*    to    the 

Lord  Hastings,  |      King. 

Lord  Bardolph, 

Sir  John  Colevile, 


r 


Travers  and  Morton,  Retainers  of  Northumber- 
land. 
Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Pistol,  and  a  Page. 
Poins  and  Peto. 

Shallow  and  Silence,  Country  Justices. 
Davy,  Servant  to  Shallow. 
Mouldy,  Shadow,  Wart,  Feeble,  and  Bulcalf, 

Recruits. 
Fang  and  Snare,  Sheriff's  Officers. 
Rumour,  the  Presenter. 

I  A  Porter.    A  Dancer,  Speaker  of  the  Epilogue. 
!  Lady  Northumberland.     Lady  Percy. 
Hostess  Quickly.    Doll  Tear-sheet. 
I  Lords,  and  Attendants  ;  Officers,  Soldiers,  Mes- 
senger, Drawers,  Beadles,  Grooms,  &c. 
SCENE,  England. 


INDUCTION. 

Warkwortn.    Before  Northumberland'*  Castle. 

Enter  Rumour,  painted  full  of  Tongues. 

Humour. 

OPEN  your  ears ;  for  which  of  you  will  stop 
The  vent  of  hearing,  when  loud  Rumour 
speaks  ? 
I,  from  the  orient  to  the  drooping  west, 
Making  the  wind  my  post-horse,  still  unfold 
The  acts  commenced  on  this  ball  of  earth : 
Upon  my  tongues  continual  slanders  ride, 
The  which  in  every  language  I  pronounce, 
Stuffing  the  ears  of  men  with  false  reports. 
I  speak  of  peace,  while  covert  enmity, 
Under  the  smile  of  safety,  wounds  the  world : 
And  who  but  Rumour,  who  but  only  I, 
Make  fearful  musters,  and  prepar'd  defence ; 
Whilst  the  big  year,  swoln  with  some  other 
grief, 


.  Is  thought  with  child  by  the  stern  tyrant  war, 
i  And  no  such  matter  ?    Rumour  is  a  pipe 
i  Blown  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures  ; 
And  of  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop, 
'  That  the  blunt  monster  with  uncounted  heads, 
The  still-discordant  wavering  multitude, 
Can  play  upon  it.     But  what  need  I  thus 
My  well-known  body  to  anatomize 
1  Among  my  household  ?    Why  is  Rumour  here  ? 
I  run  before  king  Harry' i  victory  ; 
Who  in  a  bloody  field  by  Shrewsbury      [troops. 
Hath  beaten  down    young  Hotspur,  and    his 
Quenching  the  flame  of  bold  rebellion 
'  Even  with  the  rebels'  blood.     But  what  mean  I 
To  speak  so  true  at  first  ?  my  office  is 
To  noise  abroad,  that  Harry  Monmouth  fell 
i  Under  the  wrath  of  noble  Hotspur's  sword ; 
And  that  the  king  before  the  Douglas'  rage 
Stoop'd  his  anointed  head  as  low  as  death. 
1  This  have  I  rumour'd  through  the  peasant  towns 
1  Between  that  royal  field  of  Shrewsbury 


464 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  1.  Sc.  7, 


And  this  worm-eaten  hold  of  ragged  stone, 
Where  Hotspur's  father,  old  Northumberland, 
Lies  crafty-sick  :  the  posts  come  tiring  on, 
And  not  a  man  of  them  brings  other  news 
Than  they  have  learn'd  of  me  :  from  Rumour's 

tongues 
They  bring  smooth  comforts  false,  worse__ihan 

true  wrongs. 


!xit. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 

The  Porter  before  the  Gate  ;  Enter  Lord 
Bardolph. 
Bardolph. 

WHO  keeps  the  gate  here?  ho!  — Where  is 
the  earl  ? 

Porter. 
What  shall  I  say  you  are  ? 
Bardolph. 

Tell  thou  the  earl, 
That  the  lord  Bardolph  doth  attend  him  here. 
Porter. 
His  lordship  is  walk'd  forth  into  the  orchard: 
Please  it  your  honour,  knock  but  at  the  gate, 
And  he  himself  will  answer. 

Enter  Northumberland. 
Bardolph. 

Here  comes  the  earl. 
Northumberland. 
What  news,  lord  Bardolph ?  every  minute  now 
Should  be  the  father  of  some  stratagem. 
The  times  are  wild :  contention,  like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feeding,  madly  hath  broke  loose, 
And  bears  down  all  before  him. 
Bardolph. 

Noble  earl, 
I  bring  you  certain  news  from  Shrewsbury. 
Northumberland . 
Good,  an  God  will ! 

Bardolph. 
As  good  as  heart  can  wish. 
The  king  is  almost  wounded  to  the  death, 
And  in  the  fortune  of  my  lord  your  son,  [Blunts 
Prince   Harry  slain   outright ;    and   both  the 
Kill'd  by  the  hand  of  Douglas;  young  prince 

John, 
And  Westmoreland  and  Stafford,  fled  the  field  ; 
And  Harry  Monmouth's  brawn,  the  hulk  Sir 

John, 
Is  prisoner  to  your  son.    O  !  such  a  day, 
So  fought,  so  follow'd,  and  so  fairly  won, 
Came  not  till  now  to  dignify  the  times, 
Since  Ccesar's  fortunes. 

Northumberland. 

How  is  this  deriv'd  ? 
Saw  you  the  field  ?  came  you  from  Shrewsbury  f 
Bardolph. 
I  spake  with  one,  my  lord,  that  came  from 
thence ; 
A  gentleman  well  bred,  and  of  good  name, 
That  freely  render'd  me  these  news  for  true. 
Northumberland. 
Here  comes  my  servant,  Travers,  whom  I  sent 
On  Tuesday  last  to  listen  after  news. 
Bardolph. 
My  lord,  I  over-rode  him  on  the  way, 


And  he  is  furnish'd  with  no  certainties, 
More  than  he  haply  may  retail  from  me. 

Enter  Travers. 

North  umber  1  and . 

Now,  Travers,  what  good  tidings  come  with 
you? 

Travers. 
My  lord,  sir  John  Urn/revile  turn'd  me  back 
With  joyful  tidings  ;  and,  being  better  hors'd, 
Out-rode  me.    After  him  came  spurring  hard 
A  gentleman,  almost  forspent  with  speed, 
That  stopp'dbymetobreathe  his  bloodied  horse. 
He  ask'd  the  way  to  Chester;  and  of  him 
I  did  demand,  what  news  from  Shrewsbury : 
He  told  me  that  rebellion  had  bad  luck, 
And  that  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold. 
With  that  he  gave  his  able  horse  the  head, 
And,  bending  forward,  struck  his  armed  heels 
Against  the  panting  sides  of  his  poor  jade 
Up  to  the  rowel-h^ad  ;  and,  starting  so, 
He  seem'd  in  running  to  devour  the  way, 
Staying  no  longer  question. 

Northumberland . 

Ha !  —  Again. 
Said  he,  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold  ? 
Of  Hotspur,  coldspur  ?  that  rebellion 
Had  met  ill  luck  ! 

Bardolph. 

My  lord,  I'll  tell  you  what : 
If  my  young  lord  your  son  have  not  the  day, 
Upon  mine  honour,  for  a  silken  point 
I'll  give  my  barony:  never  talk  of  it. 
Northumberland. 
Why  should  that  gentleman,  that  rode  by 
Give,  then,  such  instances  of  loss  ?      [Travers, 
Bardolph. 

Who,  he  ? 
He  was  some  hilding  fellow,  that  had  stolen 
The  horse  he  rode  on,  and,  upon  my  life, 
Spoke  at  a  venture.    Look,  here  comes  more 
news. 

Enter  Morton. 
Northumberland. 
Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf, 
j  Foretels  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume : 
!  So  looks  the  strond,  whereon  th' imperious  flood 
Hath  left  a  witness'd  usurpation. 
Say,  Morton,  didst  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury  ? 
Morton. 
I  ran  from  Shrewsbury,  my  noble  lord  ; 
Where  hateful  death  put  en  his  ugliest  mask, 
To  fright  our  party. 

Northumberland. 
How  doth  my  son  and  brother  ? 
Thou  tremblest ;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 
Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 
Kven  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 
So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone, 
Drew  Priam's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night, 
And  would  have  told  him,  half  his  Troy  was 

burn'd : 
But  Priam  found  the  fire,  ere  he  his  tongue, 
And  1  my  Percy's  death,  ere  thou  report'st  it 
This  thou  would'st  say,—  Your  son  did  thus,  and 
thus ;  V<*s  ; 

Your  brother,  thus ;  so  fought  the  noble  Doug- 
Stopping  my  greedy  ear  with  their  bold  deeds, 
But  in  the  end,  to  stop  mine  ear  indeed, 
Thou  hast  a  sigh  to  blow  away  this  praise, 
Ending  with  — brother,  son,  and  all  are  dead. 
9  Morton. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


4*5 


Morion. 
Douglas  is  living,  and  your  brother,  yet  ; 
But  for  my  lord  your  son, — 

.niiitvrland. 

Why,  he  Is  dead j 

See,  what  a  ready  tongue  suspicion  hath  ! 
He  that  but  fears  the  thing  he  would  not  know, 
Hath  by  instinct  knowledge  from  others'  eyes. 
That  what  he  fear'd  is  chanced.     Yet  speak,; 

ton : 
Tell  thou  thy  carl  his  divination  lies, 
And  I  will  take  it  as  a  sweet  disgrace, 
And  make  thee  rich  for  doing  me  such  wrong. 

Morton. 
You  are  too  great  to  be  by  me  gainsaid  : 
Your  spirit  is  too  true  ;  your  fears  too  certain. 

Northumberland. 
Yet,  for  all  this,  say  not  that  Percy's  dead.— 
I  see  a  strange  confession  in  thine  eye : 
Thou  shak'st  thy  head ;  and  hold'st  it  fear,  or 
To  speak  a  truth.     If  he  be  slain,  say  so  :     [sin, 
The  tongue  offends  not,  that  reports  his  death  ; 
And  he  doth  sin  that  doth  belie  the  dead, 
Not  he  which  says  the  dead  is  not  alive. 
Yet  the  first  bringer  of  unwelcome  news 
Hath  but  a  losing  office ;  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  bell, 
Remember 'd  kn oiling  a  departing  friend. 

Bardolph. 
I  cannot  think,  my  lord,  your  son  is  dead. 

ron. 
I  am  sorry  I  should  force  you  to  believe 
That  which  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  not  seen  ; 
But  these  mine  eyes  saw  him  in  bloody  state, 
Rendering  faint  quittance,  wearied   and   out-  ! 

breath'd,  [down  f 

To  Harry  Monmouth  ;  whose  swift  wrath  beat  1 
The  never-daunted  Percy  to  the  earth, 
From  whence  with  life  he  never  more  sprung ' 
In  few,  his  death,  whose  spirit  lent  a  fire      [up.  j 
Even  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp, 
Being  bruited  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best  temper'd  courage  in  his  troops : 
For  from  his  metal  was  his  party  steel'd  ; 
Which  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  lead.  < 
And  as  the  thing  that's  heavy  in  itself. 
Upon  enforcement  flies  with  greatest  speed, 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss,    [fear, 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness  with  their 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim, 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety, 
Fly  from  the  field.     Then  was  that  noble  War-  \ 

cesler 
Too  soon  ta'en  prisoner  ;  and  that  furious  Scot,  ' 
The  bloody    Douglas,    whose    well- labouring ' 

sword 
Had  three  times  slain  th' appearance  of  the  king,  1 
'Gan  vail  his  stomach,  and  did  grace  the  shame   j 
Of  those  that  turn'd  their  backs  ;  and  in  his  1 

flight, 
Stumbling  in  fear,  was  took.    The  sum  of  all 
Is,  that  the  king  hath  won,  and  hath  sent  out 
A  speedy  power,  to  encounter  you,  my  lord, 
Under  trie  conduct  of  young  Lancaster, 
And  Westmoreland.     This  is  the  news  at  full. 

Northumberland. 
For  this  I  shall  have  time  enough  to  mourn. 
In  poison  there  is  physic  ;  and  these  news, 
Having  been  well,  that  would  have  made  me  ; 

sick,  [well : 

Being  sick,  have  in  some  measure  made  me  : 
And  as  the  wretch,  whose  fever-weaken'd  joints, 
Like  strengthless  hinges,  buckle  under  life, 


Impatient  of  his  fit,  breaks  like  a  fire 

Out  of  his  keeper's  aims;  even  so  my  limbs, 

Weaken'd  with  grief,  being  uow  enrag'd  with 

grief,  [nice  crutch  ! 

Are  thrice  themselves.     Hence,  therefore,  thou 
A  scaly  gauntlet  now,  with  joints  of  steel. 
Must  glove  this  hand :  and  hence,  thou  sickly 

quoif  I 
Thou  art  a  guard  too  wanton  for  the  head, 
Which  princes,  flesh'd  with  conquest,  aim  to  hit. 
Now  bind  my  brows  with  iron  ;  and  approach 
The  ragged  st  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare 

bring, 
To  frown  upon  th*  enrag'd  Northumberland, 
Let  heaven  kiss  earth :  now,  let  not  nature's 

hand 
Keep  the  wild  flood  confin'd :  let  order  die ; 
And  let  this  world  no  longer  be  a  stage, 
To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act, 
But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain 
Reign  in  all  bosoms,  that,  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  courses,  the  rude  scene  may  end, 
And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead ! 

[Travers. 

This  strained  passion  doth  you  wrong,  my 
lord.] 

Bardolph. 
Sweet  earl,  divorce  not  wisdom  from  your 
honour. 

Morton 
The  lives  of  all  your  loving  complices 
Lean  on  your  health  ;  the  which,  ifyou  give  o'er 
To  stormy  passion,  must  perforce  decay. 
You  cast  the  event  of  war,  my  noble  lord, 
And  summ'd  the  account  of  chance,  before  you 

said,— 
Let  us  make  head.    It  was  your  presurmlse, 
That,  in  the  dole  of  blows  your  son  might  drop : 
You  knew,  he  walk'd  o'er  perils,  on  an  edge, 
More  likely  to  fall  in,  than  to  get  o'er : 
You  were  advis'd,  his  flesh  was  capable 
Of  wounds  and  scars,  and  that  his  forward  spirit 
Would  lift  him  where  most  trade  of  danger 

rang'd ; 
Yet  did  you  say,— Go  forth  :  and  none  of  this, 
Though  strongly  apprehended,  could  restrain 
The  stiff-borne  "action :  what  hath  then  befallen, 
Or  what  hath  this  hold  enterprize  brought  forth 
More  than  that  being  which  was  like  to  be  ? 

Bardolph. 
We  all,  that  are  engaged  to  this  loss. 
Knew  that  we  ventur'd  on  such  dangerous  seas, 
That,  if  we  wrought  out  life,  'twas  ten  to  one  ; 
And  yet  we  ventur'd,  for  the  gain  propos'd 
Chok'd  the  respect  of  likely  peril  fear'd, 
And,  since  we  are  o'erset,  venture  again. 
Come,  wc  will  all  put  forth ;  body,  and  goods. 

Morton. 
'Tis  more  than  time:  and,  my  most  noble  lord, 
I  hear  for  certain,  and  dare  speak  the  truth, 
The  gentle  archbishop  of  York  is  up, 
With  well-appointed  powers  :  he  is  a  man, 
Who  with  a  double  surety  binds  his  followers. 
My  lord  your  son  had  only  but  the  corps, 
But  shadows,  and  the  shows  of  men,  to  fight; 
For  that  same  word,  rebellion,  did  divide 
The  action  of  their  bodies  from  their  souls, 
And  they  did  fight  with  queasiness,  constrain'd 
As  men  drink  potions,  that  their  weapons  only 
Seem'd  on  our  side;  but,  for  their  spirits  and 

souls, 
This  word,  rebellion,  it  had  froze  them  up, 
As  fish  are  in  a  pond.     But  now  the  bishop 
Turns  insurrection  to  religion  : 
Suppos'd  sincere  and  holy  in  his  thoughts, 

H  h  He's 


4G6 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  % 


He's  follow'd  both  with  body  and  with  mind, 

And  doth  enlarge  his  rising  with  the  blood 

Of  fair  king  Richard,  scrap'd  from  Pom/ret 

stones ; 
Derives  from  heaven  his  quarrel,  and  his  cause; 
Tells  them,  he  doth  bestride  a  bleeding  land, 
Gasping  for  life  under  gre.it  Bolingbroke, 
And  more,  and  less,  do  flock  to  follow  him. 
Northumberland. 
1  knew  of  this  before;  but,  to  speak  truth, 
This  present  grief  hath  wip'd  it  from  my  mind. 
Go  in  with  me;  and  counsel  every  man 
The  aptest  way  for  safety,  and  revenge.  rspeed : 
Get  posts  and  letters,  and  make  friends  with 
Never  so  few,  nor  never  yet  more  need. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    London.    A  Street. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  with  his  Page  bearing 

his  Sword  and  Buckler. 

Falstaff. 

Sirrah,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to  my 
water? 

Page. 

He   said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good 
healthy  water ;  but  for  the  party  that  owed  it, 
he  might  have  more  diseases  than  he  knew  for. 
FaUtaff. 

Men  of  all  sorts  take  a  pride  to  gird  at  me: 
the  brain  of  this  foolish-compounded  clay,  man, 
is  not  able  to  invent  any  thing  that  tends  to 
laughter,  more  than  I  invent,  or  is  invented 
on  me :  1  am  not  only  witty  in  myself,  but  the 
cause  that  wit  is  in  other  men.  1  do  here  walk 
before  thee,  like  a  sow  that  hath  overwhelmed 
all  her  litter  but  one:  if  the  prince  put  thee  into 
my  service  for  any  other  reason  than  to  set  me 
ofF,  why  then,  I  have  no  judgment.  Thou 
whoreson  mandrake,  thou  art  fitter  to  be  worn 
in  my  cap,  than  to  wait  at  my  heels.  I  was 
never  manned  with  an  agate  till  now :  but  I  will 
in-set  you  neither  in  gold  nor  silver,  but  in  vile 
apparel,  and  send  you  back  again  to  your  master, 
for  a  jewel ;  the  juvenal,  the  prince  your  master, 
whose  chin  is  not  yet  fledged.  I  will  sooner 
have  a  beard  grow  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  than 
he  shall  get  one  on  his  cheek ;  and  yet  he  will 
not  stick  to  say,  his  face  is  a  face-royal.  God 
may  finish  it  when  he  will,  it  is  not  a  hair  amiss 
yet:  he  may  keep  it  still  as  a  face- royal,  for  a 
barber  shall  never  earn  sixpence  out  of  it ;  and 
vet  he  will  be  crowing,  as  if  he  had  writ  man 
ever  since  his  father  was  a  batchelor.  He  may 
keep  his  own  grace,  but  he  is  almost  out  of  mine, 
1  can  assure  him.— What  said  master  Dumbleton 
about  the  6atin  for  my  short  cloak,  and  my 
slops  ? 

Page. 

He  said,  sir,  you  should  procure  him  better 
assurance  than  Bardolph;  he  would  not  take 
bis  bond  and  yours :  he  liked  not  the  security. 
Falstaff. 

Let  him  be  damned  like  the  glutton :  may  his 
tongue  be  hotter!  —  A  whoreson  Achitophel !  a 
rascally  yea-forsooth  knave,  to  bear  a  gentleman 
in  hand,  and  then  sttnd  upon  security  1 — The 
whoreson  smooth-pates  do  now  wear  nothing 
but  high  shoes,  and  bunches  of  keys  at  their 
girdles ;  and  if  a  man  is  thorough  with  them  in 
honest  taking  up,  then  must  they  stand  upon 
security.  I  had  as  lief  they  would  put  ratsbane 
in  my  mouth,  as  offer  to  stop  it  with  security. 
I  looked  he  should  have  sent  me  two  and  twenty 
yards  of  satin,  as  I  am  a  true  knight,  and  he 


sends  me  security.  Well,  he  may  sleep  in  se- 
curity ;  for  he  hath  the  horn  of  abundance,  and 
the  lightness  of  his  wife  shines  through  it:  and 
yet  cannot  he  see,  though  he  have  his  own 
lantern  to  light  him. — Where's  Bardolph  f 
Page. 

He's  gone  into  Smithfield  to  buy  your  worship 
a  horse.  ■ 

Falstaff. 

I  bought  him  in  Paul's,  and  he'll  buy  me  a 
horse  In  Smithfield:  an  I  could  get  me  but  a 
wife  in  the  stews,  I  were  manned,  horsed,  and 
wived. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  an  Attendant. 

Page. 

Sir,  here  comes  the  nobleman  that  committed 

the  prince  for  striking  him  about  Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 

Wait  close ;  I  will  not  see  him. 

Chief  Justice. 
What's  he  that  goes  there  ? 
Attendant. 
Falstaff,  an't  please  your  lordship. 

Chief  Justice. 
He  that  was  in  question  for  the  robbery  ? 

Attendant. 
He,  my  lord ;  but  he  hath  since  done  good 
I  service  at  Shrewsbury,  and,  as  1  hear,  is  now 
'  going  with  some  charge  to  the  lord  John  of 
!  Lancaster. 

Chief  Justice. 
j     What,  to  York?    Call  him  back  again. 
Attendant. 
Sir  John  Falstaff! 

Falstaff. 
Boy,  tell  him  I  am  deaf. 
Page. 
You  must  speak  louder,  my  master  is  deaf. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  am  sure  he  is,  to  the  hearing  of  any  thing 
good.— Go,  pluck  him  by  the  elbow;   I  must 
speak  with  him. 

Attendant. 
Sir  John, — 

Falstaff. 

What !  a  young  knave,  and  begging  ?    Is  there 

not  wars  ?  is  there  not  employment  ?    Doth  not 

the  king  lack  subjects  ?  do  not  the  rebels  need   i 

soldiers  ?  Though  it  be  a  shame  to  be  on  any 

side  but  one,  it  is  worse  shame  to  beg  than  to  be 

©n  the  worst  side,  were  it  worse  than  the  name 

of  rebellion  can  tell  how  to  make  it. 

Attendant. 

You  mistake  me,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
Why,  sir,  did  I  say  you  were  an  honest  man  ?  I 
setting  my  knighthood  and  my  soldiership  aside, 
I  had  lied  in  my  throat  if  I  had  said  so. 
Attendant 
I  pray  you,  sir,  then  set  your  knighthood  and 
your  soldiership  aside,  and  give  me  leave  to  tell 
you,  you  lie  in  your  throat,  if  you  say  I  am  any 
other  than  an  honest  man. 
FalKtafV. 
I  give  thee  leave  to  tell  me  so  ?    I  lay  aside  • 
that  which  grows  to  me?    If  thou  get'st  any   j 
leave  of  me,  hang  me :  if  thou  takest  leave,  thou 
wert  better   be  hanged.      You   hunt-counter, 
hence !  avaunt  1 

Attendant. 
Sir,  my  lord  would  speak  with  you.  j 

Chief  I 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


4.67 


Chief  Justice. 
Sir  John  Falstaff,  a  word  with  you. 

FalstafT. 
My  good  lord !— God  give  your  lordship  good 
time  of  day.  1  am  glad  to  see  your  lordship 
■broad  ;  l  heard  say,  your  lordship  was  sick:  I 
hope,  your  lordship  goes  abroad  by  advice.  Your 
lordship,  though  not  clean  past  your  youth,  hath 
yet  some  smack  of  age  in  you,  some  relish  of 
the  saltness  of  time,  and  I  most  humbly  beseech 
your  lordship  to  have  a  reverend  care  of  your 
health.  ,M  .  ,  .     .. 

Chief  Justice. 

Sir  John,  1  sent  for  you  before  your  expedition 


to  Shrewsbury. 


Falstaft 


A'nt  please  your  lordship,  I  hear  his  majesty 
is  returned  with  some  discomfort  from  Wales. 
Chief  Justice. 
I  talk  not  of  his  majesty.— You  would  not 
come  when  1  sent  for  you. 
Falstaff. 
And  I  hear,  moreover,  his  highness  is  fallen 
into  this  same  whoreson  apoplexy. 
Chief  Justire. 
Well,  heaven  mend  him.— I  pray  you,  let  me 


speak  with  you. 


Falstaff. 


This  apoplexy  is,  as  1  take  it,  a  kind  of  le- 
thargy, an't  please  your  lordship;   a  kind  of 
sleeping  in  the  blood,  a  whoreson  tingling. 
Chief  Justice. 
What  tell  you  me  of  it?  be  it  as  it  is. 

'aff. 
It  hath  its  original  from  much  grief;   from 
study,  and  perturbation  of  the  brain.    I  have 
read  the  cause  of  his  effects  in  Galen :  it  is  a 
kind  01  deafness. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  think  you  are  fallen  into  the  disease,  for  you 
hear  not  what  1  say  to  you. 
Falstaff 
Very  well,  my  lord,  very  well:  rather,  an't 
please  you,  it  is  the  disease  of  not  listening,  the 
malady  of  not  marking,  that  I  am  troubled 
withal.  ,„  ,  ,  , 

Chief  Justice. 

To  punish  you  by  the  heels  would  amend  the 
attention  of  your  ears ;  and  1  care  not,  if  I  do 
become  your  physician. 

Falstaff 
I  am  as  poor  as  Job,  my  lord,  but  not  so  pa- 
tient: your  lordship  may  minister  the  potion  of 
imprisonment  to  me,  in  respect  of  poverty  ;  but 
how  I   should  be  your  patient  to  follow  your 
prescriptions,  the  wise  may  make  some  dram  of 
a  scruple,  or,  indeed,  a  scruple  itself. 
Chief  Justice. 
I  sent  for  you,  when  there  were  matters  against 
you  for  your  life,  to  come  speak  with  me. 
Falstaff. 
As  I  was  then  advised  by  my  learned  counsel 
in  the  laws  of  this  land-service,  I  did  not  come. 
Chief  Justice. 
Well,  the  truth  is,  sir  John,  you  live  in  great 


infamy. 


Fa!  staff. 


He  that  buckles  him  in  my  belt  cannot  live  in 
le"*  ChiefJustice. 

Your  means  are  very  slender,  and  your  waste 
is  great. 


I  would  it  were  otherwise :  I  would  my  1 
were  greater,  and  my  waist  slenderer. 
Chief  Justtce. 
You  have  misled  the  youthful  prince. 

Falstaff. 
The  young  prince  hath  misled  me :  I  am  the 
fellow  with  the  great  belly,  and  he  my  dog. 
Chief  Jiutice. 
Well,  I  am  loath  to  gall  a  new-healed  wound. 
Your  day's  service  at  Shrewsbury  hath  a  little 
gilded  over  your  night's  exploit  on  Cads- hill: 
you  may  thank  the  unquiet  time  for  your  quiet 
o'er-posting  that  action. 

Falstaff. 

My  lord— 

"'  ChiefJustice. 

But  since  all  is  well,  keep  it  so :  wake  not  a 
sleeping  wolf.  _  .  .  _ 

Falstaff. 

To  wake  a  wolf,  is  as  bad  as  to  smell  a  fox. 

ChiefJustice. 
What !  you  are  as  a  candle,  the  better  part 
burnt  out.  _  .  .  j 

Falstaff. 

I     A  wassel  candle,  my  lord ;  all  tallow :  if  1  did 
'  say  of  wax,  my  growth  would  approve  the  truth. 
Chief  Justice. 
There  is  not  a  white  hair  on  your  face,  but 
should  have  his  effect  of  gravity. 
Falstaff. 
His  effect  of  gravy,  gravy,  gravy. 

ChiefJustice. 
You  follow  the  young  prince  up  and  down,  like 
his  ill  angel. 

Falstaff. 

'■     Not  so,  my  lord  ;  your  ill  angel  is  light,  but, 
I  hope,  he  that  looks  upon  me  will  take  me  i 
{ without  weighing:  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  I  j 
:  grant.  1  cannot  go,  I  cannot  tell.     Virtue  is  of  I 
'  so  little  regard  in  these  coster-monger  times,  ; 
',  that  true  valour  is  turned  bearherd.    Pregnancy  ; 
is  made  a  tapster,  and  hath  his  quick  wit  wasted 
in  giving  reckonings :  all  the  other  gifts  apper-  ! 
,  tinent  to  man,  as  the  malice  of  this  age  shapes 
r  them,  are  not  worth  a  gooseberry.     You,  that 
'  are  old,  consider  not  the  capacities  of  us  that 
!  are  young:  you  measure  the  heat  of  our  livers 
with  the  bitterness  of  your  galls  ;  and  we  that 
are  in  the  vaward  of  our  youth,  I  must  confess, 
.are  wags  too. 

thief  Justice. 

Do  you  set  down  your  name  in  the  scroll  of 
youth,  that  are  written  down  old  with  all  the 
}  characters  of  age  ?  Have  you  not  a  moist  eye, 
1  a  dry  hand,  a  yellow  cheek,  a  white  beard,  a  de- 
!  creasing  leg,  an  increasing  belly?  Is  not  your 
;  voice  broken,  your  wind  short,  your  chin  double, 
your  wit  single,  and  every  part  about  you  blasted 
'  with  antiquity,  and  will  you  yet  call  yourself 
'  young  ?    Fie,  lie,  fie,  sir  John  ! 

Falstaff 
!  My  lord,  I  was  born  about  three  of  the  clock 
in  the  afternoon,  with  a  white  head,  and  some- 
'  thing  a  round  belly.  For  my  voice,— I  have  lost 
1  it  with  hollaing,  and  singing  of  anthems.  To 
j  approve  my  youth  farther,  I  will  not :  the  truth 
is,  I  am  only  old  in  judgment  and  understanding; 
and  he  that  will  caper  with  me  for  a  thousand 
marks,  let  him  lend  me  the  money,  and  ha\e  at 
him.  For  the  box  o'  the  ear  that  the  prince 
gave  you,  he  gave  it  like  a  rude  prince,  and  you 
took  it  like  a  sensible  lord.    I  have  checked 

him 


468 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  i.  &r.  ir. 


him  for  it,  and  the  young  lion  repents  ;  marry, 
not  in  ashes,  and  sackcloth,  but  in  new  silk,  and 
old  sack. 

Chief  Justice. 
Well,  God  send  the  prince  abetter  companion  ! 

Falstaff. 
God  send  the  companion  a  better  prince !    I 
cannot  rid  my  hands  of  him. 

Chief  Justice. 
Well,  the  king  hath  severed  vou  and  prince 
Harry.     I  hear,  you  are  going  with  lord  John 
of  Lancaster  against  the  archbishop,  and  the 
earl  of  Northumberland. 

Falstaff. 

Yea ;  I  thank  your  pretty  sweet  wit  for  it. 
I  But  look  you  pray,  all  you  that  kiss  my  lady 
peace  at  home,  that  our  armies  join  not  in  a  hot 
day  ;  for,  by  the  Lord,  I  take  but  two  shirts  out 
with  me,  and  I  mean  not  to  sweat  extraordi- 
narily :  if  it  be  a  hot  day,  and  I  brandish  any 
thing  but  my  bottle,  I  would  I  might  never  spit 
white  again.  There  is  not  a  dangerons  action 
can  peep  out  his  head,  but  I  am  thrust  upon  it : 
well,  1  cannot  last  ever.  [But  it  was  always 
yet  the  trick  of  our  English  nation,  if  they  have 
a  good  thing,  to  make  it  too  common.  If  you 
will  needs  say  I  am  an  old  man,  you  should  give 
me  rest.  I  would  to  God,  my  name  were  not  so 
terrible  to  the  enemy  as  it  is  :  I  were  better  to 
be  eaten  to  death  with  rust,  than  to  be  scoured 
to  nothing  with  perpetual  motion.] 

Chief  Justice. 
Well,  be  honest,  be  honest ;  and  God  bless 
your  expedition. 

Falstaff. 
Will  your  lordship  lend  me  a  thousand  pound 
to  furnish  me  forth  ? 

Chief  Justice. 
Not  a  penny,  not  a  penny:  you  are  too  im- 
patient to  bear  crosses.    Fare  you  well :  com- 
mend me  to  my  cousin  Westmoreland. 

[Exeunt  Chief  Justice'  :md  Attendant. 

Falstaff. 

If  I  do,  fillip  me  with  a  three-man  beetle.  A 
man  can  no  more  separate  age  and  covetousness, 
than  he  can  part  young  limbs  and  lechery  ;  but 
the  gout  galls  the  one,  and  the  pox  pinches  the 
other,  and  so  both  the  degrees  prevent  my 
curses.— Boy  I 

Page. 

Sir? 

FaUtaff. 

What  money  is  in  my  purse  ? 

Page. 
Seven  groats  and  two-pence. 

Falstaff. 
I  can  get  no  remedy  against  this  consumption 
of  the  purse:  borrowing  only  lingers  and  lingers 

it  out,  but  the  disease  is  incurable Go  bear 

this  letter  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster  ;  this  to  the 
prince;  this  to  the  earl  of  Westmoreland ;  and 
this  to  old  mistress  Ursula,  whom  I  have  weekly 
sworn  to  marry  since  I  perceived  the  first  white 
hair  of  my  chin.  About  it :  you  know  where  to 
find  me.  M.xit  Page.]  A  pox  of  this  gout !  or, 
a  gout  of  this  pox  T  for  the  one,  or  the  other, 
plays  the  rogue  with  my  great  toe.  'Tis  no 
matter,  if  I  do  halt;  I  have  the  wars  for  my 
colour,  and  my  pension  shall  seem  the  more 
reasonable.  A  good  wit  will  make  use  of  any 
thing ;  I  will  turn  diseases  to  commodity. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  III.     York.    A  Room  in  the  Arch- 
bishop's Palace. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  York,  the  Lords  Hast- 
ings, Mowbray  Earl  Marshal,  and  Bardolph. 

Archbishop. 
Thus  have  you  heard  our  cause,  and  known 
our  means  ; 
And,  my  most  noble  friends,  I  pray  you  all, 

Speak  plainly  your  opinions  of  our  hopes 

And  first,  lord  marshal,  what  say  you  to  it  ? 

Mowbray. 

I  well  allow  the  occasion  of  our  arms  ; 
But  gladly  would  be  better  satisfied, 
How,  in  our  means,  we  should  advance  ourselves 
To  look  with  forehead  bold  and  big  enough 
Upon  the  power  and  puissance  of  the  king. 
Hastings. 

Our  present  musters  grow  upon  the  file 
To  five  and  twenty  thousand  men  of  choice ; 
And  our  supplies  live  largely  in  the  hope 
Of  great  Northwnberland,  whose  bosom  burns 
With  an  incensed  tire  of  injuries. 

Bardolph. 

The  question  then,  lord  Hastings,  standeth 
thus : — 
Whether  our  present  five  and  twenty  thousand 
May  hold  up  head  without  Northumberland. 
Hastings 
With  him,  we  may. 

Bardolph. 

Ay,  marry,  there's  the  point : 
But  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  feeble, 
My  judgment  is,  we  should  not  step  too  far, 
Till  we  had  his  assistance  by  the  hand  ; 
For  in  a  theme  so  bloody-fac'd  as  this, 
Conjecture,  expectation,  and  surmise 
Of  aids  incertain  should  not  be  admitted. 
Archbishop. 
'Tis  very  true,  lord  Bardolph  ;  for,  indeed, 
It  was  young  Hotspur's  case  at  Shrewsbury. 
Bardolph. 
It  was,  my  lord;  who  lin'd  himself  with  hope, 
Eating  the  air  on  promise  of  supply, 
Flattering  himself  with  project  of  a  power 
Much  smaller  than  the  smallest  of  his  thoughts ; 
And  so,  with  great  imagination, 
Proper  to  madmen,  led  his  powers  to  death, 
And  winking  leap'd  into  destruction. 
Hastings 
But,  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt, 
To  lay  down  likelihoods,  and  forms  of  hope. 
Bardolph. 
Yes,  if  this  present  quality  of  war, 
Indeed  the  instant  action,  a  cause  on  foot, 
Lives  so  in  hope,  as  in  an  early  spring       [fruit, 
We  see  th'  appearing  buds ;   which,  to  prove 
Hope  gives  not  so  much  warrant,  as  despair 
That  frosts  will  bite  them.    When  we  mean  to 

build, 
We  first  survey  the  plot,  then  draw  the  model, 
And,  when  we  see  the  figure  of  the  house, 
Then  must  we  rate  the  cost  of  the  erection  ; 
Which  if  we  find  outweighs  ability, 
What  do  we  then,  but  draw  anew  the  model 
In  fewer  offices,  or,  at  least,  desist 
To  build  at  all  ?  Much  more,  in  this  great  work, 
(Which  is,  almost,  to  pluck  a  kingdom  down, 
And  set  another  up)  should  we  survey 
The  plot  of  situation,  and  the  model ; 
Consent  upon  a  sure  foundation  ; 
Question  surveyors,  know  our  own  estate, 

How 


I :  Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENKY  IV. 


469 


How  alile  such  a  work  to  undergo, 
To  weigh  against  his  opposite;  or  else, 
We  fortify  in  paper,  and  in  figures. 
Using  the  names  of  men,  instead  of  men: 
Like  one  that  draws  the  model  of  a  house 
Beyond  his  power  to  build  it ;  wlio,  half  through, 
Gives  o'er,  and  leaves  his  part-created  cost 
A  naked  subject  to  the  weeping  clouds, 
And  waste  for  churlish  winter's  tyranny. 

Hasting* 
Grant,  that  our  hopes,  yet  likely  of  fair  birth, 
Should  be  still-born,  and  that  we  now  possess'd 
The  utmost  man  of  expectation, 
I  think  we  are  a  body  strong  enough, 
Even  as  we  are,  to  equal  with  the  king. 
Bardolph. 
What  1  is  the  king  but  flve-and-twenty  thou- 
sand? 

Hastings. 
To  us,  no  more  ;  nay,  not  so  much,  lord  Bar- 
doluh. 
For  his  divisions,  as  the  times  do  brawl, 
Are  in  three  heads :  one  power  against  the  French, 
And  one  against  Glttidower ;  perforce,  a  third 
Must  take  up  us.     So  is  the  unfirm  king 
In  three  divided,  and  his  coffers  sound 
With  hollow  poverty  and  emptiness. 
Archbishop. 
That  he  should  draw  his  several  strengths 
together, 
And  come  against  us  in  full  puissance, 
Need  not  be  dreaded. 

Hastings. 

If  he  should  do  so, 
He  leaves  his  back  unarm'd,  the  French  and 

Welsh 
Baying  him  at  the  heels :  never  fear  that. 
fewdolph. 
Who,  is  it  like,  should  lead  his  forces  hither  ? 

Hasting*. 
The  duke  of  Lancaster,  and  Westmoreland : 
Against  the  Welsh,  himself  and  Harry  Mon- 
mouth ; 
!  But  who  is  substituted  'gainst  the  French, 
1  I  have  no  certain  notice. 

Archbishop. 

Let  us  on, 
And  publish  the  occasion  of  our  arms. 
The  commonwealth  is  sick  of  their  own  choice; 
Their  over-greedy  love  hath  surfeited  : 
An  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 
Hath  he,  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart. 
O  thou  fond  many !  with  what  loud  applause 
Didst  thou  beat  heaven  viithb\ess\ng  Bulingbroke, 
Before  he  was  what  thou  would'st  have  him  be ; 
And  being  now  trimm'd  in  thine  own  desires, 
Thou,  beastly  feeder,  art  so  full  of  him, 
That  thou  provok'st  thyself  to  cast  him  up. 
So,  so,  thou  common  dog,  didst  thou  disgorge 
Thy  glutton  bosom  of  the  royal  Richard, 
And  now  thou  would'st  eat  thy  dead  vomit  up, 
And  howl'st  to  find  it.     What  trust  is  in  these 

times  ? 
They  that,  when  Richard  liv'd,  would  have  him 

die. 
Are  now  become  enamour'd  on  his  grave: 
Thou,  that  threw'st  dust  upon  his  goodly  head, 
When  through  proud  London  he  came  sighing  on 
After  th'  admired  heels  of  Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st  now,  "  O  earth,  yield  us  that  king  again, 
And  take  thou  this!"      O,  thoughts  of  men 
accurst!  [worst. 

Fast,  and  to  come,  seem  best ;  things  present, 


Mowbray. 

Shall  we  go  draw  our  numbers,  and  set  on  ? 

*  Hastings. 

We  are  time's  subjects,  and  time  bids  be  gone. 


ACT  II. 

8CMNX  I.     London.     A  Street. 

Knter  Hostess  ;  Faun,  and  his  Boy,  with  her  J 

and  Snare  following. 

Hostess. 

\f  ASTER  Fang ,  have  you  entered  the  action  ? 

Fang. 
It  is  entered. 

Hostess. 
Where's  your  yeoman  ?    Is't  a  lusty  yeoman  ? 
will  he  stand  to't  ? 

Fang. 
Sirrah,  where's  Snare  t 

Hostess. 

0  lord  1  ay :  good  master  Snare. 

Snare. 
Here,  here. 

Fang. 
Snare,  we  must  arrest  sir  John  FalstafT. 

Hostess. 
Yea,  good  master  Snare;  I  have  entered  hire 
and  all. 

Snare. 
It  may  chance  cost  some  of  us  our  lives,  for 
he  will  stab. 

Hostess. 
Alas  the  day!  take  heed  of  him:  he  stabbed 
j  me  in  mine  own  house,  and  that  most  beastly. 
'  In  good  faith,  he  cares  not  what  mischief  he  doth, 
if  his  weapon  be  out:  he  will  foin  like  any  devil ; 
he  will  spare  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child. 

Fang. 
If  I  can  close  with  him,  I  care  not  for  his 
i  thrust. 

Host 
No,  nor  I  neither :  I'll  be  at  your  elbow. 

!  An  1  but  fist  him  once;  an  he  come  but  with- 
I  in  my  vice; — 

Hostess. 

1  am  undone  by  his  going;  I  warrant  you, 

;  he's  an  infinitive  thing  upon  my  score Good 

i  master  Fang,  hold  him  sure:  — good  master 
j  Snare,  let  him  not  'scape.  He  comes  con- 
!  tinuantly  to  Pie-corner,  (saving  your  manhoods) 

to  buy  a  saddle ;  and  he's  indited  to  dinner  to 
!  the  lubbar's  head  in  Lumbert-street,  to  master 

Smooth's  the  silkman :  I  pray  ye,  since  my  exion 
j  is  entered,  and  my  case  so  openly  known  to  the 
I  world,  let  him  be  brought  in  to  his  answer.  A 
I  hundred  mark  is  a  long  one  for  a  poor  lone 

woman  to  bear  ;  and  1  have  borne,  and  borne,  and 
j  borne  ;  and  have  been  fubbed  off,  and  fubbed  off, 

and  fubbed  off,  from  this  day  to  that  day,  that  it  is 
i  a  shame  to  be  thought  on.  There  is  no  honesty  in 
'  such  dealing,  unless  a  woman  should  be  made  an 

ass,  and  a  beast,  to  bear  every  knave's  wrong 


Knter  Mir  Jvhn  FuUtajJ',  Page,  and  Ratdo/i>a 
Yonder  he  comes ;  and  that  arrant  malmsey- 
nose  knave,  Bardolph,  with  him.    Do  your  of- 
fices, do  your  offices,  master  Fang  and  master 
Snare :  do  me,  do  me,  do  me  your  offices. 

Falstntr. 


47* 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Falstaff. 
How  now  !  whose  mare's  dead  ?  what's  the 
latter  ? 

Jang. 

Sir  John,  I  arrest  you  at  the  suit  of  mistress 
Falstaff. 


Quickly. 


Away,  varlets  !  —  Draw,  Bardolph  :  cut  me 
off  the  villaiu's  head ;  throw  the  quean  in  the 
channel.  ..    ] 

Hostesi. 

Throw  me  in  the  channel  ?  I'll  throw  thee  in 
the  channel.  Wilt  thou  ?  wilt  thou  ?  thou  bas- 
tardly rogue  !  —  Murder,  murder  !  O,  thou 
honey-suckle  villain  !  wilt  thou  kill  God's  offi- 
cers, and  the  king's  ?  O,  thou  honey-seed 
rogue  !  thou  art  a  honey-seed ;  a  man-queller, 
and  a  woman-queller. 

Falstaff. 
Keep  them  off,  Bardolph. 
Fang. 
A  rescue !  a  rescue  I 

Hostess. 
Good  people,  bring  a  rescue  or  two. — Thou 
wilt  not  ?  thou  wilt  not  ?  do,  do,  thou  rogue  ! 
do,  thou  hemp-seed  I 

Falstaff. 
Away,  you  scullion !  you  rampallian  !  you  fus- 
tilarian  !    I'll  tickle  your  catastrophe. 

Kilter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  attended. 
Chief  Justice. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  keep  the  peace  here,  ho  I 

Hostess. 
Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me  1   I  beseech  you, 
stand  to  me  1        „.  .  ,  ,     t. 

Chief  Justice. 

How  now,  sir  John!  what,  are  you  brawling 

here  ?  [business  ? 

Doth  this  become  your  place,  your  time,  and 

You  should  have  beeu  well  on  your  way  to 

York —  [him? 

Stand  from  him,  fellow :  wherefore  hang'st  on 

Hostess. 

O !  my  most  worshipful  lord,  an't  please  your 

grace,  I  am  a  poor  widow  of  Eastcheap,  and  he 

is  arrested  at  my  suit. 

Chief  Justice. 

For  what  sum  ? 

Hostess. 

It  is  more  than  for  some,  my  lord ;  it  is  for  all,  j 
all  I  have.  He  hath  eaten  me  out  of  house  and 
home :  he  hath  put  all  my  substance  into  that : 
fat  belly  of  his ;  but  I  will  have  some  of  it  out ; 
again,  or  I  will  ride  thee  o'  nights,  like  the 

mare*  Falstaff. 

I  think,  I  am  as  like  to  ride  the  mare,  if  I ' 
have  any  vantage  of  ground  to  get  up. 
Chief  Justice. 

How  comes  this,  sir  John  ?  Fie  !  what  man 
of  good  temper  would  endure  this  tempest  of 
exclamation  ?  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  enforce 
a  poor  widow  to  so  rough  a  course  to  come  by 
her  own?  Fa]staff 

What  is  the  gross  sum  that  I  owe  thee  ? 
Hottest. 

Marry,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  man,  thyself, 
and  the  money  too.  Thou  didst  swear  to  me 
upon  a  parcel-gilt  goblet,  sitting  in  my  Dolphin-  ] 
chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  j 
upon  Wednesday  in  Whitsun  week,  when  the  i 


prince  broke  thy  head  for  likening  his  father  to 
a  singing-man  of  Windsor  ;  thou  didst  swear  to 
me  then,  as  I  was  washing  thy  wound,  to  marry 
me,  and  make  me  my  lady  thy  wife.  Canst  thou 
deny  it  ?  Did  not  goodwife  Keech,  the  butcher's 
wife,  come  in  then,  and  call  me  gossip  Quickly? 
coming  in  to  borrow  a  mess  of  vinegar ;  telling 
us,  she  had  a  good  dish  of  prawns,  whereby  thou 
didst  desire  to  eat  some,  whereby  I  told  thee, 
they  were  ill  for  a  green  wound  ?  And  didst 
thou  not,  when  she  was  gone  down  stairs,  desire 
me  to  be  no  more  so  familiarity  with  such  poor 
people  ;  saying,  that  ere  long  they  should  call 
me  madam  ?  And  didst  thou  not  kiss  me,  and 
bid  me  fetch  thee  thirty  shillings  ?  I  put  thee 
now  to  thy  book-oath :  deny  it,  if  thou  canst. 
Falstaff. 

My  lord,  this  is  a  poor  mad  soul;  and  she 
says,  up  and  down  the  town,  that  her  eldest  son 
is  like  you.  She  hath  been  in  good  case,  and 
the  truth  is,  poverty  hath  distracted  her.  But 
for  these  foolish  officers,  I  beseech  you,  I  may 
have  redress  against  them. 

Chief  Justice. 

Sir  John,  sir  John,  I  am  well  acquainted  with 
your  manner  of  wrenching  the  true  cause  the 
false  way.  It  is  not  a  confident  brow,  nor  the 
throng  of  words  that  come  with  such  more  than 
impudent  sauciness  from  you,  can  thrust  me 
from  a  level  consideration  ;  you  have,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  practised  upon  the  easy-yielding 
spirit  of  this  woman,  and  make  her  serve  your 
uses  both  in  purse  and  person. 
Hostess. 

Yes,  in  troth,  my  lord. 

Chief  Justicf. 

Pr'ythee,  peace Pay  her  the  debt  you  owe 

her,  and  unpay  the  villainy  you  have  done  with 
her :  the  one  you  may  do  with  sterling  money, 
and  the  other  with  current  repentance. 
Falstaff. 

My  lord,  I  will  not  undergo  this  sneap  with- 
out reply.  You  call  honourable  boldness,  im- 
pudent sauciness:  if  a  man  will  make  court'sy, i 
and  say  nothing,  he  is  virtuous.  No,  my  lord, 
my  humble  duty  remember'd,  I  will  not  be  your 
suitor:  I  say  to  you,  1  do  desire  deliverance 
from  these  officers,  being  upon  hasty  employ- 
ment in  the  king's  affairs. 

Chief  Justice. 

You  speak  as  having  power  to  do  wrong:  but 
answer  in  the  effect  of  your  reputation,  and 
satisfy  the  poor  woman. 

Falstaff. 

Come  hither,  hostess.         [Taking  her  aside. 
Enter  Gower. 
Chief  Justice. 

Now,  master  Gower !  what  news  ? 
Gower. 

The  king,  my  lord,  and  Henry  prince  of  Wales  j 
Are  near  at  hand :  the  rest  the  paper  tells. 
Falstaff. 

As  I  am  a  gentleman. 

Hostess. 

Faith,  you  said  so  before. 
Falstaff. 

As  I  am  a  gentleman.  Come,  no  more  words 
ofit'  Hostess. 

By  this  heavenly  ground  I  tread  on,  I  must  be 
fain  to  pawn  both  my  plate,  and  the  tapestry  of 
my  dimng-chambers.  *%,!«»„«• 


Act  ir.  8fe  n. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


47« 


NMt 
Glasses,  glasses,  Is  the  only  drinking:  and  for 
thy  walls.— a  pretty  slight  drollery,  or  the  story  sir  John? 
of  the  prodigal,  or  the  German  hunting  in  water- 
work,  is  worth  a  thousand  of  these  bed  hangings, 
and  these  fly  bitten  tapestries.  Let  it  be  ten 
pound,  if  thou  canst.  Come,  an  It  were  not  for 
thy  humours,  there  Is  not  a  better  wench  in 
England.  Go,  wash  thy  face,  and  draw  thy 
action.  Come,  thou  must  not  be  in  this  humour 
with  me;  dost  not  know  me?  Come,  come,  I 
know  thou  wast  set  on  to  this. 

Hostess. 
Pray  thoe,  sir  John,  let  it  be  but  twenty  nobles; 
I'  faith,  I  am  loath  to  pawn  my  plate,  in  good 
earnest,  la.  .  „ 

ralstaff. 

Let  It  alone;  I'll  make  other  shift:  you'll  be 
a  fool  still. 

Hottest. 

Well,  you  shall  hare  It,  though  I  pawn  my 
gown.  I  hope,  you'll  come  to  supper.  You'll 
pay  me  all  together? 

FaUtatf. 
Will  I  live?— Go,  with  her,  with  her;  hook 
on,  hook  on. 

Hostess. 

Will  you  have  Doll  Tear-sheet  meet  you  at 
supper? 

Falstaff. 

[I-  xeunt   Hostess,  Bardolph,'  Officers,   and 
Page. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  have  heard  better  news. 
Falstaff. 
What's  the  news,  my  good  lord  ? 

Chief  Justice. 
Where  lay  the  king  last  night  ? 

Gower. 
At  Basingstoke,  my  lord. 
Falstaff. 
I  hope,  my  lord,  all's  well :  what  is  the  news, 
my  lord?  „L.  .  _    . 

Chief  Justice. 
Come  all  his  forces  back  ? 


Chief  Justice 
What  foolish  master  taught  you  these  manners, 

Falstaff. 
Master  Gower,  If  they  become  me  not,  he  was 
a  fool  that  taught  them  me — This  Is  the  right 
,  fencing  grace,  my  lord ;  tap  for  tap,  and  so  part 

fair-  ^u.    r  i      . 

Chief  Justice. 
Now,  the  Lord  lighten  thee !  thou  arta  great 


<  tower. 
No ;  fifteen  hundred  foot,  fire  hundred  horse, 
Are  march'd  up  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 
Against  Northumberland,  and  the  archbishop. 
Falstaff. 
Comes  the  king  back  from  Wales,  my  noble 
lord? 

Chief  Justice. 
You  shall  have  letters  of  me  presently:  come, 
go  along  with  me,  good  master  Gower. 
Falstaff. 
My  lord  I 

Chief  Justice. 
What's  the  matter? 

Falstaff. 
Master  Gower,  shall  I  entreat  you  with  me  to 
dinner  ? 

Gower. 
1  must  wait  upon  my  good  lord  here :  I  thank 
you,  good  sir  John. 

Chief  Justice. 
Sir  John,  you  loiter  here  too  long,  being  you 
are  to  take  soldiers  up  in  counties  as  you  go. 
Falstaff. 
Will  you  sup  with  me,  master  Gower  t 


SCENE  II.    The  tame.    Another  Street. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Pains. 
Prince  Henry. 
Trust  me,  I  am  exceeding  weary. 

Foin*. 
Is  It  come  to  that  ?    I  had  thought,  wearlnett 
,  durst  not  have  attached  one  of  so  high  blood. 
Prince  Henry. 
'Faith,  it  does  me,  though  It  discolours  the 
;  complexion  of  my  greatness  to  acknowledge  it. 
;  Doth  it  not  show  vilely  in  me  to  desire  small 
jbeer? 

Point. 

!     Why,  a  prince  should  not  be  so  loosely  studied, 
;  as  to  remember  so  weak  a  composition. 
Prince  Henry. 
Belike  then,  my  appetite  was  not  princely  got; 
\  for,  by  my  troth,  1  do  now  remember  the  poor 
i  creature,  small  beer.  Hut,  indeed,  these  humble 

•  considerations  make  me  out  of  love  with  my 
greatness.      What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me,  to 

!  remember  thy  name  ?  or  to  know  thy  face  to- 

!  morrow  ?  or  to  take  note  how  many  pair  of  silk 
stockings  thou  hast ;  viz.  these,  and  those  that 
were  thy  peach  colour'd  ones?  or  to  bear  the 
inventory  of  thy  shirts;  as,  one  for  superfluity, 
and  one  other  for  use? — but  that  the  tennis* 
court-keeper  knows  better  than  I,  for  it  is  a  low 
ebb  of  linen  with  thee,  when  thou  keepest  not 
racket  there ;  as  thou  hast  not  done  a  great  while, 
because  the  rest  of  thy  low  countries  have  made 
a  shift  to  eat  up  thy  Holland :  and  God  knows, 

'  whether  those  that  bawl  out  the  ruins  of  thy 
linen,  shall  inherit  his  kingdom;  but  the  mid- 
wives  say,  the  children  are  not  in  the  fault, 

\  whereupon  the  world  increases,  and  kindreds 

:  are  mightily  strengthened. 
Point 
How  ill  it  follows,  after  you  have  laboured  to 

•  hard,  you  should  talk  so  idly  1  Tell  me,  how 
many  good  young  princes  would  do  so,  their 
fathers  being  so  sick  as  yours  at  this  time  it? 

Prince  Henry. 
Shall  I  tell  thee  one  thing,  Pomsf 

Point. 
Yes,  faith,  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good 
thing. 

Prince  Henry. 
It  shall  serve  among  wits  of  no  higher  breed- 
ing than  thine. 

Point?. 
Go  to ;  I  stand  the  push  of  your  one  thing 
that  you  will  tell. 

Prince  Henry. 
Marry,  I  tell  thee,— it  is  not  meet  that  I  should 
be  sad,  now  my  father  is  sick  :  albeit  I  could  tell 
to  thee,  (as  to  one  it  pleases  me,  for  fault  of  a 
better,  to  call  my  friend)  1  could  be  tad,  and 
sad  indeed  too. 


Verv  hardly  upon  tuch  a  subject. 


Priuce 


47* 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Prince  Henry. 
By  this  hand,  thou  think'st  me  as  far  in  the 
devil's  book,  as  thou  and  Falstaff,  for  obduracy 
and  persistency:  let  the  end  try  the  man.  But 
I  tell  thee,  my  heart  bleeds  inwardly,  that  my 
father  is  so  sick ;  and  keeping  such  vile  company 
as  thou  art,  hath  in  reason  taken  from  me  all 
ostentation  of  sorrow. 

Poins. 
The  reason  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
"What  would'st  thou  think  of  me,  if  I  should 
weep  t 

Poins. 
I  would  think  thee  a  most  princely  hypocrite. 

Prince  Henry. 
It  would  be  every  man's  thought;  and  thou 
art  a  blessed  fellow,  to  think  as  every  man  thinks : 
never  a  man's  thought  in  the  world  keeps  the 
road-way  better  than  thine:  every  man  would 
think  me  an  hypocrite  indeed.  And  what  accites 
your  most  worshipful  thought  to  think  so  ? 
Poins. 
Why,  because  you  have  been  so  lewd,  and  so 
much  engraffed  to  Falstaff. 

Prince  Henry. 
And  to  thee.  ^ 

Poins. 
By  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken  on  ;  I  can  hear 
it  with  mine  own  ears :  the  worst  that  they  can 
6ay  of  me  is,  that  I  am  a  second  brother,  and 
that  I  am  a  proper  fellow  of  my  hands,  and  those 
two  things,  1  confess,  I  cannot  help.  By  the 
mass,  here  comes  Bardolph. 

Prince  Henry. 
And  the  boy  that  I  gave  Falstaff:  he  had  him 
from  me  christian  ;  and  look,  if  the  fat  villain 
have  not  transformed  him  ape. 

Enter  Bardolph  and  Page. 
Bardolph. 
God  save  your  grace. 

Prince  Henry. 
And  yours,  most  noble  Bardolph. 

Bardolph. 
Come,  you  virtuous  ass,  [To  the  Page,}  you 
bashful  fool,  must  you  be  blushing?  wherefore 
blush  you  now  ?    What  a  maidenly  man  at  arms 
are  you  become  ?    Is  it  such  a  matter  to  get  a 
pottlepot's  maidenhead  ? 
Page. 
He  called  me  even  now,  my  lord,  through  a 
red  lattice,  and  I  could  discern  no  part  of  his 
face  from  the  window:  at  last,  I  spied  his  eyes; 
and,  methought,  he  had  made  two  holes  in  the 
ale-wife's  new  petticoat,  and  peeped  through. 
Prince  Henry. 
Hath  not  the  boy  profited  ? 
Bardolph. 
Away,  you  whoreson  upright  rabbit,  away  I 

Page. 
Away,  you  rascally  Allhea'a  dream,  away  I 

Prince  Henry. 
Instruct  us,  boy:  what  dream,  boy? 

Page. 
Marry,  my  lord,  Althea  dreamed  she  was  de- 
livered of  a  fire-brand,  and  therefore  I  call  him 
her  dream. 

Prince  Henry. 
A  crown's  worth  of  good  interpretation.— 
There  it  is,  boy.  [Gives  him  money. 


Poins. 
O,  that  this  good  blossom  could  be  kept  from 
cankers! — Well,  there  is  sixpence  to  preserve 
thea 

Bardolph  | 

An  you  do  not  make  him  be  hanged  among  , 
you,  the  gallows  shall  have  wrong. 
Prince  Henry. 
And  how  doth  thy  master,  Bardolph  t 

Bardolph. 
Well,  my  lord.     He  heard  of  your  grace's 
coming  to  town  :  there's  a  letter  for  you. 
Poins. 
Delivered  with  good  respect.  — And  how  doth 
the  martlemas,  your  master  ? 
Bardolph. 
In  bodily  health,  sir. 

Poins. 
Marry,  the  immortal  part  needs  a  physician  ; 
but  that  moves  not  him :  though  that  be  sick,  it 
dies  not. 

Prince  Henry. 
I  do  allow  this  wen  to  be  as  familiar  with  me 
as  my  dog ;  and  he  holds  his  place,  for  look  you 
how  he  writes. 

Poins.  [Heads. 

"John  Falstaff,  knight,"— every  man  must 
know  that,  as  oft  as  he  has  occasion  to  name 
himself ;  even  like  those  that  are  kin  to  the  king, 
for  they  never  prick  their  finger,  but  they  say, 
"There  is  some  of  the  King's  blood  spilt:" 
"How  comes  that?"  says  he,  that  takes  upon 
him  not  to  conceive :  the  answer  is  as  ready  as 
a  borrower's  cap ;  "  I  am  the  king's  poor  cousin, 
sir." 

Prince  Henry. 
Nay,  they  will  be  kin  to  us,  or  they  will  fetch 
it  from  Japhet.    But  to  the  letter :  — 
Poins. 
"  Sir  John  Falstaff,  knight,  to  the  son  of  the 
king,  nearest  his  father,  Harry  Prince  of  Wales, 
greeting."— Why,  this  is  a  certificate. 
Prince  Henry. 
Peace  I 

Poms. 
«'  I  will  imitate  the  honourable  Romans  in 
brevity:" — he  sure  means  brevity  in  breath, 
short-winded. — "  I  commend  me  to  thee,  I  com- 
mend thee,  and  I  leave  thee.  Be  not  too  familiar 
with  Poins;  for  he  misuses  thy  favours  so  much, 
that  he  swears,  thou  art  to  marry  his  sister  Nell. 
Repent  at  idle  times  as  thou  may'st,  and  so 
farewell. 

"  Thine,  by  yea  and  no,  (which  is  as 
much  as  to  say,  as  thou  usest  him,) 
Jack  Falstaff,  with  my  familiars ; 
John,  with  my  brothers  and  sisters ; 
and  sir  John  with  all  Europe." 
My  lord,  I  will  steep  this  letter  in  sack,  and  make 
him  eat  it. 

Prince  Henry. 
That's  to  make  him  eat  twenty  of  his  words. 
But  do  you  use  me  thus,  Nedf  must  I  marry 
your  sister  ? 

Poins. 
God  send  the  wench  no  worse  fortune  !  but  I 
never  said  so. 

Prince  Henry. 
Well,  thus  we  play  the  fools  with  the  time, 
and  the  spirits  of  the  wise  sit  in  the  clouds,  and 
mock  us.  —  Is  your  master  here  in  London? 
Bardolph. 
Yes,  mv  lord. 

Prince 


Act  ii.  Sc.  m. 


KING  HENUY  IV. 


♦73 


Prince  Henry. 
Where  sups  he  ?  doth  the  old  boar  feed  in  the 
old  frank  ? 

Bardolph. 
At  the  old  place,  my  lord.  In  Eastcheap. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  company  ?      , 

Page. 
Epheslans,  my  lord ;  of  the  old  church. 

Prince  Henry. 
Sup  any  women  with  him  ? 

Page. 
None,  my  lord,  but  old  mistress  Quickly,  and 
mistress  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Prince  Henry. 
What  pagan  may  that  be  ? 
t\t. :.-. 

A  proper  gentlewoman,  sir,  and  a  kinswoman 
of  my  master's. 

Prince  Henry. 
Even  such  kin  as  the  parish  heifers  are  to  the 
town  bull.— Shall  we  steal  upon  them,  Ned,  at 
•upper? 

Poms. 
I  am  your  shadow,  my  lord  ;  I'll  follow  you. 

Prince  Henry. 
Sirrah,  you  boy,— and  Bardolph  ; — no  word 
to  your  master  that  I  am  yet  come  to  town : 
there's  for  your  silence. 

Bardolph. 
I  have  no  tongue,  sir. 

Page. 
And  for  mine,  sir,  I  will  govern  it. 

Prince  Henry. 
Fare  ye  well ;    go.     [Exeunt  Bardolph  and 
Page.  I— This  Doll  Tear-sheet  should  be  some 
roao. 

Point. 

I  warrant  you,  as  common  as  the  way  between 
Saint  Allan's  and  London. 

Prince  Henry. 

How  might  we  see  Ealstaff  bestow  himself 
to-night  in  his  true  colours,  and  not  ourselves 
be  seen  ? 

Poins. 

Put  on  two  leathern  jerkins,  and  aprons,  and 
wait  upon  him  at  his  table  as  drawers. 
Prince  Henry 

From  a  god  to  a  bull  ?  a  heavy  declension  t  it 
was  Jove's  case.  From  a  prince  to  a  prentice  ? 
a  low  transformation !  that  shall  be  mine ;  for  in 
every  thing  the  purpose  must  weigh  with  the 
folly.    Follow  me,  Ned.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI.     narkworth.    Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  Northumberland,  Lady  Northumberland, 
ami  I.ady  Percy. 

Northumberland. 
I  pray  thee,  loving  wife  and  gentle  daughter, 
Give  even  way  unto  my  rough  affairs : 
Put  not  you  on  the  visage  of  the  times, 
And  be  like  them  to  Percy  troublesome. 

Lady  Northumberland. 
1  have  given  over,  I  will  speak  no  more. 
Do  what  you  will ;  your  wisdom  be  your  guide. 
Northumberland. 
Alas,  sweet  wife,  my  honour  is  at  pawn. 
And,  but  my  going,  nothing  can  redeem  it. 


Lady  Percy. 

O,  yet,  for  God's  sake,  go  not  to  these  wars  I 

The  time  was,  father,  that  you  broke  your  word, 

When  you  were  more  endear'd  to  it  than  now  ; 

When  your  own  Percy,  when  my  heart-dear 

Harry, 
Threw  many  a  northward  look,  to  see  his  father 
Bring  up  his  powers ;  but  he  did  long  in  vain. 
Who  then  persuaded  you  to  stay  at  home? 
There  were  two  honours  lost,  yours,  and  your 

son's: 
For  vours,  — may  heavenly  glory  brighten  it  1 
For  his, — it  stuck  upon  him,  as  the  sun 
In  the  grey  vault  of  heaven:  and,  by  his  light, 
Did  all  the  chivalry  of  England  move 
To  do  brave  acts ;  he  was,  indeed,  the  glass 
Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves. 
He  had  no  legs,  that  practised  not  his  gait ; 
And  speaking  thick,  which  nature  made  his 

blemish, 
Became  the  accents  of  the  valiant ; 
For  those  that  could  speak  low,  and  tardily, 
Would  turn  their  own  perfection  to  abuse, 
To  seem  like  him ;  so  that,  in  speech,  in  gait, 
j  In  diet,  in  affections  of  delight, 
!  In  military  rules,  humours  of  blood, 
,  He  was  the  mark  and  glass,  copy  and  book, 
|  That  fashion'd  others.    And  him,  —  O  wondrous 
O  miracle  of  men!  —  him  did  you  leave,     [him  I 
(Second  to  none,  unseconded  by  you) 
!  To  look  upon  the  hideous  god  of  war 
In  disadvantage ;  to  abide  a  field, 
|  Where  nothing  but  the  sound  of  Hotspur's  name 
i  Did  seem  defensible:  —so  you  left  him. 
;  Never,  O !  never,  do  his  ghost  the  wrong, 
To  hold  your  honour  more  precise  and  nice 
|  With  others,  than  with  him :  let  them  alone. 
i  The  marshal, -and  the  archbishop,  are  strong: 
Had  my  sweet  Harry  had  but  half  their  numbers, 
To-day  might  I,  hanging  on  Hotspur's  neck, 
Have  talk'd  of  Monmouth's  grave. 
Nor  tit  umber  land. 

Beshrew  your  heart, 
Fair  daughter  1  you  do  draw  my  spirits  from  me, 
With  new  lamenting  ancient  oversights. 
But  I  must  go,  and  meet  with  danger  there. 
Or  it  will  seek  me  in  another  place, 
'■.  And  find  me  worse  provided. 

Lady  Northumberland 

O  !  fly  to  Scotland. 
'■  Till  that  the  nobles,  and  the  armed  commons, 
!  Have  of  their  puissance  made  a  little  taste. 
Lady  Percy. 
If  they  get  ground  and  vantage  of  the  king, 
\  Then  join  you  with  them,  like  a  rib  of  steel, 
i  To  make  strength  stronger ;    but,  for  all  our 

loves, 
First  let  them  try  themselves.    So  did  your  son ; 
He  was  so  suffer  d ;  so  came  I  a  widow, 
And  never  shall  have  length  of  life  enough, 
To  rain  upon  remembrance  with  mine  eyes, 
That  it  may  grow  and  sprout  as  high  as  heaven ; 
For  recordation  to  my  noble  husband. 

Northumberland 
Come,  come,  go  in  with  me.    'Tis  with  my 
mind, 
As  with  the  tide  swell'd  up  unto  its  height, 
iThat  makes  a  still-stand,  running  neither  way: 
1  Fain  would  I  go  to  meet  the  arclibishop, 

j  But  many  thousand  reasons  hold  me  back 

!  I  will  resolve  for  Scotland :  there  am  I, 
Till  time  and  vantage  crave  my  company. 


Exeunt. 


SCENE 


+7+ 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc  iv. 


SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap. 

Enter  two  Drawers. 

First  Drawer. 

What  the  devil  hast   thou   brought  there? 

apple- Johns?    thou   know'st  sir  John   cannot 

endure  an  apple-JuAw. 

Second  Drawer. 
Mass,  thou  sayest  true.  The  prince  once  set  a 
dish  of  apple-JoAnj  before  him,  and  told  him, 
there  were  five  more  sir  Johns  ;  and,  putting  off 
his  hat,  said,  "  I  will  now  take  my  leave  of  these 
six  dry,  round,  old,  withered  knights."  It 
angered  him  to  the  heart,  but  he  hath  forgot 

First  Drawer. 

Why  then,  cover,  and  set  them  down*  and; 
see  if  thou  canst  find  out  Sneak's  noise;mistress 
Tear-sheet  would  fain  hear  some  music.  [Dis- 
patch : — the  room  where  they  supped  is  too  hot ;  i 
they'll  come  in  straight.] 

Second  Drawer. 
Sirrah,  here  will  be  the  prince,  and  master 
Poins  anon ;  and  they  \\  ill  put  on  two  of  our 
Jerkins  and  aprons,  and  sir  John  must  not  know  ■ 
of  it:  Bardolph  hath  brought  word. 
First  Drawer. 
By  the  mass,  here  will  be  old  utis :  it  will  be 
an  excellent  stratagem. 

Second  Drawer. 
I'll  see,  if  I  can  find  out  Sneak.  [Exit. 

Enter  Hostess  and  DM  Tear-sheet. 
Hostess. 
I'faith,  sweet  heart,  methinks  now,  you  are  in 
an  excellent  good  temperality:   your  pulsidge 
beats  as  extraordinarily  as  heart  would  desire, 
and  your  colour,  I  warrant  you,  is  as  red  as  any 
rose;   but,  i'faith,  you  have  drunk  too  much 
canaries,  and  that's  a  marvellous  searching  wine, 
and  it  perfumes  the  blood  ere  one  can  say, — 
What  this?    How  do  you  now ? 
Doll. 
Better  than  I  was.    Hem. 
Hostess. 
Why,  that's  well  said ;  a  good  heart's  worth 
gold.    Lo !  here  comes  sir  John. 

Enter  Falstaff,  singing. 
Falstaff. 
"When  Arthur  first  in  court"  — Empty  the 

Jordan "  And  was  a  worthy  king.".    . 

[Exit  Drawer. 
How  now,  mistress  Doll? 
Hostess. 
Sick  of  a  calm:  yea,  good  sooth. 

Falstaff. 
So  is  all  her  sect;  an  they  be  once  in  a  calm, 
they  are  sick. 

Doll. 
You  muddy  rascal,  is  that  all  the  comfort  you 
give  me?  -_, 

ralstaff. 

You  make  fat  rascals,  mistress  Doll. 

Doll. 
I  make  them!   gluttony  and  diseases  make 
them ;  I  make  them  not. 

Falstaff. 
If  the  cook  help  to  make  the  gluttony,  you; 
help  to  make  the  diseases,  Doll:  we  catch  ofj 


yon,  Doll,  we  catch  of  you ;  grant  that,  my  poor 
virtue,  grant  that. 

Doll. 

Yea,  joy  ;  our  chains,  and  our  jewels. 
Falstaff. 

"Your  brooches,  pearls,  and  owches:"— for 
to  serve  bravely,  is  to  come  halting  off,  you 
know:  to  come  off  the  breach  with  his  pike 
bent  bravely,  and  to  surgery  bravely  ;  to  venture 

upon  the  charged  chambers  bravely : 

DoJI. 

[Hang  yourself,  you  muddy  conger,  hang 
yourself!] 

Hostess. 

By  my  troth,  this  is  the  old  fashion  :  you  two 
never  meet,  but  you  fall  to  some  discord.  You 
are  both,  in  good  troth,  as  rheumatic  as  two 
dry  toasts  ;  you  cannot  one  bear  with  another's 
confirmities.  What  the  good  year !  one  must 
bear,  and  that  must  be  you  :  you  are  the  weaker 
vessel ;  as  they  say,  the  emptier  vessel. 
Doll. 

Can  a  weak  empty  vessel  bear  such  a  huge 
full  hogshead  ?  there's  a  whole  merchant's 
venture  of  Bvurdcaux  stuff  in  him :  you  have 
not  seen  a  hulk  better  stuffed  in  the  hold.— 
Come,  I'll  be  friends  with  thee,  Jack:  thou  art 
going  to  the  wars  ;  and  whether  I  shall  ever  see 
thee  again,  or  no,  there  is  nobody  cares. 

lie-enter  Drawer. 

Drawer. 

Sir,  ancient  ristoFs  below,  and  would  speak 
with  you. 

'  Doll. 

Hang  him,  swaggering  rascal !  let  him  not 
come  hither :  it  is  the  foul  mouth'dst  rogue  in 
England. 

Hostess. 

If  he  swagger,  let  him  not  come  here :  no,  by 
my  faith  ;  I  must  live  amongst  my  neighbours  ; 
I'll  no  swaggerers.  I  am  in  good  name  and 
fame  with  the  very  best — Shut  the  door ;— there 
comes  no  swaggerers  here :  I  have  not  lived  all 
this  while,  to  have  swaggering  now. —  Shut  the 
door,  I  pray  you. 

*  Falstaff. 

Dost  thou  hear,  hostess  ?— 
Hostess. 

Pray  you,  pacify  yourself,  sir  John :  there 
comes  no  swaggerers  here. 
Falstaff. 

Dost  thou  hear  ?  it  is  mine  ancient. 
Hostess. 

Tilly- valley,  sir  John,  never  tell  me :  your 
ancient  swaggerer  comes  not  in  my  doors.  I 
was  before  master  Tisick,  the  deputy,  t'other 
day ;  and,  as  he  said  to  me,— it  was  no  longer  ago 
than  Wednesday  last,  — "  Neighbour  Quickly," 
says  he ;— master  Dumb,  our  minister,  was  by 
then  ; — ••  Neighbour  Quickly"  says  he,  "  receive 
those  that  are  civil ;  for,"  said  he,  "  you  are  in 
an  ill  name:" — now,  he  said  so,  I  can  tell 
whereupon ;  *•  for,"  says  he,  "  you  are  an  honest 
woman,  and  well  thought  on  ;  therefore  take 
heed  what  guests  you  receive:  receive,"  says 
he,'*  no  swaggering  companions." — There  comes 
none  here : — you  would  bless  you  to  hear  what 
he  said. — No,  I'll  no  swaggerers. 
Fali-taff. 

He's  no  swaggerer,  hostess  ;  a  tame  cheater, 
i'faith  ;  you  may  stroke  him  as  gently  as  a  puppy 
greyhound  :  he  will  not  swagger  with  a  Barbary 

hen,  { 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


475 


hen,  if  her  feathers  turn  buck  In  any  show  of 
resistance—Call  him  up,  drawer. 
Hostess. 
Cheater,  call  you  him  ?  I  will  bar  no  honest 
man  my  house,  nor  no  cheater  ;  but  I  do  not 
love  swaggering  :  by  my  troth,  I  am  the  worse, 
when  one  says— swagger.  Feel,  masters,  how  I 
shake ;  look  you,  I  warrant  you. 

Don. 

So  you  do,  hostess. 

Hostess. 
Do  I  ?  rea,  in  very  truth  do  !,  an  'twere  an 
aspeu  leaf.     I  cannot  abide  swaggerers. 
Enter  Pistol,  Bardolph,  and  Pane. 
Pistol. 
Go  J  save  you,  sir  John  ! 

Fahtaff. 
Welcome,    ancient  Pistol      Here,  Pistol,    I 
charge  you  with  a  cup  of  sack :  do  you  discharge 
upon  mine  hostess. 

Pistol. 
I  will  discharge  upon  her,  sir  John,  with  two 
bullets.  , 

Falstaff. 
She  is  pistol-proof,  sir ;  you  shall  hardly  offend 
her. 

Hostess. 
Come,  1*11  drink  no  proofs,  nor  no  bullets. 
I'll  drink  no  more  than  will  do  me  good,  for  no 
man's  pleasure,  1. 

Pistol. 
Then  to  you,  mistress  Dorothy:  I  will  charge 

y°U-  Doll. 

Charge  me  ?  I  scorn  yon,  scurvy  companion. 
What  !  you  poor,  base,  rascally,  cheating,  lack- 
linen  mate  !  Away,  you  mouldy  rogue,  away !  I 
am  meat  for  your  master. 

Pistol. 
I  know  you,  mistress  Dorothy. 

Doll. 
Away,  you  cut-purse  rascal !  you  filthy  bung, 
away  1  By  this  wine,  I'll  thrust  my  knife  in 
your  mouldy  chaps,  an  you  play  the  saucy  cuttle 
with  roe.  Away,  you  bottle-ale  rascal !  you 
basket-hilt  stale  juggler,  you  1— Since  when,  I 
pray  you,  sir  ?— God's  light  I  with  two  points  on 
vour  shoulder  ?  much  I 

Pistol. 
I  will  murder  your  ruff  for  this. 

[Falstaff. 
No  more,  Pistol:  I  would  not  have  you  go  off 
here.      Discharge    yourself  of  our   company, 
Pistol.] 

Hostess. 

No,  good  captain  Pistol;    not  here,  sweet 

Capta5n'  Doll. 

Captain  !  thou  abominable  damned  cheater, 
art  thou  not  ashamed  to  be  called  captain  ?  An 
captains  were  of  my  mind,  they  would  truncheon 
you  out,  for  taking  their  names  upon  you  before 
you  have  earned  them.  You  a  captain,  you 
slave  !  for  what  ?  for  tearing  a  poor  whore's  ruff 
in  a  bawdy-house  ? — He  a  captain  1  Hang  him, 
rogue- 1  He  lives  upon  mouldy  stewed  prunes, 
and  dried  cakes.  A  captain  !  these  villains  will 
make  the  word  captain  as  odious  [as  the  word 
occupy,  which  was  an  excellent  good  word  before 
it  was  ill  sorted :]  therefore  captains  had  need 
look  to  't.  .,     ,  , 

Bardolph. 

Pray  thee,  go  down,  good  ancient. 


Falstaff. 
Hark  thee  hither,  mistress  Doll 

Pistol. 
Not  I :  I  tell  thee  what,  corporal  Bardolph  ;  I 

could  tear  her I'll  be  revenged  of  her. 

Page. 
Pray  thee,  go  down. 

Pistol. 
I'll  see  her  damned  first ;— to  Pluto's  damned 
lake,  by  this  hand,  to  the  infernal  deep,  with 
Erebus  and  tortures  vile  also.    Hold  hook  and 
line,  say  1.     Down  !  down,  dogs  !  down  fates  t 
Have  we  not  Hiren  here  ? 
Hostess. 
Good  captain  Peesel,  be  quiet ;  it  is  very  late, 
i'faith.      1    beseek  you   now,  aggravate    your 
cholcr. 

Pistol. 
These  be  good  humours,  indeed  !    Shall  pack- 
And  hollow  pamper'd  jades  of  Asia,       [horses, 
Which  cannot  go  but  thirty  miles  a  day, 
Compare  with  Ccesars,  and  with  Cannibals, 
And   Trojan  Greeks  ?  nay,  rather  damn  them 
King  Cerberus,  and  let  the  welkin  roar,      [with 
Shall  we  fall  foul  for  toys  ? 
Hostess. 
By  my  troth,  captain,  these  are  very  bitter 
words. 

Bardolph. 
Begone,  good  ancient :  this  will  grow  to  a 
brawl  anon. 

Pistol. 

Die  men,  like  dogs ;   give  crowns  like  pins. 
Have  we  not  Hiren  here  ? 
Hostess. 

On  my  word,  captain,  there's  none  such  here. 
What  the  goodyear  l  do  you  think  1  would  deny 
her  ?  for  God's  sake,  be  quiet. 

Then  feed,  and  be  fat,  my  fair  Calipolis. 
Come,  give's  some  sack.  [tenia.— 

Se  fortuna  me  tormenta,  il  sperare  me  con- 
Fear  we  broadsides  ?  no,  let  the  fiend  give  fire: 
Give  me  some  sack  ;  and,  sweetheart,  lie  thou 
there.  [Laying  dow  urns  sword. 

Come  we  to  full  points  here,  and  are  et  cetera* 
DOthing?        Falstaff. 
Pistol,  I  would  be  quiet. 
Pistol. 
Sweet  knight,  I  kiss   thy  neif.    What  1  we 
have  seen  the  seven  stars. 
Doll. 
For  God's  sake,  thrust  him  down  stairs :  I 
;  eannot  endure  such  a  fustian  rascal. 
Pistol. 
Thrust  him  down  stairs  !  know  we  not  Gallo- 
way  nags?  ^^ 

Quoit  him  down,  Bardolph,  like  a  shove-groat 
shilling:  nay,  an  he  do  nothing  but  speak  no- 
thing, he  shall  be  nothing  here. 
Bardolph. 

Come,  get  you  down  stairs. 

What !  shall  we  have  Incision  ?  shall  we  im- 
brue?— [.Snatching  up  bis  sword. 
Then,  death,  rock  me  asleep,  abridge  my  doleful 

days  I 
Why  then,  let  grievous,  ghastly,  gaping  wounds 
Come,  Atropos,  I 


Untwine  the  sisters  three  1 
say 


Hostess. 


475 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Hostess. 
Here's  goodly  stuff  toward  ! 

Falstaff. 
Give  me  my  rapier,  boy. 
Doll. 
I  pray  thee,  Jack,  I  pray  thee,  do  not  draw. 

Falstaff. 
Get  you  down  stairs.  [Drawing. 

Hostess. 

Here's  s  goodly  tumult !    I'll  forswear  keeping 

house,  afore  I'll  be  in  these  ten  its  and  frights. 


Falstaff. 
He  a  good  wit  ?  hang  him,  baboon  !  his  wit  is 
as  thick  as  Tewksbury  mustard :  thereisno  more 
conceit  in  him,  than  is  in  a  mallet. 
Doll. 
Why  does  the  prince  love  him  so  then  ? 

Falstaff. 
Because  their  legs  are  both  of  a  bigness  ;  and 
he  plays  at  quoits  well ;  and  eats  conger  and 
fennel ;  and  drinks  off  candles'  ends  for  flap- 
dragons  ;  and  rides  the  wild  mare  with  the 
boys  ;  and  jumps  upon  joint-stools  ;  and  swears 


So;  murder,  I  warrant  now .  — Alas,  alas  !  put  with  a  good  grace  and  wears  his  boot  very 
up  your  naked  weapons:  Dut  up  vour  naked  smoothi  ilke  unto  the  sign  of  the  leg;  and 
weapons.  [Exeunt  BardoTpK  and  Fista.    breeds  no  bate  with  teUing  of  discreet  st0ries  ; 

Doll.  I  and  such  other  gambol  faculties  he  has,  that 

I  pray  thee,  Jack,  be  quiet :  the  rascal  is  j  show  a  weak  mind  and  an  able  body,  for  the 
gone.    Ah !  you  whoreson  little  valiant  villain,  i  which  the  prince  admits  him:  forthe  princehim 

"off  " 


you. 

Hostess. 
Are  you  not  hurt  i'  the  groin  ?  methought  he 
made  a  shrewd  thrust  at  your  belly. 

Ke-enter  Bardulph. 
Falstaff. 
Have  you  turned  him  out  of  doors  ? 

Bardolph. 
Yes,  sir :  the  rascal's  drunk.    You  have  hurt 
him,  sir,  in  the  shoulder. 

Falstaff. 
A  rascal,  to  brave  me  I 

Doll. 
Ah,  you  sweet  little  rogue,  you !  Alas,  poor 
ape,  how  thou  sweat'st  1  Come,  let  me  wipe 
thy  face;  —  come  on,  you  whoreson  chops — 
Ah,  rogue  1  i'faith,  I  love  thee.  Thou  art  as 
valorous  as  Hector  of  Troy,  worth  Ave  of  Aga- 
memnon, and  ten  times  better  than  the  nine 
worthies.    Ah,  villain  1 

Falstaff. 


self  is  such  another  ;  the  weight  of  a  hair  will 
turn  the  scales  between  their  avoirdupois. 

Trince  Henrv. 
Would  not  this  nave  of  a  wheel  have  his  ears 
cut  off? 

Poins. 
Let's  beat  him  before  his  whore. 

Prince  Henry. 
Look,  whether  the  withered  elder  hath  not 
his  poll  clawed  like  a  parrot. 

Poins. 
Is  it  not  strange,  that  desire  should  so  many 
years  outlive  performance? 
Falstaff. 
Kiss  me,  Boll. 

Prince  Henry. 
Saturn  and  Venus  this  year  in  conjunction ! 
what  says  the  almanack  to  that? 

Poins. 
And,  look,  whether  the  fiery  Trfgon,  his  man, 
be  not  lisping  to  his  master's  old  tables,  his 


A  rascally  slave  !    I  will  toss  the  rogue  in  a  j  note-book,  his  counsel-keeper 


Falstaff. 
Thou  dost  give  me  flattering  busses. 

Doll. 
Nay,  truly ;  I  kiss  thee  with  a  most  constant 
heart. 

Falstaff. 
I  am  old,  I  am  old. 

Doll. 


blanket. 

Doll. 
Do,  if  thou  darest  for  thy  heart :  if  thou  dost, 
I'll  canvass  thee  between  a  pair  of  sheets. 

Enter  Music. 
Page. 
The  music  is  come,  sir. 

Falstaff. 

Let  them    play.  — Play,  sirs.  — Sit    on    my  j      I  love  thee  better  than  I  love  e'er  a  scurvy 
knee,  Doll.  — A   rascal   bragging   slave!    the    young  boy  of  them  all. 
rogue  fled  from  me  like  quicksilver.  Falstaff. 

Doll.  What  stuff  wilt  have  a  kirtle  of?    I  shall  re- 

I'faith,  and  thou  followedst  him  like  a  church,    ceive  money  on  Thursday;  thou  shalt  have  a 

cap  to-morrow.  A  merry  song  !  come:  it  grows 
late ;  we'll  to  bed.  Thou'lt  forget  me,  when  I 
am  gone. 

Doll. 
By  my  troth,  thou'lt  set  me  a  weeping,  an 
thou  say'st  so:  prove  that  ever  I  dress  myself 
handsome  till  thy  return— Well,  hearken  the 
end. 

Falstaff. 
Some  sack,  Francis! 

Prince  Henry,  and  Poins. 
Anon,  anon,  sir.  [Advancing. 

Falstaff. 
Ha !  a  bastard  son  of  the  king's.  —  And  art  not 
thou  Poins  his  brother  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
Why,  thou  globe  of  sinful  continents,  what  a 
life  dost  thou  lead! 

Falstaff. 


Thou  whoreson  little  tidy  Bartholomew  boar 
pig,  when  wilt  thou  leave  fighting  o'days,  and 
foining  o'  nights,  and  begin  to  patch  up  thine 
old  body  for  heaven  ? 

Enter  behind,  Prince  Henry  and  Poms,  dis- 
guised  like  Drawer*. 
Falstaff. 
Peace,  good  Doll !  do  not  speak  like  a  death's 
bead  :  do  not  bid  me  remember  mine  end. 
Doll. 
Sirrah,  what  humour  is  the  prince  of? 

Falstaff. 
A  good  shallow  young  fellow :  he  would  have 
made  a  good  pantler,  he  would  have  chipped 
bread  well. 

Doll. 
They  say,  Poins,  has  a  good  wit. 


Act  11.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


477 


Faisufr. 

A  better  than  thou:  I  am  a  gentleman;  thou 
art  a  drawer. 

Prince  He 

Very  true,  sir,  and  1  come  to  draw  you  out 
by  the  eari. 

Ho  • 

O,  the  Lord  preserve  thy  good  grace !  by  my 
troth,  welcome  to  London.  —  Now,  the  Lord 
bless  that  sweet  face  of  thine !  O  Jetu!  are  you 
come  from  Wales? 

1..U' 
Thou  whoreson  mad  compound  of  majesty,— 
by  this  light  flesh  and  corrupt  blood,  thou  art 
welcome.  [Placing  hit  hand  upon  Doll 

Doll. 
How,  you  fat  fool?    I  scorn  you. 

Point. 

My  lord,  he  will  drive  you  out  of  your  revenge, 
and  turn  all  to  a  merriment,  if  you  take  not  the 
heat. 

Prim 

You  whoreson  candle-mine,  you,  how  vilely 
did  you  speak  of  me  even  now,  before  this  honest, 
virtuous,  civil  gentlewoman  ? 

Kttteu. 

God's  blessing  of  your  good  heart !  and  so  she 
Is,  by  my  troth. 

FalstafT. 
Didst  thou  hear  me? 

Trince  Henry 
Yes ;  and  you  knew  me,  as  you  did,  when  you 
ran  away  by  GacTs-hill:   you  knew,  1  was  at 
your  back,  and  spoke  it  on  purpose  to  try  my 
patience. 

Falstaff. 
No,  no,  no;  not  so;  I  did  not  think  thou  wast 
within  hearing. 

Prince  Henrv. 
I  shall  drive  you,  then,  to  confess  the  wilful 
abuse ;  and  then  I  know  how  to  handle  you. 
Falstaff. 
No  abuse,  Hal,  on  mine  honour ;  no  abuse. 

Prince  Henrv. 
Not  to  dispraise  me,  and  call  me  pantler,  and 
bread-chipper,  and  I  know  not  what? 

PastUR 

No  abuse,  Hal. 

Poms. 

No  abuse ! 

Falstaff. 

No  abuse,  Ned,  V  the  world;  honest  Ned, 
none.  1  dispraised  him  before  the  wicked,  that 
the  wicked  might  not  fall  in  love  with  him;  — 
in  which  doing,  1  have  done  the  part  of  a  careful 
friend,  and  a  true  subject,  and  thy  father  '  i  to 
give  me  thanks  for  it.  No  abuse,  Hal;  —  none, 
Ned,  none;— no,  'faith  boys,  none. 

Prince  Henry 

See  now,  whether  pure  fear,  and  entire  cow- 
ardice, doth  not  make  thee  wrong  this  virtuous 
gentlewoman  to  close  with  us?  Is  she  of  the 
wicked?  Is  thine  hostess  here  of  the  wicke<i? 
Or  is  thy  boy  of  the  wicked?  Or  honest  Rar- 
dolph,  whose  zeal  burns  in  his  nose,  of  the 
wicked? 

Rows. 

Answer,  thou  dead  elm,  answer. 

raKt.il! 
The  fiend  hath  pricked  down  Bardolph  irreco- 
verable ;  and  his  face  is  Luctfer't  privy-kitchen, 
where  he  doth  nothing  but  roast  malt-worms. 


For  the  boy,  — there  is  a  good  angel  about  him, 
but  the  devil  outbids  him  too. 

Prince  Henry. 
For  the  women  ? 

Falstaff. 

For  one  of  them,  she  Is  in  hell  already,  and 

burns,  poor  souls.     For  the  other,  I  owe  her 

money,  and  whether  she  be  damned  for  that,  I 

know  not. 

Hostess. 
No,  I  warrant  you. 

FalstafT. 
No,  I  think  thou  art  not ;  I  think,  thou  art 
quit  for  that.  Marry,  there  is  another  indict- 
ment upon  thee,  for  suffering  flesh  to  be  eaten 
in  thy  house,  contrary  to  the  law;  for  the  which, 
I  think,  thou  wilt  howl. 

Hostess. 
1     All  victuallers  do  so:  what's  a  Joint  of  mutton 
or  two  in  a  whole  Lent? 

!  Prince  Henrv. 

You,  gentlewoman,— 
Doll. 
j     What  says  your  grace  ? 

Falstaff. 

His  grace  says  that  which  his  flesh  rebels 

against  [Knocking  heard. 

Hostess. 

Who  knocks  so  loud  at  door?  look  to  the 

door  there,  Francis. 

Rnter  Pefo. 

Prince  Henry. 
Peto,  how  now  ?  what  news  ? 

Peto. 

The  king  your  father  is  at  Westminster, 
And  there  are  twenty  weak  and  wearied  posts, 
Come  from  the  north ;  and  as  I  came  along 
I  met,  and  overtook,  a  dozen  captains, 
Bare-headed,  sweating,  knocking  at  the  taverns, 
And  asking  every  one  for  sir  John  Falstaff. 

Prince  Henry. 
By  heaven,  Poins,  I  feel  me  much  to  blame, 
So  idly  to  profane  the  precious  time, 
When  tempest  of  commotion,  like  the  south 
Borne  with  black  vapour,  doth  begin  to  melt, 
And  drop  upon  our  bare  unarmed  heads,  [night. 
Give  me  my  sword,  and  cloak.  —  Falstaff,  good 
£Kxeunt  Prince  Henry,  Poins,  Peto.  and 
Bardolph. 

Falstaff. 
Nnw  comes  in  the  sweetest  morsel  of  the 
night,  and  we  must  hence,  and  leave  it  un- 
picked.   [Knocking  heard.]    More  knocking  at 
the  door? 

Re-enter  Rarrfulph. 
How  now  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bardolph. 
You  must  away  to  court,  sir,  presently; 
A  dozen  captains  stay  at  door  for  you. 

-taff. 
Pay  the  musicians,  sirrah.  i  »  the  /\;/>r.>- 
Farewell,  hostess: — farewell,  Doll.  You  see, 
my  good  wenches,  how  men  of  merit  are  sought 
after :  the  undeserver  may  sleep,  when  the  man 
of  action  is  called  on.  Farewell,  good  wenches. 
If  I  be  not  sent  away  post,  I  will  see  you  again 
ere  I  go. 

Doll 
I  cannot  speak ;  —  if  my  heart  be  not  ready  to 
burst.— Well,  sweet  Jack,  have  a  care  of  hyself. 

Falstaff. 


478 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv 


„  .         Falstaff. 
Farewell,  farewell. 

[Exeunt  Falstatfand  Bardolph 
Hostess. 
Well,  fare  thee  well :  1  have  known  thee  these 
twenty-nine  years,  come  peascod-time ;  but  an 
honester,  and  truer-hearted  man,— Well,  fare 
thee  well. 

Bardolph.  [Within. 

Mistress  Tear-sheet,^ 

Hostess. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

Bardolph.  [Within. 

Bid  mistress  Tear-sheet  come  to  my  master. 

Hostess. 
O  1  run,  Doll,  run  ;  run,  good  Doll.    Come. 
—Yea—  will  you  come,  Doll  t  [Exeunt 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry  in  his  Nightgown,  with  a 

Page. 

King  Henry. 

(^J.0,  call  the  earls  of  Surrey  and  of  Warwick, 

v-"  But,  ere  tliey  come,  bid  them  o'er-read  these! 

letters, 
And  well  consider  of  them.    Make  good  speed. 
[Exit  Pag?. 
How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep! — O  sleep!   O  gentle i 

sleep  ! 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee,     j 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, : 
And  steep  my  sense3  In  forgetfulness  ? 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee,    [slumber,  i 
And    hush'd  with    buzzing   night-flies  to  thy 
Than  in  the  perfum'd  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  lull'd  with  sound  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
O,  thou  dull  god  !  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile, 
In  loathsome  beds,  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 
A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'larum  bell  ? 
Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 
Seal  up  the  ship.boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge, 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 
Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top,    [them 
Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging 
With  deaf 'ning  clamours  in  the  slippery  clouds, 
That  with  the  hurly  death  itself  awakes  ? 
Can'st  thou.  O  partial  sleep  !  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude  ; 
And  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 
With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 
Deny  it  to  a  king?    Then,  happy  low,  lie  down!  : 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 

Enter  Warwick  and  Surrey. 
Warwick. 

Many  good  morrows  to  your  majesty  ! 

King  Henry. 
Is  it  good  morrow,  lords  ?' 

Warwick. 
'Tis  one  o'clock,  and  past. 

Ktng  Henry. 

Why  then,  good  morrow  to  you  all,  my  lords, 

Have  you  read  o'er  the  letters  that  I  sent  you  ? 


Warwick. 

WTe  have,  my  liege. 

King  Henry. 

Then  you  perceive,  the  body  of  our  kingdom 
How  foul  it  is  ;  what  rank  diseases  grow, 
And  with  what  danger,  near  the  heart  of  it. 
Warwick. 

It  is  but  as  a  body,  yet,  distemper'd, 
Which  to  his  former  strength  may  be  restor'd, 
With  good  advice,  and  little  medicine. 
My  lord  Northumberland  will  soon  be  cool'd. 
King  Henry. 

O  God  !  that  one  might  read  the  book  of  fate, 
And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times 
Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent, 
Weary  of  solid  firmness,  melt  itself 
Into  the  sea :  and,  other  times,  to  see 
The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean 
Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips ;  how  chances  mock, 
And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 
With  divers  liquors  !    [O,  if  this  were  seen, 
The  happiest  youth,  vie  wing  his  progress  through, 
What  perils  past,  what  crosses  to  ensue, 
Would  shut  the  book,  and  sit  him  down  and 

die.] 
'Tis  not  ten  years  gone,  [friends, 

Since    Richard,    and    Northumberland,    grea 
Did  feast  together,  and  in  two  years  after 
Were  they  at  wars :  it  is  but  eight  years,  since 
This  Percy  was  the  man  nearest  my  soul ; 
Who  like  a  brother  toil'd  in  my  affairs, 
And  laid  his  love  and  life  under  my  foot ; 
Yea,  for  my  sake,  even  to  the  eyes  of  Richard, 
Gave  him  defiance.    But  which  of  you  was  by, 
(You,  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember) 

CTo  Warwick. 
When  Richard,  with  his  eye  brimfull  of  tears, 
Then  check'd  and  rated  by  Northumberland, 
Did  speak  these  words,  now  prov'd  a  prophecy  t 
"  Northumberland,  thou  ladder,  by  the  which" 
My  cousin  Bolingbrohe  ascends  my  throne ; " — 
Though  then,  God  knows,  I  had  no  such  intent, 
But  that  necessity  so  bow'd  the  state, 
That  1  and  grpatness  were  compell'd  to  kiss. 
"  The  time  shall  come,"  thus  did  he  follow  it, 
"  The  time  will  come,  that  foul  sin,  gathering 

head. 
Shall  break  into  corruption  : " — so  went  on, 
Foretelling  this  same  time's  condition, 
And  the  division  of  our  amity. 
Warwick. 
There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives, 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  times  deceas'd  ; 
The  which  observ'd,  a  man  may  prophesy, 
Witli  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  not  come  to  life,  which  in  their  seeds, 
And  weak  beginnings,  lie  intreasured. 
Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time; 
And,  by  the  necessary  form  of  this, 
King  Richard  might  create  a  perfect  guess, 
That  great  Northumberland,  then  false  to  hira, 
Would,  of  that  seed,  grow  to  a  greater  falseness, 
Which  should  not  find  a  ground  to  root  upon, 
Unless  on  you. 

King  Henry. 
Are  these  things,  then,  necessities  ? 
Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities  ; 
And  that  same  word  even  now  cries  out  on  us. 
They  say,  the  bishop  and  Northumberland 
Are  fifty  thousand  strong. 

Warwick. 

It  cannot  be,  my  lord  : 
Rumour  doth  double,  like  the  voice  and  echo, 

The  numbers  of  the  fear'd Please  it  your 

To  go  to  bed  ;  upon  my  soul,  my  lord,      [grace, 

The 


Act  hi.   Sc.  II. 


KING   HKNKY  IV. 


♦J9 


The  powers  that  you  already  have  sent  forth, 

Shall  bring  this  prlte  In  very  easily. 

To  comfort  you  the  more,  I  have  recelv'd 

A  Certain  instance  that  Glendower  is  dead. 

Your  majesty  hath  been  this  fortnight  ill, 

And  these  unseason'd  hours,  perforce,  must  add 

Unto  your  sickness. 

King  Henry. 

I  will  take  your  counsel : 
Ami  were  those  inward  wars  once  out  of  hand, 
We  would,  dear  lords,  unto  the  Holy  Land. 


SCENE  II.    Court  before  Justice  Shallow' i 
House  in  Gloucestershire. 

Shallow  and  Silence,  meeting;  Motility, 
Shadow,  Wart,  Feeb'e,  Bttll-ca{f,v\d  Servants, 
behind. 

Shallow. 
Come  on,  come  on,  come  on,  sir ;  give  me 
your  hand,  sir,  give  me  your  hand,  sir :  an  early 
stirrer,  by  the  rood.    A'nd  how  doth  my  good 
cousin  Silence  t 

Silence. 
Good  morrow,  good  cousin  Shallow. 

Shallow. 
And  how  doth  my  cousin,  your  bedfellow  ? 
and  your  fairest  daughter,  and  mine,  my  god- 
daughter Ellen  T 

Silence. 
Alas  !  a  black  ouzel,  cousin  Shallow. 

Shallow. 
By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  I  dare  say,  my  cousin 
William  is  become  a  good  scholar.    He  is  at 
Oxford,  still,  is  he  not  ? 

Silence. 
Indeed,  sir  ;  to  my  cost. 

shallow. 
He  must  then  to  the  inns  of  court  shortly.     I 
was  once  of  Clement's-inn  ;  where,  I  think,  they 
will  talk  of  mad  Shallow  yet. 

You  were  called  lusty  Shallow  then,  cousin. 

Shallow. 

By  the  mass,  I  was  called  any  thing ;  and  I 
would  have  done  any  thing,  indeed,  and  roundly 
too.  There  was  I,  and  little  John  Doit  of  Staf- 
forashire,  and  black  George  Barnes,  and  Francis 
Pickbone,  and  Will  Squcle  a  Cotswuld  man  ;  you 
had  not  four  such  swinge-bucklers  in  all  the 
inns  of  court  again  :  and,  I  may  say  to  you,  we 
knew  where  the  bona-robas  were,  and  had  the 
best  of  them  all  at  commandment.  Then  was 
Jack  Falstajff,  now  sir  John,  a  boy,  and  page  to 
Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Norfolk. 

Silence. 

This  sir  John,  cousin,  that  comes  hither  anon 
about  soldiers  ? 

o*. 

The  same  sir  John,  the  very  same.  I  saw  him 
break  Skogan's  head  at  the  court  gate,  when  he 
was  a  crack,  nut  thus  high:  and  the  very  same 
day  did  I  fight  with  one  Sampson  Stockfish,  a 
fruiterer,  behind  Gray's-inn.  Jcsu!  Jcsu!  the 
mad  davs  that  I  have  spent  1  and  to  see  how 
many  of  mine  old  acquaintance  are  dead  ! 

Silence. 
We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

Shallow. 
Certain,  'tis  certain  ;  very  sure,  very  sure : 
death,  as  the  Psalmist  saith,  is  certain  to' all ;  all 


•hall  die.    How  a  good  voke  of  bullocks  at 
Stamford  fair  ? 

•ie. 
Truly,  cousin,  1  was  not  there. 

Shallow. 
Death  is  certain.— Is  old  Double  of  your  town 
living  yet? 

Silence. 
Dead,  sir. 

Shallow. 
Jesu !  Jesu !  Dead  !  —  he  drew  a  good  bow  ; 
— and  dead!  —  he  shot  a  fine  shoot : — John  of 
Gaunt  loved  him  well,  and  betted  much  money 
on  his  head.  Dead!  —  he  would  have  clapped 
in  the  clout  at  twelve  score  ;  and  carried  you  a 
forehand  shaft  a  fourteen  and  fourteen  and  a 
half,  that  it  would  have  done  a  man's  heart  good 
to  see.— How  a  score  of  ewes  now ? 

Silence. 
Thereafter  as  they  be  ;  a  score  of  good  ewes 
may  be  worth  ten  pounds. 

Shallow. 
And  is  old  Double  dead  ! 

Enter  Bardolph,  and  one  with  him. 

Silence. 
Here  come  two  of  sir  John  Falstaff's  men,  as 
I  think. 

Shallow. 
Good  morrow,  honest  gentlemen. 

Bardolph. 

1  beseech  you,  which  is  justice  Shallow  t 

Shallow. 

1  am  Bobert  Shallow,  sir ;  a  poor  esquire  of 
i  this  county,  and  one  of  the  king's  justices  of  the 
peace.     What  is  your  good  pleasure  with  me ? 

II  an!. 
My  captain,  sir,  commends  him  to  you  ;  my 
,  captain,  sir  John  FahtajjF:  a  tall  gentleman,  by 
'  heaven,  and  a  most  gallant  leader. 

Shallow. 

He  greets  me  well,  sir:  I  knew  him  a  good 
backsword  man.  How  doth  the  good  knight  ? 
may  I  ask,  how  my  lady  his  wife  doth  ? 

Bardolph. 
Sir,  pardon  ;  a  soldier  is  better  accommodated 
than  with  a  wife. 

Shallow. 

It  is  well  said,  in  faith,  sir  ;  and  it  is  well  said 

indeed  too.   Better  accommodated  .'—it  is  good ; 

yea,  indeed,  is  it:  good  phrases  are  surely,  and 

ever  were,  very  commendable.   Accommodated: 

—  it  comes  of  accommodo :  very  good;  a  good 
phrase. 

bardolph. 
Pardon  me,  sir ;  I  have  heard  the  word. 
Phrase,  call  you  it?  By  this  good  day,  I  know 
not  the  phrase:  but  1  will  maintain  the  word 
with  my  sword  to  be  a  soldier-like  word,  and  a 
word  of  exceeding  good  command,  by  heaven. 
Accommodated  ;  that  is,  when  a  man  is,  as  they 
say,  accommodated  ;  or,  when  a  man  is, — being, 

—  whereby, — he  maybe  thought  to  be  accom- 
modated, which  is  an  excellent  thing. 

Knter  Fatstajff: 
Shallow. 
It  is  very  just — Look,  here  comes  good  sir 
John — Give  me  your  good  hand,  give  me  your 
worship's  good  hand.  By  my  troth,  you  like 
well ;  and  bear  your  years  very  well :  welcome, 
good  sir  John. 

Fal  staff. 


480 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


Falstaff. 

I  am  glad  to  see  you  well,  good  master  Robert 
Shallow.— Master  Sure-card,  as  I  think. 

Shallow. 
No,  sir  John  ;  it  is  my  cousin  SiUnce,  in  com- 
mission with  me. 

Falstaff. 
Good  master  Silence,  it  well  befits  you  should 
be  of  the  peace. 


Silence. 
Your  good  worship  is  welcome. 


Falstaff. 
Fie!  this  is  hot  weather.  —  Gentlemen,  have 
you  provided  me  here  half  a  dozen  sufficient 
men? 

Shallow. 
Marry,  have  we,  sir.    Will  you  sit  ? 

Falstafl'. 
Let  me  see  them,  I  beseech  you. 

Shallow. 

Where's  the  roll  ?  where's  the  roll  ?  where's 
the  roll? — Let  me  see,  let  me  see:  so,  so,  so,  so. 
Yea,  marry,  sir:  —  Ralph  Mouldy!—  let  them 
appear  as  I  call ;  let  them  do  so,  let  them  do  so. 
— Let  me  see;  where  is  Mouldy? 

Mouldv. 
Here,  an  it  please  you. 

Shallow. 
What  think  you,  sir  John  ?  a  good  limbed 
fellow :  young,  strong,  and  of  good  friends. 

Falstaff. 
Is  thy  name  Mouldy  t 

.     .         Mouldv. 
x  ea,  an  it  please  you. 

Falstaff. 
'Tis  the  more  time  thou  wert  used. 

Shallow. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  most  excellent,  i'  faith !  things 
that  are  mouldy  lack  use :  very  singular  good  I 
—In  faith,  well  said,  sir  Johns  very  well  said. 

FaUtaff. 
Prick  him.  [To  Shallow. 

Mouldy. 
I  was  pricked  well  enough  before,  an  you  could 
have  let  me  alone:  my  old  dame  will  be  undone 
now,  for  one  to  do  her  husbandry,  and  her 
drudgery.  You  need  not  to  have  pricked  me ; 
there  are  other  men  fitter  to  go  out  than  I. 

Falstaff. 
Go  to ;  peace,  Mouldy !  you  shall  go.   Mouldy,  i 
It  Is  time  you  were  spent. 

Mouldy. 
Spent ! 

Shallow. 
Peace,  fellow,  peace !  stand  aside :  know  you 
where  you  are? — For  the  other,  sir  John: — let  I 
me  see." — Simon  Shadow! 

.       Falstaff. 
Yea,  marry,  let  me  have  him  to  sit  under:  ' 
he's  like  to  be  a  cold  soldier. 

'  .  Shallow. 

Where's  Shadow? 

Shadow. 
Here,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
Shadow,  whose  son  art  thou  ? 

Shadow. 
My  mother's  son,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
Thy  mother's  son  !    like  enough ;   and  thy 


father's  shadow :  so  the  son  of  the  female  is  the 
shadow  of  the  male.    It  is  often  so,  indeed ;  but 
not  of  the  father's  substance. 
Shallow. 
Do  you  like  him,  sir  John  ? 

Falstaff. 
Shadow  will  serve  for  summer,  prick  him ; 
for  we  have  a  number  of  shadows  to  fill  up  the 
muster-book. 

Shallow. 
Thomas  Wart? 

Falstaff. 
Where's  he  ? 

Wart. 
Here,  sir. 

FaUtaff. 
Is  thy  name  Wart? 

Wart. 
Yea,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
Thou  art  a  very  ragged  wart. 

Shallow. 
Shall  I  prick  him,  sir  John? 

Falstaff. 
It  were  superfluous;  for  his  apparel  is  built 
upon  his  back,  and  the  whole  frame  stands  upon 
pins :  prick  him  no  more. 
Shallow. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !— you  can  do  it,  sir ;  you  can  do  it: 
I  commend  you  well.— Francis  Feeblcl 
Feeble. 
Here,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
What  trade  art  thou,  Feeble  ? 

Feeble. 
A  woman's  tailor,  sir. 

Shallow. 
Shall  I  prick  him,  sir? 

Falstaff. 
You  may;  but  if  he  had  been  a  man's  tailor, 
he  would  have  pricked  you.— Wilt  thou  make  as 
many  holes  in  an  enemy's  battle,  as  thou  hast 
done  in  a  woman's  petticoat  ? 
Feeble. 
I  will  do  my  good  will,  sir :  you  can  have  no 
more. 

Falstaff. 
Well  said,  good  woman's  tailor!  well  said, 
courageous  Feeble!  Thou  wilt  be  as  valiant  as 
the  wrathful  dove,  or  most  magnanimous  mouse. 
—Prick  the  woman's  tailor  well,  master  Shallow, 
deep  master  Shallow. 

Feeble. 
I  would  Wart  might  have  gone,  sir. 

Falstaff. 
I  would  thou  wert  a  man's  tailor,  that  thou 
might'st  mend  him,  and  make  him  fit  to  go.  J 
cannot  put  him  to  a  private  soldier,  that  is  the 
leader  of  so  many  thousands :  let  that  suffice, 
most  forcible  Feeble. 

Feeble. 
It  shall  suffice,  sir. 

Falstaff. 

I  am  bound  to  thee,  reverend  Feeble Who 

is  next  ? 

Shallow. 
Peter  Bull-calf  of  the  green ! 

FaUtaff. 
Yea,  marry,  let  us  see  Bull-calf. 

Bull-calf. 
Here,  sir. 

Falstaff. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  IX. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


481 


•iff. 

'Fore  God,  a  likely  fellow !— Come,  prick  me 
Bull-catf  till  he  roar  again. 

Bull-calf. 
O  lord !  good  my  lord  captain,— 

What,  dost  thou  roar  before  thou  art  pricked? 

Bull 
O  Lord !  sir,  I  am  a  diseased  man. 

K..1' 
What  disease  hast  thou  ? 

Hull- 
A  whoreson  cold,  sir;  a  cough,  sir;  which  I  | 
caught  with  ringing  iu  the  king's  affairs  upon  > 
hit  coronation  day,  sir. 

aff. 

Come,  thou  shalt  go  to  the  wars  in  a  gown,  j 
We  will  have  away  thy  cold;  and  I  will  take 
•uch  order,  that  thy  friends  shall  ring  for  thee. 
—  Is  here  all  ? 

Shallow. 

Here  is  two  more  called  than  your  number; 
you  must  have  but  four  here,  sir :— and  so,  I 
pray  you,  go  in  with  me  to  dinner. 

Fal  staff. 
Come,  I  will  go  drink  with  you,  but  I  cannot 
tarry  dinner.   I  am  glad  to  see  you,  by  my  troth, 
master  Shallow. 

Shallow. 
O,  sir  John,  do  you  remember  since  we  lay  all 
night  in  the  windmill  in  Saint  George's  fields? 

Fal  staff. 
No  more  of  that,  good  master  Shallow;  no 
more  of  that. 

Shallow. 
Ha,  it  was  a  merry  night.  And  is  Jane  Night- 
work  alive  ? 

Falstaff. 
She  lives,  master  Shallow. 
Shallow. 
She  never  could  away  with  me. 

Falstaff. 
Never,  never:  she  would  always  say,  she  could 
not  abide  Master  Shallow. 
Shallow. 
By  the  mass,  I  could  anger  her  to  the  heart. 
•  She  was  then  a  bona-roba.    Doth  she  hold  her 
j  own  well. 

•  tall. 
Old,  old,  master  Shallow, 

j     Nay,  she  must  be  old ;  she  cannot  choose  but 
,  be  old;  certain  she's  old.  and  had  Robin  Night-  1 
work  by  old  Night-work,  before  I  came  to  Cle-  l 
tniM's-inn. 

Silence. 
That's  fifty-five  year  ago. 
Shallow 
Ha,  cousin  Silence,  that  thou  hadst  seen  that 
that  this  knight  and  I  have  seen !— Ha,  sir  John, 
;  said  1  well? 

Falstaff. 
We  have  heard  the  chimes  at  midnight,  master 
Shallow. 

Shallow. 
That  we  have,  that  we  have,  that  we  have ;  in 
faith,  sir  John,  we  have.  Our  watch-word  was, 
"  Hem,  boys!" — Come,  let's  to  dinner;  come, 
let's  to  dinner — O,  the  days  that  we  have  seen  ! 
—Come,  come. 

[F.xeunt  Falstaff,  Shallow,  and  Silence. 


Mill! 

Good  master  corporate  Bardolph,  stand  my 
friend,  and  here  is  four  Harry  ten  shillings  in 
French  crowns  for  you.  In  very  truth,  sir,  I 
had  as  lief  be  hanged,  sir,  as  go :  and  yet,  for 
mine  own  part,  sir,  I  do  not  care;  but  rather, 
because  I  am  unwilling,  and,  for  mine  own  part, 
have  a  desire  to  stay  with  my  friends :  else,  sir, 
I  did  not  care,  for  mine  own  part,  so  much. 

Bardolph. 

Go  to ;  stand  aside. 

-Idy. 
And  good  master  corporal  captain,  for  my  old 
dame's  sake,  stand  my  friend :  she  has  nobody 
to  do  any  thing  about  her,  when  1  am  gone ;  and 
she  is  old,  and  cannot  help  herself.  You  shall 
have  forty,  sir. 

Bardolph. 
Go  to ;  stand  aside. 

Fetbto. 

By  my  troth,  I  care  not ;  a  man  can  die  but 
once  ; — we  owe  God  a  death.  I'll  ne'er  bear  a 
base  mind; — an't  be  my  destiny,  so;  an't  be 
not,  so.  No  man's  too  good  to  serve  his  prince ; 
and  let  it  go  which  way  it  will,  he  that  dies  this 
year  is  quit  for  the  next. 

Bardolph. 
Well  said ;  thou  art  a  good  fellow. 

Feeble. 
'Faith,  I'll  bear  no  base  mind. 

Re-enter  Falstaff,  and  Justices. 

Falstaff. 
Come,  sir,  which  men  shall  I  have  ? 

Shallow. 
Four,  of  which  you  please. 

Bardolph. 
Sir,  a  word  with  you. — I  have  three  pound  to 
free  Mouldy  and  Bull-catf. 

Falstaff. 
Go  to  ;  well. 

Shallow. 
Come,  sir  John,  which  four  will  you  have  ? 

FihtntT 
Do  you  choose  for  me. 

Shallow 
Marry  then,— Mouldy,  Bull-calf,  Feeble,  and 


Falstaff. 

Mouldy,  and  Bull-calf. —  Tor  you,  Mouldy  t 
stay  at  home  till  you  are  past  service : — and,  for 

Iour  part,  BuU-calf,  grow  till  you  come  unto  it : 
will  none  of  you. 

Shallow. 
Sir  John,  sir  John,  do  not  yourself  wrong. 
They  are  your  likeliest  men,  and  I  would  have 
you  served  with  the  best. 

Falst.iH. 

Will  you  tell  me,  master  Shallow,  how  to 

choose  a  man  ?    Care  I  for  the  limb,  the  thewes, 

the  stature,  bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man  ? 

Give  me  the  spirit,  roaster  Shallow Here's 

Wart ; — you  see  what  a  ragged  appearance  it  is: 
he  shall  charge  you,  and  discharge  you,  with  the 
motion  of  a  pewterer's  hammer  ;  come  off,  and 
on,  swifter  than  he  that  gibbets-on  the  brewer's 
bucket.  And  this  same  half-faced  fellow.  Shadow, 
— give  me  this  man  :  he  presents  no  mark  to  the 
enemy ;  the  foeman  may  with  as  great  aim  level 
at  the  edge  of  a  penknife.  And,  for  a  retreat, — 
how  swiftly  will  this  Feeble,  the  woman's  tailor, 
run  off !  O,  give  me  the  spare  men,  and  spare 
11  me 


4-22 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  a. 


we  the  great  ones.  — Put  me  a  caliver   into 
Hart's  hand,  Bardolph. 

Bardolph. 
Hold,  Wart,  traverse  ;  thus,  thus,  thus. 

Falstaff. 

Come,  manage  me  your  caliver.  So:— very 
well : — go  to : — very  good :—  exceeding  good— 
O,  give  me  always  a  little,  lean,  old,  chapped, 
bald  shot — Well  said,  i'faith,  Wart:  thou'rt  a 
good  scab  ;  hold,  there's  a  tester  for  thee. 
Shallow. 

He  is  not  his  craft's  master,  he  doth  not  do  it 
right.  I  remember  at  Mile-end  green,  (when  I 
lay  at  Clement's- inn,)  I  was  then  sir  Dagonet  in 
Arthur's  show,  there  was  a  little  quiver  fellow, 
and  he  would  manage  you  his  piece  thus :  and 
he  would  about,  and  about,  and  come  you  in, 
and  come  you  in:  "rah,  tah,  tah,"  would  he 
say  ;  "  bounce,"  would  he  say  ;  and  away  again 
would  he  go,  and  again  would  he  come.— I  shall 
never  see  such  a  fellow. 

Falstaff. 

These  fellows  will  do  well,  master  Shallow — 
God  keep  you,  master  Silence  J  I  will  not  use 
many  words  with  you.— Fare  you  well,  gentle- 
men both :  I  thank  you :  I  must  a  dozen  mile 
to-night.— Bardolph,  give  the  soldiers  coats. 

Shallow. 

Sir  John,  the  Lord  bless  you,  and  God  prosper 
your  affairs,  and  send  us  peace  !  At  your  return, 
visit  our  house.  Let  our  old  acquaintance  be 
renewed :  peradventure,  I  will  with  you  to  the 
court. 

Falstaff. 

•Fore  God,  I  would  you  would. 
Shallow. 

Go  to ;  I  have  spoke  at  a  word.     Fare  you 

well.  [Exeunt  Shallow  and  Silence. 

Falstaff. 

Fare  you  well,  gentle  gentlemen.  On,  Bar- 
dolph; lead  the  men  away.  [Exeunt  Bardolph, 
Recruits,  ic]  As  1  return,  I  will  fetch  off 
these  justices:  I  do  see  the  bottom  of  justice 
Shallow.  Lord,  lord,  how  subject  we  old  men 
are  to  this  vice  of  lying !  This  same  starved 
justice  hath  done  nothing  but  prate  to  me  of  the 
wildness  of  his  youth,  and  the  feats  he  hath 
done  about  Turnbull-street ;  and  every  third 
word  a  lie,  duer  paid  to  the  hearer  than  the 
Turk's  tribute.  I  do  remember  him  at  Clement' s- 
inn,  like  a  man  made  after  supper  of  a  cheese- 
paring :  when  he  was  naked,  he  was,  for  all  the 
world,  like  a  forked  radish,  with  a  head  fan- 
tastically carved  upon  it  with  a  knife:  he  was  so 
forlorn,  that  his  dimensions  to  any  thick  sight 
were  invincible:  he  was  the  very  genius  of 
famine;  [yet  lecherous  as.  a  monkey,  and  the 
whores  called  him— mandrake.]  He  came  ever 
in  the  rear-ward  of  the  fashion  ;  [and  sung  those 
tunes  to  the  over-scutched  huswives  that  he 
heard  the  carmen  whistle,  and  sware — they  were 
his  fancies,  or  his  good -nights.]  And  now  is 
this  Vice's  dagger  become  a  squire ;  and  talks 
as  familiarly  of  John  of  Gaunt,  as  if  he  had  been 
sworn  brother  to  him  ;  and  I'll  be  sworn  he 
never  saw  him  but  once  in  the  Tilt-yard,  and 
then  he  burst  his  head,  for  crowding  among  the 
marshal's  men.  I  saw  it ;  and  told  John  of  Gaunt, 
he  beat  his  own  name  ;  for  you  might  have 
thrust  him,  and  all  his  apparel,  into  an  eel-skin : 
the  case  of  a  treble  hautboy  was  a  mansion  for 
him,  a  court ;  and  now  has  he  land  and  beeves. 
Well,  I  will  be  acquainted  with  him,  if  1  return ; 
and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  1  will  make  him  a  phi- 


i  losopher's  two  stones  to  me.    If  the  young  dace 
I  be  a  bait  for  the  old  pike,  I  see  no  reason  in  the 


law  of  nature  but  I  may  snap  at  him. 
shape,  and  there  an  end. 


Lef^t6 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    A  Forest  in  Yorkshire. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  York,  Mowbray,  Hast- 
ings, and  others. 
Archbishop. 
WHAT  is  this  forest  call'd? 
I    TT  Hasting*. 

*Tis  Gaultree  forest,  an't  shall  please  your 
grace. 

Archbishop. 

Here  stand,  my  lords;  and  send  discoverers 

To  know  the  numbers  of  our  enemies,      [forth, 

Hastings. 

We  have  sent  forth  already. 

Archbishop. 

'Tis  well  done. — 
My  friends  and  brethren  in  these  great  affairs, 
T  must  acquaint  you,  that  I  have  receiv'd 
New-dated  letters  from  Northumberland ; 
:  Their  cold  intent,  tenour  and  substance,  thus : — 
i  Here  doth  he  wish  his  person,  with  such  powers 
:  As  might  hold  sortance  with  his  quality, 
The  which  he  could  not  levy  ;  whereupon 
'  He  is  retir'd,  to  ripe  his  growing  fortunes, 
To  Scotland  ;  and  concludes  in  hearty  prayers, 
That  your  attempts  may  overlive  the  hazard, 
And  fearful  meeting  of  their  opposite. 

Mowbray. 

Thus  do  the  hopes  we  have  in  him  touch 

And  dash  themselves  to  pieces.  [ground, 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Hastings. 

Now,  what  news  ? 
Messenger. 
West  of  this  forest,  scarcely  off  a  mile, 
In  goodly  form  comes  on  the  enemy  : 
And,  by  the  ground  they  hide,  I  judge  their 

number 
Upon,  or  near,  the  rate  of  thirty  thousand. 
Mowbray. 
The  just  proportion  that  we  gave  them  out. 
Let  us  sway  on,  and  face  them  in  the  field. 

Enter  Westmoreland. 

Archbishop. 

What  well-appointed  leader  fronts  us  here  ? 

Mowbray. 
I  think  it  is  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 
Westmoreland. 
\     Health  and  fair  greeting  from  our  general, 
,  The  prince,  lord  John  and  duke  of  Lancaster. 

Archbishop 
'     Say  on,  my  lord  of  Westmoreland,  in  peace, 
j  What  doth  concern  your  coming  ? 
Westmoreland. 

Then,  my  lord, 
Unto  your  grace  do  I  in  chief  address 
The  substance  of  my  speech.    If  that  rebellion 
Came  like  itself,  in  base  and  abject  routs, 
Led  on  by  bloody  youth,  guarded  with  rage, 
And  countenanc  d  by  boys,  and  beggary  ; 

I  say, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


483 


I  say,  if  damn'd  commotion  so  appcar'd. 
In  his  true,  native,  and  most  proper  shape. 
You,  reverend  lather,  and  these  noble  lords, 
Had  not  be.  n  here,  to  dress  the  ugly  form 
Of  base  and  bloody  insurrection 
With  your  fair  honours.    You,  lord  archbishop, 
Whose  see  Is  by  a  civil  peace  maintaln'd  ; 

Whose  beard  the  silver  hand  of  peace  hath    That  you  should  have  on  inch  of  any  ground 
touch'd  ;  [tutor'd  ;  j  To  build  a  grief  on.     Were  you  not  restor'd 

Whose  learning  and  good  letters  peace  hath  j  To  all  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  signiories, 
Whose  white  investments  figure  innocence,  |  Yournobleand  right-well-remember'd  father's  ? 

Mowbray. 


Westmoreland. 

O  !  my  good  lord  Mowbray, 
Construe  the  times  to  their  necessities, 
And  you  shall  say  indeed,  it  is  the  time. 
And  not  the  king,  that  doth  you  injuries. 
Yet,  for  your  part,  it  not  appears  to  me, 


Kither  from  the  king,  or  in  the  present  time. 


The  dove  and  very  blessed  spirit  of  peacev 
Wherefore  do  you  so  ill  translate  yourself, 
Out  of  the  speech  of  peace,  that  bears  such  grace,  . 
Into  the  harsh  and  boisterous  tongue  of  war  ? 
Turning  your  books  to  graves,  your  ink  to  blood,  ; 
Your  pens  to  lances,  and  your  tongue  divine 
To  a  loud  trumpet,  and  a  point  of  war  ? 
Archbishop 
Wherefore  do  I  this  ?— so  the  question  stands  : 
Briefly  to  this  end — We  are  all  diseas'd ; 
And.  with  our  surfeiting,  and  wanton  hours, 
Have  brought  ourselves  into  a  burning  fever, 
And  we  must  bleed  for  it:  of  which  disease 
Our  late  king,  Richard,  being  infected,  died. 
But,  my  most  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
I  take  not  on  me  here  as  a  physician, 
Nor  do  I,  as  an  enemy  to  peace, 
Troop  in  the  throngs  of  military  men ; 
But,  rather,  show  a  while  like  fearful  war, 
To  diet  rank  minds,  sick  of  happiness, 
And  purge  th'  obstructions,  which  begin  to  stop 
Our  very  veins  of  life.    Hear  me  more  plainly. 
I  have  in  equal  balance  justly  weigh 'd      [suffer, 
What  wrongs  our  arms  may  do,  what  wrongs  we 
And  find  our  griefs  heavier  than  our  offences. 
We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  time  doth  run, 
And  are  enfore'd  from  our  most  quiet  there 
By  the  rough  torrent  of  occasion  ; 
And  have  the  summary  of  all  our  griefs, 
When  time  shall  serve,  to  show  in  articles, 
Which,  long  ere  this,  we  offer'd  to  the  king, 
And  might  by  no  suit  gain  our  audience. 
When  we  are  wrong'd,  and  would  unfold  our 
We  are  denied  access  unto  his  person,     [griefs, 
Even  by  those  men  that  most  have  done  us 

wrong. 
The  dangers  of  the  days  hut  newly  gone, 
Whose  memory  is  written  on  the  earth 
With  yet  appearing  blood,  and  the  examples 
Of  every  minute's  instance,  present  now, 
Have  put  us  in  these  ill-beseeming  arms  ; 
Not  to  break  peace,  or  any  branch  of  it, 
But  to  establish  here  a  peace  indeed, 
Concurring  both  in  name  and  quality. 
Westmoreland. 


When  ever  yet  was  your  appeal  denied? 
Wherein  have  you  been  galled  by  the  king  ? 
What  peer  hath  been  suborn'd  to  grate  on  you, 
That  you  should  seal  this  lawless  bloody  book 
Of  forg'd  rebellion  with  a  seal  divine, 
[And  consecrate  commotion's  bitter  edge?] 
Archbishop. 

My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 

STo  brother  born  an  household  cruelty,] 
make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

HDorctbnd 
There  is  no  need  of  any  such  redress; 
Or,  if  there  were,  it  not  belongs  to  you. 
Mowbray. 
Why  not  to  him,  in  part,  and  to  us  all, 
That  feel  the  bruises  of  the  days  before, 
An.i  suffer  the  condition  of  these  times 
To  lay  a  heavy  and  unequal  hand 
Upon  our  honours? 


What  thing,  in  honour,  had  my  father  lost, 
That  need  to  be  reviv'd,  and  breath'd  in  me? 
i  The  king  that  lov'd  him,  as  the  state  stood  then, 
i  Was,  force  perforce,  compell'd  to  banish  him: 
;  And  then,  when  Harry'Bolingbroke,  and  he, 
Being  mounted,  and  both  roused  in  their  seats, 
Their  neighing  coursers  daring  of  the  spur, 
Their  armed  staves  in  charge,  their  beavers 
down,  [steel, 

(  Their  eyes  of  fire  sparkling  through  sights  of 
'  And  the  loud  trumpet  blowing  them  together; 
Then,  then,  when  there  was  nothing  could  have 

stay'd 
My  father  from  the  breast  of  Bolingbroke, 
O  !  when  the  king  did  throw  his  warder  down, 
His  own  life  hung  upon  the  staff  he  threw: 
Then  threw  he  down  himself,  and  all  their  lives, 
That,  by  indictment,  and  by  dint  of  sword, 
Have  since  miscarried  under  Eolingbroke. 
Westmoreland. 
You  speak,  lord  Mowbray,  now  you  know  not 
what. 
The  earl  of  Hereford  was  reputed,  then, 
In  England  the  most  valiant  gentleman : 
1  Who  knows,  on  whom  fortune  would  then  have 
smil'd  ? 
But  if  your  father  had  been  victor  there, 
He  ne'er  had  borne  it  out  of  Coventry  ; 
■  For  all  the  country,  in  a  general  voice, 
.  Cried  hate  upon  him ;   and  all  their  prayers, 
and  love, 
Were  set  on  Hereford,  whom  they  doted  on, 
And  bless'd,  and  grae'd,  indeed,  more  than  the 
king. 
j  But  this  is  mere  digression  from  my  purpose. 
I  Here  come  I  from  our  princely  general, 

To  know  your  griefs  ;  to  tell  you  from  his  grace, 
•  That  he  will  give  you  audience ;  and  wherein 
It  shall  appear  that  your  demands  are  just, 
You  shall  enjoy  them  ;  every  thing  set  off", 
i  That  might  so  much  as  think  you  enemies. 

.Mowbray. 
I      But  he  hath  fore'd  us  to  compel  this  offer, 
'  And  it  proceeds  from  policy,  not  love. 
Westmoreland. 

I      Mowbray,  you  overween,  to  take  it  so. 
This  offer  comes  from  mercy,  not  from  fear ; 
For,  lo  I  within  a  ken  our  army  lies, 
I  Upon  mine  honour,  all  too  confident 

To  give  admittance  to  a  thought  of  fear. 
I  Our  battle  is  more  full  of  names  than  yours, 
j  Our  men  more  perfect  in  the  use  of  arms, 
.  Our  armour  all  as  strong,  our  cause  the  best: 

Then,  reason  will  our  hearts  should  be  as  good ; 
'  S.iy  you  not,  then,  our  offer  is  compell'd. 
Mowbray. 
Well,  by  my  will,  we  shall  admit  no  parlej. 

Westmoreland. 

That  argues  but  the  shame  of  your  offence: 

A  rotten  case  abides  no  handling. 

Hastings. 

Hath  the  prince  John  a  full  commission, 

1  In 


4-3+ 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  1. 


In  very  ample  virtue  of  his  father, 
To  hear,  and  absolutely  to  determine 
Of  what  conditions  we  shall  stand  upon  ? 
Westmoreland. 
That  is  intended  in  the  general's  name. 
I  muse  you  make  so  slight  a  question. 
Archbishop. 
Then  take,  my  lord  of  Westmoreland,  this  I 
schedule, 
For  this  contains  our  general  grievances : 
Each  several  article  herein  redress'd  ; 
All  members  of  our  cause,  both  here  and  hence, 
That  are  insinew'd  to  this  action, 
Acquitted  by  a  true  substantial  form  ; 
And  present  execution  of  our  wills 
To  us,  and  to  our  purposes,  confin'd ; 
We  come  within  our  awful  banks  again, 
And  knit  our  powers  to  the  arm  of  peace. 
Westmoreland. 
This  will  I  show  the  general.    Please  you, 
lords, 
In  sight  of  both  our  battles  we  may  meet : 
And  either  end  in  peace,  which  God  so  frame, 
Or  to  the  place  of  difference  call  the  swords 
Which  must  decide  it. 

Archbishop. 

My  lord,  we  will  do  so. 
[Exit  Westmorelant'. 
Mowbray. 
There  is  a  thing  within  my  bosom  tells  me, 
That  no  conditions  of  our  peace  can  stand. 
Hastings. 
Fear  you  not  that :  if  we  can  make  our  peace 
Upon  such  large  terms,  and  so  absolute, 
As  our  conditions  shall  consist  upon, 
Our  peace  shall  stand  as  firm  as  rocky  mountains. 
Mowbray. 
Ay,  but  our  valuation  shall  be  such, 
That  every  slight  and  false-derived  cause, 
Yea,  every  idle,  nice,  and  wanton  reason, 
Shall  to  the  king  taste  of  this  action : 
That,  were  our  royal  faiths  martyrs  in  love, 
We  shall  be  winnow'd  with  so  rough  a  wind, 
That  even  our  corn  shall  seem  as  light  as  chaff, 
;  And  good  from  bad  find  no  partition. 
Archbishop. 
No,  no,  my  lord.   Note  this,— the  king  is  weary 
Of  dainty  and  such  picking  grievances  : 
For  he  hath  found,  to  end  one  doubt  by  death 
Revives  two  greater  in  the  heirs  of  life. 
:  And  therefore  will  he  wipe  his  tables  clean, 
And  keep  no  tell-tale  to  his  memory, 
That  may  repeat  and  history  his  loss 
To  new  remembrance.    For  full  well  he  knows, 
He  cannot  so  precisely  weed  this  land,    . 
As  his  misdoubts  present  occasion : 
His  foes  are  so  enrooted  with  his  friends, 
That,  plucking  to  unfix  an  enemy, 
;  He  doth  unfasten  so,  and  shake  a  friend. 
So  that  this  land,  like  an  offensive  wife, 
That  hath  enrag'd  him  on  to  offer  strokes, 
As  he  is  striking,  holds  his  infant  up, 
And  hangs  resolv'd  correction  in  the  arm 
That  was  uprear'd  to  execution. 
Hasting*. 
Besides,  the  king  hath  wasted  all  his  rods 
On  late  offenders,  that  he  now  doth  lack 
The  very  instruments  of  chastisement ; 
So  that  his  power,  like  to  a  fangless  lion, 
May  offer,  but  not  hold. 

Archbishop. 

*Tis  very  true: 
And  therefore  be  assur'd,  my  good  lord  marshal, 


If  we  do  now  make  our  atonement  well, 
Our  peace  will,  like  a  broken  limb  united, 
Grow  stronger  for  the  breaking. 

Mowbray. 

Be  it  so. 
Here  is  return'd  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Ke-enter  Westmoreland. 

Westmoreland. 
The  prince  is  here  at  hand.    Pleaseth  your 
lordship,  [armies  ? 

To  meet  his  grace  just  distance  'tween  our 

Mowbray. 
Your  grace  of  York,  in  God's  name  then,  set 
forward. 

Archbishop. 
Before,  and  greet  his  grace,  my  lord:    we 
come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 1.    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter,  from  one  side,  Mowbray,  the  Arrhhishop, 
Hastings,  and  others:  from  the  other  side, 
Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland, 
Officers  and  Attendants. 

Prince  John. 
You  are  well  encounter'd  here,  my  cousin 

Mowbray — 
Good  day  to  you,  gentle  lord  archbishop  ; 
And  so  to  von,  lord  Hastings, — and  to  all.— 
My  lord  of  York,  it  better  show'd  with  you, 
When  that  your  flock,  assembled  by  the  bell, 
Encircled  you  to  hear  with  reverence 
Your  exposition  on  the  holy  text, 
Than  now  to  see  you  here  an  iron  man, 
Cheering  a  rout  of  rebels  with  your  drum, 
Turning  the  word  to  sword,  and  life  to  death. 
That  man,  that  sits  within  a  monarch's  heart, 
And  ripens  in  the  sunshine  of  his  favour, 
Would  he  abuse  the  countenance  of  the  king, 
Alack  !  what  mischiefs  might  he  set  abroach, 
In  shadow  of  such  greatness.    With  you,  lor« 

bishop, 
It  is  even  so.    Who  hath  not  heard  it  spoken, 
How  deep  you  were  within  the  books  of  God? 
To  us,  the  speaker  in  his  parliament ; 
To  us,  th'  imagin'd  voice  of  God  himself; 
The  very  opener  and  intelligencer, 
Between  the  grace,  the  sanctities  of  heaven, 
And  our  dull  workings:  O !  who  shall  believe, 
But  you  misuse  the  reverence  of  your  place, 
Employ  the  countenance  and  grace  of  heaven, 
As  a  false  favourite  doth  his  prince's  name, 
In  deeds  dishonourable?    You  have  taken  up, 
Under  the  counterfeited  zeal  of  God, 
The  subjects  of  his  substitute,  my  father; 
And,  both  against  the  peace  of  heaven  and  him, 
Have  here  up-swarm'd  them. 

Ard.bUhr.p. 

Good  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 
I  am  not  here  against  your  father's  peace; 
But,  as  I  told  my  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
The  time  misorder'd  doth,  in  common  sense, 
Crowd  us,  and  crush  us  to  this  monstrous  form   i 
To  hold  our  safety  up.    I  sent  your  grace 
The  parcels  and  particulars  of  our  grief; 
The  which  hath  been  with  scorn  shov'd  from 

the  court, 
Whereon  this  Hydra-son  of  war  is  born ; 
Whose  dangerous  eyes  may  well  be  charm'd 

asleep, 
With  grant  of  our  most  just  and  right  desires, 
And  true  obedience,  of  this  madness  cur'd, 
Stoop  tamely  to  the  foot  of  majesty. 

Mowbray 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


4*5 


Mowbray. 
If  not,  we  ready  are  to  try  our  fortune! 
To  the  last  man. 

Hastings. 
And  though  we  here  fall  down, 
We  have  supplies  to  second  our  attempt ; 
If  they  miscarry,  theirs  shall  second  them ; 
And  so  success  of  mischief  shall  be  born, 
And  heir  from  heir  shall  hold  this  quarrel  up, 
Whiles  England  shall  have  generation. 
Prince  John. 
You  are  too  shallow,  Hastings,    much  too 
shallow, 
To  sound  the  bottom  of  the  after-times. 
W<  ;tinoreland. 
Pleaseth  your  grace,  to  answer  then  directly, 
How  far-forth  you  do  like  their  articles. 
Prince  Julut. 
I  like  them  all,  and  do  allow  them  well: 
And  swear,  here,  by  the  honour  of  my  blood, 
My  father's  purposes  have  been  mistook ; 
And  some  about  him  have  too  lavishly 
WlMted  his  meaning,  and  authority. — 
My  lord,  these  griefs  shall  be  with  speed  re- 
dress'd ;  [you, 

Upon  my  soul,  they  shall.     If  this  may  please 
Discharge    your    powers    unto    their    several 

counties, 
As  we  will  ours  ;  and  here,  between  the  armies, 
Let's  drink  together  friendly,  and  embrace. 
That  all  their  eyes  may  bear  those  tokens  home, 
Of  our  restored  love,  and  amity. 
Archbishop. 
I  take  your  princely  word  for  these  redresses. 

Prince  John. 
I  give  it  you,  and  will  maintain  my  word: 
And  thereupon  I  drink  unto  your  grace. 
Hastings. 
Go,  captain,  [to  an  Officer]  and  deliver  to  the 
army  [part. 

This  news  of  peace:   let  them  have  pay,  and 
I   know,  it  will  well  please  them:   hie  thee, 
captain.  [Lxii  Off co . 

Archbishop. 
To  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Westmoreland. 
I  pledge  your  grace:  and,  if  you  knew  what 
pains 
1  have  bestow'd  to  breed  this  present  peace, 
You  would  drink  freely;  but  my  love  to  you 
Shall  show  itself  more  openly  hereafter. 
Archbishop. 
I  do  not  doubt  you. 

Westmoreland. 

I  am  glad  of  it 

Health  to  my  lord,  and  gentle  cousin,  Moubray. 
Mu»  bray. 
You  wish  me  health  in  very  happy  season ; 
For  1  am,  on  the  sudden,  something  ill. 

ArcfebUbep. 

Against  ill  chances  men  are  ever  merry, 
But  heaviness  foreruns  the  good  event. 
Westmoreland. 
Therefore  be  merry,  coz ;  since  sudden  sorrow 
Serves  to  say  thus, — some  good  thing  comes  to- 
morrow. 

Archbishop. 
Believe  me,  I  am  passing  light  in  spirit. 

Mowbray. 
So  much  the  worse,  if  your  own  rule  be  true. 
[Shouts  within. 


John. 
1     The  word  of  peace  is  render'd.    Hark,  how 
they  shout  1 

Mowbray. 
This  had  been  cheerful,  after  victory. 
Archbishop 
,     A  peace  is  of  the  nature  of  a  conquest. 
For  then  both  parties  nobly  are  subdued, 
I  And  neither  party  loser. 

Prince  John. 

Go,  my  lord, 
And  let  our  army  be  discharged  too — 

[Exit  Westmoreland. 
And,  good  my  lord,  so  please  you,  let  our  trains 
March  by  us,  that  we  may  peruse  the  men 
We  should  have  cop'd  withal. 
Archbishop. 

Go,  good  lord  Hastings; 
And,  ere  they  be  disraiss'd,  let  them  march  by. 
[Exit  Hastings. 
Prince  John. 
I  trust,  lords,  we  shall  lie  to-night  together— 

lie-enter  Westmoreland. 
Now,  cousin,  wherefore  stands  our  army  still  ? 
Westmoreland. 
The  leaders  having  charge  from  you  to  stand. 
Will  not  go  off  until  they  hear  you  speak. 
Prince  Joint. 
They  know  their  duties. 

lie-enter  Hastings. 
Hastings. 
My  lord,  our  army  is  dispers'd  already. 
Like  youthful  steers  unyok'd,  they  take  their 
courses  [up, 

East,  west,  north,  south ;  or,  like  a  school  broke 
Each  hurries  toward  his  home,  and  sporting, 
place. 

Westmoreland. 
Good  tidings,  my  lord  Hastings;  for  the  which 
I  do  arrest  thee,  traitor,  of  high  treason:  — 
And  you,  lord  archbishop, — and  you,  lord  Mow- 
Of  capital  treason  I  attach  you  both.         [bray  ; 
Mowbray. 
Is  this  proceeding  just  and  honourable? 

Westmoreland. 
Is  your  assembly  so? 

Archbishop. 
Will  you  thus  break  your  faith? 
Prince  Joint. 

I  pawn'd  thee  none. 
I  promU'd  you  redress  of  these  same  grievances, 
Whereof  you  did  complain;   which,  by  mine 

honour, 
I  will  perform  with  a  most  christian  care. 
But,  for  you,  rebels,  look  to  taste  the  due 
Meet  for  rebellion,  and  such  acts  as  yours. 
Most  shallowly  did  you  these  arms  commence. 
Fondly  brought  here,  and  foolishly  sent  hence. — 
Strike  up  our  drums  1  pursue  the  scatter'd  stray; 
Heaven,  and  not  we,  hath  safely  fought  to-day— 
Some  guard  these  traitors  to  the  block  of  death ; 
Treason's  true  bed,  and  yielder  up  of  breath. 

[Exeunt. 

SCKXE  !  1 1.    Another  part  of  the  Forest. 

Alarums  :  Excursions.     Enter  lalstaffimd 
Colevtlr,  meeting. 
Falstaff. 
What's  your  name,  sir  ?  of  what  condition  are 

Colevile. 


you  ;  and  of  what  place,  I  pray  ? 


436 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  uu 


Colevile. 
I  am  a  knight,  sir ;  and  my  name  is  Colevile 
of  the  dale. 

Falstaff. 
Well  then,  Colevile  is  your  name,  a  knight  is ! 
your  degree,  and  your  place,  the  dale :  Colevile ' 
shall  still  be  your  name,  a  traitor  your  degree,  I 
and  the  dungeon  your  place, — a  place  deep) 
enough;  so  shall  you  be  still  Colevile  of  the 
dale. 

Colevile. 
Are  not  you  sir  John  Falstaff? 

Falstaff. 

As  good  a  man  as  he,  sir,  whoe'er  I  am.  Do  j 
ye  yield,  sir,  or  shall  I  sweat  for  you  ?  If  I  do 
sweat,  they  are  the  drops  of  thy  lovers,  and  I 
they  weep  for  thy  death:  therefore,  rouse  up1 
fear  and  trembling,  and  do  observance  to  my| 
mercy. 

Colevile. 

I  think,  you  are  sir  John  Falstaff,  and  in  that ! 
thought  yield  me. 

Falstaff. 

I  have  a  whole  school  of  tongues  in  this  belly 
of  mine,  and  not  a  tongue  of  them  all  speaks, 
any  other  word  but  my  name.  An  I  had  but  a 
belly  of  any  indifferency,  I  were  simply  the  most 
active  fellow  in  Europe  :  my  womb,  my  womb,| 
my  womb  undoes  me.— Here  comes  our  general. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland, 

and  others. 

Prince  John. 

The  heat  is  past,  follow  no  farther  now— 

Call  in  the  powers,  good  cousin  Westmoreland.— 

[Exit  Westmoreland. 

Now,  Falstaff,  where  have  you  been  all  this 

while  ? 
When  every  thing  is  ended,  then  you  come : 
These  tardy  tricks  of  yours  will,  on  my  life, 
One  time  or  other  break  some  gallows'  back. 

Falstaff. 

I  would  be  sorry,  my  lord,  but  it  should  be) 
thus :  I  never  knew  yet,  but  rebuke  and  check 
was  the  reward  of  valour.  Do  you  think  me  aj 
swallow,  an  arrow,  or  a  bullet  ?  have  1,  in  my; 
poor  and  old  motion,  the  expedition  of  thought?  j 
I  have  speeded  hither  with  the  very  extremest 
inch  of  possibility :  I  have  foundered  nine-score ! 
and  odd  posts ;  and  here,  travel-tainted  as  I  am,  j 
have,  in  my  pure  and  immaculate  valour,  taken  j 
sir  John  Colevile  of  the  dale,  a  most  furious 
knight,  and  valorous  enemy.  But  what  of  that  ? 
he  saw  me,  and  yielded  :  that  I  may  justly  say 
with  the  hook-nosed  fellow  of  Rome,  I  came, 
•aw,  and  overcame. 

Prince  John. 

It  was  more  of  his  courtesy  than  your  de- 
serving. 

Falstaff. 

I  know  not :  here  he  is,  and  here  I  yield  him, 
and  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  it  be  booked  with 
the  rest  of  this  day's  deeds ;  or,  by  the  lord,  I 
will  have  it  in  a  particular  ballad  else,  with 
mine  own  picture  on  the  top  of  it,  Colevile  kiss- 1 
ingmy  foot.  To  the  which  course  if  I  be  en- j 
forced,  if  you  do  not  all  show  like  gilt  two- 
pences  to  me,  and  I,  in  the  clear  sky  of  fame,  I 
o'ershine  you  as  much  as  the  full  moon  doth  the 
cinders  of  the  element,  which  show  like  pins'  j 
heads  to  her,  believe  not  the  word  of  the  noble. 
Therefore  let  me  have  right,  and  let  desert  j 
mount. 

Prince  John. 

Thine's  too  heavy  to  mount. 


Falstaff. 
Let  it  shine  then. 

Prince  John. 
Thine's  too  thick  to  shine. 

Falstaff. 
Let  it  do  something,  my  good  lord,  that  may 
do  me  good,  and  call  it  what  you  will. 
Prince  John. 
Is  thy  name  Colevile  ? 

Colevile. 
It  is,  my  lord. 

Prince  John. 
A  famous  rebel  art  thou,  Colevile. 

Falstaff. 
And  a  famous  true  subject  took  him. 

Colevile. 
I  am,  my  lord,  but  as  my  betters  are, 
That  led  me  hither :  had  they  been  rul'd  by  me, 
You  should  have  won  them  dearer  than  you  have. 
Falstaff. 
I  know  not  how  they  sold  themselves,  but 
thou,  like  a  kind  fellow,  gavest  thyself  away 
gratis  ;  and  I  thank  thee  for  thee. 

Re-enter  Westmoreland. 
Prince  John. 

Now,  have  you  left  pursuit  ? 
Westmoreland. 

Retreat  is  made,  and  execution  stay'd. 
Prince  John. 

Send  Colevile,  with  his  confederates, 

To  York,  to  present  execution 

Blunt,  lead  him  hence,  and  see  you  guard  him 
sure.  [Exit  Colevile  guarded. 

And  now  despatch  we  toward  the  court,  my  lords. 
I  hear,  the  king  my  father  is  sore  sick : 
Our  news  shall  go  before  us  to  his  majesty, — 
Which,  cousin,  you  shall  bear,— to  comfort  him ; 
And  we  with  sober  speed  will  follow  you. 
Falstaff. 

My  lord,  I  beseech  you,  give  me  leave  to  go 
through  Glostershire ;  and,  when  you  come  to 
court,  stand  my  good  lord,  pray,  in  your  good 
report. 

Prince  John. 

Fare  you  well,  Falstaff:  I,  in  my  condition, 
Shall  better  speak  of  you  than  you  deserve. 

[Exit. 
Falstaff. 

I  would,  you  had  but  the  wit ;  'twere  better 
than  your  dukedom. —  Good  faith,  this  same 
young  sober-blooded  boy  doth  not  love  me,  nor 
a  man  cannot  make  him  laugh  ;  but  that's  no 
marvel,  he  drinks  no  wine.  There's  never  any 
of  these  demure  boys  come  to  any  proof,  for 
thin  drink  doth  so  over-cool  their  blood,  and 
making  many  fish-meals,  that  they  fall  into  a 
kind  of  male  green-sickness;  and  then,  when 
they  marry,  they  get  wenches.  They  are  gener- 
ally fools  and  cowards,  which  some  of  us  should 
be  too,  but  for  inflammation.  A  good  sherris- 
sack  hath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it :  it  ascends 
me  into  the  brain  ;  dries  me  there  all  the  foolish, 
and  dull,  and  crudy  vapours  which  environ  it ; 
makes  it  apprehensive,  quick,  forgetive,  full  of 
nimble,  fiery,  and  delectable  shapes  ;  which,  de- 
livered o'er  to  the  voice,  (the  tongue)  which  is 
the  birth,  becomes  excellent  wit.  The  second 
property  of  yoir  excellent  sherris  is,  the  warm- 
ing of  the  blood ;  which,  before  cold  and  settled, 
left  the  liver  white  and  pale,  which  is  the  badge 
of  pusillanimity  and  cowardice:  but  the  sherris 
warms  it,  and  makes  it  course  frcm  the  inwards 

to 


It* 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  IfENliY  IV. 


4»7 


to  the  parts  extreme.  It  illumineth  the  face, 
which,  as  11  beacon,  gives  warning  to  all  the  rest 
of  this  little  kingdom,  man,  to  arm  ;  and  then 
the  vital  commoners,  and  inland  petty  spirits, 
muster  me  all  to  their  captain,  the  heart,  who, 
great,  and  puffed  up  with  this  retinue,  doth  any 
deed  of  courage;  and  this  valour  comes  of 
sherds.  So  that  skill  in  the  weapon  is  nothing 
without  sack,  for  that  sets  it  a- work  ;  and  learn- 
ing, a  mere  hoard  of  gold  kept  by  a  devil,  till 
sack  commences  if,  and  sets  it  in  act  and  use. 
Hereof  comes  It,  that  prince  Henry  is  valiant ; 
for  the  cold  blood  he  did  naturally  inherit  of  his 
father,  he  hath,  like  lean,  steril,  and  bare  land, 
manured,  husbanded,  and  tilled,  with  excellent 
endeavour  of  drinking  good,  and  good  store  of 
fertile  sherris,  that  he  is  become  very  hot,  and 
valiant.  If  1  had  a  thousand  sons,  the  first 
human  principle  I  would  teach  them  should  be, 
to  forswear  thin  potations,  and  to  addict  them- 
selves to  sack. 

Knter  Bard >lph 
How  now,  Bardclph  f 

Bardolph. 

The  army  is  discharged  all,  and  gone, 
lalstaff. 

Let  them  go.  I'll  through  Glostersfit're  ;  and 
there  will  I  visit  master  Robert  Shallow,  es- 
quire :  I  have  him  already  tempering  between 
my  finger  and  my  thumb,  and  shortly  will  I  seal 
with  him.    Come  away.  [Exeunl. 

SCENE  IV.     Westminster.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Kntcr  King  Henri/.  Clarence,  Prince  Humphrey, 
Warwi-k,  and  others. 
King  Henry. 
Now,  lords,  if  God  doth  give  successful  end 
To  this  debate  that  blccdeth  at  our  doors, 
We  will  our  youth  lead  on  to  higher  fields, 
And  draw  no  swords  but  what  are  sanctified. 
Our  navy  is  address'd,  our  power  collected, 
Our  substitutes  in  absence  well  invested, 
And  every  thing  lies  level  to  our  wish  ; 
Only,  we  want  a  little  personal  strength, 
And  pause  us,  till  these  rebels,  now  afoot, 
Come  underneath  the  yoke  of  government. 
Warwick. 
Both  which,  we  doubt  not  but  your  majesty 
Shall  soon  enjoy. 

King  Henry. 

Humphrey,  my  son  of  Glostcr, 
Where  is  the  prince  your  brother  ? 
Prince  Humphrey. 
I  think,  he's  gone  to  hunt,  my  lord,  at  Wind- 
sor. 

King  Henry. 
And  how  accompanied  ? 

Prince  Humphrey. 

I  do  not  know,  my  lord. 
King  Henry. 
Is  not  his  brother,  Thomas  of  Clarence,  with 
him? 

Prince  Humphrey . 
No,  my  good  lord  ;  he  is  in  presence  here. 

Clarence. 
What  would  my  lord  and  father  ? 

King  Henry. 

Nothing  but  well  to  thee,  fhomas  of  Clarence. 

How  chance  thou  art  not  with  the  prince  thy 

brother?  [Thomas. 

He  loves  thec,  and   thou   dost   neglect   him, 


I  Thou  hast  a  better  place  In  his  affection, 

Thin  ail  thy  brothers  :  cherish  it.  my  boy, 
'  And  noble  offices  thou  may'st  effect 
Of  mediation,  after  I  am  dead, 
Between  his  greatness  and  thy  other  brethren  : 
:  Therefore  omit  him  nut :  blunt  not  his  love, 
[  Nor  lose  the  good  advantage  of  his  grace, 
1  By  seeming  cold,  or  careless  of  his  will, 
:  For  he  is  gracious,  if  he  be  observ'd. 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity  ; 
I  Yet,  notwithstanding,  being  incens'd,  he's  flint, 
1  As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
:  As  flaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 

His  temper,  therefore,  must  be  well  observ'd 
,  Chide  him  for  faults,  and  do  it  reverently 
I  When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclin'd  to  mirth, 
But,  being  moody,  give  him  line  and  scope, 
Till  that  his  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground, 
Confound    themselves    with    working.     Learn 

this,  Thomas, 
And  thou  shalt  prove  a  shelter  to  thy  friends, 
A  hoop  of  gold  to  bind  thy  brothers  in, 
That  the  united  vessel  of  their  blood, 
Mingled  with  venom  of  suggestion, 
(As,  force  perforce,  the  age  will  pour  it  in) 
Shall  never  leak,  though  it  do  work  as  strong 
j  As  aconitum,  or  rash  gunpowder. 
Clarence. 
I  shall  observe  him  with  all  care  and  love. 

King  Henry. 
Why  art  thou  not  at    Windsor   with    him, 
Thomas  ? 

Clarence. 
He  is  not  there  to-day  :  he  dines  in  London. 

King  Henry. 
And  how  accompanied  ?  can'st  thou  tell  that  ? 

Clarence. 
With   Poins,  and   other   his   continual   fol- 
lowers. 

King  Henry. 
Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds, 
And  he,  the  noble  image  of  my  youth, 
Is  overspread  with  them  :  therefore,  my  grief 
Stretches  itself  beyond  the  hour  of  death. 
The  blood  weeps  from  my  heart,  when  I  do 
In  forms  imaginary,  th'  unguided  days,  [shape, 
And  rotten  times,  that  you  shall  look  upon 
When  I  am  sleeping  with  my  ancestors. 
For  when  his  headstrong  riot  hath  no  curb, 
When  rage  and  hot  blood  are  his  counsellors, 
When    means    and  lavish  manners    meet    to- 
gether, 
O,  with  what  wings  shall  his  affections  fly 
Towards  fronting  peril  and  oppos'd  decay  ! 
Warwick. 
My  gracious  lord,  you  look  beyond  him  quite. 
The  prince  but  studies  his  companions, 
Like  a  strange  tongue:   wherein,  to  gain  the 

language, 
'Tis  needful,  that  the  most  immodest  word 
Be    look'd    upon,   and    learn'd;     which    once 

attain'd. 
Your  highness  knows,  comes  to  no  farther  use, 
But  to  be  known,  and  hated.     So,  like  gross 

terms. 
The  prince  will,  in  the  perfectness  of  time, 
Cast  off  his  followers,  and  their  memory 
Shall  as  a  pattern  or  a  measure  live. 
By  which   his  grace  must  mete  the  lives    of 
Turning  past  evils  to  advantages.  [others, 

King  Henn . 
'Tis  seldom,  when  the  bee  doth  leave  her  1 
comb 

|J 


488 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


hi  the  dead  carrion.     [Enter  Westmoreland.] 
Who's  here?    Westmoreland t 
Westmoreland. 
Health  to  my  sovereign,  and  new  happiness 
Added  to  that  that  I  am  to  deliver  1  [hand : 

Prince  John,  your  son,  doth  kiss  your  grace's 
Mowbray,  the  bishop  Scroop,  Hastings,  and  all, 
Are  brought  to  the  correction  of  your  law. 
There  is  not  now  a  rebel's  sword  unsheath'd, 
But  peace  puts  forth  her  olive  every  where. 
The  manner  how  this  action  hath  been  borne, 
Here  at  more  leisure  may  your  highness  read, 
With  every  course  in  his  particular. 

King  Henry. 
O  Westmoreland!  thou  art  a  summer  bird, 
Which  ever  in  the  haunch  of  winter  sings 
The  lifting   up   of  day.      [Enter    Harcour,'..] 
Look  !  here's  more  news. 

HarcourU 
From  enemies  heaven  keep  your  majesty ; 
And,  when  they  stand  against  you,  may  they  fall 
As  those  that  1  am  come  to  tell  you  of. 
The  earl  Northumberland,  and  the  lord  Bardolph, 
With  a  great  power  of  English,  and  of  Scots, 
Are  by  the  sheriff  of  Yorkshire  overthrown. 
The  manner  and  true  order  of  the  fight, 
This  packet,  please  it  you,  contains  at  large. 

King  Henry. 
And  wherefore  should  these  good  news  make 
me  sick  ? 
Will  fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
But  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters? 
She  either  gives  a  stomach,  and  no  food, — 
Such  are  the  poor,  in  health ;  or  else  a  feast, 
And  takes  away  the  stomach,— such  are  the  rich, 
That  have  abundance,  and  enjoy  it  not. 
1  should  rejoice  now  at  this  happy  news, 

And  now  my  sight  fails,  and  my  brain  is  giddy 

O  me  1  come  near  me,  now  I  am  much  ill. 

[Swoons. 
Prince  Humphrey. 
Comfort,  your  majesty ! 

Clarence. 

O  my  royal  father ! 

Westmorelaud- 
My  sovereign  lord,  cheer  up  yourself:  look  up ! 

Warwick. 

Be  patient,  princes:  you  do  know,  these  fits 

Are  with  his  highness  very  ordinary.  [well. 

Stand  from  him,  give  him  air ;  he'll  straight  be 

Clarence. 

No,  no ;  he  cannot  long  hold  out  these  pangs. 

Th*  incessant  care  and  labour  of  his  mind     [in, 

Hath  wrought  the  mure,  that  should  confine  it 

So  thin,  that  life  looks  through,  and  will  break 

out. 

Prince  Humphrey. 
The  people  fear  me !  for  they  "do  observe 
Unfather'd  heirs,  and  loathly  births  of  nature : 
The  seasons  change  their  manners,  as  the  year 
Had  found  some  months  asleep,  and  leap'd  them 
over. 

Clarence. 

The  river  hath  thrice  flow'd,  no  ebb  between ; 

And  the  old  folk,  time's  doting  chronicles, 

Say,  it  did  so,  a  little  time  before  [died. 

That  our  great  grandsire,  Edward,  sick'd  and 

Warwick. 
Speak  lower,  princes,  for  the  king  recovers. 

Prince  Humphrey. 
This  apoplexy  will,  certain,  be  his  end. 


King  Henry. 
I  pray  you,  take  me  up,  and"  bear  me  hence 
Into  some  other  chamber :  softly,  pray. 

[They  place  the  King  on  aoed  in  an  inner 
pari  of  the  room. 
Let  there  be  no  noise  made,  my  gentle  friends  ; 
Unless  some  dull  and  favourable  hand 
Will  whisper  music  to  my  weary  spirit. 
Warwick. 
Call  for  the  music  in  the  other  room. 

King  Henry. 
Set  me  the  crown  upon  my  pillow  here. 

Clarence. 
His  eye  is  hollow,  and  he  changes  much. 

Warwick. 
Less  noise,  less  noise. 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 
Prince  Henry. 
Who  saw  the  duke  of  Clarence  ? 
Clarence. 
I  am  here,  brother,  full  of  heaviness. 

Prince  Henry. 
How  now  !  rain  within  doors,  and  none  abroad  I 
How  doth  the  king  ? 

Prince  Humphrey. 
Exceeding  ill. 

Prince  Henry. 
Heard  he  the  good  news  yet  ? 
Tell  it  him. 

Prince  Humphrey. 
He  alter'd  much  upon  the  hearing  it. 

Prince  Henry. 
If  he  be  sick  with  joy,  he  will  recover 
Without  physic. 

Warwick. 
Not  so  much  noise,  my  lords.— Sweet  prince, 
speak  low ; 
The  king  your  father  is  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Clarence. 
Let  us  withdraw  into  the  other  room. 

Warwick. 
Will't  please  your  grace  to  go  along  with  us  ? 

Prince  Henry. 
No  ;  I  will  sit  and  watch  here  by  the  king. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Prince  Henry. 
Why  doth  the  crown  lie  there,  upon  his  pillow, 
Being  so  troublesome  a  bedfellow  ? 
O  polish'd  perturbation  I  golden  care ! 
That  keep'st  the  ports  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night,  sleep  with  it  now ! 
Yet  not  so  sound,  and  half  so  deeply  sweet, 
As  he,  whose  brow  with  homely  biggin  bound, 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  night.    O  majesty ! 
When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armour  worn  in  heat  of  day, 
That  scalds  with  safety.     By  his  gates  of  breath 
There  lies  a  downy  feather,  which  stirs  not : 
Did  he  suspire,  that  light  and  weightless  down 
Perforce  must  move — My  gracious  lord !  my 

father  !— 
This  sleep  is  sound  indeed  ;  this  is  a  sleep, 
That  from  this  golden  rigol  hath  divore'd 
So  many  English  kings.    Thy  due  from  me 
Is  tears  and  heavy  sorrows  of  the  blood. 
Which  nature,  love,  and  filial  tenderness, 
Shall,  O  dear  father  1  pay  thee  plenteously: 
My  due  from  thee  is  this  imperial  crown, 
Which,  as  immediate  from  thy  place  and  blood, 
Derives  itself  to  me.    Lo !  here  it  sits, 

[Putting  it  on  his  head,  i 
Which 


Aot  IV.   Sc.  IV. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


489 


Which  heaven  shall  guard  ;  and  put  the  world's 

whole  strength 
Into  one  giant  arm,  it  shall  not  force 
This  lineal  honour  from  me.    This  from  thee 
Will  1  to  mine  leave,  as  'tis  left  to  me. 

King  Henry. 
Warwick!  G foster!  Clarence! 

Ue-entcr  Warwick,  and  the  re*t. 

Clarence. 

Doth  the  king  call  ? 

Warwick. 
What  would  your  majesty  ?    How  fares  your 
grace  ? 

King  Henry. 
Why  did  you  leave  me  here  alone,  my  lords  ? 

Clan  . 
We  left  the  prince,  my  brother,  here,  my  liege, 
Who  undertook  to  sit  and  watch  by  you. 

King  Henry. 
The  prince  of  WaU-s  f    Where  is  he  ?  let  me 
see  him : 
He  is  not  here. 

Warwick. 
This  door  is  open  ;  he  is  gone  this  way. 

Prince  Humphrey. 
He  came  not  through  the  chamber  where  we 
stay'd. 

King  Henry. 
Where  is  the  crown?  who  took  it  from  my 
pillow  ? 

Warwick. 
When  we  withdrew,  my  liege,  we  left  it  here. 

King  Henry. 
The  prince  hath  ta'en  it  hence :  —  go,  seek 
him  out. 
Is  he  so  hasty,  that  he  doth  suppose 
My  sleep  my  death  ?— 

Find  him,  my  lord  of  Warwick;   chide  him 
hither.  [Exit  Warwick. 

This  part  of  his  conjoins  with  my  disease. 
And  helps  to  end  me. — See,  sons,  what  things 

you  are ; 
How  quickly  nature  falls  into  revolt, 
When  gold  becomes  her  object. 
For  this  the  foolish  over-careful  fathers 
1  Have  broke  their  sleeps  with  thoughts, 
I  Their  brains  with  care,  their  bones  with  industry: 
!   For  this  they  have  engrossed  and  pil'd  up 
J  iThe  canker'd  heaps  of  strange-achieved  gold; 
j   For  this  they  have  been  thoughtful  to  invest 
Their  sons  with  arts,  and  martial  exercises; 
When,  like  the  bee,  tolling  from  every  flower 
I  The  virtuous  sweets, 

i'  Our  thighs  pack'd  with  wax,  our  mouths  with 
honey, 
We  bring  it  to  the  hive,  and,  like  the  bees, 
Are  murder'd  for  our  pains.    This  bitter  taste 
Yield  his  engrossments  to  the  ending  father— 
Bf  iUn  Warwick, 
Now,  where  is  he  that  will  not  stay  so  long, 
Till  his  friend  sickness  hath  determin'd  me  ? 

Warwick. 

My  lord,  I  found  the  prince  in  the  next  room, 
Washing  with  kindly  tears  his  gentle  cheeks  ; 
With  such  a  deep  demeanour  in  great  sorrow, 
That  tyranny,  which  never  quart" d  but  blood, 
Would,  by  beholding  him,  have  wash'd  his  knife 
With  gentle  eye-drops.     He  is  coming  hither. 

King  Henry. 
But  wherefore  did  he  take  away  the  crown  ? 


uicr  Prince  Henry. 
Lo,  where  he  comes.  _  Come  hither  to  me, 

Harry  — 
Depart  the  chamber,  leave  us  here  alone. , 

[Exeunt  Clarence,  Prince  llutnfihiry,  Lords, 
I 

l'rince  Henry. 
I  never  thought  to  hear  you  speak  again. 

King  Henry. 
Thy  wish  was  father,  Harry,  to  that  thought: 
I  stay  too  long  by  thee,  I  weary  thee. 
Dost  thou  so  hunger  for  mine  empty  chair, 
That  thou  wilt  needs  invest  thee  with  mint- 

honours 
Before  thy  hour  be  ripe  ?    O  foolish  youth  ! 
Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  will  overwhelm 
Stay  but  a  little;  for  my  cloud  of  dignity  [thee. 
Is  held  from  falling  with  so  weak  a  wind, 
That  it  will  quickly  drop  :  my  day  is  dim. 
Thou  hast  stol'n  that,  which,  after  some  few 

hours, 
Were  thine  without  offence,  and  at  my  death 
;  Thou  hast  seal'd  up  my  expectation  : 
;  Thy  life  did  manifest  thou  lov'dst  me  not, 
;  And  thou  wilt  have  me  die  assur'd  of  it. 
1  Thou  hid'st  a  thousand  daggers  in  thy  thoughts, 

Which  thou  hast  whetted  on  thy  stony  heart, 
'  To  stab  at  half  an  hour  of  my  life. 
'  Wrhat !  canst  thou  not  forbear  me  half  an  hour  ? 
,  Then  get  thee  gone,  and  dig  my  grave  thyself, 
I  And  bid  the  merry  bells  ring  to  thine  ear 

That  thou  art  crowned,  not  that  I  am  dead. 
{  Let  all  the  tears  that  should  bedew  my  hearse, 
!  Be  drops  of  balm  to  sanctify  thy  head ; 
Only  compound  me  with  forgotten  dust : 
Give  that  which  gave  thee  life  unto  the  worms. 
Pluck  down  my  officers,  break  my  decrees ; 
For  now  a  time  is  come  to  mock  at  form. 
Harry  the  fifth  is  crown'd ! — Up,  vanity ! 
Down,  royal  state!  all  you  sage  counsellors, 

hence ; 
And  to  the  English  court  assemble  now, 
From  every  region,  apes  of  idleness !        [scum  : 
Now,  neighbour  confines,  purge  you  of  your 
Have  you  a  ruffian  that  will  swear,  drink,  dance, 
Revel  the  night,  rob,  murder,  and  commit 
The  oldest  sins  the  newest  kind  of  ways? 
Be  happy,  he  will  trouble  you  no  more: 
England  shall  double  gild  his  treble  guilt, 
England  shall  give  him  office,  honour,  might; 
For  the  fifth  Harry  from  curb'd  licence  plucks 
The  muzzle  of  restraint,  and  the  wild  dog 
Shall  flesh  his  tooth  in  every  innocent. 
O  my  poor  kingdom,  sick  with  civil  blows ! 
When  that  my  care  could  not  withhold  thy  riots, 
What  wilt  thou  do  when  riot  is  thy  care  ? 

0  !  thou  wilt  be  a  wilderness  again, 
Peopled  with  wolves,  thy  old  inhabitants. 

Prince  Henry. 
O,  pardon  me,  my  liege !  but  for  my  tears. 

[Kneeling 
The  moist  impediments  unto  my  speech, 

1  had  forestalls  this  dear  and  deep  rebuke, 
Ere  you  with  grief  had  spoke,  and  I  had  heard 
The  course  of  it  so  far.    There  is  your  crown ; 
And  He  that  wears  the  crown  immortally, 
Long  guard  it  yours  1     If  I  affect  it  more, 
Than  as  your  honour,  and  as  your  renown, 
Let  me  no  more  from  this  obedience  rise, 
Which  my  most  true  and  inward  duteous  spirit 
Teacheth,  this  prostrate  and  exterior  bending. 
Heaven  witness  with  me,  when  I  here  came  in, 
And  found  no  course  of  breath  within  your 

majesty, 
How  cold  it  struck  my  heart !  if  I  do  feign, 
O !  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die, 

And 


490 


SECOND  PART  OE 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


And  never  live  to  show  th'  incredulous  world 
The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed. 
Coming  to  look  on  you,  thinking  you  dead, 
And  dead  almost,  my  liege,  to  think  you  were, 
I  spake  unto  the  crown,  as  having  sense, 
And  thus  upbraided  it :    "  The  care  on  thee 

depending, 
Hath  fed  upon  the  body  of  my  father ; 
Therefore,  thou,  best  of  gold,  art  worst  of  gold. 
Other,  less  fine  in  carat,  is  more  precious, 
Preserving  life  in  medicine  potable:      [nown'd, 
But  thou,  most  fine,  most  honour'd,  most  re- 
Hast  eat  thy  bearer  up."    Thus,  my  most  royal 
Accusing  it,  I  put  it  on  my  head ;  [liege, 

To  try  with  it,  as  with  an  enemy 
That  had  before  my  face  murder'd  my  father, 
The  quarrel  of  a  true  inheritor  : 
But  if  it  did  infect  my  blood  with  joy, 
Or  swell  my  thoughts  to  any  strain  of  pride ; 
If  any  rebel  or  vain  spirit  of  mine 
Did,  with  the  least  affection  of  a  welcome, 
Give  entertainment  to  the  might  of  it, 
Let  God  for  ever  keep  it  from  my  head, 
And  make  me  as  the  poorest  vassal  is, 
That  doth  with  awe  and  terror  kneel  to  it ! 
King  Henry. 
O  my  son ! 
God  put  it  in  thy  mind  to  take  it  hence, 
That  thou  might'st  win  the  more  thy  father's 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of  it.  [love, 

Come  hither,  Harry ;  sit  thou  by  my  bed, 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.    God  knows,  my  son, 
By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways, 
I  met  this  crown ;  and  I  myself  know  well 
How  troublesome  it  sat  upon  my  head : 
To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet, 
Better  opinion,  better  confirmation ; 
For  all  the  soil  of  the  achievement  goes 
With  me  into  the  earth.    It  seem'd  in  me, 
But  as  an  honour  snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand, 
And  I  had  many  living  to  upbraid 
My  gain  of  it  by  their  assistances ; 
Which  daily  grew  to  quarrel,  and  to  bloodshed, 
Wounding  supposed  peace.  All  these  bold  fears, 
Thou  seest,  with  peril  I  have  answered  ; 
For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  scene 
Acting  that  argument,  and  now  my  death 
Changes  the  mode :  for  what  in  me  was  pur- 

chas'd, 
Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort ; 
So,  thou  the  garland  wear'st  successively. 
Yet,  though  thou  statid'st  more  sure  than  I 

could  do,  [green, 

Thou  art  not  firm  enough  ;  since  griefs  are 
And  all  thy  friends,  which  thou  must  make  thy 

friends. 
Have  but  their  stings  and  teeth  newly  ta'en  out ; 
By  whose  fell  working  I  was  first  advanc'd, 
And  by  whose  power  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 
To  be  again  displac'd.    Which  to  avoid, 
I  cut  them  off;  and  had  a  purpose  now 
To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land, 
Lest  rest,  and  lying  still,  might  make  them  look 
Too  near  unto  my  state.  Therefore,  my  Harry, 
Be  it  thy  course  to  busy  giddy  minds  [out, 

With  foreign  quarrels  ;  that  action,  hence  borne 
May  waste  the  memory  of  the  former  days. 
More  would  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so, 
That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 
How  I  came  by  the  crown,  O  God,  forgive, 
And  grant  it  may  with  thee  in  true  peace  live  ! 
Prince  Henry. 
My  gracious  liege, 
You  won  it,  wore  it,  kept  it,  gave  it  me  ; 
Then  plain,  and  right,  must  my  possession  be  : 


Which  I,  with  more  than  with  a  common  pain, 
"Gainst  all  the  world  will  rightfully  maintain. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Warwick, 

Lords,  and  others. 

King  Henry. 

Look,  look,  here  comes  my  John  of  Lancaster. 

Prince  John. 
Health,  peace,  and  happiness,  to  my  royal 
father  ! 

King  Henry. 
Thou  bring'st  me  happiness,  and  peace,  son 
John  ; 
But  health,  alack,  with  youthful  wings  is  flown 
From  this  bare,  wither'd  trunk :  upon  thy  sight, 
My  worldly  business  makes  a  period. 
Where  is  my  lord  of  Warwick  f 
Prince  Henry. 

My  lord  of  Warwick ! 
King  Henry. 
Doth  any  name  particular  belong 
Unto  the  lodging  where  I  first  did  swoon  ? 
Warwick. 
'Tis  call'd  Jerusalem,  my  noble  lord. 

King  Henry. 
Laud  be  to  God  !  —  even  there  my  life  must 
end. 
It  hath  been  prophesied  to  me  many  years, 
I  should  not  die  but  in  Jerusalem, 
Which  vainly  I  suppos'd  the  Holy  Land.— 
But,  bear  me  to  that  chamber  ;  there  I'll  lie : 
In  that  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die.       [Exeunt 


•#••#■#••#••#••#•■#•#•#■•#• 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I. 


(Jloslershire.    A  Hall  In  Shallow's 
House. 

Enter  Shallow,  Falstaff,  Bardolph%  and  Page. 
Shallow. 

BY  cock  and  pie,  sir,  you  shall  not  away  to- 
night—What, Davy,  I  say ! 
Falstaff. 
You  must  excuse  me,  master  Robert  Shallow. 

Shallow. 
I  will  not  excuse  you ;  you  shall  not  be  ex- 
cused ;  excuses  shall  not  be  admitted  ;  there  is 
no  excuse  shall  serve ;  you  shall  not  be  excused. 
!  —Why,  Davy  I 

Enter  Davy. 
Davy. 
Here,  sir. 

Shallow. 

Davy,  Davy,  Davy,  Davy,—\et  me  see,  Davy; 

let  me  see :  —  yea,  marry,  William  cook,  bid 

him  come  hither.  —  Sir  John,  you  shall  not  be 

excused. 

Davy. 
Marry,  sir,  thus  ;  those  precepts  cannot  be 
served :  and,  again,  sir,— shall  we  sow  the  head- 
land with  wheat  ? 

Shallow. 
With  red  wheat,  Davy.     But   for   William 
cook :  —  are  there  no  young  pigeons  ? 
Davy 
Yes,  sir. — Here  is,  now,  the  smith's  note  for 
shoeing,  and  plough  irons. 

Shallow. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


49 « 


Shallow. 
Lot  it  be  cast,  and  paid.  — Sir  John,  you  shall 
not  be  excused. 

Now,  sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must  needs 
be  had:  —  and,  sir,  do  you  mean  to  ston  any  of 
William's  wages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the 
other  day  at  Hinckley  fair  ? 

He  shall  answer  it Some  pigeons,  Davy  ;  a 

couple  of  short-legged  hens,  a  joint  of  mutton, 
and  any  pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  tell  Wil- 
liam cook. 

Davy. 

Doth  the  man  of  war  stay  all  night,  sir  ? 

Shallow. 
Yea,  Davy.    I  will  use  him  well.     A  friend  i' 
■  the  court  is  "better  than  a  penny  in  purse.     Use 
his  men  well.  Davy,  for  they  are  arrant  knaves, 
'  and  will  backbite. 

Davy. 
No  worse  than  they  are  back-bitten,  sir  ;  for 
they  have  marvellous  foul  linen. 
Shallow. 
Well  conceited,  Davy.    About  thy  business, 
',  Davy. 

Davy. 
1  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  William 
Visor  of  Win'cot  against  Clement  Perkcs  of  the 
hill. 

Shallow. 
There  are  many  complaints,  Davy,  against 
'  that  i'isor :  that  Visor  is  an  arrant  knave,  on 
my  knowledge. 

Davy, 
I  grant  your  worship,  that  he  is  a  knave,  sir ;  I 
but  yet,  God  forbid,  sir,  but  a  knave  should  i 
have  some  countenance  at  his  friend's  request.  ' 
An  honest  man,  sir,  is  able  to  speak  for  himself, 
when  a  knave  is  not.     I  have  served  your  wor- 
-  ship  truly,  sir,  this  eight  years  ;  and  if  I  cannot 
,  once  or  twice  in  a  quarter  bear  out  a  knave 
i  against  an  honest  man,  1  have  but  a  very  little 
[  credit  with  your  worship.    The  knave  is  mine 
I  honest  friend,  sir ;  therefore,  I  beseech  your 
1  worship,  let  him  be  countenanced. 
Shallow. 
Go  to ;  I  say,  he  shall  have  no  wrong.    Look 
about,  Davy.    [Exit  Davy.]     Where  are  you, 
sir  John  f    Come,  come,  come ;  off"  with  your 
boots Give  me  your  hand,  master  Bardolph. 

Bardolph. 
I  am  glad  to  see  your  worship. 

Shallow. 
I  thank  thee  with  all  my  heart,  kind  master 

;  Bardolph And  welcome,  my  tall  fellow. 

1  the  Page.]     Come,  sir  John.        [fcxlt  Shal, 

taff. 
I'll  follow  you,  good  master  Robert  Shall '  ic. 
Bardolph,  look  to  our  horses.  [Exeunt  Bar- 
dolph and  i'a^r.  ]  If  I  were  sawed  Into  quantities, 
I  should  make  four  dozen  of  such  bearded 
hermit's  staves  as  master  Shallow.  It  is  a  won- 
derful thing,  to  see  the  semblable  coherence  of 
his  men's  spirits  and  his:  they,  by  observing 
him,  do  bear  themselves  like  foolish  justices  ; 
he,  by  conversing  with  them,  is  turned  into  a 
justice-like  serving  man.  Their  spirits  are  so 
married  in  conjunction  with  the  participation  of 
society,  that  they  flock  together  in  consent,  like 
so  many  wild  geese.  If  1  had  a  suit  to  master 
Shallow,  I  would  humour  his  men  with  the 
imputation  of  being  near  their  master  :  if  to  his 
men,  I  would  curry  with  master  Shallow,  that 


no  man  could  better  command  his  servant*.  It 
la  a  n.iin,  that  cither  wise  bearing,  or  ignorant 
carriage,  is  caught,  as  men  take  diseases,  one  of 
another :  therefore,  lot  men  take  heed  of  their 
company.  I  will  devise  matter  enough  out  of 
this  Shallow,  to  keep  prince  Harry  in  continual 
laughter  the  wearing-out  of  six  fashions,  (which 
is  four  terms,  or  two  actions)  and  he  shall  laugh 
without  inlcrvallnm.t.  O  '.  it  is  much,  that  a  lie 
with  a  slight  oath,  and  a  jest  with  a  sad  brow, 
will  do  with  a  fellow  that  never  had  the  ache  in 
his  shoulders.  O  !  you  shall  see  him  laugh,  till 
his  face  be  like  a  wet  cloak  ill  laid  up. 


[To 
'low. 


Sir  John  I 

I    corr 
Shallmv. 


Shallow. 


[Within. 


I    come,    master  Shallow:    I   come    master 
[Exit    luUtaff. 


SCENE  II.     Westminster.    An  Apartment  in 
the  Palace. 

Enter  Warwick,  and  the  Lord  Chi- J  Justice. 

Warwick. 
How  now,  my  lord  chief  justice  !    whither 
away  ? 
-    ..  Chief  Justice. 

How  doth  the  king  ? 

Warwick 
Exceeding  well :  his  cares  are  now  all  ended. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  hope,  not  dead. 

Warwick. 
He's  walk'd  the  way  of  nature, 
And  to  our  purposes  he  lives  no  more. 

Thief  Justice. 
I  would,  his  majesty  had  call'd  me  with  him  : 
The  service  that  I  truly  did  his  life, 
Hath  left  me  open  to  all  injuries. 

Warwick. 
Indeed,  I  think  the  young  king  loves  you  not. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  know  he  doth  not,  and  do  arm  myself, 
To  welcome  the  condition  of  the  time ; 
Which  cannot  look  more  hideously  upon  me 
Than  1  have  drawn  it  in  my  fantasy. 

Enter  Prince  John,  Prince  Humphrey,  Clarenct, 
Westmoreland,  and  others. 

Here  come  the  heavy  Issue  of  dead  Harry : 
O  !  that  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Of  him,  the  worst  of  these  three  gentlemen  ! 
How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  strike  sail  to  spirits  of  vile  sort. 

Chief  Justice. 
O  God  I  I  fear,  all  will  be  overturn'd. 

Trince  John. 
Good  morrow,  cousin  Warwick,  good  morrow. 

Prince  Humphrey,  and  Clarence. 


rrince  uumpnrev,  a 
Good  morrow,  cousin.' 

Prince  John. . 
We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot  to  speak. 

Warwick. 
We  do  remember  ;  but  our  argument 
Is  all  too  heavy  to  admit  much  talk. 

Prince  John. 
Well,  peace  be  with  him  that  hath  made  us 
heavy  1 

Chief  Justice. 
Peace  be  with  us,  lest  we  he  heavier  ! 

Prince 


49- 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


Prince  Humphrey. 
O !  good  my  lord,  you  have  lost  a  friend 
indeed ; 
And  I  dare  swear,  you  borrow  not  that  face 
Of  seeming  sorrow  :  it  is,  sure,  your  own. 
Trince  John. 
Though  no  man  be  assur'd  what  grace  to  find 
You  stand  in  coldest  expectation  : 
I  am  the  sorrier  ;  'would,  'twere  otherwise. 
Clarence. 
Well,  you  must  now  speak  sir  John  Falstaff 
fair, 
Which  swims  against  your  stream  of  quality. 
Chief  Justice. 
Sweet  princes,  what  I  did,  I  did  in  honour, 
Led  by  th'  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul ; 
And  never  shall  you  see,  that  I  will  beg 
A  ragged  and  forestall'd  remission. 
If  truth  and  upright  innocency  fail  me, 
I'll  to  the  king,  my  master,  that  is  dead, 
And  tell  him  who  hath  sent  me  after  him. 
Warwick. 
Here  comes  the  prince. 

Enter  King  Henry  V, 
Chief  Justice. 

Good  morrow,  and  heaven  save  your  majesty ! 
King. 

This  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty, 
Sits  not  so  easy  on  me  as  you  think.— 
Brothers,  you  mix  your  sadness  with  some  fear: 
This  is  the  English,  not  the  Turkish  court : 
Not  Amuraih  an  Amurath  succeeds, 
But  Harry  Harry.    Yet  be  sad,  good  brothers, 
For,  to  speak  truth,  it  very  well  becomes  you  : 
Sorrow  so  royally  in  you  appears, 
That  I  will  deeply  put  the  fashion  on, 
And  wear  it  in  my  heart.    Why  then,  be  sad  ; 
But  entertain  no  more  of  it,  good  brothers, 
Than  a  joint  burden  laid  upon  us  all. 
For  me,  by  heaven,  I  bid  you  be  assur'd, 
I'll  be  your  father  and  your  brother  too ; 
Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares 
Yet  weep,  that  Harry's  dead,  and  so  will  I ; 
But  Harry  lives,  that  shall  convert  those  tears, 
By  number,  into  hours  of  happiness. 

Prince  John,  &c. 
We  hope  no  other  from  your  majesty. 

King. 

You  all  look  strangely  on  me ; — and  you  most. 
[To  the  Chief  Justice. 
You  are,  I  think,  assur'd  Ilove  you  not. 

Chief  Justice. 
I  am  assur'd,  if  I  be  measur'd  rightly, 
Your  majesty  hath  no  just  cause  to  hate  me. 


I  gave  bold  way  to  my  authority, 
And  did  commit  you.     If  the  deed  were  ill, 
Be  vou  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, 
To  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought ; 
To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  awful  bench ; 
To  trip  the  course  of  law,  and  blunt  the  sword 
That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  person : 
Nay,  more ;  to  spurn  at  your  most  royal  image, 
And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body. 
Question  your  royal  thoughts,  make  the  case 


No! 


King. 


How  might  a  prince  of  my  great  hopes  forget 
So  great  indignities  you  laid  upon  me  ? 
What !  rate,  rebuke,  and  roughly  send  to  prison 
The  immediate  heir  of  England!     Was  this 

easy? 
May  this  be  wash'd  in  Lethe,  and  forgotten  ? 

Chief  Justice. 
I  then  did  use  the  person  of  your  father  ; 
The  image  of  his  power  lay  then  in  me : 
And,  in  th'  administration  of  his  law 
Whiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth, 
Your  highness  pleased  to  forget  my  place. 
The  majesty  and  power  of  law  and  justice, 
The  image  of  the  king  whom  I  presented, 
And  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  judgment : 
Whereon,  as  an  offender  to  your  father, 


yours, 
Be  now  .the  father,  and  propose  a  son  ; 
Hear  your  own  dignity  so  much  profan'd, 
See  your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted, 
Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdain'd, 
And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part, 
And  in  your  power  soft  silencing  your  son. 
After  this  cold  considerance,  sentence  me ; 
And,  as  you  are  a  king,  speak  in  your  state, 
What  I  have  done,  that  misbecame  my  place, 
My  person,  or  my  liege's  sovereignty. 

King. 
You  are  right,  justice;   and  you  weigh  this 
well. 
Therefore  still  bear  the  balance,  and  the  sword ; 
And  I  do  wish  your  honours  may  increase, 
Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  of  mine 
Offend  you,  and  obey  you,  as  I  did. 
So  shall  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words :  — 
*'  Happy  am  I,  that  have  a  man  so  bold. 
That  dares  do  justice  on  my  proper  son  ; 
And  not  less  happy,  having  such  a  son, 
That  would  deliver  up  his  greatness  so 
Into  the  hands  of  j  ustice."  —  You  did  commit  me, 
For  which,  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 
Th'  unstained  sword  that  you  have  used  to  bear ; 
With  this  remembrance,  — that  you  use  the  same 
With  the  like  bold,  just,  and  impartial  spirit, 
As  vou  have  done  'gainst  me.    There  is  my  hand. 
You  shall  be  as  a  father  to  my  youth : 
My  voice  shall  sound  as  you  do  prompt  mine  ear, 
And  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents 
To  your  well-practis'd,  wise  directions. — 
And,  princes  all,  believe  me,  I  beseech  you : 
My  father  is  gone  wild  into  his  grave, 
For  in  his  tomb  lie  my  affections, 
And  with  his  spirit  sadly  I  survive, 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world, 
To  frustrate  prophecies,  and  to  raze  out 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
After  my  seeming.    The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  flow'd  in  vanity  till  now: 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea, 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods, 
And  flow  henceforth  in  formal  majesty. 
Now,  call  we  our  high  court  of  parliament, 
And  let  us  choose  such  limbs  of  noble  counsel, 
That  the  great  body  of  our  state  may  go 
In  equal  rank  with  the  best  govern'd  nation : 
That  war,  or  peace,  or  both  at  once,  may  be 
As  things  acquainted  and  familiar  to  us, 
In  which  you,  father,  shall  have  foremost  hand.— 
[To  the  Lord  Chicj  Judice. 
Our  coronation  done;  we  will  accite, 
As  I  before  remember'd,  all  our  state: 
And  (God  consigning  to  my  good  intents,) 
No  prince,  nor  peer,  shall  have  just  cause  to  say, 
God  shorten  Harry's  happy  life  one  day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    G  luster  shire.    The  Garden  of 
Shallow's  House. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Silence,  Bardotph,  the 
Page,  and  Davy. 

Shallow.      ,      , 
Nav,  you  shall  see  mine  orchard ;  where,  m 

an 


Act  v.  Se.  at. 


KING  HENBYIV. 


493 


i 


I  an  arbour,  wo  will  eat  a  last  year's  pippin  of  my 
j  own  grading,  with  a  dish  of  carraways,  and  so 
forth  ;  — come,  cousin  ML  nee  ;  —  and  then  to 
bed. 

faff. 
Tore  God,  you  have  here  a  goodly  dwelling, 
and  a  rich. 

Sh  .: 

Barren,  barren,  barren  ;  beggars  all,  beggars  ' 
all,  sir  John :— marry,  good  air — Spread,  Davy;  ', 
spread,  Davy;  well  said,  Davy. 

'       Ftitfat. 
This  Davy  serves  you  for  good  uses:   he  is  ! 
your  serving-man,  and  your  husband. 

A  good  varlet,  a  good  varlet,  a  very  good  varlet,  j 
sir  John.  —  By  the  mass,  1  have  drunk  too  much 
sack  at  supper : — A  good  varlet.    N  ow  sit  down, 
■Mi  sit  down.  —  Come,  cousin. 
:ct. 
Ah,  sirrah  1  quoth-a,— we  shall         [Singing.  | 
Do  nothing  but  eat,  and  make  good  cheer, 
And  praise  heaven  for  the  merry  years 
When  flesh  is  cheap  and  females  dear, 
And  lusty  lads  roam  here  and  there. 

So  merily, 
And  ever  among  so  merrily. 
Falstaff. 
There's  a  merry  heart !  —  Good  master  Silence, 
I'll  give  you  a  health  for  that  anon. 
Shallow. 
Give  master  Bardolph  some  wine,  Davy. 

Davy. 
Sweet  sir,  sit ;  I'll  be  with  you  anon :  —most 
sweet  sir,  sit — Master  page,  good  master  page, 
sit :  proface  !  What  you  want  in  meat,  we'll 
have  in  drink.  But  you  must  bear :  the  heart's 
all. 

Shallow. 
Be  merry,  master  Bardolph  ;  —  and  my  little 
soldier  there,  be  merry. 

Silence  [Singing   i 

Be  merry,  be  merry,  my  wife  hat  all; 
For  women  are  shrews,  both  short  and  tall ; 
*  Tis  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all. 

And  welcome  merry  shrove-tide. 
Be  merry,  be  merry,  #c. 
laUtafr. 
I  did  not  think  master  Silence  had  been  a  man 
of  this  mettle. 

♦  Sil-nc. 

Who  I  ?  I  have  been  merry  twice  and  once,  ' 
ere  now. 

He-enter  Davy. 
Davy. 
There  is  a  dish  of  leather-coats  for  you. 

[Sr-tting  them  before  Ba>d«l/i/,. 
shallow, 
i      Davy,— 

Davy. 

I      Your  worship.— I'll  be  with  you  straight A  j 

cup  of  wine,  sir  ? 

[Singing,  j 
A  cup  of  wine,  that's  brisk  and  fine. 
And  drink  unto  the  lemon  mine  ; 
And  a  merry  heart  lives  long-a. 

FaWtaff. 
Well  said,  master  Silence. 

Silence. 
An  we  shall  be  merry,  now  comes  in  the 
sweet  of  the  night. 

Falstaff. 
Health  and  long  life  to  you,  master  Silence. 


Silence. 

Fill  the  cup,  and  let  it  come  ; 

I'll  pledge  you  a  mile  to  the  bottom. 

Shallow. 

Honest  Bardolph,  welcome :  if  thou  wantest 

any  thing,  and  wilt  not  call,  beshrew  thy  heart. 

—  Welcome,  my  little  tiny  thi*?*"-,  and  welcome, 

indeed,  too I'll  drink  to  master  Bardolph,  and 

to  all  the  cavalieros  about  London. 
Davy. 
I  hope  to  see  London  once  ere  I  die. 

Bardolph. 
An  I  might  see  you  there,  Davy,— 

Shallow. 
By  the  mass,  you'll  crack  a  quart  together. 
Ha  I  will  you  not,  master  Bardolph  T 
Bardolph. 
Yea,  sir,  in  a  pottle  pot. 

Shallow. 
By  God's  leggins  I  thank  thee— The  knave 
will  stick  by  thee,  I  can  assure  thee  that :  he 
will  not  out ;  he  is  true  bred. 
Bardolph. 
And  I'll  stick  by  him,  sir. 
Shallow. 
Why,  there  spoke  a  king.    Lack  nothing :  be 
merry.     [Knocking  heard.]     Look,  who's  at 
door  there.    Ho  1  who  knocks  ?       [Kxit  Davy. 
Falstaff. 
Why,  now  you  have  done  me  right. 

[To  Silence,  who  drinks  a  bumper. 


Silence. 

Do  me  right, 

And  dub  me  knight , 
Samingo. 

Falstaff. 


[Singing. 


I8't  not  so  ? 

•Tis  so. 

Silence. 
Is't  so  ?    Why,  then  say,  an  old  man  can  do 
somewhat. 

Re-enter  Davy. 
Davv. 
An't  please  your  worship,  there's  one  Pistol 
come  from  the  court  with  news. 
Falstaff. 
From  the  court  ?  let  him  come  in.— 

Knter  Pistol. 
How  now,  Pistol? 

Pistol. 
Sir  John,  God  save  you,  sir. 

Falstaff 
What  wind  blew  you  hither,  Pistol  f 

Pistol. 
Not  the  ill  wind  which  blows  no  man  to  good. 
Sweet  knight,  th'  art  now  one  of  the  greatest  men 
In  the  realm. 

Silence 
By'r  lady,  I  think  he  be,  but  goodman  Puffot 
Bar son. 

Pistol. 
Puff? 
Puff'm  thy  teeth,  most  recreant  coward  base  !  — 
Sir  John,  I  am  thy  Pistol,  and  thy  friend, 
And  helter-skelter  have  1  rode  to  thee; 
And  tidings  do  1  bring,  and  lucky  joys, 
And  golden  times,  and  happy  news  of  price. 

I  pr'ythee  now,  deliver  them  like  a  man  of 
this  world. 

Pistol. 


494 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  y.  Sc  hi. 


Pistol. 
A  foutra  for  the  world,  and  worldlings  base  ! 
I  speak  of  Africa,  and  golden  joys. 

Falstaff. 
O  base  Assyrian  knight !  what  is  thy  news  ? 
Let  king  Cophetua  know  the  truth  thereof. 

Silence.  [Sings. 

And  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet,  and  John. 
Pistol. 
Shall  dunghill  curs  confront  the  Helicons  ? 
And  shall  good  news  be  baffled  ? 
Then,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap. 
Shallow. 
Honest  gentleman,  I  know  not  your  breeding. 

Pistol. 
Why  then,  lament  therefore. 

Shallow. 
Give  me  pardon,  sir:— if,  sir,  you  come  with 
news  from  the  court,  I  take  it,  there  is  but  two 
ways,  either  to  utter  them,  or  to  conceal  them. 
I  am,  sir,  under  the  king,  in  some  authority. 

Pistol. 
Under  which  king,  Bezonian  f  speak,  or  die. 

Shallow. 
Under  king  Harry. 

Pistol. 
Harry  the  fourth  ?  or  fifth  ? 

Shallow. 
Harry  the  fourth. 

Pistol. 

A  foutra  for  thine  office  !  — 
Sr  John,  thy  tender  lambkin  now  is  king  ; 
Harry  the  fifth's  the  man.     I  speak  the  truth  : 
When  Pistol  lies,  do  this  ;  and  fig  me,  like 
The  bragging  Spaniard. 

Falstaff. 
What !  is  the  old  king  dead  ? 

Pistol. 
As  nail  in  door :  the  things  I  speak  are  just. 

Falstaff 
Away,  Bardolph!  saddle  my  horse.  — Master 
Robert  Shallow,  choose  what  office  thou  wilt  in 
the  land,  'tis  thine.— Pistol,  1  will  double-charge 
thee  with  dignities. 

Bardolph. 
O  joyful  day  !— I  would  not  take  a  knight- 
hood for  my  fortune. 

Pistol. 
What !  I  do  bring  good  news  ? 

Falstaff. 

Carry  master  Silence  to  bed.— Master  Shallow, 
my  lord  Shallow,  be  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  for- 
tune's steward.    Get  on  thy  boots:  we'll  ride 

all  night O,  sweet  Pistol.' — Away,  Bardolph. 

[Exit  Bardolph.']  —  Come,  Pistol,  utter  more  to 
me ;  and,  withal,  devise  something,  to  do  thy- 
self good. — Boot,  boot,  master  Shallow :  I  know, 
the  young  king  is  sick  for  me.  Let  us  take  any 
man's  horses  ;  the  laws  of  England  are  at  my 
commandment.  Happy  are  they  which  have 
been  my  friends,  and  woe  unto  my  lord  chief 
justice  1 

Pistol. 

Let  vultures  vile  seize  on  his  lungs  also  ! 
•«  Where  is  the  life  that  late  I  led,"  say  they ; 
Why,  here  it  is :  welcome  these  pleasant  days  1 
[Kxeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Street. 

Enter  Beadles,  dragging  in  Hostess  Quickly, 
and  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Hostess. 
No,  thou  arrant  knave:  1  would  to  God  I 
might  die,  that  I  might  have  thee  hanged  ;  thou 
hast  drawn  my  shoulder  out  of  joint. 
First  Beadle. 
The  constables  have  delivered  her  over  to 
me,  and  she  shall  have  whipping  cheer  enough, 
I  warrant  her.    There  hath  been  a  man  or  two 
lately  killed  about  her. 

Doll. 
Nut-hook,  nut-hook,  you  lie.  Come  on  :  I'll 
tell  thee  what,  thou  damned  tripe-visaged  rascal, 
an  the  child  I  now  go  with  do  miscarry,  thou 
hadst  better  thou  hadst  6truck  thy  mother, 
thou  paper-faced  villain. 

Hostess. 
O  the  Lord,  that  sir  John  were  come  !  he 
would  make  this  a  bloody  day  to  somebody. 
But  I  pray  God  the  fruit  of  her  womb  miscarry ! 
First  Beadle. 
If  it  do,  you  shall  have  a  dozen  of  cushions 
again  ;  you  have  but  eleven  now.      Come,    I 
charge  you  both  go  with  me,  for  the  man  is  dead, 
that  you  and  Pistol  beat  among  you. 
Doll. 
I'll  tell  thee  what,  thou  thin  man  in  a  censer, 
I  will  have  you  as  soundly  swinged  for  this, — 
you  blue-bottle  rogue  !  you  filthy  famished  cor- 
rectioner  I  if  you  be  not  swinged,  I'll  forswear 
half-kirtles. 

First  Beadle. 
Come,  come,  you  she  knight-errant,  come. 

Hostess. 
O    God,  that   right  should   thus    overcome 
might  1    Well,  of  sufferance  comes  ease. 
Doll. 
Come,  you  rogue,  come:  bring  me  to  a  jus- 
tice. 

Hostess. 
Ay  ;  come,  you  starved  blood-hound. 

Doll. 
Goodman  death  !  goodman  bones  ! 

Hostess. 
Thou  atomy  thou  !  , 

Doll. 
Come,  you  thin  thing  ;  come,  you  rascal  I 

First  Beadle. 
Very  well.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.   A  public  Place  near  Westminster 
Abbey. 

Enter  Two  Grootm,  strewing  Rushes. 

First  Groom. 
More  rushes,  more  rushes  1 

Second  Groom. 
\      The  trumpets  have  sounded  twice. 

First  Groom. 
'      It  will  be  two  o'clock  ere  they  come  from  the 
coronation.    Despatch,  despatch. 

[Exeunt  Grooms,  I 

i    Enter  Falstaff',  Shallow,  Pistol,  Bardolph,  and      I 
the  Page. 
Falstaff. 
i     Stand  here  by  me,  master  Robert  Shallow  ;  I 

will 


ACTV.    5c.  T. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


*95 


will  make  the  king  do  you  grace.     I  will  leer  King. 

upon  htm,  as  hi'  comes  by,  and  do  but  mark  the  !      1  know  thee  not,  old  man  :  fall  to  thy  prayer* ; 

countenance  that  he  will  give  me.  How  ill  white  hairg  become  a  fool,  and  jeKtcrl 


l'i,t<.l 
God  bless  thy  lungs,  good  knight. 

FaUtatT. 
Come  here,  Pistol;  stand  behind  me — ['••■  i 
.1    O  1  if  I  had  had  time  to  have  made  I 


jester! 
1  have  long  dream'd  of  iiuch  a  kind  of  man, 
So  surfeit-swell'd,  so  old,  and  so  profane  ; 
But,  being  awake,  I  do  despise  my  dream. 
Make  less  thy  body,  hence,  and  more  thy  grace ; 
Leave  gormandizing;  know, the  grave  doth  gape 
e\v  liveries,'  \  would"  havebciito  wed  the  tiiou-  j  For  thee  thrice  wider  than  for  other  men. 
■.md  pound   I  borrowed  of  you.    But  'tis  no     \\CW  not  to  m«  with  a  fool-born  jest 
attcr  ;  this  poor  show  doth  better:  this  doth 


Presume  not  that  I  am  the  thing  1  was  j 
For  God  doth  know,  so  shall  the  world  perceive, 
That  I  have  turn'd  away  my  former  self; 
So  will  I  those  that  kept  me  company. 
When  thou  dost  hear  1  am  as  I  have  been, 
Approach  me,  and  thou  shalt  be  as  thou  wast, 
The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  my  riots  : 
Till  then,  I  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death, 
As  I  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders, 
Not  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  mile. 
For  competence  of  life  I  will  allow  you, 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not'to  evil ; 
And  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  yourselves, 
We  will,  according  to  your  strength  and  quali- 
As  it  were,  to  ride  day  and  night ;  and  not  to  I  — .       t*es'  ,  _  (l°ra\ 

deliberate,  not  to  remember,  not  to  have  pa-  I  £"e  you  advancement.  — Be  it  your  charge,  my 
Hi>np»  tn  «hlft  mo.  I  To  see  perform'd  the  tenor  of  our  word.— 

i  Set  on.  [Exeunt  King  and  his  Train. 

Falstaff. 
;     Master  Shallow,  I  owe  you  a  thousand  pound. 


infer  the  zeal  I  had  to  see  him, 
.How. 
It  doth  so. 

Fahtaff. 
It  shows  my  earnestness  of  affection. 

Pistol. 
It  doth  so. 

F.ilstaff. 
My  devotion. 

Pistol. 
It  doth,  it  doth,  it  doth. 


tience  to  shift  me. 

Shallow. 
It  is  most  certain. 

Falstaff. 

But  to  stand  stained  with  travel,  and  sweating 
with  desire  to  see  him :  thinking  of  nothing 
else  ;  putting  all  affairs  else  in  oblivion,  as  if 
there  were  nothing  else  to  be  done  but  to  see 
him. 

Pistol. 
'Tis  semper  idem,  for  absque  hoc  nihil  est. 
'Tis  all  in  every  part. 

Shallow. 
'Tis  so,  indeed. 

l'uu.l 
My  knight,  I  will  inflame  thy  noble  liver, 
And  make  thee  rage. 

Thy  Doll,  and  Helen  of  thy  noble  thoughts, 
Is  in  base  durance,  and  contagious  prison  ; 
Haul'd  thither 

By  most  mechanical  and  dirty  hand :  — 
Rouse   up   revenge  from  ebon    den  with    fell 

AIscIo'h  snake. 
For  Doll  is  in  ;  Pistol  speaks  nought  but  truth. 
F.ilstaff. 
I  will  deliver  her. 

[Shouts  within,  and  trumpets  sound 

Pi-tol. 

I     There  roar'd  the  sea,  and  trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Hnter  King  and  his  Train,  Including  the 

Chief  Justice. 

Falstatt. 

God  save  thy  grace,  king  Hal!  my  royal  Hal! 

Pistol. 
The  heavens  thee  guard  and  keep,  most  royal 
Imp  of  fame  1 

FalstU! 
God  save  thee,  my  sweet  boy  I 
King. 
,     My  lord  chief  justice,  speak  to  that  vain  man. 
<  hi.-f  Justice 
Have  you  your  wits  ?  know  you  what  'tis  you 
speak? 

My  king!  my  Jove  I    1  speak  to  thee,  my 
heart  I 


Shallow. 

Ay,  marry,  sir  John ;  which  I  beseech  you  to 
let  me  have  home  with  me. 
Falstaff. 
That  can  hardly  be,  master  Shallow.    Do  not 
you  grieve  at  this  :  I  shall  be  sent  for  in  private 
|  to  him.    Look  you,  he  must  seem  thus  to  the 
world.    Fear  not  your  advancement ;  I  will  be 
I  the  man  yet  that  shall  make  you  great. 

Shallow. 
j     I  cannot  perceive  how,  unless  you  should  give 
me  your  doublet,  and  stuff  me  out  with  straw. 
j  I  beseech  you,  good  sir  John,  let  me  have  five 
>  hundred  of  my  thousand. 

Falstaff. 
!     Sir,  I  will  be  as  good  as  my  word :  this  that 
1  you  heard  was  but  a  colour. 
Shallow. 
j     A  colour,  I  fear,  that  you  will  die  in,  sir  John. 
Falstaff. 
Fear  no   colours:    go  with    me  to   dinner. 
Come,  lieutenant  Pistol ; — come,  Bardolph.—l 
shall  be  sent  for  soon  at  night. 

He-enter  Prince  John,  the  Chief  Justice, 
(\ffUers,  &c. 
Chief  Justice. 
Go,  carry  sir  John  Falstaff to  the  Fleet. 
Take  all  his  company  along  with  him. 
Falstaff. 
My  lord,  my  lord  !  — 

Chief  Justice. 
I  cannot  now  speak  :  I  will  hear  you  soon. 
Take  them  away. 

Pistol. 
Se  fortuna  me  tormenla,  il  sperare  me  con* 

[Kxeuiit  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Pistol,  Hardolph 
Page,  and  (\fflcert. 

Prince  John. 
I  like  this  fair  proceeding  of  the  king's. 
He  hath  intent,  his  wonted  followers 
Shall  all  be  very  well  provided  for  ; 

But 


49<5 


KING  HENRY  V. 


CHORUS. 


But  all  are  banish'd,  till  their  conversations 
Appear  more  wise  and  modest  to  the  world. 

Chief  Justice. 
And  so  they  are. 

Prince  John. 
The  king  hath  call'd  his  parliament,  my  lord. 

Chief  Justice. 
He  hath. 

Prince  John. 
I  will  lay  odds,  that,  ere  this  year  expire, 
We  bear  our  civil  swords,  and  native  fire, 
As  far  as  France.    1  heard  a  bird  so  sing, 
Whose  music,  to  my  thinking,  pleas'd  the  king. 
Come,  will  you  hence  ?  [Exeunt . 

EPILOGUE. 

First  my  fear,  then  my  courtesy,  last  my  speech. 
My  fear  is  your  displeasure,  my  courtesy  my 
duty,  and  my  speech  to  beg  your  pardons.  If 
you  look  for  a  good  speech,  now,  you  undo  me; 
for  what  1  have  to  say,  is  of  mine  own  making, 
and  what  indeed  I  should  say,  will,  I  doubt, 
prove  mine  own  marring.  But  to  the  purpose, 
and  so  to  the  venture. — Be  it  known  to  you,  (as 
it  is  very  well)  I  was  lately  here  in  the  end  of  a 
displeasing  play,  to  pray  your  patience  for  it, 


land  to  promise  you  a  better.  I  did  mean,  in- 
jdeed,  to  pay  you  with  this ;  which,  if,  like  an  ill 
venture,  it  come  unluckily  home,  I  break,  and 
you,  my  gentle  creditors,  lose.  Here,  I  pro- 
I  mised  you,  I  would  be,  and  here  I  commit  my 
'body  to  your  mercies:  bate  me  some,  and  I  will 
pay  you  some;  and,  as  most  debtors  do,  promise 
you  infinitely. 

If  my  tongue  cannot  entreat  you  to  acquit  me, 
will  you  command  me  to  use  my  legs?  and  yet 
that  were  but  light  payment,  to  dance  out  of 
j  your  debt ;  but  a  good  conscience  will  make  any 
possible  satisfaction,  and  so  will  I.  All  the 
I  gentlewomen  here  have  forgiven  me;  if  the 
(gentlemen  will  not,  then  the  gentlemen  do  not 
l  agree  with  the  gentlewomen,  which  was  never 
I  seen  before  in  such  an  assembly. 

One  word  more,  I  beseech  you.  Ifyoubenot 
too  much  cloyed  with  fat  meat,  our  humble 
author  will  continue  the  story,  with  Sir  John  in 
it,  and  make  you  merry  with  fair  Katharine  of 
France :  where,  for  any  thing  I  know,  Falstajf 
shall  die  of  a  sweat,  unless  already  he  be  killed 
with  your  hard  opinions;  for  Oldcastle  died  a 
martyr,  and  this  is  not  the  man.  My  tongue  is 
weary;  when  my  legs  are  too,  I  will  bid  you 
good  night:  and  so  kneel  down  before  you ;  but, 
indeed,  to  pray  for  the  queen. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  HENRY  THE  FIFTH. 

Duke  of  Exeter,  Uncle  to  the  King. 
Duke  of  York,  Cousin  to  the  King. 
Earls  o/Salisbury,  Westmoreland,  and  Warwick. 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.    Bishop  of  Ely. 
Earl  of  Cambridge,") 
Lord  Scroop,  >  Conspirators. 

Sir  Thomas  Grey,  J 

Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  Gower,  Fluellen,  Mac- 
morris,  Jamy,  Officers  in  King  Henry's  Army. 
Bates,  Court,  Williams,  Soldiers. 
Pistol,  Nym,  Bardolph. 
Boy,  Servant  to  them.    A  Herald. 


Chorus. 

Charles  the  Sixth,  King  of  France. 

Lewis,  the  Dauphin. 

Dukes  of  Burgundy,  Orleans,  and  Bourbon. 

The  Constable  of  I  ranee. 

Rambures,  and  Grandpre,  French  Lords. 

Mountjoy,  a  French  Herald. 

Governor  of  Harfleur.   Ambassadors  to  England. 

Isabel,  Queen  of  France. 

Katharine,  Daughter  of  Charles  and  Isabel. 
!  Alice,  a  Lady  attending  on  the  Princess. 
|  Mrs.  Quickly,  a  Hostess. 

i  Lords,  Ladies,  Officers,  French  and  English  Sol- 
diers, Messengers,  and  Attendants. 
The  SCENE  in  England  and  in  France. 


CHORUS. 

Enter  Chorus. 

OF  OR  a  muse  of  fire,  that  would  ascend 
i  The  brightest  heaven  of  invention  1 
A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act, 
And  monarchs  to  behold  the  swelling  scene ! 


Then  should  the  warlike  Harry,  like  himself, 
'  Assume  the  port  of  Mars  ;  and  at  his  heels, 
i  Leash'd  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword, 

and  fire, 
I  Crouch  for  employment.    But  pardon,  gentles 
,  The  flat  unraised  spirit  that  hath  dar'd,       [all, 
i  On  this  unworthy  scaffold,  to  bring  forth 


Act  i.  Sc.  r. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


497 


!  So  great  an  object:  can  this  cockpit  hold 
;  The  va>ty  fields  of  France  f  or  may  we  cram 
I  Within  this  wooden  O  the  very  casques, 
J  That  did  affright  the  air  at  Auincourt  T 

O,  pardon !  since  a  crooked  figure  may 
i  Attest  in  little  place  a  million  ; 
I  And  let  us,  ciphers  to  this  great  accompt, 

On  your  imaginary  forces  work. 
.  Suppose,  within  the  girdle  of  these  walls 
,  Are  now  contin'd  two  mighty  monarchies, 

Whose  high  upreared  and  abutting  fronts 

The  perilous,  narrow  ocean  parts  asunder. 

Piece  out  our  imperfections  with  j  our  thoughts  ; 

Into  a  thousand  parts  divide  one  man, 

And  make  imaginary  puissance  : 

Think,  when  we  talk  of  horses,  that  you  see  them 

Printing  their  proud  hoofs  i'  the  receiving  earth ; 

For  'tis  your  thoughts  that  now  must  deck  our 
kings. 

Carry  them  here  and  there,  jumping  o'er  times, 

Turning  th'  accomplishment  of  many  years 

Into  an  hour-glass:  for  the  which  supply, 

Admit  me  chorus  to  this  history  ; 

Who,  prologue-like,  your  humble  patience  pray, 

Gently  to  hear,  kindly  to  judge,  our  play. 


ACT  I. 

SCESE  I.    London.    An  Ante-chamber  in 
the  A'i'Mg's  Palace. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and 
Bishop  of  Ely. 
Canterbury. 

MY  lord,  I'll  tell  you,  that  self  bill  is  urg'd, 
Which  in  th'  eleventh  year  of  the  last  king's 
reign 
Was  like,  and  had  indeed  against  us  pass'd, 
But  that  the  scambling  and  unquiet  time 
Did  push  it  out  of  farther  question. 
Ely. 
But  how,  my  lord,  shall  we  resist  it  now  ? 

Canterbury. 
It  must  be  thought  on.     if  it  pass  against  us, 
We  lose  the  better  half  of  our  possession  ; 
For  all  the  ten  ooral  lands,  which  men  devout 
By  testament  h&ve  given  to  the  church, 
\N  ould  they  strij:  from  us  ;  being  valued  thus, — 
As  much  as  wculd   maintain,   to   the   king's 

honour, 
Full  fifteen  earls,  and  fifteen  hundred  knights, 
Six  thousand  and  two  hundred  good  esquires  ; 
And,  to  relief  of  lazars,  and  weak  age, 
Of  indigent  faint  souls,  past  corporal  toil, 
A  hundred  alms-houses,  right  well  supplied ; 
And  to  the  coffers  of  the  king  beside, 
A  thousand  pounds  by  the  year.    Thus  run* 
the  bill. 

Ely. 

This  would  drink  deep. 

Canterbury. 
'Twould  drink  the  cup  and  all. 
Elv. 
But  what  prevention  ? 

Canterbury. 
The  king  is  full  of  grace,  and  fair  regard. 

Ely. 
And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  church. 

Canterbury. 
The  courses  of  his  youth  promis'd  it  not. 


The  breath  no  sooner  left  his  father's  body, 

Hut  that  his  wildness,  mortified  in  him, 

S< ■.■in M  to  die  too  :  yea,  at  that  very  moment, 

Consideration  like  an  angel  came, 

And  whipp'd  th'  offending  Adam  out  of  him, 

Leaving  his  body  as  a  paradise, 

T'  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 

Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made : 

Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood. 

With  such  a  heady  currence  scouring  fault*  ; 

Nor  never  Hydra-headed  wilfulness 

So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once. 

As  in  this  king. 

We  are  blessed  in  the  change. 
Canterbury. 
Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You    would    desire   the   king   were   made   a 

prelate : 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 
You  would  say,  it  hath  been  all-in  all  his  study : 
List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  fearful  battle  render'd  you  in  music  : 
Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 
Familiar  as  his  garter  ;  that,  when  he  speaks, 
The  air,  a  charter'd  libertine,  is  still, 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 
To  steal  his  sweet  and  honey'd  sentences  ; 
So  that  the  art  and  practic  part  of  life 
Must  be  the  mistress  to  this  theoric : 
WThich  is  a  wonder,  how  his  grace  should  glean 
Since  his  addiction  was  to  courses  vain  ;        [it, 
His  companies  unletter'd,  rude,  and  shallow  ; 
His  hours  fill'd  up  with  riots,  banquets,  sports  j 
And  never  noted  in  him  any  study, 
j  Any  retirement,  any  sequestration 
j  From  open  haunts  and  popularity. 
Ely. 
The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  nettle, 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best, 
Neighbour'd  by  fruit  of  baser  quality : 
And  so  the  prince  obscur'd  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness  ;  which,  no  doubt, 
Grew  like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by  night, 
Unseen,  yet  crescive  in  his  faculty. 
Canterbury. 
It  must  be  so  ;  for  miracles  are  ceas'd, 
And  therefore  we  must  needs  admit  the  means. 
How  things  are  perfected. 
Ely. 

But,  my  good  lord, 
How  now  for  mitigation  of  this  bill 
Urg'd  by  the  commons  ?    Doth  hi*  majesty 
Incline  to  it,  or  no  ? 

Canterbury. 

He  seems  indifferent, 
Or,  rather,  swaying  more  upon  our  part, 
Than  cherishing  th'  exhibiters  against  us; 
For  I  have  made  an  offer  to  his  majesty,— 
Upon  our  spiritual  convocation. 
And  in  regard  of  causes  now  in  hand. 
Which  I  have  open'd  to  his  grace  at  large, 
A*  touching  France,  —  to  give  a  greater  sum 
Than  ever  at  one  time  the  clergy  yet 
Did  to  his  predecessors  part  w  ithal. 
Ely. 
How  did  this  offer  seem  receiv'd,  my  lord  ? 

Canterbury. 
With  good  acceptance  of  his  majesty  ; 
Save,  that  there  was  not  time  enough  to  hear 
(As,   I  perceiv'd,   his  grace  would  fain    have 
The  severals,  and  unhidden  passages        [done) 
k.  K  Of 


49* 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  i.  Sc.  l 


Of  his  true  titles  to  some  certain  dukedoms, 
And,    generally,   to   the   crown   and   seat   of 

France, 
Deriv'd  from  Edward,  his  great  grandfather. 
Ely. 
What  was  th'  impediment  that  broke  this 
off? 

Canterbury. 

The  French  ambassador  upon  that  instant 
Crav'd  audience ;   and  the  hour,   I    think, 

come, 
To  give  him  hearing.    Is  it  four  o'clock  ? 
Ely. 

14  is'  „      .     u. 

Canterbury. 
Then  go  we  in,  to  know  his  embassy, 
Which  I  could  with  a  ready  guess  declare, 
Before  the  Frenchman  speak  a  word  of  it. 
Ely. 
I'll  wait  upon  you,  and  I  long  to  hear  it. 


SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State 
in  the  same. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  Bedford,  Exeter, 
Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and  Attendant*. 

King  Henry. 
Where  is  my  gracious  lord  of  Canterbury  T 

Exeter. 
Not  here  in  presence. 

King  Henry. 

Send  for  him,  good  uncle. 
Westmoreland. 
Shall  we  call  in  th'  ambassador,  my  liege  ? 

King  Henry. 

Not  yet,  my  cousin :  we  would  be  resolv'd, 

Before  we  hear  him,  of  some  things  of  weight, 

That  task  our   thoughts,  concerning    us   and 

France. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and 

Bishop  of  Ely. 

Canterbury. 

God,    and    his   angels,    guard   your   sacred 

And  make  you  long  become  it  I  [throne, 

King  Henry. 

Sure,  we  thank  you. 
My  learned  lord,  we  pray  you  to  proceed, 
And  justly  and  religiously  unfold, 
Why  the  law  Salique,  that  they  have  in  France, 
Or  should,  or  should  not,  bar  us  in  our  claim. 
And  God  forbid,  my  dear  and  faithful  lord, 
That  you  should  fashion,  wrest,  or  bow  your 

reading, 
Or  nicely  charge  your  understanding  soul, 
With  opening  titles  miscreate,  whose  right 
Suits  not  in  native  colours  with  the  truth ; 
For  God  doth  know,  how  many,  now  in  health, 
Shall  drop  their  blood  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  reverence  shall  incite  us  to. 
Therefore,  take  heed   how  you  impawn  our 

person, 
How  you  awake  our  sleeping  sword  of  war : 
We  charge  you  in  the  name  of  God,  take  heed; 
For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  contend, 
Without  much  fall  of  blood;  whose  guiltless 
Are  every  one  a  woe,  a  sore  complaint,     [drops 
'Gainst  him  whose  wrongs  give  edge  unto  the 

swords 
That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality. 
Under  this  conjuration,  speak,  my  lord, 
And  we  will  hear,  note,  and  believe  in  heart. 


That  what  you  speak  is  in  your  conscience  wash'd 
As  pure  as  sin  with  baptism. 
Canterbury. 

Then  hear  me,  gracious  sovereign,  and  you 
peers, 
That  owe  yourselves,  your  lives,  and  services, 

To  this  imperial  throne There  is  no  bar 

To  make  against  your  highness'  claim  to  France, 
But  this,  which  they  produce  from  Pharamond, — 
In  terram  Saiicam  mulieres  ne  succedant, 
"  No  woman  shall  succeed  in  Salique  land." 
Which  Salique  land  the  French  unjustly  gloze, 
To  be  the  realm  of  France,  and  Pharamond 
The  founder  of  this  law,  and  female  bar : 
Yet  their  own  authors  faithfully  affirm, 
That  the  land  Salique  is  in  Germany, 
Between  the  floods  of  Sala  and  of  Elbe; 
Where  Charles  the  great,  having  subdued  the 

Saxons, 
There  left  behind  and  settled  certain  French ; 
Who,  holding  in  disdain  the  German  women 
For  some  dishonest  manners  of  their  life, 
Establish'd  then  this  law,— to  wit,  no  female 
Should  be  inheritrix  in  Salique  land : 
Which  Salique,  as  I  said,  'twixt  Elbe  and  Sala, 
Is  at  this  day  in  Germany  call'd  Meisen. 
Then  doth  it  well  appear,  the  Salique  law 
Was  not  devised  for  the  realm  of  France  ; 
Nor  did  the  French  possess  the  Salique  land 
Until  four  hundred  one  and  twenty  years 
After  defunction  of  king  Pharamond, 
Idly  suppos'd  the  founder  of  this  law ; 
Who  died  within  the  year  of  our  redemption 
Four  hundred  twenty-six,  and  Charles  the  great 
Subdued  the  Saxons,  and  did  seat  the  French 
Beyond  the  river  Sala  in  the  year 
Kight  hundred  live.    Besides,  their  writers  say. 
King  Pepin,  which  deposed  Childerick, 
Did,  as  heir  general,  being  descended 
Of  Blithild,  which  was  daughter  to  king  Clothair, 
Make  claim  and  title  to  the  crown  of  France. 
Hugh  Capet  also,— who  usurp'd  the  crown 
Of  Charles  the  duke  of  Lorain,  sole  heir  male 
Of  the  true  line  and  stock  of  Charles  the  great,  — 
To  find  his  title  with  some  shows  of  truth, 
Though, in  pure  truth,  it  was  corrupt  and  naught, 
Convey'd  himself  as  th'  heir  to  the  lady  Lingare, 
Daughter  to  Charlemain,  who  was  the  son 
To  Lewis  the  emperor,  and  Lewis  the  son 
Of  Charles  the  great.  Also  king  Lewis  the  tenth, 
Who  was  sole  heir  to  the  usurper  Capet, 
Could  not  keep  quiet  in  his  conscience, 
Wearing  the  crown  of  France,  till  satisfied 
That  fair  queen  Isabel,  his  grandmother, 
Was  lineal  of  the  lady  Ermengare, 
Daughter  to  Charles  the  foresaidduke  of  Lorain : 
By  the  which  marriage  the  line  of  Charles  the 
Was  re-united  to  the  crown  of  France.      [great 
So  that,  as  clear  as  is  the  summer's  sun, 
King  Pepin's  title,  and  Hugh  Capet's  claim, 
King  Lewis  his  satisfaction,  all  appear 
To  hold  in  right  and  title  of  the  female. 
So  do  the  kings  of  France  unto  this  day, 
Howbeit  they  would  hold  up  this  Salique  law, 
To  bar  your  highness  claiming  from  the  female; 
And  rather  choose  to  hide  them  in  a  net, 
Than  amply  to  imbare  their  crooked  titles 
Usurp'd  from  you  and  your  progenitors. 
King  Henry 

May  I  with  right  and  conscience  make  thii 

claim  ?'-,_. 

Canterbury. 

The  sin  upon  my  head,  dread  sovereign ; 
For  in  the  book  of  Numbers  is  it  writ, 
When  the  man  dies,  let  the  inheritance 
Descend  unto  the  daughter.    Gracious  lord, 

Stand 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HEN II Y  V. 


499 


Stand  for  your  own ;  unwind  your  bloody  flag  ; 
Look  back  into  your  mighty  ancestors  :    [tomb,  ; 
Go,  my  dread  lord,  to  your  great  grandsire's  ' 
From  whom  you  claim ;  invoke  his  warlike  spirit,  ; 
And  your  great  uncle's,  Edward  the  black  prince,  j 
Who  on  the  French  ground  play'd  a  tragedy, 
Making  defeat  on  the  full  power  of  France, 
Whilst  his  most  mighty  father  on  a  hill 
Stood  smiling,  to  behold  his  lion's  whelp 
Forage  in  blood  of  French  nobility. 
O  noble  English  1  that  could  entertain 
With  half  their  forces  the  full  pride  of  France, 
And  let  another  half  stand  laughing  by, 
All  out  of  work,  and  cold  for  action. 
Ely. 

Awake  remembrance  of  these  valiant  dead, 
And  with  your  puissant  arm  renew  their  feats. 
You  are  their  heir,  you  sit  upon  their  throne ; 
The  blood  and  courage,  that  renowned  them, 
Runs  in  your  veins ;  and  my  thrice-puissant  liege 
Is  in  the  very  Afay-morn  of  his  youth, 
Ripe  for  exploits  and  mighty  enterprizes. 
Kxettr. 

Your  brother  kings,  and  monarchs  of  the  earth,  | 
Do  all  expect  that  you  should  rouse  yourself, 
At  did  the  former  lions  of  your  blood. 
Westmoreland. 

They  know,  your  grace  hath  cause,  and  means, . 
and  might : 
So  hath  your  highness :— never  king  of  England 
Had  nobles  richer,  and  more  loyal  subjects, 
Whose  hearts  have  left  their  bodies  here  in 

England. 
And  lie  pavilion'd  in  the  fields  of  France. 
Canterbury. 

O  1  let  their  bodies  follow,  my  dear  liege, 
With  blood,  and  sword,  and  fire,  to  win  your 
In  aid  whereof,  we  of  the  spiritualty        [right: 
Will  raise  your  highness  such  a  mighty  sum, 
As  never  did  the  clergy  at  one  time 
Bring  in  to  any  of  your  ancestors. 
King  Henry 

We  must  not  only  arm  t'  invade  the  French, 
But  lay  down  our  proportions  to  defend 
Against  the  Scot ;  who  will  make  road  upon  us  ' 
With  all  advantages. 

Canterbury. 

They  of  those  marches,  gracious  sovereign, 
Shall  be  a  wall  sufficient  to  defend 
Our  inland  from  the  pilfering  borderers. 
King  Henry. 

We  do  not  mean  the  coursing  snatchers  only, 
But  fear  the  main  intendment  of  the  Scot, 
Who  hath  been  still  a  giddy  neighbour  to  us  : 
For  you  shall  read,  that  my  great  grandfather 
Never  went  with  his  forces  into  France, 
But  that  the  Scot  on  his  unfurnish'd  kingdom 
Came  pouring,  like  the  tide  into  a  breach, 
With  ample  and  brim  fulness  of  his  force ; 
Galling  the  gleaned  land  with  hot  essays, 
Girding  with  grievous  siege  castles  and  towns ; 
That  England,  being  empty  of  defence. 
Hath  shook,  and  trembled   at  th*  ill    neigh- 
bourhood. 

Canterbury 

She  hath  been  then  more  fear'd  than  harm'd, 
my  liege ; 
For  hear  her  but  exampled  by  herself: 
When  all  her  chivalry  hath  been  in  France, 
And  she  a  mourning  widow  of  her  nobles, 
She  hath  herself  not  only  well  defended, 
But  taken,  and  impounded  as  a  stray, 
The  king  of  Scots ;  whom  she  did  send  to  France, 
To  fill  king  Edwar<ft  fame  with  prisoner  kings, 


And  make  their  chronicle  as  rich  with  praise,      | 

As  is  the  ooze  and  bottom  of  the  sea 

With  sunken  wreck  and  sumless  treasuries. 

Westmoreland. 

But  there's  a  saying,  very  old  and  true, — 
"  If  that  you  will  France  win, 
Then  with  Scotland  first  begin:" 
For  once  the  eagle,  England,  being  in  prey, 
To  ber  unguarded  nest  the  weasel,  Scot, 
Comes  sneaking,  and  so  sucks  her  princely  eggs  ; 
Playing  the  mouse  in  absence  of  the  cat, 
To  tear  and  havoc  more  than  she  can  eat. 
Ex»ter 

It  follows  then,  the  cat  must  stay  at  home : 
Yet  that  is  but  a  curs'd  necessity, 
Since  we  have  locks  to  safeguard  necessaries, 
And  pretty  traps  to  catch  the  petty  thieves. 
While  that  the  armed  hand  doth  right  abroad, 
Th*  advised  head  defends  itself  at  home : 
For  government,  though  high,  and  low,  and 

lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  consent, 
Congreeing  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music. 

Canterbury. 
Therefore  doth  heaven  divide 
The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions, 
Setting  endeavour  in  continual  motion  ; 
To  which  is  fixed,  as  an  aim  or  butt, 
Obedience :  for  so  work  the  honey  bees, 
Creatures  that  by  a  rule  in  nature  teach 
The  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom : 
They  have  a  king,  and  officers  of  sorts ; 
Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home, 
Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad, 
Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 
Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds  ; 
Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 
To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor : 
Who,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 
The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold, 
The  civil  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey, 
The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 
Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate, 
The  sad-ey  d  justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 
Delivering  o'er  to  executors  pale 
The  lazy  yawning  drone.     I  this  infer, — 
That  many  things,  having  full  reference 
To  one  concent,  may  work  contrariously  ; 
As  many  arrows,  loosed  several  ways,      [town ; 
Come  to  one  mark  ;  as  many  ways  meet  in  one 
As  many  fresh  streams  meet  in  one  salt  sea  ; 
As  many  lines  close  in  the  dial's  center  ; 
So  may  a  thousand  actions,  once  afoot, 
Knd  in  one  purpose,  and  be  all  well  borne 
Without  defeat.    Therefore,  to  France, my  liege. 
Divide  your  happy  England  into  four ; 
Whereof  take  you  one  quarter  into  France, 
And  you  withal  shall  make  all  Gallia  shake. 
If  we,  with  thrice  such  powers  left  at  home, 
Cannot  defend  our  own  doors  from  the  dog, 
Let  us  be  worried,  and  our  nation  lose 
The  name  of  hardiness,  and  policy. 
King  Henry. 

Call  in  the  messengers  sent  from  the  Dauphin. 
[Kxlt  an  Attendant. 
Now  are  we  well  resolv'd :  and,  by  God's  help, 
And  yours,  the  noble  sinews  of  our  power, 
France  being  ours,  we'll  bend  it  to  our  awe, 
Or  break  it  all  to  pieces:  or  there  we'll  sit, 
Ruling  in  large  and  ample  empery, 
O'er  France,  and  all  her  almost  kingly  dukedoms, 
Or  lay  these  bones  in  an  unworthy  urn, 
Torabless,  with  no  remembrance  over  them  : 
Either  our  history  shall,  with  full  mouth, 

Speak 


5co 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Speak  freely  of  our  acts,  or  else  our  grave, 
Like  Turkish  mute,  shall  have  a  tonguelessi 

mouth, 
Not  worshipp'd  with  a  waxen  epitaph. 

Enter  Ambassadors  of  France. 
Now  are  we  well  prepar'd  to  know  the  pleasure 
Of  our  fair  cousin  Dauphin  ;  for,  we  hear, 
Your  greeting  is  from  him,  not  from  the  king.    ! 

Ambassador. 
May  't  please  your  majesty,  to  give  us  leave 
Freely  to  render  what  we  have  in  charge ; 
Or  shall  we  sparingly  show  you  far  off, 
The  Dauphin's  meaning,  and  our  embassy  ? 

King  Henry. 
We  are  no  tyrant,  but  a  Christian  king, 
Unto  whose  grace  our  passion  is  as  subject, 
As  are  our  wretches  fetter'd  in  our  prisons  ; 
Therefore,  with  frank  and  with  uncurbed  plain- 
Tell  us  the  Dauphin's  mind.  [ness, 

Ambassador. 

Thus  then,  in  few. 
Your  highness,  lately  sending  into  France, 
Did  claim  some  certain  dukedoms,  in  the  right   j 
Of  your  great  predecessor,  king  Edward  the 

third. 
In  answer  of  which  claim,  the  prince  our  master 
Says,  that  you  savour  too  much  of  your  youth, 
And  bids  you  be  advis'd,  there's  nought    in 

France 
That  can  be  with  a  nimble  galliard  won : 
You  cannot  revel  into  dukedoms  there. 
He  therefore  sends  you,  meeter  for  your  spirit, 
This  tun  of  treasure  ;  and,  in  lieu  of  this, 
Desires  you,  let  the  dukedoms,  that  you  claim, 
Hear  no  more  of  you.   This  the  Dauphin  speaks. 

King  Henry 


What  treasure,  uncle? 

Exeter. 

Tennis-balls,  my  liege. 

King  Henry. 

We  are  glad  the  Dauphin  is  so  pleasant  with 

us. 

His  present,  and  your  pains,  we  thank  you  for : 

When  we  have  match'd  our  rackets  to  these 

balls, 
We  will,  in  France,  by  God's  grace,  play  a  set. 
Shall  strike  his  father's  crown  into  the  hazard. 
Tell  him,  he  hath  made  a  match  with  such  a 

wrangler, 
That  all  the  courts  of  France  will  be  disturb'd 
With  chases.    And  we  understand  him  well, 
How  he  comes  o'er  us  with  our  wilder  days, 
Not  measuring  what  use  we  made  of  them. 
We  never  valu'd  this  poor  seat  of  England, 
And  therefore,  living  hence,  did  give  ourself 
To  barbarous  licence  ;  as  'tis  ever  common, 
That  men  are  merriest  when  they  are  irom 

home. 
But  tell  the  Dauphin, — I  will  keep  my  state ; 
Be  like  a  king,  and  show  my  sail  of  greatness, 
When  I  do  rouse  me  in  my  throne  of  France  ; 
For  that  I  have  laid  by  my  majesty, 
And  plodded  like  a  man  for  working  days, 
But  I  will  rise  there  with  so  full  a  glory, 
That  I  will  dazzle  all  the  eyes  of  France : 
Yea,  strike  the  Dauphin  blind  to  look  on  us. 
And  tell  the  pleasant  prince,  this  mock  of  his 
Hath  tum'd  his  balls  to  gun-stones  ;  and  his  soul 
Shall  stand  sore  charged  for  the  wasteful  ven- 
geance [widows 
That  shall  fly  with  them :  for  many  a  thousand 
Shall  this  his  mock  mock  out  of  their  dear 
husbands ;  [down, 
Mock  mothers  from  their  sons,  mock  castles 


And  some  are  yet  ungotten,  and  unborn, 
That  shall  have  cause  to  curse  the  Dauphin's 
But  this  lies  all  within  the  will  of  God,    [scorn. 
To  whom  I  do  appeal ;  and  in  whose  name, 
Tell  you  the  Dauphin,  I  am  coming  on, 
To  venge  me  as  I  may,  and  to  put  forth 
My  rightful  hand  in  a  well-hallow'd  cause. 
So,  get  you  hence  in  peace ;  and  tell  the  Dauphin, 
His  jest  will  savour  but  of  shallow  wit,        [it— 
When  thousands  weep,  more  than  did  laugh  at 
Convey  them  with  safe  conduct. — Fare  you  well. 
[F.xeunt  Ambassadors. 
Kxeter. 

This  was  a  merry  message. 
King  Henry. 

We  hope  to  make  the  sender  blush  at  it. 
Therefore,  my  lords,  omit  no  happy  hour, 
That  may  give  furtherance  to  our  expedition  ; 
For  we  have  now  no  thought  in  us  but  France, 
Save  those  to  God,  that  run  before  our  business. 
Therefore,  let  our  proportions  for  these  wars 
Be  soon  collected,  and  all  things  thought  upon, 
That  may  with  reasonable  swiftness  add 
More  feathers  to  our  wings  ;  for,  God  before,      ! 
We'll  chide  this  Dauphin  at  his  father's  door. 
Therefore,  let  every  man  now  task  his  thought, 
That  this  fair  action  may  on  foot  be  brought. 
[Exeunt 


ACT  II. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Chorus. 
"IV"  O  W  all  the  youth  of  England  are  on  fire, 
X1    And  silken  dalliance  in  the  wardrobe  lies  : 
Now  thrive  the  armourers,  and  honour's  thought 
Reigns  solely  in  the  breast  of  every  man. 
They  sell  the  pasture  now  to  buy  the  horse  ; 
Following  the  mirror  of  all  Christian  kings, 
With  winged  heels,  as  English  Mercuries : 
For  now  sits  Expectation  in  the  air  ; 
And  hides  a  sword  from  hilts  unto  the  point, 
With  crowns  imperial,  crowns,  and  coronets, 
Promis'd  to  Harry,  and  his  followers. 
The  French,  advis'd  by  good  intelligence 
Of  this  most  dreadful  preparation, 
Shake  in  their  fear,  and  with  pale  policy 
Seek  to  divert  the  English  purposes. 
O  England!  model  to  thy  inward  greatness, 
Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart,  [do, 

What  might'st  thou  do,  that  honour  would  thee 
Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural ! 
But  see  thy  fault  1    France  hath  in  thee  found 
A  nest  of  hollow  bosoms,  which  he  fills         [out 
With  treacherous  crowns,  and  three  corrupted 

men, 
One,  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge,  and  the  second, 
Henry  lord  Scroop  of  Marsham,  and  the  third, 
Sir  Thomas  Grey,  knight  of  Northumberland, 
Have,  for  the  gilt  of  France,  (O  guilt,  indeed !) 
Confirm'd  conspiracy  with  fearful  France : 
And  by  their  hands  this  grace  of  kings  must  die. 
If  hell  and  treason  hold  their  promises, 
Ere  he  take  ship  for  France,  and  in  Southampton. 
Linger  your  patience  on  ;  and  we'll  digest 
Th'  abuse  of  distance :  force  a  play. 
The  sum  is  paid  ;  the  traitors  are  agreed ; 
The  king  is  set  from  London;  and  the  scene 
Is  now  transported,  gentles,  to  Southampton. 
There  is  the  playhouse  now,  there  must  you  sit, 
And  thence  to  France  shall  we  convey  you  safe, 
And  bring  you  back,  charming  the  narrow  seas 

Tft 


At  i  11.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


so* 


'    To  give  you  gentle  pass  ;  for,  If  we  may, 
1 1  WeMl  not  offend  one  stomach  with  our  play. 
Hut,  till  the  king  come  forth,  and  not  till  then, 
Unto  Southampton  do  we  shift  our  scene,  [Bxft. 

SCENE  I.    London.    East  cheap. 

Enter  Nym  and  Bardolph. 

BarUolph. 

Well  met,  corporal  Nym. 

Nym. 

Good  morrow,  lieutenant  Bardolph. 

Bardolph. 
What,  are  ancient  Pistol  and  you  friends  yet  ? 

Nym. 
For  my  part,  I  care  not :  I  say  little ;  but  when 
time  shall  serve,  there  shall   be  smiles;— but 
that  shall  be  as  it  may.     1  dare  not  fight ;  but 
I  will  wink,  and  hold  out  mine  iron.     It  is  a 
•iraple  one;  but  what  though?  it  will  toast 
cheese,  and  it  will  endure  cold  as  another  man's 
sword  will ;  and  there's  an  end. 
li.trdulph. 
I  will  bestow  a  breakfast  to  make  you  friends, 
and  we'll  be  all  three  sworn  brothers  to  France: 
let  it  be  so,  good  corporal  Nym. 
Nym. 
'Faith,  I  will  live  so  long  as  I  may,  that's  the 
certain  of  it ;  and  when  I  cannot  live  any  longer, 
1  will  do  as  I  may :  that  is  my  rest,  that  is  the 
rendezvous  of  it. 

Bardolph. 
It  is  certain,  corporal,  that  he  is  married  to 
Nell  Quickly;  and, certainly,  she  did  you  wrong, 
for  you  were  troth-plight  to  her. 

N}TU. 

I  cannot  tell;  things  must  be  as  they  may: 
men  may  sleep,  and  they  may  have  their  throats 
about  them  at  that  time,  and  some  say  knives 
have  edges.  It  must  be  as  it  may:  though 
patience  be  a  tired  mare,  yet  she  will  plod. 
There  must  be  conclusions.  Well,  I  cannot 
tell. 

Kilter  Pistol  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Bardolph. 

Here  comes  ancient  Pistol,  and  his  wife.— 

Good  corporal,  be  patient   here  —  How  now, 

mine  host  Pistol  f 

Pistol. 
Base  tike,  call'st  thou  me  host? 
Now,  by  this  hand  I  swear,  I  scorn  the  term ; 
Nor  shall  my  Nell  keep  lodgers. 
Quickly. 
No,  by  my  troth,  not  long:   for  we  cannot 
lodge  and  board  a  dozen   or  fourteen  gentle- 
women, that  live  honestly  by  the  prick  of  their 
needles,  but  it  will  be  thought  we  keep  a  bawdy- 
house  straight.      [Nym  draws  liis   >word.]    O 
well-a-day,  lady !  If  he  be  not  drawn  now  1 — we 
shall  see  wilful  adultery  and  murder  committed. 
Pistol. 
Good  lieutenant— good  corporal,  offer  nothing 
here. 

Nym. 
Pish! 

Pistol. 
Pish  for  thee,  Iceland  dog !  thou  prick-eared 
cur  o(  Iceland! 

■    Quickly. 
Good  corporal  Nym,  show  thy  valour,  and  put 
up  your  sword. 

Nym. 
Will  you  shog  off?     I  would  have  you  solus. 
[Sheathing  his  sword. 


Pistol. 

Solus,  egregious  dog?    O  viper  vile  1 
The  solus  in  thy  most  marvellous  face; 
The  solus  In  thy  teeth,  and  in  thy  throat. 
And  in  thy  hateful  lungs,  yea,  in  thy  maw,  perdy, 
And,  which  is  worse,  within  thy  nasty  mouth  1 
1  do  retort  the  solus  in  thy  bowels : 
For  I  Gin  take,  and  Pistofa  cock  is  up, 
And  flashing  fire  will  follow. 
Nym. 

I  am  not  Barbasonj  "you  cannot  conjure  me. 
I  have  an  humour  to  knock  you  indifferently 
well.  If  you  grow  foul  with  me,  Pistol,  I  will 
scour  you  with  my  rapier,  as  I  may,  in  fair  terms : 
if  you  would  walk  off,  I  would  prick  your  guts  a 
little,  in  good  terms,  as  I  may;  and  that's  the 
humour  of  it. 

Pibtol. 

0  braggart  vile,  and  damned  furious  wight ! 
The  grave  doth  gape,  and  doting  death  is  near; 
Therefore  exhale.  [Pistol  axv\  Nym  draw. 

Bardolph. 
Hear  me;    hear  me  what  I  say:  — he  that 
strikes  the  first  stroke,  I'll  run  him  up  to  the 
hilts,  as  1  am  a  soldier.  [Draws. 

Pistol. 
An  oath  of  mickle  might,  and  fury  shall  abate. 
Give  me  thy  fist,  thy  fore-foot  to  me  give ; 
Thy  spirits  are  most  tall. 

Nym. 

1  will  cut  thy  throat,  one  time  or  other,  in  fair 
terms ;  that  is  the  humour  of  it. 

Pistol. 
Coupe  le gorge,  that's  the  word?— I  defy  thee 
again. 

0  hound  of  Crete,  think'st  thou  my  spouse  to 
No :  to  the  spital  go,  [get  ? 
And  from  the  powdering  tub  of  infamy 

Fetch  forth  the  lazar  kite  of  Cressid's  kind, 
Doll  Tear-sheet  she  by  name,  and  her  espouse: 

1  have,  and  I  will  hold,  the  quondam  Quickly 
For  the  only  she;  and — pauca,  there's  enough. 

Enter  the  Boy. 
Boy. 
Mine  host  Pistol,  you  must  come  to  my  master, 
and  your  hostess.—  He  is  very  sick,  and  would 
to  bed.  —  Good  Bardolph,  put  thy  face  between 
his  sheets,  and  do  the  office  of  a  warming-pan: 
'faith,  he's  very  ill. 

Bardolph. 
Away,  you  rogue. 

Quickly. 
By  my  troth,  he'll  yield  the  crow  a  pudding 
one  oi  these  days:  the  king  has  killed  his  heart. 
—  Good  husband,  come  home  presently. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Quickly  and  Boy. 

Bardolph. 
Come,  shall  I  make  you  two  friends  ?  We  must 
to  Prance  together.    Why,  the  devil,  should  we 
keep  knives  to  cut  one  another's  throats  ? 

PUtoL 

Let  floods  o'erswell,  and  fiends  for  food  howl 
on] 

Nym. 
You'll  pay  me  the  eight  shillings  I  won  of  you 
at  betting? 

Pistol. 
Base  is  the  slave  that  pays. 

Nyui. 
That  now  I  will  have:  that's  the  humour  of  it. 

Pistol. 


S<* 


KING  HENBY  V. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Pistol. 
As  manhood  shall  compound.    Push  home. 

Bardolph. 

By  this  sword,  he  that  makes  the  first  thrust, 

I'll  kill  him ;  by  this  sword,  I  will. 

Pistol. 

Sword  is  an  oath,  and  oaths  must  have  their 

course.  _     .*  ,  , 

Bardolph. 

Corporal  Nym,  an  thou  wilt  be  friends,  be 
friends:  an  thou  wilt  not,  why  ihen  be  enemies 
with  me  too.    Pr'ythee,  put  up. 
[Nyra. 

I  shall  have  my  eight  shillings,  I  won  of  you 
*  betting?]  pi|to, 

A  noble  shalt  thou  have,  and  present  pay ; 
And  liquor  likewise  will  I  give  to  thee, 
And  friendship  shall  combine,  and  brotherhood: 
I'll  live  by  Nym,  and  Nym  shall  live  by  me — 
Is  not  this  just?  for  I  shall  sutler  be 
Unto  the  camp,  and  profits  will  accrue. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

Nym. 
I  shall  have  my  noble  ? 

Pistol. 
In  cash  most  justly  paid. 
Nym. 
Well,  then,  that's  the  humour  of  it. 
Re-enter  Mrs.  Quickly- 
Quickly. 
As  ever  you  come  of  women,  come  in  quickly 
to  sir  John.    Ah,  poor  heart !  he  is  so  shaked  of 
a  burning  quotidian  tertian,  that  it  is  most  la- 
mentable to  behold.    Sweet  men,  come  to  him. 
Nym. 
The  king  hath  run  bad  humours  on  the  knight, 
that's  the  even  of  it. 

Pistol. 
Ny?n,  thou  hast  spoke  the  right ; 
His  heart  is  fracted,  and  corroborate. 
Nym. 
The  king  is  a  good  king;  but  it  must  be  as  it 
may:  he  passes  some  humours,  and  careers. 
Pistol. 
Let  us  condole  the  knight,  for  lambkins  we 
will  live.  t«xeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Southampton.    A  Council- 
Chamber. 

Enter  Exeter,  Bedford,  and  Westmoreland. 

Bedford. 
'Fore  God,  his  grace  is  bold  to  trust  these 
traitors. 

Exeter. 
They  shall  be  apprehended  by  and  by. 

Westmoreland 
How  smooth  and  even  they  do  bear  them- 
selves, 
As  if  allegiance  in  their  bosoms  sat, 
Crowned  with  faith,  and  constant  loyalty. 
Bedford. 
The  king  hath  note  of  all  that  they  intend, 
By  interception  which  they  dream  not  of. 
Exeter. 
Nay,  but  the  man  that  was  his  bedfellow, 
Whom  he  hath  dull'd  and  cloy'd  with  gracious 

favours  ; 
That  he  should,  for  a  foreign  purse,  so  sell 
His  sovereign's  life  to  death  and  treachery  1 


Trumpets  sound.    Enter  King  Henry,  Scroop, 

Cambridge,  Grey,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

King  Henry. 

Now  sits  the  wind  fair,  and  we  will  aboard. 

j  My  lord  of  Cambridge,— and  my  kind  lord  of 

Marsham,— 
,  And  you,   my   gentle   knight,   give   me  your 

thoughts : 
i  Think  you  not,  that  the  powers  we  bear  with  us 
Will  cut  their  passage  through  the  force  of 
Doing  the  execution,  and  the  act,  [France, 

For  which  we  have  in  head  assembled  them  ? 
Scroop. 
No  doubt,  my  liege,  if  each  man  do  his  best. 

King  Henry. 
I  doubt  not  that :  since  we  are  well  persuaded, 
We  carry  not  a  heart  with  us  from  hence, 
That  grows  not  in  a  fair  consent  with  ours  ; 
Nor  leave  not  one  behind,  that  doth  not  wish 
Success  and  conquest  to  attend  on  us. 
Cambridge. 
Never  was  monarch  better  fear'd,  and  lov'd, 
!  Than  is  your  majesty :  there's  not,  I  think,  a 
That  sits  in  heart-grief  and  uneasiness  [subject, 
Under  the  sweet  shade  of  your  government. 
Grey. 
True :  those  that  were  your  father's  enemies, 
Have  steep'd  their  galls  in  honey,  and  do  serve 
With  hearts  create  of  duty  and  of  zeal.         [you 
King  Henry, 
We  therefore  have  great  cause  of  thankfulness, 
And  shall  forget  the  office  of  our  hand, 
Sooner  than  quittance  of  desert  and  merit, 
According  to  the  weight  and  worthiness. 
Scroop. 
So  service  shall  with  steeled  sinews  toil, 
And  labour  shall  refresh  itself  with  hope, 
To  do  your  grace  incessant  services. 
King  Henry. 
We  judge  no  less — Uncle  of  Exeter, 
Enlarge  the  man  committed  yesterday. 
That  rail'd  against  our  person :  we  consider, 
It  was  excess  of  wine  that  set  him  on  ; 
And,  on  his  more  advice,  we  pardon  him. 
Scroop. 
That's  mercy,  but  too  much  security : 
Let  him  be  punish'd,  sovereign  ;  lest  example 
Breed  by  his  sufferance  more  of  such  a  kind. 
King  Henry. 
O  !  let  us  yet  be  merciful. 

Cambridge. 
So  may  your  highness,  and  yet  punish  too. 

Grey. 
Sir,  you  show  great  mercy,  if  you  give  him  life 
After  the  taste  of  much  correction. 
King  Henry. 
Alas  1  your  too  much  love  and  care  of  me 
Are  heavy  orisons  'gainst  this  poor  wretch. 
If  little  faults,  proceeding  on  distemper,      [eye, 
Shall  not  be  wink'd  at,  how  shall  we  stretch  our 
When  capital  crimes,  chew'd,  swallow'd,  and 

digested, 
Appear  before  us  ? — We'll  yet  enlarge  that  man, 
Though  Cambridge,  Scroop,  and  Grey,  in  their 
dear  care, 
;  And  tender  preservation  of  our  person, 
■  Would  have  him  punish'd.    And  now  to  our 

French  causes : 
Who  are  the  late  commissioners  ? 

Cambridge. 
j     I  one,  my  lord  : 
Your  highness  bade  me  ask  for  it  to-day. 

Scroop. 


A<  i    II.    Sc.  1L 


KING  HENRY  V. 


503 


Scroop. 

So  did  you  me,  my  liege. 
Grey. 

And  I.  my  royal  sovereign. 

King  Henry. 
Then,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge,  there  ii 
yours ; — 
There  yours,  lord  Scroop  of  Marsham:— and, 

sir  knight, 
Grey  of  Xorthumbcrland,  this  same  is  yours :  — 
Read  them ;  and  know,  I  knowyour  worthiness — 
My  lord  of  Westmoreland,  and  uncle  Exeter, 
We   will    aboard    to-night.— Why,   how   now, 

gentlemen ! 
What  see  you  in  those  papers,  that  you  lose 
Somuch  complexion? — look  ye,  how  they  change: 
Their  cheeks  are  paper.— Why,  what  read  you 

there, 
That  hath  so  cowarded  and  chased  your  blood 
Out  of  appearance  ? 

Cambridge. 

I  do  confess  my  fault, 
And  do  submit  me  to  your  highness"'  mercy. 

Grey  and  Scroop. 
To  which  we  all  appeal. 

King  Henry. 

The  mercy  that  was  quick  in  us  but  late, 
By  your  own  counsel  is  suppress'd  and  kill'd  : 
You  must  not  dare,  for  shame,  to  talk  of  mercy ; 
For  your  own  reasons  turn  into  your  bosoms, 
As  dogs  upon  their  masters,  worrying  you — 
:  See  you,  my  princes,  and  my  noble  peers, 
!  These  English  monsters  1    My  lord  of  Cambridge 
here, — 
You  know,  how  apt  our  love  was  to  accord 
To  furnish  him  with  all  appertinents 
Belonging  to  his  honour  ;  and  this  man 
Hath,  for  a  few  light  crowns,  lightly  conspir'd, 
And  sworn  unto  the  practices  of  Fiance, 
To  kill  us  here  in  Hampton:  to  the  which, 
This  knight,  no  less  for  bounty  bound  to  us 
Than  Cambridge  is, hath  likewisesworn.— But  O! 
What  shall  I  say  to  thee,  lord  Scroop?  thou  cruel, 
Ingrateful,  savage,  and  inhuman  creature  ! 
Thou  that  didst  bear  the  key  of  all  my  counsels, 
That  knew'st  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul, 
That  almost  might'st  have  coin'd  me  into  gold, 
Would'st  thou  have  practis'd  on  me  for  thy  use  ? 
May  it  be  possible,  that  foreign  hire 
Could  out  of  thee  extract  one  spark  of  evil, 
That  might  annoy  my  finger  ?  'tis  so  strange, 
That,  though  the  truth  of  it  stands  off  as  gross 
As  black  and  white,  my  eye  will  scarcely  see  it. 
Treason  and  murder  ever  kept  together, 
As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  either's  purpose, 
Working  so  grossly  in  a  natural  cause, 
That  admiration  did  not  whoop  at  them  : 
But  thou,  'gainst  all  proportion,  didst  bring  in 
Wonder  to  wait  on  treason,  and  on  murder  : 
And  whatsoever  cunning  fiend  it  was, 
That  wrought  upon  thee  so  preposterously, 
Hath  got  the  voice  in  hell  for  excellence, 
And  other  devils,  that  suggest  by  treasons, 
Do  botch  and  bungle  up  damnation 
With  patches,  colours,  and  with  forms,  being 
From  glistering  semblances  of  piety :      [fetch'd 
But  he  that  temper'd  thee  bade  thee  stand  up, 
Gave  thee  no  instance  why  thou  should'st  do 

treason, 
Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 
If  that  same  demon,  that  hath  gull'd  thee  thus. 
Should  with  his  lion  gait  walk  the  whole  world, 
j    He  might  return  to  vasty  Tartar  back, 
And  tell  the  legions  —  I  can  never  win 
A  soul  so  easy  as  that  Englishman's. 


O,  how  hast  thou  with  jealousy  infected 
The  sweetness  of  affiance  1    Show  men  dutiful  ? 
Why.sodidstthou:  seem  they  grave  and  learned? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  come  they  of  noble  family? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  seem  they  religious  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou :  or  are  they  spare  in  diet; 
Free  from  gross  passion,  or  of  mirth,  or  anger; 
Constant  in  spirit,  not  swerving  with  the  blood; 
Garnish'd  ana  deck'd  in  modest  complement ; 
Not  working  with  the  eye  without  the  ear, 
(And  but  in  purged  judgment  trusting  neither? 
Such,  and  so  finely  bolted,  didst  thou  seem ; 
And  thus  thy  fall  hath  left  a  kind  of  blot, 
To  mark  the  full-fraught  man,  and  best  indued. 
With  some  suspicion.     I  will  weep  for  thee, 
For  this  revolt  of  thine,  methinks,  is  like 
Another  fall  of  man — Their  faults  are  open  : 
Arrest  them  to  the  answer  of  the  law, 
And  God  acquit  them  of  their  practices! 

Exeter. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Richard  earl  of  Cambridge. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Henry  lord  Scroop,  of  Marsham. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Thomas  Grey,  knight  of  Northumberland. 

Scroop. 
Our  purposes  God  Justly  hath  discover'd, 
And  I  repent  mv  fault  more  than  my  death ; 
Which  I  beseech  your  highness  to  forgive, 
!  Although  my  body  pay  the  price  of  it. 

Cambridge. 
For  me, — the  gold  of  France  did  not  seduce, 
;  Although  1  did  admit  it  as  a  motive, 
;  The  sooner  to  effect  what  I  intended  : 
But  God  be  thanked  for  prevention ; 
Which  1  in  sufferance  heartily  will  rejoice, 
Beseeching  God  and  you  to  pardon  me. 

Grey 

Never  did  faithful  subject  more  rejoice 
At  the  discovery  of  most  dangerous  treason, 
Than  I  do  at  this  hour  joy  o'er  myself, 
Prevented  from  a  damned  enterprize. 
My  fault,  but  not  my  body,  pardon,  sovereign. 

King  Heitrv. 
God  quit  you  in  his  mercy !    Hear  your  sen- 
tence. 

■  You  have  conspir'd  against  our  royal  person, 

I  Join'd  with  an  enemy  proclaim'd,  and  from  his 

coffers 
i  Receiv'd  the  golden  earnest  of  our  death  ; 
j  Wherein  you  would  have  sold  your  king  to 

slaughter, 
!  His  princes  and  his  peers  to  servitude, 
\  His  subjects  to  oppression  and  contempt, 
:  And  his  whole  kingdom  into  desolation. 

Touching  our  person,  seek  we  no  revenge ; 

But  we  our  kingdom's  safety  must  so  tender. 

Whose  ruin  you  have  sought,  that  to  her  laws 

We  do  deliver  you.    Get  you  therefore  hence, 
;  Poor  miserable  wretches,  to  your  death ; 
j  The  taste  whereof,  God,  of  his  mercy,  give  you 
!  Patience  to  endure,  and  true  repentance 
i  Of  all  your  dear  offences — Bear  them  hence. 
'  [Exeunt  Conspirators,  guarded. 

Now,  lords,  for  France;  the  enterprise  whereof 

Shall  be  to  you,  as  us,  like  glorious. 
.  W'e  doubt  not  of  a  fair  and  lucky  war. 

Since  God  so  graciously  hath  brought  to  light 
j  This  dangerous  treason,  lurking  in  our  way 
i  To  hinder  our  beginnings :  we  doubt  not  now, 

■  But  every  rub  is  smoothed  on  our  way. 

!  Then,  forth,  dear  countrymen  :  let  us  deliver 

Our  puissance  into  the  hand  of  God, 
1  Putting  it  straight  in  expedition. 

Cheerly 


5°+ 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


Cheerly  to  sea  ;  the  signs  of  war  advance : 
No  king  of  England,  if  not  king  of  Frarice. 

SCENE  III.    London.    Mrs.  Quickly'*  House 
in  Eastcheap. 

Enter  Pistol,  Mrs.  Quickly,  Nym,  Bardolph, 
and  Boy. 

Quickly. 
Pry'thee,  honey-sweet  husband,  let  me  bring 
thee  to  Staines. 

Pistol. 
No;  for  my  manly  heart  doth  yearn. — 
Bardolph,  be  blithe;  Nym,  rouse  thy  vaunting 

reins ; 
Boy,  bristle  thy  courage  up;  for  Falstaffhe  is 
And  we  must  yearn  therefore.  [dead, 

Bardolph. 
'Would  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er  he  is, 
either  in  heaven,  or  in  hell. 
Quickly. 
Nay,  sure,  he's  not  in  hell :  he's  in  Arthur's 
bosom,  if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom. 
'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  went  away,  an  it  had 
been  any  christom  child ;  'a  parted  ev'n  just  be- 
tween twelve  and  one,  ev'n  at  the  turning  o'  the 
tide:  for  after  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets, 
and  play  with  flowers,  and  smile  upon  his  finger's 
end,  I  knew  there  was  but  one  way;  for  his  nose 
was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,  and  'a  babbled  of  green 
fields.  How  now,  sir  John?  quoth  I:  what, 
man !  be  of  good  cheer.  So  'a  cried  out— God, 
God,  God  1  three  or  four  times  :  now  I,  to  com- 
fort him,  bid  him,  a'  should  not  think  of  God ; 
I  hoped,  there  was  no  need  to  trouble  himself 
with  any  such  thoughts  yet.  So,  'a  bade  me  lay 
more  clothes  on  his  feet :  I  put  my  hand  into 
the  bed,  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as 
any  stone ;  then  I  felt  to  his  knees,  and  so  up- 
ward, and  upward,  and  all  was  as  cold  as  any 
stone. 

Nym. 
They  say,  he  cried  out  of  sack. 

Quickly. 
Ay,  that  'a  did. 

Bardolph. 
And  of  women. 

Quickly. 
Nay,  that  'a  did  not. 

Boy. 
Yes,  that  'a  did ;  and  said,  they  were  devils 
incarnate. 

Quickly. 
'A  could  never  abide  carnation ;  'twas  a  colour 
he  never  liked. 

Boy. 
'A  said  once,  the  devil  would  have  him  about 
women. 

Quickly. 
'A  did  in  some  sort,  indeed,  handle  women ; 
but  then  he  was  rheumatic,  and  talked  of  the 
whore  of  Babylon. 

Boy. 
Do  you  not  remember,  'a  saw  a  flea  stick  upon 
Bardolph's  nose,  and  a'  said  it  was  a  black  soul 
burning  in  hell  ? 

Bardolph. 
Well,  the  fuel  is  gone  that  maintained  that 
fire :  that's  all  the  riches  I  got  in  his  service. 

Nym. 
Shall  we  shog  ?  the  king  will  be  gone  from 
Southampton. 


Pistol. 
Come,  let's  away.— My  love,  give  me  thy  lips. 
Look  to  my  chattels,  and  my  moveables : 
Let  senses  rule;  the  word  is,  "  Pitch  and  pay;" 
Trust  none;  [cakes. 

For  oaths  are  straws,  men's  faiths  are  wafer  - 
And  hold-fast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck  : 
Therefore,  caveto  be  thy  counsellor. 
Go,  clear  thy  crystals — Yoke-fellows  in  arms. 
Let  us  to  France :  like  horse-leeches,  my  boys, 
To  suck,  to  suck,  the  very  blood  to  suck ! 
Boy. 
And  that  is  but  unwholesome  food,  they  say. 

Pistol. 
Touch  her  soft  mouth,  and  march. 

Bardolph. 
Farewell,  hostess.  [  Kissing  her. 

Nym. 
I  cannot  kiss,  that  is  the  humour  of  it ;  but 
adieu.  .  ,      . 

Pistol. 
Let  housewifery  appear:  keep  close,   I  thee 
command. 

Quickly. 
Farewell;  adieu.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    France.    A  Room  in  the  French 
King's  Palace. 

Flourish.    Enter  the  French   King  attended ; 

the  Dauphin,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the 

Constable,  and  others. 

French  King. 

Thus  come  the  English  with  full  power  upon 
And  more  than  carefully  it  us  concerns,        [us, 
To  answer  royally  in  our  defences. 
Therefore  the  dukes  of  Berry,  and  of  Bretagne, 
Of  Brabant,  and  of  Orleans,  shall  make  forth. 
And  you,  prince  Dauphin,  with  all  swift  de- 
spatch, 
To  line,  and  new  repair,  our  towns  of  war 
With  men  of  courage,  and  with  means  defendant : 
For  England  his  approaches  makes  as  fierce, 
As  waters  to  the  sucking  of  a  gulph. 
It  fits  us,  then,  to  be  as  provident 
As  fear  may  teach  us,  out  of  late  examples 
Left  by  the  fatal  and  neglected  English 
Upon  our  fields. 

Dauphin. 

My  most  redoubted  father, 
It  is  most  meet  we  arm  us  'gainst  the  foe ; 
For  peace  itself  should  not  so  dull  a  kingdom, 
(Though  war,  nor  no  known  quarrel,  were  in 

question) 
But  that  defences,  musters,  preparations, 
Should  be  maintain'd,  assembled,  and  collected 
As  were  a  war  in  expectation. 
Therefore,  I  say,  'tis  meet  we  all  go  forth, 
To  view  the  sick  and  feeble  parts  of  France  : 
And  let  us  do  it  with  no  show  of  fear  ; 
No,  with  no  more,  than  if  we  heard  that  England 
Were  basied  with  a  Ii  hitsun  morris  dance: 
For,  my  good  liege,  she  is  so  idly  king'd, 
Her  sceptre  so  fantastically  borne 
By  a  vain,  giddy,  shallow,  humorous  youth, 
That  fear  attends  her  not. 

Constable. 

O  peace,  prince  Dauphin  I 
You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king. 
Question  your  grace  the  late  ambassadors, 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy, 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors, 
How  modest  in  exception,  and,  withal, 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution, 

And 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


5*5 


And  you  shall  find,  Ms  vanities  forespent 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  Brutus, 
Covering  Alteration  with  a  coat  of  folly ; 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  be  most  delicate. 
Dauphin. 
Well,  tls  not  so,  my  lord  high  constable; 
But  though  we  think  it  so,  it  is  no  matter  : 
In  cases  of  defence,  'tis  best  to  weigh 
The  enemy  more  mighty  than  he  seems, 
So  the  proportions  of  defence  are  fill'd  ; 
Which,  of  a  weak  and  niggardly  projection, 
Doth  like  a  miser,  spoil  his  coat,  with  scanting 
A  little  cloth.        _.        .... 

French  King. 

Think  we  king  Harry  strong  ; 
And,  princes,  look,  you  strongly  arm  to  meet 

him. 
The  kindred  of  him  hath  been  flesh M  upon  us, 
And  he  is  bred  out  of  that  bloody  strain, 
That  haunted  us  in  our  famiiiar  paths  : 
Witness  our  too  much  memorable  shame, 
When  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck, 
And  all  our  princes  captiv'd,  by  the  hand 
Of  that  black  name,  Edward  black  prince  of 

Wales  ; 
Whiles  that  his  mountain  slre,-on  mountain 

standing, 
Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sun,— 
Saw  his  heroical  seed,  and  smil'd  to  see  him, 
Mangle  the  work  of  nature,  and  deface 
The  patterns  that  by  God,  and  by  French  fathers, 
Had  twenty  years  been  made.     This  is  a  stem 
Of  that  victorious  stock ;  and  let  us  fear 
The  native  mightiness  and  fate  of  him. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Ambassadors  from  Harry  King  of  England 
Do  crave  admittance  to  your  majesty. 
French  King. 
We'll  give  them  present  audience.    Go  and 
brjng  them. 
[Exeunt  Messengers  and  certain  Lords. 
You  see,  this  chase  is  hotly  follow'd,  friends. 
Dauphin. 
Turn  head,  and  stop  pursuit ;  for  coward  dogs 
Most  spend  their  mouths,  when  what  they  seem 

to  threaten 
Runs  far  before  them.    Good  my  sovereign, 
Take  up  the  English  short,  and  let  them  know 
Of  what  a  monarchy  you  are  the  head : 
Self-love,  my  liege,  is  not  so  vile  a  sin 
A*  self-neglecting. 

Re-enter  Lords,  with  Exeter  and  Train. 
French  King. 

From  our  brother  of  England  t 
Exeter. 
From  him;  and  thus  he  greets  your  majesty. 
He  wills  you,  in  the  name  of  God  Almighty, 
That  you  divest  yourself,  and  lay  apart 
The  borrow'd  glories,  that  by  gift  of  heaven, 
By  law  of  nature,  and  of  nations,  'long 
To  him,  and  to  his  heirs  ;  namely,  the  crown, 
And  all  wide-stretched  honours  that  pertain, 
By  custom  and  the  ordinance  of  times,     [know, 
Unto  the  crown  of  France.     That  you  may 
*Tis  no  sinister,  nor  no  awkward  claim, 
Pick'd  from  the  worm-holes  of  long-vanish'd 
Nor  from  the  dust  of  old  oblivion  rak'd,     [days, 
lie  sends  you  this  most  memorable  line, 

[Gives  a  pedigree. 
In  every  branch  truly  demonstrative; 
Willing  you  overlook  this  pedigree, 


And  when  you  find  him  evenly  deriv'd 
From  his  most  fam'd  of  famous  ancestors, 
Edward  the  third,  he  bids  you  then  resign 
Your  crown  and  kingdom,  indirectly  held 
From  him,  the  native  and  true  challenger. 
French  King. 

Or  else  what  follows  ? 

Exeter. 

Bloody  constraint;  for  if  you  hide  the  crown 
Even  in  your  hearts,  there  will  he  rake  for  it : 
Therefore,  in  fierce  tempest  is  he  coming. 
In  thunder,  and  in  earthquake,  like  a  Jove, 
That,  if  requiring  fail,  he  will  compel : 
And  bids  you,  in  the  bowels  of  the  Lord, 
Deliver  up  the  crown,  and  to  take  mercy 
On  the  poor  souls,  for  whom  this  hungry  war 
Opens  his  vasty  jaws ;  and  on  your  head 
Turning  the  widows'  tears,  the  orphans'  cries, 
The  dead  men's  blood,  the  pining   maidens' 

groans, 
For  husbands,  fathers,  and  betrothed  lovers, 
That  shall  be  swallow'd  in  this  controversy. 
This  is  his  claim,  his  threat'ning,  and  my  mes- 
sage ; 
Unless  the  Dauphin  be  In  presence  here, 
To  whom  expressly  I  bring  greeting  too. 

French  King. 
For  us,  we  will  consider  of  this  farther: 
To-morrow  shall  you  bear  our  full  intent 
Back  to  our  brother  of  England. 
Dauphin. 

For  the  Dauphin, 
I  stand  here  for  him :  what  to  him  from  Eng- 
land f 

Exeter. 
Scorn,  and  defiance,  slight  regard,  contempt, 
And  any  thing  that  may  not  misbecome 
The  mighty  sender,  doth  he  prize  you  at. 
Thus  says  my  king:  and,  if  your  father's  high- 
Do  not,  in  grant  of  all  demands  at  large,     [ness 
Sweeten  the  bitter  mock  you  sent  his  majesty, 
He'll  call  you  to  so  hot  an  answer  of  it, 
That  caves  and  womby  vaultages  of  France 
Shall  chide  your  trespass,  and  return  your  mock 
In  second  accent  of  his  ordinance. 
Dauphin. 
Say,  if  my  father  render  fair  return, 
It  is  against  my  will ;  for  1  desire 
Nothing  but  odds  with  England  :  to  that  end, 
As  matching  to  his  youth  and  vanity, 
I  did  present  him  with  the  Paris  balls. 
Exeter. 
He'll  make  your  Paris  Louvre  shake  for  it, 
Were  it  the  mistress  court  of  mignty  Europe  : 
And,  be  assur'd,  you'll  find  a  difference, 
As  we  his  subjects  have  in  wonder  found. 
Between  the  promise  of  his  greener  days, 
And  these  he  masters  now.     Now  he  weighs 

time, 
Even  to  the  utmost  grain  ;  that  you  shall  read 
In  your  own  losses,  if  he  stay  in  'France. 

French  King. 
To-morrow  shall  you  know  our  mind  at  full. 

Exeter. 
Despatch  us  with  all  speed,  lest  that  our  king 
Come  here  himself  to  question  our  delay, 
For  he  is  footed  in  this  land  already. 

French  King. 
You  shall  be  soon  despatch'd  with  fair  con- 
ditions. 
A  night  is  but  small  breath,  and  little  pause, 
To  answer  matters  of  this  consequence. 


506 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  in.  Sc.  i. 


ACT  HI. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Chorus. 

THUS  with  imagin'd  wing  our  swift  scene 
In  motion  of  no  less  celerity  [flies, 

Than  that  of  thought.    Suppose,  that  you  have 

seen 
The  well-appointed  king  at  Hampton  pier 
Embark  his  royalty  ;  and  his  brave  fleet  [ning : 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Phoebus  fan- 
Play  with  your  fancies,  and  in  them  behold, 
Upon  the  hempen  tackle  ship-boys  climbing  ; 
Hear  the  shrill  whistle,  which  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confus'd :  behold  the  threaden  sails, 
Borne  with  th'  invisible  and  creeping  wind, 
Draw  the  huge  bottoms  through  the  furrow' d 

sea, 
Breasting  the  lofty  surge     O  !  do  but  think, 
You  stand  upon  the  rivage,  and  behold 
A  city  on  th'  inconstant  billows  dancing ; 
For  so  appears  this  fleet  majestical,  [low  ! 

Holding  due  course  to  Harfleur.    Follow,  fol- 
Grapple  your  minds  to  sternage  of  this  navy  ; 
And  leave  your  England,  as  dead  midnight  still,  i 
Guarded  with  grandsires, babies,  and  old  women,  ! 
Either  past,  or  not  arriv'd  to,  pith  and  puis-  j 

sance : 
For  who  is  he,  whose  chin  is  but  enrich'd 
With  one  appearing  hair,  that  will  not  follow 
These   cull'd   and   choice-drawn   cavaliers   to 

France  ?  [siege :  I 

Work,  work  your  thoughts,  and  therein  see  a 
Behold  the  ordnance  on  their  carriages, 
With  fatal  mouths  gaping  on  girded  Harfleur. 
Suppose,  th' ambassador  from  the  French  comes 

back; 
Tells  Harry  that  the  king  doth  offer  him 
Katharine  his  daughter ;  and  with  her,  to  dowry, 
Some  petty  and  unprofitable  dukedoms. 
The  offer  likes  not :  and  the  nimble  gunner 
With  linstock  now  the  devilish  cannon  touches, 
[Alarum  ;  and  Chambers  go  ofT. 
And  down  goes  all  before  them.    Still  be  kind, 
And  eke  out  our  performance  with  your  mind. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  I.    France.    Before  Harfleur. 

Alarums.    Enter  King  Henry,  Exeter,  Bedford, 
Gloster,  and  Soldiers,  with  Scaling  Ladders. 

King  Henry. 
Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once 
more ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  modest  stillness,  and  humility  ; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger : 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favour'd  rage : 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect ; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head, 
Like  the  brass  cannon  ;  let  the  brow  o'er  whelm 
As  fearfully,  as  doth  a  galled  rock  [it, 

O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 
Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide ; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height !  — On,  on,  you  noblest  En- 
glish I 


Whose  blood  is  fet  from  fathers  of  war-proof, 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheath'd  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
Dishonour  not  your  mothers  :  now  attest, 
That  those  whom  you  call'd  fathers  did  beget 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood,         [you . 
And  teach  them  how  to  war — And  you,  good 

yeomen, 
Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture:  let  us  swear   [here 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding ;  which  I 

"doubt  not, 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
That  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  eyes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot : 
Follow  your  spirit ;  and  upon  this  charge, 
Cry  — God  for  Harry!   England!   and   Saint 

George ! 

[Exeunt     Alarum,  and  Chambers  go  off. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 

Forces  pass  over  ;  then  enter  Nym,  Bardolph, 
Pistol,  and  Boy. 

Bardolph. 
On,  on,  on,  on,  on  !  to  the  breach,  to  the 
breach ! 

Nym. 

Pray  thee,  corporal,  stay :  the  knocks  are  too 

hot ;  and  for  mine  own  part,  I  have  not  a  case 

of  lives  :  the  humour  of  it  is  too  hot,  that  is  the 

very  plain-song  of  it. 

Pistol.  •; 

The  plain  song  is  most  just,  for  humours  do 
abound  ; 
Knocks  go  and  come,  God's  vassals  drop  and 
And  sword  and  shield,  [die  j 

In  bloody  field, 
Doth  win  immortal  fame. 

Boy. 
Would  I  were  in  an  alehouse  in  London !     1 
would  give  all  my  fame  for  a  pot  of  ale,  and 
safety. 

Pistol. 
And  I: 

If  wishes  would  prevail  with  me, 
My  purpose  should  not  fail  with  me, 
But  thither  would  I  hie. 

Boy. 
As  duly,  but  not  as  truly,  as  bird  doth  sing  on 
bough. 

Enter  Fluellen. 
Fluellen. 
Up  to  the  preach,  you  dogs!  avaunt,  you 
cullions  !  [Driving  them  forward. 

Pistol. 

Be  merciful,  great  duke,  to  men  of  mould  ! 

Abate  thy  rage,  abate  thy  manly  rage  ; 

Abate  thy  rage,  great  duke  !  [sweet  chuck  ! 

Good   bawcock,   bate   thy   rage;    use   lenity, 

Nym. 
These  be  good  humohrs  !  —  your  honour  wins 
bad  humours. 

[Exeunt  Nym,  Pistol,  and  Bardolph,  fol- 
lowed by  Fluellen. 

As  young  as  I  am,  I  haVe  observed  these  three 
swashers.  I  am  boy  to  them  all  three,  but  all 
they  three,  though  they  would  serve  me,  could 
not  be  man  to  me ;  for,  indeed,  three  such 
antics  do  not  amount  to  a  man.  For  Bardolph 
he   is  white-livered,   and    red-faced ;    by   the 


Ac i   ii :      9 


KING  1IEXKY  V. 


5*7 


means  whereof,  'a  faces  it  out,  but  fight*  not. 
For  PMof,  hfl  hath  a  killing  tongue,  and  a  quid 
■Word  ;  by  tlie  means  whereof  'a  breaks  words, 
and  keeps  whole  weapons.  For  Kyvi,  he  hath 
h««rd,  that  men  of  few  words  are  the  best  men  ; 
and  therefore  he  scorns  to  say  his  prayers,  lest 
*a  should  be  thought  a  coward :  but  his  few 
bad  words  are  match'd  with  as  few  good  deeds  ; 
for  *a  never  broke  any  man's  head  but  his  own, 
and  that  was  against  a  post  when  he  was  drunk. 
They  will  steal  any  thing,  and  call  it  purchase. 
Jiardolph  stole  a  lute-case ;  bore  it  twelve 
leagues,  and  sold  It  for  three  halfpence.  Kym 
and  Bardolph  are  swom  brothers  in  niching, 
and  in  Calais  they  stole  a  fire-shovel :  I  knew  by 
that  piece  of  service  the  men  would  carry  coals. 
They  would  have  me  as  familiar  with  men's 
pockets,  as  their  gloves  or  their  handkerchiefs : 
which  makes  much  against  my  manhood,  if  I 
should  take  from  another's  pocket,  to  put  into 
mine,  for  it  is  plain  pocketing  up  of  wrongs.  I 
must  leave  them,  and  seek  some  better  service : 
their  villainy  goes  against  my  weak  stomach, 
and  therefore  I  must  cast  it  up.  [Exit  Buy. 

He-enter  Flat  lien,  Gowtr  following. 

Gower. 

Captain  Fluellen,  you  must  come  presently  to 
the  mines:  the  duke  of  Cluster  would  speak 
with  you. 

Fluellen. 

To  the  mines  ;  tell  you  the  duke,  it  is  not  so 
good  to  come  to  the  mines  !  for.  look  you,  the 
mines  is  not  according  to  the  disciplines  of  the 
war  :  the  concavities  of  it  is  not  sufficient ;  for, 
look  you,  th*  athversary  (you  may  discuss  unto 
the  duke,  look  you)  is  digged  himself  four  yards 
under  the  countermines.  By  Chesfiu,  I  think,  'a 
will  plow  up  all,  if  there  is  not  better  directions. 

Gower. 
The  duke  of  Glister,  to  whom  the  order  of 
the  siege  is  given,  fs  altogether  directed  by  an 
Irishman  ;  a  very  valiant  gentleman,  i' faith". 

Fluellen. 
It  is  captain  Macmorris,  is  it  not  ? 

Cower. 
I  think  it  be. 

Fluellen. 
By  Chehsu.  he  is  an  ass,  as  in  the  world.  I 
will  verify  as  much  in  his  peard :  he  has  no 
more  directions  in  the  true  disciplines  of  the 
wars,  look  you,  of  the  Roman  disciplines,  than 
is  a  puppy-dog 

Enter  Macmorris  and  Jamg,  at  a  distance. 

Cower. 
Here  'a  comes  ;  and  the  Scots  captain,  captain 
Ja-ny,  with  him. 

Fluellen. 
Captain  Jamy  is  a  marvellous  falorous  gentle- 
man, that  is  certain  ;  and  of  great  expedition, 
and  knowledge  in  the  ancient  wars,  upon  my 
particular  knowledge  of  his  directions:  by  Che- 
shu,  he  will  maintain  his  argument  as  well  as 
any  military  man  in  the  world,  in  the  disciplines 
of  the  pristine  wars  of  the  Romans. 
Jamy. 
I  say,  gude  day,  captain  Fluellen. 

Fluellen. 
God-den    to    your    worship,   goot    captain 
James. 

Gowcr. 
How  now,  captain  Macmorris  !  have  you  quit 
the  mines  ?  have  the  pioneers  given  o'er  'r 


Macmorris. 
By  Chrish  la,  tish  ill  done :  the  work  ish  give 
over,  the  trumpet  sound  the  retreat.  By  my 
hand,  I  swear,  and  my  father's  soul,  the  work 
ish  ill  done;  it  ish  give  over:  I  would  have 
I  blowed  up  the  town,  so  Chrish  save  me,  la,  In  an 
1  hour.  O  I  tish  ill  done,  tish  ill  done  ;  by  my 
{ hand,  tish  ill  done. 

Fluellen. 
Captain  Macmorris,  T  peseech  you  now  will 
you  vouchsafe  me,  look  you,  a  few  disputation! 
with  you,  as  partly  touching  or  concerning  the 
disciplines  of  the  war,  the  Roman  wars,  in  the 
way  of  argument,  look  you,  and  friendly  commu- 
nication ;  partly,  to  satisfy  my  opinion,  and 
I  partly,  for  the  satisfaction,  look  you,  of  my 
mind,  as  touching  the  direction  of  the  military 
discipline :  that  is  the  point. 

Jamy. 

It  sail  be  very  gude,  gude  felth,  gude  captains 
Ibath:  and  I  sail  quit  you  with  gude  leve,  as  I 
|  may  pick  occasion  ;  that  sail  1,  marry. 

Macmorris. 
|     It  is  no  time  to  discourse,  so  Chrish  save  me. 
:  The  day  is  hot,  and  the  weather,  and  the  wars, 
[  and  the  king,  and  the  dukes  ;  it  is  no  time  to 
(  discourse.      The  town  is  beseeched,  and  the 

trumpet  calls  us  to  the  breach,  and  we  talk,  and, 
;  by  Chrish,  do  nothing :  'tis  shame  for  us  all ; 
'  so  God  sa'  me,  'tis  shame  to  stand  still ;  it  is 

shame,  by  my  hand  :  and  there  is  throats  to  be 

cut,  and>works  to  be  done,  and  there  ish  nothing 

done,  so  Chrish  sa'  me,  la. 

Jamy. 
By  the  mess,  ere  these  eyes  of  mine  take 
themselves  to  slumber,  aile  do  gude  service,  or 
aile  lig  i'  the  grund  for  it ;  ay,  or  go  to  death  ; 
and  aile  pay  it  as  valor ously  as  I  may,  that  sal  I 
surely  do,  that  is  the  brief  and  the  long. 
Marry,  I  wad  full  fain  heard  some  question 
'tween  you  tway. 

Fluellen. 
Captain  Macmorris,  1  think,  look  you,  under 
your  correction,  there   is   not  many  of  your 
nation  — 

Macmorris. 
Of  my  nation  I    What  ish  my  nation  ?  ish  a 
villain,  and  a  bastard,  and  a  knave,  and  a  rascal  ? 
What  ish  my  nation  ?  \Vho  talks  of  my  nation  ? 

Fluellen. 
Look  you,  if  you  take  the  matter  otherwise 
than  is  meant,  captain  Macmorris,  perad- 
venture,  1  shall  think  you  do  not  use  me  with 
that  affability  as  in  discretion  you  ought  to  use 
me,  look  you  ;  being  as  goot  a  man  as  yourself, 
I  both  in  the  disciplines  of  wars,  and  in  the  de- 
'  rivation  of  my  birth,  and  in  other  particularities 

Macmorris. 
'     I  do  not  know  you  so  good  a  man  as  myself : 
so  Chrish  save  me,  I  will  cut  off  your  head. 

Cower. 

Gentlemen  both,  you  will  mistake  each  other. 

i     Au  !  that's  a  foul  fault.      [A  parley  sounded. 

Gower. 
The  town  sounds  a  parley. 

Fluellen. 

\     Captain  Macmorris,  when  there  is  more  better 

i  opportunity  to  be  required,  look  you,  I  will  be 

so  bold  as  to  tell  you,  I  know  the  disciplines  of 

'  wars  ;  and  there  is  an  end.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


508 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


SCENE  III.    The  same.    Before  the  Gate*  of 
Harfieur. 

The  Governor  and  some  Citizens  on  the  Walls  ; 

the  English  Forces  below.   Enter  King  Henry 

and  his  Train. 

King  Henry 

How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the  town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit : 
Therefore,  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves, 
Or,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction, 
Defy  us  to  our  worst ;  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
A  name  that  in  my  thoughts  becomes  me  best, 
If  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 
I  will  not  leave  the  half-achieved  HarjUnr, 
Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 
The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up  ; 
And  the  flesh'd  soldier,  rough  and  hard  of  heart, 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand  shall  range 
With  conscience  wide  as  hell,  mowing  like  grass 
Your   fresh-fair  virgins,   and   your   flowering 
What  is  it  then  to  me,  if  impious  war,  [infants. 
Arrayed  in  flames  like  to  the  prince  of  fiends, 
Do,  with  his  smirch'd  complexion,  all  fell  feats 
Enlink'd  to  waste  and  desolation? 
What  is't  to  me,  when  you  yourselves  are  cause, 
If  your  pure  maidens  fall  into  the  hand 
Of  hot  and  forcing  violation  ? 
What  rein  can  hold  licentious  wickedness, 
When  down  the  hill  he  holds  his  fierce  career  ? 
We  may  as  bootless  spend  our  vain  command 
Upon  th'  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil, 
As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan  .[fleur, 

To  come  ashore.     Therefore,  you  men  of  Har- 
Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people, 
Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command  ; 
Whiles  yet  the  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 
O'erblows  the  filthy  and  contagious  clouds 
Of  heady  murder,  spoil,  and  villainy. 
If  not,  why  in  a  moment  look  to  see 
The  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 
Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daugh- 
Your  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards,    [ters  ; 
And  their  most  reverend  heads  dash'd  to  the 

walls; 
Your  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes,      [fus'd 
Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  con- 
Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 
At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 
What  say  you  ?  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid  ? 
Or,  guilty  in  defence,  be  thus  destroy'd  ? 
Governor. 

Our  expectation  hath  this  day  an  end. 
The  Dauphin,  whom  of  succour  we  entreated, 
Returns  us  that  his  powers  are  yet  not  ready 
To  raise  so  great  a  siege.   Therefore,  great  king, 
We  yield  our  town  and  lives  to  thy  soft  mercy. 
Enter  our  gates  ;  dispose  of  us,  and  ours, 
For  we  no  longer  are  defensible. 
King  Henry. 

Open  your  gates  !— Come,  uncle  Exeter, 
Go  you  and  enter  Harfteur ;  there  remain, 
And  fortify  it  strongly  'gainst  the  French : 
Use  mercy  to  them  all.    For  us,  dear  uncle, 
The  winter  coming  on,  and  sickness  growing 
Upon  our  soldiers,  we  will  retire  to  Calais. 
To-night  in  Harfieur  will  we  be  your  guest ; 
To-morrow  for  the  march  are  we  addrest. 

[Flourish.     The  King,  &c.  enter  the  town. 

SCENE  IV.    Rouen.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Katharine  and  Alice. 

Katharine. 

Alice,  tu  as  este  en  Anglfterre,  el  tu  paries 

bien  le  langage. 


Alice. 
Un  peu,  madame. 

Katharine. 
Je  te  prie,  m'enseigniez  ;    il  faut  que  f'ap- 
prenne  d  parler.    Comment  appellez  vous  la 
main,  en  Anglois  f 

Alice. 
La  main  t  elle  est  appcllie,  de  hand. 

Katharine. 
De  hand.    Et  les  doigls  f 
Alice. 
Les  doigts?  mayfoy,jeoublielesdoigts;  mats 
fe  me  souviendray .    Les  doigts  ?  je  pense,  quHls 
sont  appelli  de  fingres  ;  otty,  de  fingres. 
Katharine. 
La  main,  de  hand ;  les  doigts,  de  fingres.    Je 
pense,  que  je  suis  le  bon  esculier.    J*ay  gagni 
deux  mots  d' Anglois  vistcment.    Comment  ap- 
pellez vous  les  ongles  ? 

Alice. 
Les  ongles?  les  appellons,  de  nails. 

Katharine 

De  nails.    Escoutez ;  dites  moy,  si  je  parle 

bien :  de  hand,  de  fingres,  de  nails. 

Alice. 

Cest  bien  dit,  madame;  il  est  fort  bon  Anglois. 

Katharine. 
Dites  moy  F Anglois  pour  le  bras. 

Alice. 
De  arm,  madame. 

Katharine. 
Et  le  coude. 

Alice. 
De  elbow. 

Katharine. 

De  elbow.    Je  m'en  faitz  la  repetition  de  ious 

les  mots,  que  vous  m'avcz  appris  des  a  present. 

Alice. 

II  est  trop  difficile,  madame,  commeje  pense. 

Katharine. 
Excusez  moy,  Alice;  escoutez:  de  hand,  de 
fingre,  de  nails,  de  arm,  de  bilbow. 
Alice. 
De  elbow,  madame. 

Katharine. 
0  Seigneur  Dieu!  je  m'en  oublie;  de  elbow. 
Comment  appellez  vous  le  coif 
Alice. 
De  nick,  madame. 

Katharine. 
Denick:  Etlementon? 
Alice. 
De  chin. 

Katharine. 
De  sin.    Le  col,  de  nick :  le  menton,  de  sin. 

Alice. 
Ouy.    Sauf  vostre  honneur  ;  en  verite,  vous 
prononcez  les  mots  aussi  droict  que  les  natij's 
d'Angleterre. 

Katharine. 
Je  ne  doute  point  d'apprendre  par  la  grace  d' 
Dieu,  et  en  peu  de  temps. 

Alice. 
N'avez  vous  pas  deja  oublie"  ce  que  je  vous  ay 
enseignie  ? 

Katharine. 
Non,  je  reciteray  f)  vous  promptement.    De 
hand,  de  fingre,  de  mails,— 
Alice. 

De  nails,  madame. 

Katharine. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vi. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


509 


K;»tli  . 
De  nails,  de  arme,  de  Ubow. 

Sau/vottre  honneur,  de  elbow. 

Ainsi  dit  Je  ;  de  elbow,  de  nick,  et  de  sin : 
Comment  appellez  vous  le  picds  et  la  robef 

De  foot,  madame ;  et  de  cou. 
Kntlin 

De  foot,  et  de  con  ?  0  Seigneur  Dieu  I  cet 
sont  molt  de  ton  mauvais,  corruptible,  grosse,  et 
impudique,  et  non  pour  let  dames  d*  honneur 
d'user.  Je  ne  voudroit  prononcer  cet  mott 
devant  let  Seigneurt  de  i  ranee,  pour  tout  le 
monde.  Ilfaut  de  foot,  et  de  con,  neant-moint. 
Je  reciterai  une  autre  foil  ma  Icqon  ensemble : 
de  hand,  de  fingre,  de  nails,  de  arm,  de  elbow, 
de  nick,  de  sin,  de  foot,  de  con. 
Alice. 

Excellent,  madame  ! 

Katherine. 

Cett  asset  pour  une /oil :  allont  noutadisner. 

SCESE  V.    The  same.    Another  Room  in  the 
same. 

Enter  the  French  King,  the  Dauphin,  Duke  of 
Bourbon,  the  Constable  of  France,  anil  others. 

French  King. 
"Tit  certain,  he  hath  pass'd  the  river  Somtne. 

I  unstable. 
And  if  he  be  not  fought  withal,  my  lord. 
Let  us  not  live  in  France :  let  us  quit  all, 
And  give  our  vineyards  to  a  barbarous  people. 
Dauphin. 
0  Dieu  vivantl  shall  a  few  sprays  of  us, 
The  emptying  of  our  fathers'  luxury, 
Our  scions,  put  in  wild  and  savage  stock, 
Spirt  up  so  suddenly  into  the  clouds, 
And  overlook  their  grafters  ? 
Bourbon . 
Normans,  but  bastard  Normans,  Norman  bas 
iiort  de  ma  vie !  if  they  march  along        [tards. 
Unfought  withal,  but  I  will  sell  my  dukedom, 
To  buy  a  slobbery  and  a  dirty  farm 
In  that  nook-shotten  isle  of  Albion. 
'able. 
Dieu  de  battailet!  where  have  they  this  met- 
is not  their  climate  foggy,  raw,  and  dull,    [tie  ? 
On  whom,  as  in  despite,  the  sun  looks  pale, 
I  Killing  their  fruit  with  frowns?    Can  sodden 
water, 
A  drench  for  sur-rein'd  jades,  their  barley  broth, 
!  Decoct  their  cold  blood  to  such  valiant  heat  ? 
:  And  shall  our  quick  blood,  spirited  with  wine, 
;  Seem  frosty  ?    O  1  for  honour  of  our  land, 
l  Let  us  not  hang  like  roping  icicle*  [people' 

.  Upon  our  houses'  thatch,  whiles  a  more  frosty 
Sweat  drops  of  gallant  youth  in  our  rich  fields, 
Poor  we  may  call  them,  in  their  native  lords. 
Dauphin. 
By  faith  and  honour, 
Our  madams  mock  at  us,  and  plainly  say. 
Our  mettle  is  bred  out;  and  they  will  give 
Their  bodies  to  the  lust  of  English  youth, 
To  new-store  France  with  bastard  warriors. 
Hourbon. 
They  bid  us  to  the  English  dancing-schools,    | 
And  teach  lavoltas  high,  and  swift  corantos ; 


Saying,  our  grace  is  only  in  our  heeli. 
And  that  we  are  most  lofty  runaways. 
French  King. 
Where  is  Mountjoy,  the  herald  ?  speed  him 
hence : 
Let  him  greet  England  with  our  sharp  defiance  — 
Up  princes  1  and,  with  spirit  of  honour,  edg'd 
More  sharper  than  your  swords,  hie  to  the  Held. 
Charlet  De-la-bret,  high  constable  of  France; 
You  dukes  of  Orleant,  Bourbon,  and  of  Berry, 
Ale  neon,  Brabant,  Bar,  and  Burgundy  ; 
Jaquet  Chatillon,  Ramburet,  laudemont, 
Beaumont,  Grandpri,  houssi,  and  Fauconberg, 
Foix,  Lestrale,  Bouciqualt,  and  Charulois, 
High  dukes,  great  princes,  barons,  lords,  and 
knights,  [shames. 

For  your  great  seats,  now  quit  you  of  great 
Bar  Hany  England,  that  sweeps  through  our 

land 
With  pennons  painted  in  the  blood  of  Harfieur: 
Rush  on  his  host,  as  doth  the  melted  snow 
Upon  the  valleys,  whose  low  vassal  seat 
The  Alps  doth  spit  and  void  his  rheum  upon. 
Go,  down  upon  him,— you  have  power  enough,— 
And  in  a  captive  chariot  into  Rouen 
Bring  him  our  prisoner. 

Constable. 

This  becomes  the  great. 
Sorry  am  I,  his  numbers  are  so  few, 
His  soldiers  sick,  and  famish'd  in  their  march, 
For.  I  am  sure,  when  he  shall  see  our  army, 
He'll  drop  his  heart  into  the  sink  of  fear, 
And  for  achievement  offer  us  his  ransom. 
French  King. 
Therefore,  lord  constable,  haste  on  Mountjoy, 
And  let  him  say  to  England,  that  we  send 
To  know  what  willing  ransom  he  will  give.— 
Prince  Dauphin,  you  shall  stay  with  us  in  Rouen. 
Dauphin. 
Not  so,  I  do  beseech  your  majesty. 

French  King. 
Be  patient,  for  you  shall  remain  with  us.— 
Now,  forth,  lord  constable,  and  princes  all, 
And  quickly  bring  us  word  of  England's,  fall. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    The  English  Camp  in  Picardy. 
Enter  Gower  and  Fluellen. 
Gower. 
How  now,  captain  Fluellen  t  come  you  from 
the  bridge? 

Fluellen. 
I  assure  you,  there  is  very  excellent  services 
committed  at  the  pridge. 

Gower. 
Is  the  duke  of  Exeter  safe  ? 

Fluellen. 
The  duke  of  Exeter  is  as  magnanimous  as 
Agamemnon  1  and  a  man  that  I  love  and  honour 
with  my  soul,  and  my  heart,  and  my  duty,  and 
my  life,  and  my  living,  and  my  uttermost  power : 
he  is  not  (God  be  praised,  and  plessed !)  any 
hurt  in  the  world;  but  keeps  the  pridge  most 
valiantly,  with  excellent  discipline.  There  is  a 
lieutenant  there  at  the  pridge,—  I  think,  in  my 
very  conscience,  he  is  as  valiant  a  man  as  Mark 
Antony,  and  he  is  a  man  of  no  estimation  in 
the  world;  but  I  did  see  him  do  as  gallant 
service. 

Gower. 
What  do  you  call  him  ? 

Fluellen. 

He  is  called  ancient  Pistol. 

Gower. 


5io 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vi. 


Gower. 
1  know  him  not. 

Enter  Pistol. 
Fluellen. 
Here  is  the  man. 

Pistol. 
Captain,  I  thee  beseech  to  do  me  favours : 
The  duke  of  Exeter  doth  love  thee  well. 
Fluellen. 
Ay,  I  praise  Got;  and  I  have  merited  some! 
love  at  his  hands. 

Pistol. 
Bardolph,  a  soldier,  firm  and  sound  of  heart,    j 
And  of  buxom  valour,  hath,  by  cruel  fate 
And  giddy  fortune's  furious  fickle  wheel, 
That  goddess  blind, 

That  stands  upon  the  rolling  restless  stone, — 
Fluellen. 
By  your  patience,  ancient  Pistol.    Fortune  is 
painted  plind,  with  a  muffler  afore  her  eyes,  to  ■ 
signify  to  you  that  fortune  is  plind ;  and  she  is 
painted  also  with  a  wheel,  to  signify  to  you, 
which  is  the  moral  of  it,  that  she  is  turning,  and 
Inconstant,  and  mutability,  and  variation :  and 
her  foot,  look  you,  is  fixed  upon  a  spherical  stone, 
which  rolls,  and  rolls,  and  rolls.     In  good  truth, 
the  poet  makes  a  most  excellent  description  of 
it:  fortune,  is  an  excellent  moral. 
Pistol. 
Fortune  is  Bardolph's  foe,  and  frowns  on  him ; 
Fur  he  hath  stol'n  a  pax,  and  hanged  must  'a  be. 
k  damned  death  1 

Let  gallows  gape  for  dog,  let  man  go  free, 
And  let  not  hemp  his  wind-pipe  suffocate. 
But  Exeter  hath  given  the  doom  of  death, 
For  pax  of  little  price :  [voice, ; 

Therefore,  go  speak,  the  duke  will  hear  thy 
And  let  not  Bardolph's  vital  thread  be  cut 
With  edge  of  penny  cord,  and  vile  reproach  : 
Speak,  captain,  for  his  life,  and  I  will  thee 
requite. 

Fluellen. 
Ancient  Pistol,  I  do  partly  understand  yourj 
meaning. 

Pistol. 
Why  then,  rejoice  therefore. 

Fluellen. 
Certainly,  ancient,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  rejoice 
It ;  for  if,  look  you,  he  were  my  brother,  I  would! 
desire  the  duke  to  use  his  goot  pleasure,  and: 
put  him  to  execution,  for  discipline  ought  to] 
be  used. 

Pistol. 
Die  and  be  damn'd ;  and  fico  for  thy  friend- 
ship ! 

Fluellen. 
It  is  well. 

Pistol. 
The  fig  of  Spain !  tExlt  Pistol. 

Fluellen. 
Very  good. 

Gower. 
Why,  this  is  an  arrant  counterfeit  rascal :  I 
remember  him  now  ;  a  bawd  ;  a  cutpurse. 

Fluellen. 

I'll  assure  you,  'a  utter'd  as  prave  words  at 

the  pridge,  as  you  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day. 

But  it  is  very  well,  what  he  has  spoke  to  me ; 

that  is  well,  I  warrant  you,  when  time  is  serve. 

Gower. 

Why,  'tis  a  gull,  a  fool,  a  rogue;  that  now  and 

then  goes  to  the  wars,  to  grace  himself  at  his 

return  into  London  under  the  form  of  a  soldier. 


And  such  fellows  are  perfect  in  the  great  com- 
manders*  names,  and  they  will  learn  you  by  rote 
where  services  were  done; — at  such  and  such  a 
sconce,  at  such  a  breach,  at  such  a  convoy ;  who 
came  off  bravely,  who  was  shot,  who  disgraced, 
what  terms  the  enemy  stood  on :  and  this  they 
con  perfectly  in  the  phrase  of  war,  which  they 
trick  up  with  new-tuned  oaths:  and  what  a 
beard  of  the  general's  cut,  and  a  horrid  suit  of 
the  camp,  will  do  among  foaming  bottles,  and 
ale-washed  wits,  is  wonderful  to  be  thought  on. 
But  you  must  learn  to  know  such  slanders  of 
the  age,  or  else  you  may  be  marvellously  mis- 
took. 

Fluellen 
I  tell  you  what,  captain  Gower;  I  do  perceive, 
he  is  not  the  man  that  he  would  gladly  make 
show  to  the  world  he  is:  if  I  find  a  hole  in  his 
coat,  I  will  tell  him  my  mind.  [Drum  heard.] 
Hark  you,  the  king  is  coming,  and  I  must  speak 
with  him  from  the  pridge. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  Soldiers. 

Fluellen. 
Got  pless  your  majesty  I 

King  Henry. 
How  now,  Fluellen?  cam'st  thou  from  the 
bridge  ? 

Fluellen. 
Ay,  so  please  your  majesty.     The  duke  of 
Exeter  has  very  gallantly  maintained  the  pridge : 
the  French  is  gone  off,  look  you,  and  there  is 
gallant  and  most  prave  passages.     Marry,  th' 
athversary  was  have  possession  of  the  pridge, 
but  he  is  enforced  to  retire,  and  the  duke  of 
Exeter  is  master  of  the  pridge.    I  can  tell  your 
majesty,  the  duke  is  a  prave  man. 
King  Henry. 
What  men  have  you  lost,  Fluellen? 

Fluellen. 
The  perdition  of  th'  athversary  hath  been  very 
great,  reasonable  great :  marry,  for  my  part,  I 
think  the  duke  hath  lost  never  a  man,  but  one 
that  is  like  to  be  executed  for  robbing  a  church; 
one  Bardolph,  if  your  majesty  know  the  man  : 
his  face  is  all  bubukles,  and  whelks,  and  knobs, 
and  flames  of  fire ;  and  his  lips  plows  at  his 
nose,  and  it  is  like  a  coal  of  fire,  sometimes 
plue,  and  sometimes  red ;  but  his  nose  is  exe- 
cuted, and  his  fire's  out. 

King  Henry. 
We  would  have  all  such  offenders  so  cut  off: 
and  we  give  express  charge,  that  in  our  marches 
through  the  country,  there  be  nothing  compelled 
from  the  villages,  nothing  taken  but  paid  for ; 
none  of  the  French  upbraided,  or  abused  in  dis- 
dainful language,  for  when  lenity  and  cruelty 
play  for  a  kingdom,  the  gentler  gamester  is  the 
soonest  winner. 

Tucket.    Enter  Montjoy. 
Montjoy. 
You  know  me  by  my  Habit. 

King  Henry. 
Well  then,  I  know  thee:  what  shall  I  know 
of  thee  ? 

Montjoy. 
My  master's  mind. 


Unfold  it. 


King  Henry. 


Montjoy. 
Thus  says  my  king :  —  Say  thou  to  Harry  of 
England,  Though  we  seemed  dead,  we  did  but 
sleep ;  advantage  is  a  better  soldier  than  rash- 

ness. 


A«  [  in.  Sc.  vn. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


5" 


ness.  Tell  him,  we  could  have  rebuked  him  nt 
HarjU-ur ;  but  tint  we  thought  not  good  to 
bruise  an  injury,  till  it  were  full  ripe:  now  we 
speak  upon  our"  cue,  and  our  voice  is  Imperial. 
England  shall  repent  his  folly,  see  his  weakness, 
and  admire  our  sufferance.  Bid  him,  therefore, 
consider  of  his  ransom ;  which  must  proportion 
the  losses  we  have  borne,  the  subjects  we  have 
lost,  the  disgrace  we  have  digested;  which,  in 
weight  to  re-answer,  his  pettiness  would  bow 
under.  For  our  losses,  his  exchequer  is  too 
poor;  for  the  effusion  of  our  blood,  the  muster 
of  his  kingdom  too  faint  a  number;  and  for  our 
disgrace,  his  own  person,  kneeling  at  our  feet, 
but  a  weak  and  worthless  satisfaction.  To  this 
add  defiance;  and  tell  him,  for  conclusion,  he 
hath  betrayed  his  followers,  whose  condemnation 
is  pronounced.  So  far  my  king  and  master:  so 
much  my  office. 

Klni  rtarj 

What  is  thy  name?    I  know  thy  quality. 
Montjoy. 

Montjoy. 

King  Henry. 

Thou  dost  thy  office  fairly.    Turn  thee  back, 
And  tell  thy  king, — I  do  not  seek  him  now, 
But  could  be  willing  to  march  on  to  Calais 
Without  impeachment ;  for,  to  say  the  sooth, 
Though  'tis  no  wisdom  to  confess  so  much 
Unto  an  enemy  of  craft  and  vantage, 
My  people  are  with  sickness  much  enfeebled ; 
My  numbers  lessen'd,  and  those  few  I  have, 
Almost  no  better  than  so  many  French  : 
Who,  when  they  were  in  health,  I  tell  thee, 

herald, 
1  thought  upon  one  pair  of  English  legs     [God, 

Did  march  three  Frenchmen Yet,  forgive  me, 

That  I  do  brag  thus !— this  your  air  of  France 
Hath  blown  that  vice  in  me :  I  must  repent. 
Go,  therefore,  tell  thy  master,  here  I  am : 
My  ransom  is  this  frail  and  worthless  trunk, 
My  army  but  a  weak  and  sickly  guard ; 
Yet,  Goil  before,  tell  him  we  will  come  on, 
Though  France  himself,  and  such  another  neigh, 
bour,  [Montjoy. 

Stand  in  our  way.     There's  for  thy  labour, 
Go,  bid  thy  master  well  advise  himself: 
If  we  may  pass,  we  will ;  if  we  be  hinder'd, 
We  shall  your  tawny  ground  with  your  red  blood 
Discolour  :  and  so,  Montjoy,  fare  you  well. 
The  sum  of  all  our  answer  is  but  this  : 
We  would  not  seek  a  battle,  as  we  are. 
Nor,  as  we  are,  we  say,  we  will  not  shun  it : 
So  tell  your  master. 

Montjoy. 

I  shall  deliver  so.    Thanks  to  your  highness. 
TKxit  Mon/joy. 
Gloster. 

1  hope  they  will  not  come  upon  us  now. 
King  Henry. 

We  are  in  God's  hand,  brother,  not  in  theirs. 
March  to  the  bridge;  it  now  draws  toward  night. 
Beyond  the  river  we'll  encamp  ourselves, 
And  on  to  morrow  bid  them  march  away. 


•» 


xeunt. 


SCENE  VII.    The  French  Camp,  near  Agin, 
court. 

Enter  the  Constable  of  France,  the  Lord  Ram. 

buret,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  Dauphin,  and 

others. 

Constable. 

Tut !  I  have  the  best  armour  of  the  world. 
Wot)  Id  it  were  dav  1 


Orleans. 
You  have  an  excellent  armour;  but  let  n.y 
horse  have  his  due. 

Constable. 
It  is  the  best  horse  of  Europe. 

Orleans 
Will  it  never  be  morning  ? 
Dauphin. 
My  lord  of  Orleans,  and  my  lord  high  con- 
stable, you  talk  of  horse  and  armour — 
Orleans. 
You  are  as  well  provided  of  both  as  any  prince 
in  the  world. 

Dauphin. 

What  a  long  night  is  this  !— I  will  not  change 
my  horse  with  any  that  treads  but  on  four  pas- 
terns. Ca,ha!  He  bounds  from  the  earth,  as 
if  his  entrails  were  hairs;  le  cheval  volant,  the 
Pegasus,  out  a  Us  narines  de  feu !  When  I 
bestride  lnm,  1  soar,  I  am  a  hawk  :  he  trots  the 
air ;  the  earth  sings  when  he  touches  it :  the 
basest  horn  of  his  hoof  is  more  musical  than  the 
pipe  of  Hermei. 

Orleans. 

He's  of  the  colour  of  the  nutmeg. 
Dauphin. 

And  of  the  heat  of  the  ginger.  It  is  a  beast 
for  Perseus:  he  is  pure  air  and  fire,  and  the 
dull  elements  of  earth  and  water  never  appear 
in  him,  but  ouly  in  patient  stillness,  while  his 
rider  mounts  him  :  he  is,  indeed,  a  horse ;  and 
all  other  jades  you  may  call  beasts. 
Constable. 

Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  a  most  absolute  and 
excellent  horse. 

Dauphin. 

It  is  the  prince  of  palfreys :  his  neigh  is  like 
the  bidding  of  a  monarch,  and  his  countenance 
enforces  homage. 

Orleans. 

No  more,  cousin. 

Dauphin 

Nay,  the  man  hath  no  wit,  that  cannot,  from 
the  rising  of  the  lark  to  the  lodging  of  the  lamb, 
vary  deserved  praise  on  my  palfrey :  it  is  a 
theme  as  fluent  as  the  sea ;  turn  the  sands  into 
eloquent  tongues,  and  my  horse  is  argument  for 
them  all.  'lis  a  subject  for  a  sovereign  to  rea- 
son on,  and  for  a  sovereign's  sovereign  to  ride  on ; 
and  for  the  world  (familiar  to  us,  and  unknown) 
to  lay  apart  their  particular  functions,  and  wonder 
at  him.  I  once  writ  a  sonnet  in  his  praise,  and 
began  thus  :  "  Wonder  of  Nature  I " — 
Orleans. 

I  have  heard  a  sonnet  begin  so  to  one's  mis- 

tre8S- 

Dauphin. 

Then  did  they  imitate  that  which  I  composed 
to  my  courser ;  for  my  horse  is  my  mistress. 
Orleans. 
Your  mistress  bears  well 

Dauphin. 
Me  well ;  which  is  the  prescript  praise,  and 
perfection  of  a  good  and  particular  mistress. 
Constable. 
Nay,  for  methought  yesterday,  your  mistreu 
shrewdly  shook  your  back. 
Dauphin. 
So,  perhaps,  did  yours. 

Constable. 
Mine  was  not  bridled.  _ 

Dauphin. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  yil. 


Dauphin. 

0  !  then,  belike,  she  was  old  and  gentle ;  and 
you  rode,  like  a  kern  of  Ireland,  your  French 
nose  off,  and  in  your  strait  trossers. 

Constable. 
You  have  good  judgment  in  horsemanship. 

Dauphin. 
Be  warned  by  me,  then:  they  that  ride  so, 
and  ride  not  warily,  fall  into  foul  bogs.    1  had 
rather  have  my  horse  to  my  mistress. 
Constable. 

1  had  as  lief  have  my  mistress  a  jade. 

Dauphin. 
I  tell  thee,  constable,  my  mistress  wears  his 
own  hair.  _      .  . , 

Constable. 

I  could  make  as  true  a  boast  as  that,  if  I  had  a 
sow  to  my  mistress. 

Dauphin. 
Le  chi'en  est  retourni  d  son  propre  vomisse- 
ment,  et  la  truie  lavee  au  bourbier ;  thou  makest 
use  of  any  thing. 

Constable. 
Yet  do  1  not  use  my  horse  for  my  mistress  ;  or 
any  such  proverb,  so  little  kin  to  the  purpose. 
Rambures. 
My  lord  constable,  the  armour,  that  I  saw  in 
your  tent  to-night,  are  those  stars,  or  suns,  upon 

Constable. 
Stars,  my  lord. 

Dauphin. 
Some  of  them  will  fall  to-morrow,  I  hope. 

Constable. 
And  yet  my  sky  shall  not  want. 

Dauphin. 
That  may  be  ;  for  you  bear  a  many  superflu- 
ously, and  'twere  more  honour  some  were  away. 
Constable. 
Even  as  your  horse  bears  your  praises :  who 
would  trot  as  well,  were  some  of  your  brags 
dismounted.  _       .  . 

Dauphin. 

Would,  I  were  able  to  load  him  with  his 
desert !  Will  it  never  be  day  ?  I  will  trot  to- 
morrow a  mile,  and  my  way  shall  be  paved  with 
English  faces.        Constab,e 

I  will  not  say  so,  for  fear  I  should  be  faced 
out  of  my  way ;  but  I  would  it  were  morning, 
for  I  would  fain  be  about  the  ears  of  the  En- 

Rambures. 
Who  will  go  to  hazard  with  me  for  twenty 
prisoners  ?  _       .  . , 

Constable. 

You  must  first  go  yourself  to  hazard,  ere  you 
have  them.  _ 

Dauphin. 
'Tis  midnight :  I'll  go  arm  myself.         [Exit. 

Orleans. 
The  Dauphin  longs  for  morning. 

Rambures. 
He  longs  to  eat  the  English. 
Constable. 
I  think  he  will  eat  all  lie  kills. 

Orleans. 
By  the  white  hand  of  my  lady,  he's  a  gallant 
prince.  _. 

Constable. 
Swear  by  her  foot,  that  she  may  tread  out  the 


Orleans. 

He  is  simply  the  most  active  gentleman  ol 
France.  _,      ... 

Constable. 

Doing  is  activity,  and  he  will  still  be  doing. 

Orleans. 
He  never  did  harm,  that  I  heard  of. 

Constable. 
Nor  will  do  none  to-morrow :  he  will  keep 
that  good  name  still. 

Orleans. 
I  know  him  to  be  valiant. 

Constable. 
I  was  told  that,  by  one  that  knows  him  better 
than  you. 


Orleans. 


What's  he  ? 


Constable. 

Marry,  he  told  me  so  himself;  and  he  said,  he 
cared  not  who  knew  it. 

Orleans. 
He  needs  not ;  it  is  no  hidden  virtue  in  him. 

Constable. 
By  my  faith,  sir,  but  it  is  ;  never  any  body 
saw  it,  but  his  lackey  :  'tis  a  hooded  valour,  and 
when  it  appears  it  w'ill  bate. 
Orleans. 
Ill  will  never  said  well. 

Constable. 
I  will  cap  that  proverb  with— there  is  flattery 
in  friendship. 

Orleans. 
And  I  will  take  up  that  with— give  the  devii 
his  due.  _      .  . , 

Constable. 

Well  placed:  there  stands  your  friend  for  the 
devil :  have  at  the  very  eye  of"  that  proverb,  with 
— a  pox  of  the  devil. 

Orleans. 
You  are  the  better  at  proverbs,  by  how  much 
—a  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot. 

Constable. 
You  have  shot  over. 

Orleans. 
*Tis  not  the  first  time  you  were  overshot. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
My  lord  high  constable,  the  English  lie  within 
fifteen  hundred  paces  of  your  tents. 
Constable. 
Who  hath  measured  the  ground? 

Messenger. 
The  lord  Grandprt. 

Constable. 
A  valiant  and  most  expert  gentleman.— Would 
it  were  day! — Alas,  poor  Harry  of  England! — 
he  longs  not  for  the  dawning,  as  we  do. 
Orleans. 
What  a  wretched  and  peevish  fellow  is  this 
king  of  England,  to  mope  with  his  fat-brained 
followers  so  far  out  of  his  knowledge. 
Constable. 
If  the  English  had  any  apprehension,  they 
would  run  away.  , 

Orleans. 

That  they  lack;  for  if  their  heads  had  any  in- 
tellectual armour,  they  could  never  wear  such 
heavy  head-pieces. 

Rambures. 
That  island  of  England  br*eus  very  vanant 
creatures : 


Act  it.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


5*3 


cr.atures :   their  mastiffs  are  or  unmatchable 
courage. 

Orleans. 
Foolish  curs !  that  run  winking  into  the  mouth 
of  a  Russian  bear,  and  have  their  heads  crushed 
like  rotten  apples.  You  may  as  well  say,  that's 
a  valiant  flea,  that  dare  eat  his  breakfast  on  the 
lip  of  a  lion. 

Constable. 
Just,  just;  and  the  men  do  sympathize  with 
the  mastiffs  in  robustious  and  rough  coming  on, 
leaving  their  wits  with  their  wives:  and,  then, 
give  them  great  meals  of  beef,  and  iron  and 
steel,  they  will  eat  like  wolves,  and  fight  like 
devils. 

Orleans. 
Ay,  but  these  English  are  shrewdly  out  of 
beet. 

Constable. 
Then  shall  we  find  to-morrow  they  have  only 
stomachs  to  eat,  and  none  to  fight.    Now  is  it 
time  to  arm :  come,  shall  we  about  it  ? 
Orleans. 
It  is  now  two  o'clock :  but,  let  me  see,  by  ten, 
We  shall  have  each  a  hundred  Englishmen. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Enter  Choru$. 
Cho-us. 

NOW  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time,      [dark, 
When  creeping  murmnr,  and  the  poring 
Fills  the  wide  vessel  of  the  universe. 
From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  sounds,      [night, 
That  the  fix'd  sentinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch: 
Fire  answers  fire,  and  through  their  paly  flames 
Each  battle  sees  the  other's  umber'd  face : 
Steed  threatens  steed,  in  high  and  boastful  neighs 
Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear ;  and  from  the  tents. 
The  armourers,  accomplishing  the  knights, 
With  busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation. 
The  country  cocks  do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll, 
And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 
Proud  of  their  numbers,  and  secure  in  soul, 
The  confident  and  over-lusty  French 
Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice  ; 
And  chide  the  cripple,  tardy-gaited  night, 
Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 
So  tediously  away.    The  poor  condemned  En- 
Like  sacrifices,  by  their  watchful  fires       [glish, 
Sit  patiently,  and  inly  ruminate 
The  morning's  danger  ;  and  their  gesture  sad, 
Investing  lank-lean  cheeks,  and  war-worn  coats, 
Presenteth  them  unto  the  gazing  moon      [hold 
So  many  horrid  ghosts.     O!  now,  who  will  be- 
The  roy.d  captain  of  this  ruin'd  band. 
Walking  from  watch  to  watch,  from  tent  to  tent, 
Let  him  cry— Praise  and  glory  on  his  head! 
For  forth  he  goes,  and  visits  all  his  host, 
Bids  them  good-morrow  with  a  modest  smile. 
And  call  them  brothers,  friends,  and  country- 
Upon  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note,  [men. 

How  dread  an  army  hath  enrounded  him, 
Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  colour 
Unto  the  weary  and  all-watched  night ; 
But  freshly  looks,  and  over -bears  attaint, 
With  cheerful  semblance,  and  sweet  majesty; 
That  every  wretch,  pining  and  pale  before, 


Beholding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks. 
A  largess  universal,  like  the  sun. 
His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one, 
Thawing  cold  fear,  that  mean  and  gentle  all, 
Behold,  as  may  unworthiness  define, 
A  little  touch  of  Harry  in  the  night. 
And  so  our  scene  must  to  the  battle  fly; 
Where,  O  for  pity  1  we  shall  much  disgrace — 
With  four  or  five  most  vile  and  ragged  foils. 
Right  ill  dispos'd,  in  brawl  ridiculous,— 
The  name  of  Agincourt.    Yet,  sit  and  see ; 
Minding  true  things  by  what  their  mockeries  be. 

[Exit. 

SCESE  I.    The  English  Camp  at  Agincourt. 

Enter  King  Henri/,  Bedford,  and  GlotUr. 

King  Henry. 

Gloster,  'tis  true  that  we  are  in  great  danger ; 
The  greater,  therefore,  should  our  courage  be. — 
Good  morrow,  brother  Bedford. — God  Almighty ! 
There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distil  it  out. 
For  our  bad  neighbour  makes  us  early  stirrers, 
Which  is  both  healthful,  and  good  husbandry: 
Besides,  they  are  our  outward  consciences, 
And  preachers  to  us  all ;  admonishing, 
That  we  should  'dress  us  fairly  for  our  end. 
Thus  may  we  gather  honey  from  the  weed, 
And  make  a  moral  of  the  devil  himself. 

Enter  Erpingham. 
Good  morrow,  old  sir  Thomas  Erpingham  : 
A  good  soft  pillow  for  that  good  white  head 
Were  better  than  a  churlish  turf  of  France. 

Erpingham. 
Not  so,  my  liege:  this  lodging  likes  me  better, 
Since  I  may  say,  now  lie  I  like  a  king. 

King  Henry. 
'Tis  good  for  men  to  love  tneir  present  pains, 
Upon  example;  so  the  spirit  is  eased: 
And  when  the  mind  is  quicken'd,  out  of  doubt, 
The  organs,  though  defunct  and  dead  before, 
Break  up  their  drowsy  grave,  and  newly  move 
With  casted  slough  and  fresh  legerity. 
Lend  me  thy  cloak,  sir  Thomas.— Brothers  both, 
Commend  me  to  the  princes  in  our  camp  ; 
Do  my  good  morrow  to  them ;  and,  anon, 
Desire  them  all  to  my  pavilion. 

Gloster. 
We  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Bedford. 

Erpingham. 
Shall  I  attend  your  grace  ? 

King  Henry. 

No,  my  good  knight ; 
Go  with  my  brothers  to  my  lords  of  England : 
I  and  my  bosom  must  debate  awhile, 
And,  then,  I  would  no  other  company. 


Erpingham. 
aven  ble 


The  Lord  in  heaven  bless  thee,  noble  Harry! 
[Exit  Erpingham. 
King  Henry. 
God-a -mercy,  old  heart !  thou  speak'st  cheer- 
fully. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Pistol. 
Quivalaf 

King  Henry. 


A  friend. 

Pistol. 

Discuss  unto  me;  art  thou  officer? 
Or  art  thou  base,  common,  and  popular? 


King 


5H 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  l 


King  Henry. 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  a  company. 

Pistol. 
Trail'st  thou  the  puissant  pike  t 

King  Henry. 
Even  so.    What  are  you  ? 

Pistol. 
As  good  a  gentleman  as  the  emperor. 

King  Henry. 
Then  you  are  a  better  than  the  king. 

Pistol. 
The  king's  a  bawcock,  and  a  heart  of  gold, 
A  lad  of  life,  an  imp  of  fame ; 
Of  parents  good,  of  fist  most  valiant: 
I  kiss  his  dirty  shoe,  and  from  heart-string 
I  love  the  lovely  bully.    What's  thy  name  ? 
King  Henry. 
Barry  le  Roy. 

Pistol. 
Le  Roy!  a  Cornish  name:  art  thou  of  Cornish 
crew? 

King  Henry. 
No,  I  am  a  Welshman. 

Pistol. 
Know'st  thou  Fluellent 

King  Henry. 
Yes. 

Pistol. 
Tell  him,  I'll  knock  his  leek  about  his  pate, 
Upon  Saint  David's  day. 

King  Henry. 
Do  not  you  wear  your  dagger  in  your  cap  that 
day,  lest  he  knock  that  about  yours. 
Pistol. 
Art  thou  his  friend? 

King  Henry. 
And  his  kinsman  too. 

Pistol. 
The  Jico  for  thee  then ! 

King  Henry. 
1  thank  you.    God  be  with  you  I 

Pistol. 
My  name  is  Pistol  called.  (Exit. 

King  Henry. 
It  sorts  well  with  your  fierceness. 
Enter  Fluellen  and  Gower,  severally. 
Gower. 
Captain  Fluellen! 

Fluellen. 
So,  in  the  name  of  Cheshu  Christ,  speak  lower. 
It  is  the  greatest  admiration  in  the  universal 
world,  when  the  true  and  auncient  prerogatifes 
and  laws  of  the  wars  is  not  kept.    If  yon  would 
take  the  pains  but  to  examine  the  wars  of  Pompey 
the  Great,  you  shall  find,  I  warrant  you,  that 
there  is  no  tiddle  taddle,  or  pibble  pabble,  in 
Pompey's  camp :  I  warrant  you,  you  shall  find 
the  ceremonies  of  the  wars,  and  the  cares  of  it, 
and  the  forms  of  it,  and  the  sobriety  of  it,  and 
the  modesty  of  it,  to  be  otherwise. 
Uower. 
Why,  the  enemy  is  loud;  you  hear  him  all 
night. 

Fluellen . 
If  the  enemy  is  an  ass  and  a  fool,  and  a  prating 
coxcomb,  is  it  meet,  think  you,  that  we  should 
also,  look  you,  be  an  ass,  and  a  fool,  and  a  prating 
coxcomb  ?  in  your  own  conscience  now  ? 
Gower. 
1  will  speak  lower. 


Fluellen. 
I  pray  you,  and  beseech  you,  that  you  will. 

[Exeunt  Gower  and  Fluellen. 
King  Henry. 
Though  it  appear  a  little  out  of  fashion, 
There  is  much  care  and  valour  in  this  Welsh- 
man. 

Enter  Bates,  Court,  and  Williams. 
Court. 
Brother  John  Bates,  is  not  that  the  morning 
which  breaks  yonder  ? 

Bates. 
I  think  it  be ;  but  we  have  no  great  cause  to 
desire  the  approach  of  day. 
Williams. 
We  see  yonder  the  beginning  of  the  day,  but 
I  think  we  shall  never  see  the  end  of  it.  —  Who 
goes  there? 

King  Henry.  , 

A  friend. 

Williams. 
Under  what  captain  serve  you  ? 

King  Henry. 
Under  sir  Thomas  Erpingham. 

Williams. 
A  good  old  commander,  and  a  most  kind  gen- 
tleman: I  prayyou,  what  thinks  heof  our  estate  ? 
King  Henry. 
Even  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand,  that  look 
to  be  washed  off  the  next  tide. 
Bates. 
He  hath  not  told  his  thought  to  the  king  ? 

King  Henry. 
No ;  nor  it  is  not  meet  he  should ;  for,  though  I 
speak  it  to  you,  I  think  the  king  is  but  a  man,  as 
I  am:  the  violet  smells  to  him,  as  it  doth  to  me; 
the  element  shows  to  him,  as  it  doth  to  me ;  all 
his  senses  have  but  human  conditions:  his  cere- 
monies laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears  but 
a  man,  and  though  his  affections  are  higher 
mounted  than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  they 
stoop  with  the  like  wing.  Therefore,  when  he 
sees  reason  of  fears,  as  we  do,  his  fears,  out  of 
doubt,  be  of  the  same  relish  as  ours  are :  yet  in 
reason  no  man  should  possess  him  with  any 
appearance  of  fear,  lest  he,  by  showing  it,  should 
dishearten  his  army. 

Bates. 
He  may  show  what  outward  courage  he  will ; 
but,  I  believe,  as  cold  a  night  as  'tis,  he  could 
wish  himself  in  Thames  up  to  the  neck:  and  so 
I  would  he  were,  and  I  by  him,  at  all  adventures, 
so  we  were  quit  here. 

King  Henry. 
By  my  troth,  I  will  speak  my  conscience  of 
the  king:  I  think,  he  would  not  wish  himself 
any  where  but  where  he  is. 
Bates. 
Then  I  would  he  were  here  alone ;  so  should 
he  be  sure  to  be  ransomed,  and  a  many  poor 
men's  lives  saved. 

King  Henry. 

I  dare  say,  you  love  him  not  so  ill,  to  wish  him 

here  alone,  howsoever  you  speak  this,  to  feel 

other  men's  minds.    Methinks,  I  could  not  die 

any  where  so  contented  as  in  the  king's  company, 

I  his  cause  being  just,  and  his  quarrel  honourable. 

Williams 

That's  more  than  we  know. 

Bates. 
Ay,  or  more  than  we  should  seek  after ;  for 
we  know  enough,  if  we  know  we  are  the  king's 
subjects. 


Ac i  iv.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


5'5 


subjects.     If  hit  cause  be  wrong,  our  obedience 
to  the  king,  wipes  the  crime  of  it  out  of  us. 

William*. 
But,  if  the  rause  be  not  good,  the  king  himself 
hath  a  heavy  reckoning  to  make:  when  all  those 
legs,  and  arms,  and  heads,  chopped  off  in  a  battle, 
shall  join  togethci  at  the  latter  day,  and  cry  all 
—  "We  died  at  such  a  place:"  some  swearing, 
some  crying  fur  a  surgeon,  some  upon  their 
wives  left  poor  behind  them,  some  upon  the 
debts  ttiev  owe,  some  upon  their  children  rawly 
left.  I  am  afeard  there  are  few  die  well,  that 
die  in  a  battle;  for  how  can  they  charitably 
dispose  of  any  thing,  when  blood  is  their  argu- 
ment? Now,  if  these  men  do  not  die  well,  it 
will  be  a  black  matter  for  the  king  that  led  them 
to  it,  whom  to  disobey  were  agaiust  all  pro- 
portion of  subjection. 

King  Henry. 

So,  if  a  son,  that  is  by  his  father  sent  about 
merchandise,  do  sinfully  miscarry  upon  the  sea, 
the  imputation  of  his  wickedness,  by  your  rule, 
should  be  imposed  upon  his  father  that  sent  him : 
or  if  a  servant,  under  his  master's  command, 
transporting  a  sum  of  money,  be  assailed  by 
robbers,  and  die  in  many  irreconciled  iniquities, 
you  may  call  the  business  of  the  master  the 
author  of  the  servant's  damnation.  But  this  ig 
not  so:  the  king  is  not  bound  to  answer  the 
particular  endings  of  his  soldiers,  the  father  of 
ids  son,  nor  the  master  of  his  servant ;  for  they 
purpose  not  their  death,  when  they  purpose 
their  services.  Besides,  there  is  no  king,  be  his 
cause  never  so  spotless,  if  it  come  to  the  arbitre- 
ment  of  swords,  can  try  it  out  with  all  unspotted 
soldiers.  Some,  peradventure,  have  on  them 
the  guilt  of  premeditated  and  contrived  murder; 
some,  of  beguiling  virgins  with  the  broken  seals 
of  perjury ;  some,  making  the  wars  their  bulwai  k, 
that  have  before  gored  the  gentle  bosom  of  peace 
with  pillage  and  robbery.  Now,  if  these  men 
have  defeated  the  law,  and  outrun  native  punish- 
ment, though  they  can  outstrip  men,  they  have 
no  wings  to  fly  from  God:  war  is  his  beadle: 
war  is  his  vengeance;  so  that  here  men  are 
punished,  for  before-breach  of  the  king's  laws, 
in  now  the  king's  quarrel:  where  they  feared 
the  death,  they  have  borne  life  away,  and  where  ■ 
they  would  bi  safe,  they  perish:  then,  if  they 
die  unprovided,  no  more  is  the  king  guilty  of ■ 
their  damnation,  than  he  was  before  guilty  of 
those  impieties  for  the  which  they  are  now 
visited.  Every  subject's  duty  is  the  king's ;  but 
every  subject's  soul  is  his  own.  Therefore, , 
should  every  soldier  in  the  wars  do  as  every  \ 
sick  man  in  his  bed,  wash  every  mote  out  of  his  ; 
conscience ;  and  dying  so,  death  is  to  him  ad- ! 
vantage;  or  not  dying,  the  time  was  blessedly! 
lost,  wherein  such  preparation  was  gained :  and, 
in  him  that  escapes,  it  were  not  sin  to  think, 
that  making  God  so  free  an  offer,  he  let  him 
outlive  that  day  to  see  his  greatness,  and  to 
teach  others  how  they  should  prepare. 

Williams. 
'Tis  certain,  every  man  that  dies  ill,  the  ill 
upon  his  own  head :  the  king  is  not  to  answer  it. 

Bates. 
I  do  not  desire  he  should  answer  for  me ;  and 
yet  I  determine  to  fight  lustily  for  him. 

King  Henry. 
I  myself  heard  the  ling  say,  he  would  not  be 
ransomed. 

Williams. 
Ay,  he  said  so  to  make  us  fight  cheerfully; 


but  when  our  throats  are  cut,  he  may  be  ran- 
somed, and  we  ne'er  the  wiser. 
King  Henry. 
If  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  never  trust  his  word 
after. 

Williams. 
You  pay  him  then  1  That's  a  perilous  shot 
out  of  an  elder  gun,  that  a  poor  and  a  private 
displeasure  can  do  against  a  monarch.  You 
may  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  to  ice  with 
fanning  in  his  face  with  a  peacock's  feather. 
You'll  never  trust  his  word  after  1  come,  'tis  a 
foolish  saying. 

King  Henry. 

Your  reproof  is  something  too  round :  I  should 

be  angry  with  you,  if  the  time  were  convenient. 

Williams. 

Let  it  be  a  quarrel  between  us,  if  you  live. 

King  Henry. 
I  embrace  it. 

Williams. 
How  shall  I  know  thee  again  ? 

King  Henry. 
Give  me  any  gage  of  thine,  and  I  will  wear  it 
in  my  bonnet :  then,  if  ever  thou  darest  acknow- 
ledge it,  I  will  make  it  my  quarrel. 
Williams. 
Here's  my  glove :  give  me  another  of  thine. 

King  Henry. 
There. 

Williams. 
This  will  I  also  wear  In  my  cap  :  if  ever  thou 
come  to  me  and  say,  after  to  morrow,  •'  This  ig 
my  glove,"  by  this  hand,  I  will  take  thee  a  box 
on  the  ear. 

King  Henry. 
If  ever  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  challenge  it. 

Williams. 
Thou  darest  as  well  be  hanged. 

King  Henry. 
Well,  I  will  do  it,  though  1  take  thee  in  the 
king's  company. 

Williams. 
Keep  thy  word:  fare  thee  well. 

Bates. 
Be  friends,  you  English  fools,  be  friends  :  we 
have  French  quarrels  enow,  if  you  could  tell 
how  to  reckon. 

King  Henry. 
Indeed,  the  French  may  lay  twenty  French 
crowns  to  one  they  will  beat  us,  for  they  bear  I 
them  on  their  shoulders  ;  but  it  is  no  English  , 
treason  to  cut  French  crowns,  and  to-morrow 
the  king  himself  will  be  a  clipper. 

[Kxeunt  Soidi'ni. 
Upon  the  king  !  let  us  our  lives,  our  souls, 
Our  debts,  our  careful  wives,  our  children,  and 
Our  sins,  lay  on  the  king  1  —  we  must  bear  all. 
O  hard  condition  !  twin- born  with  greatness, 
Subject  to  the  breath  of  every  fool,    [wringing  ! 
Whose  sense  no  more  can  feel  but  his  own 
What  infinite  heart's  ease  must  kings  neglect, 
That  private  men  enjoy  ? 

And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too, 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony  ? 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony  ? 
What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  sufferst  more 
Of  mortal  griefs,  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 
What  are  thy  rents  ?  what  are  thy  comings-in  ? 
O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth  1 
What  is  thy  soul  of  adoration  ? 
Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form  ? 
Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men, 
Wherein  thou  art  lets  happy,  being  fear'd, 

Thai 


$14 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Than  they  in  fearing. 

What  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet, 

But  poison'd  flattery  ?    O !  be  sick,  great  great- 

And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure.        [ness, 

Think'st  thou,  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 

With  titles  blown  from  adulation  ? 

Will  it  give  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending  ? 

Canst  thou,  when  thou  command'st  the  beggar's 

knee,  [dream, 

Command  the  health  of  it  ?    No,  thou  proud 
That  play'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose: 
I  am  a  king,  that  find  thee ;  and  I  know, 
'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball, 
The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 
The  iuter-tissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl, 
The  farced  title  running  'fore  the  king, 
The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 
That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world  ; 
No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony, 
Not  all  these  laid  in  bed  majestical, 
Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave, 
Who,  with  a  body  fill'd,  and  vacant  mind, 
Gets  him  to  rest,  cramm'd  with  distressful  bread, 
Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell, 
But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set, 
Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 
Sleeps  in  Elysium  ;  next  day,  after  dawn, 
Doth  rise  and  help  Hyperion  to  his  horse, 
And  follows  so  the  ever  running  year 
With  profitable  labour  to  his  grave: 
And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch,      [sleep, 
Winding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  with 
Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 
The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace, 
Enjoys  it,  but  in  gross  brain  little  wots, 
What  watch  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the 

peace, 
Whose  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 
Fnter  Erpingham. 
Erpingham. 
My  lord,  your  nobles,  jealous  of  your  absence, 
Seek  through  your  camp  to  find  you. 
King  Henry. 

Good  old  knight, 
Collect  them  all  together  at  my  tent : 
I'll  be  before  thee. 

Erpingham. 

I  shall  do't,  my  lord.     [Kxit. 
King  Henry. 
O,  God  of  battles  !  steel  my  soldiers'  hearts  : 
Possess  them  not  with  fear:  take  from  them 

now 
The  sense  of  reckoning,  if  th'  opposed  numbers 
Pluck  their  hearts  from  them  !  —  Not  to-day, 

O  Lord  ! 

0  !  not  to-day,  think  not  upon  the  fault 
My  father  made  in  compassing  the  crown. 

1  Richard's  body  have  interred  new, 

And  on  it  have  bestow'd  more  contrite  tears, 
Than  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  blood. 
Five  hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay, 
Who  twice  a  day  their  wither'd  hands  hold  up 
Toward  heaven,  to  pardon  blood;  and  1  have 

built 
Two  chantries,  where  the  sad  and  solemn  priests 
Sing  still  for  Richard's  soul.    More  will  I  do  ; 
Though  all  that  I  can  do,  is  nothing  worth, 
Since  that  my  penitence  comes  after  all, 
Imploring  pardon. 

Knter  Gluster. 
Gloster. 

King  Henry. 
My  brother  Gloster's  voice  ?  —  Ay ; 


My  liege ! 


I  know  thy  errand,  I  will  go  with  thee. — 
The  day,  my  friend,  and  all  things  stay  for  me. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  French  Camp. 

Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Rambures,  and 
others. 

Orleans. 
The  sun  doth  gild  our  armour :  up,  my  lords  ! 

Dauphin. 
Montez  d  cheval :  —  My  horse !  valet!  lacquuy! 
ha! 

Orleans. 
O  brave  spirit ! 

Dauphin. 
Via  I  —  les  eaux  et  la  terre ! 

Orleans. 
Rien  puis  ?  I'air  et  lefeu! 

Dauphin. 
Ciell  cousin  Orleans. 

Enter  Constable. 
Now,  my  lord  Constable  ! 

Constable. 
Hark,    how  our  steeds   for  present   service 
neigh  ! 

Dauphin. 
Mount  them,  and  make  incision  in  their  hides, 
That  their  hot  blood  may  spin  in  English  eyes, 
And  doubt  them  with  superfluous  courage:  Ha! 
Rambures. 
What,  will  you  have  them  weep  our  horses' 
blood  ? 
How  shall  we  then  behold  their  natural  tears  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 

j     The  English  are  embattled, you  French  peers. 

Constable. 
1     To  horse,  you  gallant  princes  !  straight  to 

horse ! 
Do  but  behold  yon  poor  and  starved  band, 
:  And  your  fair  show  shall  suck  away  their  souls  ; 
;  Leaving  them  but  the  shales  and  husks  of  men. 
;  There  is  not  work  enough  for  all  our  hands  ; 
.  Scarce  blood  enough  in  all  their  sickly  veins, 
To  give  each  naked  curtle-ax  a  stain, 
I  That  our  French  gallants  shall  to-day  draw  out, 
:  And  sheath  for  lack  of  sport :  let  us  but  blow 

on  them, 
The  vapour  of  our  valour  will  o'erturn  them. 
'Tis  positive  against  all  exceptions,  lords, 
I  That  our  superfluous  lackeys,  and  our  peasants, 
!  Who  in  unnecessary  action  swarm 
■  About  our  squares  of  battle,  were  enow 
i  To  purge  this  field  of  such  a  hilding  foe, 
!  Though  we,  upon  this  mountain's  basis  by 
!  Took  stand  for  idle  speculation :  [say  ? 

I  But  that  our  honours  must  not.    What's  to 
'■■  A  very  little  little  let  us  do, 
|  And  all  is  done,    Then,  let  the  trumpets  sound 
!  The  tucket-sonnance,  and  the  note  to  mount : 
.  For  our  approach  shall  so  much  dare  the  field, 
That  England  shall  couch  down  in  fear,  and 
yield. 

Enter  Grandpri. 

Grandpre. 
Why  do  you  stay  so  long,  my  lords  of  France  ? 
Yond'  island  carrions,  desperate  of  their  bones, 
111-favour'dly  become  the  morning  field  : 
Their  ragged  curtains  poorly  are  let  loose, 
I  And  our  air  shakes  them  passing  scornfully. 

Big 


; 


A«  i  iv.  Sc.  in. 


KING  IIENUY  V. 


5*7 


Big  3/rf>i  seems  bankrupt  in  their   beggar'd  The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honour. 

host,  !  Cod's  will  1  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 

Ami  faintly  through  a  rusty  heaver  peeps.  I*y  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 

Tbfl  horsemen  lit  like  fixed  candlesticks,  Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 

With  torch  staves  in  their  hand  ;  and  their  poor  It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear  ; 

jades  [hips,  Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires : 

I.ob  down  their  heads,  dropping  the  hides  and  Hut,  if  it  he  a  sin  to  covet  honour, 

The  gum  down-roping    from    their    pale-dead  I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive 


And  in 'their  pale  dull  mouths  the  gimmal  bit 
Lies  foul  with  chew'd  grass,  still  and  motion- 
Ami  their  executors,  the  knavish  crows,    [less  ; 
Fly  o'er  them,  all  impatient  for  their  hour. 
Description  cannot  suit  itself  in  words, 
To  demonstrate  the  life  of  such  a  battle. 
In  life  so  lifeless  as  it  shows  itself. 
Constable. 
They  have  said  their  prayers,  and  they  stay 
for  death. 

Dauphin. 
Shall  we  go  send  them  dinners,  and  fresh  suits, 
And  give  their  fasting  horses  provender, 
And  after  fight  with  them  ? 
Constable. 
I  stay  but  for  my  guard.    On,  to  the  field  ! 
1  will  the  banner  from  a  trumpet  take, 
And  use  it  for  my  haste.     Come,  come,  away  ! 
The  sun  is  high,  and  we  outwear  the  da 


ay. 


ZOOM. 

SCESE  III.    The  English  Camp. 

Enter  the  English  Host ;  Gloster,  Bedford, 
Exeter,  Salisbury,  and  Westmoreland. 
Gloster. 
Where  is  the  king  ? 

Bedford. 
The  king  himself  is  rode  to  view  their  battle. 


No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England: 
God's  peace !  1  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honour. 
As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from 

me, 
For  the  best  hope  I  have.     O  !  do  not  wish  one 

more : 
Bather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my 

host, 
That  he,  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
Let  him  depart ;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse : 
We  would  nut  die  in  that  man's  company, 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 
This  day  is  call'd — the  feast  of  Crispian  : 
He,  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  nam'd, 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 
He,  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  friends, 
And  say — to-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian: 
Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars. 
Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot, 
But  he'll  remember  with  advantages       [names, 
What  feats  he  did  that  day.    Then  shall  our 
Familiar  in  his  mouth  as  household  words, — 
Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 
Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster, — 
Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd. 
This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son, 
And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered  ; 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers : 


Westmoreland. 

Of  fighting  men  they  have  full    threescore  £»  J£  tii^3St"Sed«  his  blood  with  me, 

thousand.  Shall  be  my  brother :  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 

Exeter.  This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition : 

There's  five  to  one ;    besides,  they  all  are  And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed, 

fresh.  Shall  think  themselves  accurs'd  they  were  not 
Salisbury.  here,  [speaks 

God's  arm  strike  with  us  !  'tis  a  fearful  odds.  And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  whiles  any 

God  be  wi*  you,  princes  all ;  I'll  to  my  charge:  That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispin's  day. 


If  we  no  more  meet,  till  we  meet  in  heaven, 
Then,  joyfully, — my  noble  lord  of  Bedford, — 
My   dear    lord    Gloster, — and    my    good    lord 

Exeter, 
And  my  kind  kinsman,  — warriors  all,  adieu ! 
Bedford. 
Farewell,  good  Salisbury ;  and  good  luck  go 
with  thee  ! 

Exeter. 
Farewell,  kind  lord.    Fight  valiantly  to-day : 
And  yet  I  do  thee  wrong,  to  mind  thee  of  it, 
For  thou  art  iram'd  of  the  firm  truth  of  valour. 
[Exit  Salisbury. 
Bedford. 
He  is  as  full  of  valour,  as  of  kindness ; 
Princely  in  both. 

Westmoreland. 

O  !  that  we  now  had  here 

Enter  King  Henry. 
But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England \ 
That  do  no  work  to-day. 

King  Henry. 

What's  he,  that  wishes  so  ? 
My  cousin  Westmoreland!— 'So,  my  fair  cousin : 
If  we  are  mark'd  to  die,  we  are  enow 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live, 


Enter  Salisbury. 
Salisbury. 
My  sovereign  lord,  bestow  yourself  with  speed: 
The  French  are  bravely  in  their  battles  set, 
And  will  with  all  expedience  charge  on  us. 
King  Henry. 
All  things  are  ready,  if  our  minds  be  so. 

Westmoreland. 
Perish  the  man  whose  mind  is  backward  now ! 

King  Henry. 
Thou  dost  not  wish  more  help  from  England, 
cousin  ? 

Westmoreland. 
God's  will !  my  liege,  would  you  and  I  alone, 
Without  more   help,    might    fight    this    royal 
battle. 

King  Henry. 
Why,  now  thou  hast  unwish'd  five  thousand 
men, 
Which  likes  me  better  than  to  wish  us  one. — 
You  know  your  places :  God  be  with  you  all ! 

Tucket.    Enter  }fon(foy. 


Once  more  I  come 
Harry, 


Montjoy. 

to  know  of  thee,  king 


5i8 


KING  HENKY  V. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


If  for  thy  ransom  thou  wilt  now  compound, 
Before  thy  most  assured  overthrow  ? 
For,  certainly,  thou  art  so  near  the  gulf, 
Thou  needs  must  be  englutted.     Besides,  in 

mercy, 
The  Constable  desires  thee  thou  wilt  mind 
Thy  followers  of  repentance ;  that  their  souls 
May  make  a  peaceful  and  a  sweet  retire 
From  off  these  fields,  where,  wretches,  their  poor 
Must  lie  and  fester.  [bodies 

King  Heury. 

Who  hath  sent  thee  now  ? 
Montjoy. 
The  Constable  of  France. 

King  Henry. 
I  pray  thee,  bear  my  former  answer  back : 
Bid  them  achieve  me,  and  then  sell  my  bones. 
Good  God  !  why  should  they  mock  poor  fellows 

thus  ? 
The  man,  that  once  did  sell  the  lion's  skin 
While  the  beast  liv'd,  was  kill'd  with  hunting 
A  many  of  our  bodies  shall,  no  doubt,         [him. 
Find  native  graves,  upon  the  which,  I  trust, 
Shall  witness  live  in  brass  of  this  day*s  work; 
And  those  that   leave  their  valiant  bones   in 
Fiance, 


Dying  like  men,  though  buried  in  your  dunghills, 
shall  be  fai 
greet  them, 


ying 
hey 


shall  be  fam'd:   for  there  the  sun  shall 


And  draw  their  honours  reeking  up  to  heaven, 

Leaving  their  earthly  parts  to  choke  your  clime, 

The   smell   whereof  shall   breed  a  plague  in 

France. 
Mark,  then,  abounding  valour  in  our  English  ; 
That,  being  dead,  like  to  the  bullet's  grazing, 
Break  out  into  a  second  course  of  mischief, 
Killing  in  relapse  of  mortality, 
let  me  speak  proudly:— Tell  the  Constable, 
We  are  but  warriors  for  the  working-day ; 
Our  gayness  and  our  gilt  are  all  besmirch'd 
With  rainy  marching  in  the  painful  field  ; 
There's  not  a  piece  of  feather  in  our  host, 
(Good  argument,  I  hope,  we  will  not  fly) 
And  time  hath  worn  us  into  slovenry : 
But,  by  the  mass,  our  hearts  are  in  the  trim ; 
And  my  poor  soldiers  tell  me,  yet  ere  night 
They'll  be  in  fresher  robes,  or  they  will  pluck 
The  gay  new  coats  o'er  the  French  soldiers' 

heads, 
And  turn  them  out  of  service.    If  they  do  this, 
As,  if  God  please,  they  shall,  my  ransom  then      ] 
Will  soon  be  levied.    Herald,  save  thou  thy  | 

labour ; 
Come  thou  no  more  for  ransom,  gentle  herald  : 
They  shall  have  none,  I  swear,  but  these  my 

joints, 
Which,  if  they  have  as  I  will  leave  'em  them, 
Shall  yield  them  little,  tell  the  Constable. 
Montjoy. 
I  shall,  king  Harry :  and  so  fare  thee  well. 
Thou  never  shalt  hear  herald  any  more..,,        I 

[Exit. 
King  Henry. 
I  fear,  thou  wilt  once  more  come  again  for  a 
ransom. 

Enter  the  Duke  of  York 
York. 
My  lord,  most  humbly  on  my  knee  I  beg 
The  leading  of  the  vaward. 

King  Henry. 

Take  it,  brave  York Now,  soldiers,  march 

away: 


And  how  thou  pleasest,  God,  dispose  the,  day 


SCENE  IV.    The  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarums :  Excursions.    Enter  French  Soldierr 

Pistol,  and  Boy. 

Pistol. 

Yield,  cur. 

French  Soldier. 
Je  pensc,  que  vous  estes  le  gcntilhomme  de  bonne 
quality. 

ristol. 
Quality  ?    Callino,  castjre  me !  art  thou  a  gen- 
tleman?   What  is  thy  name?  discuss. 
French  Soldier. 
0  seigiieur  Dieu  ! 

Pistol. 
O  !  signieur  Dew  should  be  a  gentleman. 
Perpend   my   words,    O    signieur   Dew,    and 

mark: — 
O  signieur  Dew,  thou  diest  on  point  of  fox, 
Except,  O  signieur,  tliou  do  give  to  me 
Egregious  ransom. 

French  Soldier. 
0,  prenex  miser icorde  I  ay  ex  pitie  de  may ! 

Pistol. 
Moy  shall  not  serve,  I  will  have  forty  moys  ; 
For  1  will  fetch  thy  rim  out  at  thy  throat, 
In  drops  of  crimson  blood. 

French  Soldier. 
Est  il  impossible  d'csclt  upper  la  force  de  ton 
bras  ?  . 

Pistol. 
Brass,  cur? 
Thou  damned  and  luxurious  mountain  goat, 
Offer'st  me  brass  ? 

French  Soldier. 

0  pardonnex  moy  I 

Pistol. 
Say'st  thou  me  so  ?  is  that  a  ton  of  moys  ?  — 
Come  hither,  boy  :  ask  me  this  slave  in  French, 
What  is  his  name. 

Boy. 
Escoulex  :  comment  estes  vous  appellef 

French  Soldier. 
Monsieur  le  Fer.     . 

Boy. 
He  says  his  name  is  master  Fer. 

Pistol. 
Master  Fer!     I'll  fer  him,  and  firk  him,  and 
ferret  him.— Discuss  the  same  in  French  unto 
him. 

Boy. 

1  do  not  know  the  French  for  fer,  and  ferret, 
and  firk. 

Pistol. 
Bid  him  prepare,  for  I  will  cut  his  throat. 

French  Soldier. 
Que  dit-il,  monsieur? 

Boy. 
II  me  commande  h  vous  dire  que  vous  faites 
vous  prcst;  car  ce  soldat  icy  est  dispose  tout  a 
cette  heure  de  couper  vostre  gorge. 
Pistol. 
Ouy,  couper  le  gorge,  par  mafoy,  peasant, 
Unless  thou  give  me  crowns,  brave  crowns; 
Or  mangled  shalt  thou  be  by  this  my  sword. 
French  Soldier. 
0!  je  vous  supplie  pour  V amour  de  Dieu,  me 
pardonner.    Je  suis  le  gentilhomme  de  bonne 
maison :  gardex  ma  vie,  etje  vous  donneray  deux 
cents  esctts.  „.  .  , 

Pistol. 

What  are  his  words  ? 

Boy. 


Aci  iv.  5c.  vn. 


KING  IIENRY  V. 


5*9 


Boy. 
He  prays  you  to  save  his  Ufa :  ho  is  a  gentle- 
man of  a  pood  house ;  and,  for  his  ransom,  he 
will  give  you  two  hundred  crowns. 

Tell  him,— mv  fury  shall  abate,  and  I 
The  crowns  will  take. 

French  Soldier. 

Petit  monsieur,  que  dit  ilt 
Boy. 

Encore  qn'il  est  contre  son  jwement,  de  par- 
donm-r  aucun  prisonnier;  neantmoins,  pour  les 
escus  que  vous  favex  promt's,  it  est  content  a  vous 
donner  la  liberti,  le  franchisement. 
■  !i  Soldier 

Sur  mes  genoux,  Je  vous  donne  mille  remer- 
a't'nn-ns ;  el  je  m'estime  heureux  que  je  suit 
tombi  entre  les  mains  d'un  chevalier,  je  pen%e,  le 
plus  brave,  valiant,  et  ires  distingue  seigneur 
d'Angleterre.  ^ 

Expound  unto  me,  boy. 
Boy. 
lie  gives  you,  upon  his  knees,  a  thousand 
thanks;  and  he  esteems  himself  happy  that  he 
hath  fallen  into  the  hands  of  one  (as  lie  thinks) 
the  most  brave,  valorous,  and  thrice-worthy 
seigneur  of  England. 

Pistol. 

As  I  suck  blood,  I  will  some  mercy  show.— 

Follow  me!  [Exit  Ptstol. 

My, 

Suivez  vous  le  grand  capitaine.  ' 

[Exit  trench  Soldier 

1  did  never  know  so  full  a  voice  issue  from  so 
empty  a  heart:  but  the  saying  is  true, — the 
empty  vessel  makes  the  greatest  sound.  Bar- 
dolph,  and  Nym,  had  ten  times  more  valour  than 
this  roaring  devil  i*  the  old  play,  that  every  one 
may  pare  his  nails  with  a  wooden  dagger,  and 
they  are  both  hanged  ;  and  so  would  this  be,  if 
he  durst  steal  any  thing  adventurously.  I  must 
stay  with  the  lackeys,  with  the  luggage  of  our 
camp:  the  French  might  have  a  good  prey  of 
us,  if  he  knew  of  it,  for  there  is  none  to  guard 
t,  but  boys.  Ll'xit 

SCENE  V.    Another  part  of  the  Field  of 

Battle. 

Alarums.    Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Bourbon, 
Constable,  Rauibures,  and  others. 
Constable. 
0  diable! 

Orleans. 

0  seigneur!  —le  jour  est  perdu  1  tout  est  perdu ! 

Dauphin. 
Mori  de  ma  vie!  all  is  confounded,  all  I 
Reproach  and  everlasting  shame  [tune!— 

Sit  mocking  in  our  plumes.— 0  meschante  for- 
Do  not  run  away.  [A  short  Alarum. 

Constable. 
Why,  all  our  ranks  are  broke. 
Dauphin, 
O  perdurable  shame !— let's  stab  ourselves. 
Be  these  the  wretches  that  we  play'd  at  dice  for? 
Orleans. 
Is  this  the  king  we  sent  to  for  his  ransom  ? 

Bourbon. 
Shame,  and  eternal  shame,  nothing  but  shame 
Let  us  die  in  honour — Once  more  back  again ; 
And  he  that  will  not  follow  Bourbon  now, 


Let  him  go  hence,  and.  with  his  cap  In  hand. 
Like  a  base  pander,  hold  the  chamber-door, 
!  Whilst  by  a  slave,  no  gentler  than  my  dog, 
His  fairest  daughter  is  contaminate. 
Coiib'. 
Disorder,  that  hath  spoll'd  us,  friend  us  now  I 
Let  us,  in  heaps,  go  offer  up  our  lives. 
Orleans. 
We  are  enough,  yet  living  in  the  field. 
To  smother  up  the  English  in  our  throngs, 
'  If  any  order  might  be  thought  upon. 
Bourbon  • 
The  devil  take  order  now.   I'll  to  the  throng: 
Let  life  be  short,  else  shame  will  be  too.  long 

SCENE  VI.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 

Alarums.    Enter  King  Henry  and  Forces ; 
Exeter,  and  others. 
King  Henry. 
Well  have  we  done,  thrice-valiant  country- 
men: 
!  But  all's  not  done ;  yet  keep  the  French  the  field. 

Exeter. 
j     The  duke  of  York  commends  him  to  your 
majesty. 

King  Henry. 
Lives  he,  good  uncle?  thrice  within  this  hour 
i  I  saw  him  down,  thrice  up  again,  and  fighting ; 
From  helmet  to  the  spur  all  blood  he  was. 
Exeter. 
In  which  array,  brave  soldier,  doth  he  lie, 
Larding  the  plain  ;  and  by  his  bloody  side, 
(Yoke-fellow  to  his  honour-owing  wounds) 
,  The  noble  earl  of  Suffolk  also  lies. 
Stiffolk  first  died;  and  York,  all  haggled  over, 
.  Comes  to  him,  where  in  gore  he  lay  insteep'd, 
i  And  takes  him  by  the  beard,  kisses  the  gashes, 
j  That  bloodily  did  yawn  upon  his  face; 
'  He  cries  aloud,—"  Tarry,  dear  cousin  Suffolk! 
My  soul  shall  thine  keep  company  to  heaven : 
Tarry,  sweet  soul,  for  mine;  then  fly  a-breast, 
'■■  As  in  this  glorious  and  well-foughten  field, 
j  We  kept  together  in  our  chivalry  I " 
:  Upon  these  words,  I  came  and  cheer'd  him  up : 
|  He  8mil'd  me  in  the  face,  raught  me  his  hand, 
And,  with  a  feeble  gripe,  says,  "  Dear  my  lord, 
Commend  my  service  to  my  sovereign." 
So  did  he  turn,  and  over  Suffolk's  neck 
He  threw  his  wounded  arm,  and  kiss'd  his  lips ; 
,  And  so,  espous'd  to  death,  with  blood  he  seal'd 
A  testament  of  noble-ending  love. 
The  pretty  and  sweet  manner  of  it  fore'd 
i  Those  waters  from  me,  which  I  would  have 
!  But  I  had  not  so  much  of  man  in  me,  [stopp'd; 
(But  all  my  mother  came  into  mine  eyes, 
'  And  gave  me  up  to  tears. 

King  Henry. 

I  blame  you  not ; 
For,  hearing  this,  I  must  perforce  compound 

With  mistful  eyes,  or  they  will  issue  too 

[Alarum. 
But,  hark !  what  new  alarum  is  this  same?— 
;The    French    have   reinfore'd    their    scatter'd 

men:  — 
<  Then,  every  soldier  kill  his  prisoners  ! 
Give  the  word  through.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.    Another  part  of  the  Field- 

Alarums.    Enter  Fluellen  and  Gower. 

Flucllen. 

Kill  the  poys  and  the  luggage  !  'tis  expressly 

i  against  the  law  of  arms  :  'tis  as  arrant  a  piece  of 

knavery, 


520 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  ir.  Sc.  vii. 


knavery,  mark  you  now,  as  can  be  offered.    In 
your  conscience  now,  is  it  not  ? 
Gower. 
Tis  certain,  there's  not  a  boy  left  alive  ;  and 
the  cowardly  rascals,  that  ran  from  the  battle, 
have  done  this  slaughter :  besides,  they  have 
burned  and  carried  away  all  that  was  in  the 
king's  tent ;  wherefore  the  king  most  worthily 
hath  caused  every  soldier  to  cut  his  prisoner's 
throat.    O !  'tis  a  gallant  king. 
Fluellen. 

Ay,  he  was  porn  at  Monmouth,  captain  Gower. 
What  call  you  the  town's  name,  where  Alexander 
the  pig  was  born  ? 

Gower. 

Alexander  the  great. 

Fluellen. 

Why,  I  pray  you,  is  not  pig,  great  ?    The  pig, 
or  the  great,  or  the  mighty,  or  the  huge,  or  the 
magnanimous,  are  all  one  reckonings,  save  the 
phrase  is  a  little  variations. 
Gower. 

I  think,  Alexander  the  great  was  born  in 
Macedon:  his  father  was  called  Philip  of  Mace- 
don,  as  I  take  it. 

Fluellen. 

I  think,  it  is  in  Macedon,  where  Alexander  is 
porn.  I  tell  you,  captain,— if  you  look  in  the 
maps  of  the  world,  I  warrant,  you  shall  find,  in 
the  comparisons  between  Macedon  and  Mon- 
mouth, that  the  situations,  look  you,  is  both 
alike.  There  is  a  river  in  Macedon,  and  there  is 
also  moreover  a  river  at  Monmouth  ;  it  is  called 
Wye  at  Monmouth,  but  it  is  out  of  my  prains, 
what  is  the  name  of  the  other  river  ;  but  'tis  all 
one,  'tis  alike  as  my  fingers  is  to  my  fingers,  and 
there  is  salmons  in  both.  If  you  mark  Alex- 
ander's life  well,  Harry  of  Monmouth's  life  is 
come  after  it  indifferent  well ;  for  there  is  figures 
in  all  things.  Alexander,  God  knows,  and  you 
know,  in  his  rages,  and  his  furies,  and  his  wraths, 
and  his  cholers,  and  his  moods,  and  his  dis- 
pleasures, and  his  indignations,  and  also  being  a 
little  intoxicates  in  his  prains,  did,  in  his  ales 
and  his  angers,  look  you,  kill  his  pest  friend, 
Clyius. 

Gower. 

Our  king  is  not  like  him  in  that :  he  never 
killed  any  of  his  friends. 

Fluellen. 

It  is  not  well  done,  mark  you  now,  to  take  the 
tales  out  of  my  mouth,  ere  itis  made  and  finished. 
1  speak  but  in  the  figures  and  comparisons  of  it: 
as  Alexander  killed  his  friend  Ctytus,  being  in 
his  ales  and  his  cups,  so  also  Harry  Monmouth, 
being  in  his  right  wits  and  his  good  judgments, 
turned  away  the  fat  knight  with  the  great  pelly- 
doublet :  he  was  full  of  jests,  and  gipes,  and 
knaveries,  and  mocks  ;  I  have  forgot  his  name. 
Gower. 

Sir  John  Falstaff. 

Fluellen. 

That  is  he.  I'll  tell  you,  there  is  goot  men 
porn  at  Monmouth. 

Gower. 

Here  comes  his  majesty. 

Alarum.  Enter  King  Henry,  with  a  part  of  the 
English  Forces  ;  Warwick,  Gloster,  Exeter, 
and  others. 

King  Henry. 
I  was  not  angry  since  I  came  to  France 

Until  this  instant.— Take  a  trumpet,  herald  ; 

Ride  thou  unto  the  horsemen  on  yond'  hill: 


If  they  will  fight  with  us,  bid  them  come  down, 
j   Or  void  the  field  ;  they  do  offend  our  sight. 
;   If  they'll  do  neither,  we  will  come  to  them, 
i  And  make  them  skirr  away,  as  swift  as  stones 
!  Enforced  from  the  old  Assyrian  slings. 
,  Besides,  we'll  cut  the  throats  of  those  we  have  ; 
>  And  not  a  man  of  them  that  we  shall  take, 
I  Shall  taste  our  mercy— Go,  and  tell  them  so. 
Enter  Montjoy. 
Kxeter. 
Here  comes  the  herald  of  the   French,  my 

liege-  Gloster. 

His  eyes  are  humbler  than  they  us'd  to  be. 

King  Henry, 
How  now  !  what  means  this,  herald  ?  know'st 
thou  not, 
That  I  have  fin'd  these  bones  of  mine  for  ransom  ? 
Com'st  thou  again  for  ransom  ? 
Montjoy. 

No,  great  king : 
I  come  to  thee  for  charitable  licence, 
That  we  may  wander  o'er  this  bloody  field, 
To  book  our  dead,  and  then  to  bury  them  ; 
To  sort  our  nobles  from  our  common  men ; 
For  many  of  our  princes,  woe  the  while  ! 
Lie  drown'd  and  soak'd  in  mercenary  blood  ; 
So  do  our  vulgar  drench  their  peasant  limbs 
In  blood  of  princes,  and  their  wounded  steeds 
Fret  fetlock  deep  in  gore,  and  with  wild  rage 
Yerkout  their  armed  heels  at  their  dead  masters, 
Killing  them  twice.     O!  give  us  leave,  great 

king, 
To  view  the  field  in  safety,  and  dispose 
Of  their  dead  bodies. 

King  Henry. 

I  tell  thee  truly,  herald, 
I  know  not  if  the  day  be  ours,  or  no  ; 
For  yet  a  many  of  your  horsemen  peer, 
And  gallop  o'er  the  field. 

Montjoy. 

The  day  is  yours. 
King  Henry. 
Praised  be  God,  and  not  our  strength,  for  it  !— 
What  is  this  castle  call'd,  that  stands  hard  by? 
Montjoy. 
They  call  it  Agincourt. 

King  Henry. 
Then  call  we  this  the  field  of  Agincourt, 
Fought  on  the  day  of  Crispin  Crispianus. 
Fluellen. 
Your  grandfather  of  famous  memory,  an't 
please  your  majesty,  and  your  great-uncle  Ed- 
ward the  plack  prince  of  Wales,  as  I  have  read 
in  the  chronicles,  fought  a  most  prave  pattle 
here  in  France. 

King  Henry. 
They  did,  Fluellen. 

Fluellen. 
Your  majesty  says  very  true.  If  vour  ma- 
jesties is  remembered  of  it,  the  Welshmen  did 
goot  service  in  a  garden  where  leeks  did  grow, 
wearing  leeks  in  their  Monmouth  caps,  which, 
your  majesty  knows,  to  this  hour  is  an  honour- 
able padge  of  the  service;  and,  I  do  believe, 
your  majesty  takes  no  scorn  to  wear  the  leek 
upon  Saint  Tavy's  day. 

King  Henry. 
I  wear  it  for  a  memorable  honour: 
For  I  am  Welsh,  you  know,  good  countryman. 
Fluellen. 
All  the  water  in  Wye  cannot  wash  your  ma- 
jesty's 


Am  iv.  Sc  vni. 


KING  IIENKY  V. 


5*' 


jesty's  Welsh  plood  out  of  your  pody,  1  can  tell 
you  that :  Clot  pless  it,  and  preserve  it,  as  long 
aa  it  pleases  his  grace  and  his  majesty  too  1 
King  Henry. 
Thanks,  good  my  countryman. 
Fluellen. 
I      By  C/ieshu,  I  am  your  majesty's  countryman, 
I  care  not  who  know  it ;  I  will  confess  it  to  all 
the  world:    I  need  not  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
I  majesty,  praised  be  God,  so  long  as  your  ma- 
jesty is  an  honest  man. 
King  H 
God  keep  me  so  !— Our  heralds  go  with  him  : 
Bring  me  just  notice  of  the  numbers  dead, 
On  both  our  parts.— Call  yonder  fellow  hither. 
[Points  to  Williams.    Exeunt  Montjoy  and 
others. 

Exeter. 
Soldier,  you  must  come  to  the  king. 

King  Henry. 
Soldier,  why  wear'st  thou  that  glove  in  thy  cap? 

Williams. 
An't  please  your  majesty,  'tis  the  gage  of  one 
that  I  should  fight  withal,  if  he  be  alive. 
King  Henry. 
An  Englishman  ? 

Williams. 
An't  please  your  majesty,  a  rascal  that  swag- 
gered with  me  last  night ;  who,  if  'a  live,  and 
ever  dare  to  challenge  this  glove,  I  have  sworn 
to  take  him  a  box  o'  the  ear:  or,  if  I  can  see  my 
glove  in  his  cap,  (which  he  swore,  as  he  was  a 
soldier,  he  would  wear,  if  alive)  1  will  strike  it 
out  soundly. 

King  Henry. 
What  think  you,  captain  Fluellent  is  it  fit 
this  soldier  keep  his  oath  ? 
Fluellen. 
He  is  a  craven  and  a  villain  else,  an't  please 
your  majesty,  in  my  conscience. 
King  Henry. 
It  may  be,  his  enemy  is  a  gentleman  of  great 
sort,  quite  from  the  answer  of  his  degree. 
Fluellen. 
Though  he  be  as  goot  a  gentleman  as  the  tevil 
is,  as  Lucifer  and  Belzebub  himself,  it  is  neces- 
sary, look  your  grace,  that  he  keep  his  vow  and 
his  oath.     If  he  be  perjured,  see  you  now,  his 
reputation  is  as  arrant  a  villain,  and  a  Jack- 
sauce,  as  ever  his  plack  shoe  trod  upon  Got's 
ground  and  his  earth,  in  my  conscience,  la. 
King  Henry. 
Then  keep  thy  vow,  sirrah,'  when  thou  meet'st 
the  fellow. 

Williams. 
So  I  will,  my  liege,  as  I  live. 
King  Henry. 
Who  servest  thou  under  ? 

Williams. 
Under  captain  Gotcer,  my  liege. 

Fluellen. 
Gower  is  a  goot  captain,  and  is  good  know- 
ledge, and  literatured  in  the  wars. 
King  Henry. 
Call  him  hither  to  me,  soldier. 

Williams. 
I  will,  my  liege.  [Exit. 

King  Henry. 
Here,  Fluellen ;    wear  thou  this  favour  for 
me,  and  stick  it  in  thy  cap.    When  Alencon  and 
iwyfelf  v/ere  down  together,  I  plucked  this  glove 


from  his  helm  :  if  any  man  challenge  this,  he  is 
a  friend  to  Alengon,  and  an  enemy  to  our  per- 
I  son  ;   if  thou  encounter  any  such,  apprehend 
him,  an  thou  dost  me  love. 

I  Indies. 

Your  grace  does  me  as  great  honours,  as  can 

be  desired  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects  :  I  would 

fain  see  the  man,  that  has  but  two  legs,  that 

shall  find  himself  aggriefed  at  this  glove,  that  is 

all  ;  but  I  would  fain  see  it  once,  and  please 

Got  of  his  grace,  that  I  might  see. 

King  Henry. 

Knowest  thou  Gower  t 

Fluellen. 

He  is  my  dear  friend,  and  please  you. 

King  Henry. 

Fray  thee,  go  seek  him,  and  bring  him  to  my 

tent-  „.     ., 

Fluellen. 

I  will  fetch  him.  [Exit. 

King  Henry. 

My  lord  of  Warwick,  and  my  brother  Gloster 
Follow  Fluellen  closely  at  the  heels. 
The  glove,  which  I  have  given  him  for  a  favour, 
May  haply  purchase  him  a  box  o'  the  ear  : 
It  is  the  soldier's  ;  I,  by  bargain,  should 
Wear  it  myself.    Follow,  good  cousin  Warwick: 
If  that  the  soldier  strike  him,  (as,  I  judge 
By  his  blunt  bearing,  he  will  keep  his  word) 
Some  sudden  mischief  may  arise  of  it, 
For  I  do  know  Fluellen  valiant, 
And,  touch'd  with  choler,  hot  as  gunpowder, 
And  quickly  will  return  an  injury : 
Follow,  andsee  there  be  no  harm  between  them.— 
Go  you  with  me,  uncle  of  Exeter.         [Exeunt. 

SCENF.  VIII.    Before  King  Henry**  Pavilion. 
Enter  Gower  and  Williams. 
Williams. 
I  warrant  it  is  to  knight  you,  captain. 
Enter  Fluellen. 
Fluellen. 
Got's  will  and  his  pleasure,  captain,  I  peseech 
you  now,  come  apace  to  the  king :  there  is  more 
I  goot  toward  you,  peradventure,  than  is  in  your 
|  knowledge  to  dream  of. 

Williams. 
Sir,  know  you  this  glove  ? 
Fluellen. 
Know  the  glove?  I  know,  the  glove  is  a  glove. 

Williams. 
I  know  this,  and  thus  I  challenge  it. 

[Strikes  him. 
Fluellen. 
'Sblood  !   an  arrant  traitor,  as  any's  in  the 
universal  world,  or  in  France,  or  in  England. 
Gower 
How  now,  sir  1  you  villain  ! 
Williams. 
Do  you  think  I'll  be  forsworn  ? 

Fluellen. 
Stand  away,  captain  Gower ;  I  will  give  trea- 
son his  payment  into  plows,  I  warrant  you. 
Williams. 
I  am  no  traitor. 

Fluellen. 
That's  a  lie  in  thy  throat. — I  charge  you  In 
his  majesty's  name,  apprehend  him  :   he  is  a 
friend  of  the  duke  Alencon's. 

Enter 


5Z2 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vm. 


Enter  Warwick  and  Glostcr. 
Warwick. 
How  now,  how  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Fluellen. 
My  lord  of  Warwick,  here  is,  praised  be  God 
for  it !  a  most  contagious  treason  come  to  light, 
look  you,  as  you  shall  desire  in  a  summer's  day. 
Here  is  his  majesty. 

Enter  King  Henry  and  Exeter, 
King  Henry. 
How  now  1  what's  the  matter  ? 

Fluellen. 
My  liege,  here  is  a  villain,  and  a  traitor,  that, 
look  your  grace,  has  struck   the  glove  which 
your  majesty  is  take  out  of  the  helmet  of  Alengon. 
Williams. 
My  liege,  this  was  my  glove ;  here  is  the  fellow 
of  it ;  and  he  that  I  gave  it  to  in  change  pro- 
mised to  wear  it  in  his  cap:  I  promised  to  strike 
him  if  he  did.     I  met  this  man  with  my  glove 
in  his  cap,  and  1  have  been  as  good  as  my  word. 
Fluellen. 
Your  majesty  hear  now,  saving  your  majesty's 
manhood,   what  an  arrant,  rascally,  beggarly, 
lowsy  knave  it  is.     I  hope  your  majesty  is  pear 
I  me  testimony,  and  witness,  and  avouchments, 
that  this  is  the  glove  of  Alengon,  that  your 
majesty  is  give  me,  in  your  conscience  now. 
King  Henry. 
Give  me  thy  glove,  soldier :  look,  here  is  the 
fellow  of  it. 
'Twas  I,  indeed,  thou  promisedst  to  strike ; 
And  thou  hast  given  me  most  bitter  terms. 
Fluellen. 
An  please  your  majesty,  let  his  neck  answer 
for  it,  if  there  is  any  martial  law  in  the  world. 
King  Henry. 
How  canst  thou  make  me  satisfaction  ? 

Williams. 
All  offences,  my  lord,  come  from  the  heart: 
never  came  any  from  mine,  that  might  offend 
your  majesty.        King  Henry. 

It  was  ourself  thou  didst  abuse. 
Williams. 

Your  majesty  came  not  like  yourself:  you 
appeared  to  me  but  as  a  common  man  ;  witness 
the  night,  your  garments,  your  lowliness  ;  and 
what  your  highness  suffered  under  that  shape, 
I  beseech  you,  take  it  for  your  own  fault,  and 
not  mine :  for  had  you  been  as  I  took  you  for,  I 
made  no  offence ;  therefore,  I  beseech  your 
highness,  pardon  me. 

King  Henry. 

Here,  uncle  Exeter,  fill  this  glove  with  crowns, 
And  give  it  to  this  fellow — Keep  it,  fellow, 
And  wear  it  for  an  honour  in  thy  cap, 
Till  I  do  challenge  it. — Give  him  the  crowns — 
And,  captain,  you  must  needs  be  friends  with 

him'  Fluellen. 

By  this  day  and  this  light,  the  fellow  has 
mettle  enough  in  his  pelly.  —  Hold,  there  is 
twelve  pence  for  you,  and  I  pray  you  to  serve 
Got,  and  keep  you  out  of  prawls,  and  prabbles, 
and  quarrels,  and  dissensions ;  and,  I  warrant 
you,  it  is  the  petter  for  you. 
Williams. 

I  will  none  of  your  money. 
Fluellen. 
It  is  with  a  goot  will.    I  can  tell  you,  it  will 


serve  you  to  mend  your  shoes:  come,  wherefore 
should  you  be  so  pashful  ?  your  shoes  is  not  so 
goot:  'tis  a  goot  silling,  I  warrant  you,  or  I  will 
change  it. 

Enter  an  English  Herald. 
King  Henry. 
Now,  herald,  are  the  dead  number'd  ? 

Herald. 

Here  is  the  number  of  the  slaughter 'd  French. 

[Delivers  a  Paper, 

King  Henry. 

What  prisoners  of  good  sort  are  taken,  uncle  ? 

Exeter. 
Charles  duke  of  Orleans,  nephew  to  the  king ; 
John  duke  of  Bourbon,  and  lord  Bouciqualt : 
Of  other  lords,  and  barons,  knights,  and  'squires, 
Full  fifteen  hundred,  besides  common  men. 
King  Henry. 
This  note  doth  tell  me  often  thousand  French, 
That  in  the  field  lie  slain :  of  princes,  in  this 

number, 
And  nobles  bearing  banners,  there  lie  dead 
One  hundred  twenty-six :  added  to  these, 
i  Of  knights,  esquires,  and  gallant  gentlemen, 
•  Eight  thousand  and  four  hundred;  of  the  which, 
I Fivehundredwerebut yesterday dubb'd  knights: 
So  that,  in  these  ten  thousand  they  have  lost, 
There  are  but  sixteen  hundred  mercenaries  ; 
The  rest  are  princes,  barons,  lords,  knights, 

'squires, 
And  gentlemen  of  blood  and  quality. 
The  names  of  those  their  nobles  that  lie  dead, — 
Charles  Dcla-bret,  high  constable  of  France  ; 
Jaqucs  of  Chatillon,  admiral  of  France  ; 
The  master  of  the  cross-bows,  lord  Rambures  ; 
Great-master  of  France,  the  brave  sir  Guischard 

Dauphin; 
\  John  duke  of  Alengon  ;  Antony  duke  of  Brabant, 
'  The  brother  to  the  duke  of  Burgundy  ; 
■  And  Edward  duke  of  Bar :  of  lusty  earls, 
i  Grandpri,  and  Roussi,  Fauconberg,  and  Foix, 
Beaumont,  and  Marie,  Vaudemont,  and  Lestrale. 
Here  was  a  royal  fellowship  of  death ! — 
Where  is  the  number  of  our  English  dead? 

{Herald  presents  another  Paper. 
Edward  the  duke  of  York,  the  earl  of  Suffolk, 
Sir  Richard  Ketly,  Davy  Gam,  esquire: 
None  else  of  name,  and  of  all  other  men 
But  five  and  twenty.    O  God !  thy  arm  was  here, 
And  not  to  us,  but  to  thy  arm  alone, 
Ascribe  we  all. — When,  without  stratagem, 
But  in  plain  shock,  and  even  play  of  battle, 
Was  ever  known  so  great  and  little  loss, 
On  one  part  and  on  th'  other  ? — Take  it,  God, 
For  it  is  only  thine  ! 

Exeter. 
'Tis  wonderful ! 
King  Henry. 
Come,  go  we  in  procession  to  the  village: 
And  be  it  death  proclaimed  through  our  host, 
To  boast  of  this,  or  take  that  praise  from  God, 
Which  is  his  only. 

Fluellen. 
Is  it  not  lawful,  an  please  your  majesty,  to  tell 
how  many  is  killed  ? 

King  Henry. 
Yes,  captain;  but  with  this  acknowledgment, 
That  God  fought  for  us. 

Fluellen. 
Yes,  my  conscience,  he  did  us  great  goot. 

King  Henry. 
Do  we  all  holy  rites : 

J^t 


IAct  v.   Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


5*5 


Let  there  be  sung  Non  nobis,  and  Te  Deum. 
The  dead  with  charity  enclos'd  in  clay, 
And  then  to  Calais;  and  to  England  then, 
Where  ne'er  from  France  arriv'd  more. happy 


ACT  V. 

P.nter  Chorus 
Chorus. 

VOUCHSAFE  to  those  that  have  not  read  the 
story, 
That  I  may  prompt  them:  and  of  such  as  have, 
I  humbly  pray  them  to  admit  th'  excuse 
Of  time,  of  numbers,  and  due  course  of  things, 
Which  cannot  in  their  huge  and  proper  life 
Be  here  presented.     Now,  we  bear  the  king 
Toward  Calais :  grant  him  there ;  tliere  seen, 
Heave  him  away  upon  your  winged  thoughts, 
Athwart  the  sea.     Behold,  the  English  beach 
Pales  in  the  flood  with  men,  with  wives,  and  boys, 
Whose  shouts  and  claps  out-voice  the  deep- 

mouth'd  sea, 
Which,  like  a  mighty  whiffler  'fore  the  king 
Seems  to  prepare  his  way.    So,  let  him  land, 
And  solemnly  see  him  set  on  to  London. 
So  swift  a  pace  hath  thought,  that  even  now 
You  may  imagine  him  upon  Blackheath ; 
Where  that  his  lords  desire  him,  to  have  borne 
His  bruised  helmet,  and  his  bended  sword, 
Before  him,  through  the  city:  he  forbids  it, 
Being  free  from  vainness  and  self-glorious  pride, 
Giving  full  trophy,  signal,  and  ostent, 
Quite  from  himself,  to  God.     But  now  behold, 
In  the  quick  forge  and  w  orkinghouse  of  thought, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens. 
The  mayor,  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, 
Like  to  the  senators  of  th'  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarming  at  their  heels, 
Go  forth,  and  fetch  their  conquering  Ccesar  in  : 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood, 
Were  now  the  general  of  our  gracious  empress 
(As  in  good  time  he  may)  from  Ireland  coming, 
Bringing  rebellion  broached  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit, 
To  welcome  him  I  much  more,  and  much  more 

cause. 
Did  they  this  Harry.     Now,  in  London  place 
As  yet  the  lamentation  of  the  French  [him. 

Invites  the  king  of  England's  stay  at  home : 
The  emperor's  coming  in  behalf  of  Fiance, 
To  order  peace  between  them ;  and  omit 
All  the  occurrences,  whatever  chane'd, 
Till  Harry's  back-return  again  to  France: 
There  must  we  bring  him ;  and  myself  have  play'd 
The  interim,  by  remembering  you,  'tis  past. 
Then  brook  abridgment,  and  your  eyes  advance, 
After  your    thoughts,  straight  back  again   to 

SCEXE  I.    France.    An  English  Court  of 
Guard. 

Enter  Fluellen  and  Gower. 

Gower. 

Nay,  that's  right ;  but  why  wear  you  your 

leek  to-day  ?    Saint  Davy's  day  is  past. 

Fluellen. 

There    is    occasions,    and    causes,   why  and 


wherefore,  in  all  things  : 
i  friend,  captain  Gower. 


will  tell  you,  as  mv 
The   rascally,  scald, 


beggarly,  lowsy,  Dragging  knave,  Pistol,  which 
you  and  yourself,  and  all  the  world,  know  to  be 
no  petter  than  a  fellow,  look  you  now,  of  no 
merits,  he  is  come  to  me,  and  prings  me  pread 
and  salt  yesterday,  look  you,  and  bid  me  eat  my 
leek.  It  was  in  a  place  where  I  could  not  breed 
no  contention  with  him  ;  but  1  will  be  so  pold 
as  to  wear  it  in  my  cap  till  I  see  him  once  again, 
and  then  I  will  tell  him  a  little  piece  of  my  de- 
sires. 

Gower. 
Why,  here  he  comes,  swelling  like  a  turkey- 
cock.  _. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Fluellen. 
Tis  no  matter  for  his  swellings,  nor  his  tur- 
key-cocks— Got  plcs8  you,  ancient  Pistol  I  you 
scurvy,  lowsy  knave,  Got  pless  you  I 
Pistol. 
Ha  !  art  thou  Bedlam  f  dost  thou  thirst,  base 
Trojan, 
To  have  me  fold  up  Pared'*  fatal  web  ? 
Hence  1  1  am  qualmish  at  the  smell  of  leek. 
Fluellen. 
I  peseech  you  heartily,  scurvy  lowsy  knave,  at 
my  desires,  and  my  requests,  and  my  petitions, 
to  eat,  look  you.  this  leek  ;  because,  look  you, 
you  do  not  love  it,  nor  your  affections,  and  your 
appetites,  and  your  digestions,  does  not  agree 
with  it,  I  would  desire  you  to  eat  it. 
Pistol. 
Not  for  CadwaUader,  and  all  his  goats. 

Fluellen. 
There  is  one  goat  for  you.    [Strikes  him.] 
Will  you  be  so  goot,  scald  knave,  as  eat  it  ? 
Pistol. 
Base  Trojan,  thou  shalt  die. 

Fluellen. 
You  say  very  true,  scald  knave,  when  Got's 
will  is.  I  will  desire  you  to  live  in  the  mean 
time,  and  eatvour,  victuals:  come,  there  it 
sauce  for  it.  Linking  Turn  again,  j  You  called 
me  yesterday,  mountain-squire,  but  I  will  make 
you  to-dav  a  squire  of  low  degree.  I  pray  you, 
fall  to :  if  you  can  mock  a  leek,  you  can  eat  a 
leek. 

Gower. 

Enough,  captain  :  you  have  astonished  him. 

Fluellen 
I  say,  I  will  make  him  eat  some  part  of  ray 
leek,  or  I  will  peat  his  pate  four  days. —  Pite,  I 
pray  you  ;  it  is  goot  for  your  green  wound,  and 
your  ploody  coxcomb. 

Pistol. 

Must  1  bite  ?         _    .. 

Fluellen. 

Yes.  certainly,  and  out  of  doubt,  and  out  of 
question  too,  and  ambiguities. 
Pistol. 
By  this  leek,  I  will  most  horribly  revenge.    I 
cat,  and  eat  I  swear — 

Fluellen. 
Eat,  I  pray  you.    Will  you  have  some  more 
sauce  to  your  leek  ?  there  is  not  enough  leek  to 
swear  by. 

Pistol. 

Quiet  thy  cudgel :  thou  dost  see,  I  eat. 
Fluellen. 

Much  goot  do  you,  scald  knave,  heartily. 
Nay,  pray  you,  throw  none  away ;  the  skin  is 
goot  for  your  proken  coxcomb.  When  you 
take  occasions  to  see  leeks  hereafter,  I  pray  you, 
mock  at  'em  ;  that  is  all.  . 


5*4 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  v.  Sc.  u 


Pistol. 

Good-  ™    „ 

Fluellen. 

Ay,  leeks  is  goot.— Hold  you  ;  there  is  a  groat 
to  heal  your  pate. 


Pistol. 


Me  a  groat ! 


Yes: 


Fluellen. 
verily,  and  in  truth,  you  shall  take  it,  or 


I  have  another  leek  in  my  pocket,  which  you 
shall  eat. 

Pistol. 
I  take  thy  groat,  in  earnest  of  revenge. 

Fluellen. 
If  I  owe  you  any  thing,  I  will  pay  you  in 
cudgels:  you  shall  be  a  woodmonger,  and  buy 
nothing  of  me  but  cudgels.     God  be  wi'  von, 
and  keep  you,  and  heal  your  pate.  [Exit 

Pistol. 
All  hell  shall  stir  for  this. 
Gower. 
Go,  go  ;  you  are  a  counterfeit  cowardly  knave.  , 
Will  you  mock  at  an  ancient  tradition,  begun  ]  What  rub,  or  what  impediment,  there  is, 

a  me-     Why  that  the  naked,  poor,  and  mangled  ] 


Your  eyes,  which  hitherto  have  borne  in  them 
Against  the  French,  that  met  them  in  their  bent, 
I  he  fatal  balls  of  murdering  basilisks  : 
The  venom  of  such  looks,  we  fairly  hope, 
Have  lost  their  quality,  and  that  this  day 
Shall  change  all  griefs  and  quarrels  into  love. 
King  Henry. 

To  cry  amen  to  that  thus  we  appear. 
Queen  Isabel. 

You  English  princes  all,  I  do  salute  you. 
Burgundy. 

My  duty  to  you  both,  on  equal  love. 
Great  kings  of  France  and  England,  that  I  have 

labour'd 
With  all  my  wits,  my  pains,  and  strong  endea- 
To  bring  your  most  imperial  majesties    [vours, 
Unto  this  bar  and  royal  interview, 
Your  mightiness  on  both  parts  best  can  witness. 
Since,  then,  my  office  hath  so  far  prevail'd, 
That  face  to  face,  and  royal  eye  to  eye, 
You  have  congreeted,  let  it  not  disgrace  me, 
If  I  demand  before  this  royal  view, 


upon  an  honourable  respect,  and  worn  as 
morable  trophy  of  predeceased  valour,  and  dare 
not  avouch  in  your  deeds  any  of  your  words  ? 


.  . .  ..j  v..mv  w».^  u<t..\,u,  !>wwi,  ouu  limn ^icui  peace, 
!  Dear  nurse  of  arts,  plenties,  and  joyful  births, 
1  Should  not  in  this  best  garden  of  the  world, 


I  have  seen  you  gleeking  and  galling  at  this     Our  fertile  France,  put  up  her  lovely  visage? 
gentleman  twice  or  thrice.    You  thought,  be-     A 
cause  he  could  not  speak  English  in  the  native 


Alas  1    she  hath  from  France  too  long 
chas'd, 


been 


garb,  he  could  not  therefore  handle  an  English    And  all  her  husbandry  doth  lie  on  heaps 
cudgel :  you  find  it  otherwise  ;  and,  henceforth,  |  Corrupting  in  its  own  fertility, 
let  a  Welsh  correction  teach  you  a  good  E 


condition.    Fare  ye  well, 

Pistol. 
Doth  fortune  play  the  huswife  with  me  now  ? 
News  have  I,  that  my  Nell  is  dead  i'  the  spital 
Of  malady  of  France; 
And  there  my  rendezvous  is  quite  cut  off. 
Old  1  do  wax,  and  from  my  weary  limbs 
Honour  is  cudgelled.    Well,  bawd  I'll  turn, 
And  something  lean  to  cutpurse  of  quick  hand. 
To  England  will  I  steal,  and  there  I'll  steal  : 
And  patches  will  I  get  unto  these  cudgell'd 

scars, 
And  swear,  I  got  them  in  the  Gallia  wars. 

[Exit. 

SCENE   II.     Troyes  In  Champagne.    An 
Apartment  in  the  French  King's  Palace. 

Enter,  at  one  door,  King  Henry,  Bedford,  Glos- 
ter,  Exeter,  Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and 
other  Lords  ;  at  another,  the  French  King, 
Queen  Isabel,  the  Princess  Katharine,  Lords, 
Ladies,  &c,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  his 
Train. 

King  Henry. 
Peace  to  this  meeting,  wherefore  we  are  met. 
Unto  our  brother  France,  and  to  our  sister, 
Health  and  fair  time  of  day: — joy  and  good 
wishes  [rine  ;  — 

To  our  most  fair  and  princely  cousin  Katha- 
And,  as  a  branch  and  member  of  this  royalty, 
By  whom  this  great  assembly  is  contriv'd, 
We  do  salute  you,  duke  of  Burgundy  ;  —     [all. 
And,  princes  French,  and  peers,  health  to  you 
French  King. 
Right  joyous  are  we  to  behold  your  face, 
Most  worthy  brother  England  ;  fairly  met :  — 
So  are  you,  princes  English,  every  one. 
Queen  Isabel. 
So  happy  be  the  issue,  brother  England, 
Of  this  good  day,  and  of  this  gracious  meeting, 
As  we  are  now  glad  to  behold  your  eyes  ; 


Her  vine,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 

I  Unpruned  dies :  her  hedges  even-pleached, 

;  Like  prisoners  wildly  over-grown  with  hair, 

j  Put  forth  disorder'd  twigs :  her  fallow  leas 

The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  fumitory, 
j  Doth  root  upon,  while  that  the  coulter  rusts, 
J  That  should  deracinate  such  savagery : 
.  The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 
|  The  freckled  cowslip,  burnet,  and  green  clover, 
i  Wanting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank, 
j  Conceives  by  idleness,  and  nothing  teems, 
But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burs, 
Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. 
And  as  our  vineyards,  fallows,  meads,  and  hedges, 
Defective  in  their  natures,  grow  to  wildness  ; 
Even  so  our  houses,  and  ourselves,  and  children, 
Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn,  for  want  of  time, 
The  sciences  that  should  become  our  country, 
But  grow,  like  savages,  —  as  soldiers  will, 
That  nothing  do  but  meditate  on  blood,— 
To  swearing,  and  stern  looks,  diffus'd  attire, 
And  every  thing  that  seems  unnatural. 
Which  to  reduce  into  our  former  favour, 
You  are  assembled;  and  my  speech  entreats, 
That  I  may  know  the  let,  why  gentle  peace 
Should  not  expel  these  inconveniences, 
And  bless  us  with  her  former  qualities. 
King  Henry. 
If,  duke  of  Burgundy,  you  would  the  peace, 
Whose  want  gives  growth  to  th'  imperfections 
Which  you  have  cited,  you  must  buy  that  peace 
With  full  accord  to  all  our  just  demands  ; 
Wrhose  tenours  and  particular  effects 
You  have,  enschedul'd  briefly,  in  your  hands. 
Burgundy. 
The  king  hath  heard  them  ;  to  the  which,  as 
There  is  no  answer  made.  [yet, 

King  Henry. 

W  ell  then,  the  peace, 
Which  you  before  so  urg'd,  lies  in  his  answer. 
French  King. 
I  have  but  with  a  cursorary  eye 
O'er-glanc'd  the  articles:  pleaseth  your  grace 

To 


fflrjEwiRTr  v. 

An    5. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


KING  IIKNRY  V. 


5*5 


To  appoint  some  of  your  council  presently 
To  tit  with  us  once  more,  with  better  heed 
1  .)  n  -survey  them,  we  will  suddenly 
Pass  our  accept,  and  peremptory  answer. 
King  Henry. 
Brother,  we  shall.  — Go,  uncle  Exeter,— 
And    brother    Clarence,  —  and    you,    brother 

Gloster, — 
Warwick?—  and  Huntington, —  go  with  the  king ; 
And  take  with  you  free  power,  to  ratify, 
Augment,  or  alter,  as  your  wisdoms  best 
Shall  see  advantagealue  for  our  dignity, 
Any  thing  in,  or  out  of,  our  demands, 
And  we'll  consign  thereto.  —  Will  you,  fair  sister, 
Go  with  the  princes,  or  stay  here  with  us? 
Queen  Isabel. 
Our  gracious  brother,  I  will  go  with  them. 
Haply  a  woman's  voice  may  do  some  good, 
When  articles,  too  nicely  urg'd,  be  stood  on. 
King  Henry. 
Yet  leave  our  cousin  Katharine  here  with  us : 
She  is  our  capital  demand,  compris'd 
Within  the  fore-rank  of  our  articles. 
Queen  Isabel. 
She  bath  good  leave. 
[Kxeunt  all  but  King  Henry,  Katharine, 
and  her  Gentlewoman. 

King  Henry.  «  jsl 

Fair  Katharine,  and  most  fair  ; 
Will  you  vouchsafe  to  teach  a  soldier  terms, 
Such  as  will  enter  at  a  lady's  ear, 
And  plead  his  love-suit  to  her  gentle  heart  ? 
Katharine. 
Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me;    I  cannot 
speak  your  England.  _  M^ 

King  Henry. 

0  fair  Katharine!  If  you  will  love  me  soundly 
with  your  French  heart,  I  will  be  glad  to  hear 
you  confess  it  brokenly  with  your  English  tongue. 
Do  you  like  me,  Kate  ? 

Katharine. 
Pardonnez  moy,   I  cannot  tell   vat  is— like 
me. 

King  Henry. 
An  angel  is  like  you,  Kate  ;  and  you  are  like 
an  angel. 

Kutherine. 
Que  dit-ilt  queje  suis  semblable  d  les  angesf 

Alice. 

Guy,  vrayment,  saufvostre  grace,  ainsi  dit  il. 

King  Henry. 

1  said  so,  dear  Katharine,  and  I  must  not  blush 
to  affirm  it. 

Katharine. 
ObonDieu!  les  languesdes  hommessontpleines 
de  tromperies. 

King  lleurv. 
What  says  she,  fair  one?  that  the  tongues  of 
men  are  full  of  deceits  ? 

Alice. 

Ouy  ;  dat  de  tongues  of  de  mans  is  be  full  of 
deceits :  dat  is  de  princess. 

King  Henry. 

The  princess  is  the  better  English-woman. 
1'  faith,  Kate,  my  wooing  is  fit  for  thy  under- 
standing:  I  am  glad,  thou  canst  speak  no  better 
English  ;  for,  if  thou  couldst,  thou  wouldst  find 
me  such  a  plain  king,  that  thou  wouldst  think, 
I  had  sold  my  farm  to  buy  my  crown.  I  know 
no  ways  to  mince  it  in  love,  but  directly  to  say 
—  I  love  you:  then,  if  you  urge  me  farther  than 
to  say — Do  you  in  faith?   I  wear  out  my  suit. 


Give  me  your  answer ;    {'faith,  do,  and  so  clap 
hands  ana  a  bargain.     How  say  you,  lady  ? 
Tine. 

Saufvostre  honncur,  me  understand  well. 
King   Henry. 

Marry,  if  you  would  put  me  to  verses,  or  to 
dance  for  your  sake,  Kate,  why  you  undid  me: 
fur  the  one,  I  have  neither  words  nor  measure ; 
and  for  the  other,  I  have  no  strength  in  mea- 
sure, yet  a  reasonable  measure  in  strength.  If 
I  could  win  a  lady  at  leap-frog,  or  by  vaulting 
into  my  saddle  with  my  armour  on  my  back, 
under  the  correction  of  bragging  be  it  spoken,  I 
should  quickly  leap  into  a  wife:  or  if  1  might 
buffet  for  my  love,  or  bound  my  horse  for  her 
favours,  I  could  lay  on  like  a  butcher,  and  sit 
like  a  jack-an-apes,  never  off;  but,  before  God, 
Kale,  1  cannot  look  greenly,  nor  gasp  out  my 
eloquence,  nor  I  have  no  cunning  in  protestation ; 
only  downright  oaths,  which  I  never  use  till 
urged,  nor  never  break  for  urging.  If  thou  canst 
love  a  fellow  of  this  temper,  Kate,  whose  face 
is  not  worth  sun-burning,  that  never  looks 
in  his  glass  for  love  of  any  thing  he  sees  there, 
let  thine  eye  be  thy  cook.  1  speak  to  thee  plain 
soldier :  if  thou  can'st  love  me  for  this,  take  me ; 
if  not,  to  say  to  thee  that  I  shall  die,  is  true ; 
but  for  thy  love,  by  the  Lord,  no ;  yet  I  love 
thee  too.  And  while  thou  livest,  dear  Kate,  take 
a  fellow  of  plain  and  uncoined  constancy,  for  he 
perforce  must  do  thee  right,  because  he  hath 
not  the  gift  to  woo  in  other  places  ;  for  these 
fellows  of  infinite  tongue,  that  can  rhyme  them- 
selves into  ladies'  favours,  they  do  always  reason 
themselves  out  again.  What !  a  speaker  is  but 
a  prater  ;  a  rhyme  is  but  a  ballad.  A  good  leg 
will  fall,  a  straight  back  will  stoop,  a  black  beard 
will  turn  white,  a  curled  pate  will  grow  bald,  a 
fair  face  will  wither,  a  full  eye  will  wax  hollow  ; 
but  a  good  heart,  Kate,  is  the  sun  and  the  moon ; 
or,  rather,  the  sun,  and  not  the  moon,  for  it  shines 
bright,  and  never  changes,  but  keeps  his  course 
truly.  If  thou  would  have  such  a  one,  take  me : 
and  take  me,  take  a  soldier ;  take  a  soldier,  take 
a  king,  and  what  sayest  thou  then  to  my  love? 
i  speak,  my  fair,  and  iairly,  I  pray  thee. 

Katharine. 
Is  it  possible  dat  I  sould  love  de  enemy  of 
[  France ? 

King  Henry. 
No ;  it  is  not  possible  you  should  love  the 
j enemy  of  France,  Kate;  but,  in  loving  me,  you 
'should  love  the  friend  of  France,  for  I  love 
\  France  so  well,  that  I  will  not  part  with  a  village 
of  it ;  I  will  have  it  all  mine  :  and,  Kate,  when 
Fiance  is  mine  and  I  am  yours,  then  yours  is 
France,  and  you  are  mine. 

Katharine. 
I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat. 

King  Henry. 
No,  Kate  f  I  will  tell  thee  in  French,  which 
1  am  sure  will  hang  upon  my  tongue  like  a  new- 
married  wife  about  her  husband's  neck,  hardly 
to  be  shook  off. — Quand  fay  la  possession  de 
France,  et  quand  vous  avez  le  possession  de  moy, 
(let  me  see,  what  then?  Saint  Dennis  be  my 
speed  I)  — done  voslre  est  France,  et  vous  estes 
tnienne.  It  is  as  easy  for  me,  hate,  to  conquer 
the  kingdom,  as  to  speak  so  much  more  French. 
I  shall  never  move  thee  in  French,  unless  it  be 
to  laugh  at  me. 

Katharine. 
Sauf  vostre  honneur,  le  Francois  que  vous 
..  parlex,  est  meilleur  que  I'Anglois  lequelje  parte. 

King 


526 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii 


King  Henry. 
No,  'faith,  it's  not,  Kate;  but  thy  speaking  of 
ray  tongue,  and  I  thine,  most  truly  falsely,  must 
needs  be  granted  to  be  much  at  one.  But,  Kate, 
dost  thou  understand  thus  much  English  ? 
Can'st  thou  love  me  ? 

Katharine. 

I  cannot  tell. 

King  Henry. 

Can  any  of  your  neighbours  tell,  Kate  ?  I'll 
ask  them.  Come,  I  know,  thou  lovest  me :  and 
at  night  when  you  come  into  your  closet,  you'll 
question  this  gentlewoman  about  me ;  and  I 
know,  Kate,  you  will,  to  her,  dispraise  those 
parts  in  me,  that  you  love  with  your  heart :  but, 
good  Kate,  mock  me  mercifully,  the  rather, 
gentle  princess,  because  I  love  thee  cruelly.  If 
ever  thou  be'st  mine,  Kate,  (as  I  have  a  saving 
faith  within  me  tells  me  thou  shalt)  I  get  thee 
with  scambling,  and  thou  must  therefore  needs 
prove  a  good  soldier-breeder.  Shall  not  thou 
and  1,  between  Saint  Dennis  and  Saint  George, 
compound  a  boy,  half  French,  half  English,  that 
shall  go  to  Constantinople,  and  take  the  Turk 
by  the  beard  ?  shall  we  not  ?  what  sayest  thou, 
my  fair  flower-de-luce  ? 

Katharine. 
I  do  not  know  dat. 

King  Henry. 

No ;  'tis  hereafter  to  know,  but  now  to  pro- 
mise :  do  but  now  promise,  Kate,  you  will  en- 
deavour for  your  French  part  of  such  a  boy,  and 
for  my  English  moiety  take  the  word  of  a  king 
and  a  bachelor.  How  answer  y^ou,  la  plus  belle 
Katharine  du  monde,  man  ires  chere  et  divin 
deesse ? 

Katharine. 

Your  majeste  have  fausse  French  enough  to 
deceive  de  most  sage  damoiselle  dat  is  en  France. 

King  Henry. 
Now,  fie  upon  my  false  French  !  By  mine 
honour,  in  true  English,  I  love  thee,  Kate :  by 
which  honour  I  dare  not  swear,  thou  lovest  me; 
yet  rav  blood  begins  to  flatter  me  that  thou  dost, 
notwithstanding  the  poor  and  untempering  effect 
of  my  visage.  Now  beshrew  my  father's  am- 
bition !  he  was  thinking  of  civil  wars  when  he 
got  me:  therefore  was  I  created  with  a  stubborn 
outside,  with  an  aspect  of  iron,  that,  when  I 
come  to  woo  ladies,  I  fright  them.  But,  in  faith, 
Kate,  the  elder  I  wax,  the  better  I  shall  appear: 
ray  comfort  is,  that  old  age,  that  ill  layer-up  of 
beauty,  can  do  no  more  spoil  upon  my  face: 
thou  hast  me,  if  thou  hast  me,  at  the  worst ; 
and  thou  shalt  wear  me,  if  thou  wear  me,  better 
and  better.  And  therefore  tell  me,  most  fair 
Katharine,  will  you  have  me  ?  Put  off  your 
maiden  blushes ;  avouch  the  thoughts  of  your 
heart  with  the  looks  of  an  empress  ;  take  me  by 
the  hand,  and  say  —  Harry  of  England,  I  am 
thine :  which  word  thou  shalt  no  sooner  bless 
mine  ear  withal,  but  I  will  tell  thee  aloud — 
England  is  thine,  Ireland  is  thine,  France  is 
thine,  and  Henry  Plantagenet  is  thine  ;  who, 
though  I  speak  it  before  his  face,  if  he  be  not 
fellow  with  the  best  king,  thou  shalt  find  the 
best  king  of  good  fellows.  Come,  your  answer 
in  broken  music,  for  thy  voice  is  music,  and  thy 
English  broken  ;  therefore,  queen  of  all,  Ka- 
tharine,break  thy  mind  to  me  in  broken  English : 
wilt  thou  have  me  "* 

Katharine. 
Dat  is,  as  it  shall  please  de  roy  mon  pere. 


King  Henry. 
Nay,  it  will  please  him  well,  Kate:   it  shall 
please  him,  Kate. 

Katharine. 
Den  it  shall  also  content  me. 
King  Henry. 
Upon  that  I  kiss  your  hand,  and  I  call  you  my 
queen. 

Katharine. 
Laissez,  mon  siegneur,  laissez,  laissez!  Ma 
foy,  je  ne  veux  point  que  vous  abbaissez  vostre 
grandeur,  en  baisant  la  tnaind'une  vostre  indigne 
scrviteure :  excusez  moy,  je  vous  supplie,  mon 
tres  puissant  seigneur. 

King  Henry. 
Then  I  will  kiss  your  lips,  Kate. 

Katharine. 
I.es  dames,  et  damoiselles,  pour  estre  baistes 
devant  leur  nopces,  il  n'est  pas  la  couiume  de 
France. 

King  Henry. 
Madam  my  interpreter,  what  says  she  ? 

Alice. 

Dat  it  is  not  be  de  fashion  pour  les  ladies  of 
France,— \  cannot  tell  what  is,  baiser,  in  English. 

King  Henry. 
To  kiss. 

Alice. 

Your  majesty  enlend  bettre  que  moy. 

King  Henry. 
It  is  not  a  fashion  for  the  maids  in  France  to 
kiss  before  they  are  married,  would  she  say  ? 

Alice. 

Ouy,  vrayment. 

King  Henry. 

O,  Kate!  nice  customs  curtesy  to  great  kings. 
Dear  Kate,  you  and  1  cannot  be  confined  w  ithln 
the  weak  list  of  a  country's  fashion  :  we  are  the 
makers  of  manners,  Kate ;  and  the  liberty  that 
follows  our  places  stops  the  mouths  of  all  find- 
faults,  as  I  will  do  yours,  for  upholding  the  nice 
fashion  of  your  country  in  denying  me  a  kiss  : 
therefore,  patiently,  and  yielding.  [Kissing  her.] 
You  have  witchcraft  in  your  lips,  Kate:  there 
is  more  eloquence  in  a  sugar  touch  of  them, 
than  in  the  tongues  of  the  French  council  ;  and 
they  should  sooner  persuade  Harry  of  England, 
than  a  general  petition  of  monarchs.  Here 
comes  your  father. 

Enter  the  French  King  and  Queen,  Burgundy, 
Bedford,  Gloster,  Exeter,  Westmoreland,  and 
other  French  and  English  Lords. 

Burgundy. 

God  save  your  majesty.    My  royal  cousin, 

Teach  you  our  princess  English  ? 

King  Henry. 

I  would  have  her  learn,  my  fair  cousin,  how 

perfectly  I  love  her  ;  and  that  is  good  English. 

Burgundy. 
Is  she  not  apt  ? 

King  Henry.  . 

Our  tongue  is  rough,  coz,  and  my  condition  is 
not  smooth;  so  that,  having  neither  the  voice 
nor  the  heart  of  flattery  about  me,  I  cannot  so 
conjure  up  the  spirit  of  love  in  her,  that  he  will 
appear  in  his  true  likeness. 

Burgundy.      .    .    ,„ . 

Pardon  the  frankness  of  my  mirth,  if  I  answer 

you  for  that.     If  you  would  conjure  in  her  you 

must  make  a  circle  ;  if  conjure  up  love  in  her  in 

his  true  likeness,  he  must  appear  naked,  and 

blind. 


Act  7.  Sc.  pl 


KING  HENRY  V. 


f»7 


blind  Can  you  blame  her,  then,  being  a  maid 
yet  rosed  over  with  the  virgin  crimson  of  mo-; 
deity,  if  slie  deny  the  appearance  of  a  naked 
blind  boy  in  her  naked  seeing  self?  It  were, 
my  lord,  a  hard  condition  for  a  maid  to  consign 
to. 

King  Henry. 

Yet  they  do  wink  and  yield,  as  love  is  blind, 
and  enforces. 

Burgundy. 

They  are  then  excused,  my  lord,  when  they 
see  not  what  they  do. 

King  Henry. 
Then,  good  my  lord,  teach  your  cousin  to 
consent  winking. 

Burgundy. 
1  will  wink  on  her  to  consent,  my  lord,  if  you 
will  teach  her  to  know  my  meaning :  for  maids,' 
well  summered  and  warm  kept,  are  like  flies  at 
Bartholomew-tide,  blind,  though  they  have  their 
eyes ;  and  then  they  will  endure  handling,  which 
before  would  not  abide  looking  on. 

King  Henry. 
This  moral  ties  me  over  to  time,  and  a  hot 
summer;   and  so   I   shall  catch  the  fly,  your 
cousin,  in  the  latter  end,  and  she  must  be  blind  I 
too. 

Burgundy. 
As  love  is,  my  lord,  before  it  loves. 

King  Henry. 
It  is  so:  and  you  may,  some  of  you,  thank 
love  for  my  blindness,  who  cannot  see  many  a 
fair  French  city,  for  one  fair  French  maid  that 
stands  in  my  way. 

.     .  French  King.  ,    , 

Yes,  my  lord,  you  see  them  perspectively : 
the  cities  turned  into  a  maid,  for  they  are  all 
girdled  with  maiden  walls,  that  war  hath  never 
entered. 

King  Henry. 
Shall  Kate  be  my  wife? 

l'rench  King. 
So  please  you. 

King  Henry. 
I  am  content ;  so  the  maiden  cities  you  talk  ; 
of,  may  wait  on  her ;  so  the  maid,  that  stood  in  .' 
the  way  for  my  wish,  shall  show  me  the  way  to 

my  will. 


my 
We  have  consen 


French  King. 

ted  to  all  terms  of  i 


Kingiionry. 
U't  so,  my  lords  of  England  T 


Kiiiy:  Henry. 


Westmoreland. 
The  king  hath  granted  every  article : 
His  daughter,  first,  and  then,  in  sequel,  all, 
According  to  their  firm  proposed  natures. 

Only,  he  hath  not  yet  subscribed  this  :  — 
Where  your  majesty  demands, — that  the  king  of 
France,  having  any  occasion  to  write  for  matter 
of  grant,  shall  name  your  highness  in  this  form, 
and  with  this  addition,  in  French, — Notre  tret 
cher  filz  Henry  rot/  cf'Angleterre,  heretier  de 
France;  and  thus  in  Latin,— Pneclarissimus 


Jilius  notter  Henricus,   rex  Angliae,  et   h<gre$ 
Francis. 

French  King. 
Nor  this  I  have  not,  brother,  so  denied. 
But  your  request  shall  make  me  let  it  pass. 
King  Henry. 
I  pray  you,  then,  in  love  and  dear  alliance 
Let  that  one  article  rank  with  the  rest ; 
And,  thereupon,  give  me  your  daughter. 
French  King. 
Take  her,  fair  son ;  and  from  her  blood  raise 
Issue  to  me,  that  the  contending  kingdoms    [up 
Of  France  and  England,  whose  very  shores  look 
With  envy  of  each  other's  happiness,  [pale 

May  cease  their  hatred;   and  this  dear  con- 
junction 
Plant  neighbourhood  and  christian-like  accord 
In  their  sweet  bosoms,  that  never  war  advance 
His  bleeding  sword  'twixt  England  and  fair 
France. 

All. 
Amen ! 

King  Henry. 
Now  welcome,  Kate:— and  bear  me  witness 
all, 
That  here  I  kiss  her  as  my  sovereign  queen. 

[Flourish. 
Queen  Isabel. 
God,  the  best  maker  of  all  marriages, 
Combine  your  hearts  in  one,  your  realms  in  one  I 
As  man  and  wife,  being  two,  are  one  in  love, 
So  be  there  'twixt  your  kingdoms  such  a  spousal, 
That  never  may  ill  office,  or  fell  jealousy, 
Which  troubles  oft  the  bed  of  blessed  marriage, 
Thrust  in  between  the  paction  of  these  kingdoms, 
To  make  divorce  of  their  incorporate  league; 
That  English  may  as  French,  French  English- 
men, 
Receive  each  other !— God  speak  this  Amen  1 
All. 
Amen! 

King  ffenry 
Prepare  we  for  our  marriage:— on  which  day, 
My  lord  of  Burgundy,  we'll  take  your  oath, 
And  all  the  peers'  for  surety  of  our  leagues. 
Then  shall  I  swear  to  Kate,  and  you  to  me; 
And  may  our  oaths  well  kept  and  prosperous  be! 
[Exeunt. 
Enter  Chorus. 
Thus  far,  with  rough  and  all  unable  pen, 

Our  bending  author  hath  pursu'd  the  story ; 

In  little  room  confining  mighty  men,        [glory. 

Mangling  by  starts  the  full  course  of  their 

Small  time,  but  in  that  small  most  greatly  liv'd 

This  star  of  England.  Fortune  made  his  sword, 

By  which  the  world's  best  garden  he  achiev'd, 

And  of  it  left  his  son  imperial  lord. 
Henry  the  sixth,  in  infant  bands  crown'd  king 

Of  France  and  England,  did  this  king  succeed ; 
Whose  state  so  many  had  the  managing. 
That  thev  lost  France,  and  made  his  England 

Which  oft  our  stage  hath  shown,  and  for  their 

sake, 
In  your  fair  minds  let  this  acceptance  take. 

:Kxlt. 


5*» 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  i 


FIRST  PART 


KING  HENEY  VI 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 

Duke  of  Gloster,  Uncle  to  the  King,  and  Pro- 
tector. 

Duke  of  Bedford,  Uncle  to  the  King,  Regent  of 
France. 

Duke  of  Exeter. 

Henry  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

John  Beaufort,  Earl  of  Somerset. 

Richard  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  York. 

Saris  (/Warwick,  Salisbury,  and  Suffolk. 

Talbot,  afterwards  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  : 

John  Talbot,  his  Son. 

Edmund  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March. 

Mortimer's  Keeper,  and  a  Lawyer. 

Sir  Johu  Fastolfe.  Sir  William  Lucy.  Sir 
William  Glansdale.    Sir  Thomas  Gargrave. 

Woodville,  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower.  Mayor  of 
London. 

Vernon,  of  the  White  Rose,  or  York  Faction. 

Basset,  of  the  Red  Rose,  or  Lancaster  Faction. 


Charles,  Dauphin,  and  afterwards    King    of 

France. 
Reignier,  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  King  of  Naples. 
Dukes  of  Burgundy  and  Alencon.    Bastard  of 

Orleans. 
Governor  of  Paris.    Master  Gunner  of  Orleans, 

and  his  Son. 
General  of  the  French  Forces  in  Bordeaux. 
A   French  Sergeant.    A  Porter.    An  old  Shep- 

pherd,  Father  to  Joan  la  Pucelle. 
Margaret,  Daughter  to  Reignier. 
Countess  of  Auvergne. 
Joan  la  Pucelle,  commonly  called  Joan  of  Arc. 

Fiends  appearing  to  La  Pucelle,  Lords,  Warders 
of  the  Tower,  Heralds,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Mes- 
sengers, and  several  Attendants  both  on  the 
English  and  French. 

SCENE,  partly  in  England,  and  partly  in 
France. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.     Westminster  Abbey. 

Dead  March.  The  Corpse  of  King  Henry  the 
Fifth  is  discovered,  lying  in  state ;  attended 
on  by  the  Dukes  of  Bedford,  Gloster,  and 
Exeter ;  the  Karl  of  Warwick,  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  Heralds,  &c. 
Bedford. 

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.  ,' 
Gloster. 
England  ne'er  had  a  king,  until  his  time. 
Virtue  he  had,  deserving  to  command  : 


His  brandish'd  sword  did  blind  men  with  his 

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

faces.  [speech . 

What   should    I    say  ?    his   deeds    exceed   all 
He  ne'er  lift  up  his  hand,  but  conquered. 
Exeter. 
We  mourn  in  black :  why  mourn  we  not  In 
Henry  is  dead,  and  never  shall  revive,    [blood  ? 
Upon  a  wooden  coffin  we  attend  ; 
And  death's  dishonourable  victory 
We  with  our  stately  presence  glorify, 
Like  captives  bound  to  a  triumphant  car. 
What !  shall  we  curse  the  planets  of  mishap, 
That  plotted  thus  our  glory's  overthrow  ? 
Or  shall  we  think  the  subtle-witted  French 
Conjurors  and  sorcerers,  that,  afraid  of  him, 
By  magic  verses  have  contriv'd  his  end  ? 

Winchester. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


519 


Wind 

He  was  a  king,  bless'd  of  the  King  of  kings, 
Unto  the  French  the  dreadful  judgment  day 
So  dreadful  will  not  be,  as  was  his  si^ht. 
The  battles  of  Um  Lord  of  hosts  he  fought: 
The  church's  prayers  made  him  so  prosperous. 
Ok 
The  church  !  where  Is  it  ?    Had  not  church- 
men pray'd, 
His  thread  of  life  had  not  so  soon  decay'd  : 
None  do  you  like  but  an  effeminate  prince, 
Whom,  like  a  school-boy,  you  may  orer-awe. 
Winch 
Gloster,  whate'er  we  like,  thou  art  protector, 
And  lookest  to  command  the  prince,  and  realm. 
Thy  wife  is  proud  ;  she  holdeth  thee  in  awe, 
More  than  God,  or  religious  churchmen  may. 
Gloster. 
Name  not  religion,  for  thou  lov'st  the  flesh  ; 
And  ne'er  throughout  the  year  to  church  thou 
Except  it  be  to  pray  against  thy  foes.         [go'st, 
Bedford. 
Cease,  cease  these  jars,  and  rest  your  minds 
in  peace  1 
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  mother's  moist  eyes  babes  shall 
Our  isle  be  made  a  nourish  of  salt  tears,    [suck, 
And  none  but  women  left  to  wail  the  dead.  — 
Henry  the  fifth  1  thy  ghost  I  invocate  ; 
Prosper  this  realm,  keep  it  from  civil  broils  ! 
Combat  with  adverse  planets  in  the  heavens  ! 
A  far  more  glorious  star  thy  soul  will  make, 

Than  Julius  Ccesar,  or  bright 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
My  honourable  lords,  health  to  you  all. 
Sad  tidings  bring  I  to  you  out  of  trance, 
Of  loss,  of  slaughter,  and  discomfiture : 
Guienne,  Champaigne,  Rheims,  Orleans, 
fan's,  Uuysors,  Poictiers,  are  all  quite  lost. 
Bedford. 
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. 

Gloster. 
Is  Paris  lost  ?  is  Rovcn  yielded  up  ? 
If  Henry  were  recall'd  to  life  again, 
These  news  would  cause  him  once  more  yield 
the  ghost. 

t?r. 
How  were  they  lost  ?   what   treachery  was 
us'd? 

'■nger. 
No  treachery  :  but  want  of  men  and  money. 
Among  the  soldiers  this  is  muttered, — 
That  here  you  maintain  several  factions  ; 
And  whilst  a  field  should  be  despatch'd  and 
You  are  disputing  of  your  generals.        [fought, 
One  would  have  lingering  wars  with  little  cost ; 
Another  would  fly  swift,  but  wanteth  wings  ; 
A  third  man  thinks,  without  expense  at  all. 
By  guileful  fair  words  peace  may  be  obtain'd. 
Awake,  awake,  English  nobility  2 
Let  not  sloth  dim  your  honours  new-begot : 
Cropp'd  are  the  flower-de-luces  in  your  arms  ; 
Of  England's  coat  one  half  is  cut  away. 
Exeter. 
Were  our  tears  wanting  to  this  funeral, 
These  tidings    would  call    forth    her    flowing 
tides. 


Bedford. 

Me  they  concern  ;  regent  I  am  of  France.  — 

Give    me     my  steeled   coat  1      I'll   fight   for 

France.  — 
Away  with  these  disgraceful  wailing  robes  I 
Wounds  will  I  lend  the  French  instead  of  eyes, 
To  weep  their  intermissive  miseries. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

Second  Messenger. 
Lords,  view  these  letters,  full  of  bad  mis- 
chance. 
France  is  revolted  from  the  English  quite, 
Except  some  petty  towns  of  no  import: 
The  Dauphin,  Charles,   is    crowned    king    in 

Rheims  ; 
The  bastard  of  Orleans  with  him  is  join'd  ; 
Reignirr,  duke  of  Anjou,  doth  take  his  part ; 
The  duke  of  Alencon  flieth  to  his  side. 

Exeter. 
The  Dauphin  crowned  king  1  all  fly  to  him  ! 
0 1  whither  shall  we  fly  from  this  reproach  ? 

Gloster. 
We  will  not  fly,  but  to  our  enemies'  throats.  — 
Bedford,  if  thou  be  slack,  1*11  fight  it  out. 

Bedford. 
Gloster,  why  doubt'st  thou  of  my  forwardness  ? 
An  army  have  I  muster'd  in  my  thoughts, 
Wherewith  already  France  is  over-run. 

Enter  a  third  Messenger. 
Third  Messenger. 

My  gracious  lords,  to  add  to  your  laments, 

Wherewith  you  now  bedew  king  Henry'%  hearse, 

I  must  inform  you  of  a  dismal  fight. 

Betwixt  the  stout  lord  Talbot  and  the  French. 

Winchester. 

What!  wherein  Talbot  overcame ?  is'tso? 
Third  Messenger. 

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

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

him; 
Here,  there,  and  every  where,  enrag'd  he  slew. 
The  French  exclaim'd,  the  devil  was  in  arms; 
All  the  whole  army  stood  agaz'd  on  him. 
His  soldiers,  spying  his  undaunted  spirit, 
A  Talbot!  A  Talbot!  cried  out  amain, 
And  rush'd  into  the  bowels  of  the  battle. 
Here  had  the  conquest  fully  been  seal'd  up, 
If  sir  John  Fastolfe  had  not  play'd  the  coward: 
He  being  in  the  vaward,  plac'd  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. 

M    M  Bedford. 


53o 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Bedford. 

Is  Talbot  slain  ?  then,  I  will  slay  myself, 
For  living  idly  here  in  pomp  and  ease, 
Whilst  such  a  worthy  leader,  wanting  aid, 
Unto  his  dastard  foe-men  is  betray'd. 

Third  Messenger. 

O,  no  !  he  lives ;  but  is  took  prisoner, 
And  lord  Scales  with  him,  and  lord  Hungerford: 
Most  of  the  rest  slaughter'd,  or  took,  likewise. 
Bedford. 

His  ransom  there  is  none  but  I  shall  pay. 
I'll  hale  the  Dauphin  headlong  from  his  throne  ; 
His  crown  shall  be  the  ransom  of  my  friend: 
Four  of  their  lords  I'll  change  for  one  of  ours. — 
Farewell,  my  masters ;  to  my  task  will  I. 
Bonfires  in  France  forthwith  I  am  to  make, 
To  keep  our  great  Saint  George's  feast  withal: 
Ten  thousand  soldiers  with  me  I  will  take, 
Whose  bloody  deeds  shall  make  all  Europe  quake. 

Third  Messenger. 
So  you  had  need ;  for  Orleans  is  besieg'd. 
The  English  army  is  grown  weak  and  faint ; 
The  earl  of  Salisbury  craveth  supply, 
And  hardly  keeps  his  men  from  mutiny, 
Since  they,  so  few,  watch  such  a  multitude. 

Exeter. 

Remember,  lords,  your  oaths  to  Henry  sworn, 
Either  to  quell  the  Dauphin  utterly, 
Or  bring  him  in  obedience  to  your  yoke. 

Bedford. 

I  do  remember  it ;  and  here  take  my  leave, 

To  go  about  my  preparation.  [Exit. 

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

[Exit. 
Exeter. 
To  Eltham  will  I,  where  the  young  king  is, 
Being  ordain'd  his  special  governor ; 
And  for  his  safety  there  I'll  best  devise.     [Exit. 

Winchester. 
Each  hath  his  place  and  function  to  attend : 
I  am  left  out ;  for  me  nothing  remains. 
But  long  I  will  not  be  Jor*-out-of-office: 
The  king  from  Eltham  I  intend  to  send, 
And  sit  at  chiefest  stern  of  public  weal.     [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    France.    Before  Orleans. 

Flourish.    Enter  Charles,  with  his  Force* ; 
Altnqon,  Reignier,  and  others. 

Charles 
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;    [ghosts, 
Otherwhiles,  the  famish'd  English,  like  pale 
Faintly  besiege  us  one  hour  in  a  month. 

They  want  their  porridge,  and  their  fat  bull- 
beeves  : 
Either  they  must  be  dieted  like  mules, 
And  have  their  provender  tied  to  their  mouths,    ! 
Or  piteous  they  will  look  like  drowned  mice. 

Reignier. 
Let's  raise  theslege.s  Why  live  we  idly  here? 
Talbot  is  taken  whom  we  wont  to  fear: 
Remaineth  none  but  mad-brain'd  Salisbury, 
And  he  may  well  in  fretting  spend  his  gall ; 
Nor  men,  nor  money,  hath  he  to  make  war. 


Charles. 
Sound,  sound  alarum  1  we  will  rush  on  them 
Now,  for  the  honour  of  the  forlorn  French  1 
Him  I  forgive  my  death,  that  killeth  me, 
When  he  sees  me  go  back  one  foot,  or  fly. 

[Exeunt. 

Alarums;  Excursions;  afterwards  a  Retreat. 

Re-enter  Charles,  Alencon,  Reignier,  and  others. 

Charles. 

Who  ever  saw  the  like?  what  men  have  I  !  — 

Dogs !  cowards  1  dastards  1 — I  would  ne'er  have 

fled, 
But  that  they  left  me  'midst  my  enemies. 
Reignier. 
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. 
Alencon. 
Froissart,  a  countryman  of  ours,  records, 
England  all  Olivers  and  Rowlands  bred, 
During  the  time  Edward  the  third  did  reign. 
More  truly  now  may  this  be  verified  ; 
For  none  but  Samsons,  and  Goliasses, 
It  sendeth  forth  to  skirmish.    One  to  ten ! 
Lean  raw-bon'd  rascals!  who  would  e'er  sup- 
They  had  such  courage  and  audacity?        [pose 
Charles. 
Let's  leave  this  town ;  for  they  are  hair-brain'd 
slaves, 
And  hunger  will  enforce  them  to  be  more  eager : 
Of  old  I  know  them  ;  rather  with  their  teeth 
The  walls  they'll  tear  down,  than  forsake  the 
siege. 

Reignier. 
I  think,  by  some  odd  gimmals,  or  device, 
Their  arms  are  set  like  clocks  still  to  strike  on; 
Else  ne'er  could  they  hold  out  so,  as  they  do. 
By  my  consent,  we'll  e'en  let  them  alone. 
Alencon. 
Be  it  so. 

Enter  the  Bastard  of  Orleans. 
Bastard. 
Where's  the  prince  Dauphin  ?  I  have  news  for 
him. 

Charles. 
Bastard  of  Orleans,  thrice  welcome  to  us. 

Bastard. 
Methinks,  your  looks  are  sad,  your  cheer 
appall'd: 
Hath  the  late  overthrow  wrought  this  offence  ? 
Be  not  dismay'd,  for  succour  is  at  hand: 
A  holy  maid  hither  with  me  I  bring, 
Which,  by  a  vision  sent  to  her  from  heaven, 
Ordained  is  to  raise  this  tedious  siege, 
And  drive  the  English  forth  thebounds  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. 

Charles.  _ 

Go,  call  her  In.    rExit  Bastard'.    Bu*  first» 
to  try  her  skilf, 
Reignier,  stand  thou  as  Dauphin  in  my  place: 
Question  her  proudly,  let  thy  looks  be  stern. 
By  this  means  shall  we  sound  what  skill  she  hath. 
[Retires. 

Enter  La  Pucelle,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  and 
others. 


Fair  maid,  is't  thou°wift 
feats  ? 


do  these  wondrous 
Pucelle. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


S3i 


I*ucclle. 
Retgnier,  is't  thou  that  thinkest  to  beguile 
me? 
Where  is  the  Dauphin  ?  —  Come,  come  from 

behind; 
I  know  thee  well,  though  never  seen  before. 
He  not  amazM,  there's  nothing  hid  from  me  : 
In  private  will  I  talk  with  thee  apart.— 
Stand  back,  you  lords,  and  give  us  leave  awhile. 
Keignler. 
She  takes  upon  her  bravely  at  first  dash. 

Pucri 

Dauphin,  I  am  by  birth  a  shepherd's  daughter, 
My  wit  untrain'd  in  any  kind  of  art 
Heaven  and  our  Lady  gracious  hath  it  pleas'd 
To  shine  on  my  contemptible  estate: 
Lo !  whilst  I  waited  on  my  tender  lambs, 
And  to  sun's  parching  heat  display 'd  my  cheeks, 
God's  Mother  deigned  to  appear  to  me ; 
And,  in  a  vision  full  of  majesty, 
Will'd  me  to  leave  my  base  vocation, 
And  free  my  country  "from  calamity. 
Her  aid  she  promis'd,  and  assured  success: 
In  complete  glory  she  reveal'd  herself; 
And,  whereas  I  was  black  and  swart  before, 
With  those  clear  rays  which  she  infus'd  on  me, 
That  beauty  am  I  b'less'd  with,  which  you  may 

see. 
Ask  me  what  question  thou  canst  possible, 
And  I  will  answer  unpremeditated: 
My  courage  try  by  combat,  if  thou  dar'st. 
And  thou  shalt  find  that  I  exceed  my  sex. 
Resolve  on  this;  thou  shalt  be  fortunate, 
If  thou  receive  me  for  thy  warlike  mate. 

.rlei. 
Thou  hast  astonish'd  me  with  thy  high  terms. 
Only  this  proof  I'll  of  thy  valour  make : 
In  single  combat  thou  shalt  buckle  with  me, 
And,  if  thou  vanquishes t,  thy  words  are  true  ; 
Otherwise,  I  renounce  all  confidence, 
i'ucvlle 
I  am  prepar'd.    Here  is  my  keen-edg'd  sword, 
Deck'd  with  five  flower-de-luces  on  each  side ; 
The  which  at  Touraine,  in  Saint  Katharine'* 

churchyard, 
Out  of  a  great  deal  of  old  iron  I  chose  forth. 
Charles. 
Then,  come  o'  God's  name :  I  fear  no  woman. 

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

[They  fight. 
Charles. 
Stay,  stay  thy  hands  !  thou  art  an  Amazon, 
And  lightest  with  the  sword  of  Deborah. 
Puci  ' 
Christ's  Mother  helps  me, else  I  were  too  weak. 

Charles. 
Whoe'er  helps  thee,  'tis  thou  that  must  help 
Impatiently  I  burn  with  thy  desire  ;  [me. 

My  heart  and  hands  thou  hast  at  once  subdued. 
Excellent  Pucelle,  if  thy  name  be  so, 
Let  me  thy  servant,  and  not  sovereign,  be: 
' lis  the  French  Dauphin  sueth  to  thee  thus. 

Pucelle. 
I  must  not  yield  to  any  rites  of  love, 
For  my  profession's  sacred,  from  above: 
When  1  have  chased  all  thy  foes  from  hence, 
Then  will  I  think  upon  a  recompense. 

Charles. 
Mean  time  look  gracious  on    thy  prostrate 
thrall. 

Kcignier. 
My  lord,  methinks,  is  very  long  in  talk. 


,on. 
Doubtless  he  shrives  this  woman  to  her  smock, 
Else  ne'er  could  he  so  long  protract  his  speech. 
Reignicr. 
Shall  we  disturb  him,"  since  he  Keeps  no  mean  ? 

Alt-neon. 
He  may  mean  more  than  we  poor  men  do 
know: 
These  women  are  shrewd  tempters  with  their 
tongues. 

Keignler. 
My  lord,  where  are  you  ?  what  devise  you  on  ? 
Shall  we  give  over  Orleans,  or  no  ? 
Puc,  i 
Why,  no,  I  say:  distrustful  recreants  I 
Fight  till  the  last  gasp ;  I  will  be  your  guard. 
Charles 
What  she  says,  I'll  confirm:  we'll  fight  it  out. 

Pucelle. 
Assign'd  am  I  to  be  the  English  scourge. 
This  night  the  siege  assuredly  I'll  raise: 
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, 
W  hich  Casar  and  his  fortune  bare  at  once. 
Charles. 
Was  Mahomet  inspired  with  a  dove? 
Thou  with  an  eagle  art  inspired,  then. 
Helen,  the  mother  of  great  Constantine, 
Nor  yet  S.  Philip's  daughters  were  like  thee. 
Bright  star  of  Venus,  fall'n  down  on  the  earth, 
How  may  I  reverently  worship  thee  enough  ? 
Alen^on. 
Leave  off  delays,  and  let  us  raise  the  siege. 

Reignier. 
Woman,   do  what  thou  canst  to  save   our 
honours. 
Drive  them  from  Orleans,  and  be  immortaliz'd. 
Charles. 
Presently  we'll  try.— Come,  let's  away  about 
No  prophet  will  1  trust,  if  she  prove  false,    [it : 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    London.    Tower  HiU. 

Enter,  at  the  Gates,  the  Duke  of  Gloster,  with 

his  Serving-men. 

Gloster. 

I  am  come  to  survey  the  Tower  this  day  ; 

Since  /  lenrg's  death.  I  fear,  there  is  conveyance.— 

Where  be  these  warders,  that  they  wait  not  here? 

Open  the  gates  1    'Tis  Gloster  that  calif. 

[Servants  knock, 
lirst  Warder.  [Within. 

Who's  there,  that  knocks  so  imperiously  ? 

First  Servant. 
It  is  the  noble  duke  of  Gloster. 

Second  Warder.  [Within. 

Whoe'er  he  be,  you  may  not  be  let  in. 

first  Servant. 
Villains,  answer  you  so  the  lord  protector  ? 

First  Warder.  [Within. 

The  Lord  protect  him  1  so  we  answer  him : 
We  do  no  otherwise  than  we  are  will'd. 
Gloster 
Who  willed  you  ?  or  whose  will  stands  but 
mine? 

There's 


53* 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


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  ? 
Gbster's  Men  rush  at  the  Tower  Gates.    Enter, 
to  the  gates,  Woodville,  the  Lieutenant. 

Woodville.  [Within. 

What  noise  is  this  ?  what  traitors  have  we 
here? 

Gloster. 

Lieutenant,  is  it  you  whose  voice  I  hear  ? 
Open  the  gates  1  here's  Gloster  that  would  enter. 
Woodville.  [Within. 

Have  patience,  noble  duke ;  I  may  not  open  ; 
The  cardinal  of  Winchester  forbids : 
From  him  I  have  express  commandement, 
That  thou,  nor  none  of  thine,  shall  be  let  in. 
Gloster. 
Faint-hearted  WoodviUe,  prizest  him  'fore  me? 
Arrogant  Winchester,  that  naughty  prelate, 
Whom  Henry,  our  late  sovereign,  ne'er  could 

brook  ? 
Thou  art  no  friend  to  God,  or  to  the  king; 
Open  the  gates,  or  I'll  shut  thee  out  shortly. 
First  Servant. 
Open  the  gates  unto  the  lord  protector, 
Or  we'll  burst  them  open,  if  that  you  come  not 
quickly. 
Enter  Winchester,  attended  by  Servants  In 
tawney  Coats. 

Winchester. 
How  now,  ambitious  Humphrey!  what  means 
this? 

Gloster. 

Pill'd  priest,  dost  thou  command  me  to  be 


shutout? 


Winchester. 


I  do,  thou  most  usurping  proditor, 
And  not  protector,  of  the  king  or  realm. 
Gloster. 
Stand  back,  thou  manifest  conspirator, 
Thou  that  contriv'dst  to  murder  our  dead  lord; 
Thou  that  giv'st  whores  indulgences  to  sin. 
I'll  canvass  thee  in  thy  broad  cardinal's  hat, 
If  thou  proceed  in  this  thy  insolence. 
Winchester. 
Nay,  stand  thou  back ;  I  will  not  budge  a  foot : 
This  be  Damascus,  be  thou  cursed  Cain, 
To  slay  thy  brother,  Abel,  if  thou  wilt. 
Gloster. 
I  will  not  slay  thee,  but  I'll  drive  thee  back. 
Thy  scarlet  robes,  as  a  child's  bearing-cloth 
I'll  use  to  carry  thee  out  of  this  place. 
Winchester. 
Do  what  thou  dar'st ;  I'll  beard  thee  to  thy  face. 

Gloster. 
What !  am  I  dar'd,  and  bearded  to  my  face?— 
Draw,  men,  for  all  this  privileged  place; 
Blue   coats  to  tawney  coats.     Priest,  beware 
your  beard;  •.         „, 

[Gloster  and  his  Men  attack  the  Bishop. 
I  mean  to  tug  it,  and  to  cuff  you  soundly. 
Under  my  feet  1  stamp  thy  cardinal's  hat, 
In  spite  of  pope  or  dignities  of  church  ; 
Here  by  the  cheeks  I'll  drag  thee  up  and  down. 
Winchester. 
Gloster,  thou'lt  answer  this  before  the  pope. 

Gloster. 
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,  tawney  coats  I— out,  scarlet  hypocrite  1 
Here  Gloster't  Men  beat  out  the  Cardinal's  Men, 
and  enter  in  the  hurly-burly  the  Mayor  of 
London  and  his  Officers. 

Mayor. 
Fie,  lords !  that  you,  being  supreme  magis- 
trates, 
Thus  contumeliously  should  break  the  peace  ! 
Gloster. 
Peace,   mayor!    thou   know'st  little  of  my 
wrongs. 
Here's  Beaufort,  that  regards  nor  God  nor  king, 
Hath  here  distrain'd  the  Tower  to  his  use. 
Winchester. 
Here's  Gloster  too,  a  foe  to  citizens ; 
One  that  still  motions  war,  and  never  peace, 
O'ercharging  your  free  purses  with  large  fines ; 
That  seeks  to  overthrow  religion, 
Because  he  is  protector  of  the  realm  ; 
And  would  have  armour,  here,  out  of  the  Tower, 
To  crown  himself  king,  and  suppress  the  prince. 
Gloster. 

I  will  not  answer  thee  with  words,  but  blows. 
[H«re  they  skirmish  again. 

Mayor. 
Nought  rests  for  me,  in  this  tumultuous  strife, 
But  to  make  open  proclamation.— 
Come,  officer :  as  loud  as  e'er  thou  canst  cry. 

Officer. 
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  vse,  any 
sword,  weapon,  or  dagger,  henceforward,  upon 
pain 


LExeunt. 


Gloster. 

Cardinal,  I'll  be  no  breaker  of  the  law ; 
But  we  shall  meet,  and  break  our  minds  at 
large. 

Winchester. 

Gloster,  we'll  meet,  to  thy  dear  cost  be  sure : 
Thy  heart-blood  I  will  have  for  this  day's  work. 
Mayor. 
I'll  call  for  clubs,  if  you  will  not  away.— 
This  cardinal's  more  haughty  than  the  devil. 
Gloster. 
Mayor,  farewell:  thou  dost  but  what  thou 
may'st.  ~     , 

Winchester. 

Abominable  Gloster  !  guard  thy  he; 
For  I  intend  to  have  it,  ere  long. 
Mayor. 
See  the  coast  clear'd,  and  then  we  will  de- 
part— [bear ! 
Good  God  !  these  nobles  should  such  stomachs 
I  myself  fight  not  once  in  forty  year.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    France.    Before  Orleans. 

Enter,  on  the  Walls,  the  Master-Gunner,  and 
his  Stm. 
Master-Gunner. 
Sirrah,  thou  know'st  how  Orleans  is  besieg'd, 
And  how  the  English  have  the  suburbs  won. 
Son. 
Father,  I  know  ;  and  oft  have  shot  at  them, 
lowe'er  unfortunate  I  miss'd  my  aim. 


Howe'er  unfortunate  I  miss'd  my 
Master-Gunner. 
But  now  thou  shalt  not.    Be  thou  rul'd  by  me 


. 


Chief  I  i 


Act  I.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


533 


Chief  master-gunner  am  I  of  this  town  ; 
Something  1  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 
In  yonder  tower,  to  overpeer  the  city ; 
Ami  thence  discover,  how,  with  most  advantage, 
They  may  vex  us  with  shot,  or  with  assault. 
To  intercept  this  inconvenience. 
A  piece  of  ordnance  'gainst  it  I  have  plac'd ; 
And  even  these  three  days  have  1  watch'd,  if  I 
Could  see  them. 

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

[Exit. 
Son. 
Father,  1  warrant  you  ;  take  you  no  care : 
I'll  never  trouble  you,  if  I  may  spy  them. 

Enter,  in  an  upper  Chamber  of  a  Tower,  the 
Lords  Salisbury  and  Talbot;  Sir  William 
GlantdaU,  Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  and  others. 

Salisbury. 
Talbot,  my  life,  my  joy  !  again  return'd  ? 
How  wert  thou  handled,  being  prisoner, 
Or  by  what  means  got'st  thou  to  be  rcleas'd, 
Discourse,  I  pr'ythee,  on  this  turret's  top. 

Talbot 
The  duke  of  Bedford  had  a  prisoner, 
Called  the  brave  lord  Ponton  de  Santrailes  ; 
For  him  I  was  exchang'd  and  ransomed. 
But  with  a  baser  man  of  arms  by  far,  [me : 

Once,  in  contempt,  they  would  have  barter'd 
Which  I,  disdaining,  scorn'd;  and  craved  death, 
Rather  than  I  would  be  so  vile-esteem 'd : 
In  fine,  redeem 'd  I  was  as  I  desir'd.  [heart : 
But,  O  1  the  treacherous  Fastolfe  wounds  my 
Whom  with  my  bare  fists  I  would  execute, 
If  I  now  had  him  brought  into  my  power. 

Salisbury. 
Yet  tell'8t  thou  not,  now  thou  wert  enter- 

tain'd. 

Talbot. 
With    scoffs,  and  scorns,  and  contumelious 

taunts. 
In  open  market-place  produe'd  they  me, 
To  be  a  public  spectacle  to  all : 
Here,  said  they,  is  the  terror  of  the  French, 
The  scare-crow  that  affrights  our  children  so. 
Then  broke  I  from  the  officers  that  led  me, 
And  with  my  nails  digg'd  stones  out  of  the 

ground. 
To  hurl  at  the  beholders  of  my  shame. 
My  grisly  countenance  made  others  fly ; 
None  durst  come  near  for  fear  of  sudden  death. 
In  iron  walls  they  deem'd  me  not  secure ; 
8o  great  fear  of  my  name  'mongst  them  was 

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

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


'  Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  and  sir  William  Giant- 
Let  me  have  your  express  opinions,  [dale. 

Where  is  best  place  to  make  our  battery  next. 

Gargrave. 
I  think,  at  the  north  gate ;  for  there  stand 
lords. 

And  I,  here,  at  the'  bulwark  of  the  bridge. 

For  aught  I  see,  this  city  must  be  famish'd, 
Or  with  light  skirmishes  enfeebled. 

[Shot  from  the  Town.    Salisbury  and  Sir 
Thomas  Gargrave  fall. 

Salisbury. 
O  Lord  1  have  mercy  on  lis,  wretched  sinners. 

Gargrave. 
O  Lord !  have  mercy  on  me,  woeful  man. 

What   chance   is   this,   that   suddenly  hath 

cross'd  us  V  — 
Speak,  Salisbury  ;  at  least,  if  thou  canst  speak ; 
How  far'st  thou,  mirror  of  all  martial  men  ? 
One  of  thy  eyea,  and  thy  cheek's  side  struck 

off!  — 
Accursed  tower  !  accursed  fatal  hand, 
That  hath  contriv'd  this  woeful  tragedy  ! 
In  thirteen  battles  Salisbury  o'ercame  ; 
Henry  the  fifth  he  first  train'd  to  the  wars  ; 
Whilst  any  trump  did  sound,  or  drum  struck  up, 

His  sword  did  ne'er  leave  striking  in  the  field 

Yet  liv'st  thou,  Salisbury?  though  thy  speech 

doth  fail, 
One  eye  thou  hast  to  look  to  heaven  for  grace : 
The  sun  with  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 

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."  — 
Plantagenet,  I  will ;  and  like  thee,  Nero, 
Play  on  the  lute,  beholding  the  towns  burn : 
Wretched  shall  France  be  only  in  my  name. 

what  .t.fftfct.ymkftu'JSsftft  wMMssk 

Whence  cometh  this  alarum,  and  the  noise? 
Enter  a  Messenger. 


nl'thoFr 


rench  have  gather'd 


My  lord,  my  lord 
head: 

The  Dauphin,  with  one  Joan  la  Pucelle  join'd, 
A  holy  prophetess,  new  risen  up, 
Is  come  with  a  great  power  to  raise  the  siege. 
[Salisbury  lifts  himself  up  and  groans. 

Talbot. 
Hear,  hear,  how  dying  Salisbury  doth  groan  I 
It  irks  his  heart  he  cannot  be  reveng'd. — 
Frenchmen,  I'll  be  a  Salisbury  to  you, 
Pucelle  or  puzzel,  dolphin  or  doghsh. 
Your  hearts  I'll  stamp  out  with  my  horse's  heeU, 
And  make  a  quagmire  of  your  mingled  brains.  — 
Convey  me  Salisbury  into  his  tent. 
And  then  we'll  try  what  these  dastard  French- 
men dare. 

[Exeunt,  bearing  out  the  bodies. 


SCENE 


534 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  t. 


SCENE  V.  The  same.  Before  one  of  the  Gates. 

Alarum.  Skirmishings.  Talbot  pursues  the 
Dauphin,  and  drives  him :  then  enter  Joan  la 
Pucelle\Qx\ylag  Englishmen  before  her.  Then 
enter  Talbot. 

Talbot. 
Where  is  my  strength,  my  valour,  and  my 
force  ? 
Our  English  troops  retire,  1  cannot  stay  them ; 
A  woman  clad  in  armour  chaseth  them. 

Enter  La  Pucelle. 
Here,  here  she  comes.  — I'll  have  a  bout  with 
Devil,  or  devil's  dam,  I'll  conjure  thee :    [thee ; 
Blood  will  I  draw  on  thee,  thou  art  a  witch, 
And  straightway  give  thy  soul  to  him  thou 
serv'st. 

Pucelle. 
Come,  come;  'tis  only  I  that  must  disgrace 
thee.  [They  fight. 

Talbot. 
Heavens,  can  you  suffer  he'l  so  to  prevail  ? 
My  breast  I'll  burst  with  straining  of  my  courage, 
And  from  my  shoulders  crack  my  arms  asunder, 
But  1  will  chastise  this  high-minded  strumpet. 
Pucelle. 
Talbot,  farewell;  thy  hour  is  not  yet  come: 
1  must  go  victual  Orleans  forthwith. 
O'ertake  me  if  thou  can'st ;  I  scorn  thy  strength. 
Go,  go,  cheer  up  thy  hunger-starved  men  ; 
Help  Salisbury  to  make  his  testament: 
This  day  is  ours,  as  many  more  shall  be. 

[Pucelle  enters  the  Town,  with  Soldiers. 
Talbot. 
My  thoughts  are  whirled  like  a  potter's  wheel ; 
I  know  not  where  1  am,  nor  what  I  do. 
A  witch  by  fear,  not  force,  like  Hannibal,  [lists: 
Drives  back  our  troops,  and  conquers  as  she 
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. 

[  A  short  Alarum. 
Hark,  countrymen !  either  renew  the  fight, 
Or  tear  the  lions  out  of  England's  coat; 
Renounce  your  soil,  give  sheep  in  lions'  stead : 
Sheep  run  not  half  so  treacherous  from  the  wolf, 
Or  horse,  or  oxen,  from  the  leopard, 
As  you  fly  from  your  oft-subdued  slaves. 

[Alarum.    Another  skirmish. 
It  will  not  be — Retire  into  your  trenches: 
You  all  consented  unto  Salisbury's  death, 

For  none  would  strike  a  stroke  in  his  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. 
[Alarum.    Retreat.    Exeunt  Talbot  and  his 
Forces. 


SCENE  VI.    The  same. 

Flourish.  Enter,  on  the  Walls,  Pucelle,  Charles, 
Reignier,  Alenqon,  and  Soldiers. 

Pucelle. 
Advance  our  waving  colours  on  the  walls ! 
Rescu'd  is  Orleans  from  the  English  wolves. 
Thus  Joan  la  Pucelle  hath  perform'd  her  word. 

Charles. 
Divinest  creature,  bright  Astrtea'%  daughter, 
How  shall  I  honour  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. 

Reignier. 
Why  ring  not  out  the  bells  aloud  throughout 
the  town  ? 
Dauphin,  command  the  citizens  make  bonfires, 
And  feast  and  banquet  in  the  open  streets, 
To  celebrate  the  joy  that  God  hath  given  us. 

Alencon. 
All  France  will  be  replete  with  mirth  and  joy, 
When  they  shall  hear  how  we  have  play'd  the 
men. 

Charle*. 
'Tis  Joan,  not  we,  by  whom  the  day  is  won, 
For  which  I  will  divide  my  crown  with  her ; 
And  all  the  priests  and  friars  in  my  realm 
)  Shall  in  procession  sing  her  endless  praise. 
j  A  statelier  pyramis  to  her  I'll  rear, 
j  Than  Rhodope's,  or  Memphis',  ever  was: 
j  In  memory  of  her,  when  she  is  dead, 

Her  ashes,  in  an  urn  more  precious 
•  Than  the  rich-jewel'd  coffer  of  Darius, 
\  Transported  shall  be  at  high  festivals 
)  Before  the  kings  and  queens  of  France. 
j  No  longer  on  Saint  Dennis  will  we  cry, 
!  But  Joan  la  Pucelle  shall  be  France's  saint. 

Come  in ;  and  let  us  banquet  royally, 
|  After  this  golden  day  of  victory. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  l.    The  same. 

Enter  to  the  Gates,  a  French  Sergeant,  and 

Two  Sentinels. 

Sergeant. 

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. 

[Exit  Sergeant. 
First  Sentinel. 
Sergeant,  you  shall.    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  beating  a 
dead  march, 

Talbot. 
Lord  regent,  and  redoubted  Burgundy, 
By  whose  approach  the  regions  of  Artois, 
Walloon,  and  Picardy,  are  friends  to  us, 
This  happy  night  the  Frenchmen  are  secure, 
Having  all  day  carous'd  and  banqueted. 
Embrace  we,  then,  this  opportunity, 
As  fitting  best  to  quittance  their  deceit, 
Contriv'd  by  art,  and  baleful  sorcery. 
Bedford. 
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. 
Burgundy. 
Traitors  have  never  other  company,     [pure? 
But  what's  that  Pucelle,  whom  they  term  so 

Talbot. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


KING  IIENRY  VI. 


535 


Talbot. 
A  maid,  they  say. 

Bedford. 
A  maid,  and  be  to  martial  ? 
Burgundy. 
Pray  God,  the  prove  not  masculine  ere  long ; 
If  underneath  the  standard  of  the  French, 
She  carry  armour,  as  she  hath  begun. 
Talbot. 
Well,  let  them  practise  and  converse  with 
spirits ; 
God  Is  our  fortress,  in  whose  conquering  name 
Let  us  resolve  to  scale  their  flinty  bulwarks. 
Bedford. 
Ascend,  brave  Talbot:  we  will  follow  thee. 

Talbot. 
Not  all  together:  better  far,  1  guess, 
That  we  do  make  our  entrance  several  ways, 
That  If  it  chance  the  one  of  us  do  fail, 
The  other  yet  may  rise  against  their  force. 
Bedford. 
Agreed.    I'll  to  yon  corner. 
Burgtindy. 

And  I  to  this. 
Talbot. 
And  here  will  Talbot  mount,  or  make  his 
grave — 
Now,  Salisbury,  for  thee,  and  for  the  right 
Of  Knglish  Henry,  shall  this  night  appear 
How  much  in  duty  I  am  bound  to  both. 

[The  Knglish  scale  the  Trails,  crying  S. 
George  I  a  Talbot;  and  all  enter  the  Town. 
Sentinel.  [Within. 

Arm,  arm  1  the  enemy  doth  make  assault  1 

Thf  French  leap  over  the  walls  In  their  shirts. 
Enter,  several  ways,  Bustard,  Alencon,  Reig~ 
nier,  half  ready,  and  half  unready. 

Alencon. 
How  now,  my  lords !  what,  all  unready  so? 

Bastard. 
Unready?  ay,  and  glad  we  'scap'd  so  well. 

Heignicr. 
'Twas  time,  I  trow,  to  wake  and  leave  our 
Hearing  alarums  at  our  chamber  doors,    [beds, 

A  lor.., 
Of  all  exploits,  since  first  I  followed  arms, 
Ne'er  heard  I  of  a  warlike  enterprize 
More  venturous,  or  desperate  than  this. 

Bastard. 
I  think,  this  Talbot  be  a  fiend  of  hell. 

Reignicr. 
If  not  of  hell,  the  heavens,  sure,  favour  him. 

Alencon. 
Here  cometh  Charles:  I  marvel,  how  he  sped. 

Enter  Charlet  and  La  Pucellc. 
Bastard. 
Tut !  holy  Joan  was  his  defensive  guard. 

Charlr*. 
Is  this  thy  cunning,  thou  deceitful  dame? 
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? 

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  I   had  your  watch   been 

good, 
Tbis  sudden  mischief  never  could  have  fallen. 


Charles. 
Duke  of  Alencon,  this  was  your  default, 
That,  being  captain  of  the  watch  to-night, 
Did  look  no  better  to  that  weighty  charge. 

Alau 

Had  all  your  quarters  been  as  safely  kept, 
As  that  whereof  I  had  the  government, 
We  had  not  been  thus  shamefully  surpriz'd. 
Bastard. 
Mine  was  secure. 

Rfignier. 
And  so  was  mine,  my  lord. 
Charles. 
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 :  [in  ? 

Then  how,  or  which  way,  should  they  first  break 
Tucelle. 
Question,  my  lords,  no  further  of  the  case, 
How,  or  which  way :  'tis  sure,  they  found  some 

place 
But  weakly  guarded,  where  the  breach  was  made; 
And  now  there  rests  no  other  shift  but  this, — 
To  gather  our  soldiers,  scatter'd  and  dispers'd, 
And  lay  new  platforms  to  endamage  them. 

Alarum.  Enter  an  English  Soldier,  crying,  a 
Talbot!  a  Talbot!  They  fly,  leaving  their 
clothes  behind. 

Soldier. 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  take  what  they  have  left. 

The  cry  of  Talbot  serves  me  for  a  sword ; 

For  I  have  loaden  me  with  many  spoils, 

Using  no  other  weapon  but  his  name.        [Exit. 

SCESE  II.    Orleans.    Within  the  Town. 

Enter  Talbot,  Bedford,  Burgundy,  a  Captain, 
and  others. 
Bedford. 
The  day  begins  to  break,  and  night  Is  fled, 
Whose  pitchy  mantle  over-veil'd  the  earth. 
Here  sound  retreat,  and  cease  our  hot  pursuit. 
[Retreat  sounded. 
Talbot. 
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 
What  ruin  happen'd  in  revenge  of  him, 
Within  their  chiefest  temple  I'll  erect 
A  tomb,  wherein  his  corpse  shall  be  interr'd : 
Upon  the  which,  that  every  one  may  read, 
Shall  be  engrav'd  the  sack  of  Orleans, 
The  treacherous  manner  of  his  mournful  death, 
And  what  a  terror  he  had  been  to  France. 
But,  lords,  In  all  our  bloody  massacre, 
I  muse,  we  met  not  with  the  Dauphin's  grace, 
His  new-come  champion,  virtuous  Joan  of  Arc, 
Nor  any  of  his  false  confederates. 
Bedford. 
•Tis  thought,  lord  Talbot,  when    the    fight 
began, 
Rous'd  on  the  sudden  from  their  drowsy  beds, 
They  did,  amongst  the  troops  of  armed  men, 
Leap  o'er  the  walls  for  refuge  in  the  field. 
Burgundy. 
Myself,  as  far  as  I  could  well  discern, 
For  smoke,  and  dusky  vapours  of  the  night, 

Am 


536 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  u. 


Am  sure  T  scar'd  the  Dauphin,  and  his  trull ; 
When  arm   in   arm   they  both   came   swiftly 

running, 
Like  to  a  pair  of  loving  turtle-doves, 
That  could  not  live  asunder,  day  or  night. 
After  that  things  are  set  in  order  here, 
We'll  follow  them  with  all  the  power  we  have. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
All  hail,  my  lords !    Which  of  this  princely 
Call  ye  the  warlike  Talbot,  foi  his  acts      [train 
So    much    applauded   through   the   realm    of 
France?         _  ,.    . 
Talbot. 

Here  is  the  Talbot :   who  would  speak  with 
him? 

Messenger. 

The  virtuous  lady,  countess  of  Auvergne, 
With  modesty  admiring  thy  renown, 
By  me  entreats,  great  lord,  thou  would'st  vouch- 
To  visit  her  poor  castle  where  she  lies  ;       [safe 
That  she  may  boast  she  hath  beheld  the  man 
Whose  glory  fills  the  world  with  loud  report. 
Burgundy. 
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. 
Talbot. 
Ne'er  trust  me  then  ;  for  when  a  world  of  men 
Could  not  prevail  with  all  their  oratory, 
Yet  hath  a  woman's  kindness  over-rul'd. — 
And  therefore  tell  her,  I  return  great  thanks, 

And  in  submission  will  attend  on  her 

Will  not  your  honours  bear  me  company  ? 
Bedford. 
No,  truly,  it  is  more  than  manners  will ; 
And  I  have  heard  it  said,  unbidden  guests 
Are  often  welcomest  when  they  are  gone. 
Talbot. 
Well  then,  alone,  since  there's  no  remedy, 
I  mean  to  prove  this  lady's  courtesy. 
Come  hither,  captain.  [Whispers. J  _  y0u  per- 
ceive my  mind. 

Captain. 
I  do,  my  lord,  and  mean  accordingly. 


SCENE  III.    Auvergne.    Court  of  the  Castle. 

Enter  the  Countess  and  her  Porter. 

Countess. 

Porter,  remember  what  I  gave  in  charge ; 

And,  when  you  have  done  so,  bring  the  keys  to 

Porter. 

Madam,  I  will.    „  [Exit. 

Countess. 

The  plot  is  laid:  if  all  things  fall  out  right, 
I  shall  as  famous  be  by  this  exploit, 
As  Scythian  Thomyris  by  Cyrus"  death. 
Great  is  the  rumour  of  this  dreadful  knight, 
And  his  achievements  of  no  less  account : 
Fain  would  mine  eyes  be  witness  with  mine  ears, 
To  give  their  censure  of  these  rare  reports. 
Enter  Messenger  and  Talbot. 
Messenger. 
Madam,  according  as  your  ladyship  desir'd, 
By  message  crav'd,  so  is  lord  Talbot  come. 
Countess. 
And  he  is  welcome.    What !  Is  this  the  man  ? 


Messenger. 

Madam,  it  is.       _, 

Countess. 

Is  this  the  scourge  of  France? 
Is  this  the  Talbot,  so  much  fear'd  abroad, 
That  with  his  name  the  mothers  still  their  babes  ? 
I  see  report  is  fabulous  and  false: 
I  thought  I  should  have  seen  some  Hercules, 
A  second  Hector  for  his  grim  aspect, 
And  large  proportion  of  his  strong- knit  limbs. 
Alas  !  this  is  a  child,  a  silly  dwarf: 
It  cannot  be,  this  weak  and  writhled  shrimp 
Should  strike  such  terror  to  his  enemies. 
Talbot. 

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. 
Countess. 

What  means  he  now  ?— Go  ask  him,  whither 
he  goes.        _r 

Messenger. 

Stay,  my  lord  Talbot;  for  my  lady  craves 
To  know  the  cause  of  your  abrupt  departure. 
Talbot. 
Marry,  for  that  she's  in  a  wrong  belief, 
I  go  to  certify  her  Talbot's  here. 

Re-enter  Porter,  with  Keys . 
Countess. 
If  thou  be  he,  then  art  thou  prisoner. 

Talbot. 
Prisoner  1  to  whom  ? 

Countess. 
To  me,  blood-thirsty  lord ; 
And  for  that  cause  I  train'd  thee  to  my  house. 
Long  time  thy  shadow  hath  been  thrall  to  me, 
For  in  my  gallery  thy  picture  hangs ; 
But  now  the  substance  shall  endure  the  like, 
And  I  will  chain  these  legs  and  arms  of  thine, 
That  hast  by  tyranny  these  many  years, 
Wasted  our  country,  slain  our  citizens, 
And  sent  our  sons  and  husbands  captivate. 
Talbot. 

Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Countess. 

Laughest  thou,  wretch  ?  thy  mirth  shall  turn 
Talbot. 


to  moan 


I  laugh  to  see  your  ladyship  so  fond, 

To  think   that  you  have  aught  but   Talbot'% 

Whereon  to  practise  your  severity.       [shadow, 

Countess. 

Why,  art  not  thou  the  man  ? 

Talbot. 


Countess. 
Then  have  I  substance  too. 
Talbot. 


I  am  indeed. 


No,  no,  I  am  but  shadow  of  myself: 
You  are  deceiv'd,  my  substance  is  not  here ; 
For  what  you  see,  is  but  the  smallest  part 
And  least  proportion  of  humanity. 
I  tell  you,  madam,  were  the  whole  frame  here, 
It  is  of  such  a  spacious  lofty  pitch, 
Your  roof  were  not  sufficient  to  contain  it. 
Countess. 

This  is  a  riddling  merchant  for  the  nonce ; 
He  will  be  here,  and  yet  he  is  not  here: 
How  can  these  contrarieties  agree? 
Talbot. 

That  will  I  show  you  presently. 
He  winds  his  Horn.    Drums  strike  up;  a  Peal 

of  Ordnance.    The  Gates  being  forced,  enter 

Soldiers. 
How  say  you,  madam?  are  you  now  persuaded, 


HIBWlKir  VIC  IPAffinf  2. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


5S7 


That  Talbot  is  but  shadow  of  himself? 

These  are  his   substance,  sinews,  arms,   and 

strength. 

With  which  ho  roketh  your  rebellious  necks, 
Kaxeth  your  cities,  and  subverts  your  towns, 
And  in  I  moment  makes  them  desolate. 
Counters. 

Victorious  Talbot,  pardon  my  abuse: 
I  find,  thou  art  no  less  than  fame  hath  bruited, 
And  more  than  may  be  gather'd  by  thy  shape. 
Let  my  presumption  not  provoke  thy  wrath ; 
For  I  MB  sorry,  that  with  reverence 
I  did  not  entertain  thee  as  thou  art. 
Talbot. 

Bo  not  dismay'd,  fair  lady;  nor  misconstrue 
The  mind  of  Talbot,  as  you  did  mistake 
The  outward  composition  of  his  body. 
What  you  have  done  hath  not  offended  me ; 
No  other  satisfaction  do  I  crave, 
But  only,  with  your  patience,  that  we  may 
Taste  of  your  wine,  and  sec  what  cates  you  have ; 
For  soldiers'  stomachs  always  serve  them  well. 
Countess. 

With  all  my  heart;  and  think  me  honoured 

xeunt. 


To  feast  so  great  a  warrior  in  my  house.. 


SCENE  IV.    London.    The  Temple  Garden. 

Enter  the  Earls  of  Somerset,  Sn/7&tt,  and  War- 
wick; Richard  Plantagenet,  Vernon,  and  a 
Lawyer. 

Plantagenet. 
Great  lords,  and  gentlemen,  what  means  this 
silence? 
Dare  no  man  answer  In  a  case  of  truth  ? 
Suffolk. 
Within  the  Temple  hall  we  were  too  loud : 
The  garden  here  is  more  convenient. 
Tlantagenct. 
Then  say  at  once,  if  I  maintain'd  the  truth, 
Or  else  was  wrangling  Somerset  in  the  error? 
Suffolk. 
'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. 
Somerset. 
Judge  you,  my  lord  of  Warwick,  then  between 
us. 

Warwick. 

Between  two  hawks,  which  flies  the  higher 

pitch, 

Between  two  dogs,  which  hath  the  deeper  mouth, 

Between  two  blades,   which  bears  the  better 

temper, 
Between  two  horses,  which  doth  bear  him  best, 
Between  two  girls,  which  hath  the  merriest  eye, 
I  have,  perhaps,  some  shallow  spirit  of  judgment ; 
But  in  these  nice  sharp  quillets  of  the  law, 
Good  faith,  I  am  no  wiser  than  a  daw. 
Plantagenet. 
Tut,  tut  1  here  Is  a  mannerly  forbearance: 
The  truth  appears  so  naked  on  my  side, 
That  any  purblind  eye  may  find  it  out. 
Somerset. 
And  on  my  side  it  is  so  well  apparell'd, 
So  clear,  so  shining,  and  so  evident, 
That  it  will  glimmer  through  a  blind  man's  eye. 
Plantagenet. 
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  honour  of  his  birth, 


If  ho  suppose  that  I  have  pleaded  truth, 
From  off  this  brier  pluck  a  white  rose  with  me. 
Somerset. 
Let  him  that  Is  no  coward,  nor  no  flatterer. 
But  dare  maintain  the  party  of  the  truth, 
Pluck  a  red  rose  from  off  this  thorn  with  me. 
Warwick. 
I  love  no  colours ;  and,  without  all  colour 
Of  base  insinuating  flattery, 
I  pluck  this  white  rose  with  Plantagenet. 
Suffolk. 
I  pluck  this  red  rose  with  voting  Somerset; 
And  say  withal,  I  think  he  held  the  right. 
Vernon. 
Stay,  lords,  and  gentlemen  ;   and  pluck  no 
more, 
Till  you  conclude  that  he,  upon  whose  side 
The  fewest  roses  are  cropp'd  from  the  tree, 
Shall  yield  the  other  in  the  right  opinion. 
Somerset. 
Good  master  Vernon,  it  is  well  objected ; 
If  I  have  fewest,  I  subscribe  in  silence. 
Plantagenet. 
And  I. 

Vernon. 
Then,  for  the  truth  and  plainness  of  the  case, 
1  pluck  this  pale  and  maiden  blossom  here, 
Giving  my  verdict  on  the  white  rose  side. 
Somerset. 
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. 
Vernon. 
If  I,  my  lord,  for  my  opinion  bleed, 
Opinion  shall  be  surgeon  to  my  hurt, 
And  keep  me  on  the  side  where  still  I  am. 
Somerset. 
Well,  well,  come  on:  who  else? 

Lawyer. 
Unless  my  study  and  my  books  be  false, 
The  argument  you  held,  was  wrong  in  you ; 
In  sign  whereof,  I  pluck  a  white  rose  too. 
Plantagenet. 
Now,  Somerset,  where  is  your  argument? 

Somerset. 
Here,  in  my  scabbard ;  meditating  that, 
Shall  die  your  white  rose  in  a  bloody  red. 
Plantagenet. 
Mean  time,  your  cheeks  do  counterfeit  our 
roses ; 
For  pale  they  look  with  fear,  as  witnessing 
The  truth  on  our  side. 

Somerset 

No,  Plantagenet, 
'Tis  not  for  fear,  but  anger,  that  thy  cheeki 
Blush  for  pure  shame  to  counterfeit  our  roses 
And  yet  thy  tongue  will  not  confess  thy  error . 
Plantagenet. 
Hath  not  thy  rose  a  canker,  Somerset? 

Somerset. 
Hath  not  thy  rose  a  thorn,  Plantagenet t 

Plantagenet. 
Ay,  sharp  and  piercing,  to  maintain  his  truth. 
Whiles  thy  consuming  canker  eats  his  falsehood. 
Somerset. 
Well,  I'll  find  friends  to  wear  my  bleeding- 
roses. 
That  shall  maintain  what  I  have  said  is  true, 
Where  false  Plantagenet  dare  not  be  seen. 

Plantagenet. 


538 


FIRST  TART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it. 


Plantagenet. 
Now,  by  this  maiden  blossom  in  my  hand, 
I  scorn  thee  and  thy  faction,  peevish  boy. 

Suffolk. 
Turn  not  thy  scorns  this  way,  Plantagenet. 

Plantagenet. 
Proud  Poole,  I  will ;  and  scorn  both  him  and 
thee. 

Suffolk. 
I'll  turn  my  part  thereof  into  thy  throat. 

Somerset. 
Away,  away,  good  William  De-la-Poole  ; 
We  grace  the  3reoman,  by  conversing  with  him. 
Warwick. 
Now,  by  God's  will,  thou  wrong'st  him,  So- 
merset : 
His  grandfather  was  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence, 
Thirdson  to  the  third  Edward,  king  of  England. 
Spring  crestless  yeomen  from  so  deep  a  root? 
Plantagenet. 
He  bears  him  on  the  place's  privilege. 
Or  durst  not,  for  his  craven  heart,  say  thus. 
Somerset, 
By  him  that  made  me,  I'll  maintain  my  words 
On  any  plot  of  ground  in  Christendom. 
Was  not  thy  father,  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge, 
For  treason  executed  in  our  late  king's  days  ? 
And  by  his  treason  stand'st  not  thou  attainted, 
Corrupted,  and  exempt  from  ancient  gentry? 
His  trespass  yet  lives  guilty  in  thy  blood ; 
And,  till  thou  be  restor'd,  thou  art  a  yeoman. 
Plantagenet. 
My  father  was  attached,  not  attainted 
Condemn'd  to  die  for  treason,  but  no  traitor; 
And  that  I'll  prove  on  better  men  than  Somerset, 
Were  growing  time  once  ripen'd  to  my  will. 
For  your  partaker  Poole,  and  you  yourself, 
I'll  note  you  in  my  book  of  memory, 
To  scourge  you  for  this  apprehension : 
Look  to  it  well,  and  say  you  are  well  warn'd. 
Somerset. 
Ay,  thou  shalt  find  us  ready  for  thee  still, 
And  know  us  by  these  colours  for  thy  foes ; 
For  these  my  friends  in  spite  of  thee  shall  wear. 
Plantagenet. 
And,  by  my  soul,  this  pale  and  angry  rose, 
As  cognizance  of  my  blood-drinking  hate, 
Will  I  for  ever,  and  my  faction,  wear, 
Until  it  wither  with  me  to  my  grave, 
Or  flourish  to  the  height  of  my  degree. 
Suffolk. 
Go  forward,  and  be  chok'd  with  thy  ambition: 
And  so  farewell,  until  I  meet  thee  next.    [Exit. 

Somerset. 

Have  with  thee,  Poole Farewell,  ambitious 

Richard.  [Exit. 

Plantagenet. 
How  I  am  brav'd,  and  must  perforce  endure 
it! 

Warwick. 
This  blot,  that  they  object  against  your  house, 
Shall  be  wip'd  out  in  the  next  parliament, 
Call'd  for  the  truce  of  Winchester  and  Gloster ; 
And  if  thou  be  not  then  created  York, 
I  will  not  live  to  be  accounted  Warwick. 
Mean  time,  in  signal  of  my  love  to  thee, 
Against  proud  Somerset,  and  William  Poole, 
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  death  and  deadly  night. 


Plantagenet. 
Good  master  Vernon,  I  am  bound  to  you, 
That  you  on  my  behalf  would  pluck  a  flower. 
Vernon. 
In  your  behalf  still  will  I  wear  the  same. 

Lawyer. 
And  so  will  I. 

Plantagenet . 
Thanks,  gentle  sir. 
Come,  let  us  four  to  dinner:  I  dare  say, 
This  quarrel  will  drink  blood  another  day. 

[Bxeunt. 

SCENE  V.    The  same.   A  Room  in  the  Tower. 

Enter  Mortimer,  brought  in  a  Chair  by  Two 
Keepers. 
Mortimer. 

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  burdening  grief, 
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 
Unable  to  support  this  lump  of  clay,        [numb, 
Swift-winged  with  desire  to  get  a  grave, 
As  witting  I  no  other  comfort  have. — 
But  tell  me,  keeper,  will  my  nephew  come  ? 
First  Keeper. 

Richard  Plantagenet,  my  lord,  will  come  : 
We  sent  unto  the  Temple,  unto  his  chamber, 
And  answer  was  return'd  that  he  will  come. 
Mortimer. 

Enough  ;  my  soul  shall  then  be  satisfied — 
Poor  gentleman,  his  wrong  doth  equal  mine. 
Since  Henry  Monmouth  first  began  to  reign, 
Before  whose  glory  I  was  great  in  arms, 
This  loathsome  sequestration  have  I  had  ; 
And  even  since  then  hath  Richard  been  obscur'a, 
Depriv'd  of  honour  and  inheritance : 
But  now,  the  arbitrator  of  despairs, 
Just  death,  kind  umpire  of  men's  miseries. 
With  sweet  enlargement  doth  dismiss  me  hence. 
I  would  his  troubles  likewise  were  cxpir'd, 
That  so  he  might  recover  what  was  lost. 

Enter  Richard  Plantagenet. 

First  Keeper. 

My  lord,  your  loving  nephew  now  is  come. 

Mortimer. 
Richard  Plantagenet,  my  friend,  is  he  come  ? 

Plantagenet, 
Ay,  noble  uncle,  thus  ignobly  us'd, 
Your  nephew,  late-despised  Richard,  comes. 
Mortimer . 
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 — 
And  now  declare,  sweet  stem  from  York's  great 

Why  didst  thou  say— of  late  thou  wert  despis'd  ? 
Plantagenet. 
First,  lean  thine  aged  back  against  mine  arm, 
And  in  that  ease  I'll  tell  thee  my  disease. 
This  day,  in  argument  upon  a  case, 

Some 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


539 


Some  words  there  grew  'twlxt  Somerset  and  me ; 
Among  which  terms  he  us'd  his  lavish  tongue. 
And  did  uphraid  me  with  my  father's  death  : 
Which  obloquy-  set  bars  before  my  tongue, 
EKe  with  the  like  I  had  requited  him. 
Therefore,  good  uncle,  for  my  father's  sake, 
In  honour  of  a  true  Plantagenet, 
And  for  alliance*  sake,  declare  the  cause 
My  father,  carl  of  Cambridge,  lost  his  head. 
Mortimer 

That  cause,  fair  nephew,  that  imprison'd  me, 
And  hath  detain'd  me  all  my  flow'ring  youth 
Within  a  loathsome  dungeon,  there  to  pine, 
Was  cursed  instrument  of  his  decease. 
Plantagenet 

Discover  more  at  large  what  cause  that  was : 
For  I  am  ignorant,  and  cannot  guess. 
Mortimer. 

I  will,  if  that  my  fading  breath  permit, 
And  death  approach  not  ere  my  tale  be  done. 
Henry  the  fourth,  grandfather  to  this  king, 
LVpos'd  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, 
Endeavour'd  my  advancement  to  the  throne. 
The  reason  mov'd  these  warlike  lords  to  this, 
Was  for  that  (young  king  Richard  thus  remov'd, 
Leaving  no  heir  begotten  of  his  body) 
I  was  the  next  by  birth  and  parentage  ; 
For  by  my  mother  1  derived  am 
From  Lionel  duke  of  Clarence,  the  third  son 
To  kin?  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  laboured  to  plant  the  ri/htful  heir, 
I  lost  my  liberty,  and  they  their  lives. 
Long  after  this,  when  Henry  the  fifth, 
(Succeeding  his  father  Bolingbruke)  did  reign, 
Thy  father,  earl  of  Cambridge,  then  deriv'd 
From  famous  Edmund  Langley,  duke  of  York, 
Marrying  my  sister,  that  thy  mother  was, 
Again,  in  pity  of  my  hard  distress, 
Levied  an  army,  weening  to  redeem, 
And  have  install'd  me  in  the  diadem ; 
Hut,  as  the  rest,  so  fell  that  noble  earl, 
And  was  beheaded.    Thus  the  Mortimers, 
In  whom  the  title  rested,  were  suppress'd. 
riantagenet. 

Of  which,  my  lord,  your  honour  is  the  last. 
Mortimer. 

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. 

Plantagenet. 

Thy  grave  admonishments  prevail  with  me. 
But  yet,  methinks,  my  father's  execution 
Was  nothing  less  than  bloody  tyranny. 
Mortimer. 

With  silence,  nephew,  be  thou  politic : 
Strong-fixed  is  the  house  of  Lancaster, 
And,  like  a  mountain,  not  to  be  remov'd. 
But  now  thy  uncle  is  removing  hence, 
As  princes  do  their  courts,  when  they  are  cloy'd 
With  long  continuance  in  a  settled  place. 

riantagenel. 
O,  uncle  !  would  some  part  of  my  young  years 
Might  but  redeem  the  passage  of  your  age. 
Mortimer. 
Thou  dost,  then,  wrong  me;  as  the  slaugh- 
terer doth, 


Which  giveth  many  wounds,  when  one  will  kill. 
Mourn  not,  except  thou  sorrow  for  my  good ; 
Only,  give  order  for  mv  funeral : 
And  so  farewell ;  and  fair  be  all  thy  hopes, 
And  prosperous  be  thy  life,  in  peace,  and  war ! 

[Pics. 
I'lanUMBt 


And  peace,  no  war,  befal  thy  parting  soul 
i  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 
Will  see  his  burial  better  than  his  life. — 

T Exeunt  Keeper  r,  bearing  out  Mortimer. 
Here  dies  the  dusky  torch  of  Mortimer, 
Chok'd  with  ambition  of  the  meaner  sort : 
And,  for  those  wrongs,  those  bitter  injuries, 
Which  Somerset  hath  offer'd  to  my  house, 
1  doubt  not  but  with  honour  to  redress ; 
And  therefore  haste  1  to  the  parliament, 
Either  to  be  restored  to  my  blood, 
Or  make  my  ill  th'  advantage  of  my  good 

[Exit. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    The  Parliament- 
House. 

Flourish.  Enter  King  Henry,  Exeter,  Gloster, 
Warwick,  Somerset,  and  Suffolk ;  the  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  Richard  Plantagenet,  and 
others.  Gloster  offers  to  put  up  a  Bill ;  Win- 
chester snatches  it,  and  tears  it. 
Winchester. 

COM'ST  thou  with  deep  premeditated  lines, 
With  written  pamphlets  studiously  devis'd? 
Humphrey  of  Gloster,  if  thou  canst  accuse, 
Or  aught  inteud'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. 
Gloster. 

Presumptuous  priest !  this  place  commands 
my  patience,  [me. 

Or  thou  should'st  find  thou  hast  dishonour'd 
Think  not,  although  in  writing  I  preferr'd 
The  manner  of  thy  vile  outrageous  crimes, 
That  therefore  I  have  forg'd,  or  am  not  able 
Verbatim  to  rehearse  the  method  of  my  pen: 
No,  prelate;  such  is  thy  audacious  wickedness, 
Thy  lewd,  pestiferous,  and  dissentious  pranks, 
As  very  infants  prattle  of  thy  pride. 
Thou  art  a  most  pernicious  usurer, 
Froward  by  nature,  enemy  to  peace  ; 
Lascivious,  wanton,  more  than  well  beseems 
A  man  of  thy  profession,  and  degree  : 
And  for  thy  treachery,  what's  more  manifest, 
In  that  thou  Iaid'st  a  trap  to  take  my  life, 
As  well  at  London  bridge,  as  at  the  Tower? 
Beside,  1  fear  me,  if  thy  thoughts  were  sifted. 
The  king,  thy  sovereign,  is  not  quite  exempt 
From  envious  malice  of  thy  swelling  heart 
Winchester 

Gloster,  I  do  defy  thee — Lords,  vouchsafe 
To  give  me  hearing  what  I  shall  reply. 
If  1  were  covetous,  ambitious,  or  perverse, 
As  he  will  have  me,  how  am  1  so  poor  ? 
Or  how  haps  it,  I  seek  not  to  advance 
Or  raise  myself,  but  keep  my  wonted  calling  ? 
And  for  dissension,  who  preferreth  peace 

More 


54° 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


More  than  I  do,  except  I  be  provok'd? 
No,  my  good  lords,  it  is  not  that  offends  ; 
It  is  not  that  that  hath  incens'd  the  duke : 
It  is,  because  no  one  should  sway  but  he ; 
No  one  but  he  should  be  about  the  king  ; 
And  that  engenders  thunder  in  his  breast, 
And  makes  him  roar  these  accusations  forth. 

But  he  shall  know,  I  am  as  good 

Gloster. 

As  good  ? 
Thou  bastard  of  my  grandfather  !  — 
Winchester. 
Ay,  lordly  sir  ;  for  what  are  you,  I  pray, 
But  one  imperious  in  another's  throne  ? 
Gloster. 
Am  I  not  protector,  saucy  priest  ? 

Winchester. 
And  am  not  I  a  prelate  of  the  church  ? 

Gloster. 
Yes,  as  an  outlaw  in  a  castle  keeps, 
And  useth  it  to  patronage  his  theft. 
Winchester. 
Unreverent  Gloster ! 

Gloster. 

Thou  art  reverent 
Touching  thy  spiritual  function,  not  thy  life. 
Winchester. 
Rome  shall  remedy  this. 

Warwick. 

Roam  thither  then. 
My  lord,  it  were  your  duty  to  forbear. 
Somerset 
Ay,  see  the  bishop  be  not  overborne. 
Methinks,  my  lord  should  be  religious, 
And  know  the  office  that  belongs  to  such. 
Warwick. 
Methinks,  his  lordship  should  be  humbler ; 
It  fitteth  not  a  prelate  so  to  plead. 
Somerset. 
Yes,  when  his  holy  state  is  touch'd  so  near. 

Warwick. 

State  holy,  or  unhallow'd,  what  of  that  ? 

Is  not  his  grace  protector  to  the  king  ? 

Plantagenet. 

Plantagenet,  I  sec,  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.  [Aside. 
King  Henry. 
Uncles  of  Gloster,  and  of  Winchester, 
The  special  watchmen  of  our  English  weal, 
I  would  prevail,  if  prayers  might  prevail, 
To  join  your  hearts  in  love  and  amity. 
O  1  what  a  scandal  is  it  to  our  crown, 
That  two  such  noble  peers  as  ye  should  jar. 
Believe  me,  lords,  my  tender  years  can  tell, 
Civil  dissension  is  a  viperous  worm, 
That  gnaws  the  bowels  of  the  commonwealth.— 
[A  Noise  within :  Down  with  the  tawny 
coats  1 
What  tumult's  this  ? 

Warwick. 

An  uproar,  1  dare  warrant, 
Begun  through  malice  of  the  bishop's  men. 

[A  Noise  again :  Stones  !  Stones  ! 

Enter  the  Mayor  of  London,  attended. 
Mayor. 
O,  my  good  lords,  and  virtuous  Henry, 
Pity  the  city  of  London,  pity  us  ! 


The  bishop  and  the  duke  of  Glosler's  men, 

Forbidden  late  to  carry  any  weapon, 

Have  fill'd  their  pockets  full  of  pebble-stones  ; 

And  banding  themselves  in  contrary  parts, 

Do  pelt  so  fast  at  one  another's  pate, 

That  many  have  their  giddy  brains  knock'd  out. 

Our  windows  are  broke  down  in  every  street, 

And  we  for  fear  compell'd  to  shut  our  shops. 

Enter,  skirmishing,  the  Retainers  of  Gloster 
and  Winchester,  with  bloody  pates. 

King-  Henry. 

We  charge  you,  on  allegiance  to  ourself, 

To  hold  your  slaught'ring  hands,  and  keep  the 

Pray,  uncle  Gloster,  mitigate  this  strife,  [peace. 

First  Servant. 

Nay,  if  we  be 

Forbidden  stones,  we'll  fall  to  it  with  our  teeth. 

Second  Servant. 
Do  what  ye  dare  ;  we  are  as  resolute. 

[Skirmish  again. 
Gloster. 
You  of  my  household,   leave   this    peevish 
And  set  this  unaccustom'd  fight  aside.       [broil, 
First  Servant. 
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  ink  horn  mate, 
We,  and  our  wives,  and  children,  all  will  fight, 
And  have  our  bodies  slaughter'd  by  thy  foes. 

Third  Servant. 
Ay,  and  the  very  parings  of  our  nails 
Shall  pitch  a  field,  when  we  are  dead. 

[Skirmish  again. 
Gloster. 

Stay,  stay,  I  say  ! 
And,  if  you  love  me,  as  you  say  you  do, 
Let  me  persuade  you  to  forbear  a  while. 
King  Henry 
O,  how  this  discord  doth  afflict  my  soul  I  — 
Can  you,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  behold 
My  sighs  and  tears,  and  will  not  once  relent  ? 
Who  should  be  pitiful,  if  you  be  not  ? 
Or  who  should  study  to  prefer  a  peace, 
If  holy  churchmen  take  delight  in  broils  ? 
Warwick. 
Yield,     my    lord   protector ;  —  yield,     Win- 
chester : 
Except  you  mean,  with  obstinate  repulse, 
To  slay  your  sovereign,  and  destroy  the  realm. 
You  see  what  mischief,  and  what  murder  too, 
Hath  been  enacted  through  your  enmity; 
Then,  be  at  peace,  except  ye  thirst  for  blood. 
Winchester. 
He  shall  submit,  or  I  will  never  yield. 

Gloster. 
Compassion  on  the  king  commands  me  stoop  ; 
Or  I  would  see  his  heart  out,  ere  the  priest 
Should  ever  get  that  privilege  of  me. 
Warwick. 
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  stem,  and  tragical  ? 
Gloster. 
Here,  Winchester  j  I  offer  thee  my  hand. 

King  Henry. 
Fye,  uncle  Beaufort!  I  have  heard  you  preach, 
That  malice  was  a  great  and  grievous  sin  ; 

And 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


541 


And  will  not  you  maintain  the  thing  you  teach, 
But  prove  a  chief  offender  in  the  same  ? 
vlck. 
Sweet  king  t  — the  bishop  hath  a  kindly  gird. 
For  shame,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  relent : 
What  1  shall  a  child  instruct  you  what  to  do  ? 
Win.  ; 
Well,  duke  of  Gloster,  I  will  yield  to  thee  ; 
Lore  for  thy  love,  and  hand  for  hand  I  give. 
Gloster. 
Ay  ;  but  I  fear  me,  with  a  hollow  heart. 
'  [Aside. 

See  here,  my  friends,  and  loving  countrymen  ; 
This  token  serveth  for  a  flag  of  truce, 
Betwixt  ourselves,  and  all  our  followers. 
So  help  me  God,  as  I  dissemble  not  I 
Winchester. 
So  help  me  God,  as  I  intend  it  not !     [Aside. 

King  Henry. 
O  loving  uncle,  kind  duke  of  Gloster, 
How  joyful  am  I  made  by  this  contract  I  — 
Away,  my  masters  :  trouble  us  no  more  ; 
But  join  in  friendship,  as  your  lords  have  done. 
First  Servant. 
Content :  I'll  to  the  surgeon's. 
Second  Servant. 


Third  Servant. 


And  so  will 


And  I  will  see  what  physic  the  tavern  affords. 
[Exeunt  Mayor,  Servants,  &c. 

Warwick. 
Accept  this  scroll,  most  gracious  sovereign, 
Which  in  the  right  of  Richard  Plantagcnct 
We  do  exhibit  to  your  majesty. 
Gloster. 
Well    urg'd,    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  EUham-place  I  told  your  majesty. 
King  Henry. 
And  those  occasions,  uncle,  were  of  force : 
Therefore,  my  loving  lords,  our  pleasure  is, 
That  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood. 
Warwick. 
Let  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood  ; 
So  shall  his  father's  wrongs  be  recompens'd. 
Winchester. 
As  will  the  rest,  so  willeth  Winchester. 

King  Henry. 
If  Richard  will  be  true,  not  that  alone, 
But  all  the  whole  inheritance  I  give, 
That  doth  belong  unto  the  house  of  York, 
From  whence  you  spring  by  lineal  descent. 
Plantagenet. 
Thy  humble  servant  vows  obedience. 
And  humble  service,  till  the  point  of  death. 
King  Henry. 
Stoop  then,  and  set  your  knee  against  my 
And  in  reguerdon  of  that  duty  done,  [foot ; 

I  girt  thee  with  the  Taliant  sword  of  York. 
Rise,  Richard,  like  a  true  Plantagenet, 
And  rise  created  princely  duke  of  York. 
Plant. M 
And  so  thrive  Richard  as  thy  foes  may  fall  1 
And  as  my  duty  springs,  so  perish  they 
That  grudge  one  thought  against  your  majesty.  | 
All. 
Welcome,  high  prince,  the  mighty  duke  of  1 
York! 


Somerset* 
Perish,  bate  prince,  ignoble  duke  of  York  J 

ier. 
Now  will  it  best  avail  your  majesty, 
To  cross  the  seas,  and  to  be  crown'd  In  Prance. 
The  presence  of  a  king  engenders  love 
Amongst  his  subjects,  and  his  loyal  friends, 
As  it  dlsanimates  his  enemies. 
King  Henry. 
When   Gloster  says  the  word,  king  Henry 
For  friendly  counsel  cuts  off  many  foes,    [gors  ; 
Gloster. 
Your  M^f^X«^x  reading- 1  g^ 

Exeter. 
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  forg'd  love, 
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,  nam'd  the  fifth, 
Was  in  the  mouth  of  every  sucking  babe,  — 
That  Henry,  born  at  Monmouth,  should  win  all, 
And  Henry,  born  at  Windsor,  should  lose  all : 
Which  is  so  plain,  that  Exeter  doth  wish 
His  days  may  finish  ere  that  hapless  time. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    France.    Before  Rouen. 

Rnter  La  Pucelle  disguised,  and  Soldiers  dressed 

like    Countrymen,    with    Sacks    upon   their 

Backs. 

Pucelle. 

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  bf  market-men, 
That  come  to  gather  money  for  their  corn. 
If  we  have  entrance,  (as  I  hope  we  shall) 
And  that  we  find  the  slothful  watch  but  weak, 
I'll  by  a  sign  give  notice  to  our  friends, 
That  Charles  the  Dauphin  may  encounter  them. 
First  Soldier. 

Our  sacks  shall  be  a  mean  to  sack  the  city, 
And  we  be  lords  and  rulers  over  Rouen: 
Therefore  we'll  knock.  [Knocks. 

Guard.  [Within. 

Qui  est  lei  f 

Pucelle. 
Paisans,  les  pauvres  gens  de  France : 
Poor  market-folks,  that  come  to  sell  their  corn. 
Guard. 
Enter;  go  in:  the  market-bell  is  rung. 

[Opens  the  gates. 
Pucelle. 
Now,  Rouen,  I'll  shake  thy  bulwarks  to  the 
ground.  [Pucelle,  See.  enter  the  City. 

Knter  Charles,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  Alencon,  and 
Forces. 
Charles. 
Saint  Dennis  bless  this  happy  stratagem, 
And  once  again  we'll  sleep  secure  in  Rouen. 
Bastard. 
Here  enter'd  Pucelle,  and  her  practisanU  ; 
Now  she  is  there,  how  will  she  specify 
Where  is  the  best  and  safest  passage  in? 

Alencon. 


54-* 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


Alenijon. 

a  torch  frc 

Which,  once  discern'd,  shows,  that  her  meaning 


By  thrusting  out  a  torch  from  yonder  tower ; 
"McF 


No  way  to  that,  for  weakness,  which  she  enter'd. 

Enter  La  Pucelle  on  a  Battlement:  holding  out 
a  Torch  burning. 

Pucelle. 
Behold!  this  is  the  happy  wedding  torch, 
That  joineth  Rouen  unto  her  countrymen, 
But  burning  fatal  to  the  Talbotites. 
Bastard. 
See,  noble  Charles,  the  beacon  of  our  friend ; 
The  burning  torch  in  yonder  turret  stands. 
Charles. 
Now  shine  it  like  a  comet  of  revenge, 
A  prophet  to  the  fall  of  all  our  foes  I 
Alencon. 
Defer  no  time ;  delays  have  dangerous  ends : 
Enter,  and  cry  The  Dauphin!  presently, 
And  then  do  execution  on  the  watch. 

[They  enter. 

Alarums.    Enter  Talbot  and  English  Soldiers. 
Talbot. 
France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  treason  with  thy 
If  Talbot  but  survive  thy  treachery.  [tears, 

Pucelle,  that  witch,  that  damned  sorceress, 
Hath  wrought  this  hellish  mischief  unawares, 
That  hardly  we  escap'd  the  pride  of  France. 

[Exeunt  to  the  Town. 

Alarum:  Excursions.  Enter,  from  the  Town, 
Bedford,  brought  in  sick  in  a  Chair,  with  Tal- 
bot, Burgundy,&nd  the  English  Forces.  Then, 
enter  on  the  Walls,  La  Pucelle,  Charles,  Bas- 
tard, Alenqon,  Reignier,  and  other*. 

Pucelle. 
Good  morrow,  gallants.    Want  ye  corn  for 
I  think,  the  duke  of  Burgundy  will  fast,  [bread? 
Before  he'll  buy  again  at  such  a  rate. 
*T  was  full  of  darnel ;  do  you  like  the  taste  ? 
Burgundy. 
Scoff  on,  vile  fiend,  and  shameless  courtezan! 
I  trust,  ere  long,  to  choke  thee  witli  thine  own, 
And  make  thee  curse  the  harvest  of  that  corn. 
Charles. 
Your  grace  may  starve,  perhaps,  before  that 
time. 

Bedford. 
0 1  let  no  words,  but  deeds,  revenge  this  trea- 
son. 

Pucelle. 
What  will  you  do,  good  grey-beard  ?  break  a 
And  run  a  tilt  at  death  within  a  chair  ?    [lance, 
Talbot. 
Foul  fiend  of  France,  and  hag  of  all  despite, 
Encompass'd  with  thy  lustful  paramours, 
Becomes  it  thee  to  taunt  his  valiant  age, 
And  twit  with  cowardice  a  man  half  dead? 
Damsel,  Pll  have  a  bout  with  you  again, 
Or  else  let  Talbot  perish  with  this  shame. 
Pucelle. 
Are  you  so  hot,  sir  ? — Yet,  Pucelle,  hold  thy 
peace : 
If  Talbot  do  but  thunder,  rain  will  follow.— 

[Talbot,  and  the  rest,  consult  together. 
*5od  speed  the  parliament!  who  shall  be  the! 
speaker  ? 

Talbot. 
Dare  ye  come  forth,  and  meet  us  in  the  field? 


Pucelle. 
Belike,  your  lordship  takes  us  then  for  fools, 
To  try  if  that  our  own  be  ours,  or  no. 
Talbot. 
I  speak  not  to  that  railing  Hecate, 
But  unto  thee,  Alencon,  and  the  rest. 
Will  ye,  like  soldiers,  come  and  fight  it  out? 
AlenQon. 
Signior,  no. 

Talbot. 

Signior,  hang ! — base  muleteers  of  France! 

Like  peasant  foot-boys  do  they  keep  the  walls, 

And  dare  not  take  up  arms  like  gentlemen. 

Pucelle. 

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 
That  we  are  here.  [you 

[Exeunt  La  Pucelle,  Sec.  from  the  Walls. 
Talbot. 
And  there  will  we  be  too,  ere  it  be  long, 
Or  else  reproach  be  Talbot's  greatest  fame — 
Vow,  Burgundy,  by  honour  of  thy  house, 
Pi  ick  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  Coeur -de-lion' &  heart  was  buried. 
So  sure  I  swear,  to  get  the  town,  or  die. 

Burgundy. 
My  vows  are  equal  partners  with  thy  vows. 

Talbot . 
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. 
Bedford. 
Lord  Talbot,  do  not  so  dishonour  me : 
Here  will  I  sit  before  the  walls  of  Rouen, 
And  will  be  partner  of  your  weal,  or  woe. 
Burgundy. 
Courageous  Bedford,  let  us  now  persuade  you. 

Bedford. 
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. 
Talbot. 
Undaunted  spirit  in  a  dying  breast !  — 
Then,  be  it  so:— heavens  keep   old   Bedford 

safe!  — 
And  now  no  more  ado,  brave  Burgundy, 
But  gather  we  our  forces  out  of  hand, 
And  set  upon  our  boasting  enemy. 

[Exeunt   Burgundy,   Talbot,  and   Forces, 
leaving  Bedford  and  others. 

Alarum:  Excursions.    Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe, 
and  a  Captain. 


Whither  away,  sir  John   Fastolfe,   in   such 
haste? 

Fastolfe. 
Whither  away?  to  save  myself  by  flight: 
We  are  like  to  have  the  overthrow  again. 

Captain. 
What!  will  you  fly,  and  leave  lord  Talbot? 

Fastolfe. 

Ay 
All  the  Talbots  in  the  world,  to  save  my  life. 

[Exit. 
Captain. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iil 


KING  HENRY  VL 


543 


Caj" 
Cowardly  knight  1  ill  fortune  follow  U»«p£x|t 

Retreat:  Excursions.  Bnter,  from  the  Town, 
La  Pucelle,  Alencon,  CharUs,  he.  and  exeunt, 
flying. 

Bedford. 
Now.  quiet  soul,  depart  when  Heaven  please, 

For  I  have  seen  our  enemies'  overthrow. 

What  is  the  trust  or  strength  of  foolish  man  ? 

Thev,  that  of  late  were  daring  with  their  scoffs, 

Are  glad  ^^^^tftt^fa. 

Alarum.    Enter  Talbot,  Burgundy,  and  others. 
Talbot. 
Lost,  and  recover'd  in  a  day  again ! 
This  is  a  double  honour,  Burgundy  ; 
Yet  heaveus  have  glory  for  this  victory 
Burgundy. 
Warlike  and  martial  Talbot,  Burgundy 
Enshrines  thee  in  his  heart ;  and  there  erects 
Thy  noble  deeds,  as  valour's  monument. 
Talbot. 
Thanks,  gentle  duke.    But  where  is  Pucelle 
I  think  her  old  familiar  is  asleep :  [now  ? 

Now  where's  the  Bastard's  braves,  and  Charles 

his  gleeks  ? 
What,  all  a-mort  ?    Bouen  hangs  her  head  for 
That  such  a  valiant  company  are  fled.        [grief, 
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  lies. 
Burgundy. 
What  wills  lord  Talbot  pleaseth  Burgundy. 

r.dbot. 

But  yet,  before  we  go,  let's  not  forget 
The  noble  duke  of  Bedford,  late  deceas'd, 
But  see  his  exequies  fulfil  I'd  in  Rouen; 
A  braver  soldier  never  couched  lance, 
A  gentler  heart  did  never  sway  in  court ; 
But  kings,  and  mightiest  potentates  must  die, 
For  that's  the  end  of  human  misery.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    The  Plains  near  the 
City. 

Enter  Charles,  the  Bastard,  Alencon,  La  Pucelle, 
and  Forces. 
Pucelle. 
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  m  hile. 
And  like  a  peacock  sweep  along  his  tail, 
We'll  pull  his  plumes,  and  take  away  his  train, 
If  Dauphin  and  the  rest  will  be  but  rul'd. 
Charl«» 
We  have  been  guided  by  thee  hitherto, 
And  of  thy  cunning  had  no  diffidence : 
One  sudden  foil  shall  never  breed  distrust. 
Bastard. 
Search  out  thy  wit  for  secret  policies. 
And  we  will  make  thee  famous  through  the 
world. 

Alencon. 

We'll  set  thy  statue  In  some  holy  place, 

And  have  thee  reverene'd  like  a  blessed  saint : 

Employ  thee,  then,  sweet  virgin,  for  our  good. 

Puccll.*. 

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. 
Charl.-s. 
Ay,  marry,  sweeting,  if  we  could  do  that, 
France  were  no  place  for  Henry'*  warriors  ; 
Nor  should  that  nation  boast  it  so  with  us, 
But  be  extirped  from  our  provinces. 
Alencon. 
For  ever  should  they  be  expuls'd  from  France, 
And  not  have  title  of  an  earldom  here. 
PtjceU*. 
Your  honours  shall  perceive  how  I  will  work, 
To  bring  this  matter  to  the  wished  end.    ,       . 
[Drums  heard  afar  off. 
Hark  !  by  the  sound  of  drum  you  may  perceive 
Their  powers  are  marching  unto  Pam-ward. 
An  English  March.    Enter,  and  pass  over, 
Talbot  and  his  Forces. 
There  goes  the  Talbot,  with  his  colours  spread, 
And  all  the  troops  of  English  after  him. 

A  French  March.    Enter  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
and  Forces. 

Now,  in  the  rearward  comes  the  duke,  and  his: 
Fortune  in  favour  makes  him  lag  behind. 
Summon  a  parley;  we  will  talk  with  him. 

[Trumpets  sound  a  Parley. 

Charles. 
A  parley  with  the  duke  of  Burgundy. 

Burgundy. 
Who  craves  a  parley  with  the  Burgundy  t 

Pucelle. 
The  princely  Charles  of  France,  thy  country- 
man. 

Burgundy. 
What  say'st  thou,  Charles  t  for  I  am  marching 
hence. 

Charles. 
Speak,  Pucelle,  and  enchant  him  with  thy 
words. 

Pucelle. 
Brave  Burgundy,  undoubted  hope  of  France, 
Stay,  let  thy  humble  handmaid  speak  to  thee. 
Burgundy. 
Speak  on ;  but  be  not  over- tedious. 

Pucelle. 
Look  on  thy  country,  look  on  fertile  France, 
And  see  the  cities  and  the  towns  defae'd 
By  wasting  ruin  of  the  cruel  foe. 
As  looks  the  mother  on  her  lowly  babe, 
When  death  doth  close  his  tender  dying  eyes, 
|  See,  see.  the  pining  malady  of  France: 
|  Behold  the  wounds,  the  most  unnatural  wounds, 
Which  thou  thyself  hast  given  her  woful  breast. 
i  O  !  turn  thy  edged  sword  another  way ; 
I  Strike  those  that  hurt,  and  hurt  not  those  that 
help.  [bosom, 

One  drop  of  blood,  drawn  from  thy  country's 
Should  grieve  thee  more  than  streams  of  foreign 

gore: 
Beturn  thee,  therefore,  with  a  flood  of  tears, 
And  wash  away  thy  country's  stained  spots. 
Burgundy 
Either  she  hath  bewitch'd  me  with  her  words, 
Or  nature  makes  me  suddenly  relent. 
Puc.lle. 
Besides,  all  French  and  France  exclaims  on 
thee, 
Doubting  thy  birth  and  lawful  progeny, 
Whom  join'st  thou  with,  but  with   a   lordly 

nation 
That  will  not  trust  thee  but  for  profit's  sake? 

Wh»?U 


544 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


When  Talbot  hath  set  footing  once  in  France, 
And  fashion'd  thee  that  instrument  of  ill, 
Who  then  but  English  Henry  will  be  lord, 
And  thou  be  thrust  out,  like  a  fugitive? 
Call  we  to  mind,  and  mark  but  this  for  proof, 
Was  not  the  duke  of  Orleans  thy  foe, 
And  was  he  not  in  England  prisoner? 
But,  when  they  heard  he  was  thine  enemy, 
They  set  him  free,  without  his  ransom  paid, 
In  spite  of  Burgundy,  and  all  his  friends. 
See,  then,  thou  fight'st  against  thy  countrymen, 
And  join'st  with  them  will  be  thy  slaughter-men. 
Come,  come,  return;   return,  vhou  wand'ring 

lord: 
Charles,  and  the  rest,  will  take  thee  in  their 
arms. 

Burgundy. 
I  am  vanquished :  these  haughty  words  of  hers  j 
Have  batter'd  me  like  roaring  cannon-shot, 
And  made  me  almost  yield  upon  my  knees. — 
Forgive  me,  country,  and  sweet  countrymen ! 
And,  lords,  accept  this  hearty  kind  embrace: 
My  forces  and  my  power  of  men  are  yours — 
So,  farewell,  Talbot;  I'll  no  longer  trust  thee. 
Pucelle. 
Done  like  a  Frenchman ;  turn,  and  turn  again ! 

Charles. 
Welcome,  brave  duke !  thy  friendship  makes 
us  fresh. 

nit  mi 

And  doth  beget  new  courage  in  our  breasts. 

Alencon. 
Pucelle  hath  bravely  played  her  part  in  this, 
And  doth  deserve  a  coronet  of  gold. 
Charles. 
Now  let  us  on,  my  lords,  and  join  our  powers, 
And  seek  how  we  may  prejudice  the  foe. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Pans.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  other  Lords, 
Vernon,  Basset,  &c.  To  them  Talbot,  and 
some  of  his  Officers. 

Talbot. 
My  gracious  prince,  and  honourable  peers, 
Hearing  of  your  arrival  in  this  realm, 
I  have  a  while  given  truce  unto  my  wars, 
To  do  my  duty  to  my  sovereign : 
In  sign  whereof,  this  arm— that  hath  reclaim'd 
To  your  obedience  fifty  fortresses, 
Twelve  cities,  and  seven  walled  towns  of  strength, 
Beside  five  hundred  prisoners  of  esteem,— 
Lets  fall  his  sword  before  your  highness'  feet ; 
And  with  submissive  loyalty  of  heart. 
Ascribes  the  glory  of  his  conquest  got, 
First  to  my  God,  and  next  unto  your  grace. 

King  Henry. 
Is  this  the  lord  Talbot,  uncle  Gloster, 
That  hath  so  long  been  resident  in  France? 

Gloster. 
Yes,  if  it  please  your  majesty,  my  liege. 

King  Henry. 
Welcome,  brave  captain,  and  victorious  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, 
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^our  place. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  King  Henry,  Gloster, 
Talbot,  and  Nobles. 
Vernon. 
Now,  sir,  to  you,  that  were  so  hot  at  sea, 
Disgracing  of  these  colours,  that  1  wear 
In  honour  of  my  noble  lord  of  York, 
Dar'st  thou  maintain  the  former  words  thou 
spak'st  ? 

Basset. 
Yes,  sir;  as  well  as  you  dare  patronage 
The  envious  barking  of  your  saucy  tongue 
Against  my  lord,  the  duke  of  Somerset. 
Vernon. 
Sirrah,  thy  lord  I  honour  as  he  is. 

Basset. 
Why,  what  is  he?  as  good  a  man  as  York. 

Vernon. 
Hark  ye:  not  so:  in  witness,  take  ye  that. 

[Striking  him. 
Basset. 
Villain,  thou  know'st  the  law  of  arms  is  such, 
That,  whoso  draws  a  sword,  'tis  present  death, 
Or  else  this  blow  should  broach  thy  dearest 
But  I'll  unto  his  majesty,  and  crave         [blood. 
I  may  have  liberty  to  venge  this  wrong, 
When  thou  shalt  see,  I'll  meet  thee  to  thy  cost. 
Vernon. 
Well,  miscreant,  I'll  be  there  as  soon  as  you ; 
And  after  meet  you  sooner  than  you  would. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE}.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State 


Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  Exeter,  York,  Suf- 
folk, Somerset,  Winchester,  Warwick,  Talbot, 
the  Governor  of  Paris,  and  others. 

Gloster. 
T  ORD  bishop,  set  the  crown  upon  his  head. 
Winchester. 
God  save  King  Henry,  of  that  name  the  sixth  ! 

Gloster. 
Now,  governor  of  Paris,  take  your  oath,— 
[Governor  kneels. 
That  you  elect  no  other  king  Wt  him, 
Esteem  none  friends,  but  such  as  are  his  friends, 
And  none  your  foes,  but  such  as  shall  pretend 
Malicious  practices  against  his  state: 
This  shall  ye  do,  so  help  you  righteous  God  1 

[Exeunt  Governor  and  his  Train. 

Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe. 
Kastolfe. 
My  gracious  sovereign,  as  I  rode  from  Calais, 
To  haste  unto  your  coronation, 
A  letter  was  deliver'd  to  my  hands, 
Writ  to  your  grace  from  the  duke  of  Burgundy. 
Talbot. 
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, 

Ai.d 


Act  iv.  Sc.  t 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


54-5 


And  that  the  French  were  almost  ten  to  one, 
'•  Before  wo  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? 

To  say  the  truth,  this  fact  was  infamous, 
And  ill  beseeming  any  common  man, 
Much  more  a  knight,  a  captain,  and  a  leader. 

Talbot 

When  first  this  order  was  ordaln'd,  my  lords, 
Knights  of  the  garter  were  of  noble  birth, 
Valiant  and  virtuous,  full  of  haughty  courage, 
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, 
Profaning  this  most  honourable  order; 
And  should  (if  I  were  worthy  to  be  judge) 
Be  quite  degraded,  like  a  hedge-born  swain 
That  doth  presume  to  boast  of  gentle  blood. 
King  Henry. 

Stain  to  thy  countrymen!  thou  hear'stthy  doom: 
Be  packing'therr  fore,  thou  that  wast  a  knight. 
Henceforth  we  banish  thee  on  pain  of  death — 
[Exit  Fastoife. 
And  now,  my  lord  protector,  view  the  letter 
Sent  from  our  uncle  duke  of  Burgundy. 
Gloster. 

What  means  his  grace,  that  he  hath  chang'd 
his  style  ? 
No  more  but,  plain  and  bluntly,  —  "  To  the 
Hath  he  forgot,  he  is  his  sovereign  ?       [king  1" 
Or  doth  this  churlish  superscription 
Pretend  some  alteration  In  good  will  ?     [cause, 
What's  here  ?    t  IWUlt.  I  '•  I  have  upon  especial 
"  Mov'd  with  compassion  of  my  country's  wreck, 
"  Together  with  the  pitiful  complaints 
"  Of  such  as  your  oppression  feeds  upon, — 
"  Forsaken  your  pernicious  faction,     [France." 
"  And  join'd  with  Charles,  the  rightful  king  of 
O,  monstrous  treachery  !    Can  this  be  so  ? 
That  in  alliance,  amity,  and  oaths,  [guile  ? 

There  should  be  found  such  false  dissembling 
King  Henry. 

What  1  doth  my  uncle  Burgundy  revolt  ? 

Gloster. 
He  doth,  my  lord ;  and  is  become  your  foe. 

King  Henry 
Is  that  the  worst  this  letter  doth  contain  ? 

Gloster. 
It  is  the  worst,  and  all,  my  lord,  he  writes. 

King  Henry. 
Why  then,  lord  Talbot,  there,  shall  talk  with 
And  give  himchastisementfor  this  abuse. —  [him, 
How  say  you,  my  lord  ?  are  you  not  content  ? 
Talbot. 
Content,  my  liege  ?    Yes ;  but  that  I  am  pre- 
vented, [ployed. 
I  should  have  begg'd  I  might  have  been  em- 
King  Henry. 
Then  gather  strength,  and  march  unto  him 
straight. 
Let  him  perceive,  how  ill  we  brook  his  treason ; 
And  what  offence  it  is,  to  flout  his  friends. 

Talbot. 
I  go,  my  lord  ;  in  heart  desiring  still, 
You  may  behold  confusion  of  your  foes.    [Exit. 


Botcr  Vernon  and  Battel. 

Vernon. 
Grant  me  the  combat,  gracious  sovereign  I 

B 
And  me,  my  lord ;  grant  me  the  combat  too  ! 

York. 
This  is  my  servant :  hear  him,  noble  prince  I 

Somerset. 
And  this  is  mine :  sweet  Henry,  favour  him  ! 

King  Henry. 

I      Be  patient,  lords,  and  give  them  leave    to 

speak. — 

Say,  gentlemen,  what  makes  you  thus  exclaim  ? 

And  wherefore  crave   you   combat  ?    or   with 

whom? 

Vernon. 
With  him,  my  lord  ;  for  he  hath  done  me 
wrong. 

Basset. 
And  I  with  him  ;  for  he  hath  done  me  wrong. 

King  Henry. 
What  Is  that  wrong  whereof  you  both  com- 
plain ? 
First  let  me  know,  and  then  I'll  answer  you. 

Basset. 
Crossing  the  sea  from  England  into  France, 
This  fellow,  here,  with  envious  carping  tongue 
Upbraided  me  about  the  rose  I  wear  ; 
Saying,  the  sanguine  colour  of  the  leaves 
Did  represent  my  master's  blushing  cheeks, 
When  stubbornly  he  did  repugn  the  truth, 
About  a  certain  question  in  the  law, 
Argu'd  betwixt  the  duke  of  York  and  him  ; 
With  other  vile  and  ignominious  terms  : 
In  confutation  of  which  rude  reproach, 
And  in  defence  of  my  lord's  worthiness, 
I  crave  the  benefit  of  law  of  arms. 

Vernon. 
And  that  is  my  petition,  noble  lord  : 
For  though  he  seem,  with  forged  quaint  conceit, 
To  set  a  gloss  upon  his  bold  intent. 
Yet  know,  my  lord,  I  was  provok'd  by  him, 
And  he  first  took  exceptions  at  this  badge, 
Pronouncing,  that  the  paleness  of  this  flower 
Bewray'd  the  faintness  of  my  master's  heart. 

York. 
Will  not  this  malice,  Somerset,  be  left  ? 

Somerset. 
Your  private  grudge,  my  lord  of  York,  will 
out, 
Though  ne'er  so  cunningly  you  smother  it. 

King  Henry. 
Good  Lord  1  what  madness'  rules  in  brain-sick 
men ; 
When,  for  so  slight  and  frivolous  a  cause, 
Such  factious  emulations  shall  arise  !  — 
Good  cousins  both,  of  York  and  Somerset, 
Quiet  yourselves,  I  pray,  and  be  at  peace. 

York. 
Let  this  dissension  first  be  tried  by  fight, 
And  then  your  highness  shall  command  a  peace. 

Somerset. 
The  quarrel  toucheth  none  but  us  alone ; 
Betwixt  ourselves  let  us  decide  it,  then. 

York. 
There  is  my  pledge  ;  accept  it,  Somerset. 

Varnou. 
Nay,  let  it  rest  where  it  began  at  first. 

Basset. 
Confirm  it  so,  mine  honourable  lord. 

u  n  Glostei. 


54-6 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc  i. 


Gloster, 
Confirm  it  so  ?    Confounded  be  your  strife  ! 
And  perish  ye,  with  your  audacious  prate  ! 
Presumptuous  vassals  !  are  you  not  asham'd, 
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  raise  a  mutiny  betwixt  yourselves  : 
Let  me  persuade  you  take  a  better  course. 

Kxeter. 
It  grieves  his  highness :  —  good  my  lords,  be 
friends. 

King  Henry. 
Come  hither,  you  that  would  be  combatants. 
Henceforth,  I  charge  you,  as  you  love  our  fa- 
vour, 
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, 
How  will  their  grudging  stomachs  be  provok'd 
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 ? 

0  !  think  upon  the  conquest  of  my  father, 
My  tender  years  ;  and  let  us  not  forego 
That  for  a  trifle,  that  was  bought  with  blood. 
Let  me  be  umpire  in  this  doubtful  strife. 

1  see  no  reason,  if  I  wear  this  rose, 

[Putting  on  a  red  Hose. 
That  any  one  should  therefore  be  suspicious 
I  more  incline  to  Somerset,  than  York : 
Both  are  my  kinsmen,  and  1  love  them  both. 
As  well  they  may  upbraid  me  with  my  crown, 
Because,  forsooth,  the  king  of  Scots  is  crown'd. 
But  your  discretions  better  can  persuade, 
Than  I  am  able  to  instruct  or  teach : 
And  therefore,  as  we  hither  came  in  peace, 

So  let  us  still  continue  peace  and  love 

Cousin  of  York,  we  institute  your  grace 
To  be  our  regent  in  these  parts  of  France :  — 
And  good  my  lord  of  Somerset,  unite 
Your  troops  of  horsemen  with  his  bands  of  foot ; 
And,  like  true  subjects,  sons  of  your  progenitors, 
Go  cheerfully  together,  and  digest 
Your  angry  choler  on  your  enemies. 
Ourself,  my  lord  protector,  and  the  rest, 
After  some  respite,  will  return  to  Calais; 
From  thence  to  England;  where  I  hope  erelong 
To  be  presented  by  your  victories 
With  Charles,  Alencon,  and  that  traitorous  rout. 
[Flourish.    Exeunt  King  Henry,  Gloster, 
Somerset,  Winchester,  Stiffblk,  and  Basset. 

My  lord  of  York,  I  promise  you,  the  king 
Prettily,  laethought,  did  play  the  orator. 

York, 
And  so  he  did  ;  but  yet  I  like  it  not, 
In  that  he  wears  the  badge  of  Somerset. 

Tush  !  that  was  but  his  fancy,  blame  him  not ; 
I  dare  presume,  sweet  prince,  he  thought  no 
harm. 

York. 
And,  if  I  wist  he  did,— But  let  it  rest ; 
Other  affairs  must  now  be  managed. 

[Exeunt  York,  Warwick,  and  Vernon. 


Exeter. 
Well  didst  thou,  Richard,  to  suppress  thy 
voice ; 
For,  had  the  passions  of  thy  heart  burst  out, 
I  fear,  we  should  have  seen  decipher'd  there 
More  rancorous  spite,  more  furious  raging  broils, 
Than  yet  can  be  imagin'd  or  suppos'd. 
But  howsoe'er,  no  simple  man  that  sees 
This  jarring  discord  of  nobility, 
This  shouldering  of  each  other  in  the  court, 
This  factious  bandying  of  their  favourites, 
But  that  it  doth  presage  some  ill  event. 
'Tis  much,  when  sceptres  are  in  children's  hands, 
But  more,  when  envy  breeds  unkind  division  : 
There  comes  the  ruin,  there  begins  confusion. 

[Kxit. 

SCENE  II.    Fiance.    Before  Bourdeaux. 

Enter  Talbot,  with  his  Forces. 

Talbot. 
Go  to  the  gates  of  Bourdeaux.  trumpeter: 
Summon  their  general  unto  the  wall. 

Trumpet  sounds  a  Parley.    Enter,  on  the  Walls, 

the  General  of  the  French  Forces,  and  others. 
English  John  Talbot,  captains,  calls  you  forth, 
Servant  in  arms  to  Harry  king  of  England; 
And  thus  he  would — Open  your  city  gates, 
Be  humble  to  us,  call  my  sovereign  yours, 
And  do  him  homa»e  as  obedient  subjects, 
And  I'll  withdraw  me  and  my  bloody  power  ; 
But,  if  you  frown  upon  this  proffer'd  peace, 
You  tempt  the  fury  of  my  three  attendants, 
Lean  famine,  quartering  steel,  and  climbing  fire ; 
Who,  in  a  moment,  even  with  the  earth 
Shall  lay  your  stately  and  air-braving  towers, 
If  you  forsake  the  offer  of  their  love. 

General 
Thou  ominous  and  fearful  owl  of  death, 
Our  nation's  terror,  and  their  bloody  scourge, 

i  The  period  of  thy  tyranny  approacheth. 

i  On  us  thou  canst  not  enter  but  by  death  ; 
For,  I  protest,  we  are  well  fortified, 
And  strong  enough  to  issue  out  and  fight : 
If  thou  retire,  the  Dauphin,  well  appointed, 
Stands  with  the  snares  of  war  to  tangle  thee. 
On  either  hand  thee  there  are  squadrons  pitch *d 
To  wall  thee  from  the  liberty  of  flight, 
And  no  way  canst  thou  turn  thee  for  redress, 
But  death  doth  front  thee  with  apparent  spoil, 
And  pale  destruction  meets  thee  in  the  face. 
Ten  thousand  French  have  ta'en  the  sacrament, 
To  rive  their  dangerous  artillery 
Upon  no  Christian  soul  but  English  Talbot. 
Lo !   there  thou  stand'st,  a  breathing  valiant 
Of  an  invincible  unconquer'd  spirit :  [man, 

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  coloured. 
Shall  see  thee  wither'd,  bloody,  pale,  and  dead. 

[Drum  afar  off. 
Hark  !  hark !  the  Dauphin's  drum,  a  warning 
Sings  heavy  music  to  thy  timorous  soul ;  [bell, 
And  mine  shall  ring  thy  dire  departure  out. 

[Exeunt  General,  &c.  from  the  wall*. 

Talbot. 
He  fables  not ;  I  hear  the  enemy — 
Out,  some  light  horsemen,  and  peruse  their 
O,  negligent  and  heedless  discipline  !   [wings. — 
How  are  we  park'd,  and  bounded  in  a  pale ! 
A  little  herd  of  England's  timorous  deer, 
Maz'd  with  a  yelping  kennel  of  French  curs  ! 
If  we  be  English  deer,  be  then  in  blood  ; 

Not 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


547 


Not  rascal-like,  to  fall  down  with  a  pinch, 
Hut  rather  moody  mad,  and  desperate  utags, 
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's1 

right, 
Prosper  our  colours  in  this  dangerous  fight ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  111.    Plains  in  Gascon?. 
Fntet  Yorl,  with  Forces;  to  him,  a  Messenger. 
York. 
Are  not  the  speedy  scouts  return'd  again, 
That  dogg'd  the  mighty  army  of  the  Dauphin  ? 
'.iger. 
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 
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. 

Filter  Sir  William  Lucy. 
Lucy. 
Thou  princely  leader  of  our  English  strength, 
Never  so  needful  on  the  earth  of  France, 
Spur  to  the  rescue  of  the  noble  Talbot, 
Who  now  is  girdled  with  a  waist  oi  iron, 
And  hemm'd  about  with  grim  destruction. 
To  Bourdeawe,  warlike  duke!  to  Bourdeaux, 

York! 
Else,  farewell  Talbot,  France,  and  England's 
honour. 

York. 
O  God !  that  Somerset— who  in  proud  heart 
Doth  stop  my  cornets — were  in  Talbot's  place ! 
So  should  we  save  a  valiant  gentleman, 
By  forfeiting  a  traitor  and  a  coward. 
Mad  ire,  and  wrathful  fury,  make  me  weep, 
That  thus  we  die,  while  remiss  traitors  sleep. 
Lury. 
O,  send  some  succour  to  the  distress'd  lord  I 

York. 

He  dies,  we  lose;  I  break  my  warlike  word: 

We  mourn,  France  smiles;  we  lose,  they  daily 

All  'long  of  this  vile  traitor  Somerset.         [get; 

Lucy. 

Then,  God  take  mercy  on  brave  Talbot's  soul  1 

And  on  his  son,  young  John;  whom  two  hours 

since 
I  met  iu  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, 
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 

'Long  all  of  Somerset,  and  his  delay.        Jaway, 

[Exit  York  with  liii  I'orce*. 


Thus,  while  the  vulture  of  sedition 
Feeds  in  the  bosom  of  such  great  commanders,   i 
Sleeping  neglection  doth  betray  to  loss 
The  conquest  of  our  scarce-cold  conqueror, 
That  ever-living  man  of  memory, 
Henry  the  fifth.     Whiles  they  each  other  crosj, 
Lives,  honours,  lands,  and  all,  hurry  to  loss. 

SCENE  IV.    Other  Plains  of  Gascony. 

Enter  Somerset,  with  his  Army ;  an  Officer  of 
Talbot's  with  him. 
Somerset. 
It  is  too  late;  I  cannot  send  them  now. 
This  expedition  was  by  York,  and  Talbot, 
Too  rashly  plotted:  all  our  general  force 
Wight  with  a  sally  of  the  very  town 
Be  buckled  with.     The  over-daring  Talbot 
Hath  sullied  all  his  gloss  of  former  honour, 
By  this  unheedful,  desperate,  wild  adventure. 
York  set  him  on  to  fight,  and  die  in  shame, 
That,  Talbot  dead,  great  York  might  bear  the 
name. 

Officer. 
Here  is  sir  William  Lucy,  who  with  me 
Set  from  our  o'er-match'd  forces  forth  for  aid. 
Fitter  Sir  fl'illiam  Lury. 
Somerset. 
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  honourable  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 

honour, 
Keep  oflf  aloof  with  worthless  emulation. 
Let  not  your  private  discord  keep  away 
The  levied  succours  that  should  lend  him  aid, 
While  he,  renowned  noble  gentleman. 
Yields  up  his  life  unto  a  world  of  odds. 
Orleans  the  Bastard,  Charles,  and  Burgundy, 
Alencon,  Reignier,  compass  him  about, 
And  Talbot  perisheth  by  your  default. 
Somerset. 
York  set  him  on,  York  should  have  sent  him 
aid. 

Lury. 
And  York  as  fast  upon  your  grace  exclaims ; 
Swearing  that  you  withhold  his  levied  host, 
Collected  for  this  expedition. 
Somerset. 
York  lies:  he  might  have  sent  and  had  the 
I  owe  him  little  duty,  and  less  love,  [horse. 

And  take  foul  scorn  to  fawn  on  him  by  sending. 
Lucy. 
The  fraud  of  England,  not  the  force  of  France, 
Hath  now  entrapp'd  the  noble-minded  Talbot! 
Never  to  England  shall  he  bear  his  life, 
But  dies  betray'd  to  fortune  by  your  strife. 
Somerset. 
Come,  go;    I  will   despatch   the   horsemen 
straight: 
Within  six  hours  they  will  be  at  his  aid. 

Lucy. 


548 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  So.  rv. 


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. 
Somerset. 
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  Bourdeaux. 

Enter  Talbot  and  John  his  Son. 

Talbot. 

O  young  John  Talbot!    I  did  send  for  thee, 
To  tutor  thee  in  stratagems  of  war, 
That  Talbot's  name  might  be  in  thee  reviv'd, 
When  sapless  age,  and  weak  unable  limbs, 
Should  bring  thy  father  to  his  drooping  chair. 
But,— O,  malignant  and  ill-boding  stars !  — 
Now  thou  art  come  unto  a  feast  of  death, 
A  terrible  and  unavoided  danger:  [horse, 

Therefore,  my  dear  boy,  mount  on  my  swiftest 
And  I'll  direct  thee  how  thou  shalt  escape 
By  sudden  flight:  come,  dally  not;  begone. 
John. 

Is  my  name  Talbot  t  and  am  I  your  son  ? 
And  shall  I  fly  ?    O  !  if  you  love  my  mother, 
Dishonour  not  her  honourable  name, 
To  make  a  bastard,  and  a  slave  of  me : 
The  world  will  say  he  is  not  Talbot's  blood, 
That  basely  fled,  when  noble  Talbot  stood. 
Talbot. 

Fly  to  revenge  my  death,  if  I  be  slain. 
John. 

He  that  flies  so,  will  ne'er  return  again. 
Talbot. 

If  we  both  stay,  we  both  are  sure  to  die. 
John. 

Then  let  me  stay ;  and,  father,  do  you  fly : 
Your  loss  is  great,  so  your  regard  should  be ; 
My  worth  unknown,  no  loss  is  known  in  me. 
Upon  my  death  the  French  can  little  boast, 
In  yours  they  will,  in  you  all  hopes  are  lost. 
Flight  cannot  stain  the  honour  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, 
If  the  first  hour  I  shrink,  and  run  away. 
Here,  on  my  knee,  I  beg  mortality, 
Rather  than  life  preserv'd  with  infamy. 

Talbot. 
Shall  all  thy  mother  s  hopes  lie  in  one  tomb  ? 

John. 
Ay,  rather  than  I'll  shame  my  mother's  womb. 

Talbot. 
Upon  my  blessing  I  command  thee  go. 

John. 
To  fight  I  will,  but  not  to  fly  the  foe. 

Talbot. 
Part  of  thy  father  may  be  sav'd  in  thee. 

John. 
No  part  of  him  but  will  be  shame  in  me. 

Talbot. 
Thou  never  hadst  renown,  nor  canst  not  lose 
it. 

John. 
Yes,  your  renowned  name :  shall  flight  abuse 
it' 


Talbot. 
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. 
Talbot. 
And  leave  my  followers  here,  to  fight,  and  die  ? 
My  age  was  never  tainted  with  such  shame. 

John. 
And  shall  my  youth  be  guilty  of  such  blame  ? 
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 ; 
For  live  1  will  not,  if  my  father  die. 

Talbot. 
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,  wherein  Talbot's  Son  la 
hemmed  about,  and  Talbot  rescues  him. 

Talbot. 
Saint  George  and  victory !  fight,  soldiers,  fight  I 
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  gav'st  me  first  was  lost  and  done; 
Till  with  thy  warlike  sword,  despite  of  fate, 
To  my  determin'd  time  thou  gav'st  new  date. 
Talbot. 
When  from  the  Dauphin's  crest  thy  sword 

struck  fire, 
It  warmed  thy  father's  heart  with  proud  desire 
Of  bold-fac'd  victory.     Then  leaden  age, 
Quicken'd  with  youthful  spleen  and  warlike  rage, 
Beat  down  Alengon,  Orleans,  Burgundy, 
And  from  the  pride  of  Gallia  rescu'd  thee. 
The  ireful  bastard  Orleans,  that  drew  blood 
From  thee,  my  boy,  and  had  the  maidenhood 
Of  thy  first  fight,  I  soon  encountered, 
And,  interchanging  blows,  I  quickly  shed 
Some  of  his  bastard  blood ;  and,  in  disgrace, 
Bespoke  him  thus :  "  Contaminated,  base, 
And  misbegotten  blood  I  spill  of  thine, 
Mean  and  right  poor ;  for  that  pure  blood  of  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 ; 
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,  and  if  I  stay, 
"fis  but  the  short'ning  of  my  life  one  day : 
In  thee  thy  mother  dies,  our  household's  name, 
My  death's  revenge,  thy  youth,  and  England's 

fame. 
All  these,  and  more,  we  hazard  by  thy  stay ; 
All  these  are  sav'd,  if  thou  wilt  fly  away. 

John. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vn. 


KING  IIENTIY  VI. 


549 


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  1 
And  like  me  to  the  peasant  l>oy8  of  France, 
To  be  shame's  scorn,  and  subject  of  mischance ! 
Surely,  by  all  the  glory  you  have  won, 
An  if  I  fly  I  am  not  Talbot's  son : 
Then,  talk  no  more  of  flight,  it  is  no  boot, 
If  son  to  Talbot,  die  at  Talbot's  foot. 

Talbot. 
Then  follow  thou  thy  desperate  sire  of  Crete, 
Thou  Icart/s.    Thy  life  to  me  is  sweet: 
If  thou  wilt  fight,  fight  by  thy  father's  side, 
And,  commendable  prov'd,  let's  die  in  pride. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.    Another  part  of  the  same. 

Alarums:  Excursions.    Enter  Talbot  wounded, 
supported  by  a  Servant. 

Talbot. 

Where  is  my  other  life?— mine  own  is  gone: 

O,   where's    young  Talbot?   where   is  valiant 

John  ? — 
Triumphant  death,  smear'd  with  captivity, 

Young  Talbot's  valour  makes  me  smile  at  thee 

When  he  perceiv'd  me  shrink,  and  on  my  knee, 
His  bloody  sword  he  brandish'd  over  me, 
And  like  a  hungry  lion  did  commence 
Hough  deeds  of  rage,  and  stern  impatience  ; 
But  when  my  angry  guardant  stood  alone, 
Tendering  my  ruin,  and  assail'd  of  none, 
Dizzy-ey'd  fury,  and  great  rage  of  heart, 
Suddenly  made  him  from  my  side  to  start 
Into  the  clust'ring  battle  of  the  French: 
And  in  that  sea  of  blood  my  boy  did  drench 
His  overmounting  spirit;  and  there  died 
My  Icarus,  my  blossom,  in  his  pride. 

Enter  Soldiers,  bearing  the  Body  of  John  Talbot. 
Servant. 
O,  my  dear  lord  !  lo,  where  your  son  is  borne ! 

Talbot. 
Thou  antick,  death,  which  laugh'st  us  here  to  , 
Anon,  from  thy  insulting  tyranny,  [scorn,  I 

Coupled  in  bonds  of  perpetuity, 
Two  Talbots,  winged  through  the  lither  sky, 

In  thy  despite  6hall  'scape  mortality [death, 

O!  thou  whose  wounds  become  hard-favour'd 
Speak  to  thy  father,  ere  thou  yield  thy  breath  : 
Brave  death  by  speaking,  whether  he  will  or  no ; 

Imagine  him  a  Frenchman,  and  thy  foe [say. 

Poor  boy  !  he  smiles,  methinks;  as  who  should 
Had  death  been  French,  then  death  had  died  to- 
day. 
Come,  come,  and  lay  him  in  his  father's  arms. 
My  spirit  can  no  longer  bear  these  harms. 
Soldiers,  adieu  !  I  have  what  I  would  have. 
Now  my  old    arms  are  young  John   Talbot's  ! 
grave.  [Dies. 

Alarums.  Exeunt  Soldiers  and  Servant  leaving 
the  two  Bodies.  Enter  Charles,  Alencon, 
Burgundy,  Bastard,  La  Puerile,  and  Forces. 

Charles. 

Had  York  and  Somerset  brought  rescue  in, 

We  should  have  found  a  bloody  day  of  this. 

Bastard. 

How  the  young  whelp  of  Talbot's,  raging  wood, 

Did  flesh  his  puny  sword  in  Frenchmen's  blood  ! 


I'uccllc. 
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,    [born 
He  answered  thus :  "  Young  Talbot  was  not 
To  be  the  pillage  of  a  giglot  wench." 
So,  rushing  in  the  bowels  of  the  French, 
He  left  me  proudly,  as  unworthy  fight. 
Burgundy. 
Doubtless,  he  would  have  made  a  noble  knight. 
See,  where  he  lies  inhersed  in  the  arms 
Of  the  most  bloody  nurser  of  his  harms. 
Bastard. 
Hew  them  to  pieces,  hack  their  bones  asunder, 
Whose  life  was  England's  glory,  Gallia's  wonder. 
Charles. 
O,  no  !  forbear  ;  for  that  which  we  have  fled 
During  the  life,  let  us  not  wrong  it  dead. 

Enter  Sir  William  Lucy,  attended  ;  a  French 

Herald  preceding. 

Lucy. 

Herald,  conduct  me  to  the  Dauphin's  tent, 

To  know  who  hath  obtain'd  the  glory  of  the  day. 

Charles. 

On  what  submissive  message  art  thou  sent  ? 

Lucy. 
Submission,  Dauphin  1    'tis   a  mere  French 
word, 
We  English  warriors  wot  not  what  it  means. 
I  come  to  know  what  prisoners  thou  hast  ta'en, 
And  to  survey  the  bodies  of  the  dead. 
Charles. 
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, 
Valiant  lord  Talbot,  earl  of  Shrewsbury  ? 
Created,  for  his  rare  success  in  arms, 
Great  earl  of  Washford,  Waterford,  and  Valence; 
Lord  Talbot  of  Goodrig  and  Vrchinfield,  [Alton, 
Lord  Strange  of  Blackmcre,   lord   Verdun  of 
Lord  Cromwell  of  H'ingfield,  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  mareshal  to  Henry  the  sixth 
Of  all  his  wars  within  the  realm  of  France? 
I'ucelle. 
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,    i 
Stinking,  and  fly-blown,  lies  here  at  our  feet. 
Lucy. 
Is  Talbot  slain?  the  Frenchmen's  onlv  scourge,  ' 
Your  kingdom's  terror  and  black  Nemesis? 
O  !  were  mine  eye- balls  into  bullets  turn'd, 
That  I  in  rage  might  shoot  them  at  your  faces. 
O,  that  I  could  but  call  these  dead  to  lifel 
It  were  enough  to  fright  the  realm  of  France. 
Were  but  his  picture  left  among  you  here 
It  would  amaze  the  proudest  of  you  all. 
Give  me  their  bodies,  that  I  may  bear  them 

hence, 

And  give  them  burial  as  beseems  their  worth. 

I'ucelle. 

I  think,  this  upstart  is  old  Talbot's  ghost, 

He  speaks  with  such  a  proud  commanding  spirit. 

For  God's  sake,  let  him  have  'em ;  to  keep  them 

here, 
They  would  but  stink,  acj"  putrefy  the  air. 

Charles. 


55° 


FIRST  TART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vn. 


Charles. 
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. 
Charier 
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.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  (Hosier,  and  Exeter. 

King  Henry. 

HAVE  you  perus'd  the  letters  from  the  pope, 
The  emperor,  and  the  earl  of  Armagnac  ? 
Gloster. 
I  have,  my  lord ;  and  their  intent  is  this  :— 
They  humbly  sue  unto  your  excellence, 
To  have  a  godly  peace  concluded  of 
Between  the  realms  of  England  and  of  France. 
King  Henry. 
How  doth  your  grace  affect  their  motion  ? 

Gloster. 
Well,  my  good  lord ;  and  as  the  only  means 
To  stop  effusion  of  our  Christian  blood, 
And  'stablish  quietness  on  every  side. 
King  Henry. 
Ay, marry, uncle;  for  I  always  thought, 
It  was  both  impious  and  unnatural, 
That  such  immanity  and  bloody  strife 
Should  reign  among  professors  of  one  faith. 
f-lo»ter. 
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. 
King  Henry. 
Marriage,  uncle  ?  alas  1  my  years  are  young, 
And  fitter  is  my  study  and  my  books, 
Than  wanton  dalliance  with  a  paramour. 
Yet,  call  th'  ambassadors  ;  and,  as  you  please, 
So  let  them  have  their  answers  every  one : 
1  shall  be  well  content  with  any  choice, 
Tends  to  God's  glory,  and  my  country's  weal. 

Enter  a  Legate,  and  two  Ambassadors,  with 

Winchester,  as  a  Cardinal. 

Exeter. 

What !  is  my  lord  of  Winchester  install'd, 
And  call'd  unto  a  cardinal's  degree  ? 
Then,  I  perceive  that  will  be  verified, 
Henry  the  fifth  did  sometime  prophesy, — 
"  If  once  he  come  to  be  a  cardinal, 
He'll  make  his  cap  co-equal  with  the  crown." 
King  Henry. 

My  lords  ambassadors,  your  several  suits 
Have  been  consider'd  and  debated  on. 
Your  purpose  is  both  good  and  reasonable ; 
And,  therefore,  are  we  certainly  resolv'd, 
To  draw  conditions  of  a  friendly  peace  ; 
Which,  by  my  lord  of  Winchester,  we  mean 
Shall  be  transported  presently  to  France. 


Gloster. 

And  for  the  proffer  of  my  lord,  your  master, 
I  have  inform'd  his  highness  so  at  large, 
As— liking  of  the  lady's  virtuous  gifts, 
Her  beauty,  and  the  value  of  her  dower, — 
He  doth  intend  she  shall  be  England's  queen. 
King  Henry. 
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. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry  and  Train  ;  Gloster, 
Exeter,  and  Ambassadors. 

Winchester. 

Stay,  my  lord  legate  :  you  shall  first  receive 
The  sum  of  money,  which  I  promised 
Should  be  delivered  to  his  holiness 
For  clothing  me  in  these  grave  ornaments. 
Legate. 

I  will  attend  upon  your  lordship's  leisure. 
Winchester. 

Now,  Winchester  will  not  submit,  I  trow, 
Or  be  inferior  to  the  proudest  peer. 
Humphrey  of  Gloster,  thou  shalt  well  perceive, 
That,  neither  in  birth,  or  for  authority, 
The  bishop  will  be  overborne  by  thee : 
I'll  either  make  thee  stoop,  and  bend  thy  knee. 
Or  sack  this  country  with  a  mutiny.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    France.    Plains  in  Anjou. 

Enter  Charles,  Burgundy,  Alencon,  La  Fucelle, 
and  Forces,  marching. 

Charles. 
These  news,  my  lords,  may  cheer  our  drooping 
spirits. 
'Tis  said,  the  stout  Parisians  do  revolt, 
And  turn  again  unto  the  warlike  French. 
Alencon. 
Then,  march  to  Paris,  royal  Charles  of  France, 
And  keep  not  back  your  powers  in  dalliance, 
rucelle. 
Peace  be  amongst  them,  if  they  turn  to  us ; 
Else  ruin  combat  with  their  palaces  ! 

Enter  a  Scout. 
Scout. 
Success  unto  our  valiant  general, 
And  happiness  to  his  accomplices  ! 
Charles. 
What  tidings  send  our  scouts  ?    I  pr'ythee, 
speak. 

Scout. 
The  English  army,  that  divided  was 
Into  two  parties,  is  now  conjoin'd  in  one, 
And  means  to  give  you  battle  presently. 
Charles. 
Somewhat  too  sudden,  sirs,  the  warning  is  ; 
But  we  will  presently  provide  for  them. 
Burgundy. 
I  trust,  the  ghost  of  Talbot  is  not  there : 
Now  he  is  gone,  my  lord,  you  need  not  fear. 
Eucelle. 
Of  all  base  passions  fear  is  most  accurs'd.— 
Command  the  conquest,   Charles,  it  shall    be 

thine ; 
Let  Henry  fret,  and  all  the  world  repine. 
Charles. 
Then  on,  my  lords :  and  France  be  fortunate ! 
[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


A    i  v.    Sc.  lit 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


55* 


SCENE  111.    The  name.    Before  Angiert. 
Alarum  1 :  Excursions.    Enter  La  Pucelle. 

Pucelle. 
The  regent  conquers,  and   the   Frenchmen 
fly- 
Now  help,  ye  charming  spells,  and  periapts ; 
Ami  ye.  choice  spirits,  that  admonish  me, 
And  give  me  signs  of  future  accidents; 

You  speedy  helpers,  that  are  substitutes 
Under  the  lordly  monarch  of  the  north, 
Appear,  and  aid  me  in  this  enterprise ! 
Enter  Firnds. 

This  speedy  and  quick  appearance  argues  proof 
Of  your  accustom'd  diligence  to  me. 
Now,  ye  familiar  spirits,  that  are  cull'd 
Out  of  the  powerful  regions  under  earth, 
Help  me  this  once,.that  France  may  get  the 
field.  fThev  walk,  and  speak  not. 

O  1  hold  me  not  with  silence  over-long. 
Where  I  was  wont  to  feed  you  with  my  blood, 
I'll  lop  a  member  off,  and  give  It  you, 
In  earnest  of  a  farther  benefit, 
So  you  do  condescend  to  help  me  now.—  , 

[They  hang  their  heads. 

No  hope  to  have  redress  ?—  My  body  shall 
Pay  recompense,  if  J^ffli^"^^,. 

Cannot  my  body,  nor  blood-sacrifice, 
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  I  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  dusj;. . 

Alarums.  Enter  French  and  English,  fighting; 
La  Pucelle  and  York  fight  hand  to  hand.  La 
Vucellc  is  taken.     The  French  fly. 

York. 
Damsel  of  France,  I  think,  I  have  you  fast : 
Unchain  your  spirits  now  with  spelling  charms, 
I    And  try  if  they  can  gain  your  liberty. — 
'    A  goodly  prize,  fit  for  the  devil's  grace  ! 

See,  how  the  ugly  witch  doth  bend  her  brows, 
!    As  if,  with  Circe,  she  would  change  my  shape. 

Pucelle. 
:      Chang'd  to  a  worser  shape  thou  canst  not  be. 

York. 
j      O  I  Charles  the  Dauphin  is  a  proper  man : 
I  No  shape  but  his  can  please  your  dainty  eye. 

PllCClle. 

I      A  plaguing  mischief  light  on   Charles,  and 
And  may  ye  both  be  suddenly  surpris'd     [thee  I 
By  bloody  hands,  In  sleeping  on  your  beds  1 
York. 
Fell,  banning   hag  I    enchantress,   hold   thy 
tongue. 

Pucelle. 

I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  curse  a  while. 

York. 
Curse,  miscreant,  when  thou  comest  to  the 
stake.  [Exeunt. 

Alarums.    Enter  Suffolk,  leading  in  Lady 

Margaret. 

Suffolk. 

Be  what  thou  wilt,  thou  art  my  prisoner. 

[Tjaxes  on  her. 


O,  fairest  beauty  !  do  not  fear,  nor  fly, 

For  I  will  touch  thee  .but  with  reverent  hands  : 

I  kiss  these  fingers  lKM«nR  ncrTianflT  for  eter. 

nal  peace, 
And  lay  them  gently  on  thy  tender  side. 
Who  art  thou  ?  say,  that  1  may  honour  thee. 
Margaret. 
Margaret  my  name,  and  daughter  to  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples,  whosoe'er  thou  art. 
Suffolk. 
An  earl  I  am,  and  Suffolk  am  I  call 'd. 
Be  not  offended,  nature's  miracle, 
Thou  art  allotted  to  be  ta'en  by  me : 
So  doth  the  swan  her  downy  cygnets  save, 
Keeping  them  prisoners  underneath  her  wings. 
Yet,  if  this  servile  usage  once  offend, 
Go,  and  be  free  again,  as  Suffolk's  friend. 

[She  Turns  away  as  going. 

O,  stay  I —  I  have  no  power  to  let  her  pass  ; 

My  hand  would  free  her,  but  my  heart  says— no. 

As  plays  the  sun  upon  the  glassy  streams, 

Twinkling  another  counterfeited  beam, 

So  seems  this  gorgeous  beauty  to  mine  eyes. 

Fain  would  I  woo  her,  yet  I  dare  not  speak : 

I'll  call  for  pen  and  ink,  and  write  my  mind. 

Fie,  De  la  Poole!  disable  not  thyself; 

Hast   not   a   tongue?    is    she   not    here    thy 

prisoner  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  daunted  at  a  woman's  sight  ? 
Ay  ;  beauty's  princely  majesty  is  such, 
Confounds  the  tongue,  and  makes  the  senses 

rough. 

Margaret. 

Say,  earl  of  Suffolk,  if  thy  name  be  so, 
What  ransom  must  I  pay  before  I  pass  ? 
For,  I  perceive,  I  am  thy  prisoner. 
Suffolk. 
How  canst  thou  tell  she  will  deny  thy  suit, 
Before  thou  make  a  trial  of  her  love  ?     I  Aside. 
Margaret. 
Why  speak'st  thou  not  ?  what  ransom  must  I 

Pay?  Suffolk. 

She's  beautiful,  and  therefore  to  be  woq.'d ;. 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  to  be  won.        L  Aside. 
Margaret. 
Wilt  thou  accept  of  ransom,  yea,  or  no  ? 

Suffolk. 
Fond  man  !  remember,  that  thou  hast  a  wife  ; 
Then,  how  can  Margaret  be  thy  paramour  ?  . , 

[Aside. 
Margaret. 
I  were  best  to  leave  him,  for  he  will  not  hear. 

Suffolk. 
There  all  is  marr'd ;  there  lies  a  cooling  card. 

Margaret . 
He  talks  at  random  :  sure,  the  man  is  mad. 

Suffolk. 
And  yet  a  dispensation  may  be  had. 

Margaret. 
And  yet  I  would  that  you  would  answer  me. 

Suffolk. 
I'll  win  this  lady  Margaret.    For  whom  ? 
Why,  for  my  king :    tush  !    that's    a   wooden 
thing. 

Margaret. 

He  talks  of  wood :  it  is  some  carpenter. 

Suffolk. 
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 


55* 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi, 


Duke  of  Anjou  and  Maine,  yet  is  he  poor, 
And  our  nobility  will  scorn  the  match.    [Aside. 

Margaret. 
Hear  ye,  captain  ?    Are  you  not  at  leisure  ? 

Suffolk. 
It  shall  be  so,  disdain  they  ne'er  so  much  : 

Henry  is  youthful,  and  will  quickly  yield 

Madam,  1  have  a  secret  to  reveal. 
Margaret. 
What  though  I  be  enthrall'd  ?  he  seems  a 
knight, 
And  will  not  any  way  dishonour  me.       [Aside. 
Suffolk. 
Lady,  vouchsafe  to  listen  what  I  say. 

Margaret. 
Perhaps,  I  shall  be  rescu'd  by  the  French, 
And  then  I  need  not  crave  his  courtesy. 

[Aside. 
Suffolk. 
Sweet  madam,  give  me  hearing  in  a  cause  — 

Margaret. 
Tush  !  women  have  been  captivate  ere  now. 
[Aside. 
Suffolk. 
Lady,  wherefore  talk  you  so  ? 

Margaret. 
I  cry  you  mercy,  'tis  but  quid  for  quo. 

Suffolk. 
Say,  gentle  princess,  would  you  not  suppose 
Your  bondage  happy,  to  be  made  a  queen  ? 
Margaret. 
To  be  a  queen  in  bondage  is  more  vile 
Than  is  a  slave  in  base  servility, 
For  princes  should  be  free. 
Suffolk. 

And  so  shall  you, 
If  happy  England's  royal  king  be  free. 
Margaret. 
Why,  what  concerns  his  freedom  unto  me  ? 

Suffolk. 
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  — 
Margaret. 

What? 
Suffolk. 

His  love. 
Margaret. 
I  am  unworthy  to  be  Henry's  wife. 

Suffolk. 
No,  gentle  madam  ;  I  unworthy  am 
To  woo  so  fair  a  dame  to  be  his  wife, 
And  have  no  portion  in  the  choice  myself. 
How  say  you,  madam  ;  are  you  so  content. 
Margaret. 
An  if  my  father  please,  I  am  content. 

Suffolk. 
Then,  call  our   captains,   and   our   colours 
And.  madam,  at  your  father's  castle  walls  [forth ! 
We'll  crave  a  parley,  to  confer  with  him. 

[Troops  come  forward. 

A  Farley  sounded.    Enter  Reignier,  on  the 
Walls. 
Suffolk. 
See,  Reignier,  see  thy  daughter  prisoner. 

Reignier. 
To  whom  ? 

Suffolk. 
Tome. 


Reignier. 

Suffolk,  what  remedy  ? 
I  am  a  soldier,  and  unapt  to  weep, 
Or  to  exclaim  on  fortune'*  fickleness. 
Suffolk. 
Yes,  there  is  remedy  enough,  my  lord  : 
Consent,  and  for  thy  honour  give  consent, 
Thy  daughter  shall  be  wedded  to  my  king. 
Whom  I  with  pain  have  woo'd  and  won  thereto, 
And  this  her  easy-held  imprisonment 
Hath  gain'd  thy  daughter  princely  liberty. 

Reignier. 
Speaks  Suffolk  as  he  thinks  ? 

Suffolk. 

Fair  Margaret  knows, 
That  Suffolk  doth  not  flatter,  face,  or  feign. 
Reignier. 
Upon  thy  princely  warrant,  I  descend 
To  give  thee  answer  of  thy  just  demand. 

[Exit,  from  the  Walls. 
Suffolk. 
And  here  I  will  expect  thy  coming. 

Trumpets  sounded.    Enter  Reignier,  below. 

Reignier. 

Welcome,  brave  earl,  into  our  territories : 

Command  in  Anjou  what  your  honour  pleases. 

Suffolk. 

Thanks,    Reignier,   happy   for   so   sweet   a 

Fit  to  be  made  companion  with  a  king :    [child, 

What  answer  makes  your  grace  unto  my  suit  ? 

Reignier. 

Since  thou  dost  deign  to  woo  her  little  worth, 
To  be  the  princely  bride  of  such  a  lord, 
Upon  condition  I  may  quietly 
Enjoy  mine  own,  the  county  Maine,  and  Anjou, 
Free  from  oppression  or  the  stroke  of  war, 
My  daughter  shall  be  Henry's,  if  he  please. 
Suffolk. 

That  is  her  ransom,  I  deliver  her ; 
And  those  two  counties,  1  will  undertake, 
Your  grace  shall  well  and  quietly  enjoy. 
Reignier. 

And  I  again,  in  Henry's  royal  name, 
As  deputy  unto  that  gracious  king, 
Give  thee  her  hand,  for  sign  of  plighted  faith. 
Suffolk. 

Reignier  of  France,  I  give  thee  kingly  thanks, 
Because  this  is  in  traffic  of  a  king: 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  could  be  well  content 
To  be  mine  own  attorney  in  this  case. 
I'll  over,  then,  to  England  with  this  news, 
And  make  this  marriage  to  be  solemniz'd. 
So,  farewell,  Reignier.    Set  this  diamond  safe 
In  golden  palaces,  as  it  becomes. 

Reignier. 
I  do  embrace  thee,  as  I  would  embrace 
The  Christian  prince,  king  Henry,  were   he 
here. 

Margaret. 
Farewell,  my  lord.    Good  wishes,  praise,  and 
prayers, 
Shall  Suffolk  ever  have  of  Margaret.      [Going. 
Suffolk. 
Farewell,  sweet  madam !    But  hark  you,  Mar- 
garet; 
No  princely  commendations  to  my  king  ? 
Margaret. 
Such  commendations  as  become  a  maid, 
A  virgin,  and  his  servant,  say  to  him. 
Suffolk. 
Words  sweetly  plac'd,  and  modestly  directed. 

But 


Act  v.  51c.  iv. 


KING  IIENIIY  VI. 


553 


But,  madam,  I  must  trouble  you  again,— 
No  loving  token  to  his  majesty? 

Yes,  my  good  lord ;  a  pure  unspotted  heart, 
Never  yet  taint  with  love,  I  send  the  king. 
Suffolk. 
And  this  withal.  [Kistes  her. 

Margaret. 
That  for  thyself:  I  will  not  so  presume, 
To  send  such  peevish  tokens  to  a  king. 

[Exeunt  Ileignfer  and  atargarct. 

.      Suffolk. 
O,  wert  thou  for  myself !  —  But,  Suffolk,  stay; 
Thou  may'st  not  wander  in  that  labyrinth : 
There  Minotaurs,  and  ugly  treasons,  lurk. 
Solicit  Henry  with  her  wond'rous  praise: 
Bethink  thee  on  her  virtues  that  surmount, 
Mad,  natural  graces  that  extinguish  art ; 
Bepeat  their  semblance  often  on  the  seas, 
That  when  thou  com'st  to  kneel  at  Henry'*  feet, 
Thou  may'st  bereave  him  of  his  wits  with  won- 
der. [Exit. 

SCENE  1 V.    Camp  of  the  Duke  of  York,  in 
Anjou. 

Enter  York,  Warwick,  and  others. 
York. 
Bring  forth  that  sorceress,  condemn'd  to  burn. 

Enter  La  PuceUe,  guarded;  and  a  Shepherd. 

Shepherd. 
Ah,  Joan!  this  kills  thy  father's  heart  out- 
right. 
Have  I  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. 

I'uoelle. 
Decrepit  miser !  base  ignoble  wretch ! 
1  am  descended  of  a  gentler  blood  : 
Thou  art  no  father,  nor  no  friend,  of  mine. 

Shepherd. 
Out,  out!  — My  lords,  an  please  you,  'tis  not 
so; 
1  did  beget  her,  all  the  parish  knows  : 
Her  mother  liveth  yet,  can  testify, 
She  was  the  first  fruit  of  my  bachelorship. 

Warwick. 
Graceless !  wilt  thou  deny  thy  parentage? 

York. 
This  argues  what  her  kind  of  life  hath  been ; 
Wicked  and  vile;  and  so  her  death  concludes. 
Shepherd. 
Fie,  Joan!  that  thou  wilt  be  so  obstacle  ! 
Gai  knows,  thou  art  a  collop  of  my  flesh, 
And  for  thy  sake  have  I  shed  many  a  tear : 
Deny  me  not,  I  pr'ythee,  gentle  Joan. 

Puceiie. 
Peasant,  avaunt!— You  have  suborn'd  this 
man, 
Of  purpose  to  obscure  my  noble  birth. 

Shepherd. 
'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  — 
Wilt  thou  not  stoop?    Now  cursed  be  the  time 
Of  thy  nativity !  I  would,  the  milk 
Thy  mother  gave  thee,  when    thou   suck'dst 
her  breast, 


Had  been  a  little  ratsbane  for  thy  sake ; 
Or  else,  when  thou  didst  keep  my  lambs  a-field, 
I  wish  some  ravenous  wolf  had  eaten  thee. 
Dost  thou  deny  thy  father,  cursed  drab  ? 

0  1  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. 
PuceUe. 
First,  let  me  tell  you  whom  you  have  con- 
demn'd ; 
Not  me  begotten  of  a  shepherd  swain, 
But  issu'd  from  the  progeny  of  kings: 
Virtuous,  and  holy;  chosen  from  above, 
By  inspiration  of  celestial  grace, 
To  work  exceeding  miracles  on  earth. 

1  never  had  to  do  with  wicked  spirits : 

But  you,— that  are  polluted  with  your  lusts, 
Stain'd  with  the  guiltless  blood  of  innocents, 
Corrupt  and  tainted  with  a  thousand  vices,— 
Because  you  want  the  grace  that  others  have, 
You  judge  it  straight  a  thing  impossible 
To  compass  wonders,  but  by  help  of  devils. 
No;  misconceived  Joan  of  Arc  hath  been 
A  virgin  from  her  tender  infancy. 
Chaste  and  immaculate  in  very  thought; 
Whose  maiden  blood,  thus  rigorously  eflus'd. 
Will  cry  for  vengeance  at  the  gates  of  heaven. 

York. 
Ay,  ay.  — Away  with  her  to  execution ! 

Warwick. 
And  hark  ye,  sirs ;  because  she  is  a  maid, 
Spare  for  no  fagots,  let  there  be  enow : 
Place  barrels  of  pitch  upon  the  fatal  stake, 
That  so  her  torture  may  be  shortened. 

PuceUe. 
Will  nothing  turn  your  unrelenting  hearts?— 
Then,  Joan,  discover  thine  infirmity, 
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  forefend!  the  holy  maid  with 
child? 

Warwick. 
The  greatest  miracle  that  e'er  ye  wrought ! 
Is  all  your  strict  preciseness  come  to  this  i 
York. 
She  and  the  Dauphin  have  been  juggling: 
I  did  imagine  what  would  be  her  refuge. 
Warwick. 
Well,  go  to  ;  we  will  have  no  bastards  live ; 
Especially,  since  Charles  must  father  it. 

PuceUe. 
You  are  deceiv'd  ;  my  child  is  none  of  his : 
It  was  Alencon,  that  enjoy'd  my  love. 

York. 
Alencon,  that  notorious  Machiavel! 
It  dies,  an  if  it  had  a  thousand  lives. 

PuceUe. 
O !  give  me  leave ;  I  have  deluded  you . 
'Twas  neither  Charles,  nor  yet  the  duke  1  nam'd, 
But  Reignier,  king  of  Naples,  that  prevail'd. 
Warwick. 
A  married  man :  that's  most  intolerable. 

York. 
Why,  here's  a  girl  1  I  think,  she  knows  not 
well, 
There  were  so  many,  whom  she  may  accuse. 

Warwick. 


554- 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


Warwick. 

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. 
Pucelle. 
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 

^seYvesl  ^^  ^^  neCkS'[ttngf..ir» 
York. 

Break  thou  in  pieces,  and  consume  to  ashes, 
Thou  foul  accursed  minister  of  hell ! 

Enter  Cardinal  Beaufort,  attended. 
Cardinal. 

Lord  regent,  I  do  greet  your  excellence 
With  letters  of  commission  from  the  king. 
For  know,  my  lords,  the  states  of  Christendom, 
Mov'd  with  remorse  of  these  outrageous  broils, 
Have  earnestly  implor'd  a  general  peace 
Betwixt  our  nation  and  the  aspiring  French  ; 
And  here  at  hand  the  Dauphin,  and  his  train, 
Approacheth  to  confer  about  some  matter. 
York 

Is  all  our  travail  turn'd  to  this  effect  ? 
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  benefit, 
Shall  we  at  last  conclude  effeminate  peace? 
Have  we  not  lost  most  part  of  all  the  towns, 
By  treason,  falsehood,  and  by  treachery, 
Our  great  progenitors  had  conquered?  — 
O,  Warwick,  Warwick !  I  foresee  with  grief 
The  utter  loss  of  all  the  realm  of  France. 
Warwick. 

Be  patient,  York!  if  we  conclude  a  peace, 
It  shall  be  with  such  strict  and  severe  covenants, 
As  little  shall  the  Frenchmen  gain  thereby. 

Enter  Charles,  attended  ;  Alencon,  Bastard, 

Beignier,  and  others. 

Charles. 

Since,  lords  of  England,  it  is  thus  agreed, 
That   peaceful  truce  shall   be   proclaim'd   in 
We  come  to  be  informed  by  yourselves  [France, 
What  the  conditions  of  that  league  must  be. 
York. 

Speak,  Winchester;  for  boiling  choler  chokes 
The  hollow  passage  of  my  poison 'd  voice, 
By  sight  of  these  our  baleful  enemies. 
Winchester 

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 
To  pay  him  tribute,  and  submit  thyself, 
Thou  shalt  be  plac'd  as  viceroy  under  him, 
And  still  enjoy  thy  regal  dignity. 
Alencon. 

Must  he  be  then  as  shadow  of  himself? 
Adorn  his  temples  with  a  coronet, 
And  yet,  in  substance  and  authority, 
Betain  but  privilege  of  a  private  man  ? 
This  proffer  is  absurd  and  reasonless. 


Charles. 
'Tis  known,  already  that  I  am  possess'd 
With  more  than  half  the  Gallian  territories, 
And  therein  reverene'd  for  their  lawful  king: 
Shall  I,  for  lucre  of  the  rest  unvanquish'd, 
Detract  so  much  from  that  prerogative, 
As  to  be  call'd  but  viceroy  of  the  whole? 
No,  lord  ambassador ;  I'll  rather  keep 
That  which  I  have,  than,  coveting  for  more, 
Be  cast  from  possibility  of  all. 

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  ? 
Kither  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. 
Reignier. 

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. 
Alencon. 

To  say  the  truth,  it  is  your  ^  {q  ^^ 

To  save  your  subjects  from  such  massacre, 
And  ruthless  slaughters,  as  are  daily  seen 
By  our  proceeding  in  hostility ; 
And,  therefore,  take  this  compact  of  a  truce, 
Although  you  break  it  when  your  pleasure  serves. 
Warwick. 
How  say'st  thou,  Charles?  shall  our  condition 
stand  ?  ,„     . 

f  harles. 

It  shall ;  only  reserv'd,  you  claim  no  interest 
In  any  of  our  towns  of  garrison. 
York. 

Then  swear  allegiance  to  his  majesty ; 
As  thou  art  knight,  never  to  disobey, 
Nor  be  rebellious  to  the  crown  of  England, 

So  ;  now  dismiss  your  army  when  ye  please : 
Hang  up  your  ensigns,  let  your  drums  be.still, 
For  here  we  entertain  a  solemn  peace. 


?unt. 


SCENE  V.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  in  conference  with  Suffolk; 

Gloster  and  Exeter  following. 

King  Henry. 

Your  wondrous  rare  description,  noble  earl, 
Of  beauteous  Margaret  hath  astonish  'd  me  : 
Her  virtues,  graced  with  external  gifts, 
Do  breed  love's  settled  passions  in  my  heart ; 
And  like  as  rigour  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. 
Suffolk 

Tush  !  my  good  lord,  this  superficial  tale 
Is  but  a  preface  of  her  worthy  praise : 
The  chief  perfections  of  that  lovely  dame, 
(Had  I  sufficient  skill  to  utter  them) 
Would  make  a  volume  of  enticing  lines, 
Able  to  ravish  any  dull  conceit. 
And,  which  is  more,  she  is  not  so  divine, 
So  full  replete  with  choice  of  all  delights, 
But  with  as  humble  lowliness  of  mind, 
She  is  content  to  be  at  your  command  ; 
Command,  I  mean,  of  virtuous  chaste  intent* 
To  love  and  honour  Henry  as  her  lord. 

lung 


Acr  v.  8e,  r. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


555 


King  Henry. 

And  otherwise  will  Henry  ne'er  presume. 
Then-tore,  my  lord  piotector,  give  consent, 
Thai  Margaret  may  be  England's  royal  queen, 
-ter. 

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, 
Ami  not  deface  your  honour  with  reproach? 
Suffolk. 

As  doth  a  ruler  with  unlawful  oaths : 
Or  one  that,  at  a  triumph  having  vow'd 
To  try  his  strength,  forsaketh  yet  the  lista 
By  reason  of  his  adversary's  odds. 
A  poor  earl's  daughter  is  unequal  odds, 
And  therefore  may  be  broke  without  offence. 
Gloster. 

Why,  what.  I  pray,  is  Margaret  more  than 
Her  father  is  no  better  than  an  earl,  [that? 

Although  in  glorious  titles  he  excel. 
Suffolk. 

Yes,  my  lord,  her  father  is  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples  and  Jerusalem ; 
And  of  such  great  authority  in  France, 
As  his  alliance  will  confirm  our  peace, 
And  keep  the  Frenchmen  in  allegiance. 
Gloster. 

And  so  the  earl  of  Armagnac  may  do, 
Because  he  is  near  kinsman  unto  Charles. 
Exeter. 

Beside,    his    wealth  doth  warrant  a  liberal 
dower, 
Where  Reignier  sooner  will  receive,  than  give. 
Suffolk. 

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, 
Must  be  companion  of  his  nuptial  bed  ; 
And  therefore,  lords,  since  he  affects  her  most, 
Most  of  all  these  reasons  bindeth  us, 
In  our  opinions  she  should  be  preferr'd. 
For  what  is  wedlock  forced  but  a  hell, 


An  age  of  discord  and  continual  strife? 
Whereas  the  contrary  bringeth  bliss, 
And  is  a  pattern  of  celestial  peace.  [king. 

Whom  should  wo  match  with  Henry,  being  a 
But  Margaret  that  is  daughter  to  a  king? 
Her  peerless  feature,  joined  with  her  birth, 
Approves  her  fit  for  none  but  for  a  king: 
Her  valiant  courage,  and  undaunted  spirit, 
(More  than  in  women  commonly  is  seen) 

|  Will  answer  our  hope  in  issue  of  a  king; 
For  Henry,  son  unto  a  conqueror, 
Is  likely  to  beget  more  conquerors, 
If  with  a  lady  of  so  high  resolve, 
As  is  fair  Margaret,  he  be  link'd  in  love,     [me, 
Then  yield,  my  lords;  and  here  conclude  with 
That  Margaret  shall  be  queen, and  none  but  she. 
King  Henry. 
Whether  it  be  through  force  of  your  report, 
My  noble  lord  of  Suffolk,  or  for  that 
My  tender  youth  was  never  yet  attaint 
With  any  passion  of  inflaming  love, 
I  cannot  tell ;  but  this  I  am  assur'd, 

j  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 

;  Agree  to  any  covenants,  and  procure    [France : 

j  That  lady  Margaret  do  vouchsafe  to  come 

i  To  cross  the  seas  to  England,  and  be  crown'd 

;  King  Henry's  faithful  and  anointed  queen. 

I  For  your  expences  and  sufficient  charge, 

!  Among  the  people  gather  up  a  tenth. 

i  Be  gone,  I  say ;  for  till  you  do  return, 

I  rest  perplexed  with  a  thousand  cares 

And  you,  good  uncle,  bani6h  all  offence: 
If  you  do  censure  me  by  what  you  were, 

i  Not  what  you  are,  I  know  it  will  excuse 

,  This  sudden  execution  of  my  will. 

i  And  so  conduct  me,  where  from  company 
I  may  revolve  and  ruminate  my  grief.        [B*«. 
Gloster. 
Ay,  grief,  I  fear  me.  both  at  first  and  last. 

[Exeunt  Master  uvlExcler- 

Suffolk. 
Thus  Suffolk  hath  prevail'd  ;  and  thus  he  goes, 
■  As  did  the  youthful  Part's  once  to  Greece, 
'  With  hope  to  find  the  like  event  in  love, 
But  prosper  better  than  the  Trojan  did. 
I  Margaret  shall  now  be  queen,  and  rule  the  king ; 
|  But  1  will  rule  both  her,  the  king,  and  realm. 


SS« 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  r. 


SECOND  PART 


or 


KING  HENEY  VI. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 
Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloster,  his  Uncle. 
Cardinal  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Winchester. 
Richard  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  York. 
Edward  and  Richard,  his  Sons. 
Duke  of  Somerset,  } 

Duke  of  Suffolk,  (    Of  the  King's 

Duke  of  Buckingham,  f        Party. 

Lord  Clifford,  and  his  Son, ) 

fS|§!!Se£]  or****—. 

Lord  Scales,  Governor  of  the  Tower.    Lord  Say. 

Sir  Humphrey  Stafford,  and  kis  Brother.    Sir 

John  Stanley. 
Walter  Whitmore. 

A  Sea-captain,  Master,  and  Master's  Mate. 
Two  Gentlemen,  Prisoners  with  Suffolk.    Vaux. 
Hume  and  Southwell,  Priests. 


Bolingbroke,  a  Conjurer.     A  Spirit  raised  by 

him. 
Thomas  Horner,  an  Armourer.   Peter,  his  Man. 
Clerk  of  Chatham.    Mayor,  of  S.  Alban's. 
Simpcox,  an  Impostor.     Two  Murderers. 
Jack  Cade. 
George,  John, Dick,  Smith,  the  Weaver,  Michael, 

Sfc,  Cade's  Folloivers. 
Alexander  Iden,  a  Kentish  Gentleman. 
Margaret,  Queen  to  King  Henry. 
Eleanor,  Duchess  of  Gloster. 
Margery  Jourdain,  a  Witch.     Wife  to  Simpcox. 

Lords,  Ladies,  and  Attendants;  Herald;  Pe- 
titioners, Alderman,  a  Beadle,  Sheriff,  and 
Officers;  Citizens,  Prentices,  Falconers, 
Guards,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  %c. 

SCENE,  in  various  parts  of  England. 


^f^?^?^?^f^i^i^ 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    London.    A  Room  of  State  in  the 
Palace. 

Flourish  of  Trumpets :  then  Hautboys.  Enter, 
on  one  side,  King  Henry,  Duke  of  Gloster, 
Salisbury,  Warwick,  and  Cardinal  Beaufort; 
on  the  other,  Queen  Margaret,  led  in  by 
Suffolk;  York,  Somerset,  Buckingham,  and 
others,  following. 

Suffolk. 

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,  Brelaigne,  and 

Alencon, 
Seven  earls,  twelve  barons,  and  twenty  reverend 

bishops, 
I  have  perform'd  my  task,  and  was  espous'd: 
And  humbly  now  upon  my  bended  knee, 


m% 


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  receiv'd. 
King  Henry. 
Suffolk,  arise.— Welcome,  queen  Margaret: 

I  can  express  no  kinder  sign  of  love,  [life, 

jThan  this  kind  kiss.— O  Lord!   that  lends  me 
1  Lend  me  a  heart  replete  with  thankfulness; 
i  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  Margaret. 
!     Great  king  of  England,  and  my  gracious  lord, 
i  The  mutual  conference  that  my  mind  hath  had 
I  By  day,  by  night,  waking,  and  in  my  dreams, 

In  courtly  company,  or  at  my  beads, 
\  With  you  mine  alderlievest  sovereign, 
j  Makes  me  the  bolder  to  salute  my  king 

With  ruder  terms,  such  as  my  wit  affords, 
I  And  over-joy  of  heart  doth  minister. 


King 


Act  i.  5c.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


557 


Kinj?  ! 
Her  tight  did  ravish,  but  her  grace  in  speech, 
Her  words  y-clad  with  wisdom's  majt-sty, 
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. 

Long  live  queen  Margaret,  England's  happi- 
ness! 

iret. 
We  thank  you  all.  [  Flourish. 

Suffolk. 
My  lord  protector,  so  it  please  your  grace, 
Here  are  the  articles  of  contracted  peace, 
Between  our  sovereign,  and  the  French  king 

Charles, 
For  eighteen  months  concluded  by  consent. 

(il.-  [Reads. 

"Imprimis:  It  is  agreed  between  the  French 
king.  Charles,  and  William  de  la  Poole,  marquess 
of  Suffolk,  ambassador  for  Henry  king  of  Eng- 
land,— that  the  said  Henry  shall  espouse  the 
lady  Margaret,  daughter  unto  Reignier  king  of 
Naples,  Sicilia,  and  Jerusalem;  and  crown  her 
queen  of  England  ere  the  thirtieth  of  May  next 

ensuing. Item,— That  the  duchy  of  Anjou 

and  the  county  of  Maine,  shall  be  released  and 
delivered  to  the  king  her  father"— 
King  Henry. 
Uncle,  how  now  ? 

Gloster. 
Pardon  me,  gracious  lord ; 
Some  sudden  qualm  hath  struck  me  at  the  heart, 
And  dimm'd  mine  eyes,  that  1   can  read  no 
farther. 

King  Henry. 
Uncle  of  Winchester,  I  pray,  read  on. 

Winchester. 
Item,  —  "  It  is  farther  agreed  between  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  Eng- 
land's own  proper  cost  and  charges,  without 
having  any  dowry." 

King  Henry. 
They  please  us  well.  — Lord  marquess,  kneel 
down: 
We  here  create  thee  the  first  duke  of  Suffolk, 
And  girt  thee  with  thesword. — Cousin  of  York, 
We  here  discharge  your  grace  from  being  regent 
1'  the  parts  of  France,  till  term  of  eighteen 

months 
Be  full  expir'd. — Thanks,  uncle  Winchester, 
Gloster,  York,  Buckingham,  Somerset, 
Salisbury,  and  Warwick; 
We  thank  you  all  for  this  great  favour  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,  Quern,  and  Suffolk. 
Glottor. 
Brave  peers  of  England,  pillars  of  the  state, 
To  you  duke  Humphrey  must  unload  his  grief, 
Vour  grief,  the  common  grief  of  all  the  land. 
What !  did  my  brother  Henry  spend  his  youth, 
His  valour,  coin,  and  people,  in  the  wars? 
Did  he  so  often  lodge  in  open  field, 
In  winter's  cold,  and  summer's  parching  heat, 
To  conquer  France,  his  true  inheritance? 
And  did  my  brother  Bedford  toil  his  wits, 
To  keep  by  policy  what  Henry  got? 
Have  you  yourselves,  Somerset,  Buckingham, 
Brave  York,  Salisbury,  and  victorious  Wai  wick, 
Hecciv'd  deep  scars  in  France  and  Normandy? 


Or  hath  mine  uncle  Beaufort,  and  myself, 
With  all  the  learned  council  of  the  realm, 
Studied  so  long,  sat  in  the  council-house 

I  Early  and  late,  debating  to  and  fro  [awe? 

|  How  France  and  Frenchmen  might  be  kept  in 
And  was  his  highness  in  his  infancy 
Crowned  in  Paris,  in  despite  of  foes? 
And  shall  these  labours,  and  these  honours,  die  ? 
Shall  Henry's  conquest,  Bedford's  vigilance, 

I  Your  deeds  of  war,  and  all  our  counsel,  die? 

;  O  peers  of  England!  shameful  is  this  league: 
Fatal  this  marriage ;  cancelling  your  fame, 

.  Blotting  your  names  from  books  of  memory, 
Hazing  the  characters  of  your  renown, 

!  Defacing  monuments  of  conquer'd  France, 

;  Undoing  all,  as  all  had  never  been. 

Cardinal. 

!     Nephew,  what  means  this  passionate  discourse? 
This  peroration  with  such  circumstance? 
;  For  France,  'tis  ours ;  and  we  will  keep  it  still. 

Glo«t<r. 

i     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, 

I  Hath  given  the  duchy  of  Anjou,  and  Maine, 
Unto  the  poor  king  Reignier,  whose  large  style 
Agrees  not  with  the  leanness  of  his  purse. 

Salisbury. 
Now,  by  the  death  of  Him  that  died  for  all, 
|  These  counties  were  the  keys  of  Normandy. — 
But  wherefore  weeps  Warwick,  my  valiant  son  ? 

Warwick. 

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  conquer : 
And  are  the  cities  that  I  got  with  wounds, 
Deliver'd  up  again  with  peaceful  words? 
Mort  Dieu  1 

York 

For  Suffolk's  duke,  may  he  be  suffocate, 
That  dims  the  honour  of  this  warlike  isle! 
France  should  have  torn  and  rent  my  very  heart, 
Before  I  would  have  yielded  to  this  league. 
I  never  read  but  England's  kings  have  had 
Large  sums  of  gold,  and  dowries,  with  their 

wives; 
And  our  king  Henry  gives  away  his  own, 
To  match  with  her  that  brings  no  vantages. 

Gloster. 
A  proper  jest,  and  never  heard  before, 
That  Suffolk  should  demand  a  whole  fifteenth, 
For  costs  and  charges  in  transporting  her  ! 
She  should  have  stay'd  in  France,  and  starv'd 
Before—  [in  France, 

Cardinal. 
My  lord  of  Gloster,  now  you  grow  too  hot. 
It  was  the  pleasure  of  my  lord  the  king. 

Closttr. 
My  lord  of  Winchester,  I  know  your  mind : 
'Tis  not  my  speeches  that  you  do  mislike, 
But  'tis  my  presence  that  doth  trouble  ye. 
Rancour  will  out :  proud  prelate,  in  thy  face 
1  see  thy  fury.     If  I  longer  stay, 
We  shall  begin  our  ancient  bickerings.— 
Ix>rdings,  farewell ;  and  say,  when  I  am  gone, 
I  prophesied,  France  will  be  lost  ere  long. 

[Kxlt. 
Cardinal. 
So,  there  goes  our  protector  in  a  rage. 
'Tis  known  to  you  he  is  mine  enemy; 
Nay,  more,  an  enemy  unto  you  all, 

And 


558 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Aud  no  great  friend,  I  fear  me,  to  the  king. 
Consider,  lords,  he  is  the  next  of  blood, 
And  heir  apparent  to  the  English  crown : 
Had  Henry  got  an  empire  by  his  marriage, 
And  all  the  wealthy  kingdoms  of  the  west, 
There's  reason  he  should  be  displeas'd  at  it. 
Look  to  it,  lords  :  let  not  his  smoothing  words 
Bewitch  your  hearts ;  be  wise,  and  circumspect. 
What  though  the  common  people  favour  him, 
Calling   him  "Humphrey   the   good  duke  of 

Gloster;  " 
Clapping  their  hands,  and   crying  with  loud 

voice — 
*•  Jesu  maintain  your  royal  excellence!" 
With  — "God  preserve  the  good  duke  Hum- 
phrey!" 
1  fear  me,  lords,  for  all  this  flattering  gloss, 
He  will  be  found  a  dangerous  protector. 
Buckingham. 
Why  should  he,  then,  protect  our  sovereign, 
He  being  of  age  to  govern  of  himself? — 
Cousin  of  Sotnerset,  join  you  with  me, 
And  all  together,  with  the  duke  of  Suffolk, 
We'll  quickly  hoise  duke  Humphrey  from  his 
seat. 

Cardinal. 
This  weighty  business  will  not  brook  delay ; 
I'll  to  the  duke  of  Suffolk  presently.  [Exit. 

Somerset. 
Cousin  of  Buckingham,  though  Humphrey's 
pride, 
And  greatness  of  his  place  be  grief  to  us, 
Yet  let  us  watch  the  haughty  cardinal. 
His  insolence  is  more  intolerable 
Than  all  the  princes  in  the  land  beside : 
If  Gloster  be  displac'd,  he'll  be  protector. 
Buckingham. 
Or  thou,  or  I,  Somerset,  will  be  protector, 
Despite  duke  Humphrey,  or  the  cardinal. 

[Exeunt  Buckingham  and  Sotnerset. 
Salisbury. 
Pride  went  before,  ambition  follows  him. 
While  these  do  labour  for  their  own  preferment, 
Behoves  it  us  to  labour  for  the  realm. 
1  never  saw  but  Humphrey,  duke  of  Gloster, 
Did  bear  him  like  a  noble  gentleman. 
Oft  have  1  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  common-weal 

Warwick,  my  son,  the  comfort  of  my  age, 

Thy  deeds,  thy  plainness,  and  thy  house- keeping, 

Have  won  the  greatest  favour  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  honour'd,  of  the 

people. — 
Join  we  together,  for  the  public  good, 
In  what  we  can  to  bridle  and  suppress 
The  pride  of  Suffolk,  and  the  cardinal, 
With  Somerset's  and  Buckingham's  ambition; 
And,  as  we  may,  cherish  duke  Humphrey's  deeds, 
While  they  do  tend  the  profit  of  the  land. 
Warwick. 
So  God  help  Warwick,  as  he  loves  the  land, 
And  common  profit  of  his  country. 
Yorn. 
And  so  says  York,  for  he  hath  greatest  cause. 

Salisbury. 
Then  let's  make  haste  away,  and  look  unto 
the  main. 


Warwick. 

Unto  the  main?  O  father!  Main?  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  1  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; 
Parts  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  pleas'd, 
To   change   two  dukedoms  for  a  duke's  fait 

daughter. 
I  cannot  blame  them  all :  what  is't  to  them  ? 
'Tis  thine  they  give  away,  and  not  their  own. 
Pirates  may  make  cheap  pennyworths  of  their 

pillage, 
And  purchase  friends,  and  give  to  courtezans, 
Still  revelling,  like  lords,  till  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  shar'd,  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. 
Methinks,  the  realms  of  England,  France,  and 

Ireland, 
Bear  that  proportion  to  my  flesh  and  blood, 
As  did  the  fatal  brand  Althea  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  1  will  take  the  Nevils'  parts, 
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  humours  fit  not  for  a  crown. 
Then,  York,  be  still  awhile,  till  time  do  serve: 
Watch  thou,  and  wake,  when  others  be  asleep, 
To  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  state, 
Till  Henry,  surfeiting  in  joys  of  love,      [queen, 
With  his  new  bride,  and  England's  dear-bought 
And  Humphrey  with  the  peers  be  fall'n  at  jars: 
Then  will  I  raise  aloft  the  milk-white  rose, 
With  whose  sweet  smell  the  air  shall  be  per- 

fum'd, 
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,  [down. 

Whose  bookish  rule  hath  pull'd  fair  England 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  In  the  Duke 
of  Gloster' a  House. 

Enter  Gloster  and  the  Duchess, 

Duchess. 

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  favours  of  the  world  ? 
Why  are  thine  eyes  fix'd  to  the  sullen  earth, 
Gazing  on  that  which  seems  to  dim  thy  sight  ? 

What 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


559 


What  seost  thou  there  ?  king  Henry' t  diadem, 
Knchas'd  with  all  the  honours  of  the  world  I 
If  so.  gate  on,  and  grovel  on  thy  face, 
Until  thy  head  be  circled  with  the  same. 

Put  forth  thy  hand  ;  roach  at  the  glorious  gold 

What,  is't  too  short?  I'll  lengthen  it  with  mine; 
And  having  both  together  heav'd  it  up, 
We'll  both  together  lift  our  heads  to  heaven, 
And  never  more  abase  our  sight  so  low, 
As  to  vouchsafe  one  glance  unto  the  ground. 

QkMtNT. 

0  Nell!  sweet  Nell,  if  thou  dost  love  thy  lord, 
Banish  the  canker  of  ambitious  thoughts  : 

And  may  that  thought,  when  I  imagine  ill 
Against  my  king  and  nephew,  virtuous  Henry, 
Be  my  last  breathing  in  this  mortal  world. 
My  troublous  dream  this  night  doth  make  me 
sad. 

Dachau 
What  dream'd  my  lord?  tell  me,  and   I'll 
requite  it 
With  sweet  rehearsal  of  my  morning's  dream. 

Gloster. 
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  [set. 

Were  plac'd  the  heads  of  Edmond  duke  of  Sower' 
And  William  de  la  Poole,  first  duke  of  Suffolk. 
This  was  my  dream:  what  it  doth  bode  God 

knows. 

Duchcii 
Tut !  this  was  nothing  but  an  argument, 
That  he  that  breaks  a  stick  of  Gloster's  grove, 
Shall  lose  his  head  for  his  presumption. 
But  list  to  me,  my  Humphrey,  my  sweet  duke : 
Methought,  I  sat  in  seat  of  majesty, 
In  the  cathedral  church  of  Westminster, 
And  in  that  chair,  where  kings  and  queens  were 

crown'd;  [me, 

Where  Henry,  and  dame  Margaret,  kneel'd  to 
And  on  my  head  did  set  the  diadem. 

Gloster. 
Nay,  Eleanor,  then  must  I  chide  outright. 
Presumptuous  dame!  ill-nurtur'd  Eleanor! 
Art  thou  not  second  woman  in  the  realm, 
And  the  protector's  wife,  belov'd  of  him  ? 
Hast  thou  not  worldly  pleasure  at  command, 
Above  the  reach  or  compass  of  thy  thought  ? 
And  wilt  thou  still  be  hammering  treachery, 
To  tumble  down  thy  husband,  and  thyself, 
From  top  of  honour  to  disgrace's  feet  ? 
Away  from  me,  and  let  me  hear  no  more. 

_  ,  Ditches*. 

W  hat,  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. 

Glottal*. 

Nay,  be  not  angry,  I  am  pleas'd  again. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

,,    ,  Messenger. 

My  lord  protector,  'tis  his  highness'  pleasure, 
You  do  prepare  to  ride  unto  S.  Alban's, 
Whereas  the  king  and  queen  do  mean  to  hawk. 

Gloster. 

1  go — Come,  Nell;  thou  wilt  ride  with  us? 

Yes,  my  good  lord,  Pll  follow  presently. 
_  _  [Exeunt  Gloster  and  Messenger. 

Follow  I  must ;  I  cannot  go  before, 
While  Gloster  bears  this  base  and  humble  mind. 


Were  I  a  man,  a  duke,  and  next  of  blood, 
!  I  would  remove  these  tedious  stumbling-blocks. 
And  smooth  my  way  upon  their  headless  necks: 
And,  being  a  woman,  I  will  not  be  slack 
To  play  my  part  in  fortune's  pageant.  [man. 
Where  are  you  there  ?  Sir  John !  nay,  fear  not, 
We  are  alone;  here's  none  but  thee,  and  I. 

Enter  Hume. 

Hume. 
Jesus  preserve  your  royal  majesty  ! 

Duchess. 
What  say'st  thou  ?  majesty !  I  am  but  grace. 

Hume. 

But,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  Hume'i  advice, 
Your  grace's  title  shall  be  multiplied. 

Duchess. 
What  say'st  thou  man  ?  hast  thou  as  yet  con- 
ferr'd 
With  Margery  Jourdain,  the  cunning  witch, 
And  Roger  Eolingbroke,  the  conjurer? 
And  will  they  undertake  to  do  me  good  ? 

Hume 
This  they  have  promised,— to  show  your  high- 
ness 
A  spirit  rais'd  from  depth  of  under  ground, 
That  shall  make  answer  to  such  questions, 
As  by  your  grace  shall  be  propounded  him. 

Din-he*!. 

It  is  enough,  I'll  think  upon  the  questions. 
When  from  Saint  Alban's  we  do  make  return, 
We'll  see  these  things  effected  to  the  full. 
Here,  Hume,  take  this  reward;  make  merry, 

man, 
With  thy  confederates  in  this  weighty  cause. 

[Exit  Duchess. 
Hume. 

Hume  must  make  merry  with  the  duchess' 
gold, 
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 
Yet  I  do  find  it  so  :  for,  to  be  plain,       [Suffolk} 
They,  knowing  dame  Eleanor's  aspiring  humour, 
Have  hired  me  to  undermine  the  duchess, 
And  buz  these  conjurations  in  her  brain. 
They  say,  a  crafty  knave  does  need  no  broker ; 
Yet  am  I  Suffolk,  and  the  cardinal's  broker. 
Hume,  if  you  take  not  heed,  you  shall  go  near 
To  call  them  both  a  pair  of  crafty  knaves. 
Well,  so  it  stands ;  and  thus,  I  fear,  at  last, 
Hume's  knavery  will  be  the  duchess'  wreck, 
And  her  attainture  will  be  Humphrey's  fall. 
Sort  how  it  will,  I  shall  have  gold  for  ail. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  III. 


The  same. 
Palace. 


A  Room  in  the 


Enter  Peter,  and  others,  with  Petition*. 

First  Petitioner. 
My  masters,  let's  stand  close :  my  lord  pro- 
tector will  come  this  way  by  and  by,  and  then 
we  may  deliver  our  supplications  in  the  quill. 

Second  Petitioner. 
Marry,  the  Lord  protect  him,  for  he's  a  good 
man  !  Jesu  bless  him  ! 

Enter 


560 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  1.  Sc  111. 


Enter  Suffolk  and  Queen  Margaret. 
First  Petitioner. 
Here  'a  comes,  methinks,  and  the  queen  with 
him.    I'll  be  the  first,  sure. 

Second  Petitioner. 

Come  back,  fool !  this  is  the  duke  of  Suffolk, 

and  not  my  lord  protector. 

Suffolk. 

How  now,  fellow !  would'st  any  thing  with  me  ? 

First  Petitioner. 
I  pray  my  lord,  pardon  me :  I  took  ye  for  my 
lord  protector. 

Queen  Margaret. 
"To  my  lord  protector  !*'  are  your  supplica- 
tions to  his  lordship  ?    Let  me  see  them.     What 
is  thine  ? 

First  Petitioner.  I 

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. 
Suffolk 
Thy  wife  too !   that  is  some  wrong  indeed. 
-What's  your's?— What's   here?    [Reads.} 
"  Against  the  duke  of  Suffolk,  for  enclosing  the 
commons  of  Metford."—  How  now,  sir  knave? 
Second  Petitioner. 
Alas !  sir,  I  am  but  a  poor  petitioner  of  our 
whole  township. 

Peter. 

i  Presenting  his  Petition. 
omas  Horner,  for  saying, 
thatfthe  duke  of  York  was  rightful  heir  to  the 
crown. 

Queen  Margaret. 
What  say'st  thou  ?    Did  the  duke  of  York  say, 
he  was  rightful  heir  to  the  crown  ? 
Peter. 
That  my  master  was?     No,  forsooth:   my 
master  said,  that  he  was  ;  and  that  the  king  was 
an  usurper. 

Suffolk. 
Who  is  there?  [Enter  Servants.']—  Take  this 
fellow  in,  and  send  for  his  master  with  a  pursui- 
vant   presently.  —  We'll   hear   more   of  your 
matter  before  the  king. 

[Exeunt  Servants  with  Peter. 
Queen  Margaret. 
And  as  for  you,  that  love  to  be  protected 
Under  the  wings  of  our  protector's  grace, 
Begin  your  suits  anew,  and  sue  to  him. 

[Tears  the  Petition. 
Away,  base  cullions  I— Suffolk,  let  them  go. 
All. 
Come  let's  be  gone.         [Exeunt  Petitioners. 

Queen  Margaret 
My  lord  of  Suffolk,  say,  is  this  the  guise, 
Is  this  the  fashion  in  the  court  of  England? 
Is  this  the  government  of  Britain's  isle, 
And  this  the  royalty  of  Albion's  king? 
What !  shall  king  Henry  be  a  pupil  still, 
Under  the  surly  Gloster's  governance? 
Am  I  a  queen  in  title  and  in  style, 
And  must  be  made  a  subject  to  a  duke? 
I  tell  thee,  Poole,  when  in  the  city  Tours 
Thou  ran'st  a  tilt  in  honour  of  my  love, 
And  stol'st  away  the  ladies'  hearts  of  France, 
I  thought  king  Henry  had  resembled  thee, 
In  courage,  courtship,  and  proportion  ; 
But  all  his  mind  is  bent  to  holiness. 
To  number  Ave-Maries  on  his  beads : 
His  champions  are  the  prophets  and  apostles  \ 
His  weapons,  holy  saws  of  sacred  writ; 
His  study  is  his  tilt-yard,  and  his  loves 
Are  brazen  images  of  canoniz'd  saints. 
I  would,  the  college  of  the  cardinals 


Would  choose  him  pope,  and  carry  him  to  Ro?ne% 
And  set  the  triple  crown  upon  his  head : 
That  were  a  state  fit  for  his  holiness. 

Suffolk. 
Madam,  be  patient :  as  I  was  cause 
Your  highness  came  to  England,  so  will  I 
In  England  work  your  grace's  full  content. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Beside  the  haughty  protector,  have  we  Beau- 
fort, [ingham, 
The  imperious  churchman ;    Somerset,  Buck- 
And  grumbling  York :  and  not  the  least  of  these, 
But  can  do  more  in  England  than  the  king. 

Suffolk. 
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  Margaret. 
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,  [wife. 

More  like  an  empress  than  duke  Humphrey's 
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  aveng'd  on  her  ? 
Contemptuous  base-born  callat  as  she  is, 
She  vaunted  'mongst  her  minions  t'other  day, 
The  very  train  of  her  worst  wearing  gown 
Was  better  worth  than  all  my  father's  lands, 
Till  Suffolk  gave  two  dukedoms  for  his  daughter. 

Suffolk. 
Madam,  myself  have  lini'd  a  bush  for  her  ; 
And  plac'd  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  complaint 
Will  make  but  little  for  his  benefit : 
So,  one  by  one,  we'll  weed  them  all  at  last, 
And  you  yourself  shall  steer  the  happy  helm. 

Enter  King  Henry,  York,  and  Somerset;  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Gloster,  Cardinal  Beaufort, 
Buckingham,  Salisbury,  and  Warwick. 

King  Henry.  ' 

For  my  part,  noble  lords,  I  care  not  winch  ; 
Or  So?nerstt,  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. 

Somerset. 
If  Sotnerset  be  unworthy  of  the  place, 
Let  York  be  regent ;  I  will  yield  to  him. 

Warwick. 
Whether  your  grace  be  worthy,  yea,  or  no, 
Dispute  not  that  York  is  the  worthier. 

Cardinal,     .   „  . 

Ambitious  Warwick,  let  thy  betters  speak. 

Warwick.      .      .     _  , , 
The  cardinal's  not  my  better  in  the  field. 

Buckingham.  . 

All  in  this  presence  are  thy  betters,  Warwick. 

Warwick.     !     ?     .   ,', 
Warwick  may  live  to  be  the  best  of  all. 

Salisbury. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


56r 


Salisbury. 
Peace,  son!  —  and  show  some  reason,  Buck- 
ingham, 
Why  Somerset  should  be  preferr'd  In  this. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Because  the  king,  forsooth,  will  have  it  so. 

Closter. 

Mail.im,  the  king  is  old  enough  himself 
To  give  his  censure.    These  are  no  women's 
matters. 

Queen  Margaret. 
If  he  be  old  enough,  what  needs  your  grace 
To  be  protector  of  his  excellence? 
Gloster. 
Madam,  I  am  protector  of  the  realm, 
And,  at  his  pleasure,  will  resign  my  place. 
Suffolk. 
Hesign  it,  then,  and  leave  thine  insolence. 
Since  thou  wert  king,  (as  who  is  king  but  thou?) 
The  commonwealth  hath  daily  run  to  wreck : 
The  Dauphin  hath  prevaiPd  beyond  the  seas, 
And  all  the  peers  and  nobles  of  the  realm 
Have  been  as  bondmen  to  thy  sovereignty. 

Cardinal. 
The  commons  hast  thou  rack'd ;  the  clergy's 
Are  lank  and  lean  with  thy  extortions.        [bags 

Somerset. 
Thy  sumptuous   buildings,    and    thy  wife's 
Have  cost  a  mass  of  public  treasury.         [attire, 

Buckingham. 

Thy  cruelty,  in  execution 
I'pon  offenders,  hath  exceeded  law, 
And  left  thee  to  the  mercy  of  the  law. 

yui-iiii  Margaret. 
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. 
[Kxlt  Gloster.    The  Queen  drops  Iter  Fan. 
Give  me  my  fan:  what,  minion  I  can  you  not? 
[Giving  the  Duchess  a  box  on  the  ear. 
1  cry  you  mercy,  madam :  was  it  you  ? 

Duchess, 
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  Henry. 
Sweet  aunt,  be  quiet:  'twas  against  her  will. 

Dm-hess. 
Against  her  will !     Good  king,  look  to't  in 
time; 
She'll  hamper  thee,  and  dandle  thee  like  a  baby : 
Though    in   this  place  most  master  wear  no 

breeches, 
She  shall  not  strike  dame  Eleanor  unreveng'd. 
[Exit  Duchess. 
Buckingham. 
Lord  Cardinal,  I  will  follow  Eleanor, 
And  listen  after  Humphrey,  how  he  proceeds: 
She's  tickled  now ;  her  fume  can  need  no  spurs, 
She'll  gallop  far  enough  to  her  destruction. 

[Exit  Buckingham. 

11  center  G totter. 
Gloster. 
Now,  lords,  my  choler  being  over- blown 
With  walking  once  about  the  quadrangle, 
I  I  come  to  talk  of  commonwealth  affairs. 
I   As  for  your  spiteful  false  objections, 
Prove  them,  and  I  lie  open  to  the  law ; 
Hut  God  in  mercy  so  deal  with  my  soul, 
As  I  in  duty  love  my  king  and  country. 
I  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. 

Suffolk. 

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  unmeet. 
First,  for  I  cannot  flatter  thee  in  pride: 
Next,  if  I  be  appointed  for  the  place, 
My  lord  of  Somerset  will  keep  me  here, 
W  ithout  discharge,  money,  or  furniture, 
Till  France  be  won  into  the  Dauphin's  handa. 
Last  time  I  dane'd  attendance  on  his  will, 
Till  Paris  was  besieg'd,  famish'd,  and  lost. 
Warwick. 

That  can  I  witness;  and  a  fouler  fact 
Did  never  traitor  in  the  land  commit. 

Suffolk. 
Peace,  headstrong  Warwick! 

Warwick. 
Image  of  pride,  why  should  I  hold  my  peace? 

Hnter  Servants  of  Suffolk,  bringing  In  Horner 

and  Piter. 

Suffolk. 

Because  here  is  a  man  accus'd  of  treason : 

Pray  God,  the  duke  of  York  excuse  himself! 

York. 

Doth  any  one  accuse  York  for  a  traitor  ? 

Kiug  Henry. 
What  mean'stthou,  Suffblk?  tell  me  what  are 
these? 

Suffolk. 
Please  it  your  majesty,  this  is  the  man 
That  doth  accuse  his  master  of  high  treason. 
His  words  were  these: — that  Richard,  duke  of 

York, 
Was  rightful  heir  unto  the  English  crown, 
And  that  your  majesty  was  an  usurper. 
King  Henry. 
Say,  man,  were  these  thy  words  ? 

Horner. 
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. 
Peter. 
By  these  ten  bones,  my  lords,  [holding  up  hi* 
hands.]  he  did  speak  them  to  me  in  the  garret 
one  night,  as  we  were  scouring  my  lord  of  York't 
armour. 

York 
Base  dunghill  villain,  and  mechanical, 

I'll  have  thy  head  for  this  thy  traitor's  speech 

I  do  beseech  your  royal  majesty, 
Let  him  have  all  the  rigour  of  the  law. 
Horner. 
Alas  !  my  lord,  hang  me,  if  ever  I  spake  the 
words.     My  accuser  is  my  prentice ;  and  when 
1  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  Henry 
Uncle,  what  shall  we  say  to  this  in  law  ? 

Glo»t.r. 
This  doom,  my  lord,  if  I  may  judge. 
Let  Somerset  be  regent  o'er  the  French, 
Because  in  York  this  breeds  suspicion ; 
And  let  these  have  a  day  appointed  them 
For  single  combat  in  convenient  place. 

o  o  For 


562 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  1.  Sc.  111. 


For  he  hath  witness  of  his  servant's  malice. 
This  is  the  law,  and  this  duke  Humphrey's  doom. 

Somerset. 
I  humbly  thank  your  royal  majesty. 

Horner. 
And  I  accept  the  combat  willingly. 

Peter. 
Alas  !  my  lord,  I  cannot  fight :  for  God's  sake, 
pity  my  case!  the  spite  of  man  prevaileth  against 
me.  O,  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me  !  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  fight  a  blow.  O  Lord,  my 
heart ! 

Gloster. 
Sirrah,  or  you  must  fight  or  else  be  hang'd. 

King  Henry. 
Away  with  them  to  prison  ;  and  the  day 
Of  combat  shall  be  the  last  of  the  next  month. — 
Come,  Somerset,  we'll  see  thee  sent  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    The  Duke  of 
Gloster's  Garden. 

Enter  Margery  Jourdain,  Hume,  Southwell, 
and  Bolingbroke. 

Hume. 
Come,  mv  masters :  the  duchess,  1  tell  you, 
expects  performance  of  your  promises. 

Bolingbroke. 

Master  Hume,  we  are  therefore  provided. 
Will  her  ladyship  behold  and  hear  our  exor- 
cisms ? 

Hume. 

Ay ;  what  else  ?  fear  you  not  her  courage. 
Bolingbroke. 

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.]  Mo- 
ther Jourdain,  be  you  prostrate,  and  grovel  on 
the  earth  :  —  John  Southwell,  read  you,  and  let 
us  to  our  work. 

Enter  Duchess  above. 

Duchess. 
Well  said,  my  masters,  and  welcome  all.    To 
this  geer  ;  the  sooner  the  better. 

Bolingbroke. 
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,  [graves, 

And  spirits  walk,  and  ghosts  break  up  their 
That  time  best  fits  the  work  we  have  in  hand. 
Madam,  sit  you,  and  fear  not :  whom  we  raise, 
We  will  make  fast  within  a  hallow'd  verge. 
[Here  they  perform  the  Ceremonies  belong- 
ing, and  make  the  Circle ;  Bolingbroke, 
or  Southwell,  reads,   Conjuro  te,  #c.     It 
thunders  and  lightens  terribly ;  then  the 
Spirit  riseth. 

Spirit. 
Adsum. 

Margery  Jourdain. 
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. 


Spirit. 
Ask  what  thou  wilt:— That  I  had  said  and 
done ! 

Bolingbroke. 
First,  of  the  king:  what  shall  of  him  be- 
come? 

Spirit. 
The  duke  yet  lives,  that  Henry  shall  depose ; 
But  him  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  death. 

[As  the  Spirit  speaks,  Southwell  writes  the 
answer. 

Bolingbroke. 
What  fates  await  the  duke  of  Suffolk  ? 

Spirit. 
By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  his  end. 

Bolingbroke. 
What  shall  befall  the  duke  of  Somerset  f 

Spirit. 
Let  him  shun  castles 
Safer  shall  he  be  upon  the  sandy  plains 
Than  where  castles  mounted  stand. 
Have  done,  for  more  I  hardly  can  endure. 
Bolingbroke. 
Descend  to  darkness,  and  the  burning  lake : 
False  fiend,  avoid  I 

[Thunder  and  lightning.    Spirit  descends. 

Enter  York  and  Buckingham,  hastily,  with 

their  Guards. 

York. 

Lay  hands  upon  these  traitors,  and  their  trash. 

Beldame,  1  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. 
Duchess. 
Not  half  so  bad  as  thine  to  England's  king, 
Injurious  duke,  that  threat'st  where  is  no  cause. 
Buckingham. 
True,  madam,  none  at  all.    What  call  you 
this.  [Showing  her  the  Papers. 

Away  with  them  !  let  them  be  clapp'd  up  close, 

And  kept  asunder You,  madam,  shall  with  us : 

Stafford,  take  her  to  thee.— 

[Exit  Duchess  from  above. 
We'll  see  your  trinkets  here  all  forth-coming  ; 

All Away  I 

[Exeunt  Guards,  with  Southwell,  Boling- 
broke, S(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  ?  [Read* 

"  The  duke  yet  lives,  that  Henry  shall  depose  ; 
But  him  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  death.'* 
Why,  this  is  just 

Aio  te,  Macida,  Romanos  vincere  posse. 
Well,  to  the  rest :  [folk  ?  — 

"  Tell  me,  what  fate  awaits  the  duke  of  Suf- 
By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  his  end." — 
"  What  shall  betide  the  duke  of  Somerset?  — 
Let  him  shun  castles ; 
Safer  shall  he  be  upon  the  sandy  plains, 
Than  where  castles  mounted  stand." 
Come,  come,  my  lords ; 
These  oracles  are  hardly  attain'd, 
And  hardly  understood.  [Albans; 

The  king  is  now  in  progress   towards  Saint 
With  him  the  husband  of  this  lovely  lady  s 

Thither 


Act  h.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


5*3 


Thither  go  these  news,  as  fast  a*  horse  can 

carry  them ; 
A  sorry  hmlftilt  for  my  lord  protector, 
igham. 
Your  grace  shall  give  me  leave,  my  lord  of 
To  be  the  post  in  hope  of  his  reward.        [  York, 
York. 
At  your  pleasure,   my  good   lord.  —  Who's 
within  there,  ho  ! 

T. nter  .i  Servant. 
Invite  my  lords  of  Salt'slntty,  and  Warwick, 
To  sup  with  me  to-morrow  night.— Away  I 

v  [Exeunt. 

•&•  •$■  ■$■  •*$H$>"0"0-0"$"^ 

ACT  IL 

SCENE  I.    Saint  Albans. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Queen  Margaret,  Glos- 
ttr.  Cardinal,  and  Sttfblkt  with  Falconers 
hollaing. 

Queen  Margaret. 

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, 
And,  ten  to  one,  old  Joan  had  not  gone  out. 
King  Henry. 
But  what  a  point,  my  lord,  your  falcon  made, 
And  what  a  pitch  she  flew  above  the  rest. 
To  see  ho*  God  in  all  his  creatures  works ! 
Yea,  man  and  birds,  are  fain  of  climbing  high. 
Suffolk. 
No  marvel,  an  it  like  your  majesty, 
My  lord  protector's  hawks  do  tower  so  well: 
They  know  their  master  loves  to  be  aloft, 
And  bears  his  thoughts  above  his  falcon's  pitch. 
Gloster. 
My  lord,  'tis  but  a  base  ignoble  mind, 
That  mounts  no  higher  than  a  bird  can  soar. 
Cardinal. 
I  thought  as  much :  he'd  be  above  the  clouds. 

Gloster. 

Ay,  my  lord  cardinal ;  how  think  you  by  that? 

Were  it  not  good  your  grace  could  fly  to  heaven  ? 

King  Henry. 

The  treasury  of  everlasting  joy  1 

Cardinal. 
Thy  heaven  is  on  earth,  thine  eyes  and  thoughts 
Beat  on  a  crown,  the  treasure  of  thy  heart: 
Pernicious  protector,  dangerous  peer, 
That  smooth's  t  it  so  with  king  and  commonweal  I 
Gloster. 
What,  cardinal,  is  your   priesthood    grown 
Tantccne  animis  ccelestibus  ira;  t    [peremptory  ? 
Churchmen  so  hot?  good  uncle,  hide  such  ma- 
With  such  holiness  can  you  do  it  ?  [lice ; 

Suffolk. 
No  malice,  sir ;  no  more  than  well  becomes 
So  good  a  quarrel,  and  so  bad  a  peer. 
Gloster. 
As  who,  my  lord? 

Suffolk. 

Why,  as  you,  my  lord ; 
An't  like  your  lordly  lord-protectorship. 
Gloster. 
Why,  Suffolk,  England  knows  thine  insolence. 

Quei-n  Margaret. 
And  thy  ambition,  Glosler. 


King  Henry. 


pr'ythee,  peace, 
the 


Good  queen;  and  whet  not  on  these  furious 

peers, 
For  blessed  are  the  peacemakers  on  earth. 

Cardinal. 
Let  me  be  blessed  for  the  peace  I  make 
Against  this  proud  protector  with  my  sword. 

Gloster. 
'Faith,  holy  uncle,  would  'twere  come  to  that  1 
[Aside  to  the  Cardinal. 


Cardinal. 
Marry,  when  thou  dar'st. 


[Aside. 


Gloster. 

Make  up  no  factious  numbers  for  the  matter  ; 

In  thine  own  person  answer  thy  abuse.    [Aside. 

Cardinal. 
Ay,  where  thou  dar'st  not  peep :  an  if  thou 
dar'st. 
This  evening  on  the  east  side  of  the  grove. 

[Aside. 
King  Henry. 
How  now,  my  lords ! 

Cardinal. 

Believe  me,  cousin  Gloster. 
Had  not  your  man  put  up  the  fowl  so  suddenly. 
We  had  had  more  sport.— Come  with  thy  two- 
hand  sword.  [Aside  to  Gloster. 

Gloster. 
True,  uncle. 

Cardinal. 
Are  you  advis'd?— the  east  side  of  the  grove. 

Gloster. 
Cardinal,  I  am  with  you.  [Aside. 

King  Henry. 
Why,  how  now,  uncle  Gloster ! 

Gloster. 


Talking  of  hawking;  nothing  else,  my  lord— 
ow,  by  God's  Mother,  priest,  I'll  shave  your 

[Aside. 


Now 

crown 
For  this,  or  all  my  fence  shall  fail. 

Cardinal. 
Medice  teipsum : 
1  Protector,  see  to't  well,  protect  yourself. 

[Aside. 
King  Henry. 
'     The  winds  grow  high ;  so  do  your  stomachs, 

lords, 
i  How  irksome  is  this  music  to  my  heart  I 
i  When  such  strings  jar,  what  hope  of  harmony? 
I  pray,  my  lords,  let  me  compound  this  strife. 

Enter  one,  crying, "  A  Miracle  1" 
Gloster. 
What  means  this  noise? 
Fellow,  what  miracle  dost  thou  proclaim  ? 

One. 
A  miracle !  a  miracle  1 

Suffolk. 
Come  to  the  king,  and  tell  him  what  miracle. 

One. 
Forsooth,  a  blind  man  at  Saint  Alban's  shrine, 
Within  this  half  hour  hath  receiv'd  his  sight ; 
A  man  that  ne'er  saw  in  his  life  before. 
King  Henry. 
Now,  God  be  prais'd,  that  to  believing  souls 
Gives  light  in  darkness,  comfort  in  despair. 

Enter 


564 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Enter  the  Mayor  of  Saint   Albans,    and   his  j 
Brethren;  and  Simpcox,  borne  between  two  | 
persons  in  a  ('hair ;  his  Wife  and  a  great  Mul- 
titude following. 

Cardinal. 
Here  come  the  townsmen  on  procession, 
To  present  your  highness  with  the  man. 
King  Henry. 
Great  is  his  comfort  in  this  earthly  vale, 
Although  by  his  sight  his  sin  be  multiplied. 
Gloster. 
Stand  by,  my  masters ;   bring  him  near  the 
king: 
His  highness'  pleasure  is  to  talk,  with  him. 
King  Henry. 
Good  fellow,  tell  us  here  the  circumstance, 
That  we  for  thee  may  glorify  the  Lord. 
What!    hast  thou  been  long  blind,  and  now 
restor'd  ? 

Simpcox. 
Born  blind,  an't  please  your  grace. 

Wife. 
Ay,  indeed,  was  he. 

Suffolk. 
What  woman  is  this  ? 

Wife. 
His  wife,  an't  like  your  worship. 

Gloster. 
Hadst  thou  been  his  mother,  thou  could'st 
have  better  told. 

King  Henry. 
Where  wert  thou  born  ? 

Simpcox. 
At  Berwick  in  the  north,  an't  like  your  grace. 

King  Henry. 
Poor  soul  I    God's  goodness  hath  been  great 
to  thee:  s 

Let  never  day  nor  night  unhallow'd  pass, 
But  still  remember  what  the  Lord  hath  done. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Tell  me,  good  fellow,  cam'st  thou  here  by; 
Or  of  devotion,  to  this  holy  shrine  ?       [chance, 
Simpcox 
God  knows,  of  pure  devotion;  being  call'd 
A  hundred  times,  and  oft'ner,  in  my  sleep, 
By  good  Saint  Alban;    who  said,— "Simpcox, 

come; 
Come,  offer  at  my  shrine,  and  I  will  help  thee." 
Wife. 
Most  true,  forsooth ;  and  many  time  and  oft 
Myself  have  heard  a  voice  to  call  him  so. 
Cardinal. 
What !  art  thou  lame  ? 

Simpcox. 

Ay,  God  Almighty  help  mel 
Suffolk. 
How  cam'st  thou  so? 

Simpcox. 

A  fall  off  of  a  tree. 
Wife. 
A  plum-tree,  master. 

Gloster. 
How  long  hast  thou  been  blind? 
Simpcox. 
O  !  born  so,  master. 

Gloster. 
What!  and  would'st  climb  a  tree? 
Simpcox. 
But  that  in  all  my  life,  when  I  was  a  youth. 


Wife. 
Too  true;  and  bought  his  climbing  very  dear. 

Gloster. 
•Mass,  thou  lov'dst  plums  well,  that  would'st 
venture  so. 

Simpcox. 
Alas,  good  master,  my  wife  desir'd  some  dam- 
sons, 
And  made  me  climb  with  danger  of  my  life. 
Gloster. 
A  subtle  knave ;  but  yet  it  shall  not  serve. — 
Let  me  see  thine  eyes : — wink  now ;— now  open 

them 

In  my  opinion  yet  thou  seest  not  well. 
Simpcox. 
Yes,  master,  clear  as  day ;  I  thank  God,  and 
Saint  Alban. 

Gloster. 
Say'st  thou  me  so  ?    What  colour  is  this  cloak 
of? 

Simpcox. 
Red,  master  ;  red  as  blood. 

Gloster. 
Why,  that's  well  said.    What  colour  is  my 
gown  of  ? 

Simpcox. 
Black,  forsooth  ;  coal-black  as  jet. 

King  Henry. 
Why  then,  thou  know'st  what  colour  jet  is  of? 

Suffolk. 
And  yet,  I  think,  jet  did  he  never  see. 

Gloster. 
But  cloaks,  and  gowns,  before  this  day  a  many. 

Wife. 
Never,  before  this  day,  in  all  his  life. 

Gloster. 
Tell  me,  sirrah,  what's  my  name  ? 

Simpcox. 
Alas  !  master,  I  know  not. 
Gloster. 
What's  his  name  ? 

SimpcoX. 
I  know  not. 

Gloster. 
Nor  his  ? 

•  Simpcox. 
No,  indeed,  master. 

Gloster. 
What's  thine  own  name  ? 
Simpcox. 
Saunder  Simpcox,  an  if  it  please  you,  master. 

Gloster. 

Then,  Saunder,  sit  there,  the  lyingest  knave 

In  Christendom.    If  thou  hadst  been  born  blind, 

Thou  might'st  as  well  have  known  all  our  names, 

as  thus 
To  name  the  several  colours  we  do  wear. 
Sight  may  distinguish  of  colours  ;  but  suddenly 
To  nominate  them  all,  it  is  impossible — 
My  lords,  Saint  Alban  here  hath  done  a  miracle ; 
And  would  ye  not  think  that  cunning  to  be  great, 
That  could  restore  this  cripple  to  his  legs  again  ? 
Simpcox. 
O,  master,  that  you  could  1 

Gloster. 
My  masters  of  Saint  Albans,  have  you  not 
beadles  in  your  town,  and  things  called  whips  ? 
Mayor. 
Yes,  my  lord,  if  it  please  your  grace. 

Gloster. 


Act  ji.  Sc.  11. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


56S 


(Hotter. 

Then  send  for  one  presently. 

Marcr. 

Sirrah,  go  fetch  the  beadlo  hither  straight. 

[Kxit  an  Attendant, 

Glotter. 

Now  fetch  me  a  *tool  hither  by  and  by.     [A 

Stool  brought  out.]   Now,  sirrah,  if  you  mean 

to  save  yourself  from  whipping,  leap  me  over 

this  stool,  and  run  away. 

Simpfox. 
Alas !  master,  I  am  not  able  to  stand  alone : 
You  go  about  to  torture  me  in  vain. 

He-enter  Attendant,  and  a  Beadle  with  a  whip. 

Gloster. 
Well,  sir,  we  must  have  you  find  your  legs. 
Sirrah  beadle,  whip  him  till  he  leap  over  that 
same  stool. 

Beadle, 
will,  my  lord — Come  on,  sirrah  ;  off  with 
your  doublet  quickly. 

Simncox. 
Alas  1  master,  what  shall  I  do  ?  F  am  not  able 
to  stand. 

[After  the  Beadle  hath  hit  him  once,  he 

leaps  over  the  Stool,  and  runs  away ;  and 

the  People  follow  and  cry,  M  A  Miracle  1" 

King  Henry. 

O  God !  seest  thou  this,  and  bearest  so  long  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
It  made  me  laugh  to  see  the  villain  run. 

Gloster. 
Follow  the  knave ;  and  take  this  drab  away. 

Wife. 
Alas !  sir,  we  did  it  for  pure  need. 

Gloster. 

Let  them  be  whipp'd  through  every  market 

town, 

Till  they  come  to  Berwick,  from  whence  they 

came.     [Kxeunt  Mayor,  Beadle,  W\fe,  &c. 

Cardinal. 

Duke  Humphrey  has  done  a  miracle  to-day. 

Suffolk. 
True ;  made  the  lame  to  leap,  and  fly  away. 

Gloster. 
But  you  have  done  more  miracles  than  I ; 
You  made  in  a  day,  my  lord,  whole  towns  to  fly. 

Enter  Buckingham. 
King  Henry. 

What  tidings  with  our  cousin  Buckingham T 
Buckingham. 

Such  as  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, 
Have  practis'd  dangerously  against  your  state, 
Dealing  with  witches,  and  with  conjurers : 
Whom  we  have  apprehended  in  the  fact ; 
Raising  up  wicked  spirits  from  under  ground, 
Demanding  of  king  Henry's  life  and  death, 
And  other  of  your  highness'  privy  council, 
As  more  at  large  your  grace  shall  understand. 

Cardinal. 

And  so,  my  lord  protector,  by  this  means 

Your  lady  is  forthcoming  yet  at  London,  [edge ; 

This  news,  I  think,  hath  turn'd  your  weapon's 

'Tis  like,  my  lord,  you  will  not  keep  your  hour. 

Gloster. 
Ambitious  churchman,  leave  to  afflict  my  heart. 


Sorrow  and  grief  have  vanquish *d  all  my  powers ; 
And,  vanquish'd  as  I  am,  1  yield  to  thee, 
Or  to  the  meanest  groom. 

Kinj;  Henry. 
O  God !  what  mischiefs  work  the  wicked  ones ; 
Heaping  confusion  on  their  own  heads  thereby. 

Quern  Margaret. 
Gloster,  see  here  the  tainture  of  thy  nest ; 
And  look  thyself  be  faultless,  thou  wert  best. 

r.loster. 
Madam,  for  myself,  to  heaven  I  do  appeal, 
How  1  have  lov'd  my  king,  and  commonweal ; 
And,  for  my  wife,  1  know  not  how  it  stands. 
Sorry  I  am  to  hear  what  I  have  heard  ; 
Noble  she  is,  but  if  she  have  forgot 
Honour,  and  virtue,  and  convers'd  with  such 
As  like  to  pitch  defile  nobility, 
1  banish  her,  my  bed,  and  company, 
And  give  her,  as  a  prey,  to  law,  and  shame, 
That  hath  dishonour'd  Gloster's  honest  name. 

King  Henry. 
Well,  for  this  night,  we  win  repose  us  here: 
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. 

Salisbury. 
My  lord,  I  long  to  hear  It  at  full. 

Warwick. 
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; 
The  second,  William  of  Hatfield;  and  the  third, 
Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence;  next  to  whom, 
Was  John  of  Gaunt,  the  duke  of  Lancaster  ; 
The  fifth  was  Edmund  Langley,  duke  of  York  ; 
The  sixth  was  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  duke  of 

Gloster  ; 
William  of  Windsor  was  the  seventh,  and  last. 
Edward,  the  Black  Prince,  died  before  his  father, 
And  left  behind  him  Richard,  his  only  son  ; 
Who,  after  Edward  the  third's  death,  reign'd  as 

king, 
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 ;  depos'dthe  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. 

Warwick. 

Father,  the  duke  hath  told  the  truth  : 
Tims  got  the  house  of  Lancaster  the  crown.- 

York. 


StG 


SECOND  PAET  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  ii. 


York. 
Which  now  they  hold  by  force,  and  not  by 
right ; 
For  Richard,  the  first  son's  heir  being  dead, 
The  issue  of  the  next  son  should  have  reign'd. 
Salisbury. 
But  William  of  Hatfield  died  without  an  heir. 

York. 
The  third  son,  duke  of  Clarence,  from  whose 
line  [daughter, 

I    claim  the   crown,   had   issue — Philippe,   a 
Who  married  Edmund  Mortimer,  earl  of  March  ; 
Edmund  had  issue— Roger,  earl  of  March  ; 
Roger  had  issue —  Edmund,  Anne,  and  Eleanor. 
Salisbury, 
This  Edmund,  in  the  reign  of  Bolingbroke, 
As  I  have  read,  laid  claim  unto  the  crown  ; 
And  but  for  Owen  Glendouier  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 
To  Edmund  Langley,  Edward  the  third's  fifth 

son, 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 
Succeed  before  the  younger,  I  am  king. 
Warwick. 
What  plain  proceeding  is  more  plain  than 
this  ?  [Gaunt, 

Henry  doth  claim  the  crown   from   John  of 
The  fourth  son  ;  York  claims  it  from  the  third. 
Till  Lionefs  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, 
That  shall  salute  our  rightful  sovereign 
With  honour  of  his  birthright  to  the  crown 
Both. 
Long  live  our  sovereign  Richard,  England's 
king! 

\ork. 
We  thank  you,  lords !    But  I  am  not  your 
king, 
Till  I  be  crown'd,  and  that  my  sword  be  stain'd 
With  heart-blood  of  the  house  of  Lancaster  ; 
And  that's  not  suddenly  to  be  perform'd, 
But  with  advice,  and  silent  secrecy. 
Do  you,  as  I  do,  in  these  dangerous  days, 
Wink  at  the  duke  of  Suffolk's  insolence, 
At  Beaufort's  pride,  at  Somerset's  ambition, 
At  Buckingham,  and  all  the  crew  of  them, 
Till  they  have  snar'd  the  shepherd  of  the  flock, 
That  virtuous  prince,  the  good  duke  Humphrey. 
'Tis  that  they  seek ;  and  they,  in  seeking  that, 
Shall  find  their  deaths,  if  York  can  prophesy. 
Salisbury 


SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Hall  of  Justice. 

Trumpets  sounded.  Enter  King  Henry,  Queen 
Margaret,  Gloster,  York,  Suffolk,  and  Salis- 
bury ;  the  Duchess  of  Gloster,  Margery 
Jourdain,  Southwell,  Hume,  and  Bolingbroke, 
under  guard. 

King  Henry. 
Stand  forth,  dame  Eleanor  Cobham,  Gloster'* 
wife. 
In  sight  of  God,  and  us,  your  guilt  is  great : 
Receive  the  sentence  of  the  law,  for  sins 

Such  as  by  God's  book  are  adjudg'd  to  death 

You  four,  from  hence  to  prison  back  again  ; 

[To  Jourdain,  &c. 
From  thence,  unto  the  place  of  execution : 
The  witch  in  Smithfield   shall   be   burn'd   to 

ashes,  [lows 

And  you  three  shall  be  strangled  on  the  gal- 
You,  madam,  for  you  are  more  nobly  born, 
Despoiled  of  your  honour  in  your  life, 
Shall,  after  three  days'  open  penance  done, 
Live  in  your  country  here,  in  banishment, 
With  sir  John  Stanley  in  the  Isle  of  Man. 
Duchess. 
Welcome  is  banishment ;  welcome  were  my 
death. 

Gloster. 
Eleanor,  the  law,  thou  seest,  hath  judged 
thee: 
I  cannot  justify  whom  the  law  condemns—  _ 
[Exeunt  the  Duchess,  and  the  other  Pri- 
soners, guarded. 
Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  grief. 
Ah,  Humphrey !  this  dishonour  in  thine  age 
Will    bring   thy    head   with    sorrow    to    the 
ground.  — 
i  I  beseech  your  majesty,  give  me  leave  to  go ; 
!  Sorrow  would  solace,  and  mine  age  would  ease. 
King  Henry. 
Stay,  Humphrey  duke  of  Gloster.    Ere  thou 
;  Give  up  thy  staff:  Henry  will  to  himself      [go, 
j  Protector  be  ;  and  God  shall  be  my  hope, 
,-  My  stay,  my  guide,  and  lantern  to  my  feet. 
And  go  in  peace,  Humphrey  ;  no  less  belov'd, 
Than  when  thou  wert  protector  to  thy  king. 
Queen  Margaret. 
I  see  no  reason  why  a  king  of  years 
Should  be  to  be  protected  like  a  child.  — 
God  and  king  Henry  govern  England's  realm. 
Give  up  you  staff,  sir,  and  the  king  his  realm. 
Gloster. 
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  honourable  peace  attend  thy  throne. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Why,    now  is    Henry  king,  and  Margaret 
queen 


My  lord,  break  we  off:  w'e  know  your  mind  at  !  And  Humphrey,  duke  of  Gloster,  scarce  himself 
J  f.,11  '  That  bears  so  shrew 'd  a  maim :  two  pulls  at 


full 

Warwick. 
My  heart  assures  me,  that  the  earl  of  War- 
wick 
Shall  one  day  make  the  duke  of  York  a  king. 
York. 
And,  Nevil,  this  I  do  assure  myself, 
Richard  shall  live  to  make  the  earl  of  Warwick 
The  greatest  man  in  England,  but  the  king.  sprays  ;  # 

[lixeunt.  !  Thus  Eleanor's  pride  dies  in  her  youngest  days. 

York. 


His  lady  banish'd,  and  a  limb  lopp'd  off; 
This  staff  of  honour   raught :  — there   let   it 

stand, 
Where  it  best  fits  to  be,  in  Henry's  hand. 

Suffolk. 
Thus  droops  this  lofty  pine,  and  hangs  his 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  IIENRY  VL 


567 


York. 
Lords,  lot  him  go.  —  Please  It  your  majesty, 
This  is  the  day  appointed  for  the  combat ; 
And  rr.'dy  are'the  appellant  and  defendant. 
The  armourer  and  his  man,  to  enter  the  lists, 
So  please  your  highness  to  behold  the  fight. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  good  my  lord  ;  for  purposely,  therefore, 
Left  I  the  court  to  see  this  quarrel  tried. 
King  Henry. 
O'  God's  name,  see  the  lists  and  all  things  fit: 
Here  let  them  end  it,  and  God  defend  the  right ! 
York. 
I  never  saw  a  fellow  worse  bestead. 
Or  more  afraid  to  tight,  than  is  the  appellant, 
The  servant  of  this  armourer,  my  lords. 

Enter,  on  one  side,  Horner,  and  his  Neighbours, 
drinking  to  him  so  much  that  he  is  drunk ; 
and  he  enters  bearing  his  staff  with  a  sand- bag 
fastened  to  it ;  a  drum  before  him :  at  the 
other  side,  Peter,  with  a  drum  and  a  similar 
suff;  accompanied  by  Prentices  drinking  to 
him. 

First  Neighbour. 
Here,  neighbour  Horner,  I  drink  to  you  in  a 
cup  of  sack.    And  fear  not,  neighbour,  you  shall 
do  well  enough. 

Second  Neighbour. 
And  here,  neighbour,  here's  a  cup  of  char- 
neco. 

Third  Neighbour. 
And  here's  a  pot  of  good  double  beer,  neigh- 
bours :  drink,  and  fear  not  your  man. 
Horner. 
Let  It  come,  i'  faith,  and  I'll  pledge  you  all ; 
and  a  fig  for  Peter! 

First  Prentice. 
Here,  Peter,  I  drink  to  thee,  and  be  not  afraid. 

Second  Prentice. 
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,  Witt,  thou  shall 
have  my  hammer :— and  here,  Tom,  take  all  the 
money  that  I  have — O  Lord,  bless  me  !     I  pray 
God,  for  1  am  never  able  to  deal  with  my  master, 
he  hath  learnt  so  much  fence  already. 
Salisbury. 
Come,  leave  your  drinking,  and  fall  to  blows  — 
Sirrah,  what's  thy  name  ? 
Peter. 
Peter,  forsooth. 

Salisbury 
Peter!  what  more? 

Peter. 
Thump. 

Salisbury. 
Thump!    then  see  thou  thump  thy  master 
well. 

Horner. 
Masters,  I  am  come  hither,  as  it  were,  upon 
my  man's  instigation,  to  prove  him  a  knave,  and 
myself  an  honest  man :  and  touching  the  duke 
of  York,  1  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. 


York. 
Despatch:    this   knave's   tongue   begins   to 
double. 

&u¥<ftTr^^gft.^ 

down  his  Master. 

Horner. 
Hold,  Peter,  hold  1 1  confess,  I  confess  tn 

York. 

Take  away  his  weapon.— Fellow,  thank  God, 
and  the  good  wine  In  thy  master's  way. 
Peter. 
O  God  1  have  I  overcome  mine  enemies  In  this 
presence?     O   Peter!   thou  hast  prevailed  in 

King  Henry. 
Go,  take  hence  that  traitor  from  our  sight ; 
1  or,  by  his  death,  we  do  perceive  his  guilt : 
And  God  in  justice  hath  reveal'd  to  us 
The  truth  and  innocence  of  this  poor  fellow. 
Which  he  had  thought  to  have  murder'd  wrong- 
fully- 
Come,  fellow ;  follow  us  for  thy  reward. 

LKxeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    A  Street. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Servants,  in  mourning  Cloaks. 
Gloster. 
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  ? 

Servant. 

Ten,  my  lord. 
Gloster. 
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-teeling  feet. 
Sweet  Neil,  ill  can  thy  noble  mind  abrook 
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  I  think,  she  comes ;  and  I'll  prepare 
My  tear-stain'd  eyes  to  see  her  miseries. 
Knter  the  Duchess  of  Gloster,  in  a  white  sheet, 
with  verses  written  upon  her  back,  her  feet 
bare,  and  a  taper  burning  in  her  hand;   Sir 
John  Stanley,  a  Sheriff",  and  Officers. 

Servant. 
So  please  your  grace,  we'll  take  her  from  the 

Gloster. 
No,  stir  not,  for  your  lives :  let  her  pass  by. 

Duchess 

Come  you,  my  lord,  to  see  my  open  shame  ? 

Now  thou  dost  penance  too.     Look,  how  they 

See,  how  the  giddy  multitude  do  point,     [gaze : 

And  nod  their  heads,  and  throw  their  eyes  on 

thee. 
Ah,  Gloster,  hide  thee  from  their  hateful  looks ; 
And  in  thy  closet  pent  up  rue  my  shame, 
And  ban  thine  enemies,  both  mine  and  thine. 
Gloster. 
Be  patient,  gentle  Nell:  forget  this  grief. 

Duel: 
Ah,  Gloster!  teach  me  to  forget  myself; 

For 


568 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


For,  whilst  I  think  I  am  thy  married  wife, 

And  thou  a  prince,  protector  of  this  land, 

Methinks,  I  should  not  thus  be  led  along, 

Mail'd  up  in  shame,  with  papers  on  my  back, 

And  follow'd  with  a  rabble,  that  rejoice 

To  see  my  tears,  and  hear  my  deep-fet  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  hell. 

Sometime  I'll  say  I  am  duke  Humphrey's  wife, 

And  he  a  prince,  and  ruler  of  the  land  ; 

Yet  so  he  rul'd,  and  such  a  prince  he  was, 

As  he  stood  by,  whilst  I,  his  forlorn  duchess, 

Was  made  a  wonder,  and  a  pointing-stock, 

To  every  idle  rascal  follower. 

But  be  thou  mild,  and  blush  not  at  my  shame : 

Nor  stir  at  nothing,  till  the  axe  of  death 

Hang  over  thee,  as,  sure,  it  shortly  will ; 

For  Suffolk,— he  that  can  do  all  in  all 

With  her,  that  hateth  thee,  and  hates  us  all, — 

And   York,  and  impious  Beaufort,  that   false 

priest, 

Have  all  lim'd  bushes  to  betray  thy  wings  ; 
And,  fly  thou  how  thou  canst,  they'll  tangle 

thee. 

But  fear  not  thou,  until  thy  foot  be  snar'd, 
Nor  never  seek  prevention  of  thy  foes. 
Gloster. 
Ah,  Nell!  forbear ;  thou  aimest  all  awry  : 
must  offend  before  I  be  attainted ; 
And  had  I  twenty  times  so  many  foes, 
And  each  of  them  had  twenty  times  their  power, 
All  these  could  not  procure  me  any  scathe, 
So  long  as  I  am  loyal,  true,  and  crimeless. 
Would'st  have  me  rescue  thee  from  this  re- 
proach ? 

Why,  yet  thy  scandal  were  not  wip'd  away, 
But  I  in  danger  for  the  breach  of  law. 
Thy  greatest  help  is  quiet,  gentle  Nell; 
1  pray  thee,  sort  thy  heart  to  patience : 
These  few  days'  wonder  will  be  quickly  worn. 

Enter  a  Herald. 
Herald. 
I  summon  your  grace  to  his  majesty's  par- 
liament, holden  at  Bury  the  first  of  this  next 
month. 

Gloster. 
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. 

Sheriff. 

An't  please  your  grace,  here  my  commission 

And  sir  John  Stanley  is  appointed  now    [stays ; 

To  take  her  with  him  to  the  isle  of  Man. 

Gloster. 

Must  you,  sir  John,  protect  my  lady  here  ? 

Stanley. 
So  am  I  given  in  charge,  may't  please  your 
grace. 

Gloster. 
Entreat  her  not  the  worse,  in  that  I  pray 
You  use  her  well.  The  world  may  laugh  again ; 
And  1  may  live  to  do  you  kindness,  if 
You  do  it  her :  and  so,  sir  John,  farewell. 
Duchess. 
What !  gone,  my  lord,  and  bid  me  not  fare- 
well? 


Gloster. 
Witness  my  tears,  I  cannot  stay  to  speak. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  ana  Servants. 
Duchess. 
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. — 
Stanley,  1  pr'ythee,  go,  and  take  me  hence ; 
I  care  not  whither,  for  I  beg  no  favour, 
Only  convey  me  where  thou  art  commanded. 
Stanley. 
Why,  madam,  that  is  to  the  isle  of  Man; 
There  to  be  us'd  according  to  your  state. 
Duchess. 
That's  bad  enough,  for  I  am  but  reproach : 
And  shall  I,  then,  be  us'd  reproachfully  ? 
Stanley. 
Like  to  a  duchess,  and  duke  Humphrey's 
lady: 
According  to  that  state  you  shall  be  used. 
Duchess. 
Sheriff,  farewell,  and  better  than  I  fare, 
Although  thou  hast  been  conduct  of  my  shame ! 
Sheriff. 
It  is  my  office;  and,  madam,  pardon  me. 

Duchess. 
Ay,  ay,  farewell :  thy  office  is  discharg'd. — 
Come,  Stanley,  shall  we  go  ? 
Stanley. 
Madam,  your  penance  done,  throw  off  this 
sheet, 
And  go  we  to  attire  you  for  our  journey. 
Duchess. 
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. 

[Exeunt. 


<£3>-53XO>^3H?3rl£S 


53HS3X?3H£3> 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    The  Abbey  at  Bury. 

A  Sennet.  Enter  to  the  Parliament,  King  Henry, 
Queen  Margaret,  Cardinal  Beaufort,  Suffolk, 
■  York,  Buckingham,  and  others. 
King  Henry. 

I  MUSE,  my  lord  of  Gloster  is  not  come : 
'Tis  not  his  wont  to  be  the  hindmost  man, 
Whate'er  occasion  keeps  him  from  us  now. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Can  you  not  see?  or  will  you  not  observe 
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  himself? 
We  know  the  time  since  he  was  mild  and  affable ; 
And  if  we  did  but  glance  a  far-off  look, 
Immediately  he  was  upon  his  knee, 
That  all  the  court  adnu'r'd  him  for  submission : 
But  meet  him  now,  and,  be  it  in  the  morn, 
When  every  one  will  give  the  time  of  day, 
He  knits  his  brow,  and  shows  an  angry  eye, 
And  passeth  by  with  stiff  unbowed  knee, 
Disdaining  duty  that  to  us  belongs. 
Small  curs  are  not  regarded  when  they  grin, 
But  great  men  tremble  when  the  lion  roars  ; 
And  Humphrey  is  no  little  man  in  England. 

First, 


Act  in.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


569 


First,  not.-,  that  he  Is  near  you  in  descent. 
And  should  you  fall,  he  is  the  next  will  mount. 
Me  set-met h,  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. 
Hy  flattery  hath  he  won  the  commons'  hearts 
Ami,  when  he  please  to  make  commotion, 
*Tls  to  be  fear'd  they  all  will  follow  him. 
Now  'tis  the  spring,  and  weeds  are  shallow- 
rooted  ; 
Suffer  them  now, and  they'll  o'ergrow  the  garden, 
And  choke  the  herbs  for  want  of  husbandry. 
The  reverent  care  1  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,  1  wrong'd  the  duke. 
My  lord  of  Suffolk,— Buckingham,  and  York,— 
Reprove  my  allegation,  if  you  can, 
Or  else  conclude  my  words  effectual. 
Suffolk. 

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, 
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  harbours  treason. 
The  fox  barks  not  when  he  would  steal  the 

lamb: 
No,  no,  my  sovereign  ;  Gloster  Is  a  man 
Unsounded  yet,  and  full  of  deep  deceit. 
Cardinal. 

Did  he  not,  contrary  to  form  of  law, 
Devise  strange  deaths  for  small  offences  done  ? 
York. 

And  did  he  not,  in  his  protectorship, 
Levy  great  sums  of  money  through  the  realm 
For  soldiers'  pay  in  France,  and  never  sent  it  ? 
By  means  whereof  the  towns  each  day  revolted. 
Buckingham. 

Tut  1  these  are  petty  faults  to  faults  unknown, 
Which  time  will  bring  to  light  in  smooth  duke 
Humphrey. 

King  Henry. 

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- 
Our  kinsman  Gloster  is  as  innocent      [science  ? 
From  meaning  treason  to  our  royal  person, 
As  is  the  sucking  lamb,  or  harmless  dove. 
The  duke  is  virtuous,  mild,  and  too  well  given, 
To  dream  on  evil,  or  to  work  my  downfall. 
Queen  Margaret. 

Ah  !   what's  more  dangerous  than  this  fond 
affiance? 
Seems  he  a  dove  ?  his  feathers  are  but  borrow'd, 
For  he's  disposed  as  the  hateful  raven. 
Is  he  a  lamb?  his  skin  is  surely  lent  him, 
For  he's  inclin'd  as  is  the  ravenous  wolf. 
Who  cannot  steal  a  shape,  that  means  deceit  ? 
Take  heed,  my  lord ;  the  welfare  of  us  all 
Hangs  on  the  cutting  short  that  fraudful  maa 
Enter  Somerset. 
Somerset. 

All  health  unto  my  gracious  sovereign  ! 


King  I! 
Welcome,  lord  Somerset.     What  news  from 
France? 

Somerset. 

That  all  your  interest  in  those  territories 
Is  utterly  bereft  you:  all  is  lost. 
King  Henry. 
Cold  news,  lord  Somerset;  but  God's  will  be 
done. 

York. 
Cold  news  for  me;  [Aside]  for  I  had  hope  cs 
France, 
As  firmly  as  I  hope  for  fertile  England. 
Thus  are  my  blossoms  blasted  in  the  bud, 
And  caterpillars  eat  my  leaves  away ; 
But  I  will  remedy  this  gear  ere  long, 
Or  sell  my  title  for  a  glorious  grave. 

Enter  Gloster. 
Gloster. 

All  happiness  unto  my  lord  the  king  ! 
Pardon,  my  liege,  that  I  have  stay'd  so  long 
Suffolk. 
Nay,  Gloster,  know,  that  thou  art  come  too 
soon, 
Unless  thou  wert  more  loyal  than  thou  art. 
I  do  arrest  thee  of  high  treason  here. 
Gloster. 
Well,  Sujffblk,  yet  thou  shalt  not  see  me  blush, 
Nor  change  my  countenance  for  this  arrest : 
A  heart  unspotted  is  not  easily  daunted. 
The  purest  spring  is  not  so  free  from  mud, 
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. 
Gloster. 
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 

England! 
That  doit  that  e'er  I  wrested  from  the  king, 
Or  any  groat  I  hoarded  to  my  use, 
Be  brought  against  me  at  my  trial  day  ! 
No:  many  a  pound  of  mine  own  proper  store, 
Because  I  would  not  tax  the  needy  commons, 
Have  I  dispursed  to  the  garrisons, 
And  never  ask'd  for  restitution. 
Cardinal. 
It  serves  you  well,  my  lord,  to  say  so  much. 

Gloster. 
I  say  no  more  than  truth,  so  help  me  God ! 

York. 
In  your  protectorship  you  did  devise 
Strange  tortures  for  offenders,  never  heard  of, 
That  England  was  defam'd  by  tyranny. 
Gloster. 
Why,  'tis  well  known  that,  whiles  I  was  pro- 
tector, 
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,         [sengers, 
Or  foul  felonious  thief  that  fleee'd  poor  pai- 
I  never  gave  them  condign  punishment. 
Murder,  indeed,  that  bloody  sin,  1  tortur'd 
Above  the  felon,  or  what  trespass  else. 

Suffolk. 


57o 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Suffolk. 
My  lord,  these  faults  are  easy,  quickly  an- 
swer'd ; 
But  mightier  crimes  are  laid  unto  your  charge, 
Whereof  you  cannot  easily  purge  yourself. 
I  do  arrest  you  in  his  highness'  name  ; 
And  here  commit  you  to  my  lord  cardinal 
To  keep,  until  your  farther  time  of  trial. 

King  Henry. 

My  lord  of  Gloster,  'tis  my  special  hope, 
That  you  will  clear  yourself  from  all  suspense: 
My  conscience  tells  me  you  are  innocent. 
Gloster. 
Ah,  gracious  lord !  these  days  are  dangerous : 
Virtue  is  chok'd  with  foul  ambition, 
And  charity  chas'd  hence  by  rancour's  hand ; 
Foul  subornation  is  predominant, 
And  equity  exil'd  your  highness*  land. 
I  know,  their  complot  is  to  have  my  life ; 
And  if  my  death  might  make  this  island  happy, 
And  prove  the  period  of  their  tyranny, 
I  would  expend  it  with  all  willingness ; 
But  mine  is  made  the  prologue  to  their  play, 
For  thousands  more,  that  yet  suspect  no  peril, 
Will  not  conclude  their  plotted  tragedy. 
Beaufort's  red  sparkling  eyes  blab  his  heart's 

malice, 
And  Suffolk's  cloudy  brow  his  stormy  hate; 
Sharp  Buckingham  unburdens  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 

And  you,  my  sovereign  lady,  with  the  rest, 
Causeless  have  laid  disgraces  on  my  head, 
And  with  your  best  endeavour  have  stirr'd  up 
My  liefest  liege  to  be  mine  enemy. — 
Ay,  all  of  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, — 
A  staff  is  quickly  found  to  beat  a  dog. 
Cardinal. 

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. 
Suffolk. 

Hath  he  not  twit  our  sovereign  lady,  here, 
With  ignominious  words,  though  clerklycouch'd, 
As  if  she  had  suborned  some  to  swear 
False  allegations  to  o'erthrow  his  state? 
Queen  Margaret 

But  I  can  give  the  loser  leave  to  chide. 
Gloster. 

Far  truer  spoke,  than  meant:  I  lose,  indeed. 
Beshrew  the  winners,  for  they  played  me  false; 
And  well  such  losers  may  have  leave  to  speak. 
Buckingham. 

He'll  wrest  the  sense,  and  hold  us  here  all 

Lord  cardinal,  he  is  your  prisoner.  [day. 

Cardinal. 

Sirs,  take  away  the  duke,  and  guard  him  sure. 
Gloster. 

Ah,  thus  king  Henry  throws  away  his  crutch, 
Before  his  legs  be  firm  to  bear  his  body: 
Thus  is  the  shepherd  beaten  from  thy'side, 
And  wolves  are  gnarling  who  shall  gnaw  thee 
first. 


Ah,  that  my  fear  were  false !  ah,  that  it  were ! 
For,  good  king  Henry,  thy  decay  I  fear. 

X Exeunt  Anendants  with  Gloster. 
King  Henry. 
My  lords,  what  to  your  wisdoms  seemeth  best, 
Do,  or  undo,  as  if  ourself  were  here. 
Queen  Margaret. 
What!  will  your  highness  leave  the  parlia- 
ment? 

King  Henry. 
Ay,  Margaret,  my  heart  is  drown'd  with  grief, 
Whose  flood  begins  to  flow  within  mine  eyes ; 
My  body  round  engirt  with  misery, 
For  what's  more  miserable  than  discontent?— 
Ah,  uncle  Humphrey  I  in  thy  face  I  see 
The  map  of  honour,  truth,  and  loyalty; 
And  yet,  good  Humphrey,  is  the  hour  to  come, 
That  e'er  I  prov'd  thee  false,  or  fear'd  thy  faith. 
What  lowering  star  now  envies  thy  estate, 
That  these  great  lords,  and  Margaret  our  queen, 
Do  seek  subversion  of  thy  harmless  life  ? 
Thou  never  didst  them  wrong,  nor  no  man 

wrong: 
And  as  the  butcher  takes  away  the  calf, 
And  binds  the  wretch,  and  beats  it  when  it  strays, 
Bearing  it  to  the  bloody  slaughter-house ; 
Even  so,  remorseless,  have  they  borne  him  hence : 
And  as  the  dam  runs  lowing  up  and  down, 
Looking  the  way  her  harmless  young  one  went, 
And  can  do  nought  but  wail  her  darling's  loss ; 
Even  so  myself  bewails  good  Gloster's  case, 
With  sad  unhelpful  tears ;  and  with  dimm'd  eyes, 
Look  after  him,  and  cannot  do  him  good, 
So  mighty  are  his  vowed  enemies. 
His  fortunes  I  will  weep ;  and,  'twixt  each  groan, 
Say— "Who's  a  traitor?  Gloster  he  is  none.". 

[Exit. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Free  lords,  cold  snow  melts  with  the  sun's  hot 
Henry  my  lord  is  cold  in  great  affairs,    [beams. 
Too  full  of  foolish  pity;  and  Gloster's  show 
Beguiles  him,  as  the  mournful  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers ; 
Or  as  the  snake,  roll'd  in  a  flowering  bank, 
With  shining  checker 'd  slough,  doth  sting  a  child, 
That  for  the  beauty  thinks  it  excellent. 
Believe  me,  lords,  were  none  more  wise  than  I, 
(And  yet  herein  I  judge  mine  own  wit  good) 
This  Gloster  should  be  quickly  rid  the  world, 
To  rid  us  from  the  fear  we  have  of  him. 
Cardinal. 
That  he  should  die  is  worthy  policy, 
But  yet  we  want  a  colour  for  his  death : 
'Tis  meet  he  be  condemn'd  by  course  of  law. 
Suffolk. 
But,  in  my  mind,  that  were  no  policy ; 
The  king  will  labour  still  to  save  his  life; 
The  commons  haply  rise  to  save  his  life; 
And  yet  we  have  but  trivial  argument,     [death. 
More  than  mistrust,  that  shows  him  worthy 
York. 
So  that,  by  this,  you  would  not  have  him  die. 

Suffolk. 
Ah !  York,  no  man  alive  so  fain  as  I. 
York. 

'Tis  York  that  hath  more  reason  for  hisdeath 

But,  my  lord  cardinal,  and  you,  my  lord  of  SuffuUc, 
Say,  as  you  think,  and  speak  it  from  your  souls, 
i  Wer't  not  all  one  an  empty  eagle  were  set 
!  To  guard  the  chicken  from  a  hungry  kite, 
I  As  place  duke  Humphrey  for  the  king's  pro- 
tector? 

Queen  Margaret. 
I     So  the  poor  chicken  should  be  sure  of  death,. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HEN11Y  VI. 


571 


Suffolk. 

Madam,  'tis  true:  and  wer't  not  madness,  then, 
To  make  the  fox  surveyor  of  the  fold? 
"Who,  being  accus'd  a  crafty  murderer, 
Ills  guilt  should  be  but  idly  posted  over, 
Because  his  purpose  Is  not  executed? 
No;  let  him  die,  in  that  he  is  a  fox, 
By  nature  prov'd  an  enemy  to  the  flock, 
Before  his  chaps  be  stain'd  with  crimson  blood, 
As  Humphrey  prov'd  by  reasons  to  my  liege. 
And  do  not  stand  on  quillets  how  to  slay  him: 
Be  it  by  gins,  by  snares,  by  subtilty, 
Sleeping,  or  waking,  'tis  no  matter  how, 
So  he  be  dead :  for  that  is  good  deceit 
Which  mates  him  first,  that  first  intends  deceit. 
Queen  Margaret. 

Thrice  noble  Stffvlk,  'tis  resolutely  spoke. 
Suffolk. 

Not  resolute,  except  so  much  were  done, 
For  things  are  often  spoke,  and  seldom  meant ; 
But,  that  my  heart  accordeth  with  my  tongue, — 
Seeing  the  deed  is  meritorious, 
And  to  preserve  my  sovereign  from  his  foe, — 
Say  but  the  word,  and  I  will  be  his  priest. 
Cardinal. 

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? 


Somerset. 
And,  in  the  number,  thee,  that  wishest 

Cardinal. 
My  lord  of  York,  try  what  your  fortune  is. 
The  uncivil  kernes  of  Ireland  are  in  arms, 
And  temper  clay  with  blood  of  Englishmen: 
To  Ireland  will  you  lead  a  band  of  men, 
Collected  choicely,  from  each  county  some, 
And  try  your  hap  against  the  Irishmen  ? 
York. 
I  will,  my  lord,  so  please  his  majesty. 

Suffolk. 
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  1  take  order  for  mine  own  affairs. 
Suffolk. 
A  charge,  lord  York,  that  I  will  see  performM. 
But  now  return  we  to  the  false  duke  Humphrey. 
Cardinal. 
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  1  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. 
Suffolk. 

I'll  see  It  truly  done,  mvlprd  of York. .  „    , 
[Exeunt  all  but  York. 
York. 
Now,  York,  or  never,  steel  thy  fearful  thoughts, 
And  change  misdoubt  to  resolution : 
Be  that  thou  hop'st  to  be,  or  what  thou  art 
Resign  to  death  ;  it  is  not  worth  the  enjoying. 
Let  pale-fac'd  fear  keep  with  the  mean-bora 
And  find  no  harbour  in  a  royal  heart.         [man, 
Faster  than  spring-time  showers  comes  thought 

on  thought, 
And  not  a  thought  but  thinks  on  dignity. 
My  brain,  more  busy  than  the  labouring  spider, 
Weaves  tedious  snares  to  trap  mine  enemies. 
Well,  nobles,  well ;  'tis  politicly  done, 
To  send  me  packing  with  an  host  of  men  : 
I  fear  me  you  but  warm  the  starved  snake, 
Who,  cherish'd  in  your  breasts,  will  sting  your 

hearts. 
'Twas  men  I  lack'd,  and  you  will  give  them  me : 
I  take  it  kindly ;  yet,  be  well  assur'd, 
You  put  sharp  weapons  in  a  madman's  hands. 
Whiles  1  in  Ireland  nourish  a  mighty  band, 
I  will  stir  up  in  England  some  black  storm, 
j  Shall  blow  ten  thousand  souls  to  heaven,  or  hell ; 
1  Ana  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  seduc'd  a  headstrong  Kentishman, 
John  Cade  of  Ashjord, 
To  make  commotion,  as  full  well  he  can, 
Under  the  title  of  John  Mortimer. 
In  Ireland  have  I  seen  this  stubborn  Cade 
Oppose  himself  against  a  troop  of  kernes  ; 
And  fought  so  long,  till  that  his  thighs  with 

darts 


I  tender  so  the  safety  of  my  liege. 
Suffolk. 
Here  is  my  hand ;  the  deed  is  worthy  doing. 
Queen  Margaret. 

And  so  say  I.  _    , 

\  ork. 

And  I :  and  now  we  three  have  spoke  it, 
It  skills  not  greatly  who  impugns  our  doom. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Great  lords,  from  Ireland  am  I  come  amain, 
To  signify  that  rebels  there  are  up, 
And  put  the  Englishmen  unto  the  sword. 
Send  succours,  lords,  and  stop  the  rage  betime, 
Before  the  wound  do  grow  incurable ; 
For,  being  green,  there  is  great  hope  of  help. 
Cardinal . 
A  breach  that  craves  a  quick  expedient  stop  1 
What  counsel  give  you  in  this  weighty  cause? 
York. 
That  Somerset  be  sent  as  regent  thither. 
'Tis  meet,  that  lucky  ruler  be  cmploy'd ; 
Witness  the  fortune  he  hath  had  in  France. 
Somerset. 
If  York,  with  all  his  far-fet  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. 
I  rather  would  have  lost  my  life  betimes, 
Than  bring  a  burden  of  dishonour  home, 
By  staying  there  so  long,  till  all  were  lost. 
Show  me  one  scar  character'd  on  thy  skin : 
Men's  flesh  preserv'd  so  whole  do  seldom  win. 
Queen  Margaret. 
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,    Were  almost  like  a  sharp-quill'd  porcupine : 
Might  happily  have  prov'd  far  worse  than  his.        And  in  the  end  bein?  rescu'd,  I  have  seen 

Him  caper  upright,  like  a  wild  Morisco, 
What,  worse  than  naught  ?  nay,  then  a  shame     Shaking  the  bloody  darts,  as  he  his  bells, 
take  all.                                                           Full  often,  like  a  shag-hair'd  crafty  kerne, 
j  *  Hath 


57* 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Se.  i. 


Hath  he  conversed  with  the  enemy, 
And  undiscover'd  come  to  me  again, 
And  given  me  notice  of  their  villainies. 
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  mov'd  him  to  those  arms. 
Say,  that  he  thrive,  as  'tis  great  like  he  will, 
Why,   then   from   Ireland  come    1  with   my 

strength, 
And  reap  the  harvest  which  that  rascal  sow'd  ; 
For,  Humphrey  being  dead,  as  he  shall  be. 
And  Henry  put  apart,  the  next  for  me.      [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    Bury.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  certain  Murderers,  hastily. 

First  Murderer. 

Run  to  my  lord  of  Suffolk  ;  let  him  know, 
We  have  despatch'd  the  duke,  as  he  commanded. 
Second  Murderer. 
O,  that  it  were  to  do  1  —  What  have  we  done . 
Didst  ever  hear  a  man  so  penitent  ? 
First  Murderer. 
Here  comes  my  lord. 

Enter  Suffolk. 

Suffolk. 

Now,  sirs,  have  you  despatch'd  this  thing  ? 

First  Murderer. 
Ay,  my  good  lord,  he's  dead. 

Suffolk. 
Why,  that's  well  said.    Go,  get  you  to  my 
house ; 
I  will  reward  you  for  this  venturous  deed. 
The  king  and  all  the  peers  are  here  at  hand. 
Have  you  laid  fair  the  bed  ?  are  all  things  well, 
According  as  1  gave  directions  ? 
First  Murderer. 
'Tis,  my  good  lord. 

Suffolk. 
Away  !  be  gone.  [Exeunt  Murderers. 

Sound  trumpets.  Enter  King  Henry,  Queen 
Margaret,  Cardinal  Beaufort,  Somerset,  Lords, 
and  others. 

King  Henry. 
Go,  call  our  uncle  to  our  presence  straight : 
Say,  we  intend  to  try  his  grace  to-day, 
If  he  be  guilty,  as  'tis  published. 
Suffolk. 
I'll  call  him  presently,  my  noble  lord.    [Exit. 

King  Henry. 
Lords,  take  your  places ;  and,  I  pray  you  all, 
Proceed  no  straiter  'gainst  our  uncle  Gloster, 
Than  from  true  evidence,  of  good  esteem, 
He  be  approv'd  in  practice  culpable. 
Queen  Margaret. 
God  forbid  any  malice  should  prevail, 
That  faultless  may  condemn  a  noble  man  ! 
Pray  God,  he  may  acquit  him  of  suspicion  ! 
King  Henry. 
I  thank  thee,  Meg  ;  these  words  content  me 
much — 

Re-enter  Suffolk. 
How  now  1  why  look'st  thou  pale?  why  trem- 

blest  thou  ? 
Where  is  our  uncle  ?  what's  the  matter,  Suffolk  t 


Suffolk. 
Dead  in  his  bed,  my  lord ;  Gloster  is  dead. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Marry,  God  forfend ! 

Cardinal. 
God's  secret  judgment !  —  I  did  dream  to-night, 
The  duke  was  dumb,  and  could  not  speak  a  word. 
[The  King  swoons. 
Queen  Margaret. 
How  fares  my  lord?— Help,  lords!  the  king 
is  dead. 

Somerset. 
Rear  up  his  body :  wring  him  by  the  nose. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Run,  go,  help,  help!  — O,  Henry,  ope  thine 
eyes! 

Suffolk. 
He  doth  revive  again.  —  Madam,  be  patient. 

King  Henry. 
O  heavenly  God  ! 

Queen  Margaret. 
How  fares  my  gracious  lord  ? 

Suffolk. 
Comfort,  my  sovereign  !  gracious  Henry,  com- 
fort ! 

King  Henry. 
What !  doth  my  lord  of  Suffolk  comfort  me? 
Came  he  ri^ht  now  to  sing  a  raven's  note, 
Whose  dismal  tune  bereft  my  vital  powers, 
And  thinks  he,  that  the  chirping  of  a  wren, 
By  crying  comfort  from  a  hollow  breast, 
Can  chase  away  the  first  conceived  sound? 
Hide  not  thy  poison  with  such  sugar'd  words. 
Lay  not  thy  hands  on  me;  forbear,  1  say: 
Their  touch  affrights  me  as  a  serpent's  sting. 
Thou  baleful  messenger,  out  of  my  sight ! 
Upon  thy  eye-balls  murderous  tyranny 
Sits  in  grim  majesty  to  fright  the  world. 
Look  not  uponme.for  thine  eyes  are  wounding — 
Yet  do  not  go  away:  —  come,  basilisk, 
And  kill  the  innocent  gazer  with  thy  sight; 
For  in  the  shade  of  death  I  shall  find  joy, 
In  life,  but  double  death,  now  Gloster's  dead. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Why  do  you  rate  my  lord  of  Suffolk  thus  ? 
Although  the  duke  was  enemy  to  him, 
Yet  he,  most  Christian-like,  laments  his  death  : 
And  for  myself,  foe  as  he  was  to  me, 
Might  liquid  tears,  or  heart-offending  groans, 
Or  blood-consuming  sighs  recall  his  life, 
I  would  be  blind  with  weeping,  sick  with  groans, 
Look  paleas  primrose,  with  blood-drinking  sighs, 
And  all  to  have  the  noble  duke  alive. 
What  know  I  how  the  world  may  deem  of  me  ? 
For  it  is  known,  we  were  but  hollow  friends ; 
It  may  be  judg'd,  I  made  the  duke  away: 
So   shall  my  name  with   slander's   tongue  be 

wounded, 
And  princes'  courts  be  fill'd  with  my  reproach. 
This  get  I  by  his  death.    Ah  me,  unhappy ! 
To  be  a  queen,  and  crown'd  with  infamy ! 
King  Henry. 
Ah,  woe  is  me  for  Gloster,  wretched  man ! 

Queen  Margaret. 
Be  woe  for  me,  more  wretched  than  he  is. 
What !  dost  thou  turn  away,  and  hide  thy  face  ? 
I  am  no  loathsome  leper  ;  look  on  me. 
What,  art  thou,  like  the  adder,  waxen  deaf? 
Be  poisonous  too,  and  kill  thy  forlorn  queen. 
Is  all  thy  comfort  shut  in  Gloster's  tomb  ? 
Why,  then  dame  Margaret  was  ne'er  thy  joy: 
Erect  his  statue,  and  worship  it, 
And  make  my  image  but  an  alehouse  sign. 

Was 


1K2WIKX  VE    TPAJ&'K  3. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


573 


Was  I  for  this  nigh  wreck'd  upon  the  sea, 
And  twice  by  awkward  wind  from  £»:■  Zand's  bank 
Prove  back  again  nnto  my  native  clime? 
What,  boded  this,  but  well-forewarning  wind 
Did  seem  to  say, —  Seek  not  a  scorpion's  nest, 
Nor  set  no  footing  on  this  unkind  shore. 
What  did  I  then,  but  curs'd  the  gentle  gusts, 
And  he  that  loos'd  them  from  their  brazen  caves . 
And  bid  them  blow  towards  England's  blessed 
Or  turn  our  stern  upon  a  dreadful  rock,  [shore, 
Yet  yEoZtw  would  not  be  a  murderer, 
But  left  that  hateful  office  unto  thee: 
The  pretty  vaulting  sea  refus'd  to  drown  me, 
Knowing  that  thou  would'st  have  me  drown'd 

on  shore, 
With  tears  as  salt  as  sea  through  thyunkindness 
The  splitting  rocks  cower'd  in  the  sinking  sands, 
And  would  not  dash  me  with  their  ragged  sides, 
Because  thy  flinty  heart,  more  hard  than  they, 
Might  in  thy  palace  perish  Margaret. 
As  far  as  I  could  keu  thy  chalky  cliffs, 
When  from  the  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- 

ceiv'd  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,  comraene'd  in  burning  Troy  f 
Am  I  not  witch 'd  like  her?  or  thou  not  false 

like  him? 
Ah  me !  I  can  no  more.    Die,  Margaret, 
For  Henry  weeps  that  thou  dost  live  so  long. 

Noise  within.     Knter  Warwick  and  Salisbury. 
The  Commons  press  to  the  door. 

Warwick. 
It  is  reported,  mighty  sovereign,  [der'd 

That  good  duke  Humphrey  traitorously  is  mur- 
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  Henry. 
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. 
Warwick. 

That  I  shall  do,  my  liege Stay,  Salisbury, 

With  the  rude  multitude,  till  I  return. 

id  poet  into  an  Inner  Room,  and 
Salisbury  retires. 

King  Henry. 
O,    thou    that  judgest   all    things,  stay  my, 
thoughts !  j 

My  thoughts  that  labour  to  persuade  my  soul, 
Some  violent  hands  were  laid  on  Humphrey's 
If  my  suspect  be  false,  forgive  me,  God,       [life.! 
For  judgment  only  doth  belong  to  thee. 
Fain  would  I  go  to  chafe  his  paly  lips 
With  twenty  thousand  kisses,  and  to  drain 
Upon  his  face  an  ocean  of  salt  tears, 


To  tell  my  love  unto  his  dumb  deaf  trunk, 
And  with  my  ringers  feel  his  hand  unfeeling  ; 
But  all  in  vain  are  these  mean  obsequies, 
And  to  survey  his  dead  and  earthy  image, 
What  were  it  but  to  make  my  sorrow  greater  ? 
The  Doors  of  an  inner  Chamber  are  thrown 
open,  and  Gloster  is  discovered  dead  in  hit 
Bed;  Warwick  and  others  standing  by  it. 

Warwick. 
Come  hither,  gracious  sovereign,  view  this 
body. 

King  Henry. 

That  Is  to  see  how  deep  my  grave  is  made ; 
For  with  his  soul  fled  all  my  wordly  solace, 
For  seeing  him,  I  see  my  lile  in  death. 
Warwick. 
As  surely  as  my  soul  intends  to  live  [him 

With  that  dread  King,  that  took  our  state  upon 
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. 
Suffolk. 
A  dreadful  oath,  sworn  with  a  solemn  tongue! 
What  instance  gives  lord  Warwick  for  his  vow  ? 
Warwick. 
See,  how  the  blood  is  settled  in  his  face. 
Oft  have  I  seen  a  timely-parted  ghost, 
Of  ashy  semblance,  meagre,  pale,  and  bloodless, 
Being  all  descended  to  the  labouring  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- 
To  blush  and  beautify  the  cheek  again,  [turneth 
But  see,  his  face  is  black,  and  full  of  blood ; 
His  eye-balls  farther  out  than  when  he  liv'd, 
Staring  full  ghastly  like  a  strangled  man : 
His  hair  uprear'd,  his  nostrils  stretch'd  with 

struggling ; 
His  hands  abroad  display'd,  as  one  that  grasp'd, 
And  tugg'd  for  life,  and  was  by  strength  subdued. 
Look  on  the  sheets  his  hair,  you  see,  is  sticking; 
His  well-proportion'd  beard  made  rough  and 

rugged, 
Like  to  the  summer's  corn  by  tempest  lodg'd. 
It  cannot  be  but  he  was  murder'd  here ; 
The  least  of  all  these  signs  were  probable. 
Suffolk 
Why,  Warwick,  who  should  do  the  duke  to 
death? 
Myself,  and  Beaufort,  had  him  in  protection, 
And  we,  I  hope,  sir,  are  no  murderers. 
Warwick. 
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  he  found  an  enemy. 
Queen  IfargatjBC 
Then  you,  belike,  suspect  these  noblemen 
As  guilty  of  duke  Humphrey's  timeless  death. 
Warwick. 
Who  finds  the  heifer  dead,  and  bleeding  fresh,. 
And  sees  fast  by  a  butcher  with  an  axe,       [ter  ?] 
But  will  suspect  'twas  he  that  made  the  slaugh-! 
Who  finds  the  partridge  in  the  puttock's  nest,     j 
But  may  imagine  how  the  bird  was  dead. 
Although  the  kite  soar  with  unbloodied  beak  ? 
Even  so  suspicious  is  this  tragedy. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Are  you  the  butcher,  Suffolk  f  where's  your 
knife? 
Is  Beaufort  termed  a  kite  ?  where  are  his  talons  ? 
Suffolk. 


574- 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  in.  Sc.  ii. 


Suffolk. 

I  wear  no  knife,  to  slaughter  sleeping  men ; 

But  here's  a  vengeful  sword,  rusted  with  ease, 

That  shall  be  scoured  in  his  rancorous  heart, 

That    slanders    me    with    murder's    crimson 

badge — 
Say,  if  thou  dar'st,  proud  lord  of  Warwickshire, 
That  I  am  faulty  in  duke  Humphrey's  death. 

[Exeunt  Cardinal,  Somerset,  and  others. 
Warwick. 
What  dares  not  Warwick,  if  false  Suffolk  dare 
him? 

Queen  Margaret. 
He  dares  not  calm  his  contumelious  spirit, 
Nor  cease  to  be  an  arrogant  controller, 
Though  Suffolk  dare  him  twenty  thousand  times. 
Warwick. 
Madam,  be  still,  with  reverence  may  I  say; 
For  every  word  you  speak  in  his  behalf 
Is  slander  to  your  royal  dignity. 
Suffolk. 
Blunt-witted  lord,  ignoble  in  demeanour, 
If  ever  lady  wrong'd  her  lord  so  much, 
Thy  mother  took  into  her  blameful  bed 
Some  stern  untutor'd  churl,  and  noble  stock 
Was  graft  with  crab-tree  slip;  whose  fruit  thou 
And  never  of  the  Nevils'  noble  race.  [art, 

Warwick. 
But  that  the  guilt  of  murder  bucklers  thee, 
And  I  should  rob  the  deathsman  of  his  fee, 
Quitting  thee  thereby  of  ten  thousand  shames, 
And  that  my  sovereign's  presence  makes  me  mild, 
I  would,  false  murderous  coward,  on  thy  knee 
Make  thee  beg  pardon  for  thy  passed  speech, 
And  say,  it  was  thy  mother  that  thou  meant'st ; 
That  thou  thyself  wast  born  in  bastardy: 
And,  after  all  this  fearful  homage  done, 
Give  thee  thy  hire,  and  send  thy  soul  to  hell, 
Pernicious  bloodsucker  of  sleeping  men. 
Suffolk. 
Thou  shalt  be  waking  while  I  shed  thy  blood, 
If  from  this  presence  thou  dar'st  go  with  me. 
Warwick. 
Away  even  now,  or  I  will  drag  thee  hence. 
Unworthy  though  thou  art,  I'll  cope  with  thee, 
And  do  some  service  to  duke  Humphrey's  ghost. 
[Exeunt  Suffolk  and  Warwick. 
King  Henry. 
What  stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart  un- 
tainted? 
Thrice  is  he  arm'd,  that  hath  his  quarrel  just ; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  lock'd  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 
[A  Noise  within 
Queen  Margaret. 
What  noise  is  this? 

Re-enter  Suffolk  and  Warwick,  with  their 
weapons  drawn. 
King  Henry. 
Why,  how  now,  lords  1  your  wrathful  weapons 
drawn 
Here  in  our  presence !  dare  you  be  so  bold?— 
Why,  what  tumultuous  clamour  have  we  here? 
Suffolk. 
The  traitorous   Warwick,  with  the  men  of 
Set  all  upon  me,  mighty  sovereign.  [Bury, 

Noise  of  a  Crowd  within.    Re-enter  Salisbury. 

Salisbury. 

Sirs,  stand  apart ;  [Speaking  to  those  within] 

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, 
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 
In  pain  of  your  dislike,  or  pain  of  death,    [rest, 
Yet  notwithstanding  such  a  strait  edict, 
Were  there  a  serpent  seen,  with  forked  tongue, 
That  slily  glided  towards  your  majesty, 
It  were  but  necessary,  you  were  wak'd; 
Lest,  being  suffer'd  in  that  harmful  slumber, 
The  mortal  worm  might  make  the  sleep  eternal : 
And  therefore  do  they  cry,  though  you  forbid, 
That  they  will  guard  you,  whe'r  you  will  or  no, 
From  such  fell  serpents  as  false  Suffolk  is  ; 
With  whose  envenomed  and  fatal  sting, 
Your  loving  uncle,  twenty  times  his  worth, 
They  say,  is  shamefully  bereft  of  life. 

Commons.  [Within. 

An  answer  from  the  king,  my  lord  of  Salis- 
bury! 

Suffolk. 
'Tis  like  the  commons,  rude  unpolish'd  hinds, 
Could  send  such  message  to  their  sovereign  ; 
But  you,  my  lord,  were  glad  to  be  employ'd, 
To  snow  how  quaint  an  orator  you  are : 
But  all  the  honour  Salisbury  hath  won, 
Is,  that  he  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 
inl 

King  Henry. 
Go,  Salisbury,  and  tell  them  all  from  me, 
I  thank  them  for  their  tender  loving  care, 
And  had  I  not  been  "cited  so  by  them, 
Yet  did  I  purpose  as  they  do  entreat ; 
For  sure,  my  thoughts  do  hourly  prophesy 
Mischance  unto  my  state  by  Suffolk's  means : 
And  therefore,  by  his  majesty  I  swear, 
Whose  far  unworthy  deputy  I  am, 
He  shall  not  breathe  infection  in  this  air 
But  three  days  longer,  on  the  pain  of  death. 

[Exit  Salisbury. 
Queen  Margaret. 
O  Henry!  let  me  plead  for  gentle  Suffolk. 

King  Henry. 

Ungentle  queen,  to  call  him  gentle  Suffolk. 
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 
1  have  great  matters  to  impart  to  thee.        [me ; 
[Exeunt  King  Henry,  Warwick,  Lords,  &c. 
Queen  Margaret. 

Mischance,  and  sorrow,  go  along  with  you  1 
Heart's  discontent,  and  sour  affliction, 
Be  playfellows  to  keep  you  company  1 
There's  two  of  you ;  the  devil  make  a  third, 
And  threefold  vengeance  tend  upon  your  steps  1 

Suffolk. 
Cease,  gentle  queen,  these  execrations, 
And  let  thy  Suffolk  take  his  heavy  leave. 

Queen 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


KING  I1ENRY  VI. 


575 


Quoin  Mar, 
Fie,  coward,  woman,  and  soft-hearted  wretch  I ■ 
Hast  tliuu  not  spirit  to  curse  thine  enemy  ? 

Si. (Talk. 
A  plague  upon  them !  wherefore  should  I  curse 

them  ? 
Would  curses  kill,  as  doth  the  mandrake's  groan, 
1  would  invent  as  bitter-searching  terms, 
As  curst,  as  harsh,  and  horrible  to  hear, 
Deliver'd  strongly  through  my  fixed  teeth, 
With  full  as  many  signs  of  deadly  hate, 
As  lean-fac'd  Envy  in  her  loathsome  cave. 
My  tongue   should   stumble  in  mine   earnest 

words; 
Mine  eyes  should  sparkle  like  the  beaten  flint ;  ' 
My  hair  be  fix'd  on  end,  as  one  distract ; 
Ay,  every  joint  should  seem  to  curse  and  ban  :  | 
And  even  now  my  burden'd  heart  would  break,  , 
Should  1  not  curse  them.  Poison  be  their  drink  1 ; 
Gall,  worse  than  gall,  the  daintiest  that  they! 


taste  1 

Their  sweetest  shade,  a  grove  of  cypress  trees  1   ' 
Their  chiefest  prospect,  murdering  basilisks  ! 
Their  softest  touch,  as  smart  as  lizard's  stings  1 
TMr  music,  frightful  as  the  serpent's  hiss, 
And  boding  screech-owls  make  the  concert  full! 
All  the  foul  terrors  in  dark-seated  hell- 
Queen  Margaret. 

Enough,  sweet  Suffolk:  thou  torment'st  thy- 
self; 
And  these  dread  curses,  like  the  sun  'gainst  glass, 
Or  like  an  overcharged  gun,  recoil, 
And  turn  the  force  of  them  upon  thyself. 
Suffolk. 

You  bade  me  ban,  and  will  you  bid  me  leave  ? 
Now,  by  the  ground  that  I  am  banish'd  from, 
Well  could  1  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  Margaret. 
O !  let  me  entreat  thee,  cease.    Give  me  thy 

hand, 
That  I  may  dew  it  with  my  mournful  tears ; 
Nor  let  the  rain  of  heaven  wet  this  place, 
To  wash  away  my  woeful  monuments. 
O !  could  this  kiss  be  printed  in  thy  hand. 
That  thou  might'st  think  upon  these  by  the  seal, : 
Through  whom  a  thousand  sighs  are  breath'd; 

for  thee. 
So,  get  thee  gone,  that  I  may  know  my  grief ; 
'Tis  but  surmis'd  whilst  thou  art  standing  by, 
As  one  that  surfeits,  thinking  on  a  want. 
I  will  repeal  thee,  or,  be  well  assur'd, 
Adventure  to  be  banished  myself; 
And  banished  I  am,  if  but  from  thee. 

Go ;  speak  not  to  me :  even  now  be  gone 

O I  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. 

Suffolk. 
Thus  is  poor  Suffblk  ten  times  banished, 
Once  by  the  king,  and  three  times  thrice  by  thee. 
'Tis  not  the  land  1  care  for,  wert  thou  thence: 
A  wilderness  is  populous  enough, 
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  liv'st. 


Enter  Faux. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Whither  goes  Faux  so  fast?  what  news,  I 
pr'ythee? 

Vaux. 

To  signify  unto  his  majesty. 
That  cardinal  Beaufort  is  at  point  of  death  ; 
For  suddenly  a  grievous  sickness  took  him, 
That  makes  him  gasp,  and  stare,  and  catch  the 

air, 
Blaspheming  God,  and  cursing  men  on  earth. 
Sometime  he  talks  as  if  duke  Humphrey'*  ghost 
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  Margaret. 

Go,  tell  this  heavy  message  to  the  king. 

Ah  me  !  what  is  this  world  ?  what  news  are 

these? 
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.  [is  coming : 

Now,  get  thee  hence:  the  king,  thou  know'st, 
If  thou  be  found  by  me,  thou  art  but  dead. 
Suffolk. 
If  I  depart  from  thee,  I  cannot  live ; 
And  in  thy  sight  to  die,  what  were  it  else, 
But  like  a  pleasant  slumber  in  thy  lap  ? 
Here  could  I  breathe  my  soul  into  the  air, 
As  mild  and  gentle  as  the  cradle-babe, 
Dying  with  mother's  dug  between  its  lips  ; 
Where,  from  thy  sight,  1  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  should'st  thou  either  turn  my  flying  soul, 
Or  I  should  breathe  it  so  into  thy  body, 
And  then  it  liv'd  in  sweet  Elysium. 
To  die  by  thee,  were  but  to  die  in  jest ; 
From  thee  to  die,  were  torture  more  than  death. 
O  !  let  me  stay,  befal  what  may  befal. 
Queen  Margaret 
Away  !  though  parting  be  a  fretful  corrosive, 
It  is  applied  to  a  deathful  wound.  [thee  ; 

To  France,  sweet  Suffolk :   let  me  hear  from 
For  wheresoe'er  thou  art  in  this  world's  globe, 
I'll  have  an  Iris  that  shall  find  thee  out. 
Suffolk. 
I  go. 

Queen  Margaret. 
And  take  my  heart  with  thee. 
Suffolk. 
A  jewel,  lock'd  into  the  woeful'st  cask 
That  ever  did  contain  a  thing  of  worth. 
Even  as  a  splitted  bark,  so  sunder  we: 
This  way  fall  I  to  death. 

Queen  Margaret. 

This  way  for  me. 
[Exeunt,  severally. 

SCENE  III.    London.    Cardinal  BeauforVx 
Bed-chamber. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Salisbury,  Warwick,  and 
others.  The  Cardinal  in  bed;  Attendants 
witli  him. 

King  Henry. 
How  fares  my  lord  ?  speak,  Beaufort,  to  thy 
sovereign. 

Cardinal. 


5'/6 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


Cardinal. 

If  thou  be'st  death,  I'll  give  thee  England's 
treasure, 
Enough  to  purchase  such  another  island, 
So  thou  wilt  let  me  live,  and  feel  no  pain. 
King  Henry. 
Ah,  what  a  sign  it  is  of  evil  life, 
Where  death's  approach  is  seen  so  terrible  ! 
Warwick 
Beaufort,  it  is  thy  sovereign  speaks  to  thee. 

Cardinal. 
Bring  me  unto  my  trial  when  you  will. 
Died  he  not  in  his  bed  ?  where  should  he  die  ? 
Can  I  make  men  live,  whe'r  they  will  or  no  ?  — 
O  !  torture  me  no  more,  I  will  confess — 
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 

upright, 
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  Henry. 
O,  thou  eternal  mover  of  the  heavens, 
Look  with  a  gentle  eye  upon  this  wretch  1 
O  1  beat  away  the  busy  meddling  fiend, 
That  lays  strong  siege  unto  this  wretch's  soul, 
And  from  his  bosom  purge  this  black  despair. 
Warwick. 
See,  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him 
grin. 

Salisbury. 
Disturb  him  not,  let  him  pass  peaceably. 

King  Henry. 

Peace  to  his  soul,  if  God's  good  pleasure  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  ! 

Warwick. 
So  bad  a  death  argues  a  monstrous  life. 

King  Henry. 

Forbear  to  judge,  for  we  are  sinners  all. — 

Close  up  his  eyes,  and  draw  the  curtain  close, 

And  let  us  all  to  meditation.  .  [Exeunt. 

4-#-#  #••#•#••#••#'■#■#• 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    Kent.    The  Sea-shore  near  Dover. 

Firing  heard  at  Sea.    Then  enter  from  a  Boat, 
a  Captain,  a  Master,  a  Master's- Mate,  Waltrr 
Whitmore,  and    others ;   with  them  SttfM; 
disguised  ;  and  other  Gentlemen,  prisoners. 
Captain. 

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  [jaws 

Clip  dead  men's  graves,  and  from  their  misty 
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, 
Or  with  their  blood  stain  this  discolour'd  shore. 
Master,  this  prisoner  freely  give  I  thee ;  — ■ 


And  thou  that  art  his  mate,  make  boot  of  this ;  — 
The  other,  ^Pointing  to  Suffolk,}  Walter  Whit- 
more, is  thy  share. 

First  Gentleman. 
What  is  my  ransom,  master  ?  let  me  know. 

Master. 
A  thousand  crowns,  or  else  lay  down  your 
head. 

Mate. 
And  so  much  shall  you  give,  or  off  goes  yours. 

Captain. 

What !  think  you  much  to  pay  two  thousav  d 
crowns, 
And  bear  the  name  and  port  of  gentlemen  ? — 
Cut  both  the  villains'  throats  !  —  for  die  you 

shall : 
The  lives  of  those  which  we  have  lost  in  fight, 
Be  counterpois'd  with  such  a  petty  sum  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
I'll  give  it,  sir  ;  and  therefore  spare  my  life. 

Second  Gentleman. 
And  so  will  I,  and  write  home  for  it  straight. 

Whitmore. 

I  lost  mine  eye  in  laying  the  prize  aboard, 
And,  therefore,  to  revenge  it  shalt  thou  die; 

[To  St^ollc. 
And  so  should  these,  if  I  might  have  my  will. 

Captain. 

Be  not  so  rash  :  take  ransom  ;  let  him  live. 


affright  I 


Look  on  my  George :  I  am  a  gentleman. 
Rate  me  at  what  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  be  paid. 
Whitmore. 

And  so  am  I;  my  name  is  Walter  Whitmore. 
How  now  !  why  start'st  thou?  what !  doth  death 

Suffolk. 

Thy  name  affrights  me,  in  whose  sound  is 
A  cunning  man  did  calculate  my  birth,    [death. 
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. 
Whitmore. 
Gaullier,  or  Walter,  which  it  is,  I  care  not ; 
Never  yet  did  base  dishonour  blur  our  name, 
But  with  our  sword  we  wip'd  away  the  blot : 
Therefore,  when  merchant-like  I  sell  revenge, 
Broke  be  my  sword,  my  arms  torn  and  defae'd, 
And  I  proclaim'd  a  coward  through  the  world  I 
[  Lays  hold  on  Suff.lk. 
Suffolk. 
Stay,  Whitmore;  for  thy  prisoner  is  a  prince, 
The  duke  of  Suffolk,  William  de  la  Poole. 
Whitmore. 
The  duke  of  Suffolk  muffled  up  in  rags  ! 

Suffolk. 

Ay,  but  these  rags  are  no  part  of  the  duke : 

Jove  sometime  went  disguis'd,  and  why  not  1  ? 

Captain. 

But  Jove  was  never  slain,  as  thou  shalt  be. 

Suffolk; 
Obscure  and  lowly  swain,  king  Henry's  blood, 
The  honourable  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,    [board,; 
Fed  from  my  trencher,  kneel'd  down  at  thei 
When  I  have  feasted  with  queen  Margaret? 
Remember  it,  and  let  it  make  thee  crest-fall'n ;  ' 

Ay„ 


Act  iv.  Sc.  11. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


577 


Ay,  and  allay  this  thy  abortive  pride. 
How  in  our  voiding  lobby  hast  thou  stood, 
And  duly  waited  for  my  coming  forth. 
This  hand  of  mine  hath  writ  in  thy  behalf, 
And  therefore  shall  it  charm  thy  riotous  tongue. 
Whitmore. 
Speak,  captain,  shall  I  stab  the  forlorn  swain? 

•tain. 
First  let  my  words  stab  him,  as  he  hath  me. 

Suffolk. 
Base  slave,  thy  words  are  blunt,  and  so  art 
thou. 

Captain. 
Convev  him  hence,  and  on  our  long-boat's  side 
Strike  off  his  head. 

Suffolk. 
Thou  dar'st  not  for  thy  own. 
Captain. 
Yes,  Poole. 

Suffolk. 
Pooler 

Captain. 

Poolef  Sir  Pooler  lord? 
Ay,  kennel,  puddle,  sink;  whose  filth  and  dirt 
Troubles  the  silver  spring  where  Eng/anddrmks. 
Now,  will  I  dam  up  this  thy  yawning  mouth, 
For  swallowing  the  treasure  of  the  realm : 
Thy  lips,  that  kiss'd  the  queen,  shall  sweep  the 

ground ; 
And  thou,  that  smil'dst  at  good  duke  Humphrey's 

death, 
Against  the  senseless  winds  shall  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 
Unto  the  daughter  of  a  worthless  king, 
Having  neither  subject,  wealth,  nor  diadem. 
By  devilish  policy  art  thou  grown  great, 
And,  like  ambitious  Sylla,  overgorg'd 
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,  surpris'd  our  forts, 
And  sent  the  ragged  soldiers  wounded  home. 
The  princely  Warwick,  and  the  Nevils  all, 
Whose  dreadful  swords  were  never  drawn  in 
As  hating  thee,  are  rising  up  in  arms  :       [vain, 
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  colours 
Advance  our  half-fac'd  sun,  striving  to  shine, 
Under  the  which  is  writ— Invilis  nubibus. 
The  commons,  here  in  Kent,  are  up  in  arms ; 
And  to  conclude,  reproach,  and  beggary, 
Is  crept  into  the  palace  of  our  king, 
And  all  by  thee. — A wayl— Convey  him  hence. 
Suffolk. 
O,  that  I  were  a  god,  to  shoot  forth  thunder 
Upon  these  paltry,  servile,  abject  drudges ! 
,  Small  things  make  base  men  proud:  this  villain, 
here, 
'  *  Being  captain  of  a  pinnace,  threatens  more 
i  j  Than  Bargulus  the  strong  lllyrian  pirate. 
Drones  suck  not  eagles'  blood,  but  rob  bee-hives. 
It  is  impossible,  that  I  should  die 
By  such  a  lowly  vassal  as  thyself. 
Thy  words  move  rage,  and  not  remorse,  in  me: 
I  go  of  message  from  the  queen  to  France  ; 
1  charge  thee,  waft  me  safely  cross  the  channel. 
Captain. 
Walter!— 


Whltmore. 
I     Come,  Suffolk,  I  must  waft  thee  to  thy  death* 
Suffolk. 
Pcni  gelidus  timor  occupat  artus :— it  is  thee 
I  fear. 

Whitmore. 

Thou  shalt  have  cause  to  fear,  before  I  leave 

thee. 

.  What !  are  ye  daunted  now  !  now  will  ye  stoop  ? 

First  Gentleman. 

My  gracious  lord,  entreat  him,  speak  him  fair. 

Suffolk's  imperial  tongue  is  stern  and  rough, 
Us'd  to  command,  untaught  to  plead  for  favour. 
',  Far  be  it  we  should  honour  such  as  these 
,  With  humble  suit :  no,  rather  let  my  head 
;  Stoop  to  the  block,  than  these  knees  bow  to  any, 
;  Save  to  the  God  of  heaven,  and  to  my  king ; 
■  And  sooner  dance  upon  a  bloody  pole, 
Than  stand  uncover'd  to  the  vulgar  groom. 
I  True  nobility  is  exempt  from  fear  : 
j  More  can  1  bear,  than  you  dare  execute. 
Captain. 
Hale  him  away,  and  let  him  talk  no  more. 
Suffolk. 
I     Come,  soldiers,  show  what  cruelty  ye  can, 

I  That  this  my  death  may  never  be  forgot 

Great  men  oft  die  by  vile  bezonians: 
A  Homan  sw order  and  banditto  slave 
Murder 'd  sweet  Tully ;  Bruins'  bastard  hand 
j  Stabb'd  Julius  Caisar  ;  savage  islanders 
j  Pompcu  the  great,  and  Suffolk  dies  by  pirates. 

[Exit  Suffolk,  with  n'hiUnore,  and  others. 
Captain. 
;     And  as  for  these  whose  ransom  we  have  set, 
It  is  our  pleasure  one  of  them  depart: 
'<  Therefore,  come  you  with  us.  and  let  him  go. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  first  Gentleman. 

Ke-enter  Whitmore,  with  Suffolk's  Body. 
Whitmore. 
I     There  let  his  head  and  lifeless  body  lie, 
!  Until  the  queen,  his  mistress,  bury  it.        [Exit. 

First  Gentleman. 
;     O,  barbarous  and  bloody  spectacle ! 
His  body  will  I  bear  unto  the  king : 
!  If  he  revenge  it  not,  yet  will  his  friends  ; 
J  So  will  the  queen,  that  living  held  him  dear. 

[Exit,  with  the  Body. 

SCENE  11.    Blackheath. 

Enter  George  Bert's  and  John  Holland. 

George. 

Come,  and  get  thee  a  sword,  though  made  of 

a  lath :  they  have  been  up  these  two  days. 

John. 

They  have  the  more  need  to  sleep  now  then. 

George. 
I  tell  thee,  Jack  Cade,  the  clothier,  means  to 
dress  the  commonwealth,  and  turn  it,  and  set  a 
new  nap  upon  it. 

John. 
So  he  had  need,  for  'tis  threadbare.    Well,  I 
say,  it  was  never  merry  world  in  England,  since 
gentlemen  came  up. 

George. 
O  miserable  age  I    Virtue  is  not  regarded  in 
handicrafts-men. 

John. 
The  nobility  think   scorn  to  go  in  leather 
aprons. 

P  p  George,    j 


578 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


George. 

Nay  more;   the  king's  council  are  no  good 
workmen.  ■   , 

John. 
True;  and  yet  it  is  said, — labour  in  thy  voca- 
tion: which  is  as  much  to  say,  as,— let  the  ma- 
gistrates be  labouring  men ;  and  therefore  should 
we  be  magistrates. 

George. 

Thou  hast  hit  it ;  for  there's  no  better  sign  of 

a  brave  mind,  than  a  hard  hand. 

John. 

I  see  them !  I  see  them  !    There's  Best's  son, 

the  tanner  of  Wingham. 

George. 
He  shall  have  the  skins  of  our  enemies  to 
make  dog's  leather  of. 

John. 
And  Dick,  the  butcher. 

George. 
Then  is  sin  struck  down  like  an  ox,  and  ini- 
quity's throat  cut  like  a  calf. 
John. 
And  Smith,  the  weaver. 

George. 
Argo,  their  thread  of  life  Is  spun. 

John. 
Come,  come ;  let's  fall  in  with  them. 

Drum.    Enter  Cade,  Dick  the  Butcher,  Smith 

the  Weaver,  and  others  in  great  number. 

Cade. 

We  John  Cade,  so  termed  of  our  supposed 

father, — 

Dick. 
Or  rather,  of  stealing  a  cade  of  herrings. 

[Aside. 
Cade. 
— For  our  enemies  shall  fall  before  us,  In- 
spired with  the  spirit  of  putting  down  kings  and 
princes, —  Command  silence. 
Dick. 
Silence ! 

Cade. 
My  father  was  a  Mortimer,— 

Dick. 
He  was  an  honest  man,  and  a  good  bricklayer. 
[Aside. 
Cade. 
My  mother  a  Plantagenet, — 

Dick. 
I  knew  her  well ;  she  was  a  midwife.    [Aside. 

Cade. 
My  wife  descended  of  the  Lacies,— 

Dick. 

She  was,  indeed,  a  pedlar's  daughter,  and  sold 

many  laces.  [Aside. 

Smith. 

But,  now  of  late,  not  able  to  travel  with  her 

furred  pack,  she  washes  bucks  here  at  home. 

[Aside. 
Cade. 
Therefore  am  I  of  an  honourable  house. 

Dick. 

Ay,  by  my  faith,  the  field  is  honourable,  and 

there  was  he  born  under  a  hedge ;  for  his  father 

had  never  a  house,  but  the  cage.  [Aside. 

Cade. 

Valiant  I  am. 

Smith. 
'A  must  needs,  for  beggary  is  valiant.  [Aside. 

Cade. 
1  am  able  to  endure  much. 


Dick. 

No  question  of  that,  for   I  have  seen  him 

whipped  three  market  days  together.        [Aside. 

Cade. 

I  fear  neither  sword  nor  fire. 

Smith. 

He  need  not  fear  the  sword,  for  his  coat  is  of 

proof.  [Aside. 

Dick. 

But,  methinks,  he  should  stand  in  fear  of  fire, 

being  burnt  i'  the  hand  for  stealing  of  sheep. 

[Aside. 
Cade. 
Be  brave  then  ;  for  your  captain  is  brave,  and 
vows  reformation.  There  shall  be  in  England 
seven  half-penny  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  Cheavside 
shall  my  palfrey  go  to  grass.  And,  when  I  am 
king,  (as  king  I  will  be)  — 

All. 
God  save  your  majesty  I 

Cade. 
I  thank  you,  good  people :  — there  shall  be  no 
money;  all  shall  eat  and  drink  on  my  score; 
and  I  will  apparel  them  all  in  one  livery,  that 
they  may  agree  like  brothers,  and  worship  me 
their  lord. 

Dick. 
The  first  thing  we  do,  let's  kill  all  the  lawyers. 

Cade. 
Nay,  that  I  mean  to  do.  Is  not  this  a  lament- 
able thing,  that  of  the  skin  of  an  innocent  lamb 
should  be  made  parchment?  that  parchment, 
being  scribbled  o'er,  should  undo  a  man  ?  Some 
say,  the  bee  stings ;  but  I  say,  'tis  the  bee's  wax, 
for  I  did  but  seal  once  to  a  thing,  and  I  was 
never  mine  own  man  since.  How  now !  who's 
there? 

Enter  some,  bringing  in  the  Clerk  of  Chatham. 

Smith. 
The  clerk  of  Chatham :  he  can  write  and  read, 
and  cast  accompt. 

Cade. 

0  monstrous ! 

Smith. 
We  took  him  setting  of  boys'  copies. 

Cade. 
Here's  a  villain. 

Smith. 
H'as  a  book  in  his  pocket,  with  red  letters  in't. 

Cade. 
Nay  then,  he  is  a  conjurer. 

Dick. 
Nay,  he  can  make  obligations,  and  write  court- 
hand. 

Cade. 

1  am  sorry  for't:  the  man  is  a  proper  man,  of 
mine  honour  ;  unless  I  find  him  guilty,  he  shall 
not  die. — Come  hither,  sirrah,  I  must  examine 
thee:  what  is  thy  name  ? 

Clerk. 


Dick. 
They  use  to  write  it  on  the  top  of  letters.— 
'Twill  go  hard  with  you. 
Cade. 
Let  me  alone. — Dost  thou  use  to  write  thy 
name,  or  hast  thou  a  mark  to  thyself,  like  an 
honest  plain-dealing  man? 

Clerk. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


579 


Clerk, 

Sir,  I  thank  God,  I  have  been  so  well  brought 
up,  that  1  can  write  my  name. 

All. 
He  hath  confessed :  away  with  him  1  he's  a 
villain,  and  a  traitor. 

pale. 

Away  with  him,  I  say  I  hang  him  with  his 
pen  and  ink-horn  about  his  neck. 

[Exeunt  some  with  the  Clerk. 

Knter  Michael. 

Michael. 
Where's  our  general  ? 

Cade. 
Here  I  am,  thou  particular  fellow. 

Michael. 
Fly,  fly,  fly  !   sir  Humphrey  Stafford  and  his 
brother  are  hard  by,  with  the  king's  forces. 

Cade. 
Stand,  villain,  stand,  or  I'll  fell  thee  down. 
He  shall  be  encountered  with  a  man  as  good  as 
himself:  he  is  but  a  knight,  is  'a  ? 

Michael. 
No. 

Cade. 

To  equal  him,  I  will  make  myself  a  knight 
presently.  [Kneels.]  — Rise  up,  sir  John  Mor- 
timer.   Now  have  at  him. 

Enter  Sir  Humphrey  Stafford,  and  William 
his  Brother,  with  Drum  and  Forces. 

Stafford. 

Rebellious  hinds,  the  filth  and  scum  of  Kent, 

Mark'd   for    the   gallows,    lay   your   weapons 

down : 
Home  to  your  cottages,  forsake  this  groom. 
The  king  is  merciful,  if  you  revolt. 

William  Stafford. 
But  angry,  wrathful,  and  inclin'd  to  blood, 
If  you  go  forward :  therefore  yield,  or  die. 

Cade. 
As  for  these  silken-coated  slaves,  I  pass  not : 
It  is  to  you,  good  people,  that  I  speak, 
O'er  whom  in  time  to  come  I  hope  to  reign  ; 
For  I  am  rightful  heir  unto  the  crown. 

Stafford. 
Villain  !  thy  father  was  a  plasterer ; 
And  thou  thyself  a  shearman,  art  thou  not  ? 

Cade. 
And  Adam  was  a  gardener. 

William  Stafford. 
And  what  of  that  ? 

Cade. 
Marry,  this :  —  Edmund  Mortimer,   earl   of 
March,  [he  not  ? 

Married  the  duke  of  Clarence'  daughter,  did 

Stafford. 
Ay,  sir. 

Cade. 
By  her  he  had  two  children  at  one  birth. 

William  Stafford. 
That's  false. 

Cade. 
Ay,  there's  the  question  ;  but,  I  say,  'tis  true. 
The'  elder  of  them,  being  put  to  nurse, 
Was  by  a  beggar-woman  stol'n  away  ; 
And,  ignorant  of  his  birth  and  parentage, 
Became  a  bricklayer  when  he  came  to  age. 
HL»  son  am  I :  deny  it,  ii'you  can. 


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. 

Stafford. 
And  will  you  credit  this  base  drudge's  words, 
That  speaks  he  knows  not  what  ? 

All. 
Ay,  marry,  will  we  ;  therefore,  get  ye  gone. 

William  Stafford. 
Jack  Cade,  the  duke  of  York  hath  taught  you 
this. 

Cade. 
He  lies,  for  I  invented  it  myself.  [Aside.] — 
Go  to,  sirrah :  tell  the  king  from  me,  that  for 
his  father's  sake,  Henry  the  fifth,  in  whose  time 
boys  went  to  span-counter  for  French  crowns,  I 
am  content  he  shall  reign  ;  but  I'll  be  protector 
over  him. 

And,  furthermore,  we'll  have  the  lord  Say's 
head,  for  selling  the  dukedom  of  Maine. 

Cade. 

And  good  reason  ;  for  thereby  is  England 
maimed,  and  fain  to  go  with  a  staff,  but  that  my 
puissance  holds  it  up.  Fellow  kings,  I  tell  you 
that  that  lord  Say  hath  gelded  the  common- 
wealth, and  made  it  an  eunuch  ;  and  more  than 
that,  he  can  speak  French,  and  therefore  he  is 
a  traitor. 

Stafford. 

O,  gross  and  miserable  ignorance  ! 

Cade. 
Nay,  answer  if  you  can  :  the  Frenchmen  are 
our  enemies :  go  to  then,  I  ask  but  this  ;  can  he 
that  speaks  with  the  tongue  of  an  enemy  be  a 
good  counsellor,  or  no  ? 

All. 
No,  no ;  and  therefore  we'll  have  his  head. 

William  Stafford. 
Well,  seeing  gentle  words  will  not  prevail, 
Assail  them  with  the  army  of  the  king. 
Stafford. 
Herald,  away ;  and,  throughout  every  town, 
Proclaim  them  traitors  that  are  up  with  Cade  / 
That  those  which  fly  before  the  battle  ends, 
May,  even  in  their  wives'  and  children's  sight, 
Be  hang'd  up  for  example  at  their  doors — 
And  you,  that  be  the  king's  friends,  follow  me. 
[Exeunt  the  two  Stqffords  and  Forces. 
Cade. 
And  you,  that  love  the  commons,  follow  me.— 
Now  show  yourselves  men  ;  'tis  for  liberty. 
We  will  not  leave  one  lord,  one  gentleman : 
Spare  none  but  such  as  go  in  clouted  shoon, 
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  march  toward  us. 

Cade. 
But  then  are  we  in  order,  when  we  are  most 
out  of  order.    Come :  march  !  forward  1 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Another  part  of  Blackheatli. 

Alarums.    The  two  Parties  enter,  and  fight, 

and  both  the  Stafford*  are  slain. 

Cade. 

Where's  Dick,  the  butcher  of  Askford  f 

Dick. 


58o 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Here,  sir. 


Dick. 

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. 


I  desire  no  more. 


Dick. 


Cade. 


And,  to  speak  truth,  thou  deservest  no  less. 
This  monument  of  the  victory  will  I  bear  ;  and 
the  bodies  shall  be  dragged  at  my  horse'  heels, 
till  I  do  come  to  London,  where  we  will  have 
the  mayor's  sword  borne  before  us. 

Dick. 

If  we  mean  to  thrive  and  do  good,  break  open 
the  jails,  and  let  out  the  prisoners. 
<  ade. 

Fear  not  that,  I  warrant  thee.  Come ;  let's 
march  towards  London.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    London.    Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  reading  a  Supplication ;  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  Lord  Say  with  him : 
at  a  distance,  Queen  Margaret,  mourning  over 
Suffolk'*  Head. 

Queen  Margaret. 
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? 
Buckingham. 
What  answer  makes  your  grace  to  the  rebels' 
supplication  ? 

King  Henry. 
I'll  send  some  holy  bishop  io  entreat ; 
For  God  forbid,  so  many  simple  souls 
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  Margaret. 
Ah,  barbarous  villains !  hath  this  lovely  face 
Rul'd  like  a  wandering  planet  over  me, 
And  could  it  not  enforce  them  to  relent, 
That  were  unworthy  to  behold  the  same? 
King  Henry. 
Lord  Say,  Jack  Cade  hath  sworn  to  have  thy 
head. 

Say. 
Ay,  but  I  hope,  your  highness  shall  have  his. 

King  Henry. 
How,  now,  madam ! 
Still   lamenting,   and   mourning   for   Suffolk's 

death  ? 

I  fear  me,  love,  if  that  I  had  been  dead,      [me. 

Thou  wouldest  not  have  mourn'd  so  much  for 

Queen  Margaret. 

No,  my  love ;  I  should  not  mourn,  but  die  for 

thee. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
King  Henry. 
How  now !  what  news  ?  why  com'st  thou  in 
such  haste  ? 

Messenger. 
The  rebels  are  in  Southwark :  fly,  my  lord  ! 
i  Jack  Cade  proclaims  himself  lord  Mortimer, 


l_„. 


j  Descended  from  the  duke  of  Clarence'  house, 
I  And  calls  your  grace  usurper  openly, 
JAnd  vows  to  crown  himself  in  Westminster. 
I  His  army  is  a  ragged  multitude 
j  Of  hinds  and  peasants,  rude  and  merciless : 
Sir  Humphrey  Stafford  and  his  brother's  death 
Hath  given  them  heart  and  courage  to  proceed. 
All  scholars,  lawyers,  courtiers,  gentlemen, 
They  call  false  caterpillars,  and  intend  their 
death. 

King  Henry. 
!     O  graceless  men !  they  know  not  what  they 
do. 

Buckingham. 
My  gracious  lord,  retire  to  Kenilworth, 
)  Until  a  power  be  rais'd  to  put  them  down. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ah !  were  the  duke  of  Suffolk  now  alive, 
I  These  Kentish  rebels  would  be  soon  appeas'd. 

King  Henry. 
Lord  Say,  the  traitors  hate  thee, 
Therefore  away  with  us  to  Kenilworth. 
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. 
'  Second  Messenger. 

Jack  Cade  hath  gotten  London-bridge:    the 
Fly  and  forsake  their  houses.  [citizens 

i  The  rascal  people,  thirsting  after  prey. 
Join  with  the  traitor ;  and  they  jointly  swear, 
To  spoil  the  city,  and  your  royal  court. 
Buckingham. 
Then  linger  not,  my  lord:  away,  take  horse. 
King  Henry. 
!     Come,  Margaret:   God,  our  hope,  will  suc- 
cour us. 

Queen  Margaret. 
\     My  hope  is  gone,  now  Suffolk  is  deceas'd. 

King  Henry. 
!     Farewell,  my  lord :  [To  Lord  Say]  trust  not 
the  Kentish  rebels. 

Buckingham. 
Trust  no  body  for  fear  you  be  betray'd. 

Say. 
The  trust  I  have  is  in  mine  innocence, 
And  therefore  am  I  bold  and  resolute. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    The  same.    The  Tower. 

Enter  Lord  Scales,  and  others,  walking  on  the 
Walls.    Then  enter  certain  Citizens,  below. 

Scales. 
How  now !  is  Jack  Cade  slain  ? 

First  Citizen. 
1  No,  my  lord,  nor  likely  to  be  slain  ;  for  they 
have  won  the  bridge,  killing  all  those  that  with- 
stand them.  The  lord  mayor  craves  aid  of  your 
honour  from  the  Tower,  to  defend  the  city  from 
the  rebels. 

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. 
i  But  get  you  to  Smithjicld,  and  gather  head, 
And  thither  I  will  send  you  Matthew  Gough. 
Fight  for  your  king,  your  country,  and  your 
And  so  farewell,  for  I  must  hence  again,   [lives; 
[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


Act  iv.  Sc  vn. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


581 


SCENE  VI.    The  same.    C*nnou  Street. 

Enter  Jack  Cade,ta\A  his  Followers.    He  strikes 
his  Staff  on  London-stone. 

Now  is  Mortimer  lord  of  this  city.  And  here, 
sitting  upon  London-stone,  1  charge  and  com- 
mand, that,  of  the  city's  cost,  the  pissing-conduit 
run  nothing  but  claret  wine  tins  first  year  of 
our  reign.  And  now,  henceforward,  it  shall  be 
treason  for  any  that  calls  me  other  than  lord 
Mortimer. 

Luter  a  Soldier,  running. 

Soldier. 

Jack  Cade!  Jack  Cade  I 

Cade. 

Knock  him  down  there.  [The?  kill  him. 

Smith. 
If  this  fellow  be  wise,  he'll  never  call  you 
Jack  Cade  more:   I  think,  he  hath  a  very  fair 
warning. 

Dick. 

Mv  lord,  there's  an  army  gathered  together  in 
Smtthfield. 

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. 

YL'VII.     The  same.    Smithjield. 

Alarum.  Enter,  on  one  side.  Cade  and  his 
Company  ;  ou  the  other,  the  Citizen*,  and  the 
King'*  Forces,  headed  by  Matthew  Gough. 
They  fight ;  the  Citizens  are  routed,  aud  Mat- 
titew  Gough  is  slain. 

Cade. 
So,  sirs — Now  go  some  and  pull  down  the 
Savoy;  others  to  the  inns  of  court:  down  with 
them  all. 

Dick. 
I  have  a  suit  unto  your  lordship. 

Catle. 
Be  it  a  lordship,  thou  shalt  have  it  for  that 
word.  ~.  . 

Dick. 

Only,  that  the  laws  of  England  may  come  out 
of  your  mouth. 

John. 
Mass,  'twill  be  sore  law,  then;  for  he  was 
thrust  in  the  mouth  with  a  spear,  and  'tis  not 
whole  yet.  [Aside. 

Smith. 
Nay,  John,  it  will  be  stinking  law;  for  his 
breath  stinks  with  eating  toasted  cheese.  (.Aside. 
Cade. 
I  have  thought  upon  it ;  it  shall  be  so.  Away! 
burn  all  the  records  of  the  realm:  my  mouth 
shall  be  the  parliament  of  England. 
John. 
Then  we  are  like  to  have  biting   statutes, 
unless  his  teeth  be  pulled  out.  [Aside. 

And  henceforward  all  things  shall  be  in 
common. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 

My  lord,  a  prize,  a  prize !  here's  the  lord  Sat/, 

which  sold  the  towns  in  France;  he  that  made 

us  pay  one  and  twenty  fifteens,  and  one  shilling 

i  to  the  pound,  the  last  subsidy. 


Enter  George  Btvis,  with  the  Lord  Say. 
Cade. 
Well,  he  shall  be  beheaded  for  it  ten  times. — 
Ah,  thou  say,  thou  serge,  nay,  thou  buckram 
lord  1  now  art  thou  within  point-blank  of  our 
jurisdiction  regal.  What  canst  thou  answer  to 
my  majesty,  for  giving  up  of  Normandy  unto 
monsieur  Basimecu,  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 
fore-fathers  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 
proved  to  thy  face,  that  thou  hast  men  about 
thee,  that  usually  talk  of  a  noun,  and  a  verb, 
j  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  because 
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  myself,  for 
example,  that  am  a  butcher. 
Say. 
You  men  of  Kent,— 

Dick. 
What  say  you  of  Kent? 
Say. 
Nothing  but  this :  'tis  bona  terra,  mala  gens. 

Cade. 
Away  with  him !  away  with  him  I  he  speaks 
Latin. 

Say. 

Hear  me  but  speak,  and  bear  me  where  you 
Kent,  in  the  commentaries  Cccsar  writ,      [will 

|  Is  term'd  the  civil'st  place  of  all  this  isle : 

j  Sweet  is  the  country,  because  full  of  riches ; 

I  The  people  liberal,  valiant,  active,  wealthv; 

I  Which  makes  me  hope  you  are  not  void  of  pity. 

I  I  sold  not  Maine,  I  lost  not  Normandy; 

I  Yet,  to  recover  them,  would  lose  my  life. 

!  Justice  with  favour  have  I  always  done ; 

I  Prayers  and  tears  have  mov'd  me,  gifts  could 

never. 
When  have  I  aught  exacted  at  your  hands, 
Kent,  to  maintain  the  king,  therealm,  and  you? 
Large  gifts  have  1  bestow'd  on  learned  clerks, 
Because  my  book  prefer r'd  me  to  the  king : 
And,  seeing  ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God, 
Knowledge  the  wing  wherewith  we  fly  to  heaven, 
Unless  you  be  possess'd  with  devilish  spirits, 
You  cannot  but  forbear  to  murder  me. 
This  tongue  hath  parley'd  unto  foreign  kings 
For  your  behoof, — 

Cade. 

■     Tut!  when  struck'st  thou  one  blow  in  the 

j  field? 


582 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  it.  Se.  vii. 


Say. 
Great  men  have  reaching  hands :  oft  have  I 
struck 
Those  that  I  never  saw,  and  struck  them  dead. 
George. 

0  monstrous  coward !  what,  to  come  behind 

folks  ? 

Say. 
These  cheeks  are  pale  for  watching  for  your 
good. 

Cade. 
Give  him  a  box  o'  the  ear,  and  that  will  make 
'em  red  again. 

Say. 
Long  sitting,  to  determine  poor  men's  causes, 
Hath  made  me  full  of  sickness  and  diseases. 

Cade. 
Ye  shall  have  a  hempen  caudle,  then,  and  the 
help  of  hatchet. 

Dick. 
Why  dost  thou  quiver,  man? 

Say. 
The  palsy,  and  not  fear,  provoketh  me. 

Cade. 
Nay,  he  nods  at  us :  as  who  should  say,  I'll  be 
even  with  you.     I'll  see  if  his  head  will  stand  , 
steadier  on  a  pole,  or  no.    Take  him  away,  and  | 
behead  him. 

Say. 
Tell  me,  wherein  have  I  offended  most  ? 
Have  I  affected  wealth,  or  honour;  speak? 
Are  my  chests  fill'd  up  with  extorted  gold? 
Is  my  apparel  sumptuous  to  behold  ? 
Whom  have  I  injur'd,  that  ye  seek  my  death? 
These   hands   are  free  from    guiltless  blood- 
shedding, 
This   breast   from   harbouring   foul   deceitful 
O,  let  me  live  1  [thoughts. 

Cade. 

1  feel    remorse  in  myself  with  his  words; 
but  I'll  bridle  it :  he  shall  die,  an  it  be  but  for 

E  leading  so  well  for  his  life.  Away  with  him  1  1 
e  has  a  familiar  under  his  tongue :  he  speaks  ; 
not  o'  God's  name.  Go,  take  him  away,  I  say, 
and  strike  off  his  head  presently;  and  then  break 
into  his  son-in-law's  house,  sir  James  Cromer, 
and  strike  off  his  head,  and  bring  them  both 
upon  two  poles  hither. 

All. 
It  shall  be  done. 

Say. 
Ah,  countrymen!   if  when  you  make  your 
prayers, 
God  should  be  so  obdurate  as  yourselves, 
How  would  it  fare  with  your  departed  souls  ? 
And  therefore  yet  relent,  and  save  my  life. 
Cade. 
Away  with  him,  and  do  as  I  command  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  Cheapside,  and 
take  up  commodities  upon  our  bills? 
Cade. 
Marry,  presently. 

All. 
O  brave ! 


Re-enter  Rebels,  with  the  Heads  of  Lord  Say 
and  his  Son-in-law. 
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  before  us,  in- 
stead of  maces,  will  we  ride  through  the  streets ; 
and  at  every  corner  have  them  kiss. — Away ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VU1.   Southwark. 
Alarum.    Enter  Cade,  and  all  his  Rabblement. 
Cade. 
Up  Fish-street !  down  Saint  Magnus'  corner  I 
kill  and  knock  down !  throw  them  into  Thames! 
[A  Parley  sounded,  then  a  Retreat.]    What 
noise  is  this  I  hear?    Dare  any  be  so  bold  to 
sound  retreat  or  parley,  when  I  command  them 
kill? 

Enter  Buckingham,  and  Old  Clifford,  with 

Forces. 

Buckingham. 

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. 
Clifford. 

What  say  ye,  countrymen  ?  will  ye  relent, 
And  yield  to  mercy,  whilst  'tis  offer'd  you, 
Or  let  a  rabble  lead  you  to  your  deaths? 
Who  loves  the  king,  and  will  embrace  his  pardon, 
Fling  up  his  cap,  and  say—  God  save  his  majesty ! 
Who  hateth  him,  and  honours  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  I 
Cade. 

WThat!  Buckingham  and  Clifford,  are  ye  so 
brave? — And  you,  base  peasants,  do  ye  believe 
him  ?  will  you  needs  be  hanged  with  your  par- 
dons about  your  necks  ?  Hath  my  sword  there- 
fore broke  through  London  Gates,  that  you 
6hould  leave  me  at  the  White  Hart  in  South- 
wark? I  thought,  ye  would  never  have  given 
out  these  arms,  till  you  had  recovered  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  bur- 
dens, take  your  houses  over  your  heads,  ravish 
your  wives  and  daughters  before  your  faces. 
For  me, —  I  will  make  shift  for  one;  and  so — 
God's  curse  'light  upon  you  all  1 
All. 

We'll  follow  Cade:  we'll  follow  Cade. 
Clifford. 

Is  Cade  the  son  of  Henry  the  fifth, 
That  thus  you  do  exclaim",  you'll  go  with  him  ? 
Will  he  conduct  you  through  theheart  of  France, 
And  make  the  meanest  of  you  earls  and  dukes  ? 
Alas,  he  hath  no  home,  no  place  to  fly  to ; 
Nor  knows  he  how  to  live,  but  by  the  spoil, 
Unless  by  robbing  of  your  friends,  and  us. 
Wer't  not  a  shame,  that  whilst  you  live  at  jar, 
The  fearful  French,  whom  you  late  vanquished, 
Should  make  a  start  o'er  seas,  and  vanquish  you  ? 
Methinks,  already,  in  this  civil  broil, 

I  see 


Act  iv.  Sc.  x. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


5?3 


I  see  them  lording  It  In  London  streets, 
Crying —  Villageois!  unto  all  they  meet. 
Better  ten  thousand  base-born  Cndes  miscarry, 
Than  you  should  stoop  unto  a  Frenchman's 

merry. 
To  France,  to  France!  and  get  what  you  have 
Spare  England,  for  it  is  your  native  coast,  [lost. 
Ihnry  hath  inoni'v,  you  are  strong  and  manly: 
God  on  our  side,  doubt  not  of  victory. 
All. 

A  Clifftnd!  a  Clifford!  we'll  follow  the  king, 
and  Clifford. 

Cade. 

Was  ever  feather  so  lightly  blown  to  and  fro, 
as  this  multitude?  the  name  of  Henry  the  fifth 
hales  them  to  an  hundred  mischiefs,  and  makes 
them  leave  me  desolate.  I  see  them  lay  their 
heads  together,  to  surprise  me:  my  sword  make 
way  for  me,  for  here  is  no  staying. —  In  despite 
of  the  devils  and  hell,  have  through  the  very 
midstof  you ;  and  heavens  and  honour  be  witness, 
that  no  want  of  resolution  in  me,  but  only  my 
followers'  base  and  ignominious  treasons,  makes 
me  betake  me  to  my  heels.  [Exit. 

Buckingham. 

What !  is  he  fled?  go  some,  and  follow  him ; 
And  he,  that  brings  his  head  unto  the  king, 
Shall  have  a  thousand  crowns  for  his  reward. — 
[Exeunt  some  of  them. 
Follow  me,  soldiers:  we'll  devise  a  mean 
To  reconcile  you  all  unto  the  king.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.    Kenilworth  Castle. 

Sound  trumpets.  Enter  King  Henry,  Queen 
Margaret,  and  Somerset,  on  the  Terrace  of 
the  Castle. 

King  Henry. 
Was  ever  king  that  joy'd  an  earthly  throne. 
And  could  command  no  more  content  than  I? 
No  sooner  was  I  crept  out  of  my  cradle, 
But  I  was  made  a  king,  at  nine  months  old: 
Was  never  subject  long'd  to  be  a  king, 
As  I  do  long  aud  wish  to  be  a  subject. 

Enter  Buckingham  and  Clifford. 

Buckingham. 

Health,  and  glad  tidings,  to  your  majesty ! 

King  Henry. 
Why,  Buckingham,  is  the  traitor,  Cade,  sur- 
pris'd  ? 
Or  is  he  but  retir'd  to  make  him  strong? 

Enter,  below,  a  number  of  Cade's  Followers, 

with  Halters  about  their  Necks. 

Clifford. 

He's  fled,  my  lord,  and  all  his  powers  do  yield, 

And  humbly  thus,  with  halters  on  their  necks, 

Expect  your  highness'  doom,  of  life,  or  death. 

King  Henry. 

Then,  heaven,  set  ope  thy  everlasting  gates, 

To  entertain  my  vows  of  thanks  and  praise  !  — 

Soldiers,  this  day  have  you  redeem'd  your  lives. 

And  show'd  how  well  you  love  your  prince  and 

country: 
Continue  still  in  this  so  good  a  mind, 
And  Henry,  though  he  be  infortunate, 
Assure  yourselves,  will  never  be  unkind: 
And  so,  with  thanks,  and  pardon  to  you  all, 
1  do  dismiss  you  to  your  several  countries. 

All. 

God  save  the  king  !  God  save  the  king ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Please  it  your  grace  to  be  advertised, 


The  duke  of  York  is  newly  come,  from  Ireland, 
And  with  a  puissant,  and  a  mighty  power 
Of  Gallowglasses,  and  stout  Kernes, 
Is  marching  hitherward  in  proud  array; 
And  still  proclaimeth,  as  he  comes  along, 
His  aims  are  only  to  remove  from  thee 
The  duke  of  Somerset,  whom  he  terms  a  traitor. 
King  Henry. 
Thus  stands  my  state,  'twixt  Cade  and  York 
distress'd. 
Like  to  a  ship,  that,  having  scap'd  a  tempest, 
Is  straightway  calm'd  and  boarded  with  a  pirate. 
But  now  is  Cade  driven  back,  his  men  dispers'd, 
And  now  is  York  in  arms  to  second  him. — 
I  pray  thee,  Buckingham,  go  and  meet  him, 
And  ask  him,  what's  the  reason  of  these  arms? 
Tell  him,  I'll  send  duke  Edmund  to  the  Tower; — 
And,  Somerset,  we  will  commit  thee  thither, 
Until  his  army  be  dismiss'd  from  him. 

Somerset. 
My  lord, 
I'll  yield  myself  to  prison  willingly, 
Or  unto  death  to  do  my  country  good. 
King  Henry. 
In  any  case,  be  not  too  rough  in  terms, 
For  he  is  fierce,  and  cannot  brook  hard  language. 
Buckingham. 
I  will,  my  lord  ;  and  doubt  not  so  to  deal, 
As  all  things  shall  redound  unto  your  good. 
King  Henry. 
Come,  wife,  let's  in,  and  learn  to  govern  better ; 
For  yet  may  England  curse  my  wretched  reign. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  X.  Kent.  Iden's  Garden. 
Enter  Cade. 
Cade. 
Fie  on  ambition  1  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,  I  could 
stay  no  longer.  Wherefore,  on  a  brick-wall  have 
I  climbed  into  this  garden,  to  see  if  I  can  eat 
grass,  or  pick  a  sallet  another  while,  which  is 
not  amiss  to  cool  a  man's  stomach  this  hot 
weather.  And,  I  think,  this  word  sallet  was 
born  to  do  me  good ;  for,  many  a  time,  but  for 
a  sallet,  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  Idcn,  with  Servants. 
Iden. 
Lord !  who  would  live  turmoiled  in  the  court, 
And  may  enjoy  such  quiet  walks  as  these? 
This  small  inheritance,  my  father  left  me, 
Contenteth  me,  and  worth  a  monarchy. 
I  seek  not  to  wax  great  by  others'  waning ; 
Or  gather  wealth  I  care  not  with  what  envy : 
Suffice th  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.     A  villian !  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,  anrf  swallow  my  « word  like  a  great  pin, 
ere  thou  and  1  part- 

Iden 


5«4 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  x. 


Iden. 
Why,  rude  companion,  whatsoe'er  thou  be, 
I  know  thee  not ;  why  then  should  I  betray  thee  ? 
Is't  not  enough,  to  break  into  ray  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. 

Iden. 
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 ; 
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  forbears. 

Cade. 
By  my  valour,  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 
Jove  on  my  knees,  thou  mayest  be  turned  to 
hobnails.  [They  fight.  Cade  falls.]  O!  1  am 
slain.  Famine,  and  no  other,  hath  slain  me: 
let  ten  thousand  devils  come  against  me,  and 
give  me  but  the  ten  meals  I  have  lost,  and  I'd  defy 
them  all.  Wither,  garden ;  and  be  henceforth 
a  burying-place  to  all  that  do  dwell  in  this  house, 
because  the  unconquered  soul  of  Cade  is  fled. 

Iden. 
Is't  Cade  that  I  have  slain,  that  monstrous 
traitor? 
Sword,  I  will  hallow  thee  for  this  thy  deed, 
And  hang  thee  o'er  my  tomb,  when  I  am  dead: 
Ne'er  shall  this  blood  be  wiped  from  thy  point, 
But  thou  shalt  wear  it  as  a  herald's  coat, 
To  emblaze  the  honour  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  cowards;    for  I, 

that  never  feared  any,  am  vanquished  by  famine, 

not  by  valour.  [Dies. 

Iden. 

How  much  thou  wrong'st  me,  heaven  be  my 

judge. 

Die,  damned  wretch  the  curse  of  her  that  bare 

thee! 
And  as  I  thrust  thy  body  in  with  my  sword, 
So  wish  I,  I  might  thrust  thy  soul  to  hell. 
Hence  will  I  drag  thee  headlong  by  the  heels 
Unto  a  dunghill,  which  shall  be  thy  grave, 
And  there  cut  off  thy  most  ungracious  head; 
Which  I  will  bear  in  triumph  to  the  king, 
Leaving  thy  trunk  for  crows  to  feed  upon. 

[Exit,  dragging  out  the  body. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    Fields  between  Dart- 
ford  and  Blackheath. 

The  King's  Camp  on  one  side:  on  the  other, 
enter  York  attended,  with  Drum  and  Colours ; 
his  Forces  at  some  distance. 

York. 

FROM  Ireland  thus  comes  York,  to  claim  his 
right, 
j  And  pluck  the  crown  from  feeble  Henry's  head: 
;  Ring,  bells,  aloud;    burn,  bonfires,  clear  and 

bright, 
!  To  entertain  great  England's  lawful  king. 
i  Ah,  sancla  majestas!  who  would  not  buy  thee 

dear  ? 
!  Let  them  obey,  that  know  not  how  to  rule  ; 
j  This  hand  was  made  to  handle  nought  but  gold: 
I  I  cannot  give  due  action  to  my  words, 
!  Except  a  sword,  or  sceptre,  balance  it. 
i  A  sceptre  shall  it  have,  have  1  a  soul, 
:  On  which  I'll  toss  the  flower-de-luce  of  France. 

Enter  Buckingham. 

Whom  have  we  here  ?  Buckingham,  to  disturb 

me? 
The  king  hath  sent  him,  sure:  I  must  dissemble. 

Buckingham. 
1      York,  if  thou  meanest  well,  I  greet  thee  well. 
York. 
Humphrey  of  Buckingham,  I  accept  thy  greet- 
ing. 
j  Art  thou  a  messenger,  or  come  of  pleasure  ? 
Buckingham. 
A  messenger  from  Henry,  our  dread  liege, 
;  To  know  the  reason  of  these  arms  in  peace  i 
i  Or  why,  thou— being  a  subject  as  I  am, — 
|  Against  thy  oath  and  true  allegiance  sworn, 
Should'st  raise  so  great  a  power  without  his 

leave, 
Or  dare  to  bring  thy  force  so  near  the  court. 
York. 
Scarce  can  I  speak,  my  choler  is  so  great. 
O !  I  could  hew  up  rocks,  and  fight  with  flint, 
I  am  so  angry  at  these  abject  terms  ; 
And  now,  like  Ajax  Telamonius, 
On  sheep  or  oxen  could  I  spend  my  fury. 
I  am  far  better  born  than  is  the  king, 
More  like  a  king,  more  kingly  in  my  thoughts ; 
But  I  must  make  fair  weather  yet  a  while, 
Till  Henry  be  more  weak,  and  I  more  strong.— 

[Aside. 
O  Buckingham,  I  pr'ythee,  pardon  me, 
That  I  have  given  no  answer  all  this  while : 
My  mind  was  troubled  with  deep  melancholy. 
The  cause  why  I  have  brought  this  army  hither, 
Is  to  remove  proud  Somerset  from  the  king, 
Seditious  to  his  grace,  and  to  the  state. 
Buckingham. 
That  is  too  much  presumption  on  thy  part; 
But  if  thy  arms  be  to  no  other  end, 
The  king  hath  yielded  unto  thy  demand: 
The  duke  of  Somerset  is  in  the  Tower. 
York. 
Upon  thine  honour,  is  he  prisoner? 

Buckingham. 
Upon  mine  honour,  he  is  prisoner. 

York. 
Then,  Buckingham,  I  do  dismiss  my  powers — 
Soldiers,  1  thank  you  all ;  disperse  yourselves: 
Meet  me  to-morrow  in  Saint  George's  field, 

You 


!  Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


585 


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  ol  my  fealty  and  love, 
I'll  send  them  all,  as  willing  as  1  live: 
Lands,  goods,  horse,  armour,  any  thing  I  have 
Is  his  to  use,  so  Somerset  may  die. 
Buckingham. 
York,  I  commend  this  kind  submission: 
We  twain  will  go  into  his  highness'  tent. 

Knter  King  Henry,  attended. 
King  Henry. 
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  Henry. 
Then  what   intend   these  forces  thou  dost 
bring? 

York. 
To  heave  the  traitor  Somerset  from  hence ; 
And  fight  against  that  monstrous  rebel,  Cade, 
"Who  since  I  heard  to  be  discomfited. 

tnter  Idea,  with  Cade's  Head. 
Mm. 
If  one  so  rude,  and  of  so  mean  condition, 
May  pass  into  the  presence  of  a  king, 
Lo  1  I  present  your  grace  a  traitor's  head, 
The  head  of  Cade,  whom  I  in  combat  slew. 
King  Henry. 
The  head  of  Cade?—  Great  God,  how  just  art 
O  !  let  me  view  his  visage  being  dead,  [thou ! — 
That  living  wrought  me  such  exceeding  trouble. 
Tell  me,  my  friend,  art  thou  the  man  that  slew 
him? 

Iden. 
I  was,  an't  like  your  majesty. 
King  Henry. 
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. 
Buckingham. 
So  please  it  you,  my  lord,  'twere  not  amiss, 
He  were  created  knight  for  his  good  service. 
King  Henry. 
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. 
Iden. 
May  Iden  live  to  merit  such  a  bounty, 
And  never  live  but  true  unto  his  liege. 
King  Henry. 
See,  Buckingham!  Somerset  comes  with  the 
queen : 
Go,  bid  her  hide  him  quickly  from  the  duke. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret  and  Somencl. 
Queen  Margaret, 
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?  [thoughts, 
Then,     York,     unloose     thy    long-imprison'd 
And  let  thy  tongue  be  equal  with  thy  heart. 
Shall  I  endure  the  sight  of  Somerset? — 
False  king,  why  hast  thou  broken  faith  with  me, 
Knowing  how  hardly  I  can  brook  abuse? 


King  did  I  call  thee?  no,  thou  art  not  king; 
Not  lit  to  govern  and  rule  multitudes, 
W  hich  dar'st  not,  no,  nor  canst  not  rule  a  traitor. 
That  head  of  thine  doth  not  become  a  crowu  ; 
Thy  hand  is  made  to  grasp  a  palmer's  staff, 
And  not  to  grace  an  awful  princely  sceptre. 
That  gold  must  round  engirt  these  brows  of 

mine; 
Whose  smile  and  frown,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure. 
Here  is  a  hand  to  hold  a  sceptre  up, 
And  with  the  same  to  act  controlling  laws. 
Give  place :  by  heaven,  thou  shalt  rule  no  more 
O'er  him  whom  heaven  created  for  thy  ruler. 
somerset. 

0  monstrous  traitor ! — I  arrest  thee,  York, 
Of  capital  treason  'gainst  the  king  and  crown. 
Obey,  audacious  traitor :  kneel  for  grace. 

York. 
Would'st  have  me  kneel?  first  let  me  ask  of 
If  they  can  brook  I  bow  a  knee  to  man  ?  [these, 
Sirrah,  call  in  my  sons  to  be  my  bail : 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
I  know,  ere  they  will  have  me  go  to  ward. 
They'll  pawn  their  swords  for  my  enfranchise- 
ment. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Call  hither  Clifford;  bid  him  come  amain, 
To  say,  if  that  the  bastard  boys  of  York 
Shall  be  the  surety  for  their  traitor  father. 
York- 

0 1  blood-bespotted  Neapolitan, 

Outcast  of  Naples,  England's  bloody  scourge, 
The  sons  of  York,  thy  betters  in  their  birth, 
Shall  be  their  father's  bail ;  and  bane  to  those 
That  for  my  surety  will  refuse  the  boys. 

Enter  Edward  and  Richard  Plantagenet,  with 
Forces,  at  one  side ;  at  the  other,  with  Forces 
also,  old  Clifford  and  his  Son. 
See  where  they  come:  I'll  warrant  they'll  make 
it  good. 

Queen  Margaret. 
And  here  comes  Clifford,  to  deny  their  bail. 

Clifford. 
Health  and  all  happiness  to  my  lord  the  king ! 
[Kneels. 
York. 
I  thank  thee,  Clifford:  say,  what  news  with 
Nay,  do  not  fright  us  with  an  angry  look :  [thee  ? 
We  are  thy  sovereign,  Clifford,  kneel  again ; 
For  thy  mistaking  so,  we  pardon  thee. 
Clifford. 
This  is  my  king,  York :  I  do  not  mistake ; 

But  thou  mistak'st  me  much,  to  think  I  do 

To  Bedlam  with  him  1  is  the  man  grown  mad? 
King  Henry. 
Ay,  Clifford;  a  bedlam  and  ambitious  humour 
Makes  him  oppose  himself  against  his  king. 
Clifford. 
He  is  a  traitor:  let  him  to  the  Tower, 
And  chop  away  that  factious  pate  of  his. 
Queen  Margaret. 
He  is  arrested,  but  will  not  obey : 
His  sons,  he  says,  shall  give  their  words  for  him. 
York. 
Will  you  not,  sons? 

Edward. 
Ay,  noble  father,  if  our  words  will  serve. 

Richard. 
And  if  words  will  not,  then  our  weapons  shall, 

Clifford. 
Why,  what  a  brood  of  traitors  have  we  here  I 


!5*6 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


York. 
Look  in  a  glass,  and  call  thy  image  so ; 

I  am  thy  king,  and  thou  a  false-heart  traitor 

Call  hither  to  the  stake  my  two  brave  bears, 
That  with  the  very  shaking  of  their  chains 
They  may  astonish  these  fell  lurking  curs: 
Bid  Salisbury,  and  Warwick,  come  to  me. 

Drums.    Enter  Warwick  and  Salisbury,  with 
Forces. 
Clifford. 
Are  these  thy  bears?  we'll  bait  thy  bears  to 
death, 
And  manacle  the  bear-ward  in  their  chains, 
If  thou  dar'st  bring  them  to  the  baiting  place. 
Richard. 
Oft  have  I  seen  a  hot  o'erweening  cur 
Run  back  and  bite,  because  he  was  withheld; 
Who,  being  suffer'd  with  the  bear's  fell  paw, 
Hath  clapp'd  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  cry'd : 
And  such  a  piece  of  service  will  you  do, 
If  you  oppose  yourselves  to  match  lord  Warwick. 
Clifford. 
Hence,  heap  of  wrath,  foul  indigested  lump, 
As  crooked  in  thy  manners  as  thy  shape ! 
York. 
Nay,  we  shall  heat  you  thoroughly  anon. 

Clifford. 
Take  heed,  lest  by  your  heat  you  burn  your- 
selves. 

King  Henry. 
Why,  Warwick,  hath  thy  knee  forgot  to  bow  ?— 
Old  Salisbury, — shame  to  thy  silver  hair, 
Thou  mad  misleader  of  thy  brain-sick  son !  — 
What,  wilt  thou  on  thy  death-bed  play  the  ruffian, 
And  seek  for  sorrow  with  thy  spectacles  ? 

0  !  where  is  faith?    O  !  where  is  loyalty? 
If  it  be  banish'd  from  the  frosty  head, 
Where  shall  it  find  a  harbour  in  the  earth  ? — 
Wilt  thou  go  dig  a  grave  to  find  out  war, 
And  shame  thine  honourable  age  with  blood  ? 
Why  art  thou  old,  and  want'st  experience  ? 
Or  wherefore  dost  abuse  it,  if  thou  hast  it? 
For  shame !  in  duty  bend  thy  knee  to  me, 
That  bows  unto  the  grave  with  mickle  age. 

Salisbury. 
My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  with  myself 
The  title  of  this  most  renowned  duke ; 
And  in  my  conscience  do  repute  his  grace 
The  rightful  heir  to  England's  royal  seat. 
King  Henry. 
Hast  thou  not  sworn  allegiance  unto  me? 

Salisbury. 
I  have. 

King  Henry. 
Canst  thou  dispense  with  heaven  for  such  an 
oath? 

Salisbury. 
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  ? 
Queen  Margaret. 
A  subtle  traitor  needs  no  sophister. 

King  Henry. 
Call  Buckingham,  and  bid  him  arm  himself. 

York. 
Call  Buckingham,  and  all  the  friends  thou  hast, 

1  am  resolv'd  for  death,  or  dignity. 


Clifford. 
The  first  I  warrant  thee,  if  dreams  prove  true. 

Warwick . 
You  were  best  to  go  to  bed,  and  dream  again, 
To  keep  thee  from  the  tempest  of  the  field. 

Clifford. 
I  am  resolv'd  to  bear  a  greater  storm, 
Than  any  thou  canst  conjure  up  to-day; 
And  that  I'll  write  upon  thy  burgonet, 
Might  I  but  know  thee  by  thy  household  badge. 

Warwick. 

Now,  by  my  father's  badge,  old  NeviTs  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. 

Clifford. 
And  from  thy  burgonet  I'll  rend  thy  bear, 
And  tread  it  underfoot  with  all  contempt, 
Despite  the  bear-ward  that  protects  the  bear. 
Young  Clifford. 
And  so  to  arms,  victorious  father, 
To  quell  the  rebels,  and  their  'complices. 
Richard. 
Fie !  charity !  for  shame !  speak  not  in  spite, 
For  you  shall  sup  with  Jesu  Christ  to-night. 
Young  Clifford. 
Foul  stigmatic,  that's  more  than  thou  canst 
tell. 

Richard. 
If  not  in  heaven,  you'll  surely  sup  in  hell. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  II.    Saint  AlbanS. 
Alarums:  Excursions.    Enter  Warwick. 

Warwick. 
Clifford  of  Cumberland!  'tis  Warwick  calls  ; 
And  if  thou  dost  not  hide  thee  from  the  bear, 
Now,  when  the  angry  trumpet  sounds  alarm, 
And  dead  men's  cries  do  fill  the  empty  air, 
Clifford,  I  say,  come  forth  and  fight  with  me  ! 
Proud  northern  lord,  Clifford  of  Cumberland, 
Warwick  is  hoarse  with  calling  thee  to  arms. 

Enter  York. 
How  now,  my  noble  lord  !  what,  all  a-foot  ? 
York, 
The  deadly-handed  Clifford  slew  my  steed  ; 
But  match  to  match  I  have  encounter'd  him, 
And  made  a  prey  for  carrion  kites  and  crows 
Even  of  the  bonny  beast  he  lov'd  so  well. 

Enter  Clifford, 
Warwick. 
Of  one  or  both  of  us  the  time  is  come, 

York. 
Hold,  Warwick  I   seek  thee  out  some  other 
chace, 
For  I  myself  must  hunt  this  deer  to  death. 
Warwick. 
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  unassail'd. 

[Exit  Warwick, 
Clifford. 
What  seest  thou  in  me,  York  ?  why  dost  thou 
pause  ? 

York. 
With  thy  brave  bearing  should  I  be  in  love, 
But  that  thou  art  so  fast  mine  enemy. 

Clifford 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


5«7 


Clifford. 
Nor  should  thy  prowess  want  praise  and  es- 
teem. 
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. 

My  soul  and  body  on  the  action  both  I  — 
York. 

A  dreadful  lay  !  —  address  thee  instantly. 
Clifford. 

La  Jin  couronne  les  ceuvrcs. 

[They  fight,  and  Clifford  falls  and  dies. 
York. 

Thus  war  hath  given  thee  peace,  for  thou  art 
still. 
Peace  with  his  soul,  heaven,  if  it  be  thy  will  1 

[Exit. 
Enter  young  Clifford. 
Young  Clifford. 

Shame  and  confusion  !  all  is  on  the  rout : 
Fear  frames  disorder,  and  disorder  wounds  [hell, 
Where  it  should  guard.     O  war  !  thou  son  of 
Whom  angry  heavens  do  make  their  minister, 
Throw  in  the  frozen  bosoms  of  our  part 
Hot  coals  of  vengeance  !  —  Let  no  soldier  fly  r 
He  that  is  truly  dedicate  to  war, 
Hath  no  self-love  ;  nor  he,  that  loves  himself, 
Hath  not  essentially,  but  by  circumstance. 

The  name  of  valour O !  let  the  vile  world 

end,  [Seeing  his  Father's  body. 

And  the  premised  flames  of  the  last  day 
Knit  earth  and  heaven  together  1 
Now  let  the  general  trumpet  blow  his  blast, 
Particularities  and  petty  sounds 
To  cease  !  —  Wast  thou  ordain'd,  dear  father, 
To  lose  thy  youth  in  peace,  and  to  achieve 
The  silver  livery  of  advised  age, 
And,  in  thy  reverence,  and  thy  chair-days,  thus 
To  die  in  ruffian  battle  ?  —  Even  at  this  sight, 
My  heart  is  turn'd  to  stone:  and  while  'tis  mine, 
It  shall  be  stony.    York  not  our  old  men  spares ; 
No  more  will  I  their  babes :  tears  virginal 
Shall  be  to  me  even  as  the  dew  to  fire  ; 
And  beauty,  that  the  tyrant  oft  reclaims, 
Shall  to  my  flaming  wrath  be  oil  and  fl.ix. 
Henceforth  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  pity : 
Meet  1  an  infant  of  the  house  of  York, 
Into  as  many  gobbets  will  I  cut  it, 
As  wild  Medea  young  Absyrtus  did  : 
In  cruelty  will  I  seek  out  my  fame. 
Come,  thou  new  ruin  of  old  Clifford's  house  ; 

[Taking  up  the  Body. 
As  did  JEneas  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. 

Enter  Richard  Plantagenet  and  Somerset, 
righting ;  Somerset  is  killed. 
Richard. 
So,  lie  thou  there  ;  — 
For,  underneath  an  alehouse'  paltry  sign, 
The  Castle  in  Saint  Alban's.  Somerset 
Hath  made  the  wizard  famous  in  his  death. 
Sword,  hold  thy  temper  ;  heart,  be  wrathful 

still : 
Priests  pray  for  enemies,  but  princes  kill. 

[Exit. 
A I  rums:    Excursions.      Enter    King    Henry, 
Queen  Margaret,  and  others,  retreating. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Away,  my  lord  !  you  are  slow :   for  shame, 
away  ! 


King  Henry. 
Can  we  outrun  the  heavens  ?  good  Margaret, 
stay. 

Queon  Mar 
What  are  you  made  of?  you'll  nor  fight,  nor 
Now  is  it  manhood,  wisdom,  and  defence,    [fly  : 
To  give  the  enemy  way  ;  and  to  secure  us 
By  what  we  can,  which  can  no  more  but  fly. 

T  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  jour  neglect) 
We  shall  to  London  get ;  where  you  are  lov'd, 
And  where  this  breach,  now  in  our  fortunes 
May  readily  be  stopp'd.  [made, 

Enter  young  Clifford. 

Young  Clifford. 
But  that  my  heart's  on  future  mischief  set, 
I  would  speak  blasphemy  ere  bid  you  fly ; 
But  fly  you  must :  uncurable  discomfit 
Reigns  in  the  hearts  of  all  our  present  parts. 
Away,  for  your  relief ;  and  we  will  live 
To  see  their  day,  and  them  our  fortune  give. 
Away,  my  lord,  away  !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Fields  near  Saint  Alban's. 

Alarum  :  Retreat.    Flourish  ;  then  enter  York, 
Richard  Plantagenet,  Warwick,  and  Soldiers, 
with  Drum  and  Colours. 
York. 
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. 

Richard. 

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  farther  act :         [him  ; 
But  still,  where  danger  was,  still  there  I  met 
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, 
Salisbury. 
Now,  by  my  sword,  well  hast  thou  fought 
to-day ; 
By  the  mass,  so  did  we  all. — I  thank  you,  Richard: 
God  knows  how  long  it  is  I  have  to  live, 
And  it  hath  pleas'd  him,  that  three  times  to-day 
You  have  defended  me  from  imminent  death. — 
Well,  lords,  we  have  not  got  that  which  we 

have: 
'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  i 
Warwick. 
After  them  ?  nay,  before  them,  if  we  can. 
Now,  by  my  hand,  lords,  'twas  a  glorious  day : 
Saint  Albans"  battle,  won  by  famous  Yorkt 
Shall  be  eterniz'd  in  all  age  to  come. — 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets! — and  to  Londoi 
And  more  such  days  as  these  to  us  befall  1    [al  i 
[Exeunt. 


583 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


THIRD  PART 

OF 

KING  HENRY  VI. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE. 


KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 

Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  his  Son. 

Lewis  XI.,  King  of  France. 

Duke  of  Somerset, 

Duke  of  Exeter, 

Earl  of  Oxford,  1    on    King 

Earl  of  Northumberland,  f       side. 

Earl  of  Westmoreland, 

Lord  Clifford,  J 

Richard  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  York. 

Edward,    Earl  of   March,   afterwords'] 

King  Edward  I V. 
Edmund,  Earl  of  Rutland,  ±  „ 

George,  afterwards  Duke  of  Clarence,      A0US' 
Richard,  afterwards  Duke  of  GlocesterJ 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  1 

Marquess  of  Montague, 

Earl  of  Warwick,  I  of  the  Duke  of  York's 

Earl  of  Pembroke,         f    party. 
Lord  Hastings, 
Lord  Stafford,  J 


Henry's 


Mi 


Sir  John  Mortimer,  7  Uncles  to    the   Duke   of 

Sir  Hugh  Mortimer,  j     York. 

Henry,  Earl  of  Richmond,  a  Youth. 

Lord  Hivers,  Brother  to  Lad;/  Grey.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Stanley.  Sir  John  Montgomery.  Sir 
John  Somerville.  Tutor  to  Rutland.  Mayor 
of  York.  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower.  A  Noble- 
man. Two  Keepers.  A  Huntsman.  A  Son 
that  has  killed  his  Father.  A  Father  that  has 
killed  his  Son. 

Queen  Margaret. 

Lady  Grey,  afterwards  Queen  to  Edward  IV. 

Bona,  Sister  to  the  French  Queen. 

Soldiers,  and  other  Attendants,  on  King  Henry, 
and  King  Edward,  Messengers,  Watchmen,  fyc. 

SCENE,  during  part  of  the  Third  Act,  in 

France;  during  the  rest  of  the  Play, 

in  England. 


##•#••#••##■■#•■#• 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    London.    The  Parliament-House. 

Drums.    Some  Soldiers  of  York's  party  break 
in.    Then,  enter  the  Duke  of  York,  Edward, 
Richard,  Norfolk,  Montague,  Warwick,  and 
others,  with  white  Roses  in  their  Hats. 
Warwick. 
T  WONDER  how  the  king  escap'd  our  hands. 
1  York. 

While  we  pursued  the  horsemen  of  the  north, 
He  slily  stole  away,  and  left  his  men : 
Whereat  the  great  lord  of  Northumberland, 
Whose  warlike  ears  could  never  brook  retreat, 
Cheer'd  up  the  drooping  army  ;  and  himself, 
Lord  Clifford,  and  lord  Stafford,  all  a-breast, 
Charg'd  our  main  battle's  front,  and,  breaking 

in, 
Were  by  the  swords  of  common  soldiers  slain. 


the  earl  of  Wiltshire's 
[To  York,  showing  Ins. 


Edward. 
Lord  Stafford's  father,  duke  of  Buckingham, 
Is  either  slain,  or  wounded  dangerous : 
1  cleft  his  beaver  with  a  downright  blow  ; 
That  this  is  true,  father,  behold  his  blood. 

[Showing  lv.i  bloody  Sword. 

Montague 
And,  brother,  here's 
blood, 
Whom  I  encounter'd  as  the  battles  join'd 
Richard. 
Speak  thou  for  me,  and  tell  them  what  I  did. 
[Throwing  down  the  Duke  of  Somerset's 
Head. 

York. 

Richard  hath  best  deserv'd  of  all  my  sons — 

But,  is  your  grace  dead,  my  lord  of  Somerset? 

Norfolk. 

Such  hope  have  all  the  line  of  John  of  Gaunt' 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


589 


Richard. 
Thus  do  1  hope  to  shake  king  Henry's  head. 

Warwick. 
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  re^al  seat:  possess  it.  York- ; 
I-  or  tiiis  is  thine,  and  not  king  Henry's  heirs'. 

Assist  me.  then,  sweet  Warwick,  and  I  will ; 
For  hither  we  have  broken  in  by  force. 

N'ovfolk. 
We'll  all  assist  you:  he,  that  flies,  shall  die. 

York. 
Thanks,  gentle  Norfolk.—  Stay  by  me,  my 
lords : — 
And,  soldiers,  stay,  and  lodge  by  me  this  night 

Warwick. 
And,  when  the  king  comes,  offer   him   no 
violence, 
Unless  he  seek  to  thrust  you  out  by  force. 

"They  retire. 
York. 
The  queen  this  day  here  holds  her  parlia- 
ment, 
But  little  thinks  we  shall  be  of  her  council. 
By  words  or  blows  here  let  us  win  our  right. 

Richard. 
Arm'd  as  we  are,  let's  stay  within  this  house. 

Warwick. 
The  bloody  parliament  shall  this  be  call'd, 
Unless  Plantagenet,  duke  of  York,  be  king, 
And  bashful  Henry  depos'd,  whose  cowardice 
Hath  made  us  by-words  to  our  enemies. 

York. 
Then  leave  me  not,  my  lords ;  be  resolute, 
1  mean  to  take  possession  of  my  right. 

Warwick. 
Neither  the  king,  nor  he  that  loves  him  best, 
The  proudest  he  that  holds  up  Lancaster, 
Dares  stir  a  wing,  if  Wancick  shake  his  bells. 

I'll  plant  Plantagenet,  root  him  up  who  dares 

Resolve  thee  Richard;  claim  the  English  crown. 
{Wancick  leads  York  to  the  Throne,  who 
seats  himself. 

Flourish.  Enter  King  Henry,  Clifford,  Korthum. 
berland,  Westmoreland,  Exeter,  and  others, 
with  red  Roses  in  their  Hats. 

My  lords,  look  where  the  sturdy  rebel  sits, 
Even  in  the  chair  of  state!  belike,  he  means, 
Back'd  by  the  power  of  Warwick,  that  false  peer, 

To  aspire  unto  the  crown,  and  reign  as  king 

Earl  of  Northumberland,  he  slew  thy  father ; — 
And  thine,  lord  Clifford,  and  you  both  have 

vow'd  revenge, 
On  him,  his  sons,  his  favourites,  and  his  friends. 

Northumberland. 
If  I  be  not,  heavens  be  reveng'd  on  me  I 

Clifford. 

The  hope  thereof  makes  Clifford  mourn  in 
steel. 

Westmoreland 
What !  shall  we  suffer  this  ?  let's  pluck  him 
down: 
My  heart  for  anger  burns,  I  cannot  brook  it. 

King  Henrv. 
i     Be  patient,  gentle  earl  of  Westmoreland. 


Clifford. 
,     Patience  is  for  poltroons,  such  as  he : 
J  He  durst  not  sit  there,  had  your  father  liv'd. 
1  My  gracious  lord,  here  in  the  parliament 
;  Let  us  assail  the  family  of  York. 

Northumberland. 

Well  hast  thou  spoken,  cousin :  be  it  so. 

King  Henry. 
Ah  1  know  you  not,  the  city  favours  them, 
And  they  have  troops  of  soldiers  at  their  beck  ? 
Exeter. 

But  when  the  duke  is  slain,  they'll  quickly  fly. 

King  Henrv. 
Far  be  the  thought  of  this  from  Henry's  heart, 
I  To  make  a  shambles  of  the  parliament-house ! 
;  Cousin  of  Exeter,  frowns,  words,  and  threats, 
Shall  be  the  war  that  Henry  means  to  use. 

advance  to  the  Duke. 
Thou  factious  duke  of  York,  descend  my  throne, 
And  kneel  for  grace  and  mercy  at  my  feet : 
I  am  thy  sovereign. 

York. 
I  am  thine. 
Exeter. 
For  shame !  come  down :  he  made  thee  duke 
of  York. 

York. 
'Twas  my  inheritance,  as  the  earldom  was. 

Exeter. 
Thy  father  was  a  traitor  to  the  crown. 

Warwick. 
Exeter,  thou  art  a  traitor  to  the  crown 
In  following  this  usurping  Henry. 
Clifford. 
Whom  should  he  follow,  but  his  natural  king? 

Warwick. 
True,  Clifford;  that  is  Richard,  duke  of  York. 

King  Henry. 
And  shall  I  stand,  and  thou  sit  in  my  throne? 

York. 
It  must  and  shall  be  so.    Content  thyself. 

Warwick. 
Be  duke  of  Lancaster :  let  him  be  king. 

Westmoreland. 
He  is  both  king  and  duke  of  Lancaster; 
And  that  the  lord  of  Westmoreland  shall  main- 
tain. 

Warwick. 

And  Warwick  shall  disprove  it.    You  forget, 

That  we  are  those  which  chas'd  you  from  the 

field, 
And  slew  your  fathers,  and  with  colours  spread 
March'd  through  the  city  to  the  palace  gates. 

Northumberland. 

Yes,  Warwick,  I  remember  it  to  my  grief ; 

And,  by  his  soul,  thou  and  thy  house  shall  rue  it. 

Westmoreland. 
Plantagenet,  of  thee,  and  these  thy  sons. 
Thy  kinsmen,  and  thy  friends,  I'll  have  more 

lives, 
J  Than  drops  of  blood  were  in  my  father's  veins. 

Clifford. 
!     Urge  it  no  more;  lest  that  instead  of  words 
;  I  send  thee,  Warwick,  such  a  messenger, 
As  shall  revenge  his  death  before  1  stir. 

Warwick. 
Poor  Clifford}    how  I  scorn  his  worthless 
threats. 

York. 
Will  you,  we  show  our  title  to  the  crown? 
If  not,  our  swords  shall  plead  it  in  the  field. 

King 


J59Q 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


King  Henry. 
What  title  hast  thou,  traitor,  to  the  crown? 
Thy  father  was,  as  thou  art,  duke  of  York; 
Thy  grandfather,  Roger  Mortimer,  earl  of  March. 
1  am  the  son  of  Henry  the  fifth. 
Who  made  the  Dauphin  and  the  French  to  stoop, 
And  seiz'd  upon  their  towns  and  provinces. 
Warwick. 
Talk  not  of  France,  sith  thou  hast  lost  it  all. 

King  Henry. 
The  lord  protector  lost  it,  and  not  1 : 
When  I  was  crown'd,  I  was  but  nine  months  old. 
Richard. 
You  are  old  enough  now,  and  yet,  methinks, 
you  lose. 
Father,  tear  the  crown  from  the  usurper's  head. 
Edward. 
Sweet  father,  do  so :  set  it  on  your  head. 

Montague. 
Good  brother,  [To  York,]  as  thou  lov'st  and 
honour'st  arms, 
Let's  fight  it  out,  and  not  stand  cavilling  thus. 
Richard. 
Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  king  will 

fly- 
York. 
Sons,  peace  1 

King  Henry. 
Peace  thou,  and  give  king  Henry  leave  to 
speak. 

Warwick. 
Plantagenet  shall  speak  first:  hear  him,  lords; 
And  be  you  silent  and  attentive  too, 
For  he,  that  interrupts  him,  shall  not  live. 
King  Henry. 
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  colours —often  borne  in  France, 
And   now  in  England,   to   our  heart's   great 

sorrow, — 
Shall  be  my  winding  sheet.— Why  faint  you, 
My  title's  good,  and  better  far  than  his.  [lords  ? 
Warwick. 
Prove  it,  Henry,  and  thou  shalt  be  king. 

King  Henry. 
Henry  the  fourth  by  conquest  got  the  crown. 

York. 
'Twas  by  rebellion  against  his  king. 

King  Henry. 
I  know  not  what  to  say  :  my  title's  weak. 
Tell  me,  may  not  a  king  adopt  an  heir? 
York. 
What  then? 

King  Henry. 

An  if  he  may,  then  am  I  lawful  king ; 

For  Richard,  in  the  view  of  many  lords, 

Resign'd  the  crown  to  Henry  the  fourth, 

Whose  heir  my  father  was,  and  I  am  his. 

York. 
He  rose  against  him,  being  his  sovereign, 
And  made  him  to  resign  his  crown  perforce. 

Warwick. 
Suppose,  my  lords,  he  did  it  unconstrain'd, 
Think  you,  'twere  prejudicial  to  his  crown? 

Exeter. 

No ;  for  he  could  not  so  resign  his  crown, 

But  that  the  next  heir  should  succeed  and  reign. 

King  Henry. 

Art  thou  against  us,  duke' of  Exeter  t 


|  Kxeter. 

i     His  is  the  right,  and  therefore  pardon  me. 

York. 
Why  whisper  you,  my  lords,  and  answer  not  ? 

Exeter. 
My  conscience  tells  me  he  is  lawful  king. 

King  Henry. 
All  will  revolt  from  me,  and  turn  to  him. 

Northumberland. 
Plantagenet,  for  all  the  claim  thou  lay'st, 
Think  not,  that  Henry  shall  be  so  depos'd. 

Warwick. 
Depos'd  he  shall  be  in  despite  of  all. 

Northumberland. 

Thou  art  deceiv'd:   'tis   not   thy   southern. 

Of  Essex,  Norfolk,  Suffolk,  nor  of  Kent,  [power, 

Which    makes    thee    thus    presumptuous    and 

Can  set  the  duke  up  in  despite  of  me.      [proud, 

Clifford. 
King  Henry,  be  thy  title  right  or  wrong, 
Lord  Clifford  vows  to  fight  in  thy  defence : 
May  that  ground  gape,  and  swallow  me  alive, 
Where  1  shall  kneel  to  him  that  slew  my  father ! 

King  Henry. 

0  Clifford,  how  thy  words  "revive  my  heart  I 

York, 
Henry  of  Lancaster,  resign  thy  crown. 
What  mutter  you,  or  what  conspire  you,  lords? 

Warwick. 
Do  right  unto  this  princely  duke  of  York, 
Or  I  will  fill  the  house  with  armed  men, 
And,  o'er  the  chair  of  state,  where  now  he  sits, 
Write  up  his  title  with  usurping  blood. 

[He  stamps,  and  the  Soldiers  6how  them- 
selves. 

King  Henry. 
My  lord  of  Warwick,  hear  "but  one  word. 
Let  me  for  this  my  life-time  reign  as  king. 

York.        ,         ,      .    . 
Confirm  the  crown  to  me,  and  to  mine  heirs, 
And  thou  shalt  reign  in  quiet  while  thou  liv'st. 

1  am  content :  Richard  Plantagenet, 
Enjoy  the  kingdom  after  my  decease. 

.      Clifford,, 
What  wrong  is  this  unto  the  prince  your  son  ? 

What  good  is  this  to  England,  and  himself? 

Base,  fearful,  and  despairing" Henry! 


njur'd  boi 


How  hast  thou  injur 'd  both  thyself  and  us  I 

Westmoreland. .,  , 
1  cannot  stay  to  hear  these  articles. 

Northumberland. 
Nor  I. 

Come,  cousin,  let  us  tellthe  queen  these  news. 

Farewell,  faint-hearted  and  degenerate  king, 
In  whose  cold  blood  no  spark  of  honour  bides. 

Northumberland.       _.    , 

Be  thou  a  prey  unto  the  house  of  York, 

And  die  in  bands  for  this  unmanly  deed  1 

In  dreadful  war  may'sr!  thou  be  overcome, 
Or  live  in  peace,  abandon'd,  and  despis'd! 

[Exeunt  Northumberland,   Clifford,   and 


Westmoreland. 


Warwick. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


59" 


Warwick. 
Turn  this  way,  Henry,  and  regard  them  not. 

Exeter. 
They  ieek  revenge,  and  therefore  will  not  yield. 

King  Henry. 
Ah,  Exeter! 

Warwick. 
Why  should  you  sigh,  my  lord? 
King  Henry. 
Not  for  myself,  lord  Warwick,  but  my  son, 
Whom  I  unnaturally  shall  disinherit. 
But  be  it  as  it  may,  "I  here  entail 
The  crown  to  thee,  and  to  thine  heirs  for  ever; 
Conditionally,  that  here  thou  take  an  oath 
To  cease  this  civil  war,  and,  whilst  I  live, 
To  honour  me  as  thy  king  and  sovereign ; 
And  neither  by  treason,  nor  hostility, 
To  seek  to  put  me  down,  and  reign  thyself. 
York. 
This  oath  I  willingly  take,  and  will  perform. 
[Coming  from  the  Throne. 
Warwick. 
Long  live  king  Henry!  —  Plantagenet,  em- 
brace him. 

King  Henry. 
And  long  live  thou,  and  these  thy  forward 
sons! 

York. 
Now  York  and  Lancaster  are  reconcil'd. 

Kxeter. 

Accurs'd  be  he,  that  seeks  to  make  them  foes ! 

[Sennet.    The  Lords  come  forward. 

York. 

Farewell,  my  gracious  lord:  I'll  to  my  castle. 

Warwick. 
And  I'll  keep  London  with  my  soldiers. 

Norfolk. 
And  I  to  Norfolk  with  my  followers. 

Montague. 
And  I  unto  the  sea  from  whence  I  came. 
[Exeunt  Yor'-  and  his  Sons,  Warwick,  Nor- 
folk, Montague,  Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 
King  Henry. 
And  I,  with  grief  and  sorrow,  to  the  court. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret  and  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Exeter. 

Here  comes  the  queen,  whose  looks  bewray 

I'll  steal  away.  [her  anger : 

King  Henry. 

Exeter,  so  will  I.  [Going. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Nay,  go  not  from  me ;  I  will  follow  thee. 

King  Henry. 
Be  patient,  gentle  queen,  and  I  will  stay. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Who  can  be  patient  in  such  extremes  ? 
Ah,  wretched  man  t  would  I  had  died  a  maid, 
And  never  seen  thee,  never  borne  thee  son, 
Seeing  thou  hast  prov'd  so  unnatural  a  father  ! 
Hath  he  deserv'd  to  lose  his  birthright  thus  ? 
Hadst  thou  but  lov'd  him  half  so  well  as  I, 
Or  felt  that  pain  which  I  did  for  him  once, 
Or  nourish'd  him,  as  I  did  with  my  blood, 
Thou  wouldst  have  left  thy  dearest  heart-blood 
there,  [heir, 

Rather  than  have  made  that  savage  duke  thine 
And  disinherited  thine  only  son. 
Prince. 
Father,  you  cannot  disinherit  me. 
If  you  be  king,  why  should  not  I  succeed  ? 


King  Henry. 
Pardon  me,  M argaret !  —  pardon  me,  sweet 
son :  —  [me. 

The  earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  duke,  enforc'd 

Queen  Margaret. 
Enforc'd  thee !  art  thou  king,  and  wilt  be 

forc'd  ?  [wretch  ! 

I  shame    to    hear  thee  speak.     Ah,  timorous 
Thou  hast  undone  thyself,  thy  son,  and  me, 
And  given  unto  the  house  of  York  such  head, 
As  thou  shalt  reign  but  by  their  sufferance. 
To  entail  him  and  his  heirs  unto  the  crown, 
What  is  it,  but  to  make  thy  sepulchre, 
And  creep  into  it  far  before  thy  time  ? 
Warwick  is  chancellor,  and  the  lord  of  Calais  ; 
Stern    Faulconbridge   commands    the   narrow 

seas  ; 
The  duke  is  made  protector  of  the  realm  ; 
And  yet  shalt  thou  be  safe  ?  such  safety  finds 
The  trembling  lamb,  environed  with  wolves. 
Had  I  been  there,  which  am  a  silly  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  honour : 
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.  [colours, 

The  northern  lords,  that  have   forsworn  thy 
Will  follow  mine,  if  once  they  see  them  spread  ; 
And  spread  they  shall  be,  to  thy  foul  disgrace, 
And  utter  ruin  of  the  house  of  York. 

Thus  do  I  leave  thee Come,  son,  let's  away  : 

Our  army  is  ready  ;  come,  we'll  after  them. 

King  Henrv. 
Stay,  gentle  Margaret,  and  hear  me  speak. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Thou  hast  spoke  too  much  already :  get  thee 
gone. 

King  Henry. 
Gentle  son  Edward,  thou  wilt  stay  with  me  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  to  be  murder'd  by  his  enemies. 

Prince. 
When  I  return  with  victory  from  the  field, 
I'll  see  your  grace ;  till  then,  I'll  follow  her. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Come,  son ;  away  1  we  may  not  linger  thus. 
[Exeunt  Queen  Margaret,  and  the  Prince. 
King  Henry. 
Poor  queen  !  how  love  to  me,  and  to  her  son, 
Hath  made  her  break  out  into  terms  of  rage. 
Reveng'd  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  I  [heart : 
The  loss  of  those  three    lords  torments    my 

I'll  write  unto  them,  and  entreat  them  fair 

Come,  cousin  ;  you  shall  be  the  messenger. 
Exeter. 
And  I,  I  hope,  shall  reconcile  them  all. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  In  Sandal  Castle,  near 
Wakefield. 

Enter  Edward,  Richard,  and  Montague. 
Richard. 
Brother,    though    I    be   youngest,    give    me 
leave. 

Edward. 
No  ;  I  can  better  play  the  orator. 

Montague. 


59* 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Montague, 
have  reasons  strong  and  forcible. 

Enter  York. 


York. 
Why,  how   now,    sons   and 
strife. 


brother  !    at   a 


What  is  your  quarrel  ?  how  began  it  first  ? 
Edward. 
No  quarrel,  but  a  slight  contention. 

York. 
About  what  ? 

Richard. 
About  that  which  concerns  your  grace,  and 
us; 
The  crown  of  England,  father,  which  is  yours. 

York. 
Mine,  boy  ?  not  till  king  Henri/  be  dead. 

Richard. 
Your  right  depends  not  on  his  life,  or  death. 

Edward. 

Now  you  are  heir,  therefore  enjoy  it  now  : 

By    giving  the  house  of  Lancaster  leave  to 

It  will  outrun  you,  father,  in  the  end.  [breathe, 

York. 
I  took  an  oath  that  he  should  quietly  reign. 

Edward. 
But  for  a  kingdom  any  oath  may  be  broken  : 
I  would  break  a  thousand  oaths  to  reign  one 
year. 

Richard. 
No  ;  God  forbid,  your  grace  should  be  for- 
sworn. 

York. 
1  shall  be,  if  I  claim  by  open  war. 

Richard. 
I'll  prove  the  contrary,  if  you'll  hear   me 
speak. 

York. 
Thou  canst  not,  son :  it  is  impossible. 

Richard. 
An  oath  is  of  no  moment,  being  not  took 
Before  a  true  and  lawful  magistrate, 
That  hath  authority  over  him  that  swears  : 
Henry  had  none,  but  did  usurp  the  place  ; 
Then,  seeing  'twas  he  that  made  you  to  depose, 
Your  oath,  my  lord,  is  vain  and  frivolous. 
Therefore,  to  arms.    And,  father,  do  but  think, 
How  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  a  crown, 
Within  whose  circuit  is  Elysium, 
And  all  that  poets  feign  of  bliss  and  joy. 
Why  do  we  linger  thus  ?  I  cannot  rest, 
Until  the  white  rose,  that  I  wear,  be  dyed 
Even  in  the  lukewarm  blood  of  Henry  &  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  privily  of  our  intent — 
You,  Edward,  shall  unto  my  lord  Cobham, 
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 
But  that  I  seek  occasion  how  to  rise,        [more, 
And  yet  the  king  not  privy  to  my  drift, 
Nor  any  of  the  house  of  Lancaster  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
But,  stay, —  What  news  ?    Why  com'st  thou  in 
such  post  ? 


Messenger. 
I      The  queen,  with  all  the  northern  earls  and 
|  Intend  here  to  besiege  you  in  your  castle,  [lords, 
|  She  is  hard  by  with  twenty  thousand  men, 
'  And  therefore  fortify  your  hold,  my  lord. 
VorK. 
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. 
Montague. 
Brother,  I  go  ;  I'll  win  them,  fear  it  not : 
And  thus  most  humbly  1  do  take  my  leave. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Sir  John  and  Sir  Hugh  Mortimer. 
York. 
Sir   John,  and    Sir   Hugh    Mortimer,   mine 
uncles, 
You  are  come  to  Sandal  in  a  happy  hour  ; 
|  The  army  of  the  queen  mean  to  besiege  us. 

Sir  John. 
'     She  shall  not  need,  we'll  meet  her  in  the 
field. 

York. 
:      What,  with  five  thousand  men  ? 

Richard. 
!      Ay,  with  five  hundred,  father,  for  a  need. 
|  A  woman's  general ;  what  should  we  fear  ? 

[A  March  afar  off. 
Edward. 
I  hear  their  drums :    let's    set    our  men    in 
order, 
And  issue  forth,  and  bid  them  battle  straight. 

York. 
Five  men  to  twenty  ! —though  the  odds  be 
I  doubt  not,  uncle,  of  our  vietory.  [great, 

Many  a  battle  have  1  won  in  France, 
When  as  the  enemy  hath  been  ten  to  one : 
Why  should  I  not  now  have  the  like  success  ? 

[Alarum.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Plains  near  Sandal  Castle. 

Alarums :  Excursions.    Enter  Rutland,  and 
his  Tutor. 

Rutland. 
Ah  !  whither  shall  I  fly  to  'scape  their  hands  ? 
Ah,  tutor  1  look,  where  bloody  Clifford  comes. 

Enter  Clifford,  and  Soldiers. 

Clifford. 

Chaplain,  away:   thy  priesthood   saves   thy 
As  for  the  brat  of  this  accursed  duke,  [life. 

Whose  father  slew  my  father,  he  shall  die. 

Tutor. 
And  I,  my  lord,  will  bear  him  company. 

Clifford. 
Soldiers,  away  with  him. 

Tutor. 
Ah,  Clifford!  murder  not  this  innocent  child, 
Lest  thou  be  hated  both  of  God  and  man. 

[Exit,  forced  off  by  Soldiers. 

Clifford. 
How  now  1  is  he  dead  already  ?  Or,  is  it  fear, 
That  makes  him  close  his  eyes  ?  —  I'll  opeu 
them. 

Rutland.  . 
So  looks  the  pent-up  lion  o'er  the  wretch 


Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


593 


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  reveng'd  on  men,  and  let  me  lire. 
Clifford. 
In  rain  thou  speak'st,  poor  boy :  my  father's 
blood  [should  enter. 

Rath  stopp'd  the   passage   where   thy  words 
Rutland. 
Then  let  my  father's  blood  open  It  again : 
He  is  a  man,  and,  Clifford,  cope  with  him. 
Clifford. 
Had  I  thy  brethren  here,  their  lives,  and  thine, 
Were  not  revenge  sufficient  for  me. 
No ;  if  I  digg'd  up  thy  forefathers'  graves, 
And  hung  their  rotten  coffins  up  in  chains, 
It  could  not  slake  mine  ire,  nor  ease  my  heart. 
The  sight  of  any  of  the  house  of  York 
Is  as  a  fury  to  torment  my  soul ; 
And  till  I  root  out  their  accursed  line, 
And  leave  not  one  alive,  I  live  in  hell. 
Therefore— 

Rutland. 

O !  let  me  pray  before  T  take  my  death 

To  thee  1  pray:  sweet  Clifford,  pity  me  I 
Clifford. 
Such  pity  as  my  rapier's  point  affords. 

Rutland. 
I  never  did  thee  harm:  why  wilt  thou  slay 
me? 

Clifford. 
Thy  father  hath. 

Rutland. 

But  'twas  ere  I  was  born. 
Thou  hast  one  son,  for  his  sake  pity  me, 
Lest,  in  revenge  thereof,  sith  God  is  just, 
He  be  as  miserably  slain  as  I. 
Ah !  let  me  live  in  prison  all  my  days, 
And  when  I  give  occasion  of  offence, 
Then  let  me  die,  for  now  thou  hast  no  cause. 
Clifford. 
No  cause  ? 
Thy  father  slew  my  father :  therefore,  die. 

[Clifford  stabs  him. 
Rutland. 
Diifaciant,  laudfs  summa  sit  ista  tuts !  [ Dies. 

Clifford. 
Plantagenet!  1  come,  Plantagenet! 
And  this  thy  son's  blood  cleaving  to  my  blade, 
Shall  rust  upon  my  weapon,  till  thy  blood 
Congeal'd  with  this  do  make  me  wipe  off  both. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same. 

Alarum.    Enter  York. 

York. 
The  army  of  the  queen  hath  got  the  field: 
My  uncles  both  are  slain  in  rescuing  me ; 
And  all  my  followers  to  the  eager  foe 
Turn  back,  and  fly  like  ships  before  the  wind, 
Or  lambs  pursu'd  by  hunger-starved  wolves. 
My  sons — God  knows,  what  hath  bechanced 
them,  [selves 

But  this  I  know,  —  they  have  demean'd  tliem- 
L.ike  men  born  to  renown  by  life  or  death. 
Three  times  did  Richard  make  a  lane  to  me, 
And  thrice  cried,— "  Courage,  father!  fight  it 
And  full  as  oft  came  Edtrard  to  my  side,  [out:" 


With  purple  falchion,  painted  to  the  hilt 
In  blood  of  those  that  had  encounter'd  him : 
And  when  the  hardiest  warriors  did  retire, 
Hichard  cried,—"  Charge !  and  give  no  foot  of 

ground  1 " 
And  cried,—"  A  crown,  or  else  a  glorious  tomb  1 
A  sceptre,  or  an  earthly  sepulchre  1 " 
With  this,  we  charg'd  again  ;  but,  out  alas  1 
We  bodg'd  again:  as  I  have  seen  a  swan 
With  bootless  labour  swim  against  the  tide, 
And  spend  her  strength  with  over-matching 

waves.  [A  short  Alarum  within. 

Ah,  hark  1  the  fatal  followers  do  pursue, 
And  I  am  faint,  and  cannot  fly  their  fury; 
And,  were  1  strong,  I  would  not  shun  their  fury. 
The  sands  are  number'd  that  make  up  my  life  ; 
Here  must  I  stay,  and  here  my  life  must  end. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret,  Clifford,  Northumber- 
land, 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. 
Northumberland. 
Yield  to  our  mercy,  proud  Plantagenet. 

Clifford. 
Av,  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? — whatl  multitudes,  and 
fear? 

.  Clifford. 
So  cowards  fight  when  they  can  fly  no  farther; 
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, 
W7hose  frown  hath  made  thee  faint  and  fly  ere 
this. 

Clifford. 

I  will  not  bandy  with  thee  word  for  word, 

But  buckle  with  thee  blows,  twice  two  for  one. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Hold,  valiant  Clifford!  for  a  thousand  causes 
1  would  prolong  awhile  the  traitor's  life- 
Wrath  makes  him  deaf:  speak  thou,  Northum- 
berland. 

Northumberland. 
Hold,  Clifford!  do  not  honour  him  so  much 
To  prick  thy  finger,  though  to  wound  his  heart: 
What  valour  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  valour. 

[They  lay  hands  on  York,  who  struggles. 

Clifford. 
Ay,  ay;  so  strives  the  woodcock  with  the  gin. 

Northumberland. 
So  doth  the  coney  struggle  in  the  net. 

[)«>■*  is  taken  prisoner. 
Q  Q  York. 


594 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  i.  Sc.  jv 


York. 

So  triumph  thieves  upon  their  conquer'd  booty ; 
Sotrue  men  yield,  with  robbers  so  o'er-match'd. 

Northumberland. 
What  would  your  grace  have  done  unto  him 

now? 

Queen  Margaret. 

Brave  warriors,  Clifford  and  Northumberland, 

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? 
Was't  you  that  revell'd  in  our  parliament, 
And  made  a  preachment  of  your  high  descent? 
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?  [land? 
Or,  with  the  rest,  where  is  your  darling  Rut- 
Look,   York:    I  stain'd  this  napkin  with  the 

blood 
That  valiant  Clifford  with  his  rapier's  point 
Made  issue  from  the  bosom  of  the  boy; 
And,  if  thine  eyes  can  water  for  his  death, 
I  give  thee  this  to  dry  thy  cheeks  withal. 
Alas,  poor  York!  but  that  I  hate  thee  deadly, 
I  should  lament  thy  miserable  state. 
I  pr'ythee,  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  should'st  be 

mad  ; 
And  I,  to  make  thee  mad,  do  mock  thee  thus. 
Stamp,  rave,  and  fret,  that  I  may  sing  and  dance. 
Thou  would'st  be  fee'd,  1  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 
Av.  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,  vou  should  not  be  king, 
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  ? 

0  !  'tis  a  fault  too,  too  unpardonable.— 

Off  with  the  crown  ;  and,  with  the  crown,  his 
head !  [dead. 

And  whilst  we  breathe  take  time  to  do  him 
Clifford. 
That  is  my  office,  for  my  father's  sake. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Nay,  stay  ;  let's  hear  the  orisons  he  makes. 

York. 
She-wolf  of  France,  but  worse  than  wolves  of 
France  ; 
Whose  tongue  more  poisons  than  the  adder's 
How  ill-beaeeming  is  it  in  thy  sex,  [tooth, 

To  triumph,  like  an  Amazonian  trull. 
Upon  their  woes  whom  fortune  captivates  ? 
But  that  thy  face  is,  visor-like,  unchanging, 
Made  impudent  with  use  of  evil  deeds, 

1  would  assay,  proud  queen,  to  make  thee  blush : 
To  tell  thee  whence  thou  cam'st,  of  whom  de- 

riv'd, 


JWere  shame  enough  to  shame  thee,  wert  thou 
not  shameless. 

Thy  father  bears  the  type  of  king  of  Naplet, 

Of  both  the  Sici/s,  and  Jerusalem, 
I  Yet  not  so  wealthy  as  an  English  yeoman. 

Hath  that  poor  monarch  taught  thee  to  insult  ? 
j  It  needs  not,  nor  it  boots  thee  not,  proud  queen  ; 

Unless  the  adage  must  be  verified, 

That  beggars  mounted  run  their  horse  to  death. 

'Tis  beauty  that  doth  oft  make  women  proud  ; 

But,  God  he  knows,  thy  share  thereof  is  small. 

'Tis  virtue  that  doth  make  them  most  admir'd, 

The  contrary  doth  make  thee  wonder'd  at. 

'Tis  government  that  makes  them  seem  divine; 

The  want  thereof  makes  thee  abominable. 

Thou  art  as  opposite  to  every  good, 

As  the  Antipodes  are  unto  us, 

Or  as  the  south  to  the  septentrion. 

O,  tiger's  heart,  wrapp'd  in  a  woman's  hide  ! 

How  could'st  thou  drain  the  life-blood  of  the 

To  bid  the  father  wipe  his  eyes  withal,     [child, 

And  yet  be  seen  to  bear  a  woman's  face  ? 

Women  are  soft,  mild,  pitiful,  and  flexible  ; 

Thou  stern,  obdurate,  flinty,  rough,  remorseless. 

Bid'st  thou  me  rage  ?  why,  now  thou  hast  thy 
wish  :  [thy  will : 

Would'st  have  me  weep  ?  why,  now  thou  hast 

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,md  thee,  false  French- 
woman. 

Northumberland . 
Beshrew  me,  but  his  passions  move  me  so, 

That  hardly  can  I  check  my  eyes  from  tears. 
York. 
That  face  of  his  the  hungry  cannibals 

Would  not  have  touch'd,  would  not  have  stain'd 
with  blood : 

But  you  are  more  inhuman,  more  inexorable, 

0  !  ten  times  more,  than  tigers  of  Hyrcania. 
See,  ruthless  queen,  a  hapless  father's  tears: 
This  cloth  thou  dipp'dst  in  blood  of  my  sweet 

boy, 
And  I  with  tears  do  wash  the  blood  away. 
Keep  thou  the  napkin,  and  go  boast  of  this  ; 
And  if  thou  tell'st  the  heavy  story  right, 
Upon  my  soul,  the  hearers  will  shed  tears  ; 
Yea,  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast-falling  tears, 
And  say,  —  "  Alas  !  it  was  a  piteous  deed." — 
There,  take  the  crown,  and  with  the  crown  my 

curse  ; 
And  in  thy  need  such  comfort  come  to  thee, 
As  now  I  reap  at  thy  too  cruel  hand  !  — 
Hard-hearted  Clifford,  take  me  from  the  world  : 
My  soul  to  heaven,  my  blood  upon  your  heads  ! 

Northumberland. 
Had  he  been  slaughter-man  to  all  my  kin, 

1  should  not,  for  my  life,  but  weep  with  him, 
To  see  how  inly  sorrow  gripes  his  soul. 

Queen  Margaret. 
What !   weeping-ripe,  my  lord  Northumber- 
land? 
;  Think  hut  upon  the  wrong  he  did  us  all, 
And  that  will  quickly  dry  thy  melting  tears. 

Clifford. 
Here's  for  my  oath;  here's  for  my  father's 
death.  [Stabbing  him. 

Queen  Margaret. 
And  here's  to  right  our  gentle-hearted  kin$. 
[Stabbing  him. 
York. 
Open  thy  gate  of  mercy,  gracious  God  .' 

Mv 


A  ot  ii.  Sc. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


i£5 


My  goul  flies  through  these  wound*  to  seek  .out 
thee.  [Dies. 

■  Margaret. 
Off  with  his  head,  and  set  it  on  York  gates: 
So  York  may  overlook  the  town  of  YorkL 

[Flourish.    Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Plain  near  Mortimer's  Cross 
in  Herefordshire. 

A  March.     Enter  Edward,  and  Richard, 

with  their  Power 

Edward. 

I  WONDER,  how  our  princely  father  'scap'd; 

1    Or  whether  he  be  'scap'd  away,  or  no, 

From  Clifford's  and  Northumberland's  pursuit. 

Had  he  been  ta'en,  we  should  have  heard  the 

news  ;  [news  ; 

Had  he  been  slain,  we  should  have  heard  the 

Or  had  he  scap'd,  methinks,  we  should  have 

heard 
The  happy  tidings  of  his  good  escape.— 
How  fares  my  brother  ?  why  is  he  so  sad  ? 
Richard. 
I  cannot  joy,  until  I  be  resolv'd 
Where  our  right  valiant  father  is  become. 
I  saw  him  in  the  battle  range  about, 
And  watch'd  him  how  he  singled  Clifford  forth. 
Methought.  he  bore  him  in  the  thickest  troop, 
As  doth  a  lion  in  a  herd  of  neat : 
Or  as  a  bear,  encompass'd  round  with  dogs  ; 
Who  having  pinch'd  a  few,  and  made  them  cry, 
The  rest  stand  all  aloof,  and  bark  at  him. 
So  far'd  our  father  with  his  enemies  ; 
So  fled  his  enemies  my  warlike  father : 
Methinks,  'tis  prize  enough  to  be  his  son. 
See,  how  the  morning  opes  her  golden  gates, 
And  takes  her  farewell  of  the  glorious  sun : 
How  well  resembles  it  the  prime  of  youth, 
Trimm'd  like  a  younker,  prancing  to  his  love  ! 
Edward. 
Dazzle  mine  eyes,  or  do  I  see  three  suns  ? 

Richard. 
Three  glorious  suns,  each  one  a  perfect  sun, 
Not  separated  with  the  racking  clouds, 
But  sever'd  in  a  pale  clear-shining  sky. 
See,  see !  they  join,  embrace,  and  seem  to  kiss, 
As  if  they  vow'd  some  league  inviolable : 
Now  are  they  but  one  lamp,  one  light,  one  sun  1 
In  this  the  heaven  figures  some  event. 
Edward. 
'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,  notwithstandingjoinour  lights  together, 
And  over-shine  the  earth,  as  this  the  world. 
Whate'er  it  bodes,  henceforward  will  I  bear 
Upon  my  target  three  fair  shining  suns. 
Richard. 
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  foretel 
Some  dreadful  story  hanging  on  thy  tongue? 


Messenger. 
Ah  !  one  that  was  a  woful  looker  on, 
When  as  the  noble  duke  of  York  was  slain, 
Your  princely  father,  and  my  loving  lord. 
Edward. 
O !  speak  no  more,  for  I  have  heard  too  much. 

Richard. 
Say,  how  he  died,  for  I  will  hear  it  all. 

Messenger. 
Environed  he  was  with  many  foes ; 
And  stood  against  them,  as  the  hope  of  Troy 
Against  the  Greeks,  that  would  haveenter'd  7'roy. 
But  Hercules  himself  must  yield  to  odds; 
And  many  strokes,  though  with  a  little  axe. 
Hew  down,  and  fell  the  hardest-timber'd  oak. 
By  many  hands  your  father  was  subdu'd; 
I  But  only  slaughter'd  by  the  ireful  arm 
I  Of  unrelenting  Clifford,  and  the  queen, 
!  Who  crown'd  the  gracious  duke  in  high  despite; 
•  Laugh 'd  in  his  face ;  and,  when  with  grief  he 
wept, 
The  ruthless  queen  gave  him,  to  dry  his  cheeks, 
A  napkin  steeped  in  the  harmless  blood 
Of  sweet  young  Rutland,  by  rough  Clifford  slain : 
And,  after  many  scorns,  many  foul  taunts. 
They  took  his  head,  and  on  the  gates  of  York 
They  set  the  same;  and  there  it  doth  remain, 
The  saddest  spectacle  that  e'er  I  view'd. 
Edward. 
Sweet  duke  of  York!  our  prop  to  lean  upon, 
Now  thou  art  gone,  we  have  no  staff,  no  stav. 
O  Clifford!  boisterous  Clifford!  thou  hast  slain 
The  flower  of  Europe  for  his  chivalry; 
And  treacherously  hast  thou  vanquish'd  him, 
For  hand  to  hand  he  would  have  vanquish'd  thee. 
Now,  my  soul's  palace  is  become  a  prison : 
Ah  !  would  she  break  from  hence,  that  this  my 
;  Might  in  the  ground  be  closed  np  in  rest,  [body 

For  never  henceforth  shall  I  joy  again  ; 
|  Never,  O !  never,  shall  I  see  more  joy. 

Richard. 
!      I  cannot  weep,  for  all  my  body's  moisture 
Scarce  serves  to  quench   my  furnace-burning 
heart ; 
i  Nor  can  my  tongue  unload  my  heart's  great 
burden, 
For  self-same  wind,  that  I  should  speak  withal, 
Is  kindling  coals  that  fire  all  my  breast, 
And  burn  me  up  with  flames  that  tears  would 

quench. 
To  weep  is  to  make  less  the  depth  of  grief. 
Tears,  then,  for  babes ;  blows,  and  revenge,  for 

me!  — 
Richard,  I  bear  thy  name ;  I'll  venge  thy  death, 
Or  die  renowned  by  attempting  it. 
Edward 
His  name  that  valiant  duke  hath  left  with  thee ; 
His  dukedom  and  his  chair  with  me  is  left. 
Richard. 
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  and  Montague,  with 

their  Army. 

Warwick. 

How  now,  fair  lords  1    What  fare  ?  what  news 

abroad  ? 

Richard. 
Great  lord  of  Warwick,  if  we  should  recount 
Our  baleful  news,  and  at  each  word's  deliverance, 
Stab  poniards  in  our  flesh  till  all  were  told, 

The 


596 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


. 

Tell  our  devotion  with  revengeful  arms  ? 
If  for  the  last,  say —  Ay,  and  to  it,  lords. 
Warwick. 
Why,  therefore  Warwick  came  to  seek  you 
out, 
And  therefore  comes  my  brother  Montague. 
Attend  me,  lords.     The  proud  insulting  queen, 
With  Clifford,  and  the  haught  Northumberland, 
And  of  their  feather  many  more  proud  birds, 
Have  wrought  the  easy-melting  king  like  wax. 
He  swore  consent  to  your  succession, 
His  oath  enrolled  in  the  parliament ; 
And  now  to  London  all  the  crew  are  gone, 
To  frustrate  both  his  oath,  and  what  beside 
May  make  against  the  house  of  Lancaster : 
Their  power,  I  think,  is  thirty  thousand  strong. 
Now,  if  the  help  of  Norfolk,  and  myself, 
With  all  the  friends  that  thou,  brave  earl  of 

March, 
Amongst  the  loving  Welshmen  canst  procure, 
Will  but  amount  to  five  and  twenty  thousand, 
Why,  Via!  to  Loudon  will  we  march, 
And  once  again  bestride  our  foaming  steeds, 
And  once  again  cry —  Charge !  upon  our  foes ! 
But  never  once  again  turn  back,  and  fly. 
Richard. 
Ay,  now,  methinks,   I  hear  great   Warwick 
speak. 
Ne'er  may  he  live  to  see  a  sunshine  day, 
That  cries—  Retire,  if  Warwick  bid  him  stay. 
Kdward. 
Lord  Warwick,  on  thy  shoulder  will  I  lean ; 
And  when  thou  fail'st,  (as  God  forbid  the  hour  !) 
Must  Edward  fall,  which  peril  heaven  forfend  I 
Warwick. 
No  longer  earl  of  March,  but  duke  of  York: 
The  next  degree  is,  England's  royal  throne; 
For  king  of  England  shalt  thou  be  proclaim 'd 
In  every  borough  as  we  pass  along; 
And  he  that  throws  not  up  his  cap  for  joy, 
Shall  for  the  fault  make  forfeit  of  his  head. 
King  Edward, — valiant  Richard,—  Montague,— 
Stay  we  no  longer  dreaming  of  renown, 
But  sound  the  trumpets,  and  about  our  task. 
Richard. 
Then,  Clifford,  were  thy  heart  as  hard  as  steel, 
As  thou  hast  shown  it  flinty  by  thy  deeds, 
I  come  to  pierce  it,  or  to  give  thee  mine. 
Edward. 
Then  strike  up,  drums!  — God,    and    Saint 
George  for  us ! 

Knter  a  Messenger. 
Warwick. 
How  now  !  what  news  ? 

Messenger. 

The  duke  of  Norfolk  sends  you  word  by  me, 

The  queen  is  coming  with  a  puissant  host, 

And  craves  your  company  for  speedy  counsel. 

Warwick. 

Why  then  it  sorts :  brave  warriors,  let's^awav. 

SCENE  II.    Before  York. 

Flourish.   Enter  King  Henry,  Queen  Margaret, 
■  the  Vrince  of  Wales,  Clifford,  and  Northum- 
berland, with  drums  and  trumpets. 

Queen  Margaret. 

Welcome,  my  lord,  to  this  brave  town  of  York. 

Yonder's  the  head  of  that  arch-enemy, 

That  sought  to  be  encompass'd  with  your  crown : 

Doth  not  the  object  cheer  your  heart,  my  l(jrd I  ? 


The  words  would  add  more  anguish  than  the 
wounds. 

0,  valiant  lord !  the  duke  of  York  is  slain. 

Edward. 

O.  Warwick!  Warwick!  that  Plantagenet, 
Which  held  thee  dearly  as  his  soul's  redemption, 
Is  by  the  stern  lord  Clifford  done  to  death. 
Warwick. 

Ten  days  ago  I  drown'd  these  news  in  tears ; 
And  now,  to  add  more  measure  to  your  woes, 
I  come  to  tell  you  things  sith  then  befallen. 
After  the  bloody  fray  at  Wakefield  fought, 
Where  your  brave  father  breath 'd  his  latest  gasp, 
Tidings,  as  swiftly  as  the  posts  could  run, 
Were  brought  me  of  your  loss,  and  his  depart. 

1,  then  in  London,  keeper  of  the  king, 
Muster'd  my  soldiers,  gather'd  flocks  of  friends, 
March'd  towards  Saint  Alban's  to  intercept  the 
Bearing  the  king  in  my  behalf  along ;      [queen, 
For  by  my  scouts  I  was  advertised, 

That  she  was  coming  with  a  full  intent 
To  dash  our  late  decree  in  parliament,       [sion. 
Touching  king  Henry's  oath,  and  your  succes- 
Short  tale  to  make, — we  at  Saint  Alban's  met; 
Our  battles  join'd,  and  both  sides  fiercely  fought ; 
But,  whether  'twas  the  coldness  of  the  king, 
Who  look'd  full  gently  on  his  warlike  queen, 
That  robb'd  my  soldiers  of  their  heated  spleen, 
Or  whether  'twas  report  of  her  success, 
Or  more  than  common  fear  of  Clifford's  rigour, 
Who  thunders  to  his  captives  blood  and  death, 
I  cannot  judge;  but,  to  conclude  with  truth, 
Their  weapons  like  to  lightning  came  and  went: 
Our  soldiers'— like  the  night-owl's  lazy  flight, 
Or  like  a  lazy  thrasher  with  a  flail, — 
Fell  gently  down,  as  if  they  struck  their  friends. 
I  cheer'd  them  up  with  justice  of  our  cause, 
With  promise  of  high  pay,  and  great  rewards, 
But  all  in  vain ;  they  had  no  heart  to  fight, 
And  we  in  them  no  hope  to  win  the  day; 
So  that  we  fled :  the  king  unto  the  queen ; 
Lord  George  your  brother,  Norfolk,  and  myself, 
In  haste,  post-haste,  are  come  to  join  with  you ; 
For  in  the  marches  here,  we  heard,  you  were, 
Making  another  head  to  fight  again. 
Edward 

Where  is  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  gentle  Warwick? 
And  when  came  George  from  Burgundy  to  Eng- 
land? 

Warwick. 

Some  six  miles  off  the  duke  is  with  the  sol- 
diers ; 
And  for  your  brother,  he  was  lately  sent 
From  your  kind  aunt,  duchess  of  Burgundy, 
With  aid  of  soldiers  to  this  needful  war. 
Richard. 

'Twas  odds,  belike,  when  valiant   Warwick 
Oft  have  I  heard  his  praises  in  pursuit,      [fled : 
But  ne'er,  till  now,  his  scandal  of  retire. 
Warwick. 

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  fam'd  for  mildness,  peace,  and  prayer. 
Richard. 

I  know  it  well,  lord  Warwick;  blame  me  not: 
'Tis  love,  I  bear  thy  glories,  makes  me  speak. 
But,  in  this  troublous  time,  what's  to  be  done  ? 
Shall  we  go  throw  away  our  coats  of  steel, 
And  wrap  our  bodies  in  black  mourning  gowns, 
Numbering  our  Ave-Maries  with  our  beads? 
Or  shall  we  on  the  helmets  of  our  foes 


Ac  i  ii.   Sc.  ii. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


597 


King  Henry. 
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 ; 
Not  wittingly  have  I  infring'd  my  vow. 

Clifford. 
My  gracious  liege,  this  too  much  lenity 
And  harmful  pity,  must  be  laid  aside. 
To  whom  do  lions  cast  their  gentle  looks? 
Not  to  the  boast  that  would  usurp  their  den. 
Whose  hand  is  that  the  forest  bear  doth  lick  ? 
Not  his  that  spoils  her  young  before  her  face. 
Who  'scapes  the  lurking  serpent's  mortal  sting? 
Not  he  that  sets  his  foot  upon  her  back. 
The  smallest  worm  will  turn,  being  trodden  on ; 
And  doves  will  peck  in  safeguard  of  their  brood. 
Ambitious  York  did  level  at  thy  crown; 
Thou  smiling,  while  he  knit  his  angry  brows: 
He,  but  a  duke,  would  have  his  son  a  king, 
And  raise  his  issue  like  a  loving  sire; 
Thou,  being  a  king,  bless'd  with  a  goodly  son, 
Didst  yield  consent  to  disinherit  him, 
Which  argued  thee  a  most  unloving  father. 
Unreasonable  creatures  feed  their  young ; 
And  though  man's  face  be  fearful  to  their  eyes, 
Yet,  in  protection  of  their  tender  ones, 
Who  hath  not  seen  them,  even  with  those  wings 
Which  sometime  they  have  us'd  with  fearful 

flight, 
Make  war  with  him  that  climb'd  unto  their  nest, 
Offering  their  own  lives  in  their  young's  defence  ? 
For  shame,  my  liege  I  make  them  your  precedent. 
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 
Successful  fortune,  steel  thy  melting  heart 
To  hold  thine  own,  and  leave  thine  own  with 

him. 

King  Henry. 
Full  well  hath  Clifford  play'd  the  orator, 
Inferring  arguments  of  mighty  force. 
But,  Clifford,  tell  me,  didst  thou  never  hear, 
That  things  ill  got  had  ever  bad  success  ? 
And  happy  always  was  it  for  that  son, 
Whose  father  for  his  hoarding  went  to  hell  ? 
I'll  leave  my  son  my  virtuous  deeds  behind, 
And  would,  my  father  had  left  me  no  more ; 
For  all  the  rest  is  held  at  such  a  rate, 
As  brings  a  thousand-fold  more  care  to  keep, 
Than  in  possession  any  jot  of  pleasure. 
Ah,  cousin  York!    would  thy  best  friends  did 

know, 
How  it  doth  grieve  me  that  thy  head  is  here  1 

Queen  Margaret. 
My  lord,  cheer  up  your  spirits:  our  foes  are 
nigh. 
And  this  soft  courage  makes  your  followers  faint. 
You  promis'd  knighthood  to  our  forward  son: 
Unsheath  your  sword,  and  dub  him  presently. — 
Edward,  kneel  down. 


King  Henry 
%enet,  arise  s 
And  learn  this  lesson,  — Draw 


Edward  Plantagenel,  arise  a  knight;    [right, 
thy  sword  in 


Prince. 
My  gracious  father,  by  your  kingly  leave, 
1*11  draw  it  as  apparent  to  the  crown, 
And  in  that  quarrel  use  it  to  the  death. 

Clifford. 
Why,  that  is  spoken  like  a  toward  prince. 


Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 
Royal  commanders,  be  in  readiness: 
For,  with  a  band  of  thirty  thousand  men, 
Comes  Warwick,  backing  of  the  duke  of  York, 
And,  in  the  towns  as  they  do  march  along, 
Proclaims  him  king,  and  many  fly  to  him. 
Darraign  your  battle,  for  they  are  at  hand. 

Clifford. 
I  would,  your  highness  would  depart  the  field : 
The  queen  hath  best    success  when  you  are 
absent. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  good  my  lord,  and  leave  us  to  our  fortune. 

King  Henry. 
Why,  that's  my  fortune,  too;   therefore  I'll 
stay. 

Northumberland. 
Be  it  with  resolution,  then,  to  fight. 

Prince. 
My  royal  father,  cheer  these  noble  lords, 
And  hearten  those  that  fight  in  your  defence. 
Unsheath  your  sword,  good  father:  cry,  "  Saint 
George  I " 

March.    Enter  Edward,  George,  Richard,  War- 
wick, Norfolk,  Montague,  and  Soldiers. 

Edward. 
Now,perjur'd  Henri/,  wilt  thoukneel  for  grace, 
And  set  thy  diadem  upon  my  head, 
Or  bide  the  mortal  fortune  of  the  field? 

Sueen  Margaret, 
nions,  proud  insulting  boy: 
Becomes  it  thee  to  be  thus  bold  in  terms, 
Before  thy  sovereign,  and  thy  lawful  king? 

Edward. 
I  am  his  king,  and  he  should  bow  his  knee: 
I  was  adopted  heir  by  his  consent ; 
Since  when,  his  oath  is  broke;  for,  as  I  hear, 
You,  that  are  king,  though  he  do  wear  the 

crown, 
Have  caus'd  him,  by  new  act  of  parliament, 
To  blot  out  me,  and  put  his  own  son  in. 

Clifford. 
And  reason  too : 
Who  should  succeed  the  father,  but  the  son  ? 

Richard. 
Are  you  there,  butcher  ?—  O !  I  cannot  speak. 

Clifford. 

Ay,  crook-back ;  here  I  stand,  to  answer  thee, 

Or  any  he  the  proudest  of  thy  sort. 

Richard. 

'Twas  you  that  kill'd  young  Rutland,  was  it 

not? 

Clifford. 
Ay,  and  old  York,  and  yet  not  satisfied. 

Richard. 
For  God's  sake,  lords,  give  signal  to  the  fight. 

Warwick. 
What  say'st  thou,  Henry,  wilt  thou  yield  the 
crown  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
Why,  how  now,  long-tongu'd  Warwick!  dare 
you  speak  ? 
When  you  and  I  met  at  Saint  Alban's  last, 
Your  legs  did  better  service  than  your  hands. 
Warwick. 
Then  'twas  my  turn  to  fly,  and  now  'tis  thine. 

Clifford. 
You  said  so  much  before,  and  yet  you  fled. 

Warwick. 


59* 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Warwick. 
'Twas  not  your  valour,   Clifford,  drove  me 
thence. 

Northumberland. 
No,  nor  your  manhood,  that  durst  make  you 
stay. 

Richard. 
Northumberland,  I  hold  thee  reverently. 
Break  off  the  parley ;  for  scarce  I  can  refrain 
The  execution  of  my  big-swoln  heart 
Upon  that  Clifford,  that  cruel  child-killer. 
Clifford. 
I  slew  thy  father:  call'st  thou  him  a  child? 

Richard. 
Ay,  like  a  dastard,  and  a  treacherous  coward, 
As  thou  didst  kill  our  tender  brother  Rutland; 
But  ere  sun-set  I'll  make  thee  curse  the  deed. 
King  Henry. 
Have  done  with  words,  my  lords,  and  hear 
me  speak. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Defy  them  then,  or  else  hold  close  thy  lips. 

King  Henry. 
I  pr'ythee,  give  no  limits  to  my  tongue: 
1  am  a  king,  and  privileg'd  to  speak. 

Clifford. 
My  liege,  the  wound,  that  bred  this  meeting 
here, 
Cannot  be  cur'd  by  words ;  therefore  be  still 

Richard. 
Then,  executioner,  unsheath  thy  sword. 
By  Him  that  made  us  all,  1  am  resolv'd, 
That  Clifford's  manhood  lies  upon  his  tongue. 
Edward. 
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. 

Warwick . 
If  thou  deny,  their  blood  upon  thy  head; 
For  York  in  justice  puts  his  armour  on. 
Frince. 
If  that  be  right,  which  Warwick  says  is  right, 
There  is  no  wrong,  but  everything  is  right. 
Richard. 
Whoever  got  thee,  there  thy  mother  stands ; 
For,  well  I  wot,  thou  hast  thy  mother's  tongue. 
Queen  Margaret. 
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. 

Richard. 
Iron  of  Naples,  hid  with  English  gilt, 
Whose  father  bears  the  title  of  a  king, 
(As  if  a  channel  should  be  call'd  the  sea) 
Sham'st  thou  not,  knowing  whence  thou  art  ex- 

traught, 
To  let  thy  tongue  detect  thy  base-born  heart  ? 

Edward. 
A  wisp  of  straw  were  worth  a  thousand  crowns, 
To  make  this  shameless  callat  know  herself.— 
Helen  of  Greece  was  fairer  far  than  thou, 
Although  thy  husband  may  be  Menelaus; 
And  ne'er  was  Agamemnon's  brother  wrong'd 
By  that  false  woman,  as  this  king  by  thee. 
His  father  revell'd  in  the  heart  of  France, 
And  tam'd  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  grac'd  thy  poor  sire  with  his  bridal  day. 
Even  then  that  sunshine  brew'd  a  shower  for 

him, 
That  wash'd  his  father's  fortunes  forth  of  France, 
And  heap'd  sedition  on  his  crown  at  home. 
For  what  hath  broach'd  this  tumult,  but  thy 

pride? 
Hadst  thou  been  meek,  our  title  still  had  slept, 
And  we,  in  pity  of  the  gentle  king, 
Had  slipp'd  our  claim  until  another  age. 

George. 
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 :      [selves, 
And  though  the  edge  hath  something  hit  our- 
Yet,  know  thou,  since  we  have  begun  to  strike, 
We'll  never  leave,  till  we  have  hewn  thee  down, 
Or  bath'd  thy  growing  with  our  heated  bloods. 

Edward. 
And  in  this  resolution  I  defy  thee ; 
Not  willing  any  longer  conference, 

Since  thou  deniedst  the  gentle  king  to  speak 

Sound  trumpets !— let  our  bloody  colours  wave, 
And  either  victory,  or  else  a  grave. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Stay,  Edward. 

Edward. 
No,  wrangling  woman ;  we'll  no  longer  stay : 
These  words  will  cost  ten  thousand  lives  to-day. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Field  of  Battle  near  Towton. 

Alarums:  Excursions.    Enter  Warwick. 

Warwick. 
Forspent  with  toil,  as  runners  with  a  race, 
I  lay  me  down  a  little  while  to  breathe; 
For  strokes  receiv'd,  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. 

Edward. 
Smile,  gentle  heaven,  or  strike,  ungentle  death ! 
For  this  world  frowns,  and  Edward's  sun  is 
clouded. 

Warwick. 
How  now,  my  lord  1  what  hap  ?  what  hope  of 
good? 

Enter  George. 

George. 
Our  hap  is  loss,  our  hope  but  sad  despair: 
Our  ranks  are  broke,  and  ruin  follows  us. 
What  counsel  give  you?  whither  shall  we  fly? 

Edward. 
Bootless  is  flight ;  they  follow  us  with  wings, 
And  weak  we  are,  and  cannot  shun  pursuit. 

Enter  Richard. 

Richard. 
Ah,  Warwick!  why  hast  thou  withdrawn  thy- 
self? 
Thy  brother's  blood  the  thirsty  earth  hath  drunk, 
Broach'd  with   the   steely  point   of  Clifford'* 

lance ; 
And,  in  the  very  pangs  of  death,  he  cried, 
Like  to  a  dismal  clangor  heard  from  far, 
"  Warwick,  revenge!  brother,  revenge  my  death  1" 
So,  underneath  the  belly  of  their  steeds, 
That  stain'd  their  fetlocks  in  his  smoking  blood, 
The  noble  gentleman  gave  up  the  ghost. 

Warwick. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  v. 


KING  HENKY  VI. 


599 


Warwick. 

Then  let  the  earth  be  drunken  with  our  blood : 
I'll  Kill  my  horse,  because  I  will  not  fly. 
Win  stand  we  like  »oft-hearted  women  here, 
Wailing  our  losses,  whiles  the  foe  doth  rage, 
And  look  upon,  as  if  the  tragedy 
Wire  play'd  in  jest  by  counterfeiting  actors? 
Here  on  my  knee  I  vow  to  God  above, 
I'll  never  pause  ag.iin,  never  stand  still, 
Till  either  death  hath  elos'd  these  eyes  of  mine, 
Or  fortune  given  me  measure  of  revenge. 
Edward. 

O  Warwick!  I  do  bend  my  knee  with  thine; 
And  in  this  vow  do  chain  my  soul  to  thine, 
And,  ere  my  knee  rise  from  the  earth's  cold  face, 
I  throw  my  hands,  mine  eyes,  my  heart  to  thee, 
Thou  setter  up  and  plucker  down  of  kings ; 
Beseeching  thee,— if  with  thy  will  it  stands, 
That  to  my  foes  this  body  must  be  prey, — 
Yet  that  thy  brazen  gates  of  heaven  may  ope, 

And  give  sweet  passage  to  my  sinful  soul 

Now,  lords,  take  leave  until  we  meet  again, 
Where'er  it  be,  in  heaven,  or  in  earth. 

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. 
Warwick. 
Away,  away !    Once  more,  sweet  lords,  fare- 
well. 

George. 
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. — 
Foreslow  no  longer ;  make  we  hence  amain. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 V.    The  same.    Another  part  of  the 
Field. 

Excursions.    Enter  Richard  and  Clifford. 

Richard. 
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. 
Clifford. 
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  Rutland; 
And  here's  the  heart  that  triumphs  in  their  death, 
And  cheers  these  hands,  that  slew  thy  sire  and 
To  execute  the  like  upon  thyself;         [brother, 
And  so.  have  at  thee. 

[They  fight.    Jl  arwick  enters;  Clifford  flies. 

Richard. 
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. 

King  Henry. 

This  battle  fares  like  to  the  morning's  war, 

When  dying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light ; 

What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nails, 

Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day,  nor  night. 


I  Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea, 
I  Forc'd  by  the  tide  to  combat  with  the  wind : 
j  Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  self-same  sea 
|  Forc'd  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind :        [wind ; 
I  Sometime,  the  flood  prevails;   and  then,  the 
'  Now,  one  the  better,  then,  another  best ; 
Both  tugging  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast, 
Yet  neither  conqueror,  nor  conquered : 
So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war. 
Here,  on  this  molehill,  will  1  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  1  were  dead  !  if  God's  good  will  were  so ; 
For  what  is  in  this  world  but  grief  and  woe  ? 
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: 
So  many  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock; 
So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest ; 
So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate; 
So  many  hours  must  I  sport  myself; 
So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young ; 
So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean ; 
So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece : 
So  minutes,  hours,  days,  months  and  years, 
Pass'd  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 
Would  bring  white  hairs  unto  a  quiet  grave. 
Ah,  what  a  life  were  this!  how  sweet  1  how 

lovely  1 
Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 
To  shepherds  looking  on  their  silly  sheep, 
Than  doth  a  rich  embroider'd  canopy 
To  kings  that  fear  their  subjects'  treachery? 
O !  yes  it  doth ;  a  thousand  fold  it  doth. 
And  to  conclude, — the  shepherd's  homely  curds. 
His  cold  thin  drink  out  of  his  leather  bottle, 
His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  shade, 
All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys, 
Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  delicates, 
His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup, 
His  body  couched  in  a  curious. bed, 
When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason  wait  on  him. 

Alarum.    Enter  a  Son  that  hath  killed  his 
Father,  with  the  dead  Body. 

Son. 
Ill  blows  the  wind  that  profits  no  body. 
This  man  whom  hand  to  hand  I  slew  in  fight, 
|  May  be  possessed  with  some  store  of  crowns : 
j  And  I,  that  haply  take  them  from  him  now, 
!  May  yet  ere  night  yield  both  my  life  and  them 

i  To  some  man  else,  as  this  dead  man  doth  me 

Who's  this  ?— O  God !  it  is  my  father's  face, 
Whom  in  this  conflict  I  unwares  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,  pressed  by  his  master ; 
And  I,  who  at  his  hands  receiv'd  my  life, 
Have  by  my  hands  of  life  bereaved  him.— 
Pardon  me,  God,  I  knew  not  what  I  did;— 

And  pardon,  father,  for  I  knew  not  thee. 

My  tears  shall  wipe  away  these  bloody  marks, 
And  no  more  words,  till  they  have  flow'd  their 
fill. 

King  Henry. 
O  piteous  spectacle!  O  bloody  times ! 

Whiles 


6oo 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  ii.  Sc.  v. 


Whiles  lions  war,  and  battle  for  their  dens, 
Poor  harmlesss  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'ercharg'd  with 
grief. 

Enter  a  Father,  who  has  killed  his  Son,  with  the 
Body  in  his  arms. 

Father. 
Thou  that  so  stoutly  hast  resisted  me, 
Give  me  thy  gold,  if  thou  hast  any  gold, 

For  I  have  bought  it  with  an  hundred  blows 

But  let  me  see : — is  this  our  foeman's  face  ? 

Ah,  no,  no,  no !  it  is  mine  only  son ! — 

Ah,  boy !  if  any  life  be  left  in  thee, 

Throw  up  thine  eye:  see,  see,  what  showers 

arise, 
Blown  with  the  windy  tempest  of  my  heart, 
Upon  thy  wounds,  that  kill  mine  eye  and  heart  !— 
O,  pity,  God,  this  miserable  age  ! — 
What  stratagems,  how  fell,  how  butcherly, 
Erroneous,  mutinous,  and  unnatural, 
This  deadly  quarrel  daily  doth  beget ! — 
O  boy !  thy  father  gave  thee  life  too  soon, 
And  hath  bereft  thee  of  thy  life  too  late. 

King  Henry. 
Woe  above  woe  !  grief  more  than  common 
grief! 
O,  that    my  death  would    stay  these  ruthful 
O,  pity,  pity  !  gentle  heaven,  pity! —   [deeds  ! — 
The  red  rose  and  the  white  are  on  his  face, 
The  fatal  colours  of  our  striving  houses : 
The  one  his  purple  blood  right  well  resembles, 
The  other  his  pale  cheeks,  methinks,  presenteth  ; 
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  ? 

Father. 
How  will  my  wife,  for  slaughter  of  my  son, 
Shed  seas  of  tears  and  ne'er  be  satisfied  ? 

King  Henry. 
How  will  the  country,  for  these  woeful  chances, 
Misthiuk  the  king,  and  not  be  satisfied  ? 

Son. 
Was  ever  son  so  rued  a  father's  death  ? 

Father. 
Was  ever  father  so  bemoan'd  a  son  ? 

King  Henry. 

Was  ever  king  so  gnev'd  for  subjects'  woe? 

Much  is  your  sorrow ;  mine,  ten  times  so  much. 

Son. 
I'll  bear  thee  hence,  where  I  may  weep  my 
fill.  [Exit,  with  the  Body. 

Father. 
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, 
Man,  for  the  loss  of  thee,  having  no  more, 
As  Priam  was  for  all  his  valiant  sons.         [will, 
I'll  bear  thee  hence ;  and  let  them  fight  that 
For  I  have  murder 'd  where  I  should  not  kill. 

[Exit,  with  the  Body. 

King  Henrr. 
Sad-hearted  men,  much  overgone  with  care, 
Here  sits  a  king  more  woful  than  you  are. 


Alarums  :  Excursions.    Enter  Queen  Mar- 
garet, Prince  of  Wales,  and  Exeter. 

Prince. 
Fly,  father,  fly  !  for  all  your  friends  are  fled, 
And  Warwick  rages  like  a  chafed  bull. 
Away  1  for  death  doth  hold  us  in  pursuit. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Mount  you,  my  lord:  towards  Berwick  post 
amain. 
Edward  and  Richard,  like  a  brace  of  grey- 
hounds, 
Having  the  fearful  flying  hare  in  sight, 
With  fiery  eyes,  sparkling  for  very  wrath, 
And  bloody  steel  grasp'd  in  their  ireful  hands, 
Are  at  our  backs ;  and  therefore  hence  amain. 

Exeter. 
Away  !  for  vengeance  comes  along  with  them. 
Nay,  stay  not  to  expostulate  ;  make  speed, 
Or  else  come  after  :  I'll  away  before. 

King  Henry. 
Nay,  take  me  with  thee,  good  sweet  Exeter  : 
Not  that  I  fear  to  stay,  but  love  to  go 
Whither  the  queen  intends.     Forward  !  away  ! 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    The  same. 
A  loud  Alarum.    Enter  Clifford,  wounded. 

Clifford. 

Here  burns  my  candle  out ;  ay,  here  it  dies, 

Which,  while  it  lasted,  gave  king  Henry  light. 

0,  Lancaster !   I  fear  thy  overthrow, 
More  than  my  body's  parting  with  my  soul. 
My  love,  and  fear,  glued  many  friends  to  thee ; 
And  now  I  fall  thy  tough  commixtures  melt, 
Impairing   Henry,    strengthening    mis-proud 

York. 
The  common  people  swarm  like  summer  flies; 
And  whither  fly  the  gnats,  but  to  the  sun  ? 
And  who  shines  now  but  Henry's  enemies  ? 

0  Phoebus !  hadst  thou  never  given  consent 
That  Phaeton  should  check  thy  fiery  steeds, 
Thy  burning  car  never  had  scorch'd  the  earth  ; 
And,  Henry,  hadst  thou  sway'd  as  kings  should 
Or  as  thy  father,  and  his  father,  did,  [do, 
Giving  no  ground  unto  the  house  of  York, 
They  never,  then,  had  sprung  like  summer  flies ; 

1,  and  ten  thousand  in  this  luckless  realm, 
Had  left  no  mourning  widows  for  our  death, 
And  thou  this  day  hadst  kept  thy  chair  in  peace. 
For  what  doth  cherish  weeds  but  gentle  air  ? 
And  what  makes  robbers  bold  but  too  much 

lenity  ? 
Bootless  are  plaints,  and  cureless  are  my  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  deserv'd  no  pity. 
The  air  hath  got  into  my  deadly  wounds, 
And  much  effuse  of  blood  doth  make  me  faint — 
Come,   York,  and  Richard,  Warwick,  and  the 

rest; 

1  stabb'd  your  fathers'  bosoms,  split  my  breast. 

[He  faints. 

Alarum  and  Retreat.    Enter  Edward,  George, 
Richard,  Montague,  Warwick,  and  Soldiers. 

Edward. 
Now  breathe  we,  lords  :  good  fortune  bids  us 
pause,  [looks. — 

And  smooth  the  frowns  of  war  with  peaceful 
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 


Act  n r.  Sc.  I. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


601 


Command  an  argosy  to  stem  the  waves. 
But  think  you,  lords,  that  Clifford  (led  with  ! 
them? 

Warwick. 
No,  'tis  Impossible  he  should  escape  ; 
For,  though  before  his  face  I  speak  the  words, 
Your  brother  Richard  mark'd  him  for  the  grave,  i 
And  wheresoe'er  he  is,  he's  surely  dead. 

[Clifford  groans  and  dies. 

Whose  soul  is  that  which  takes  her  heavy 
leave? 
A  deadly  groan,  like  life  and  death's  departing : 
See  who  it  is. 

Edward. 
And,  now  the  battle's  ended, 
If  friend,  or  foe,  let  him  be  gently  used. 

Richard. 
Revoke  that  doom  of  mercy,  for  'tis  Clifford; 
Who  not  contented  that  he  lopp'd  the  branch 
In  hewing  Rutland  when  his  leaves  put  forth, 
But  set  his  murdering  knife  unto  the  root 
From  whence  that  tender  spray  did   sweetly 

spring ; 
I  mean,  our  princely  father,  duke  of  York. 

Warwick. 
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. 

Edward. 
Bring  forth  that   fatal   screech-owl   to   our 
house, 
That  nothing  sung  but  death  to  us  and  ours : 
Now  death  shall  stop  his  dismal  threatening 

sound, 
And  his  ill-boding  tongue  no  more  shall  speak. 
[Attendants  bring  the  body  forward. 

Warwick. 
I  think  his  understanding  is  bereft.— 
Speak,  Clifford,  dost  thou  know  who  speaks  to 

thee  ?  — 
Dark  cloudy  death  o'ershades  his  beams  of  life, 
And  he  nor  sees,  nor  hears  us,  what  we  say. 

Richard. 
O,  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. 

George. 
If  so  thou  think'st,  vex  him  with  eager  words. 

Richard. 
Clifford  '.  ask  mercy,  and  obtain  no  grace. 

Edward. 
Clifford!  repent  in  bootless  penitence. 

Warwick. 
Clifford!  devise  excuses  for  thy  faults. 

George. 
While  we  devise  fell  tortures  for  thy  faults. 

Richard. 
Thou  didst  love  York,  and  I  am  son  to  York. 

Edward. 
Thou  pitiedst  Rutland,  I  will  pity  thee. 

George. 
Where's  captain  Margaret  to  fence  you  now  ? 

Warwick. 
They  mock  thee,  Clifford :  swear  as  thou  wast 
wont. 

Richard. 
What !  not  an  oath  ?  nay  then,  the  world  goes 
hard, 


When  Clifford  cannot  spare  his  friends  an  oath. — 
I  know  by  that,  he's  dead ;  and,  by  my  soul, 
If  this  right  hand  would  buy  two  hours'  life, 
Thac  I  in  all  despite  might  rail  at  him, 
This  hand  should  chop  it  off;   and  with  the 

issuing  blood 
Stifle  the  villain,  whose  unstaunched  thirst 
York  and  young  Rutland  could  not  satisfy. 

Warwick. 
Ay,  but  he's  dead.   Off  with  the  traitor's  head, 
And  rear  it  in  the  place  your  father's  stands. — 
And  now  to  London  with  triumphant  march, 
There  to  be  crowned  England's  royal  king. 
From   whence  shall    Warwick  cut  the  sea  to 
And  ask  the  lady  Bona  for  thy  queen.    [France, 
So  shalt  thou  sinew  both  these  lands  together  ; 
And,  having  France  thy  friend,  thou  shale  not 

dread 
The  scatter'd  foe  that  hopes  to  rise  again ; 
For  though  they  cannot  greatly  sting  to  hurt, 
Yet  look  to  have  them  buz,  to  offend  thine  ears. 
First,  will  I  see  the  coronation, 
And  then  to  Brittany  I'll  cross  the  sea, 
To  effect  tiiis  marriage,  so  it  please  my  lord. 

Edward. 
Even  as  thou  wilt,  sweet  Warwick,  let  it  be  ; 
For  in  thy  shoulder  do  I  build  my  seat, 
And  never  will  I  undertake  the  thing, 
Wherein  thy  counsel  and  consent  is  wanting — 
Richard,  I  will  create  thee  duke  of  Gloster  ;  — 
And  George,  of  Clarence :—  Warwick,  as  our  self, 
Shall  do,  and  undo,  as  him  pleaseth  best. 

Richard. 
Let  me  be  duke  of  Clarence,  George  of  Gloster, 
For  Gloster's  dukedom  is  too  ominous. 

Warwick. 
Tut !  that's  a  foolish  observation : 
Richard,  be  duke  of  Gloster.    Now  to  London, 
To  see  these  honours  in  possession,     [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Chace  in  the  North  of  England. 

Enter  Two  Keepers,  with  Cross-bows  in  their 
Hands. 

U  First  Keeper. 

NDER  this  thick-grown  brake  we'll  shroud 
ourselves; 
For  through  this  lawn  anon  the  deer  will  come, 
And  in  this  covert  will  we  make  our  stand, 
Culling  the  principal  of  all  the  deer. 

Second  Keeper. 
I'll  stay  above  the  hill,  so  both  may  shoot. 

First  Keeper. 
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  befel  me  on  a  day. 
In  this  self-place  where  now  we  mean  to  stand. 

Second  Keeper. 
Here  comes  a  man,  let's  stay  till  he  be  past. 

Enter  King  Henry,  disguised,  with  a  Prayer- 
book. 
King  Henry. 
From  Scotland  am  I  stol'n,  even  of  pure  love, 
To  greet  mine  own  land  with  my  wishful  sight. 
No,  Harry,  Harry,  'tis  no  land  of  thine ; 

Thy 


602 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Thy  place  Is  BUM,  thy  sceptre  wrung  from  thee, 
Thy  balm    wash'd   off  wherewith    thou  wast 

anointed: 
No  bending  knee  will  call  thee  Ccesar  now, 
No  humble  suitors  press  to  speak  for  right, 
No,  not  a  man  comes  tor  redress  of  thee, 
For  how  can  I  help  them,  and  not  myself? 
First  Keeper. 

Ay,  here's  a  deer  whose  skin's  a  keeper's  fee. 
This  is  the  quondam  king:  let's  seize  upon  him. 
King  Henry. 

Let  me  embrace  these  sour  adversities ; 
For  wise  men  say,  it  is  the  wisest  course. 
Second  Keeper. 

Why  linger  we?  let  us  lay  hands  upon  him. 
First  Keeper. 

Forbear  a  while ;  we'll  hear  a  little  more. 
King  Henry. 

My  queen  and  son  are  gone  to  France  for  aid ; 
And,  as  I  hear,  the  great  commanding  Warwick 
Is  thither  gone,  to  crave  the  French  king's  sister 
To  wife  for  Edward.     If  this  news  be  true, 
Poor  queen,  and  son,  your  labour  is  but  lost; 
For  Warwick  is  a  subtle  orator,  [words. 

And  Lewis  a  prince  soon  won  with   moving 
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, 
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  depos'd ; 
He  smiles,  and  says  — his  Edward  is  install'd; 
That  she,poor  wretch, for  grief  can  speak  no  more, 
Whiles   Warwick  tells  his  title,  smooths   the 

wrong, 
Inferreth  arguments  of  mighty  strength; 
And,  in  conclusion,  wins  the  king  from  her, 
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. 

•Second  Keeper. 
Say,  what  art  thou  talkest  of  kings  and  queens  ? 

King  Henry. 
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  ? 
Second  Keeper. 
Ay,  but  thou  talk'st  as  if  thou  wert  a  king. 

King  Henry. 
Why,  so  I  am,  in  mind ;  and  that's  enough. 

Second  Keeper. 
But,  if  thou  be  a  king,  where  is  thy  crown  ? 

King  Henry. 
My  crown  is  in  my  heart,  hot  on  my  head ; 
Not  deck'd  with  diamonds,  and  Indian  stones, 
Nor  to  be  seen:  my  crown  is  call'd,  content; 
A  crown  it  is,  that  seldom  kings  enjoy. 
Second  Keeper. 
Well,  if  you  be  a  king  crown'd  with  content, 
Your  crown,  content,  and  you,  mustbecontented 
To  go  along  with  us ;  for,  as  we  think, 
You  are  the  king,  king  Edward  hath  depos'd ; 
And  we  his  subjects,  sworn  in  all  allegiance, 
Will  apprehend  you  as  his  enemy. 
King  Henry. 
But  did  you  never  swear,  and  break  an  oath  ? 


Second  Keeper. 
No,  never  such  an  oath  ;  nor  will  not  now. 

King  Henry. 
Where  did  you  dwell,  when  I  was  king  of 
England? 

Second  Keeper. 
Here  In  this  country,  where  we  now  remain. 

King  Henry. 
I  was  anointed  king  at  nine  months  old, 
My  father  and  my  grandfather,  were  kings, 
And  you  were  sworn  true  subjects  unto  me; 
And  tell  me,  then,  have  you  not  broke  your 
oaths  ? 

First  Keeper. 
No; 
For  we  were  subjects,  but  while  you  were  king. 
King  Henry. 
Why,  am  I  dead  ?  do  I  not  breathe  a  man  ? 
Ah,  simple  men  !  you  know  not  what  you  swear. 
Look,  as  I  blow  this  feather  from  my  face, 
And  as  the  air  blows  it  to  me  again, 
Obeying  with  my  wind  when  I  do  blow, 
And  yielding  to  another  when  it  blows, 
Commanded  always  by  the  greater  gust, 
Such  is  the  lightness  of  you  common  men. 
But  do  not  break  your  oaths  ;  for  of  that  sin 
My  mild  entreaty  shall  not  make  you  guilty. 
Go  where  you  will,  the  king  shall  be  commanded, 
And  be  you  kings ;  command,  and  I'll  obey. 
First  Keeper. 
We  are  true  subjects  to  the  king,  king  Edward. 

King  Henry. 
So  would  you  be  again  to  Henry, 
If  he  were  seated  as  king  Edward  is. 
First  Keeper. 
We  charge  you,  in  God's  name,  and  the  king's, 
To  go  with  us  unto  the  officers. 
King  Henry, 
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. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Edward,  Glostcr,  Clarence,  and 
Lady  Grey. 

King  Edward. 

Brother  of  Gloster,  at  Saint  Albans'  field 
This  lady's  husband,  sir  John  Grey,  was  slain, 
His  land  then  seiz'd  on  by  the  conqueror: 
Her  suit  is  now,  to  repossess  those  lands, 
Which  we  in  justice  cannot  well  deny, 
Because  in  quarrel  of  the  house  of  York 
The  worthy  gentleman  did  lose  his  life. 
Gloster. 

Your  highness  shall  do  well,  to  grant  her  suit ; 
It  were  dishonour,  to  deny  it  her. 

King  Edward. 
It  were  no  less ;  but  yet  I'll  make  a  pause. 

Gloster. 
Yea;  Is  it  so?  [Aside. 

I  see,  the  lady  hath  a  thing  to  grant, 
Before  the  king  will  grant  her  humble  suit. 
Clarence. 
He  knows  the  game:  how  true  he  keeps  the 
wind!  CAside. 

Gloster. 
Silence !  [Aside. 

King 


Act  hi.  Sc  ii. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


603 


King  Edward. 
Willow,  we  will  consider  of  your  *ult, 
And  come  some  other  time  to  Know  our  mind. 
Lady  Cray. 
Right  gracious  lord,  I  cannot  brook  delay: 
|f»  it  plwii  vour  highness  to  resolve  me  now, 
And  what  your  pleasure  is  shall  satisfy  me. 
Glostcr. 
Ay,  widow?  then  I'll  warrant  you  all  your 
lands, 
An  if  what  pleases  him  shall  pleasure  you. 
Fight  closer,  or,  good  faith,  you'll  catch  a  blow. 

[Aside. 
Clarence. 
I  fear  her  not,  unless  she  chance  to  fall . 

[Aside. 
Glostcr. 
God  forbid  that,  for  hell  take  vantages. 

[Aside. 
King  Edward. 
How  many  children  hast  thou,  widow  ?  tell  me. 

Clarence. 
I  think,  he  means  to  beg  a  child  of  her. 

[Aside. 
Glostcr. 
Nay  then,  whip  me ;  he'll  rather  give  her  two. 
[Aside. 
Lady  Grey. 
Three,  my  most  gracious  lord. 

Glostcr. 
You  shall  have  four,  if  you'll  be  rul'd  by  him. 
[Aside. 
King  Edward. 
'Twere  pity,  they  should  lose  their  father's 
lands. 

Lady  Grey. 
Be  pitiful,  dread  lord,  and  grant  it  then. 

King  Edward. 
Lords,  give  us  leave:  I'll  try  this  widow's  wit. 

Gloster 
Ay,  good  leave  have  you;  for  you  will  have 
leave, 
Till  youth  take  leave,  and  leave  you  to  the  crutch. 
[Gloster  and  Clarence  stand  ;q>irt. 
King  Edward. 
Now  tell  me,  madam,  do  you  love  your  chil- 
dren? 

Lady  Grey. 
Ay,  full  as  dearly  as  I  love  myself. 

King  Edward. 
And  would  you  not  do  much,  to  do  them  good  ? 

Lady  Grey. 
To  do  them  good  I  would  sustain  some  harm. 

King  Edward. 
Then,  get  your  husband's  lands  to  do  them 

good*  r    a    r- 

Lady  Grey. 

Therefore  I  came  unto  your  majesty. 

King  Edward. 

I'll  tell  you  how  these  lands  are  to  be  got. 

Lady  Grey. 

So  shall  you  bind  me  to  your  highness'  service. 

King  Edward. 

What  service  wilt  thou  do  me,  if  I  give  them  ? 

Lady  Grey. 

What  you  command,  that  rests  in  me  to  do. 

King  Edward. 

But  you  will  take  exceptions  to  my  boon. 

Lady  Grey. 

No,  gracious  lord,  except  I  cannot  do  it. 


King  Edward. 
Ay,  but  thou  canst  do  what  I  mean  to  ask. 

Lady  Grey. 
Why  then,  I  will  do  what  your  grace  commands. 

Gloster. 

He  piles  her  hard ;  and  much  rain  wears  the 

marble.  [Aside. 

Clarence. 

As  red  as  fire !  nay  then,  her  wax  must  melt 

[Aside. 

Lady  Grey. 

Why  stops  my  lord  ?  shall  I  not  hear  my  task  ? 

King  Edward. 
An  easy  task:  'tis  but  to  love  a  king. 

Lady  Grey. 
That's  soon  perform'd,  because  I  am  a  subject. 

King  Edward. 
Why  then,  thy  husband's  lands  I  freely  give 
thee. 

Lady  Grey. 
I  take  my  leave  with  many  thousand  thanks. 

Gloster. 
The  match  is  made:  she  seals  it  with  a  curt'sy. 

King  Edward. 
But  stay  thee ;  'tis  the  fruits  of  love  I  mean. 

Lady  Grey. 
The  fruits  of  love  I  mean,  my  loving  liege. 

King  Edward. 
Ay,  but,  I  fear  me,  in  another  sense. 
What  love,  think'st  thou,  1  sue  so  much  to  get? 
Lady  Grey. 
My  love  till  death ;  my  humble  thanks,  my 

Srayers : 
»ve  which  virtue  begs,  and  virtue  grants. 
King  Edward. 
No,  by  my  troth,  I  did  not  mean  such  love. 

I -idy  Grey. 
Why,  then  you  mean  not  as  1  thought  you  did. 

King  Edward. 
But  now  you  partly  may  perceive  my  mind. 

Lady  Grey. 
My  mind  will  never  grant"what  I  perceive 
Your  highness  aims  at,  if  I  aim  aright. 
King  Edward. 
To  tell  thee  plain,  I  aim  to  lie  with  thee. 

Lady  Grey. 
To  tell  you  plain,  I  had  rather  lie  in  prison. 

King  Edward. 
Why  then,  thou  shalt  not  have  thy  husband's 
"lands. 

Lady  Grey. 

Why  then,  mine  honesty  shall  be  my  dower; 

For  by  that  loss  I  will  not  purchase  them. 

King  Edward. 

Therein  thou  wiong'st  thy  children  mightily. 

Lady  Grey. 
Herein  your  highness  wrongs  both  them  and 
But,  mighty  lord,  this  merry  inclination      [me. 
Accords  not  with  the  sadness  of  my  suit; 
Please  you  dismiss  me,  either  with  ay,  or  no. 

King  Edward. 
Ay,  if  thou  wilt  say  ay,  to  my  request ; 
No,  if  thou  dost  say  ho,  to  my  demand. 
Lady  Grey. 
Then,  no,  my  lord.    My  suit  is  at  an  end. 

Gloster. 
The  widow  likes  him  not,  she  knits  her  brow«. 
[Aside. 
Clarence. 


So\ 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ii. 


Clarence. 
He  is  the  bluntest  wooer  in  Christendom. 

[Aside. 
King  Edward. 
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.  — 
[Aside. 
Say,  that  king  Edward  take  thee  for  his  queen  ? 

Lady  Grey. 
'Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious  lord : 
I  am  a  subject  fit  to  jest  withal, 
But  far  unfit  to  be  a  sovereign. 

King  Edward 
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. 

Lady  Grey. 
And  that  is  more  than  1  will  yield  unto. 
I  know,  I  am  too  mean  to  be  your  queen, 
And  yet  too  good  to  be  your  concubine. 

King  Edward. 
You  cavil,  widow:  I  did  mean,  my  queen. 

Lady  Grey. 
'Twill  grieve  your  grace,  my  sons  should  call 
you  father. 

King  Edward. 
No  more,  than  when  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  my  queen. 

Gloster. 
The  ghostly  father  now  hath  done  his  shrift. 
[Aside. 
Clarence. 
When  he  was  made  a  shriver,  'twas  for  shift. 
[Aside. 
King  Edward. 
Brothers,  you  muse  what  chat  we  two  have 
had. 

Gloster. 
The  widow  likes  it  not,  for  she  looks  very 
sad. 

King  Edward. 
You'd  think  it  strange  if  I  should  marry  her. 

Clarence. 
To  whom,  my  lord? 

King,  Edward. 

why,  Clarence,  to  myself? 

Gloster. 
That  would  be  ten  days'  wonder,  at  the  least. 

Clarence. 
That's  a  day  longer  than  a  wonder  lasts. 

Gloster. 
By  so  much  is  the  wonder  in  extremes. 

King  Edward. 
Well,  jest  on,  brothers  :  I  can  tell  you  both, 
Her  suit  is  granted  for  her  husband's  lands. 

Enter  a  Nobleman. 

Nobleman. 

My  gracious  lord,  Henry  your  foe  is  taken, 

And  brought  your  prisoner  to  your  palace  gate. 

King  Edward. 
See,  that  he  be  convey'd  unto  the  Tower:  — 
And  go  we,  brothers,  to  the  man  that  took  him, 
To  question  of  his  apprehension.  — 


Widow,  go  you  along, 
ably. 


-Lords,  use  her  honour- 


[Exeunt  King  Edward,  Lady  Grey,  Cla- 
rence, and  Lord. 

Gloster. 
Ay,  Edward  will  use  women  honourably. 
'Would  he  were  wasted,  marrow,  bones,  and  all. 
That  from  his  loins  no  hopeful  branch  may 

spring, 
To  cross  me  from  the  golden  time  I  look  for  ! 
And  yet,  between  my  soul's  desire,  and  me, 
The  lustful  Edward's  title  buried, 
Is  Clarence,  Henri/,  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-offshore  where  he  would  tread, 
Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye; 
And  chides  the   sea   that   sunders    him   from 

thence, 
Saying—  he'll  lade  it  dry  to  have  his  way : 
So  do  I  wish  the  crown,  being  so  far  off, 
And  so  1  chide  the  means  that  keep  me  from  it; 
And  so  I  say  I'll  cut  the  causes  off, 
Flattering  me  with  impossibilities. —       [much, 
My  eye's  too  quick,  my  heart  o'erweens  too 
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  witli  my  words  and  looks. 

0  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, 

Like  to  a  chaos,  or  an  unlick'd  bear-whelp, 

That  carries  no  impression  like  the  dam. 

And  am  I,  then,  a  man  to  be  belov'd? 

O,  monstrous  fault,  to  harbour  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,  t'  account  this  world  but 

hell, 
Until  my  mis-shap'd  trunk  that  bears  this  head, 
Be  round  impaled  with  a  glorious  crown. 
And  yet  I  know  not  how  to  get  the  crown, 
For  many  lives  stand  between  me  and  home: 
And  I,  like  one  lost  in  a  thorny  wood,    [thorns, 
That  rends  the  thorns,  and  is  rent  with  the 
Seeking  a  way,  and  straying  from  the  way, 
Not  knowing  how  to  find  the  open  air, 
But  toiling  desperately  to  find  it  out, 
Torment  myself  to  catch  the  English  crown : 
And  from  that  torment  I  will  free  myself, 
Or  hew  my  way  out  with  a  bloody  axe. 
Why,  1  can  smile,  and  murder  while  I  smile, 
And  cry,  content,  to  that  which  grieves  my  heart, 
And  wet  my  cheeks  with  artificial  tears, 
And  frame  my  face  to  all  occasions. 
I'll  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  shall, 
I'll  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk  ; 
I'll  play  the  orator  as  well  as  Nestor, 
Deceive  more  slily  than  Ulysses  could, 
And  like  a  Sinon  take  another  Troy. 

1  can  add  colours  to  the  cameleon, 

Change 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


605 


Change  shapes,  with  Proteus,  for  advantages, 
Ami  set  the  murderous  Machtiivel  to  school. 
Can  I  do  this,  and  cannot  get  a  crown  ? 
Tut!  were  it  further  off,  I'll  pluck  it  down. 

SCENE  III.    France.    A  Itoom  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.    Enter  Lewis  the  French  King,  and 
Lady  ided:    the   King  takes  his 

■  cr  Queen  Margaret,  Prince 
Eiiuant,  and  the  Karl  of  Oxford. 

King  Lewis. 
Fair  queen  of  England,  worthy  Margaret, 
Sit  down  with  us:  it  ill  befits  thy  state, 
And  birth,  that   thou   should'st  stand,  while 
Lewis  doth  sit. 

Quoen  Margaret. 
No,  mighty  king  of  France  ;  now  Margaret 
Must  strike  her  sail,  and  learn  a  while  to  serve, 
Where  kings  command.     1  was,  I  must  confess, 
Great  Albion's  queen  in  former  golden  days; 
But  now  mischance  hath  trod  my  title  down, 
And  with  dishonour  laid  me  on  the  ground, 
Where  I  must  take  like  seat  unto  my  fortune, 
And  to  my  humble  seat  conform  myself. 

King  Lewis. 
Why,  say,  fair  queen,  whence  springs  this  deep 
despair  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
From  such  a  cause  as  fills  mine  eyes  with  tears, 
And  stops  my  tongue,  while  heart  is  drown'd  in 
cares. 

King  Lewis. 
Whate'er  it  be,  be  thou  still  like  thyself, 
And  sit  thee  by  our  side :  yield  not  thy  neck 

[Seats  her  by  him. 
To  fortune's  yoke,  but  let  thy  dauntless  mind 
Still  ride  in  triumph  over  all  mischance. 
Be  plain,  queen  Margaret,  and  tell  thy  grief; 
It  shall  be  eas'd,  if  France  call  yield  relief. 

Queen  Margaret. 

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  Henri/,  sole  possessor  of  my  love, 
Is  of  a  king  become  a  banish'd  man, 
And  forc'd  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  1,  poor  Margaret, 
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  treasure  seiz'd,  our  soldiers  put  to  flight, 
And,  as  thou  seest,  ourselves  in  heavy  plight. 
King  Lewis. 

Renowned  queen,  with   patience   calm    the 
storm, 
While  we  bethink  a  means  to  break  it  off. 
Quoc-n  Margaret. 

The  more  we  stay,  the  stronger  grows  our  foe. 

King  Lewis. 
The  more  I  stay,  the  more  I'll  succour  thee. 

Queen  Margaret. 

O  !  but  impatience  waiteth  on  true  sorrow : 

Aud  see  where  comes  the  breeder  of  ray  sorrow. 


F.nter  Warwick,  attended. 
King  Lewis. 
What's  he,  approacheth  boldly  to  our  pre. 
fence  ? 

.1  Margaret. 
Our   earl   of  Warwick,  Edward'*   greatest 
friend 

King  Lewis. 
Welcome,  brave  Warwick.  Wrhat  brings  thee 
to  France T 

[He  descends.    Queen  Margaret  rises. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  now  begins  a  second  storm  to  rise; 
:  For  this  is  he  that  moves  both  wind  and  tide. 
Warwick. 
From  worthy  Edward,  king  of  Albion, 
My  lord  and  sovereign,  and  thy  vowed  friend, 
j  I  come,  in  kindness,  and  unfeigned  love, 
;  First,  to  do  greetings  to  thy  royal  person, 
1  And,  then,  to  crave  a  league  of  amity; 
!  And,  lastly,  to  confirm  that  amity 
J  With  nuptial  knot,  if  thou  vouchsafe  to  grant 
!  That  virtuous  lady  Bona,  thy  fair  sister, 
I  To  England's  king  in  lawful  marriage. 

Queen  Margaret. 
j      If  that  go  forward,  Henry's  hope  is  done. 
Warwick. 
And,  gracious  madam,  [To2?ywrt,]mour  king's 
behalf, 
I  am  commanded,  with  your  leave  and  favour, 
Humbly  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  with  my  tongue 
To  tell  the  passion  of  my  sovereign's  heart ; 
i  Where  fame,  late  entering  at  his  heedful  ears, 
!  Hath  plac'd  thy  beauty's  image,  and  thy  virtue. 

Queen  Margaret. 
•      King  Lewis,  and  lady  Bona,  hear  me  speak, 
Before  you  answer  Warwick.     His  demand 
;  Springs  not  from  Edward's  well-meant  honest 
But  from  deceit,  bred  by  necessity;  [love, 

f  For  how  can  tyrants  safely  govern  home, 
Unless  abroad  they  purchase  great  alliance? 
J  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 
Thou  draw  not  on  thy  danger  and  dishonour; 
For  though  usurpers  sway  the  rule  a  while, 
Yet  heavens   are  just,  and  time  suppresseth 
wrongs. 

Warwick. 
Injurious  Margaret! 

Prince. 

And  why  not  queen  ? 
Warwick. 
Because  thy  father  Henry  did  usurp, 
And  thou  no  more  art  prince,  than  she  is  queen. 
Oxford. 
Then  Warwick  disannuls  great  John  of  Gaunt, 
Which  did  subdue  the  greatest  part  of  Spain; 
And,  after  John  of  Gaunt,  Henry  the  fourth, 
Whose  wisdom  was  a  mirror  to  the  wisest ; 
(And  after  that  wise  prince,  Henry  the  fifth, 
:  Who  by  his  prowess  conquered  all  France: 
:From  these  our  Henry  lineally  descends. 
Warwick. 
Oxford,  how  haps  it,  in  this  smooth  discourse, 
1  You  told  not,  how  Henry  the  sixth  hath  lost 
AH  that  which  Henry  the  fifth  had  gotten? 
;Methinks,  these  peers  of  France  should  smile  at 
■But  for  the  rest,— you  tell  a  pedigree  [that. 

'Of  threescore  and  two  years  ;  a  silly  time 
To  make  prescription  for  a  kingdom's  worth. 


6o5 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  id,  Sc.  hi. 


Oxford. 
Why,  Warwick,  canst  thou  speak  against  thy 
liege, 
Whom  thou  obeyedst  thirty  and  six  years, 
And  not  bewray  thy  treason  with  a  blush  ? 
Warwick. 
Can  Oxford,  that  did  ever  fence  the  right, 
Now  buckler  falsehood  with  a  pedigree? 
For  shame !  leave  Henry,  and  call  Edward  king. 
Oxford. 
Call  him  my  king,  by  whose  injurious  doom 
My  elder  brother,  the  lord  Aubrey  Fere, 
Was  done  to  death?  and  more  than  so,  my 

father, 
Even  in  the  downfall  of  his  mellow 'd  years, 
When  nature  brought  him  to  the  door  of  death  ? 
No,  Warwick,  no;  while  life  upholds  this  arm, 
This  arm  upholds  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
Warwick. 
And  I  the  house  of  York. 

King  Lewis. 
Queen  Margaret,  prince  Edward,  and  Oxford, 
Vouchsafe  at  our  request  to  stand  aside, 
While  I  use  farther  conference  with  Warwick. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Heaven  grant,  that  Warwick's  words  bewitch 
him  not !  [They  stand  aloof. 

King  Lewis. 
Now,  Warwick,  tell  me,  even  upon  thy  con- 
science, 
Is  Edward  your  true  king?  for  I  were  loath, 
To  link  with  him  that  were  not  lawful  chosen. 
Warwick. 
Thereon  I  pawn  my  credit,  and  mine  honour. 

King  Lewis, 
But  Is  he  gracious  in  the  people's  eye? 

Warwick. 
The  more,  that  Henry  was  unfortunate. 

King  Lewis. 
Then  farther;  all  dissembling  set  aside, 
Tell  me  for  truth  the  measure  of  his  love 
Unto  our  sister  Bona. 

Warwick. 

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 
Exempt  from  envy,  but  not  from  disdain,   [sun 
Unless  the  lady  Bona  quit  his  pain. 
King  Lewis. 
Now,  sister,  let  us  hear  your  firm  resolve. 
Bona. 

Your  grant,  or  your  denial,  shall  be  mine 

Yet  I  confess,  [To  Wanoick,]  that  often  ere  this 

day, 
When  I  have  heard  your  king's  desert  recounted, 
Mine  ear  hath  tempted  judgment  to  desire. 
King  Lewis. 
Then,   Warwick,  thus:  —  our  sister  shall  be 
Edward's ; 
And  now  forthwith  shall  articles  be  drawn 
Touching  the  jointure  that   your  king  must 
make,  [pois'd, — 

Which    with    her    dowry    shall    be    counter- 
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. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Deceitful  Warwick  1  it  was  thy  device 


By  this  alliance  to  make  void  my  suit : 
Before  thy  coming,  Lewis  was  Henry's  friend. 
King  Lewis. 
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  releas'd 
From  giving  aid  which  late  I  promised. 
Yet  shall  you  have  all  kindness  at  my  hand, 
That  your  estate  requires,  and  mine  can  yield. 
Warwick. 
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.  _ 

Queen  Margaret. 

Peace  !  impudent  and  shameless  Warwick. 
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  self-same  feather. 
[A  horn  sounded  within. 

King  Lewis. 

Warwick,  this  is  some  post  to  us,  or  thee. 

Enter  the  Post. 

Post. 

My  lord  ambassador,  these  letters  are  for  you. 

Sent  from  your  brother,  marquess  Montague.  — 

These  from  our  king  unto  your  majesty 

And,  madam,   these  for  you;    from,  whom    I 

know  not.      [They  all  read  their  letters. 

Oxford. 

1  like  it  well,  that  our  fair  queen  and  mistress 

Smiles  at  her  news,  while  Warwick  frowns  at 

Prince. 
Nay,  mark  how  Lewis  stamps  as  he  were 
I  hope  all's  for  the  best.  [nettled : 

King  Lewis. 
Warwick,  what  are  thy  news  ?    and  yours, 
fair  queen  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
Mine,  such  as  fill   my  heart   with  unhop'd 

JOy8'  Warwick. 

Mine,  full  of  sorrow  and  heart's  discontent. 

King  Lewis. 
What !  has  your  king  married  the  lady  Grey, 
And  now,  to  sooth  your  forgery  and  his, 
Sends  me  a  paper  to  persuade  me  patience  ? 
Is  this  th'  alliance  that  he  seeks  with  France? 
Dare  he  presume  to  scorn  us  in  this  manner  ? 
Queen  Margaret. 
I  told  your  majesty  as  much  before : 
This  proveth  Edward's  love  and   Warwick's 
honesty. 

Warwick. 
j     King  Lewis,  I  here  protest,  in  sight  of  heaven, 
And  by  the  hope  I  have  of  heavenly  bliss, 
That  1  am  clear  from  this  misdeed  of  Edward's  ; 
No  more  my  king,  for  he  dishonours  me, 
But  most  himself,  if  he  could  see  his  shame. 
Did  1  forget,  that  by  the  house  of  York 
My  father  came  untimelv  to  his  death  ? 
Did  I  let  pass  th'  abuse  done  to  my  niece  ? 
Did  I  impale  him  with  the  regal  crown  ? 
Did  I  put  Henry  from  his  native  right, 
And  am  I  guerdon 'd  at  the  last  with  shame  ? 
Shame  on  himself,  for  my  desert  is  honour: 
And  to  repair  my  honour  lost  for  him, 

I  here 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HKNliY  VI. 


607 


l  Inn  renounce  him,  and  return  to  Henry. 
My  uohlc  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. 
D  Margaret. 
Warwick,  these  words  have  turn'd  my  hate  to 
love ; 
And  1  forgive  and  quite  forget  old  faults, 
And    joy  that   thou    becom'st    king    Henry's 

r.i.-iHi. 

Warwick. 
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  succour  him : 
And  as  for  Clarence,  as  my  letters  tell  me, 
He's  \ery  likely  now  to  fall  from  him, 
For   matching   more    for    wanton    lust    than 

honour. 
Or  than  for  strength  and  safety  of  our  country. 

Bona. 
Dear  brother,  how  shall  Bona  be  reveng'd, 
But  by  thy  help  to  this  distressed  queen  ? 

Queen  Margaret. 
Renowned  prince,  how  shall  poor  Henry  live, 
Unless  thou  rescue  him  from  foul  despair  ? 

Bona. 
My  quarrel,  and  this   English  queen's,  are 
one. 

Warwick. 
And  mine,  fair  lady  Bona,  joins  with  yours. 

King  Lewis. 
And  mine,  with  hers,  and  thine,  and  Mar- 
Therefore,  at  last  I  firmly  am  resolv'd,  [garet's. 
You  shall  have  aid. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Let  me  give  humble  thanks  for  all  at  once. 

King  Lewis. 
Then,  England's  messenger,  return  in  post ; 
And  tell  false  Edward,  thy  supposed  king, 
That  Leu  is  of  Frauce  is  sending  over  maskers, 
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   widower 
shortly, 
I'll  wear  the  willow  garland  for  his  sake. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Tell  him,  my  mourning  weeds  are  laid  aside, 
And  I  am  ready  to  put  armour  on. 

Warwick. 

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. 

King  Lewi*. 

But,  Warwick 
Thou  and  Oxford,  with  five  thousand  men. 
Shall  cro<s  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? 

Warwick. 
This  shall  assure  mv  constant  loyalty:  — 
That  if  our  queen  and  this  young  prince  agree, 
I'll  ioin  mine  eldest  daughter,  and  my  joy, 
To  him  forthwith  in  holy  wedlock  bands. 


Queen  Margaret. 
Yei,  1  agree,  and  thank  you  for  your  motion- 
Son  Edward,  she  is  fair  and  virtuous, 
Therefore  delay  not,  give  thy  hand  to  Warwick; 
And  with  thy  hand  thy  faith  irrevocable. 
That  only  Warwick's  daughter  shall  be  thine. 
Prince. 
Yes,  I  accept  her,  for  she  well  deserves  it ; 
And  here,  to  pledge  my  vow,  1  give  my  hand. 

[lie  gives  his  hand  to  Warwick. 
King  Lewis. 
Why  stay  we  now?    These  soldiers  shall  be 
levied, 
And  thou,  lord  Bourbon,  our  high  admiral, 
Shall  waft  them  over  with  our  royal  fleet.— 
I  long,  till  Edward  fall  by  war's  mischance. 
For  mocking  marriage  with  a  dame  of  France. 
[Exeunt  all  but  Warwick. 

Warwick. 
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? 
Then  none  but  I  shall  turn  his  jest  to  sorrow. 
I  was  the  chief  that  rais'd  him  to  the  crown, 
And  I'll  be  chief  to  bring  him  down  again: 
Not  that  I  pity  Henry's  misery, 
But  seek  revenge  on  Edward's  mockery.    [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Glostcr,  Clarence,  Somerset,  Montague. 

Gloster. 
"IVTOW  tell  me,  brother  Clarence,  what  think 
-»-*     you 

Of  this  new  marriage  with  the  lady  Grcyf 
Hath  not  our  brother  made  a  worthy  choice  ? 

Clarence. 
Alas  !  you  know,  'tis  far  from  hence  to  France : 
How  could  he  stay  till  Warwick  made  return? 

Somerset. 
My  lords,  forbear  this  talk:  here  comes  the 
king. 

Flourish.  Enter  King  Edward,  attended ;  Lady 
Grey,  as  Queen;  Pembroke,  Stafford,  and 
Hastings. 

Gloster. 
And  his  well-chosen  bride. 

Clarence. 
I  mind  to  tell  him  plainly  what  I  think. 


Kdward. 

rence,  how  like  you  our 


Now,  brother  of  Cla 
choice, 
That  you  stand  pensive  as  half  malcontent  ? 

Clarence. 
As  well  as  Lewis  of  France,  or  the  earl  of 
Warwick; 
Which  are  so  weak  of  courage,  and  in  judgment, 
That  they'll  take  no  offence  at  our  abuse. 

KingEdward. 
Suppose  they  take  offence  without  a  cause, 
They  are  but  Lewis  and  Warwick :  I  am  Edward, 
Your  king  and  Warwick's,  and  must  have  my 
will. 

Gloster, 
And  you  shall  haveyour  will,  because  our  king; 
Yet  hastv  marriage  seldom  proveth  well. 

King 


6o8 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


King  Edward. 
Yea,  brother  Richard,  are  you  offended  too  ? 

Gloster. 
Not  I. 

No;  God  forbid,  that  I  should  wish  them  sever'd 
Whom  God  hath  join'd  together:  ay,  and  'twere 

pity, 
To  sunder  them  that  yoke  so  well  together. 
King  Edward. 
Setting  your  scorns,  and  your  mislike,  aside, 
Tell  me  some  reason  why  the  lady  Grey 
Should  not   become  my  wife,  and  England's 

queen. — 
And  you,  too,  Somerset,  and  Montague, 
Speak  freely  what  you  think. 
Clarence. 
Then  this  is  mine  opinion— that  king  Lewis 
Becomes  your  enemy,  for  mocking  him 
About  the  marriage  of  the  lady  Bona. 
Gloster. 
And  Warwick,  doing  what  you  gave  in  charge, 
Is  now  dishonoured  by  this  new  marriage. 
King  Edward. 
What,  if  both  Lewis  and  Warwick  be  appeas'd 
By  such  invention  as  I  can  devise? 
Montague. 
Yet  to  have  join'd  with  France  in  such  alli- 
ance, 
Would  more  have  strengthen'd  this  our  com- 
monwealth 
'Gainst  foreign   storms,   than  any   home-bred 
marriage. 

Hastings. 
Why,  knows  not  Montague,  that  of  itself 
England  is  safe,  if  true  within  itself? 
Montague. 
But  the  safer,  when  'tis  back'd  with  France. 

Hastings. 
'Tis  better  using  France,  than  trusting  France. 
Let  us  be  back'd  with  God,  and  with  the  seas, 
Which  he  hath  given  for  fence  impregnable, 
And  with  their  helps  only  defend  ourselves: 
In  them  and  in  ourselves  our  safety  lies. 
Clarence. 
For  this  one  speech  lord  Hastings  well  deserves 
To  have  the  heir  of  the  lord  Hungerford. 
King  Edward. 
Ay,  what  of  that  ?  it  was  my  will  and  grant ; 
And.  for  this  once  my  will  shall  stand  for  law. 
Gloster. 
And  yet,  methinks,  your  grace  hath  not  done 
well, 
To  give  the  heir  and  daughter  of  lord  Scales 
Unto  the  brother  of  your  loving  bride: 
She  better  would  have  fitted  me,  or  Clarence; 
But  in  your  bride  you  bury  brotherhood. 
Clarence. 
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. 
King  Edward. 
Alas,  poor  Clarence!  is  it  for  a  wife, 
That  thou  art  malcontent  ?    1  will  provide  thee. 
Clarence. 
In  choosing  for  yourself  you  show'd  your 
judgment; 
Which  being  shallow  you  shall  give  me  leave 
To  play  the  broker  in  mine  own  behalf; 
And  to  that  end  I  shortly  mind  to  leave  you. 
King  Edward. 
Leave  me,  or  tarry,  Edward  will  be  king, 
And  not  be  tied  unto  his  brother's  will. 


Queen  Elizabeth. 
My  lords,  before  it  pleas 'd  his  majesty 
To  raise  my  state  to  title  of  a  queen, 
Do  me  but  right,  and  you  must  all  confess 
]  That  I  was  not  ignoble  of  descent ; 

And  meaner  than  myself  have  had  like  fortune. 
j  But  as  this  title  honours  me  and  mine, 
So  your  dislikes,  to  whom  I  would  be  pleasing, 
Do  cloud  my  joys  with  danger  and  with  sorrow. 
King  Edward. 
My  love,  forbear  to  fawn  upon  their  frowns. 
What  danger,  or  what  sorrow  can  befal  thee, 
So  long  as  Edward  is  thy  constant  friend, 
And  their  true  sovereign  whom  they  must  obey  ? 
Nay,  whom  they  shall  obey,  and  love  thee  too, 
Unless  they  seek  for  hatred  at  my  hands ; 
Which  if  they  do,  yet  will  I  keep  thee  safe, 
And  they  shall  feel  the  vengeance  of  my  wrath. 
Gloster. 
I  hear,  yet  say  not  much,  but  think  the  more. 
[Aside. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
King  Edward. 
Now,  messenger,  what  letters,  or  what  news, 
From  France? 

Messenger. 
My  sovereign  liege,  no  letters,  and  few  words  ; 
But  such  as  I,  without  your  special  pardon, 
Dare  not  relate. 

King  Edward. 

Go  to,  we  pardon  thee:  therefore,  in  brief, 

Tell  me  their  words  as  near  as  thou  canst  guess 

them. 
What  answer  makes  king  Lewis  unto  our  letters  ? 
Messenger. 
At  my  depart  these  were  his  very  words : — 
"  Go  tell  false  Edward,  thy  supposed  king, 
That  Lewis  of  France  is  sending  over  maskers, 
To  revel  it  with  him  and  his  new  bride." 
King  Edward. 
Is  Lewis  so  brave?   belike,  he   thinks   me 
Henry. 
But  what  said  lady  Bona  to  my  marriage  ? 
Messenger. 
These  were  her  words,  utter'd  with  mild  dis- 
dain : — 
"  Tell  him,  in  hope  he'll  prove  a  widower  shortly, 
I'll  wear  the  willow  garland  for  his  sake." 
King  Edward. 
I  blame  not  her,  she  could  say  little  less  ; 
She  had  the  wrong:   but  what  said  Henry' t 

queen  ? 
For  I  have  heard,  that  she  was  there  in  place. 
Messenger. 
"  Tell  him,"  quoth  she,  "  my  mourning  weeds 
are  done, 
And  I  am  ready  to  put  armour  on." 
King  Edward. 
Belike  she  minds  to  play  the  Amazon. 
But  what  said  Warwick  to  these  injuries  ? 
Messenger. 
He,  more  incens'd  against  your  majesty 
Than  all  the  rest,  discharg'd  me  with  these 
words:—  [wrong, 

"  Tell  him  from  me,  that  he  hath  done  me 
And  therefore  I'll  uncrown  him  er't  be  long." 
King  Edward. 
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  M«j£«rtffger# 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


609 


Messenger. 
Ay,  gracious  sovereign:  they  are  so  link'd  in 
friendship,  [daughter. 

That  young  prince  Edward  marries  Warwick'* 
Clarence. 
Belike,  the  elder;    Clarence  will    have   the 
younger. 
Now,  brother  king,  farewell,  and  sit  you  fast, 
For  I  will  hence  to  Warwick'*  other  daughter; 
That,  though  I  want  a  kingdom,  yet  in  marriage 
I  may  not  prove  inferior  to  yourself.— 
You,  that  love  me  and  Warwick,  follow  me. 

[Exit  Clarence,  and  Somerset  follows. 

Gloster. 
Not  I. 
My  thoughts  aim  at  a  farther  matter:  I 
Stay  not  for  the  love  of  Edward,  but  the  crown. 

(Aside. 
King  Edward 
Clarence  and  Somerset  both  gone  to  Warwick! 
Yet  am  I  arm'd  against  the  worst  can  happen, 
And  haste  is  needful  in  this  desperate  case — 
Pembroke,  and  Stafford,  you  in  our  behalf 
Go  levy  men,  and  make  prepare  for  war ; 
They  are  already,  or  quickly  will  be  landed: 
Myself  in  person  will  straight  follow  you.    ,_ 

[Exeunt  Pembroke  and  Stafford. 
But,  ere  I  go,  Hastings,  and  Montague, 
Resolve  my  doubt.     You  twain,  of  all  the  rest. 
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  1  may  never  have  you  in  suspect. 
Montague. 
So  God  help  Montague  as  he  proves  true ! 

Hastings. 
And  Hastings  as  he  favours  Edward's  cause ! 

King  Edward. 
Now,  brother  Richard,  will  you  stand  by  us  ? 

Gloster. 
Ay,  In  despite  of  all  that  shall  withstand  you. 

King  Edward. 
Why  so  ;  then,  am  I  sure  of  victory. 
Now,  therefore,  let  us  hence ;  and  lose  no  hour, 
Till  we  meet  Warwick  with  his  foreign  power. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Plain  In  Warwickshire. 

Enter  Warwick  and  Oxford  with  French  and 

other  Forces. 

Warwick. 

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  ? 
Clarence. 
Fear  not  that,  my  lord. 

Warwick. 
Then,  gentle  Clarence,  welcome  unto  War- 
wick : 
And  welcome,  Somerset. — I  hold  it  cowardice, 
To  rest  mistrustful  where  a  noble  heart 
Hath  pawn'd  an  open  hand  in  sign  of  love; 
Else  might  I   think,  that  Clarence,  Edward'* 

brother, 
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. 
And  brought  from  hence  the  Thracian  fatal 

steeds ; 
So  we,  well  covered  with  the  night's  black  mantle, 
At  unawares  mar  beat  down  Edward'*  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  Henn  with  your  leader. 

[They  ail  cry,  Henry ! 
Why,  then,  let's  on  our  way  in  silent  sort: 
For  Warwick  and  his  friends,  God  and  Saint 

George.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Edward1*  Camp  near  Warwick. 

Enter  certain  Watchmen,  to  guard  the  King'* 

Tent. 

First  Watchman. 

Come  on,  my  masters,  each  man  take  his  stand: 

The  king  by  this  is  set  him  down  to  sleep. 

Second  Watchman. 

What,  will  he  not  to  bed? 

First  Watchman 
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  Watchman. 
To-morrow  then.Jbelike,  shall  be  the  day, 
If  Warwick  be  so  near  as  men  report. 
Third  Watchman. 
But  say,  I  pray,  what  nobleman  is  that, 
That  with  the  king  here  resteth  in  his  tent  ? 
First  Watchman. 
'Tis  the  lord  Hastings,  the  king's  chiefest 
friend. 

Third  Watchman. 

O  !  is  it  so  ?    But  why  commands  the  king, 

That  his  chief  followers  lodge  in  towns  about 

him, 
While  he  himself  keeps  in  the  cold  field  ? 
Second  Watchman. 
'Tis  the  more  honour,  because   more  dan- 
gerous. 

Third  Watchman. 
Ay,  but  give  me  worship  and  quietness ; 
I  like  it  better  than  a  dangerous  honour. 
If  Warwick  knew  in  what  estate  he  stands, 
'Tis  to  be  doubted,  he  would  waken  him. 
First  Watchman. 
Unless  our  halberds  did  shut  up  his  passage. 

Second  Watchman. 
Ay  ;  wherefore  else  guard  we  his  royal  tent, 
But  to  defend  his  person  from  night-foes  ? 

Enter  Wartrirf;,  Clarence,  Oxford,  Somerset, 
and  Forces. 
Warwick. 
This  is  his  tent ;  and  see,  where  stand  his 
guard. 
Courage,  my  masters  I  honour  now,  or  never  1 
Bu'  follow  me,  and  Edward  shall  be  ours . 
First  Watchman. 
Who  goes  there  ? 

»  »  Second 


6io 


THIRD  PAET  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m. 


Second  Watchman. 
Stay,  or  thou  diest. 

[Warwick,  and  the  rest,  cry  all— Warwick! 
Warwick!  and  set  upon  the  Guard ;  who 
fly,  crying — Arm  !  Arm  !  Warwick,  and 
the  rest,  following  them. 

Drums  beating,  and  Trumpets  sounding,  re- 
enter Warwick,  and  the  rest,  bringing  the 
King  out  in  his  Gown,  sitting  in  a  Chair: 
Glosier  and  Hastings  fly  over  the  stage. 

Somerset. 
What  are  they  that  fly  there  ? 

Warwick. 
Richard,  and  Hastings  :  let  them  go  ;  here's 
the  duke. 

King  Edward. 
The  duke !  why,  Warwick   when  we  parted 
Thou  call'dst  me  king  J  [last, 

Warwick. 
Ay,  but  the  case  is  alter'd : 
When  you  disgrac'd  me  in  my  embassade, 
Then  1  degraded  you  from  being  king. 
And  come  now  to  create  you  duke  of  York. 
Alas  1  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  ? 

King  Edward. 
Yea,  brother  of  Clarence,  art  thou  here  too  ? 
Navthen,  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. 

Warwick. 
Then,  for  his  mind  be  Edward  England's 
king  •  [Takes  off  his  Crown. 

But  Henry  now  shall  wear  the  English  crown, 

And  be  true  king  indeed ;  thou  but  the  shadow 

My  lord  of  Somerset,  at  my  request, 

See  that  forthwith  duke  Edward  be  convey'd 

Unto  my  brother,  archbishop  of  York. 

When  I  have  fought  with  Pembroke  and  his  fel- 

1*11  follow  you,  and  tell  what  answer  [lows, 

Lewis,  and  the  lady  Bona,  send  to  him  :  — 

Now,  for  a  while  farewell,  good  duke  of  York. 

King  F.dward. 
What  fates  impose,  that   men   must   needs 
abide : 
It  boots  not  to  resist  both  wind  and  tide. 

[Exit  King  F.divard,  led  out ;  Somerset  with 
him. 

Oxford. 
What  now  remains,  my  lords,  for  us  to  do, 
But  march  to  London  with  our  soldiers  ? 
Warwick. 
Ay,  that's  the  first  thing  that  we  have  to  do  ; 
To  free  king  Henri/  from  imprisonment, 
And  see  him  seated  in  the  regal  throne. 

r  Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Rivers. 
Rivers. 
Madam,   what   makes    you    in   this    sudden 
change  ? 


Queen  Elizabeth. 

Why,  brother  Rivers,  are  you  yet  to  learn, 

What  late  misfortune  is  befallen  king  Edward f 

Rivers. 
What !  loss  of  some  pitch'd  battle   against 
Warwick? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
No,  but  the  loss  of  his  own  royal  person. 

Rivers. 
Then,  is  my  sovereign  slain  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Ay,  almost  slain,  for  he  is  taken  prisoner  ; 
Either  betray'd  by  falsehood  of  his  guard, 
Or  by  his  foe  surpris'd  at  unawares : 
And,  as  I  farther  have  to  understand, 
Is  new  committed  to  the  bishop  of  York, 
Fell  Warwick's  brother,  and  by  that  our  foe. 

Rivers. 
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. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Till  then,  fair  hope  must  hinder  life's  decay ; 
And  I  the  rather  wean  me  from  despair, 
For  love  of  Edward's  offspring  in  my  womb  : 
This  is  it  that  makes  me  bridle  passion, 
And  bear  with  mildness  my  misfortune's  cross  ; 
Ay,  ay,  for  this  I  draw  in  many  a  tear, 
And  stop  the  rising  of  blood- sucking  sighs, 
Lest  with  my  sighs  or  tears  I  blast  or  drown 
King  Edward's  fruit,  true  heir  to  th'  English 
crown. 

River*. 
But,  madam,  where  is  Warwick  then  become  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  am  informed,  that  he  comes  towards  Lon- 
don, 
To  set  the  crown  once  more  on  Henry's  head. 
Guess  thou  the  rest ;  king  Edward's  friends 

must  down : 
But  to  prevent  the  tyrant's  violence, 
(For  trust  not  him  that  hath  once  broken  faith) 
I'll  hence  forthwith  unto  the  sanctuary, 
To  save  at  least  the  heir  of  Edward's  right : 
There  shall  I  rest  secure  from  force,  and  fraud. 
Come  therefore ;  let  us  fly  while  we  may  fly: 
If  Warwick  take  us  we  are  sure  to  die. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.     A  Park  near  Mhldlsham  Castle  in 
Yorkshire. 

Enter  Glosier,  Hastings,  Sir   William  Stanley, 

and  others. 

Gloster. 

Now,   my  lord    Hastings,   and   sir   William 
Stanley, 
Leave  off  to  wonder  why  I  drew  you  hither, 
Into  this  chiefest  thicket  of  the  park,    [brother, 
Thus  stands  the  case.    You  know,  our  king,  my 
Is  prisoner  to  the  bishop  here,  at  whose  hands 
He  hath  good  usage  and  great  liberty, 
And  often,  but  attended  with  weak  guard, 
Comes  hunting  this  way  to  disport  himself. 
I  have  advertis'd  him  by  secret  means, 
That  if  about  this  hour  he  make  this  way, 
Under  the  colour  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. 
Huntsman. 

This  way,  my  lord,  for  this  way  lies  the  game. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


KING  HENRY  VL 


611 


King  Edward. 
Nay,  this  way,  man:  «ee,  where  the  huntsmen 
stand — 
Now,  brother  of  Glosler,  lord  Hastings,  and  the 

rest, 
Stand  you  thus  close  to  steal  the  bishop's  deer  ? 
(;io*ter. 
Brother,  the  time  and  case  requireth  haste: 
Your  horse  stands  ready  at  the  park  corner. 
King  Edward. 
But  whither  shall  we  then? 
Hastings. 
To  J-ynn,  my  lord ;  and  ship  from  thence  to 
tlanders. 

Gloster. 
Well  guess'd,  believe  me;  for  that  was  my 
meaning. 

King  Edward. 
Stanley,  I  will  requite  thy  forwardness. 

Gloster. 
But  wherefore  stay  we?  'tis  no  time  to  talk. 

King  Edward. 
Huntsman,  what  say'st  thou?   wilt  thou  go 
along  ? 

Huntsman. 
Better  do  so,  than  tarry  and  be  hang'd. 

Gloster. 
Come  then ;  away  1  let's  have  no  more  ado. 

King  Edward. 
Bishop,  farewell ;  shield  thee  from  Warwick's 
frown, 
And  pray  that  I  may  repossess  the  crown. 

[Exeunt. 

tCSSE  VI.    A  Boom  in  the  Tower. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Clarence,  Warwick,  Somer- 
set, young  Richmond,  Oxford,  Montague,  Lieu- 
tenant M  the  Toirer,  and  Attendants. 

King  Henry. 

Master  lieutenant,  now  that  God  and  friends 
Have  shaken  Edward  from  the  regal  seat, 
And  turn'd  my  captive  state  to  liberty, 
My  fear  to  hope,  my  sorrows  unto  joys, 
At  our  enlargement  what  are  thy  due  fees  ? 
Lieutenant. 

Subjects  may  challenge  nothing  of  their  sove- 
But  if  an  humble  prayer  may  prevail,     [reigns ; 
1  then  crave  pardon  of  your  majesty. 
King  Henry. 

For  what,  lieutenant?  for  well  using  me? 
Nay,  be  thou  sure,  I'll  well  requite  thy  kindness, 
For  that  it  made  my  imprisonment  a  pleasure: 
Ay,  such  a  pleasure  as  Incaged  birds 
Conceive,  when,  after  many  moody  thoughts, 
At  last  by  notes  of  household  harmony 
They  quite  forget  their  loss  of  liberty. — 
But,  Warwick,  after  God,  thou  set'st  me  free, 
And  chiefly  therefore  1  thank  God,  and  thee; 
He  was  the  author,  thou  the  instrument. 
Therefore,  that  I  may  conquer  fortune's  spite, 
By  living  low,  where  fortune  cannot  hurt  me, 
And  that  the  people  of  this  blessed  land 
May  not  be  panish'd  with  my  thwarting  stars, 
Warwick,  although  my  head  still  wear  the  crown, 
I  here  resign  ray  government  to  thee, 
For  thou  art  fortunate  in  all  thy  deed«. 
Wnrv 

Your  grace  hath  still  been  fam'd  for  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. 

No,  Warwick,  thou  art  worthy  of  the  sway, 
To  whom  the  heavens  in  thy  nativity 
Adjudg'd  an  olive  branch,  and  laurel  crown. 
As  likely  to  be  blest  in  peace,  and  war  ; 
And,  therefore,  I  yield  thee  my  free  consent. 
Warwick. 
And  I  choose  Clarence  only  for  protector. 

King  Henry. 
Warwick,  and  Clarence,  give  me  both  your 
hands. 
Now  join  your  hands,  and  with  your  hands  your 
That  no  dissension  hinder  government:  [hearts, 
I  make  you  both  protectors  of  this  land, 
While  I  myself  will  lead  a  private  life, 
And  in  devotion  spend  my  latter  days, 
To  sin's  rebuke,  and  my  Creator's  praise. 
Warwick. 
What   answers   Clarence  to  his    sovereign's 
will? 

Clarence. 
That  he  consents,  if  Warwick  yield  consent; 
For  on  thy  fortune  I  repose  myself. 
Warwick. 
Why  then,  though  loath,  yet  must  I  be  con- 
tent. 
We'll  yoke  together,  like  a  double  shadow 
To  Henry's  body,  and  supply  his  place ; 
I  mean,  in  bearing  weight  of  government, 
While  he  enjoys  the  honour,  and  his  ease. 
And,  Clarence,  now  then,  it  is  more  than  needful, 
Forthwith  that  Edwardbe  pronoune'd  a  traitor, 
And  all  his  lands  and  goods  confiscated. 
Clarence. 
What  else?  and  that  succession  be  determin'd. 

Warwick. 
Ay,  therein  Clarence  shall  not  want  his  part. 

King  Henry. 
But,  with  the  first  of  all  your  chief  affairs, 
Let  me  entreat,  (for  I  command  no  more) 
That  Margaret,  your  queen,  and  my  son  Edward, 
Be  sent  for  to  return  from  France  with  speed ; 
For,  till  I  see  them  here,  by  doubtful  fear 
My  joy  of  liberty  is  half  ecups'd. 

Clarence. 
It  shall  be  done,  my  sovereign,  with  all  speed. 

King  Henry. 
My  lord  of  Somerset,  what  youth  is  that, 
Of  whom  you  seem  to  have  so  tender  care  ? 
Somerset. 
My  liege,  it  is  young  Henry,  earl  of  Richmond. 

King  Henry. 
Come  hither,  England's  hope :  if  secret  powers 
[Lays  his  Hand  on  his  Head. 
Suggest  but  truth  to  my  divining  thoughts. 
This  pretty  lad  will  prove  our  country's  bliss. 
His  looks  are  full  of  peaceful  majesty; 
His  head  by  nature  fram'd  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. 

Kntpr  a  Messenger. 

Warwick. 
What  news,  my  friend  ? 

Messenger. 
That  Edward  is  escaped  from  your  brother. 
And  fled,  as  he  hears  since,  to  Burgundy. 

Warwick, 


6l2 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


Warwick. 

Unsavoury  news  !  but  how  made  he  escape? 

He  was  convey'a  by  Richard  duke  of  Gloster, 
And  the  lord  Hastings,  who  attended  him 
In  secret  ambush  on  the  forest  side, 
And  from  the  bishop's  huntsmen  rescued  him, 
For  hunting  was  his  daily  exercise. 

My  brother  was  too'  careless  of  his  charge.— 
But  let  us  hence,  my  sovereign,  to  provide 
A  salve  for  any  sore  that  may  betide. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry,  Warwick,  Clarence, 
Lieutenant,  and  Attendant*. 

Somerset  • 
My  lord,  I  like  not  of  this  flight  of  Edward's, 
For,  doubtless,  Burgundy  will  yield  him  help, 
And  we  shall  have  more  wars,  before't  be  long. 
As  Henry's  late  presaging  prophecy         [mond, 
Did  glad  my  heart  with  hope  of  this  young  Rich- 
So  doth  my  heart  misgive  me,  in  these  conflicts 
What  may  befal  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. 

Oxford. 
Ay ;  for  if  Edward  repossess  the  crown, 
*Tis  like  that  Richmond  with  the  rest  shall  down. 

It  shall  be  so:  he  snail  to  Brittany. 
Come  therefore ;  let's  about  it  speedily. 

SCENE  VII.    Before  York. 

Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  Hastings,  and 
Forces. 

King  Edward. 
Now,  brother  Richard,  lord  Hastings,  and  the 
Yet  thus  far  fortune  maketh  us  amends,     [rest, 
And  says  that  once  more  I  shall  interchange 
My  waued  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  arriv'd 
From  Ravenspurg  haven  before  the  gates  of  York, 
But  that  we  enter  as  into  our  dukedom  ? 

Gloster. 
The  gates  made  fast !— Brother,  I  like  not  this , 
For  many  men,  that  stumble  at  the  threshold, 
Are  well  foretold  that  danger  lurks  within. 

King  Edward. 
Tush,  man !  abodements  must  not  now  affright 
By  fair  or  foul  means  we  must  enter  in,        [us: 
For  hither  will  our  friends  repair  to  us. 


[Exeunt. 


Hastings 
lock  once 


My  liege,  I'll  knock  once  more  to  summon 
them. 

Enter,  on  the  Walls,  the  Mayor  of  York,  and 
his  Brethren. 

My  lords,  we  were  forewarned  of  your  coming, 
And  shut  the  gates  for  safety  of  ourselves  ; 
For  now  we  owe  allegiance  unto  Henry. 

King  Edward. 
But,  master  mayor,  if  Henry  be  your  king, 
Yet  Edward,  at  the  least,  is  duke  of  York. 


rdtl 


True,  my  good  lord  ;  I  know  you  for  no  less. 

King  Edward. 
Why,  and  1  challenge  nothing  but  my  dukedom, 
As  being  well  content  with  that  alone. 


Gloster. 

But  when  the  fox  hath  once  got  in  his  nose, 

He'll  soon  find  means  to  make  the  body  follow. 

[Aside. 
Hastings. 
Why,  master  mayor,  why  stand  you  in  a  doubt  ? 
Open  the  gates:  we  are  king  Henry's  friends. 
Mayor. 
Ay,  say  you  so  ?  the  gates  shall  then  be  open'd. 
[Exeunt  from  above. 
Gloster. 
A  wise  stout  captain,  and  soon  persuaded. 

Hastings. 
The  good  old  man  wouldlain  that  all  were  well, 
So  'twere  not  'long  of  him ;  but,  being  enter'd, 
I  doubt  not,  I,  but  we  shall  soon  persuade 
Both  him  and  all  his  brothers  unto  reason. 

Re-enter  the  Mayor,  and  Two  Aldermen,  below. 
King  Edward. 
So,  master  mayor:  these  gates  must  not  be 
But  in  the  night,  or  in  the  time  of  war.      [shut, 
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,  and  Forces. 

Gloster. 

Brother,  this  is  sir  John  Montgomery, 

Our  trusty  friend,  unless  I  be  deceiv'd. 

King  Edward. 

Welcome,  sir  Johns  but  why  come  you  in  arms  ? 

Montgomery. 
To  help  king  Edward  in  his  time  of  storm, 
As  every  loyal  subject  ought  to  do. 

King  Edward. 
Thanks,  good  Montgomery  ;  but  we  now  forget 
Our  title  to  the  crown,  and  only  claim 
Our  dukedom,  till  God  please  to  send  the  rest. 
Montgomery. 
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. 

[A  March  begun. 
King  Edward. 
Nay,  stay,  sir  John,  a  while ;  and  we'll  debate, 
By  what  safe  means  the  crown  may  be  recover'd. 
Montgomery. 
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  succour  you. 
Why  shall  we  fight,  if  you  pretend  no  title? 
Gloster. 
Why,  brother,  wherefore  stand  you  on  nice 
points  ? 

King  Edward. 

When  we  grow  stronger,  then  we'll  make  our 

claim : 

Till  then,  'tis  wisdom  to  conceal  our  meaning. 

Hastings. 

Away  with  scrupulous  wit,  now  arms  must  rule. 

Gloster. 
And  fearless  minds  climb  soonest  unto  crowns. 
Brother,  we  will  proclaim  you  out  of  hand: 
The  bruit  thereof  will  bring  you  many  friends. 

King  Edward. 
Then  be  it  as  you  will ;  for  'tis  my  right, 
And  Henry  but  usurps  the  diadem. 
Montgomery. 
Ay,  now  my  sovereign  speaketh  like  himself, 
And  now  will  I  be  Edward's  champion. 

Hastings. 


Ac  r  iv.  Sc.  vm. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


613 


Hastings. 
Sound,  trumpet !  Edward  shall  be  here  pro- 
claim 'd. — 

"  Edward  the  fourth,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
king  of  England  and  Ft  ance,  and  lord  of  Ire- 
land, &c."  ._     . 

Montgomery. 

And  whosoe'er  gainsays  king  Edward's  right, 
By  this  I  challenge  h^mrtOvSir^leiW.Gauntlet 

All. 
Long  live  Edward  the  fourth  1 
King  Edward. 
Thanks,  brave  Montgomery,  and  thanks  unto 
you  all : 
If  fortune  serve  me,  I'll  requite  this  kindness. 
Now,  for  this  night,  let's  harbour  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  1 
Yet,  as  we  may,  we'll  meet  both  thee  and  War- 
wick.— 
Come  on,  brave  soldiers :  doubt  not  of  the  day ; 
And,  that  once  gotten,  doubt  not  of  large  pay. 

iKxeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.    London.    A  Room  in  the 
I'alace. 

Flourish.    Enter  King  Henry,  Wartrick,  Cla- 
rence, Montague,  Exeter,  and  Oxford. 
Warwick. 
What  counsel,  lords?    Edward  from  Belgia, 
With  hasty  Germans,  and  blunt  Hollanders, 
Hath  pass'd  in  safety  through  the  narrow  seas, 
And  with  his    troops   doth    march    amain   to 

London : 
And  many  giddy  people  flock  to  him. 
King  Henry. 
Let's  levy  men,  and  beat  him  back  again. 

Clarence. 
A  little  fire  is  quickly,  trodden  out, 
Which,  being  suffer'd,  fivers  cannot  quench. 
Warwick. 
In  Warwickshire,  I  have  true-hearted  friends, 
Not  mutinous  in  peace,  yet  bold  in  war  ; 
Those  will  I  muster  up: — and  thou,  son  Cla- 
rence, 
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,  shalt  find 
Men  well  inclin'd   to   hear  what   thou   com- 

mand'st :  — 
And  thou,  brave  Oxford,  wondrous  well  belov'd, 

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  I^mdon,  till  we  come  to  him. — 

Fair  lords,  take  leave,  and  stand  not  to  reply. 

[  Farewell,  my  sovereign. 

King  Henry. 
I     Farewell,  my  Hector,  and  my   Troy's   true 
hope. 

Clarence. 
I     In  sign  of  truth,  I  kiss  your  Highness'  hand. 


King  Henry. 
Well-minded  Clarence,  be  thou  fortunate. 

Montague. 
Comfort,  my  lord ;— and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Oxford. 
And  thus   [Kissing  lhnry'%  hand]  I  ^al  my 
truth,  and  bid  adieu. 

King  Henry. 
Sweet  Oxford,  and  my  loving  Montague, 
And  all  at  once,  once  more  a  happy  farewell. 

Warwick. 
Farewell,  sweet  lords :  let's  meet  at  Coventry. 
[Exeunt   Warwick,   Clarence,  Oxford,  and 
Montague. 

King  Henry. 
Here  at  the  palace  will  I  rest  a  while. 
Cousin  of  Exeter,  what  thinks  your  lordship  ? 
Methinks,  the  power,  that  Edward  hath  in  field. 
Should  not  be  able  to  encounter  mine. 

Exeter. 
The  doubt  is,  that  he  will  seduce  the  rest. 

King  Henry. 
That's  not  my  fear ;  my  meed  hath  got  mc 
fame. 
I  have  not  stopp'd  mine  ears  to  their  demands, 
Nor  posted  off  their  suits  with  slow  delays  ; 
My  pity  hath  been  balm  to  heal  their  wounds, 
My  mildness  hath  allay'd  their  swelling  griefs. 
My  mercy  dry'd  their  water-flowing  tears: 
I  have  not  been  desirous  of  their  wealth, 
Nor  much  oppress'd  them  with  great  subsidies. 
Nor  forward  of  revenge,  though  they  much  err'd. 
Then,  why  should  they  love  Edward  more  than 

me? 
No,  Exeter,  these  graces  challenge  grace ; 
And,  when  the  lion  fawns  upon  the  lamb, 
The  lamb  will  never  cease  to  follow  him. 

[Shout  within.    A  Lancaster!     A  Lancaster ! 

Exeter. 
Hark,  hark,  my  lord !  what  shouts  are  these  ? 

Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  and  Soldiert. 

King  Edward. 
Seize  on  the  shame-fae'd  Henry!   bear  him 

hence, 
And  once  again  proclaim  us  king  of  England. — 
You  are  the  fount  that  makes  small  brooks  to 

flow: 
Now  stops  thy  spring ;  my  sea  shall  suck  them 

dry, 
And  swell  so  much  the  higher  by  their  ebb.  — 
Hence  with  him  to  the  Tower!   let  him  not 

speak. 

[Exeunt  some  with  King  Henry 
And,   lords,   towards  Coventry  bend  we   our 

course. 
Where  peremptory  Warwick  now  remains. 
The  sun  shines  hot,  and,  if  we  use  delay, 
Cold  biting  winter  mars  our  hop'd-for  hay. 

Gloster. 
Away  betimes,  before  his  forces  join, 
And  take  the  great-grown  traitor  unawares. 
Brave  warriors,  march  amain  towards  Coventry. 
[Exeunt 


ACT 


6,+ 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Coventry. 

Enter  upon  the  Walls,  Warwick,  the  Mayor  of 
Coventry,  two  Messengers,  and  others. 

Warwick. 

WHERE  is  the  post  that  came  from  valiant 
Oxford? 
How  far  hence  is  thy  lord,  mine  honest  fellow  ? 

First  Messenger. 
By  this  at  Bunsmore,  marching  hitherward. 

Warwick. 

How  far  off  is  our  brother  Montague? — 

Where  is  the  post  that  came  from  Montague? 

Second  Messenger. 

By  this  at  Daintry,  with  a  puissant  troop. 

Enter  Sir  John  Somerville. 

Warwick. 

Say,  Somerville,  what  says  my  loving  son  ? 

And,  by  thy  guess,  how  nigh  is  Clarence  now? 

Somerville. 

At  Southam  I  did  leave  him  with  his  forces, 

And  do  expect  him  here  some  two  hours  hence. 

[Drum  heard 

Warwick. 

Then  Clarence  is  at  hand,  I  hear  his  drum. 

Somerville. 
It  is  not  his,  my  lord ;  here  Southam  lies : 
The  drum  your  honour  hears  marcheth  from 
Warwick. 

Warwick. 
Who  should   that  be?   belike,  unlook'd-for 
friends. 

Somerville. 
They  are  at  hand,  and  you  shall  quickly  know. 

March.    Flourish.    Enter  King  Edward, 

Gloster,  and  Forces. 

King  Edward. 

Go,  trumpet,  to  the  walls,  and  sound  a  parle. 

Gloster. 
See,  how  the  surly  Warwick  mans  the  wall. 

Warwick. 
O,  unbid  spite !  is  sportful  Edtaard  come  ? 
Where  slept  our  scouts,  or  how  are  they  seduc'd, 
That  we  could  hear  no  news  of  his  repair? 
King  Edward. 
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. 
Warwick. 
Nay,  rather,  wilt  thou  draw  thy  forces  hence, 
Confess  who  set  thee  up  and  pluck'd  thee  down? 
Call  Warwick  patron,  and  be  penitent, 
And  thou  shalt  still  remain  the  duke  of  York. 
Gloster, 
I  thought,  at  least,  he  would  have  said  the 
Or  did  he  make  the  jest  against  his  will  ?  [king; 
Warwick. 
Is  not  a  dukedom,  sir,  a  goodly  gift? 

Gloster. 
Ay,  by  my  faith,  for  a  poor  earl  to  give : 
I'll  do  thee  service  for  so  good  a  gift. 
Warwick. 
'Twasl,that  gave  the  kingdom  to  thy  brother. 

King  Edward. 
Why  then,  'tis  mine,  if  but  by  Warwick's  gift. 


Warwick. 

Thou  art  no  Atlas  for  so  great  a  weight : 
And,  weakling,  Warwick  takes  his  gift  again; 
And  Henry  is  my  king,  Warwick  his  subject. 

King  Edward. 
But  Warwick's  king  is  Edward's  prisoner : 
And,  gallant  Warwick,  do  but  answer  this; 
What  is  the  body,  when  the  head  is  off  ? 

Gloster. 

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. 

King  Edward. 
*Tis  even  so :  yet  you  are  Warwick  still. 

Gloster. 
Come,  Warwick,  take  the  time;  kneel  down, 
kneel  down. 
Nay,  when  ?  strike  now,  or  else  the  iron  cools. 

Warwick. 
I  had  rather  chop  this  hand  off  at  a  blow, 
And  with  the  other  fling  it  at  thy  face, 
Than  bear  so  low  a  sail  to  strike  to  thee. 

King  Edward* 
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, — 
"  Wind-changing  Warwick  now  can  change  no 
more." 

Enter  Oxford,  with  Drum  and  Colour*. 

Warwick. 
O  cheerful  colours  1  see,  where  Oxford  comes. 

Oxford. 
Oxford,  Oxford,  for  Lancaster! 

[Oxford  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City. 

Gloster. 
The  gates  are  open,  let  us  enter  too. 

King  Edward. 
So  other  foes  may  set  upon  our  backs. 
Stand  we  in  good  array ;  for  they,  no  doubt, 
Will  issue  out  again,  and  bid  us  battle : 
If  not,  the  city  being  but  of  small  defence, 
We'll  quickly  rouse  the  traitors  in  the  same. 
Warwick. 
O  1  welcome  Oxford,  for  we  want  thy  help. 

Enter  Montague,  with  Drum  and  Colours. 

Montague. 
Montague,  Montague,  for  Lancaster! 

[He  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City. 

Gloster. 
Thou  and  thy  brother  both  shall  buy  this 
treason, 
Even  with  the  dearest  blood  your  bodies  bear. 
King  Edward. 
The  harder  match'd,  the  greater  victory: 
My  mind  presageth  happy  gain,  and  conquest. 

Enter  Somerset,  with  Drum  and  Colours. 

Somerset. 
Somerset,  Somerset,  for  Lancaster  t 

[He  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City. 

Gloster. 

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 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


615 


Enter  Clarence,  with  Drum  and  Colours. 
Warn 

And  lo!  where  George  of  Clarence  sweeps 
along, 
Of  force  enough  to  bid  hfs  brother  battle ; 
With  whom  an  upright  zeal  to  right  prevails, 
More  than  the  nature  of  a  brother's  love. — 

[Gloster  and  Clarence  whisper. 
Come,  Clarence,  come;  thou  wilt,  If  Warwick 
calls. 

Clarence. 
Father  of  Warwick,   know  you   what    this 
means  ? 

[Taking  the  red  Rose  out  of  his  Hat. 
Look  here,  I  throw  my  infamy  at  thee  : 
I  will  not  ruinate  my  father's  house, 
Who  gave  his  blood  to  lime  the  stones  together, 
And    set  up  Lancaster.     Why,  trow'st  thou, 

Warwick, 
That  Clarence  is  so  harsh,  so  blunt,  unnatural, 
To  bend  the  fatal  instruments  of  war 
Against  his  brother,  and  his  lawful  king? 
Perhaps,  thou  wilt  object  my  holy  oath : 
To  keep  that  oath,  were  more  impiety 
Than  Jephtha's,  when  he  sacrifie'd  his  daughter 
I  am  so  sorry  for  my  trespass  made, 
That  to  deserve  well  at  my  brother's  hands, 
I  here  proclaim  myself  thy  mortal  foe ; 
With  resolution,  wheresoe'er  1  meet  thee, 
(As  I  will  meet  thee,  if  thou  stir  abroad) 
To  plague  thee  for  thy  foul  misleading  me. 
And  so,  proud-hearted  Warwick,  I  defy  thee, 
And  to  my  brother  turn  my  blushing  cheeks. — 
Pardon  me,  Edward,  I  will  make  amends; 
And,  Richard,  do  not  frown  upon  my  faults, 
For  I  will  henceforth  be  no  more  unconstant. 
King  Edward. 
Now  welcome  more,  and  ten  times  more  be- 
lov'd, 
Than  if  thou  never  hadst  deserv'd  our  hate. 
Gloster. 
Welcome, good  Clarence:  this  is  brother-like. 

Warwick. 
O  passing  traitor,  perjur'd,  and  unjust ! 

King  Edward. 
What,  Warwick,  wilt  thou  leave  the  town, 
and  tight, 
Or  shall  we  beat  the  stones  about  thine  ears? 
Warwick. 
Alas  1  I  am  not  coop'd  here  for  defence : 
I  will  away  towards  Barnet  presently, 
And  bid  thee  battle,  Edward,  if  thou  dar'st. 
King  Edward. 
Yes,  Warwick,  Edward  dares,  and  leads  the 
way. — 
Lords,  to  the  field  !    Saint  George,  and  victory  ! 
[March.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Field  of  Battle  near  Barnet. 

Alarums,  and  Excursions.  Enter  King  Edward, 
bringing  in  Warwick  wounded. 
King  Edward. 
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. 
Warwick. 
Ah  !  who  is  nigh  ?  come  to  me,  friend  or  foe, 
And  tell  me,  who  is  victor,  York,  or  Warwick? 
Why  ask  I  that  ?  my  mangled  body  shows, 
My  blood,  my  want  of  strength,  my  sick  heart 
shows, 


That  1  must  yield  my  body  to  the  earth, 
And  by  my  fall  the  conquest  to  my  foe. 
Thus  yields  the  cedar  to  the  axe's  edge, 
Whose  arms  gave  shelter  to  the  princely  eagle, 
Under  whose  shade  the  ramping  lion  slept ; 
Whose  top-branch  overpeer'd  Jove's  spreading 

tree,  [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  fill'd  with  blood, 
Were  liken'd  oft  to  kingly  sepulchres  ; 
For  who  liv'd  king,  but  1  could  dig  his  grare  ? 
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  1  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  Sown  set. 

Somerset. 

Ah,  Warwick,  Warwick !  wert  thou  as  we  are, 

We  might  recover  all  our  loss  again. 

The  queen  from  France  hath  brought  a  puissant 

power  ;  [thou  fly  ! 

Even  now  we  heard  the  news.    Ah,  could'st 

Warwick. 
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  lov'st  me  not ;  for,  brother,  if  thou  didst, 
Thy  tears  would  wash  this  cold  congealed  blood 
That  glues  my  lips,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 
Come  quickly,  Montague,  or  I  am  dead. 

Somerset. 

Ah,  Warwick!     Montague  hath  breath'd  his 
last; 
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  sounded  like  a  cannon  in  a  vault, 
That  might  not  be  distinguished  :  but,  at  last, 
I  well  might  hear,  deliver'd  with  a  groan, — 
"  O,  farewell  Warwick  I  " 

Warwick. 
Sweet  rest  his  soul!  — Fly,  lords,  and  save 
yourselves ; 
For  Warwick  bids  you  all  farewell,  to  meet  in 
heaven.  [Dies 

Oxford. 
Away,  away,  to  meet  the  queen's  great  power ! 
[Exeunt,  bearing  off  Warwick's  Body. 

SCENE  III.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 

Flourish.    Enter  King  Edward  in  triumph  ; 
with  Clarence,  Gloster,  and  the  rest. 
King  Edward. 
Thus  far  our  fortune  keeps  an  upward  course, 
And  we  are  grae'd  with  wreaths  of  victory. 
But,  In  the  midst  of  this  bright-shining  day, 
I  spy  a  black,  suspicious,  threat'ning  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  rais'd  in  Gallia,  have  arriv'd  our  coast, 
And,  as  we  hear,  march  on  to  fight  with  us. 

Clarence. 


6i6 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Clarence. 
A  little  gale  will  soon  disperse  that  cloud, 
And  blow  it  to  the  source  from  whence  it  came : 
Thy  very  beams  will  dry  those  vapours  up, 
For  every  cloud  engenders  not  a  storm. 
Gloster. 
The  queen  is  valu'd  thirty  thousand  strong, 
And  Somerset,  with  Oxford,  fled  to  her : 
If  she  have  time  to  breathe,  be  well  assur'd, 
Her  faction  will  be  full  as  strong  as  ours. 
King  Edward. 
We  are  advertis'd  by  our  loving  friends, 
That  they  do  hold  their  course  toward  Tewks- 

bury. 
We,  having  now  the  best  at  Barnet  field, 
Will  thither  straight,  for  willingness  rids  way ; 
And,  as  we  march,  our  strength  will  be  aug- 
Tn  every  county  as  we  go  along —  [mented 

Strike  up  the  drum !  cry — Courage  1  and  away. 
[Flourish.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Plains  near  Tewksbury. 

March.    Enter  Queen  Margaret,  Prince  Ed- 
ward, Somerset,  Oxford,  and  Soldiers. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Great  lords,  wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail  their 
loss, 
But  clieerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms. 
What  though  the  mast  be  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  his  moan  the  ship  splits  on  the  rock. 
Which  industry  and  courage  might  have  sav'd  ? 
Ah  !  what  a  shame,  ah  !  what  a  fault  were  this. 
Say,  Warwick  was  our  anchor  ;  what  of  that  ? 
And  Montague  our  top-mast ;  what  of  him  ? 
Our  slaughter'd  friends  the  tackles  ;  what  of 

these  ? 
Whv,  is  not  Oxford  here  another  anchor, 
And  Somerset  another  goodly  mast  ?        [lings  ? 
The  friends  of  France  our  shrouds  and  tack- 
And,  though  unskilful,  why  not  Ned  and  I 
For  once  allow'd  the  skilful  pilot's  charge? 
We  will  not  from  the  helm  to  sit  and  weep, 
But  keep  our  course,  though  the  rough  wind 

say  no, 
From  shelves  and  rocks  that  threaten  us  with 

wreck. 
As  good  to  chide  the  waves,  as  speak  them  fair. 
And  what  is  Edward  but  a  ruthless  sea? 
What  Clarence  but  a  quicksand  of  deceit? 
And  Richard  bat  a  ragged  fatal  rock? 
All  these  the  enemies  to  our  poor  bark. 
Say,  you  can  swim ;  alas !  'tis  but  a  while: 
Tread  on  the  sand ;  why,  there  you  quickly  sink: 
Bestride  the  rock;  the  tide  will  wash  you  off, 
Or  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   hop'd-for   mercy    with   the 
brothers,  [rocks. 

More  than  with  ruthless  waves,  with  sands,  and 
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, 
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. 
Oxford. 

Women  and  children  of  so  high  a  courage, 
And    warriors    faint  1    why,    'twere    perpetual 

shame. — 
O,  brave  young  prince!  thy  famous  grandfather 
Doth  live  again  in  thee:  long  may'st  thou  live, 
To  bear  his  image,  and  renew  his  glories ! 
Somerset. 

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. 


Queen  Margaret, 
ltle    ~ 


Thanks,   gentle    Somerset :  —  sweet    Oxford, 
thanks. 

Prince. 
And  take  his  thanks  that  yet  hath  nothing  else. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Prepare  you,  lords,  for  Edward  is  at  hand, 
Ready  to  fight:  therefore,  be  resolute. 
Oxford. 
I  thought  no  less:  it  is  his  policy, 
To  haste  thus  fast  to  find  us  unprovided. 
Somerset. 
But  he's  deceiv'd:  we  are  in  readiness. 

Queen  Margaret. 
This  cheers  my  heart  to  see  your  forwardness. 

Oxford. 
Here  pitch  our  battle;    hence  we  will  not 

budge. 
Flourish  and  March.    Enter  King  Edward, 
Clarence,  Gloster,  and  Forces. 
King  Edward. 
Brave  followers,  yonder  stands  the  thorny 
wood,  [strength, 

Which,  by  the   heavens'   assistance   and  your 
Must  by  the  roots  be  hewn  up  yet  ere  night. 
I  need  not  add  more  fuel  to  your  fire, 
For,  well  I  wot,  ye  blaze  to  burn  them  out. 
Give  signal  to  the  fight,  and  to  it,  lords. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Lords,  knights,  and  gentlemen,  what  I  should 
say, 
My  tears  gainsay:  for  every  word  I  speak, 
Ye  see,  I  drink  the  water  of  my  eye. 
Therefore,  no  more  but  this:  —  Henry,  your 

sovereign, 
Is  prisoner  to  the  foe ;  his  state  usurp'd, 
His  realm  a  slaughterhouse,  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, 
Be  valiant,  and  give  signal  to  the  fight. 

[Exeunt  both  Armies. 

SCENE  V.    Another  part  of  the  same. 

Alarums:  Excursions:  and  afterwards  a  Re- 
treat. Then  enter  King  Edward,  Clarence, 
Gloster,  and  Forces;  with  Queen  Margaret, 
Oxford,  and  Somerset,  Prisoners. 

King  Edward. 
Now,  here  a  period  of  tumultuous  broils. 
Away  with  Oxford  to  Hamtnes'  castle  straight : 

For 


MJESnO"  ®    IE 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


617 


For  Somerset,  off  with  his  guilty  head. 
Go,  bear  them  hence:   I   will  not  hear  them 
•peak. 

Oxford. 
For  my  part,  I'll  not  trouble  thee  with  words. 

Somerset. 
Nor  I ;  but  stoop  with  patience  to  my  fortune. 
[Exeunt  Oxford  and  Somerset,  guarded. 
Queen  Margaret. 
So  part  we  sadly  in  this  troublous  world, 
To  meet  with  joy  in  sweet  Jerusalem. 
King  Edward. 
Is  proclamation  made,  that  who  finds  Edward 
Shall  have  a  high  reward,  and  he  his  life? 
Gloster. 
It  is:  and,  lo!  where  youthful  Edward  comes. 

Enter  Soldiers,  with  Prince  Edward. 
King  Edward. 
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  stirring  up  my  subjects, 
And  all  the  trouble  thou  hast  turn'd  me  to? 
Prince. 
Speak  like  a  subject,  proud  ambitious  York. 
Suppose,  that  I  am  now  my  father's  mouth : 
Resign  thy  chair,  and  where  I  stand  kneel  thou, 
Whilst  I  propose  the  selfsame  words  to  thee, 
Which,  traitor,  thou  wouldst  have  me  answer  to. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Ah,  that  thy  father  had  been  so  resolv'd ! 

Gloster. 
That  you  might  still  have  worn  the  petticoat, 
And  ne'er  have  stoPn  the  breech  from  Lancaster. 
Prince. 
Let  JEsop  fable  in  a  winter's  night ; 
His  currish  riddles  sort  not  with  this  place. 
Gloster. 
By  heaven,  brat,  I'll  plague  you  for  that  word. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  thou  wast  born  to  be  a  plague  to  men. 

Gloster. 
For  God's  sake,  take  away  this  captive  scold. 

Prince. 
Nay,   take   away  this   scolding   crook-back, 
rather. 

King  Edward. 
Peace !  wilful  boy,  or  I  will  charm  your  tongue. 

Clarence. 
Untutor'd  lad,  thou  art  too  malapert. 

Prince. 
I  know  my  duty:  you  are  all  undutiful. 
Lascivious  Edward, — and  thou  perjur'd  George, 
And  thou  mis-shapen  Dick,—  I  tell  ye  all, 
I  am  your  better,  traitors  as  ye  are ;  — 
And  thou  usurp'st  my  father's  right  and  mine. 

King  Edward. 
Take  that,  the  likeness  of  this  railer  here. 

[Stabs  him. 
Gloster. 
Sprawl'st  thou  ?  take  that,  to  end  thy  agony. 


to  end  thy  agony. 
[Gloster  stabs  him. 


Clarence. 
And  there's  for  twitting  me  for  perjury.. 

[  Clarence  stabs  him . 

Queen  Margaret. 
O,  kill  me  too  1 

Gloster 
Marry,  and  shall.  [Offers  to  kill  her. 


King  Edward. 
Hold,  Richard,  hold!  for  we  have  done  too 
much. 

Gloster. 
Why  should  she  live,  to  fill  the  world  with 
words? 

King  Edward. 
What!  doth  she  swoon?  use  means  for  her 
recovery. 

Gloster. 
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. 

Clarence. 
What  ?  what  ? 

Gloster. 
The  Tower  I  the  Tower!  [Kxit. 

Queen  Margaret. 
O,  Ned!  sweet  Ned!  speak  to  thy  mother, 

boy :  [derers  !  — 

Canst  thou  not    speak  ?  —  O    traitors  !    mur- 
They,  that  stabb'd  Caesar  shed  no  blood  at  all, 
Did  not  offend,  nor  were  not  worthy  blame, 
If  this  foul  deed  were  by  to  equal  it : 
He  was  a  man  :  this,  in  respect,  a  child  ; 
And  men  ne'er  spend  their  fury  on  a  child. 
What's  worse  than  murderer,  that  I  may  name 

it? 
No,  no  ;  my  heart  will  burst,  an  if  I  speak  ; 
And  I  will  speak,  that  so  my  heart  may  burst. — 
Butchers  and  villains  !  bloody  cannibals  ! 
How  sweet  a  plant  have  you  untimely  cropp'd  ! 
You  have  no  children,  butchers  !  if  you  had, 
The  thought  of  them  would  have  stirr'd  up 

remorse : 
But,  if  you  ever  chance  to  have  a  child, 
Look  in  his  youth  to  have  him  so  cut  off, 
As,  deathsmen,  you  have  rid  this  sweet  young 

prince. 

King  Edward. 
Away  with  her  !  go,  bear  her  hence  perforce. 

Queen  Margaret. 

Nay,  never  bear  me  hence,  despatch  me  here  ; 

Here  sheath  thy  sword,   I'll  pardon  thee  my 

death. 
What !  —  wilt  thou  not  ?  —  then,  Clarence,  do  it 
thou. 

Clarence. 
By  heaven  I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  ease. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Good  Clarence,  do  ;  sweet  Clarence,  do  thou 
doit. 

Clarence. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  me  swear  I  would  not  do 
it? 

Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  but  thou  usest  to  forswear  thyself: 
•Twas  sin  before,  but  now  'tis  charity. 
What!    wilt  thou  not?  where  is  that  devil's 
butcher,  Richard,  [thou  ? 

Hard-favour'd  Richard?     Richard,  where  art 
Thou  art  not  here  :  murder  is  thy  alms-deed  ; 
Petitioners  for  blood  thou  ne'er  put'st  back. 

King  Edward. 
Away,  I  say  1  I  charge  ye,  bear  her  hence. 

Queen  Margaret. 
So  come  to  you,  and  yours,  as  to  this  prince. 

[Exit. 
King  Edward. 
Where's  Richard  gone  ? 

Clarence. 
To  London,  all  in  post ;  and,  as  I  guess, 
To  make  a  bloody  supper  in  the  Tower. 

King 


6i8 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


King  Edward, 
if  a  thing  comes  in  his  head. 


He's  sudden,  i 
Now  march  we  hence :  discharge  the  common 

sort 
With  pay  and  thanks,  and  let's  away  to  London, 
And  see  our  gentle  queen  how  well  she  fares  : 
By  this,  I  hope,  she  hath  a  son  for  me. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.  London.  A  Room  in  the  Tower. 

King  Henry  is  discovered  sitting  with  a  Book 
in  his  hand,  the  Lieutenant  attending.  Enter 
Gloster. 

Gloster. 
Good  day,  my  lord.    What !  at  your  book  so 
hard*  ? 

King  Henry. 
Ay,  my  good  lord:  my  lord,  I  should  say 
rather : 
'Tis  sin  to  flatter  ;  good  was  little  better : 
Good  Gloster,  and  good  devil,  were  alike,  [lord. 
And  both  preposterous  ;    therefore,  not  good 
Gloster. 
Sirrah,    leave    us   to   ourselves :     we  must 
confer.  [Exit  Lieutenant. 

King  Henry. 
So  flies  the  reckless  shepherd  from  the  wolf: 
So  first  the  harmless  sheep  doth  yield  his  fleece, 
And  next  bis  throat  unto  the  butcher's  knife. — 
What  scene  of  death  hath  Roscius  now  to  act  ? 
Gloster. 
Suspicion  always  haunts  the  guilty  mind: 
The  thief  doth  fear  each  bush  an  oflicer. 
King  Henry. 
The  bird,  that  hath  been  limed  in  a  bush, 
With  trembling  wings  misdoubteth  every  bush,  | 
And  I,  the  hapless  male  to  one  sweet  bird, 
Have  now  the  fatal  object  in  my  eye,  [and  kill'd. 
Where  my  poor  young  was  lim'd,  was  caught, 
Gloster. 
Why,  what  a  peevish  fool  was  that  of  Crete, 
That  taught  his  son  the  office  of  a  fowl  ? 
And  yet,  for  all  his  wings,  the  fool  was  drown'd. 
King  Henry. 
I,  Desdalus  ;  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? 

Gloster. 
Think'st  thou  I  am  an  executioner  ? 

King  Henry. 
A  persecutor,  I  am  sure,  tHou  art : 
If  murdering  innocents  be  executing, 
Why,  then,  thou  art  an  executioner. 

Gloster. 
Thy  son  I  kill'd  for  his  presumption. 

King  Henry. 
Hadst  thou  been  kill'd,  when  first  thou  didst 
presume, 
Thou  hadst  not  liv'd  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, 
And  many  an  orphan's  water-standing  eye,  — 
Men  for  their  sons',  wives  for  their  husbands', 
Orphans  for  their  parents'  timeless  death, 
Shall  rue  the  hour  that  ever  thou  wast  bom. 


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 ; 
To  wit,  — an  indigested  and  deformed  lump, 
Not  like  the  fruit  of  such  a  goodly  tree,    [born, 
Teeth  hadst  thou  in  thy  head,  when  thou  wast 
To  signify,  thou  cam'st  to  bite  the  world  ; 
And,  if  the  rest  be  true  which  I  have  heard, 
Thou  cam'st  — 

Gloster. 
I'll  hear  no  more;  — Die,  prophet,  in  thy 

speech:  [Stabs  him. 

For  this,  amongst  the  rest,  was  I  ordain'd. 
King  Henry. 
Ay,  and  for  much  more  slaughter  after  this. 

0  1  God  forgive  my  sins,  and  pardon  thee. 

[Dies. 

Gloster 

What  I  will  the  aspiring  blood  of  Lancaster 

Sink  in  the  ground  ?    I  thought  it  would  have 

mounted.  [death  ! 

See,  how  my  sword  weeps  for  the  poor  king's 

0,  may  such  purple  tears  be  always  shed 
From  those  that   wish   the   downfall   of  our 
If  any  spark  of  life  be  yet  remaining,  [house  !  — 
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, 

1  came  into  the  world  with  my  legs  forward. 
Had  I  not  reason,  think  ye,  to  make  haste. 
And  seek  their  ruin  that  usurp'd  our  right  ? 
The  midwife  wonder'd  j  and  the  women  cried, 
M  O,  Jesus  bless  us,  he  is  born  with  teeth !" 
And  so  I  was ;  which  plainly  signified 

That  I  should  snarl,  and  bite,  and  play  the  dog. 
Then,  since  the  heavens  have  shap'd  my  body  so, 
Let  hell  make  crook'd  my  mind  to  answer  it 
I  have  no  brother,  I  am  like  no  brother ; 
And  this  word  love,  which  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.— 
I'll  throw  thy  body  in  another  room, 
And  triumph,  Henry,  in  thy  day  of  doom. 

[Exit  with  the  body. 

SCENE  VII.    The  same.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

King  -Erfwwdisdiscoveredsitt'ngon  his  Throne; 
Queen  Elizabeth  with  the  infant  Prince,  Cla- 
rence, Gloster,  Hastings,  and  others,  near 
him. 

King  Edward. 
Once  more  we  sit  in  England's  royal  throne, 
Fe-purchas'd  with  the  blood  of  enemies. 
What  valiant  foe-men,  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  N  or  thumber lands;  two  braver  men 

Ne'er 


Aot  v.  Sc.  VII. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


619 


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  wo  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  armours  watch'd  the  winter's  night ; 
Went  all  a-foot  in  summer's  scalding  heat, 
That  thou  might'st  repossess  the  crown  in  peace ; 
And  of  our  labours  thou  shalt  reap  the  gain. 

Oloster. 

I'll  blast  his  harvest,  if  your  head  were  laid; 

For  yet  1  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  that  shall  execute. 

[Aside. 
King  Edward. 
Clarence,  and  Gloster,  love  my  lovely  queen  ; 
And  kiss  your  princely  nephew,  brothers  both. 

Clarence. 
The  duty,  that  I  owe  unto  your  majesty, 
I  seal  upon  the  lips  of  this  sweet  babe. 


King  Edward. 
Thanks,    noble    Clarence:    worthy   brother, 
thanks. 

Gloster. 
And,  that  1  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, 
A  nd  cried— all  hail  1  when  as  he  meant— all  harm. 
King  Edward. 
Now  am  I  seated  as  my  soul  delights, 
Having  my  country's  peace,  and  brothers'  loves. 
Clarence. 
What  will  your  grace  have  done  with  Mar- 
garet ? 
Reignier,  her  father,  to  the  king  of  France 
Hath  pawn'd  the  Sicils  and  Jerusalem, 
And  hither  have  they  sent  it  for  her  ransom. 
King  Edward. 
Away   with    her,   and   waft    her    hence   to 
France. — 
And  now  what  rests,  but  that  we  spend  the  time 
With  stately  triumphs,  mirthful  comic  shows, 
Such  as  befit  the  pleasure  of  the  court  ? 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets  1  —  farewell,  sour 
annoy, 


For  here,  1  hope,  begins  our  lasting  joy. 


Exeunt. 


.!?* 
^ 


<J20 


KING  RICHARD  ILL 


Act  i.  Sc.  l 


LIFE  AND  DEATH 


KING  EICHARD  III, 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


KING   EDWARD    THE   FOURTH. 
Edward,  Prince  of  Wales  ;  ?  Vn„,  in  th .  Vinn 
Richard,  Duke  of  York ;     j  Sons  to  the  Km*- 
George,  Duke  of  Clarence ;  \  Brothers    to    the 
Richard,  DwAe  0/ Gloster ;     j     King. 
A  young  Son  of  Clarence. 
Henry,  Earl  of  Richmond. 
Cardinal  Bourchier,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
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  King  Edward's  Queen; 
Marquess  of  Dorset,  and  Lord  Grey,  her  Sons. 
Earl  of  Oxford.    Lord  Hasting!. 
Lord  Stanley.    Lord  Lovel. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  1.    London.    A  Street. 
Enter  Glosfer. 

Gloster. 

NOW  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York; 
And  all  the  clouds,  that  lower'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  chang'd  to  merry  meetings, 
Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 
Grim-visag'd  war  hath  smooth'd  his  wrinkled 

front ; 
And  now,  instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds, 
To  fright  the  souls  of  fearful  adversaries, 
He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 
But  I,  that  am  not  shap'd  for  sportive  tricks, 
Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass ; 
I,  that  am  rudely  stamp'd,  and  want  love's  ma- 
jesty, 


Sir  Thomas  Vaughan.    Sir  Richard  Ratcliff. 
Sir  William  Catesby.    Sir  James  Tyrrel. 
Sir  James  Blount.    Sir  Walter  Herbert. 
Sir  Robert  Brakenbury, Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 
Christopher  Urswick,  a  Priest.    Another  Priest. 
Lord  Mayor  of  London.    Sherffiof  Wiltshire. 
Elizabeth,  Queen  of  King  Edward  IV. 
Margaret,  Widow  of  King  Henry  VI. 
Duchess  of  York,  Mother  to  King  Edward  IV., 

Clarence,  and  Gloster. 
Lady  Anne,  Widow  of  Edward  Prince  of  Wales. 
A  young  Daughter  of  Clarence. 
Loi'ds,  and  other  Attendants  ;  two  Gentlemen,  a 

Pursuivant,  Scrivener,  Citizens,  Murderers, 

Messengers,  Ghosts,  Soldiers,  &c. 
SCENE,  England. 


To  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph  ; 
I  that  am  curtail'd  of  this  fair  proportion, 
Cheated  of  feature  by  dissembling  nature, 
Deform'd,  unfinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 
Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable, 
That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  1  halt  by  them  ; 
Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time, 
Unless  to  see  my  shadow  in  the  sun, 
And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity: 
And  therefore,  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days, 
I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain, 
And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 
Plots  have  I  laid,  inductions  dangerous, 
By  drunken  prophecies,  libels,  and  dreams, 
To  set  my  brother  Clarence,  and  the  king, 
In  deadly  hate  the  one  against  the  other: 
And,  if  king  Edward  be  as  true  and  just, 
As  I  am  subtle,  false,  and  treacherous, 
This  day  should  Clarence  closely  be  mew'd  up, 
I  About  a  prophecy,  which  says— that  G 
Of  Edward's  heirs  the  murderer  shall  be. 
Dive,  thoughts,  down  to  my  soul :  here  Clarence 
comes.  .,  . 

Enter 


Act  i.  &  i. 


KING   RICHARD  III. 


6a  i 


K liter  Clarence,  guarded,  and  Brakenbury. 
Brother,  good  day.    What  means  this  armed 
That  waits  upon  your  grace?  [guard, 

Clarence. 

His  majesty. 
Tendering  my  person's  safety,  hath  appointed 
This  conduct  to  convey  me  to  the  Tower. 

Gloster. 
Upon  what  cause? 

Clarence. 

Because  my  name  is  George. 

Gloster. 
Alack !  my  lord,  that  fault  is  none  of  yours  ; 
He  should,  for  that,  commit  your  godfathers. 
O  !  belike,  his  majesty  hath  some  intent, 
That  vou  should  be  new  christen 'd  in  the  Tower. 
But  what's  the  matter,  Clarence?  may  I  know  ? 

Clarence. 
Yea.  Richard,  when  1  know  ;  but  I  protest, 
As  yet  I  do  not :  but,  as  I  can  learn, 
He  hearkens  after  prophecies,  and  dreams ; 
And  from  the  cross-row  plucks  the  letter  G, 
And  says,  a  wizard  told  him,  that  by  G 
His  issue  disinherited  should  be ; 
And,  for  my  name  of  George  begins  with  G, 
It  follows  in  his  thought  that  I  am  he. 
These,  as  1  learn,  and  such  like  toys  as  these, 
Have  raov'd  his  highness  to  commit  me  now. 

Gloster 
Why,  this  it  is,  when  men  are  rul'd  by  women ! 
'Tis  not  the  king,  that  sends  you  to  the  Tower: 
My  lady  Grey,  his  wife,  Clarence,  'tis  she, 
That  tempts  him  to  this  harsh  extremity. 
Was  it  not  she,  and  that  good  man  of  worship, 
Antony  Woodeville,  her  brother  there, 
That  made  him  send  lord  Hastings  to  the  Tower, 
From  whence  this  present  day  he  is  deliver'd? 
We  are  not  safe,  Clarence ;  we  are  not  safe. 

Clarence 

By  heaven,  I  think,  there  is  no  man  secure, 

But    the  queen's  kindred,    and  night-walking 

heralds 
That  trudge  betwixt  the  king  and  mistress  Shore. 
Heard  you  not,  what  an  humble  suppliant 
Lord  Hastings  was  to  her  for  his  delivery  ? 

Gloster. 

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  favour  with  the  king, 
To  be  her  men,  and  wear  her  livery: 
The  jealous  o'er-worn  widow,  and  herself, 
Since  that  our  brother  dubb'd  them  gentlewomen, 
Are  mighty  gossips  in  our  monarchy. 

Brakenbury. 
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  your  brother. 
Gloster. 
Even  so ;  an  please  your  worship,  Brakenbury, 
You  may  partake  of  any  thing  we  say. 
We  speak  no  treason,  man:  we  say,  the  king 
Is  wise  and  virtuous ;  and  his  noble  queen 
Well  struck  in  years ;  fair,  and  not  jealous:  — 
We  say  that  Shore's  wife  hath  a  pretty  foot, 
A  cherry  lip,  a  bonny  eye,  a  passing  pleasing 

tongue ; 
And  that  the  queen's  kindred  are  made  gentle- 
folks. 
How  say  you,  sir?  can  you  deny  all  this? 
Brakenbury. 
With  this,  my  lord,  myself  have  nought  to  do. 


Gloster. 
Nought  to  do  with  mistress  Shore ?  1  tell  the* 
fellow, 
He  that  doth  naught  with  her,  excepting  one, 
Were  best  to  do  it  secretly,  alone. 


Brakenbury. 


What  one,  my  Ion 

Gloster. 
Her  husband,  knave*    Would'st  thou  betray 
me? 

Brakenbury. 
I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me;  and 
withal, 
Forbear  your  conference  with  the  noble  duke. 

Clarence.  .     .„ 

We  know  thy  charge,  Brakenbury,  and  will 
obey. 

Gloster. 
We  are  the  queen's  abjects,  and  must  obey — 
Brother,  farewell:  1  will  unto  the  king; 
And  whatsoe'er  you  will  employ  me  in, 
Were  it  to  call  king  Edward's  widow  sister, 
I  will  perform  it  to  enfranchise  you. 
Mean  time,  this  deep  disgrace  in  brotherhood 
Touches  me  deeper  than  you  can  imagine. 

I  know,  it  pleaseth  neither  of  us  well. 

Gloster. 
Well,  your  imprisonment  shall  not  be  long ; 
I  will  deliver  you,  or  else  lie  for  you : 
Mean  time,  have  patience. 

Clarence.      , 

1  must  perforce :  farewell. 
[Exeunt  Clarence,  Brakenbury,  and  Guard. 

Gloster. 
Go,  tread  the  path  that  thou  shalt  ne'er  return, 
Simple,  plain  Clarence!— \  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  Hast- 
ings? 

Enter  Hustings. 

Hastings. 
Good  time  of  day  unto  my  gracious  lord. 

Gloster. 
As  much  unto  my  good  lord  chamberlain. 
Well  are  you  welcome  to  this  open  air. 
How  hath  your  lordship  brook'd  imprisonment? 

Hastings. 
With  patience,  noble  lord,  as  prisoners  must ; 
But  I  shall  live,  my  lord,  to  give  them  thanks, 
That  were  the  cause  of  my  imprisonment. 

Gloster. 
No  doubt,  no  doubt ;  and  so  shall  Clarence 
For  they  that  were  your  enemies  are  his,    [too, 
And  have  prevail'd  as  much  on  him  as  you. 

Hastings. 
More  pity,  that  the  eagles  should  be  mew'd, 
While  kites  and  buzzards  prey  at  liberty. 

Gloster. 
What  news  abroad' 

Hastings. 
No  news  so  bad  abroad,  as  this  at  home  :— 
The  king  is  sickly,  weak,  and  melancholy, 
And  his  physicians  fear  him  mightily. 

Gloster. 
Now,  by  Saint  Paul,  that  news  is  bad  indeed. 
O  I  he  hath  kept  an  evil  diet  long, 
And  over-much  consum'd  his  royal  person: 
'Tis  very  grievous  to  be  thought  upon. 
Where  is  he?  in  his  bed? 

Hastings. 


622 


KING  RICHARD  IIL 


Act  i.  Sc.  i, 


He  is. 


Hastings. 


Gloster. 
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  posthorse  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:    [mercy, 
Which  done,  God   take  king  Edward  to  his 
And  leave  the  world  for  me  to  bustle  in, 
For  then  I'll  marry  Warwick's  youngest  daugh- 
ter, [father  ? 
What  though   I  kill'd  her  husband,  and  her 
The  readiest  way  to  make  the  wench  amends, 
Is  to  become  her  husband,  and  her  father: 
The  which  will  I ;  not  all  so  much  for  love, 
As  for  another  secret  close  intent, 
By  marrying  her  which  I  must  reach  unto. 
But  yet  I  run  before  my  horse  to  market: 
Clarence  still  breathes  ;  Edward  still  lives  and 

reigns ; 
When  they  are  gone,  then  must  I  count  my  gains. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  II.    The  same.    Another  Street. 

Enter  the  Corpse  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth, 
borne  in  an  open  Coffin,  Gentlemen  bearing 
Halberds,  to  guard  it;  and  Lady  Anne  as 
mourner. 

Anne. 
Set  down,  set  down  your  honourable  load, 
If  honour  may  be  shrouded  in  a  hearse, 
Whilst  I  a  while  obsequiously  lament 

Th'  untimely  fall  of  virtuous  Lancaster 

Poor  key-cold  figure  of  a  holy  king ; 
Pale  ashes  of  the  house  of  Lancaster ! 
Thou  bloodless  remnant  of  that  royal  blood  ! 
Be  it  lawful  that  I  invocate  thy  ghost, 
To  hear  the  lamentations  of  poor  Anne, 
Wife  to  thy  Edward,  to  thy  slaughter'd  son, 
Stabb'd  by  the  self- same  hand  that  made  these 

wounds ! 
Lo,  in  these  windows,  that  let  forth  thy  life, 
I  pour  the  helpless  balm  of  my  poor  eyes : — 
O,  cursed  be  the  hand  that  made  these  holes ! 
Cursed  the  heart,  that  had  the  heart  to  do  it ! 
Cursed  the  blood,  that  let  this  blood  from  hence ! 
More  direful  hap  betide  that  hated  wretch, 
That  makes  us  wretched  by  the  death  of  thee, 
Than  I  can  wish  to  adders,  spiders,  toads, 
Or  any  creeping  venom'd  thing  that  lives ! 
If  ever  he  have  child,  abortive  be  it, 
Prodigious,  and  untimely  brought  to  light, 
Whose  ugly  and  unnatural  aspect 
May  fright  the  hopeful  mother  at  the  viewj 
And  that  be  heir  to  his  unhappiness  I 
If  ever  he  have  wife,  let  her  be  made 
More  miserable  by  the  death  of  him, 
Than  I  am  made  by  my  young  lord,  and  thee ! — 
Come,  now  toward  Chertsey  with  your   holy 

load, 
Taken  from  Paul's  to  be  interred  there ; 
And  still,  as  you  are  weary  of  this  weight, 
Rest  you,  whiles  1  lament  king  Henry's  corse. 
[The  Bearers  take  up  the  Corpse  and  ad- 
vance. 

Enter  Gloster. 

Gloster. 

Stay  you,  that  bear  the  corse,  and  set  it  down. 


Anne. 

What  black  magician  conjures  up  this  fiend, 

To  stop  devoted  charitable  deeds  ? 

Gloster. 

Villains !  set  down  the  corse ;  or,  by  Saint 

I'll  make  a  corse  of  him  that  disobeys.      [Paul, 

First  Gentleman. 

My  lord,  stand  back,  and  let  the  coflSn  pass. 

Gloster. 
Unmanner'd  dogl  stand  thou  when  1  com- 
mand: 
Advance  thy  halberd  higher  than  my  breast, 
Or,  by  Saint  Paul,  I'll  strike  thee  to  my  foot, 
And  spurn  upon  thee,  beggar,  for  thy  boldness. 
[The  Bearers  set  down  the  Coffin. 
Anne. 
What  1  do  you  tremble?  are  you  all  afraid  ? 
Alas  !  1  blame  you  not ;  for  you  are  mortal, 
And  mortal  eyes  cannot  endure  the  devil. — 
Avaunt,  thou  dreadful  minister  of  hell ! 
Thou  hast  but  power  over  his  mortal  body, 
His  soul  thou  canst  not  have;  therefore,  be 
gone. 

Gloster. 
Sweet  saint,  for  charity,  be  not  so  curst. 

Anne 
Foul  devil,  for  God's  sake,  hence,  and  trouble 
us  not ; 
For  thou  hast  made  the  happy  earth  thy  hell, 
Fill'd  it  with  cursing  cries,  and  deep  exclaims. 
If  thou  delight  to  view  thy  heinous  deeds, 

Behold  this  pattern  of  thy  butcheries 

O,  gentlemen  !  see,  seel  dead  Henry's  wounds 
Open  their  congeal'dmouths,andb)eed  afresh  ! — 
Blush,  blush,  thou  lump  of  foul  deformity, 
For  'tis  thy  presence  that  exhales  this  blood 
From  cold  and  empty  veins,  where  no  blood 
Thy  deed,  inhuman  and  unnatural,         [dwells  : 
Provokes  this  deluge  most  unnatural. — 
O  God,  which  this  blood  mad'st,  revenge  his 
death  !  [death  1 

O  earth,  which  this  blood  drink'st,  revenge  his 
Either,  heaven,  with  lightning  strike  the  mur- 
derer dead, 
Or,  earth,  gape  open  wide,  and  eat  him  quick, 
As  thou  dost  swallow  up  this  good  king's  blood, 
Which  his  hell-govern'd  arm  hath  butchered  ! 
Gloster. 
Lady,  you  know  no  rules  of  charity,     [curses. 
Which    renders   good   for  bad,   blessings    for 
Anne. 
Villain,  thou  know'st  nor  law  of  God  nor 
man: 
No  beast  so  fierce,  but  knows  some  touch  of  pity. 
Gloster. 
But  I  know  none,  and  therefore  am  no  beast. 

Anne. 
O  wonderful,  when  devils  tell  the  truth  ! 

Gloster. 
More  wonderful,  when  angels  are  so  angry. — 
Vouchsafe,  divine  perfection  of  a  woman, 
Of  these  supposed  evils  to  give  me  leave 
By  circumstance  but  to  acquit  myself. 
Anne. 
Vouchsafe,  diffus'd  infection  of  a  man, 
For  these  known  evils  but  to  give  me  leave 
By  circumstance  to  curse  thy  cursed  self. 
Gloster. 
Fairer  than  tongue  can  name  thee,  let  me 
Some  patient  leisure  to  excuse  myself.        [have 
Anne. 
Fouler  than  heart  can  think  thee,  thou  canst 
No  excuse  current,  but  to  hang  thyself,     [make 
Gloster. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


KING  RICHARD  IIL 


623 


Glo- 
By  such  despair,  I  should  accuse  myself. 

Anne. 
And,  by  despairing,  shalt  thou  stand  excus'd  ; 
For  doing  worthy  vengeance  on  thyself, 
That  didst  unworthy  slaughter  upon  others. 

Gloster. 
Say,  that  1  slew  them  not  ? 

AlUK". 

Then  say  they  were  not  slain  : 
But  dead  they  are,  and,  devilish  slave,  by  thee. 
Gloster. 
I  did  not  kill  your  husband. 
Anne. 

Why,  then  he  is  alive. 
Gloster. 
Nay,  he  is  dead ;  and  slain  by  Edward's  hand. 

Anne. 
In  thy  foul  throat  thou  liest :  queen  Margaret 
saw 
Thy  murderous  falchion  smoking  in  his  blood  ; 
The  which  thou  once  didst  bend  against  her 

breast, 
But  that  thy  brothers  beat  aside  the  point. 
Glost<-r. 
I  was  provoked  by  her  sland'rous  tongue, 
That  laid  their  guilt  upon  my  guiltless  shoulders. 
Anne. 
Thou  wast  provoked  by  thy  bloody  mind, 
That  never  dreamt  on  aught  but  butcheries. 
Didst  thou  not  kill  this  king  ? 
(Jloster. 
1  grant  ye. 

Anne. 
Dost  grant  me,  hedge-hog  ?  then,  God  grant 
me  too, 
Thou  may'st  be  damned  for  that  wicked  deed  ! 
O  !  he  was  gentle,  mild,  and  virtuous. 
Gloster. 
The  fitter  for  the  King  of  heaven  that  hath 
him. 

Anne. 
He  is  in  heaven,  where  thou  shalt  never  come. 

Gloster. 
Let  him  thank  me,  that  holp  to  send  him  I 
thither  ; 
For  he  was  fitter  for  that  place  than  earth. 
Anne. 
And  thou  unfit  for  any  place  but  hell. 

tilostcr. 
Yes,  one  place  else,  if  you  will  hear  me  name 

Anne. 
Some  dungeon. 

Gloster. 
Your  bed-chamber. 

Anne. 
Ill  rest  betide  the  chamber  where  thou  liest. 

Gloster. 
So  will  it,  madam,  till  I  lie  with  you. 

Anne. 
I  hope  so. 

Gloster. 
I  know  so— But,  gentle  lady  Anne,— 
To  leave  this  keen  encounter  of  our  wits, 
And  fall  something  into  a  slower  method ;  — 
Is  not  the  causer  of  the  timeless  deaths 
Of  these  Plantagencts,  Henry,  and  Edward, 
As  blameful  as  the  executioner  ? 


Anne. 
Thou  wast  the  cause,  and  most  accurs'd  effect. 

Gloster. 
Your  beauty  was  the  cause  of  that  effect ; 
Your  beauty,  that  did  haunt  me  in  my  sleep, 
To  undertake  the  death  of  all  the  world, 
So  I  might  live  one  hour  in  your  sweet  bosom. 
Anne. 
If  I  thought  that,  I  tell  thee,  homicide, 
These  nails  should  rend  that  beauty  from  my 
cheeks. 

Gloster. 
These  eyes  could  not  endure  that  beauty's 
wreck  ; 
You  should  not  blemish  it,  if  I  stood  by  : 
As  all  the  world  is  cheered  by  the  sun, 
So  I  by  that ;  it  is  my  day,  my  life. 
Anne. 
Black  night  o'ershade  thy  day,  and  death  thy 
life! 

Gloster. 
Curse  not  thyself,  fair  creature ;  thou  art  both. 

Anne. 
I  would  I  were,  to  be  reveng'd  on  thee. 

Gloster. 
It  is  a  quarrel  most  unnatural, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him  that  loveth  thee. 
Anne. 
It  is  a  quarrel  just  and  reasonable, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him  that  kill'd  my  husband. 
Gloster. 
He  that  bereft  thee,  lady,  of  thy  husband, 
Did  it  to  help  thee  to  a  better  husband. 
Anne. 
His  better  doth  not  breathe  upon  the  earth. 

Gloster. 
He  lives  that  loves  you  better  than  he  could. 

Anne. 
Name  him. 

Gloster. 
Plantagenet. 
Anne. 

Why,  that  was  he. 
Gloster. 
The  self-same  name,  but  one  of  better  nature. 

Anne. 
Where  is  he  ? 

Gloster. 

Here:   [She  spits   at   him] 
Why  dost  thou  spit  at  me  ? 
Anne. 
'Would  it  were  mortal  poison,  for  thy  sake  1 

Gloster. 
Never  came  poison  from  so  sweet  a  place. 

Anne. 
Never  hung  poison  on  a  fouler  toad. 
Out  of  my  sight  I  thou  dost  infect  mine  eyes. 
Gloster. 
Thine  eyes,  sweet  lady,  have  infected  mine. 

Anne. 
Would  they  were  basilisks,   to   strike  thee 
deadl 

Gloster. 
I  would  they  were,  that  I  might  die  at  once, 
For  now  they  kill  me  with  a  living  death. 
Those  eyes  of  thine  from  mine  have  drawn  salt 

tears, 
Sham'd  their  aspects  with  store  of  childish  drops: 
These  eyes,  which  never  shed  remorseful  tear  ; 
No,  when  my  father  York,  and  Edward  wept 
To  hear  the  piteous  moan  that  Rutland  made, 

When 


624. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  1.  Sc.  11. 


When  black-fac'd  Clifford  shook  his  sword  at 

him: 
Nor  when  thy  warlike  father,  like  a  child, 
Told  the  sad  story  of  my  father's  death, 
And  twenty  times  made  pause  to  sob  and  weep, 
That  all  the  standers-by  had  wet  their  cheeks, 
Like  trees  bedash'd  with  rain  ;  in  that  sad  time 
My  manly  eyes  did  scorn  an  humble  tear  ; 
And  what  these  sorrows  could  not  thence  ex- 
hale, 
Thy  beauty  hath,  and  made  them  blind  with 
I  never  sued  to  friend,  nor  enemy ;      [weeping. 
My  tongue  could  never  learn  sweet  smoothing 

word; 
But  now  thy  beauty  is  propos'd  my  fee, 
My  proud  heart  sues,  and  prompts  my  tongue  to 
speak.  [She  looks  scornfully  at  him. 

Teach  not  thy  lip  such  scorn ;  for  it  was  made 
For  kissing,  lady,  not  for  such  contempt. 
If  thy  revengeful  heart  cannot  forgive, 
Lo  !  here  I  lend  thee  this  sharp-pointed  sword  ; 
Which  if  thou  please  to  hide  in  this  true  breast, 
And  let  the  soul  forth  that  adoreth  thee, 
I  lay  it  naked  to  the  deadly  stroke, 
And  humbly  beg  the  death  upon  my  knee. 

[He  lays  his  Breast  open:  the  offers  at  it 
with  his  Sword. 
Nay,  do  not  pause;  for  I  did  kill  king  Henry;  — 
But  'twas  thy  beauty  that  provoked  me. 
Nay,  now  despatch;  'twas  I  that  stabb'd  young 

Edward;  — 
But  'twas  thy  heavenly  face  that  set  me  on. 

£She  lets  fall  the  Sword. 
Take  up  the  sword  again,  or  take  up  me. 

Anne. 
Arise,  dissembler:  though  I  wish  thy  death, 
I  will  not  be  thy  executioner. 

Gloster. 
Then  bid  me  kill  myself,  and  I  will  do  it. 

Anne. 
I  have  already. 

Gloster. 

That  was  in  thy  rage : 
Speak  it  again,  and  even  with  the  word, 
This  hand,  which  for  thy  love  did  kill  thy  love, 
Shall  for  thy  love  kill  a  far  truer  love: 
To  both  their  deaths  shalt  thou  be  accessary. 

Anne. 
I  would,  I  knew  thy  heart. 

Gloster. 
*Tis  figur'd  in  my  tongue. 

Anne. 
1  fear  me,  both  are  false. 

Gloster. 
Then,  never  man  was  true. 

Anne. 
Well,  well,  put  up  your  sword. 

Gloster. 
Say,  then,  my  peace  is  made. 

Anne. 
That  shalt  thou  know  hereafter. 

Gloster. 
But  shall  I  live  in  hope? 

Anne. 
All  men,  1  hope,  live  so. 

Gloster. 
Vouchsafe  to  wear  this  ring. 

Anne. 
To  take  is  not  to  give. 

[She  puts  on  the  ring. 


Gloster. 
Look,  how  my  ring  encompasseth  thy  finger, 
Even  so  thy  breast  encloseth  my  poor  heart ; 
Wear  both  of  them,  for  both  of  them  are  thine. 
And  if  thy  poor  devoted  servant  may 
But  beg  one  favour  at  thy  gracious  hand, 
Thou  dost  confirm  his  happiness  for  ever. 

Anne. 
What  is  it? 

Gloster. 

That  it  may  please  you  leave  these  sad  designs 
To  him  that  hath  most  cause  to  be  a  mourner, 
And  presently  repair  to  Crosby-place. 
Where  (after  I  have  solemnly  interr'd, 
At  Cherlsey  monastery,  this  noble  king, 
And  wet  his  grave  with  my  repentant  tears), 
I  will  with  all  expedient  duty  see  you: 
For  divers  unknown  reasons  I  beseech  you, 
Grant  me  this  boon. 

Anne. 
With  all  my  heart ;  and  much  it  joys  me  too, 
To  see  you  are  become  so  penitent — 
Tressel,  and  Berkley,  go  along  with  me. 

Gloster. 
Bid  me  farewell. 

Anne. 
'Tis  more  than  you  deserve  ; 
But  since  you  teach  me  how  to  flatter  you, 
Imagine  I  have  said  farewell  already. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Anne,  Tressel,  and  Berkley. 

Gentleman. 
Towards  Chertsey,  noble  lord? 

Gloster. 
No,  to  White-Friars  ;  there  attend  my  coming. 
[  Exeunt  the  rest  with  the  Corse. 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  woo'd? 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won? 
I'll  have  her,  but  I  will  not  keep  her  long. 
What !  I,  that  kilPd  her  husband,  and  his  father, 
To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extremes!  hate ; 
With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
The  bleeding  witness  of  my  hatred  by, 
Having  God,  her  conscience,  and  these  bars 

against  me, 
And  I  no  friends  to  back  my  suit  withal, 
But  the  plain  devil,  and  dissembling  looks, 
And  yet  to  win  her,— all  the  world  to  nothing  ! 

Hal 
Hath  she  forgot  already  that  brave  prince, 
Edward,  her  lord,  whom  I,  some  three  months 

since, 
Stabb'd  in  my  angry  mood  at  Tewksbury  ? 
A  sweeter  and  a  lovelier  gentleman, — 
Fram'd  in  the  prodigality  of  nature, 
Young,  valiant,  wise,  and,  no  doubt,  right  royal, — 
The  spacious  world  cannot  again  afford : 
And  will  she  yet  abase  her  eyes  on  me, 
That  cropp'd  the  golden  prime  of  this  sweet 
And  make  her  widow  to  a  woful  bed  ?     [prince, 
On  me,  whose  all  not  equals  Edward'*  moiety  ? 
On  me,  that  halt,  and  am  mis-shapen  thus  ? 
My  dukedom  to  a  beggarly  denier, 
1  do  mistake  my  person  all  this  while: 
Upon  my  life,  she  finds,  although  I  cannot, 
Myself  to  be  a  marvellous  proper  man. 
I'll  be  at  charges  for  a  looking-glass; 
And  entertain  a  score  or  two  of  tailors, 
To  study  fashions  to  adorn  my  body: 
Since  I  am  crept  in  favour  with  myself, 
I  will  maintain  it  with  some  little  cost. 
But,  first,  I'll  turn  yon'  fellow  in  his  grave, 
And  then  return  lamenting  to  my  love.— 
Shine  out,  fair  sun,  till  I  have  bought  a  glass, 
That  I  may  see  my  shadow  as  I  pass.        [Exit. 
SCENE 


Act  i.  Sc.  ill. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


6*j 


SCESE  lit. 


The  time. 
Palace. 


A  Room  In  the 


en  Elizabeth,  Lord  Rivers,  and  Lord 

River*. 

Have  patience,  madam:  there's  no  doubt,  his 
m;u->ty 
Will  soon  recover  his  accustom 'd  health. 

In  that  you  brook  It  ill,  it  makes  him  worse: 
Therefore,  for  Gods  sake,  entertain  good  com- 
fort, 
And  cheer  his  grace  with  quick  and  merry  words. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
If  he  were  dead,  what  would  betide  on  me? 

Scar. 

No  other  harm,  but  loss  of  such  a  lord. 

!  Queen  Elizabeth. 

The  loss  of  such  a  lord  includes  all  harms. 
Grey. 

,    The  heavens  have  bless'd  you  with  a  goodly 
To  be  your  comforter  when  he  is  gone.        [son, 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Ah  !  he  is  young;  and  his  minority 
lis  put  unto  the  trust  of  Richard  Gloster, 
A  man  that  loves  not  me,  nor  none  of  you. 

Rivers. 
!     Is  it  concluded,  he  shall  be  protector? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

,     It  is  determin'd,  not  concluded  yet : 

But  so  it  must  be,  if  the  king  miscarry. 

Enter  Buckingham  and  Stanley. 

Grey. 

Here  come   the   lords   of  Buckingham    and 

«*       Buckingham. 
Good  time  of  day  unto  your  royal  grace. 

Stanley. 
God  make  your  majesty  joyful  as  you  have 
been! 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

I     The  countess  Richmond,  good   my  lord   of 

Stanley, 
To  your  good  prayer  will  scarcely  say  amen. 
.  Yet".  Stanley,  notwithstanding  she's  your  wife, 
And  loves  not  me,  be  you,  good  lord,  assur'd, 
1  hate  not  you  for  her  proud  arrogance. 
Stanley. 
I     1  do  beseech  you,  either  not  believe 
The  envious  slanders  of  her  false  accusers; 
Or,  if  she  be  accus'd  on  true  report,  [ceeds 

Bear  with  hpr  weakness,  which,  I  think,  pro- 
From  way  w  ard  sickness,  and  no  grounded  malice. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

Saw  you  the  king  to-day,  my  lord  of  Stanley? 

Stanley. 
But  now,  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  and  I, 
Are  come  from  visiting  his  majesty. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

What  likelihood  of  his  amendment,  lords? 
Buckingham. 

Madam,  good  hope:  his  grace  speaks  cheer- 

ful,y*        Queen  Elizabeth. 
God  grant  him  health !     Did  you  confer  with 

hlm?  Buckingham. 

Ay,  madam,  he  desires  to  make  atonement 
Between  the  duke  of  Gloster  and  your  brothers, 


And  between  them  and  my  lord  chamberlain  ; 
And  s.-nt  to  warn  them  to  his  royal  presence. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Would  all  were  well !— But  that  will  never  be : 
I  fear,  our  happiness  is  at  the  height. 

t  Gloster,  Hastings,  and  Dorset. 
Gloster. 
They  do  me  wrong,  and  I  will  not  endure  it. — 
Who  are  they,  that  complain  unto  the  king, 
That  1,  forsooth,  am  stern,  and  love  them  not? 
By  holy  Paul,  they  love  his  grace  but  lightly, 
That  fill  his  ears  with  such  dissentious  rumours. 
Because  I  cannot  flatter,  and  sneak  fair, 
Smile  in  men's  faces,  smooth,  deceive,  and  cog, 
Duck  with  French  nods  and  apish  courtesy, 
I  must  be  held  a  rancorous  enemy. 
'Cannot  a  plain  man  live,  and  think  no  harm, 
'But  thus  his  simple  truth  must  be  abus'd 
With  silken,  sly,  insinuating  Jacks? 
Graf. 
To  whom  in  all  this  presence  speaks  your 
grace  ? 

Gloster. 
To  thee,  that  hast  nor  honesty,  nor  grace. 
When   have  I  injur'd  thee?  when  done  thee 

wrong?— 
Or  thee? — or  thee?— or  any  of  your  faction? 
A  plague  upon  you  all !     His  royal  grace, 
(Whom  God  preserve  better  than  you  would 

wish!) 
Cannot  be  quiet  scarce  a  breathing-while, 
But  you  must  trouble  him  with  lewd  complaints. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Brother  of  Gloster,  you  mistake  the  matter. 
The  king,  on  his  own  royal  disposition, 
And  not  provok'd  by  any  suitor  else, 
Aiming,  belike,  at  your  interior  hatred, 
That  in  your  outward  action  shows  itself. 
Against  my  children,  brothers,  and  myself. 
Makes  him  to  send  :  that  thereby  he  may  gather 
The  ground  of  your  ill-will,  and  so  remove  it. 
Gloster. 
1  cannot  tell: — the  world  is  grown  so  bad, 
That  wrens  make  prey  where  eagles  dare  not 
Since  every  Jack  became  a  gentleman,    [perch : 
There's  many  a  gentle  person  made  a  Jack. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Come,  come,  we  know  your  meaning,  brother 
Gloster : 
Yon  envy  my  advancement,  and  my  friends. 
God  grant,  we  never  may  have  need  of  you ! 
Gloster. 
Meantime,  God  grants  that  1  have  need  of  you: 
Our  brother  is  imprison'd  by  your  means; 
Myself  disgrae'd,  and  the  nobility 
Held  in  contempt ;  while  many  great  promotions 
Are  daily  given,  to  ennoble  those  [noble. 

That  scarce,  so:ne  two  days  since,  were  worth  a 
Queen  Elizabeth 
By  him  that  rais'd  me  to  this  careful  height 
From  that  contented  hap  which  I  enjoy 'd, 
I  never  did  incense  his  majesty 
Against  the  duke  of  Clarence ;  but  have  been 
An  earnest  advocate  to  plead  for  him. 
My  lord,  you  do  me  shameful  injury. 
Falsely  to  draw  me  in  these  vile  suspects. 
Gloster. 
You  may  deny,  that  you  were  not  the  mean 
Of  my  lord  Hastings'  late  imprisonment. 
Rivers. 


She  may,  my  lord ;  for- 


Gloster. 


6*6 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


Gloster. 
She  may,  lord  Rivers,— why,  who  knows  not 
She  may  do  more,  sir,  than  denying  that :    [so? 
She  may  help  you  to  many  fair  preferments ; 
And  then  deny  her  aiding  hand  therein, 
And  lay  those  honours  on  your  high  desert. 
What  may  she  not  ?   She  may,  -  ay,  marry,  may 

she,—  

Rivers. 
What,  marry,  may  she  ? 

Gioster. 
What,  marry,  may  she  ?  marry  with  a  king, 
A  bachelor,  and  a  handsome  stripling  too. 
I  wis,  your  grandam  had  a  worser  match. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
My  lord  of  Gloster,  I  have  too  long  borne 
Your  blunt  upbraidings,  and  your  bitter  scoffs : 
By  heaven,  I  will  acquaint  his  majesty, 
Of  those  gross  taunts  that  oft  I  have  endur'd. 
I  had  rather  be  a  country  serving-maid, 
Than  a  great  queen,  with  this  condition — 
To  be  thus  taunted,  scorn'd,  and  baited  at : 
Small  joy  have  1  in  being  England's  queen. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret,  behind. 
Queen  Margaret. 
And  lessen'd  be  that  small,  God,   I  beseech 
Thy  honour,  state,  and  seat,  is  due  to  me.  [him  1 
Gloster. 
What !  threat  you  me  with  telling  of  the  king? 
Tell  him,  and  spare  not:  look,  what  I  have  said 
I  will  avouch,  in  presence  of  the  king: 
I  dare  adventure  to  be  sent  to  the  Tower. 
'Tis  time  to  speak ;  my  pains  are  quite  forgot. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Out,  devil  I  I  do  remember  them  too  well: 
Thou  kill'dst  my  husband  Henry  in  the  Tower, 
And  Edward,  my  poor  son,  at  Tewksbury. 
Gloster. 
Ere  you  were  queen,  ay,  or  your  husband  king,  i 
I  was  a  pack-horse  in  his  great  affairs ; 
A  weeder-out  of  his  proud  adversaries, 
A  liberal  rewarder  of  his  friends ; 
To  royalize  his  blood,  I  spent  mine  own. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Ay,  and  much  better  blood  than  his,  or  thine. 

Gloster. 
In  all  which  time,  you.  and  your  husband  Grey, 
Were  factious  for  the  house  of  Lancaster  ;  — 
And,  Rivers,  so  were  you:— was  not  your  hus- 
band 
In  Margaret's  battle  at  Saint  Alban's  slain? 
Let  me  put  in  your  minds,  if  you  forget, 
What  you  have  been  ere  this,  and  what  you  are ; 
Withal,  what  1  have  been,  and  what  I  am. 
Queen  Margaret. 
A  murd'rous  villain,  and  so  still  thou  art. 

Gloster. 
Poor  Clarence  did  forsake  his  father  Warwick, 
Ay, and  forswore  himself, — which  Jesu  pardon ! — 
Queen  Margaret. 
Which  God  revenge  1 

Gloster. 
To  fight  on  Edward's  party,  for  the  crown ; 
And,  for  his  meed,  poor  lord,  he  is  mew'd  up. 
I  would  to  God,  my  heart  were  flint  like  Edward's, 
Or  Edward's  soft  and  pitiful,  like  mine: 
1  am  too  childish-foolish  for  this  world. 


Rivers. 
My  lord  of  Gloster,  in  those  busy  days, 
Which  here  you  urge  to  prove  us  enemies, 
We  follow'd  then  our  lord,  our  sovereign  king; 
So  should  we  you,  if  you  should  be  our  king. 
Gloster. 
If  I  should  be?— I  had  rather  be  a  pedlar. 
Far  be  it  from  my  heart,  the  thought  thereof ! 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
As  little  joy,  my  lord,  as  you  suppose 
You  should  enjoy,  were  you  this  country's  king, 
As  little  joy  you  may  suppose  in  me, 
That  I  enjoy,  being  the  queen  thereof. 

Queen  Margaret. 
A  little  joy  enjoys  the  queen  thereof ; 
For  I  am  she,  and  altogether  joyless. 
I  can  no  longer  hold  me  patient. —  [Advancing. 
Hear  me,  you  wrangling  pirates,  that  fall  out 
In  sharing  that  which  you  have  pilPd  from  me! 
Which  of  you  trembles  not,  that  looks  on  me? 
If  not,  that,  I  being  queen,  you  bow  like  subjects, 
Yet  that,  by  you  depos'd,  you  quake  like  re- 
bels ?— 
Ah  !  gentle  villain,  do  not  turn  away. 
Gloster. 
Foul  wrinkled  witch,  what  mak'st  thou  in  my 
sight? 

Queen  Margaret. 
But  repetition  of  what  thou  hast  marr'd; 
That  will  I  make,  before  I  let  thee  go. 
Gloster. 
Wert  thou  not  banished,  on  pain  of  death  ? 

Queen  Margaret 
I  was ;  but  I  do  find  more  pain  in  banishment, 
Than  death  can  yield  me  here  by  my  abode. 
A  husband,  and  a  son,  thou  ow'st  to  me, — 
And  thou,  a  kingdom;  — all  of  you,  allegiance: 
This  sorrow  that  I  have,  by  right  is  yours, 
And  all  the  pleasures  you  usurp  are  mine. 
Gloster. 
The  curse  my  noble  father  laid  on  thee, 
When  thou  didst  crown  his  warlike  brows  with 

paper, 
And  with  thy  scorns  drew'st  rivers  from  his  eyes  ; 
And  then,  to  dry  them,  gav'st  the  duke  a  clout 
Steep'din  the  faultless  blood  of  pretty  Rutland;— 
His  curses,  then  from  bitterness  of  soul 
Denounc'd  against  thee,  are  all  fallen  upon  thee ; 
And  God,  not  we,  hath  plagu'd  thy  bloody  deed. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
So  just  is  God,  to  right  the  innocent. 

Hastings. 

O  !  'twas  the  foulest  deed  to  slay  that  babe, 

And  the  most  merciless,  that  e'er  was  heard  of. 

Rivers. 

Tyrants  themselves  wept  when  it  was  reported. 

Dorset. 
No  man  but  prophesied  revenge  for  it. 

Buckingham. 
Northumberland,  then  present,  wept  to  see  it. 

Queen  Margaret. 
What !  were  you  snarling  all,  before  I  came, 
Ready  to  catch  each  other  by  the  throat, 
And  turn  you  all  your  hatred  now  on  me  ? 
Did  York's  dread  curse  prevail  so  much  with 

heaven, 
That  Henry's  death,  my  lovely  Edward's  death 
Their  kingdom's  loss,  my  woful  banishment, 
!   Should  all  but  answer  for  that  peevish  brat?       j 
i   Can  curses  piercetheclouds, and  enter  heaven?  — 
'     to  my  quick 


Queen  Margaret. 
Hie  thee  to  hell  for  shame,  and  leave  this  world,!   Why,  then 'give  way,  dull  cloud 
Thou  cacodaemon  1  there  thy  kingdom  is.  curses  !  — 


Though 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


king  luciiAUD  nr. 


6*7 


Though  not  by  war,  by  surfeit  die  your  king, 
A*  ours  by  murder,  to  make  him  a  king ! 
Edward,  thy  son,  that  now  is  prince  of  Wales, 
For  Edward,  our  son,  t hat  was  prince  of  Wales, 
Die  in  his  youth  by  like  untimely  violence  1 
Thyself  a  queen,  for  me  that  was  a  queen, 
Outlive  thv  glory,  like  my  wretched  self  I 
Long  maySt  thou  live,  to  wail  thy  children's 
And  see  another,  as  I  see  thee  now,         [death  ; 
Deck'd  in  thy  rights,  as  thou  art  stall'd  in  mine  1 
Long  die  thy  happy  clays  before  thy  death ; 
Ami,  after  many  lengthen'd  hours  of  grief, 
Die  neither  mother,  wife,  nor  England's  queen ! 
Jiii'fis,  and  Dorset,  you  were  standers  by, 
And  so  wast  thou,  lord  Hastings,  when  my  son 
Was  stabb'd  with  bloody  daggers:  God,  I  pray 
That  none  o!  you  may  live  his  natural  age,  [him, 
But  by  some  unlook'd  accident  cut  off  1 
Gloster. 
Have  done  thy  charm,  thou  hateful  wither'd 
hag. 

Queen  Margaret. 
And  leave  out  thee  ?  stay,  dog,  for  thou  sbalt 
hear  me. 
If  heaven  have  any  grievous  plague  in  store, 
Exceeding  those  that  1  can  wish  upon  thee, 
O !  let  them  keep  it,  till  thy  sins  be  ripe, 
And  then  hurl  down  their  indignation 
On  thee,  the  troubler  of  the  poor  world's  peace! 
The  worm  of  conscience  still  be-gnaw  thy  soul ! 
Thy  friends  suspect  for  traitors  while  thou  liv'st, 
And  take  deep  traitors  for  thy  dearest  friends  1 
No  sleep  close  up  that  deadly  eye  of  thine, 
Unless  it  be  while  some  tormenting  dream 
Affrights  thee  with  a  hell  of  ugly  devils  1 
Thou  elvish-mark'd,  abortive,  rooting  hog  J 
Thou  that  wast  seal'd  in  thy  nativity 
The  slave  of  nature,  and  the  son  of  hell  1 
Thou  slander  of  thy  heavy  mother's  womb ! 
Thou  loathed  issue  of  thy  father's  loins  I 
Thou  rag  of  honour  1  thou  detested  — 
Gloster. 
Margaret. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Richard! 
Gloster. 
Ha? 
Queen  Margaret. 

I  call  thee  not. 
Gloster. 
1  cry  thee  mercy  then ;  for  I  did  think, 
That  thou  hadst  call'd  me  all  these  hitter  names. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Why,  so  I  did ;  but  look'd  for  no  reply. 
0 1  let  me  make  the  period  to  my  curse. 
Gloster. 
'Ti»  done  by  me,  and  ends  in— Margaret. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Thus  have  you  breath'd  your  curse  against 
yourself. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Poor    painted    queen,    vain    flourish    of  my 
fortune ; 
Why  strew'st  thou  sugar  on  that  bottled  spider, 
Whose  deadiv  web  ensnareth  thee  about  ? 
Fool,  fool !  thou  whet'st  a  knife  to  kill  thyself. 
The  day  will  come,  that  thou  shalt  wish  for  me 
To  help  thee  curse  this  pois'nous  bunch-back'd 
toad. 

Hastings. 
False-boding  woman,  end  thy  frantic  curse, 
Lest  to  thy  harm  thou  move  our  patience. 


Queen  Margaret. 
Foul  shame  upon  you;  you  have  all  mov'd ' 
mine. 

River*. 
Were  you  well  serv'd,  you  would  be  taught 
your  duty. 

i  Margaret. 
To  serve  me  well,  you  all  should  do  me  duty. 
Teach  me  to  be  your  queen,  and  you  my  subjects. 
I  0 1  serve  me  well,  ana  teach  yourselves  that  duty. 
Dorset. 
Dispute  not  with  her,  she  is  lunatic. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Peace,  master  marquess  I  you  are  malapert : 
Your  fire-new  stamp  of  honour  is  scarce  current. 
O,  that  your  young  nobility  could  judge, 
What  'twere  to  lose  it,  and  be  miserable  1 
They  that  stand  high  have  many  blasts  to  shake 

them, 
And  if  they  fall  they  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 
Gloster. 
Good  counsel,  marry :— learn  it,  learn  it,  mar- 
quess. 

Dorset. 
It  touches  you,  my  lord,  as  much  as  me. 

Gloster. 
Ay,  and  much  more;  but  I  was  born  so  high: 
Our  eyry  buildeth  in  the  cedar's  top, 
And  dallies  with  the  wind,  and  scorns  the  sun. 
Queen  Margaret. 
And  turns  the  sun  to  shade, — alas !  alas  !— 
Witness  my  son,  now  in  the  shade  of  death  ; 
Whose  bright  out-shining  beams    thy  cloudy 
Hath  in  eternal  darkness  folded  up.  [wrath 

Your  eyry  buildeth  in  our  eyry's  nest 

O  God  !  that  seest  it,  do  not  suffer  it: 
As  it  was  won  with  blood,  lost  be  it  so ! 
Buckingham. 
Peace,  peace  !  for  shame,  if  not  for  charity. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Urge  neither  charity  nor  shame  to  me : 
Uncharitably  with  me  have  you  dealt, 
And  shamefully  my  hopes  by  you  are  butcher'd. 
My  charity  is  outrage,  life  my  shame, 
And  in  that  shame  still  live  my  sorrow's  rage  1 
Buckingham. 
Have  done,  have  done. 

Queerr  Margaret. 
O,  princely  Buckingham!  I'll  kiss  thy  hand, 
In  sign  of  league  and  amity  with  thee: 
Now,  fair  befal  thee,  and  thy  noble  house  1 
Thy  garments  are  not  spotted  with  our  blood, 
Nor  thou  within  the  compass  of  my  curse. 
Buckingham. 
Nor  no  one  here ;  for  curses  never  pass 
The  lips  of  those  that  breathe  them  in  the  air. 
Queen  Margaret. 
I  will  not  think  but  they  ascend  the  sky, 
And  there  awake  God's  gentle-sleeping  peace. 
O  Buckingham!  take  heed  of  yonder  dogr 
Look,  when  he  fawns,  he  bites;  and,  when  he 

bites, 
His  venom  tooth  will  rankle  to  the  death  : 
Have  not  to  do  with  him,  beware  of  him ; 
I  Sin,  death,  and  hell,  have  set  their  marks  on 
!  And  all  their  minsters  attend  on  him.         [him, 
Gloster. 
What  doth  she  say,  my  lord  of  Buckingham  f 

Buckingham. 
Nothing  that  I  respect,  my  gracious  lord. 

Queen  Margaret. 
What!    dost  thou  scorn  me  for  my  gentle 
counsel, 

And 


e*8 


KING  RICHARD  IIL 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


And  sooth  the  devil  that  I  warn  thee  from? 
O !  but  remember  this  another  day, 
When  he  shall  split  thy  very  heart  with  sorrow, 
And  say,  poor  Margaret  was  a  prophetess — 
Live  each  of  you  the  subjects  to  his  hate, 
And  he  to  yours,  and  all  of  you  to  God's  I    „ 

Hastings. 
My  hair  doth  stand  on  end  to  hear  her  curses. 

Rivera. 
And  so  doth  mine.    I  muse,  why  she's  at 

libert>'-  Gloster. 

I  cannot  blame  her:  by  God's  holy  mother, 
She  hath  had  too  much  wrong,  and  I  repent 
My  part  thereof,  that  I  have  done  to  her. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  never  did  her  any,  to  my  knowledge. 
Gloster. 

Yet  you  have  all  the  vantage  of  her  wrong. 
I  was  too  hot  to  do  somebody  good, 
That  is  too  cold  in  thinking  of  it  now. 
Marry,  as  for  Clarence?  he  is  well  repaid; 
He  is  frank'd  up  to  fatting  for  his  pains; — 
God  pardon  them  that  are  the  cause  thereof ! 
Rivers. 

A  virtuous  and  a  Christian-like  conclusion, 
To  pray  for  them  that  have  done  scath  to  us. 
Gloster. 

So  do  I  ever,  being  well  advis'd ; 
For  had  I  curs'd  now,  I  had  curs'd  myself. 

Knter  Catesby. 
Catesby. 
Madam,  his  majesty  doth  call  for  you,— 
And  for  your  grace,  and  you,  my  noble  lords. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

Catesby,  1  come.— Lords,  will  you  go  with 

me?  Rivers. 

We  wait  upon  your  gr^ge,^  &u  ^  ^^ 

Gloster. 
I  do  the  wrong,  and  first  begin  to  brawl. 
The  secret  mischiefs  that  I  set  abroach, 
I  lay  unto  the  grievous  charge  of  others. 
Clarence,  whom  I,  indeed,  have  cast  in  darkness, 
I  do  beweep  to  many  simple  gulls ; 
Namely,  to  Stanley,  Hastings,  Buckingham; 
And  tell  them,  'tis  the  queen  and  her  allies, 
That  stir  the  king  against  the  duke  my  brother. 
Now,  they  believe  it ;  and  withal  whet  me 
To  be  reveng'd  on  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey: 
But  then  1  sigh,  and,  with  a  piece  of  scripture, 
Tell  them,  that  God  bids  us  do  good  for  evil: 
And  thus  I  clothe  my  naked  villainy 
With  odd  old  ends  stol'n  forth  of  holy  writ, 
And  seem  a  saint,  when  most  I  play  the  devil. 
Enter  Two  Murderers. 

But  soft  !  here  come  my  executioners  — 
How  now,  my  hardy,  stout  resolved  mates ! 
Are  you  now  going  to  dispatch  this  thing? 
First  Murderer. 
We   are,  my  lord;    and  come  to  have  the 
warrant, 
That  we  may  be  admitted  where  he  is. 
Gloster. 
Well  thought  upon;  I  h^U  h^ab^ut^me. 

When  you  have  done,  repair  to  Crosby-place. 
But,  sirs,  be  sudden  in  the  execution, 
Withal  obdurate :  do  not  hear  him  plead, 


For  Clarence  is  well  spoken,  and,  perhaps, 
May  move  your  hearts  to  pity,  if  you  mark  him. 
First  Murderer. 
Tut,  tut  1  my  lord,  we  will  not  stand  to  prate ; 
Talkers  are  no  good  doers :  be  assur'd, 
We  go  to  use  our  hands,  and  not  our  tongues. 
Gloster. 
Your  eyes  drop  mill-stones,  when  fools'  eyes 
fall  tears : 
I  like  you,  lads ;  — about  your  business  straight 
Go,  go,  despatch. 

First  Murderer. 

We  will,  my  noble  lord. 

*  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Tower. 
Enter  Clarence  and  Brakenbury. 
Brakenbury. 
Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day  ? 

Clarence. 
O  !  1  have  pass'd  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days, 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 
Brakenbury. 
What  was  your  dream,  my  lord  ?    I  pray  you, 
tell  me. 

Clarence. 

Methought,  that  I  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 
And  was  embark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy  ; 
And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster, 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches :  thence  we  look'd  toward 

Engltmd, 
And  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times, 
During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster 
That  had  befall'n  us.    As  we  pae'd  along 
Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 
Methought,  that  Gloster  stumbled  ;  and,  in  fall- 
ing, [board, 
Struck  me  (that  thought  to  stay  him)  over- 
Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 
O  Lord !  methought,  what  pain  it  was  to  drown 
What  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  mine  ears  ! 
What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes  ! 
Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks  ; 
A  thousand  men  that  fishes  gnaw'd  upon  ; 
Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 
Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 
All  scatterd  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea : 
Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls;  and  in  the  holes 
Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 
(As  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes)  reflecting  gems, 
That  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep,     [by. 
And  mock'd  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scatter'd 
Brakenbury. 

Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death, 
To  gaze  upon  these  secrets  of  the  deep  ? 
Clarence. 

Methought  I  had,  and  often  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost ;  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Stopt  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  find  the  empty,  van,  and  wandering  air ; 
But  smother'd  it  within  my  panting  bulk, 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 
Brakenbury. 

Awak'd  you  not  in  this  sore  agony  ? 
Clarence. 

No,  no,  my  dream  was  lengthen'd  after  life  ;    i 
O  !  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul ! 

1  pass'd, 


Ait  i.  Sc.  iv. 


KING   IUCIIAKDIir. 


619 


,  methotight,  the  melancholy  flood, 
\N  itli  that  sour  ferryman  which  ptwts  write  of, 
Unto  1  he  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 
The  firvt  that  than  did  greet  my  stranger  soul, 
Was  my  great  father-in-law,   renowned  War- 

wick  ; 
Who  cried  aloud,—  "  What  scourge  for  perjury 
C«n  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence?" 
And  M  he  vanish  d.  Then,  came  wandering  by 
A  shadow  lik<-  an  angel,  with  bright  liair 
Pal.ii!>'.:  In  Mood  ;  and  he  shriek'd  out  aloud,— 
"Clarence  is   come,  —  false,   fleeting,   perjur'd 

Clarence, — 
That  stabb'd  me  In  the  field  by  Teirksbury  ;  — 
Seize  on  him.  furies  !  take  him  unto  torment  1 " 
With  that,  methonght,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Knviron'd  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise, 
1  trembling  wak'd,  and,  for  a  season  after, 
Could  not  believe  but  that  1  was  in  hell ; 
Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream. 

Brakenbury. 
No  marvel,  lord,  though  it  affrighted  you  ; 
I  am  afraid,  methinks,  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clarence. 

Ah,  keeper,  keeper  !  I  have  done  these  things 
That  now  give  evidence  against  my  soul, 
For  Edward's  sake  ;  and,  see,  how  he  requite! 
me  I  — 


O  God  1  if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee, 

ilt  be  aveng'd  on  my 
Yet  execute  thy  wrath  in  me  alone 


But  thou  wilt  be  aveng'd  on  my  misdeeds, 


O,  spare  my  guiltless  wife  and  my  poor  chil- 
Keeper,  1  pr'ythee,  sit  by  me  awhile  :  [dren  !  — 
My  seul  is  heavy,  and  I  fain  would  sleep. 

I  will,  my  lord :   God  give  vour  grace  good  1 
rest.— 

[Clarence  reposes  himself  on  a  Chair. 
Sorrow  breaks  reasons,  and  reposing  hours, 
Makes  the  night  morning,  and  the  noon-tide 

night. 
Princes  have  but  their  titles  for  their  glories, 
An  outward  honour  for  an  inward  toil ; 
And  for  unfelt  imaginations, 
Thev  often  feel  a  world  of  restless  cares  : 
So  that,  between  their  titles,  and  low  name, 
There's  nothing  differs  but  the  outward  fame. 

Enter  the  two  Murderers. 

First  Murderer. 

Ho  !  who's  here  ? 

Brakenbury. 
What  would'st  thou,  fellow  ?  and  how  cam'st 
thou  hither  ? 

First  Murderer. 

I   would  speak  with   Clarence,  and   I  came 
hither  on  my  legs. 


What !  so  brief?     ' 


Second  Murderer. 
*Tis  better,  sir,  than  to  be  tedious.  — 
Let  him  see  our  commission  ;  and  talk  no  more. 
(A  Paper  delivered  to   Brakenbury,  who 
reads  it. 

Brakenbury. 
I  am,  in  this,  commanded  to  deliver 
The  noble  duke  of  Clarence  to  your  hands  :  — 
I  will  not  reason  what  is  meant  hereby, 
Because  I  will  be  guiltless  from  the  meaning. 
There  lies  the  duke  asleep,  and  there  the  keys. 
I'll  to  the  king  ;  and  signify  to  him, 
That  thus  I  have  resign'd  to  you  my  charge. 


-I  Murder,  r. 
You  may,  sir  ;    tie  a  point  of  wisdom : 
Fare  you  well.  [Kxit  Brakenbury. 

Second  Murderer. 
What,  shall  we  stab  him  as  he  sleeps  ? 

First  Murderer. 
No;  he'll  say,  twas  done  cowardly,  when  he 
wakes. 

Second  Murderer. 
Why,  he  shal'  never  wake  until  the  great 
judgment  day. 

First  Murderer. 
Why,  then  he'll  say,  we  stabb'd  him  sleeping. 

_  Second  Murderer. 

The  urging  or  that  word,  judgment,    hath 
bred  a  kind  01  remorse  in  me. 

First  Murderer. 
What !  art  thou  afraid  F 

Second  Murderer. 
Not  to  kill  him,  having  a  warrant ;  but  to  be 
damn'd  for  killing  him,  from  the   which    no 
warrant  can  defend  me. 

First  Murderer. 
I  thought,  thou  hadst  been  resolute. 

Second  Murderer. 
So  I  am,  to  let  him  live. 

First  Murderer. 
I'll  back  to  the  duke  of  Gloster,  and  tell  him 
so. 

.  Second  Murderer. 
Nay,   I  pr'ythee,  stay  a  little:  I  hope,  this 
passionate  humour  of  mine  will  change;  it  was 
wont  to  hold  me  but  while  one  tells  twenty. 

.   First.Murderer. 
How  dost  thou  feel  thyself  now  ? 

,„  .  ,  Second  Murderer, 

'Faith,  some  certain  dregs  of  conscience  are 
yet  within  me. 

_  First  Murderer.   ,     . 

Remember  our  reward,  when  the  deed  s  done 

Zounds  !  he  dies :  I  had  forgot  the  reward. 

„„       .     ,     First  .Murderer. 
W  here  s  thy  conscience  now  ? 


O  !  in  the  duke  oictosler^l  pi 


purse. 

First.Murderer. 
When  he  opens  his  purse   to   give  us  our 
reward,  thy  conscience  flies  out. 

_,  Second  Murderer 

'Tis  no  matter ;  It  t  it  go  :  there's  few  or  none, 
will  entertain  it. 

First  Murderer. 
What,  if  it  come  to  thee  again  ? 

I'll  not  meddle  with  it ;  it  is  a  dangerous 
thing,  it  makes  a  man  a  coward :  a  man  cannot 
steal,  but  it  accuscth  him  ;  a  man  cannot  swear, 
but  it  checks  him;  a  man  cannot  lie  with  his 
neighbour's  wife,  but  it  detects  him  :  'tis  a 
blushing  shame-faced  spirit,  that  mutinies  in  a 
man's  bosom  ;  it  fills  a  man  full  of  obstacles  :  it 
made  me  once  restore  a  purse  of  gold,  that  by 
chance  I  found  :  it  beggars  any  man  that  keeps 
it :  it  is  turned  out  of  all  towns  and  cities  for  a 
dangerous  thing ;  and  every  man,  that  means 
to  live  well,  endeavours  to  trust  to  himself,  and 
live  without  it. 

.     First  Murderer. 
Zounds  !  it  is  even  now  at  my  elbow,  per- 
suading me  not  to  kill  the  duke. 

Second 


frjo 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


Secpnd.Murderer. 

Take  the  devil  in  thy  mind,  and  believe  him  ! 
not :  he  would  insinuate  with  thee,  but  to  make  I 
thee  sigh. 

First  Murderer. 
I  am  strong-fram'd ;  he  cannot  prevail  with 
me. 

Second  Murderer. 
Spoke  like  a  tall  man  that  respects  his  repu- 
tation.   Come,  shall  we  fall  to  work  ? 

First  Murderer. 
Take  him  on  the  costard  with  the  hilts  of  thy 
sword,  and  then  throw  him  into  the  malmsey- 
butt  in  the  next  room. 

Second  Murderer. 
O,  excellent  device  !  and  make  a  sop  of  him. 

First  Murderer. 
Soft !  he  wakes. 

Second  Murderer. 
Strike. 

First  Murderer. 
No  ;  we'll  reason  with  him. 

Clarence.  [Waking. 

Where  art  thou,  keeper  ?  give  me  a  cup  of 
wine. 

First  Murderer. 
You  shall  have  wine  enough,  my  lord,  anon. 

Clarence. 
In  God's  name,  what  art  thou  ? 

First  Murderer. 
A  man,  as  you  are. 

Clarence. 
But  not,  as  I  am,  royal. 

First  Murderer. 
Nor  you,  as  we  are,  loyal. 

Clarence. 
Thy  voice   is   thunder,   but   thy   looks   are 
humble. 

First  Murderer. 
My  voice  is  now  the  king's,  my  looks  mine 
own. 

Clarence. 
How  darkly,  and  how  deadly  dost  thou  speak. 
Your  eyes  do  menace  me :  why  look  you  pale  ? 
Who  sent  you   hither?      Wherefore   do   you 
come? 

Both  Murderers. 
To,  to,  to— . 

Clarence. 
To  murder  me? 

Both  Murderers. 
Ay,  ay. 

Clarence. 

You  scarcely  have  the  hearts  to  tell  me  so, 

And  therefore  cannot  have  the  hearts  to  do  it. 

Wherein,  my  friends,  have  1  offended  you  ? 

First  Murderer. 

Offended  us  you  have  not,  but  the  king. 

Clarence. 
I  shall  be  reconcil'd  to  him  again. 

Second  Murderer; 
Never,  my  lord  ;  therefore  prepare  to  die. 

Clarence. 
Are  you  drawn  forth  among  a  world  of  men 
To  slay  the  innocent  ?    What  is  my  offence  ? 
Where  is  the  evidence  that  doth  accuse  me  ? 
What  lawful  quest  have  given  their  verdict  up 
Unto  the  frowning  judge  ?  or  who  pronounc'd 
The  bitter  sentence  of  poor  Clarence'  death  ? 
Before  I  be  convict  by  course  of  law, 
To  threaten  me  with  death  is  most  unlawful. 


I  charge  you,  as  you  hope  to  have  redemption 
By  Christ's  dear  blood  shed  for  our  grievous  sins, 
That  you  depart,  and  lay  no  hands  on  me ; 
The  deed  you  undertake  is  damnable. 

First  Murderer. 
What  we  will  do,  we  do  upon  command. 

Second  Murderer. 
And  he,  that  hath  commanded,  is  our  king. 

Clarence. 
Erroneous  vassals  !  the  great  King  of  kings 
Hath  in  the  table  of  his  law  commanded, 
That  thou  shalt  do  no  murder  :  will  you,  then, 
Spurn  at  his  edict,  and  fulfil  a  man's  ? 
Take  heed  ;  for  he  holds  vengeance  in  his  hand, 
To  hurl  upon  their  heads  that  break  his  law. 

Second  Murderer. 
And  that  same  vengeance  doth  he  hurl  on 
thee, 
For  false  forswearing,  and  for  murder  too. 
Thou  didst  receive  the  sacrament,  to  fight 
In  quarrel  of  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
First  Murderer. 
And,  like  a  traitor  to  the  name  of  God, 
Didst  break  that  vow ;  and,  with  thy  treacherous 

blade, 
Unripp'dst  the  bowels  of  thy  sovereign's  son. 
Second  Murderer. 
Whom  thou  wast  sworn  to  cherish  and  defend. 

First  Murderer 
How  canst  thou  urge  God's  dreadful  law  to  us, 
When  thou  hast  broke  it  in  such  dear  degree  ? 
Clarence. 
Alas !  for  whose  sake  did  I  that  ill  deed? 
For  Edward,  for  my  brother,  for  his  sake: 
He  sends  you  not  to  murder  me  for  this  ; 
For  in  that  sin  he  is  as  deep  as  I. 
If  God  will  be  avenged  for  the  deed, 

0  1  know  you  yet,  he  doth  it  publicly ; 
Take  not  the  quarrel  from  his  powerful  arm : 
He  needs  no  indirect  or  lawless  course, 

To  cut  off  those  that  have  offended  him. 
First  Murderer. 
Who  made  thee,  then,  a  bloody  minister, 
When  gallant-springing,  brave  Plantagenet, 
That  princely  novice,  was  struck  dead  by  thee  ? 
Clarence. 
My  brother's  love,  the  devil,  and  my  rage. 

First  Murderer. 
Thy  brother's  love,  our  duty,  and  thy  faults, 
Provoke  us  hither  now  to  slaughter  thee. 
Clarence. 
If  you  do  love  my  brother,  hate  not  me; 

1  am  his  brother,  and  I  love  him  well. 
If  you  are  hir'd  for  meed,  fjo  back  again, 
And  I  will  send  you  to  my  brother  Gloster; 
Who  shall  reward  you  better  for  my  life, 
Than  Edward  will  for  tidings  of  my  death. 

Second  Murderer. 
You  are  deceiv'd:  your  brother  Gloster  hates 
you. 

Clarence. 
O !  no  ;  he  loves  me,  and  he  holds  me  dear. 
Go  you  to  him  from  me. 

Both  Murderers. 

Ay,  so  we  will. 
Clarence. 
Tell  him,  when  that  our  princely  father  York 
Bless'd  his  three  sons  with  his  victorious  arm, 
And  charg'd  us  from  his  soul  to  love  each  other, 
He  little  thought  of  this  divided  friendship: 
Bid  Gloster  think  on  this,  and  he  will  weep. 

First 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


63, 


First  Murderer. 
Ay,  mill-stones ;  as  he  lesson'd  us  to  weep. 

CflU 
O !  do  not  slander  him,  for  he  is  kind. 

First  Murderer. 
Right;   as   snow   in   harvest.  —  Come,    you 
deceive  yourself; 
•Tit  he  that  sends  us  to  destroy  you  here. 

Clarence. 
It  cannot  be ;  for  he  bewept  my  fortune, 
And  hugg'd  me  in  his  arms,  and  swore,  with 
That  he  would  labour  my  delivery.  [sobs, 

First  Murderer. 
Why,  so  he  doth,  when  he  delivers  you 
From  this  earth's  thraldom  to  the  joys  of  heaven. 

Second  Murderer. 
Make  peace  with  God,  for  you  must  die,  my 
lord. 

Clarence. 
Have  you  that  holy  feeling  in  your  souls, 
To  counsel  me  to  make  my  peace  with  God, 
And  are  you  yet  to  your  own  souls  so  blind, 
That  you  will  war  with  God  by  murdering  me  ?— 
O !  sirs,  consider,  they  that  set  you  on 
To  do  this  deed,  will  hate  you  for  the  deed. 

Second  Murderer. 
What  shall  we  do? 

Clarence. 

Relent,  and  save  your  souls. 
Which  of  you,  if  you  were  a  prince's  son, 
Being  pent  from  liberty,  as  I  am  now, 
If  two  such  murderers  as  yourselves  came  to  you, 
Would  not  entreat  for  life,  as  you  would  beg 
Were  you  in  my  distress? 

First  Murderer. 
Relent !  no:  'tis  cowardly  and  womanish. 

Clarence. 
Not  to  relent,  is  beastly,  savage,  devilish — 
My  friend,  I  spy  some  pity  in  thy  looks; 
O  !  if  thine  eye  be  not  a  flatterer, 
Come  thou  on  my  side,  and  entreat  for  me. 
A  begging  prince  what  beggar  pities  not  ? 

Second  Murderer. 
Look  behind  you,  my  lord. 

First  Murderer. 
Take  that,  and  that:  if  all  this  will  not  do, 

[Stabs  him. 
I'll  drown  you  in  the  malmsey-butt  within. 

[Exit,  with  the  body. 
Second  Murderer. 
A  bloody  deed,  and  desperately  despatch'd ! 
How  fain,  like  Pilate,  would  I  wash  my  hands 
Of  this  most  grievous  guilty  murder  done. 

Re-enter  first  Murderer. 
First  Murderer. 
How  now?   what  mean'st  thou,  that   thou 
help'st  me  not? 
By  heaven,  the  duke  shall  know  how  slack  you 
have  been . 

Second  Murderer. 
I  would  he  knew,  that  I  had  sav'd  his  brother  1 
Take  thou  the  fee,  and  tell  him  what  I  say, 
For  I  repent  me  that  the  duke  is  slain.     [Exit. 

First  Murderer. 

So  do  not  I:  go,  coward,  as  thou  art 

Well,  I'll  go  hide  the  body  in  some  hole, 
Till  that  the  duke  give  order  for  his  burial : 
And  when  I  have  my  meed,  I  will  away; 
For  this  will  out,  and  then  I  must  not  stay. 

[Exit. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Edward,  led  'n  sick,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Dorset,  Rivers,  Hastings,  Buckingham, 
Grey,  and  others. 

King  Edward. 

WHY,  so:-— now  nave  I  done  a  good  day's 
work.  — 
You  peers,  continue  this  united  league: 
I  every  day  expect  an  embassage 
From  my  Redeem er  to  redeem  me  hence ; 
And  more  to  peace  my  soul  shall  pait  to  heaven, 
Since  I  have  made  my  friends  at  peace  on  earth. 
Rivers,  and  Hastings,  take  each  other's  hand; 
Dissemble  not  your  hatred,  swear  your  love. 

Rivers. 
By  heaven,  my  soul  is  purg'd  from  grudging 
hate; 
And  with  my  hand  I  seal  my  true  heart's  love. 

Hustings. 
So  thrive  I,  as  I  truly  swear  the  like. 

King  Edward. 
Take  heed,  you  dally  not  before  your  king ; 
Lest  he,  that  is  the  supreme  king  of  kinps. 
Confound  your  hidden  falsehood,  and  award 
Either  of  you  to  be  the  other's  end. 

Hastings. 
So  prosper  I,  as  I  swear  perfect  love. 

Rivers. 
And  I,  as  I  love  Hastings  with  my  heart. 

fLing  Edward, 
fare  not  exempt  from  this,— 
Nor  you,  son  Dorset,— Buckingham,  nor  you; — 
You  have  been  factious  one  against  the  other. 
Wife,  love  lord  Hastings,  let  him  kiss  your  hand; 
And  what  you  do,  do  it  unfeignedly. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

There,  Hastings :— I  will  never  more  remem- 

Our  former  hatred,  so  thrive  I,  and  mine,    [ber 

King  Edward. 
Dorset,  embrace  him,—  Hastings,  love  lord 
marquess. 

Dorset 
This  interchange  of  love,  I  here  protest, 
Upon  my  part  shall  be  inviolable. 

Hastings. 
And  so  swear  I. 

King  Edward. 
Now,  princely  Buckingham,  seal  thou  this 


league 
thy  eml 
And  make  me  happy  in  your  unity. 


With  thy  embracement8  to  my  wife's  allies, 
lake 


Buckingham. 

Whenever  Buckingham  doth  turn  his  hate 

Upon  your  grace,  [To  the  Queen^  but  with  all 

duteous  love 
Doth  cherish  you,  and  yours,  God  punish  me 
With  hate  in  those  where  I  expect  most  love. 
When  I  have  most  need  to  employ  a  friend, 
And  most  assured  that  he  is  a  friend, 
Deep,  hollow,  treacherous,  and  full  of  guile, 
Be  he  unto  me.     This  do  I  beg  of  heaven, 
When  I  am  cold  in  love  to  you  or  yours. 

King  Fdward. 
A  pleasing  cordial,  princely  Buckingham, 
Is  this  thy  vow  unto  my  sickly  heart. 

There 


«s* 


KING  EICHARD  III. 


Act  ii.  Se.  i. 


There  wanteth  now  our  brother  Glosler  here, 
To  make  the  blessed  period  of  this  peace. 
Buckingham. 
And,  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  noble  duke. 

Enter  Gloster. 
Gloster. 

Good-morrow  to   my   sovereign    king,    and 
queen ; 
And,  princely  peers,  a  happy  time  of  day  I 
King  Edward. 

Happy,  indeed,  as  we  have  spent  the  day. — 
Gloster,  we  have  done  deeds  of  charity ; 
Made  peace  of  enmity,  fair  love  of  hate, 
Between  these  swelling  wrong-incensed  peers. 
Gloster 

A  blessed  labour,  my  most  sovereign  lord.— 
Among  this  princely  heap,  if  any  here, 
By  false  intelligence,  or  wrong  surmise, 
Hold  me  a  foe; 

If  I  unwittingly,  or  in  my  rage, 
Have  aught  committed  that  is  hardly  borne 
To  any  in  this  presence,  I  desire 
To  reconcile  me  to  his  friendly  peace : 
'Tis  death  to  me,  to  be  at  enmity ; 
I  hate  it,  and  desire  all  good  men's  love  — 
First,  madam,  I  entreat  true  peace  of  you, 
Which  I  will  purchase  with  my  duteous  service; 
Of  you,  my  noble  cousin  Buckingham, 
If  ever  any  grudge  were  lodg'd  between  us ; 
Of  you,  and  you,  lord  Rivers,  and  of  Dorset, 
That  all  without  desert  have  frown'd  on  me; 
Of  you,  lord  Woodville,  and  lord  Scales,  of  you; 
Dukes,  earls,  lords,  gentlemen  ;  indeed,  of  all. 
I  do  not  know  that  Englishman  alive, 
With  whom  my  soul  is  any  jot  at  odds, 
More  than  the  infant  that  is  born  to-night : 
I  thank  my  God  for  my  humility. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
A  holy  day  shall  this  be  kept  hereafter  : — 
I   would  to  God,  all    strifes  were  well  com- 
pounded.— 
My  sovereign  lord,  I  do  beseech  your  highness 
To  take  our  brother  Clarence  to  your  grace. 

Gloster. 
Why,  madam,  have  I  offer'd  love  for  this, 
To  be  so  flouted  in  this  royal  presence? 
Who  knows  not,  that  the  gentle  duke  is  dead? 
[They  all  start. 
You  do  him  injury  to  scorn  his  corse. 
King  Edward. 
Who  knows  not,  he  is  dead !  who  knows  he 
is? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
All-seeing  heaven,  what  a  world  is  this  ! 

Buckingham. 
Look  I  so  pale,  lord  Dorset,  as  the  rest  ? 

Dorset. 
Ay,  my  good  lord;  and  no  man  in  the  pre- 
sence, 
But  his  red  colour  hath  forsook  his  cheeks. 
King  Edward. 
Is  Clarence  dead?  the  order  was  revers'd. 

Gloster. 
But  he,  poor  man,  by  your  first  order  died, 
And  that  a  winged  Mercury  did  bear ; 
Some  tardy  cripple  bare  the  countermand, 
That  came  too  lag  to  see  him  buried. 
God  grant,  that  some,  less  noble,  and  less  loyal, 
Nearer  in  bloody  thoughts,  and  not  in  blood, 
Deserve  not  worse  than  wretched  Clarence  did, 
And  yet  go  current  from  suspicion. 


Enter  Stanley. 

Stanley. 
A  boon,  my  sovereign,  for  my  service  clone  I 

King  Edward. 
I  pr'ythee,  peace :  my  soul  is  full  of  sorrow. 

Stanley. 
I  will  not  rise,  unless  your  highness  hear  me. 

King  Edward. 
Then  say  at  once,  what  is  it  thou  request'st. 

Stanley. 
The  forfeit,  sovereign,  of  my  servant's  life ; 
Who  slew  to-day  a  riotous  gentleman, 
Lately  attendant  on  the  duke  of  Norfolk. 
King  Edward. 
Have  I  a  tongue  to  doom  my  brother's  death, 
And  shall  that  tongue  give  pardon  to  a  slave? 
My  brother  kill'd  no  man,  his  fault  was  thought, 
And  yet  his  punishment  was  bitter  death. 
Who  sued  to  me  for  him?  who,  in  my  wrath, 
Kneel'd  at  my  feet,  and  bade  me  be  advis'd  ? 
Who  spoke  of  brotherhood?  who  spoke  of  love  ? 
Who  told  me,  how  the  poor  soul  did  forsake 
The  mighty  Warwick,  and  did  fight  for  me? 
Who  told  me,  in  the  field  at  Teukslury, 
When  Oxford  had  me  down,  he  rescu'd  me, 
And  said,  "  Dear  brother,  live,  and  be  a  king?" 
Who  told  me,  when  we  both  lay  in  the  field, 
Frozen  almost  to  death,  how  he  did  lap  me 
Even  in  his  garments;  and  did  give  himself, 
All  thin  and  naked,  to  the  numb-cold  night? 
All  this  from  my  remembrance  brutish  wrath 
Sinfully  piuck'd,  and  not  a  man  of  you 
Had  so  much  grace  to  put  it  in  my  mind. 
But  when  your  carters,  or  your  waiting-vassals, 
Have  done  a  drunken  slaughter,  and  def;ic'd 
The  precious  image  of  our  dear  Redeemer, 
You  straight  are  on  your  knees  for  pardon, 

pardon : 
And  I,  unjustly  too,  must  grant  it  you. 
But  for  my  brother  not  a  man  would  speak, 
Nor  I,  ungracious,  speak  unto  myself 
For  him,  poor  soul — The  proudest  of  you  all 
Have  been  heholding  to  him  in  his  life, 
Yet  none  of  you  would  once  beg  for  his  life.— 
O  God  !  I  fear,  thy  justice  will  take  hold 
On  me,  and  you,  and  mine,  and  yours,  for  this — 
Come,  Hastings,  help  me  to  my  closet.     Ah, 
poor  Clarence! 
[.Exeunt  King,  Queen,   Hastings,   Rivers, 
Dorset,  and  Grey. 

Gloster. 
This  is  the  fruit  of  rashness — Mark'd  you  not, 
How  that  the  guilty  kindred  of  the  queen 
Look'd  pale,  when  they  did  hear  of  Clarence' 

death  ? 
O  !  they  did  urge  it  still  unto  the  king  : 
God  will  revenge  it.     Come,  lords ;  will  you  go, 
To  comfort  Edward  with  our  company? 
Buckingham. 
We  wait  upon  your  grace.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    London. 

Enter  the  Duchess  of  York,  with  a  Son  and 
Daughter  of  Clarence. 

Son. 
Good  grandam,  tell  us,  is  our  father  dead? 

Duchess. 
No,  boy.  ^ 

Daughter. 
Why  do  you  weep  so  oft?   and  beat  your 
breast ; 
And  cry—"  O  Clarence,  my  unhappy  son  I" 


Act  ii.  Sc.  11. 


KING  KIC1IAH1)  III. 


6n 


Son. 
Why  do  you  look  on  us,  and  shake  your  head, 
And  call  us — orphans,  wretches,  rast-auays, 
If  that  our  noble  father  were  alive  ? 
Duchess. 
My  pretty  cousins,  you  mistake  me  both, 
I  do  lament  the  sickness  of  the  king. 
As  loath  to  lose  him,  not  your  father's  death. 
It  were  lost  sorrow  to  wail  one  that's  lost. 
Son. 
Then  you  ronclude,  my  grandam,  he  is  dead? 
The  king  mine  uncle  is  to  blame  for  it: 
God  will  revenge  it:  whom  I  will  importune 
With  earnest  prayers  all  to  that  effect. 
Daughter. 
And  so  will  I. 

Duchess. 
Peace,  children,  peace!   the  king  doth  love 
Incapable  and  shallow  innocents,         [you  well. 
You  cannot  guess  whocaus'd  your  father's  death. 
Son. 
Grandam,  we  can  ;  for  my  good  uncle  Glosler 
Told  me,  the  king,  provok'd  to  it  by  the  queen, 
Devis'd  impeachments  to  imprison  him: 
And  when  my  uncle  told  me  so,  he  wept, 
And  pitied  me,  and  kindly  kiss'd  my  cheek ; 
Bade  me  rely  on  him,  as  on  my  father, 
And  he  would  love  me  dearly  as  a  child. 
Duchess. 
Ah  !  that  deceit  should  steal  such  gentle  shape, 
And  with  a  virtuous  visor  hide  deep  vice ! 
He  is  my  son,  ay,  and  therein  my  shame, 
Yet  from  my  dugs  he  drew  not  this  deceit. 
Son. 
Think  you,  my  uncle  did  dissemble,  grandam  ? 

Duchess. 
Ay,  boy. 

Son. 
I  cannot  think  it.     Hark !  what  noise  is  this ! 

Knter  Queen  Elizabeth  distractedly;  Rivers  a\\A 
Dorset,  following  her. 


Sueen  Elizabeth. 
I 


Ah  !  who  shall  hinder  me  to  wail  and  weep, 
To  chide  my  fortune,  and  torment  myself? 
I'll  join  with  blaik  despair  against  my  soul, 
And  to  myself  become  an  enemy. 

Duchess. 
What  means  this  scene  of  rude  impatience  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

To  make  an  act  of  tragic  violence: — 

Edward,  my  lord,  thy  son,  our  king,  is  dead  !  — 

Why  grow  Che  branches,  when  the  root  is  gone  ? 

WThy  wither  not  the  leaves,  that  want  their 

sap?- 
If  you  will  live,  lament ;  if  die,  be  brief; 
That   our   swilt-  winged    souls  may  catch   the 
Or,  like  obedient  subjects,  follow  him    [king's  ; 
To  his  new  kingdom  of  ne'er  changing  night. 

Duchess. 
Ah  !  so  much  interest  have  I  in  thy  sorrow, 
As  I  had  title  in  thy  noble  husband. 
I  have  bewept  a  worthy  husband's  death, 
And  liv'd  with  looking  on  his  images ; 
But  now,  two  mirrors  of  his  princely  semblance 
Are  crack'd  in  piect  s  by  malignant  death, 
And  I  for  comfort  have  but  one  false  glass, 
That  grieves  me  when  I  see  my  shame  in  him. 
Thou  art  a  widow  ;  yet  thou  art  a  mother, 
And  hast  the  comfort  of  thy  children  left: 
But  death  hath  snatch'd  my  husband  from  mine 

arms. 
And  pluck'd  two  crutches  from  my  fetble  hands, 


Clarence  and  Edward.     O  !  what  cause  have  I, 
(Thine  being  but  a  moiety  of  my  moan) 
To  over-go  thy  woes,  and  drown  thy  cries  ? 
Son. 
Ah,  aunt  I  you  wept  not  for  our  father's  death ; 
How  can  we  aid  you  with  our  kindred  tears  ? 
Daughter. 
Our  fatherless  distress  was  left  unmoan'd  ; 
Your  widow-dolour  likewise  be  unwept. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Give  me  no  help  in  lamentation  ; 
I  am  not  barren  to  bring  forth  complaints. 
All  springs  reduce  their  currents  to  mine  eyes, 
That  I,  being  govern'd  by  the  watry  moon, 
May  send  forth  plenteous  tears  to  drown  the 

world  I 
Ah  for  my  husband,  for  my  dear  lord,  Edward! 
Children. 
Ah,  for  our  father,  for  our  dear  lord  Clarence! 

Duchess. 
Alas,  for  both  !  both  mine,  Edward  and  C/a- 
rence. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
What  stay  had  I,  but  Edward?   and  he's 
gone. 

Children. 
What  stay  had  we,  but  Clarence  f  and  he's 
gone. 

Duchess. 
What  stays  had  I,  but  they?  and  they  are 
gone. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Was  never  widow  had  so  dear  a  loss. 

Children. 
Were  never  orphans  had  so  dear  a  loss. 

Duchess. 
Was  never  mother  had  so  dear  a  loss. 
Alas  !  I  am  the  mother  of  these  griefs: 
Their  woes  are  parcell'd,  mine  are  general. 
She  for  an  Edward  weeps,  and  so  do  I ; 
I,  for  a  Clarence  weep,  so  doth  not  she: 
These  babes  for  Clarence  weep,  and  so  do  I: 
I,  for  an  Edward  weep,  so  do  not  they:  — 
Alas  !  you  three  on  me,  threefold  distress'd, 
Pour  all  your  tears,  I  am  your  sorrow's  nurse, 
And  I  will  pamper  it  with  lamentation. 
Dorset. 
Comfort,  dear  mother:  God  is  much  displeas'd, 
That  you  take  with  unthankfulncss  his  doing. 
In  common  worldly  things,  'tis  call'd  ungrateful, 
With  dull  unwillingness  to  repay  a  debt, 
Which  with  a  bounteous  hand  was  kindly  lent; 
Much  more  to  be  thus  opposite  with  heaven, 
For  it  requires  the  royal  debt  it  lent  you. 
Rivers. 
Madam,  bethink  you,  like  a  careful  mother. 
Of  the  young  prince  your  son :  send  straight  for 

him, 
Let  him  be  crown'd;  in  him  your  comfort  lives. 
Drown  desperate  sorrow  in  dead  Edward's  grave, 
And  plant  your  joys  in  living  Edward's  throne. 

Enter  Glosler,  Buckingham,  Stanley,  Hastings, 

Ratcliff,  and  others. 

Gloster. 

Sister,  have  comfort:  all  of  us  have  cause 

To  wail  the  dimming  of  our  shining  star ; 

But  none  can  help  our  harms  by  wailing  them.— 

Madam,  my  mother,  I  do  cry  you  mercy: 

I  did  not  see  your  grace Humbly  on  my  knee 

I  crave  your  blessing. 

Duchess. 
God  bless  thee;   and  put  meekness  in  thy 
Love,  charity,  obedience,  and  true  duty,  [breast, 
Glostei . 


634- 


KING  RICHARD  IIL 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Gloster. 
Amen ;  [Aside]  and  make  me  die  a  good  old 
man!  — 
That  is  the  butt-end  of  a  mother's  blessing ; 
I  marvel,  that  her  grace  did  leave  it  out. 
Buckingham. 
You  cloudy  princes,  and  heart-sorrowing  peers, 
That  bear  this  heavy  mutual  load  of  moan, 
Now  cheer  each  other  in  each  other's  love: 
Though  we  have  spent  our  harvest  of  this  king, 
We  are  to  reap  the  harvest  of  his  son. 
The  broken  rancour  of  your  high-swoln  hates, 
But  lately  splinter'd,  knit,  and  join'd  together, 
Must  gently  be  preserv'd,  cherish'd,  and  kept: 
Me  seemeth  good,  that,  with  some  little  train, 
Forthwith  from  Ludlow  the  young  prince  be  fet 
Hither  to  London,  to  be  crown'd  our  king. 
Rivers. 
Why  with  some  little  train,  my  lord  of  Buck- 
ingham f 

Buckingham. 

Marry,  my  lord,  lest,  by  a  multitude,       [out ; 

The  new-heal'd  wound  of  malice  should  break 

Which  would  be  so  much  the  more  dangerous, 

By  how  much  the  estate  is  green,  and  yet  un- 

govern'd : 
Where  every  horse  bears  his  commanding  rein, 
And  may  direct  his  course  as  please  himself, 
As  well  the  fear  of  harm,  as  harm  apparent, 
In  my  opinion,  ought  to  be  prevented. 
Gloster. 
I  hope  the  king  made  peace  with  all  of  us ; 
And  the  compact  is  firm,  and  true,  in  me. 
Rivers. 
And  so  in  me ;  and  so,  I  think,  in  all : 
Yet,  since  it  is  but  green,  it  should  be  put 
To  no  apparent  likelihood  of  breach, 
Which,  haply,  by  much  company  might  be  urg'd: 
Therefore,  I  say  with  noble  Buckingham, 
That  it  is  meet  so  few  should  fetch  the  prince. 
Hastings. 
And  so  say  I. 

Gloster. 
Then  be  it  so ;  and  go  we  to  determine 
Who  they  shall  be  that  straight  shall  post  to 

Ludlow. 
Madam,— and  you  my  sister, — will  you  go 
To  give  your  censures  in  this  business  ? 

[Exeunt  all  but  Buckingham  and  Gloster. 

Buckingham. 
My  lord,  whoever  journeys  to  the  prince, 
For  God's  sake,  let  not  us  two  stay  at  home : 
For  by  the  way  I'll  sort  occasion, 
As  index  to  the  story  we  late  talk'd  of,  [prince. 
To  part  the  queen  s  proud  kindred  from  the 
Gloster. 
My  other  self,  my  counsel's  consistory, 
My  oracle,  my  prophet !  —  My  dear  cousin, 
1,  as  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 
Towards  Ludlow  then,  for  we'll  not  stay  behind. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Street. 
Enter  Two  Citizens,  meeting. 

First  Citizen. 
Good  morrow,  neighbour:  whither  away  so 
fast? 

Second  Citizen. 
I  promise  you,  1  scarcely  know  myself. 
Hear  you  the  news  abroad? 

First  Citizen. 

Yes ;  that  the  king  is  dead. 


Second  Citizen. 
Ill  news,  by'r  lady ;  seldom  comes  the  better  : 
I  fear,  I  fear,  'twill  prove  a  giddy  world. 

Enter  another  Citizen. 
Third  Citizen. 
Neighbours,  God  speed ! 

First  Citizen. 

Give  you  good  morrow,  sir. 
Third  Citizen. 
Doth  the  news  hold  of  good  king  Edward's 
death? 

Second  Citizen. 
Ay,  sir,  it  is  too  true;  God  help,  the  while  1 

Third  Citizen. 
Then,  masters,  look  to  see  a  troublous  world. 

First  Citizen. 
No,  no;  by  God's  good  grace,  his  son  shall 
reign. 

Third  Citizen. 
Woe  to  that  land  that's  govern'd  by  a  child ! 

Second  Citizen. 
In  him  there  is  a  hope  of  government ; 
That,  in  his  nonage,  council  under  him, 
And,  in  his  full  and  ripen'd  years,  himself, 
No  doubt,  shall  then,  and  till  then,  govern  well. 
First  Citizen. 
So  stood  the  state,  when  Henry  the  Sixth 
Was  crown'd  in  Paris  but  at  nine  months  old. 
Third  Citizen. 
Stood  the  state  so  ?  no,  no,  good  friends,  God 
For  then  this  land  was  famously  enrich'd  [wot ; 
With  politic  grave  counsel :  then  the  king 
Had  virtuous  uncles  to  protect  his  grace. 
First  Citizen. 
Why,  so  hath  this,  both  by  his  father  and 
mother. 

Third  Citizen. 
Better  it  were  they  all  came  by  his  father, 
Or  by  his  father  there  were  none  at  all ; 
For  emulation,  who  shall  now  be  nearest, 
Will  touch  us  all  too  near,  if  God  prevent  not. 
O  !  full  of  danger  is  the  duke  of  Gloster; 
And  the  queen's  sons,  and  brothers,  haught  and 

proud : 
And  were  they  to  be  rul'd,  and  not  to  rule, 
This  sickly  land  might  solace  as  before. 
First  Citizen. 
Come,  come;  we  fear  the  worst:  all  will  be 
well. 

Third  Citizen. 
When  clouds  are  seen,  wise  men  put  on  their 
cloaks ; 
When  great  leaves  fall,  then  winter  is  at  hand : 
When  the  sun  sets,  who  doth  not  look  for  night  ? 
Untimely  storms  make  men  expect  a  dearth. 
All  may  be  well ;  but,  if  God  sort  it  so, 
'Tis  more  than  we  deserve,  or  I  expect. 
Second  Citizen. 
Truly,  the  hearts  of  men  are  full  of  fear: 
You  cannot  reason  almost  with  a  man 
That  looks  not  heavily,  and  full  of  dread. 
Third  Citizen. 
Before  the  days  of  change,  still  is  it  so. 
By  a  divine  instinct  men's  minds  mistrust 
Pursuing  danger ;  as  by  proof  we  see 
The  water  swell  before  a  boisterous  storm. 
But  leave  it  all  to  God.    Whither  away  ? 
Second  Citizen. 
Marry,  we  were  sent  for  to  the  justices. 

Third  Citizen. 
And  so  was  I :  I'll  bear  you  company. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


KING  KICHARD  IIL 


635 


/:  IV.    London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

the  Archbishop  of  York,  the  young  Duke 
of  York,  Queen  Klizabelh,  and  the  Duchess 
of  York. 

ArchbUhop. 
Last  night,  I  heard,  they  lay  at  Stony-Strat- 
ford, 
And  at  Northampton  they  do  rest  to-night : 
To-morrow,  or  next  day,  they  will  be  here. 

Dm 

I  long  with  all  my  heart  to  see  the  prince: 
I  hope,  he  is  much  grown  since  last  I  saw  him. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
But  1  hear,  no:  they  say,  my  son  of  York 
Hath  almost  overta'en  him  in  his  growth. 
York. 
Ay,  mother,  but  I  would  not  have  it  so. 

Duchess. 
Why,  my  young  cousin,  it  is  good  to  grow. 

York. 
Grandam,  one  night,  as  we  did  sit  at  supper, 
My  uncle  Rivers  talk'd  how  I  did  grow 
More  than  my  brother;  *'  Ay,"  quoth  my  uncle 
Gloster,  [apace : " 

"  Small  herbs  have  grace,  great  weeds  do  grow 
And  since,  methinks,  I  would  not  grow  so  fast, 
Because  sweet  flowers  are  slow,  and  weeds  make 
haste. 

Duchess. 

'Good  faith,  'good  faith,  the  saying  did  not 

In  him  that  did  object  the  same  to  thee :    [hold 

He  was  the  wretched'st   thing  when  he  was 

So  long  a  growing,  and  so  leisurely,        [young, 

That,  if  his  rule  were  true,  he  should  be  gracious. 

Archbishop 

And  so,  no  doubt,  he  is,  my  gracious  madam. 

Duchess 
I  hope,  he  is ;  but  yet  let  mothers  doubt. 

York. 
Now,  by  my  troth,  if  I  had  been  remember'd, 
I  could  have  given  my  uncle's  grace  a  flout, 
To  touch  his  growth  nearer  than  he  touch'd 
miue. 

Duchess. 
How,  my  young  York?    I  pr'ythee,  let  me 
hear  it. 

York. 
Marry,  they  say,  my  uncle  grew  so  fast, 
That  he  could  gnaw  a  crust  at  two  hours  old : 
*Twas  full  two  years  ere  I  could  get  a  tooth. 
Grandam,  this  would  have  been  a  biting  jest. 
Duchess. 
I  pr'ythee,  pretty  York,  who  told  thee  this  ? 

York. 
Grandam,  his  nurse. 

Duchess. 
His  nurse !  why  she  was  dead  ere  thou  wast 
born. 

York. 
If 'twere  not  she,  I  cannot  tell  who  told  me. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
A  parlous  boy.    Go  to,  you  are  too  shrewd. 

Archbishop. 
Good  madam,  be  not  angry  with  the  child. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Pitchers  have  ears. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Archbishop. 
Here  comes  a  messenger:  what  news? 


Messenger. 
Such  news,  my  lord,  as  grieves  me  to  report. 

:i  Elizabeth. 
How  doth  the  prince? 

Messenger. 

Well,  madam,  and  in  health. 
Due! 
What  is  thy  news? 

Messenger. 
Lord  Rivers  and  lord  Grey  are  sent  to  Pom- 
fret, 
And  with  them  sir  Thomas  Vaughan,  prisoners. 
Duchess. 
Who  hath  committed  them? 
Messenger. 

The  mighty  dukes, 
Gloster  and  Buckingham. 

Archbishop. 

For  what  offence  ? 
Messenger. 
The  sum  of  all  I  can,  I  have  disclos'd: 
Why,  or  for  what,  the  nobles  were  committed, 
Is  all  unknown  to  me,  my  gracious  lady. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Ah,  me !  I  see  the  ruin  of  my  house. 
The  tiger  now  hath  seiz'd  the  gentle  hind  ; 
Insulting  tyranny  begins  to  jet 
Upon  the  innocent  and  awless  throne: — 
Welcome,  destruction,  blood,  and  massacre ! 
I  see,  as  in  a  map,  the  end  of  all. 
Durhess. 
Accursed  and  unquiet  wrangling  days, 
How  many  of  you  have  mine  eyes  beheld  ? 
My  husband  lost  his  life  to  get  the  crown ; 
And  often  up  and  down  my  sons  were  test, 
For  me  to  joy,  and  weep,  their  gain,  and  loss : 
And  being  seated,  and  domestic  broils 
Clean  over-blown,  themselves,  the  conquerors, 
Make  war  upon  themselves ;  brother  to  brother, 
Blood  to  blood,  self  against  self: — O!  prepos- 
terous 
!  And  frantic  outrage,  end  thy  damned  spleen; 
'  Or  let  me  die,  to  look  on  death  no  more. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

i     Come,  come,  my  boy ;  we  will  to  sanctuary 

Madam,  farewell. 

Duchess. 

Stay,  I  will  go  with  you. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
You  have  no  cause. 

Archbishop. 

My  gracious  lady,  go, 

[To  the  Queen. 
And  thither  bear  your  treasure  and  your  goods. 
For  my  part,  I'll  resign  unto  your  grace 
The  seal  I  keep :  and  so  betide  to  me, 
As  well  I  tender  you,  and  all  of  yours. 
Go ;  I'll  conduct  you  to  the  sanctuary. 


[Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    London.    A  Street 

The  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  Gloster,  Buckingham,  Cardinal  Bour- 
chicr,  and  others. 

Buckingham. 
VyELCOME,   sweet  prince,  to    London,  to 
TT    your  chamber. 

Gloster. 


6s6 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Gloster. 
Welcome,  dear  cousin,  my  thoughts'  sove- 
reign : 
The  weary  way  hath  made  you  melancholy. 

Prince. 
No,  uncle;  but  our  crosses  on  the  way 
Have  made  it  tedious,  wearisome,  and  heavy : 
I  want  more  uncles  here  to  welcome  me. 
Gloster. 
Sweet  prince,  the  untainted  virtue  of  your 
years 
Hath  not  yet  div'd  into  the  world's  deceit: 
No  more  can  yoti  distinguish  of  a  man, 
Than  of  his  outward  show;   which,   God  he 

knows. 
Seldom,  or  never,  jumpeth  with  the  heart. 
Those  uncles,  which  you  want,  were  dangerous ; 
Your  grace  attended  to  their  sugar'd  words, 
But  lcokd  not  on  the  poison  of  their  hearts : 
God  keep  you  from  them,  and  from  such  false 
friends  I 

Prince. 
God  keep  me  from  false  friends  1   but  they 
were  none. 

Gloster. 
My  lord,  the  mayor  of  London  comes  to  greet 
you. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  his  Train. 

Mayor. 
God  bless  your  grace  with  health  and  happy 
daysl 

Prince. 
I  thank  you,  good  my  lord ;  and  thank  you 
all.—  [Exeunt  Mayor,  &c. 

1  thought  mv  mother,  and  my  brother  York, 
Would  long  ere  this  have  met  us  on  the  way : 
Fie  !  what  a  slug  is  Hastings,  that  he  comes  not 
To  tell  us  whether  they  will  come  or  no. 

Enter  Hastings. 
Buckingham. 
And  in  good  time  here  comes  the  s weatin  g  lord. 

Prince. 
Welcome,  my  lord.    What !  will  our  mother 
come  ? 

Hastings. 
On  what  occasion,  God  he  knows,  not  I, 
The  queen  your  mother,  and  your  brother  York, 
Have  taken  sanctuary:  the  tender  prince 
Would  fain  have  come  with  me  to  meet  your 

grace, 
But  by  his  mother  was  perforce  withheld. 

Buckingham. 
Fie !  what  an  indirect  and  peevish  course 

Is  this  of  hers Lord  cardinal,  will  your  grace 

Persuade  the  queen  to  send  the  duke  of  York 
Unto  his  princely  brother  presently? 
If  she  denv,  lord  Hastings,  go  with  him, 
And  from  her  jealous  arms  pluck  him  perforce. 

Cardinal. 

My  lord  of  Buckingham,  if  my  weak  oratory 
Can  from  his  mother  win  the  duke  of  York, 
Anon  expect  him  here :  but  if  she  be  obdu'  ate 
To  mild  entreaties,  God  in  heaven  forbid 
We  should  infringe  the  holy  privilege 
Of  blessed  sanctuary !  not  for  all  this  land, 
Would  I  be  guilty  of  so  great  a  sin. 

Buckingham. 
You  are  too  senseless-obstinate,  my  lord, 
Too  ceremonious,  and  traditional : 
Weigh  it  but  with  the  grossness  of  this  age, 
You  break  not  sanctuary  in  seizing  him. 


The  benefit  thereof  is  always  granted 
To  those  whose  dealings  have  deserv'd  the  place, 
And  those  who  have  the  wit  to  claim  the  place : 
This  prince  hath  neither  claim'd  it,  nor  deserv'd 

it; 
And  therefore,  in  mine  opinion,  cannot  have  it : 
Then,  taking  him  from  thence,  that  is  not  there, 
You  break  no  privilege  nor  charter  there. 
Oft  have  I  heard  of  sanctuary  men, 
But  sanctuary  children,  ne'er  till  now. 

Cardinal. 
My  lord,  you  shall  o'er-rule  my  mind  for 
once.  — 
Come  on,  lord  Hastings;  will  you  go  with  me  ? 

Hastings. 
I  go,  my  lord. 

Prince. 
Good  lords,  make  all  the  speedy  haste  you 
may. — 

[Kxeunt  Cardinal  and  Hastings. 
Say,  uncle  Gloster.  if  our  brother  come, 
Where  shall  we  sojourn  till  our  coronation  ? 

Gloster. 
Where  it  seems  best  unto  your  royal  self. 
If  I  may  counsel  you,  some  day,  or  two, 
Your  highness  shall  repose  you  at  the  Tower : 
Then,  where  you  phase,  and  shall  be  thought 

most  fit 
For  your  best  health  and  recreation. 

Prince. 
I  do  not  like  the  Tower,  of  any  place.— 
Did  Julius  Ccesar  build  that  place,  my  lord? 

Buckingham. 
He  did,  my  gracious  lord,  begin  that  place, 
Which,  since,  succeeding  ages  have  re-edified. 
Prince. 
Is  it  upon  record,  or  else  reported 
Successively  fiom  age  to  age,  he  built  it  ? 
Buckingham 
Upon  record,  my  gracious  lord. 

Prince. 
But  say,  my  lord,  it  were  not  register'd, 
Methinks,  the  truth  should  live  from  age  to  age, 
As  'twere  retail'd  to  all  posterity, 
Even  to  the  general  all-ending  day. 

Gloster. 
So  wise  so  young,  they  say,  do  never  live  long. 
[Aside. 

Prince. 
What  say  you,  uncle? 

Gloster. 

I  say  without  characters  fame  lives  long. 
Thus,  like  the  formal  Vice,  Iniquity,      [Aside. 
I  moralize  two  meanings  in  one  word. 

Prince. 
That  Julius  Ccesar  was  a  famous  man : 
With  what  his  valour  did  enrich  his  wit, 
His  wit  set  down  to  make  his  valour  live: 
Death  makes  no  conquest  of  his  conqueror, 
For  now  he  lives  in  fame,  though  not  in  life. — 
I'll  tell  you  what,  my  cousin  Buckingham. 

Buckingham. 
What,  my  gracious  lord? 

Prince. 
An  if  I  live  until  I  be  a  man. 
I'll  win  our  ancient  right  in  France  again, 
Or  die  a  soldier,  as  I  liv'd  a  king. 

Gloster. 
Short  summers  lightly  have  a  forward  spring. 
[Aside. 
Enter 


Act  hi.  8c.  i. 


KING  RICHARD  ILL 


6!7 


York,  Hastings,  and  the  Cardinal. 
Buckingham. 
Now.  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  duke  of 

it*. 

Richard  of  York!  how  fares  our  noble  brother  ? 

York. 
Well,  my  dread  lord ;  so  must  I  call  you  now. 
Mb 

Ay,  brother;  to  our  grief,  as  it  is  you»s. 

Too  late  he  died,  that  might  have  kept  that 

title. 

Which  by  his  death  hath  lost  much  majesty. 

(Hosier. 

How  fares  our  cousin,  noble  lord  of  YorlcT 

York. 

1  thank  you,  gentle  uncle.     O  !  my  lord, 

You  said,  that  idle  weeds  are  fast  in  growth  : 

The  prince  my  brother  hath  outgrown  me  far. 

Gloster. 

He  hath,  my  lord 

York. 

And  therefore  is  he  idle  ? 

Gloster. 

O !  my  fair  cousin,  1  must  not  say  so. 

York. 

Then  he  is  more  beholding  to  you,  than  I. 

(il.ster 

He  may  command  me  as  my  sovereign, 

But  you  have  power  in  me  as  in  a  kinsman. 

York. 

I  pray  you,  uncle,  give  me  this  dagger. 

Gloster. 

My  dagger,  little  cousin?  with  all  my  heart. 

Prince. 

A  beggar,  brother? 

York. 

Of  my  kind  uncle,  that  I  know  will  give; 

And,  being  but  a  toy,  which  is  no  grief  to  give. 

Gloster 

A  greater  gift  than  that  I'll  give  my  cousin. 

York. 

A  greater  gift  ?    O  1  that's  the  sword  to  it. 

Gloster. 

Ay,  gentle  cousin,  were  it  light  enough. 

York. 

O !  then,  I   see,  you'll  part  but  with  light 

gifts  : 

In  weightier  things  you'll  say  a  beggar,  nay. 

Gloster. 

It  is  too  weighty  for  your  grace  to  wear. 

York. 

1  weigh  it  lightly,  were  it  heavier. 

Gloster. 

What  !    would  you  have  my  weapon,  little 

lord?  V     l. 

York. 

I  would,  that  I  might  thank  you  as  you  call 
me. 

Gloster. 

How  ? 

York. 

Little. 

Prince. 

My  lord  of  York  will  still  be  cross  in  talk.—     i 
Uncle,  your  grace  knows  how  to  bear  with  him. 
York. 

You  mean,  to  bear  me,  not  to  bear  with  me.— 
Uncle,  my  brother  mocks  both  you  and  me  : 


Because  that  I  am  little,  like  an  ape, 
He  thinks  that  you  should  bear  me  on  your 
shoulders. 

Buckingham. 
With  what  a  sharp  provided  wit  he  reasons: 
To  mitigate  the  scorn  he  gives  his  uncle, 
He  prettily  and  aptly  taunts  himself. 
So  cunning,  and  so  young,  is  wonderful. 
Gloster. 
My  lord,  will't  please  you  pass  along? 
Myself,  and  my  good  cousin  Buckingham, 
Will  to  your  mother,  to  entreat  of  her 
To  meet  you  at  the  Tower,  and  welcome  you. 
York. 
What !  will  you  go  unto  the  Tower,  my  lord  ? 

Prince. 
My  lord  protector  needs  will  have  it  so. 

York. 
I  shall  not  sleep  in  quiet  at  the  Tower. 

Gloster 
Why,  what  should  you  fear? 

York. 
Marry,  my  uncle  Clarence'  angry  ghost : 
My  grandam  told  me,  he  was  murder'd  there. 
Prince. 
I  fear  no  uncles  dead. 

Gloster. 
Nor  none  that  live,  I  hope. 

Prince. 
An  if  they  live.  I  hope,  I  need  not  fear. 
But  come,  my  lord;  and,  with  a  heavy  heart, 

Thi!*KnctthT^ 

Cardinal,  and  Attendants. 
Buckingham. 
Think  you,  my  lord,  this  little  prating  York 
Was  not  incensed  by  his  subtle  mother 
To  taunt  and  scorn  you  thus  opprobriously  ? 
Gloster. 
No  doubt,  no  doubt.     O  !  'tis  a  perilous  boy ; 
Bold,  quick,  ingenious,  forward,  capable : 
He's  ail  the  mother's,  from  the  top  to  toe. 
Buckingham. 

Well,  let  them  rest Come  hither,  Catesby. 

Thou  art  sworn  as  deeply  to  effect  what  we  in- 
As  closely  to  conceal  what  we  impart.        [tend, 
Thou  know'st  our  reasons  urg'd  upon  the  way: — 
What  think'st  thou?  is  it  not  an  easy  matter 
To  make  William  lord  Hastings  of  our  mind, 
For  the  instalment  of  this  noble  duke 
In  the  seat  royal  of  this  famous  isle? 
Catesby. 
He  for  his  father's  sake  so  loves  the  prince, 
That  he  will  not  be  won  to  aught  against  him. 
Buckingham. 
What  think'st  thou  then  of  Stanley  f  will  not 
he? 

Catesby. 
He  will  do  all  in  all  as  Hastings  doth. 

Buckingham. 
Well  then,  no  more  but  this.     Go,  gentle 
Catesby, 
And,  as  it  were  far  off,  sound  thou  lord  Hastings, 
How  he  doth  stand  affected  to  our  purpose; 
And  summon  him  to-morrow  to  the  Tower, 
To  sit  about  the  coronation. 
If  thou  dost  find  him  tractable  to  us, 
Encourage  him,  and  tell  him  all  our  reasons  : 
If  he  be  leaden,  icy,  cold,  unwilling. 
Be  thou  so  too,  and  so  break  off  the  t  ilk, 
And  give  us  notice  of  his  inclination  ; 

For 


638 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  1. 


For  we  to-morrow  hold  divided  councils, 
Wherein  thyself  shalt  highly  be  employ'd. 
Glostev. 
Commend  me  to  lord   William :    tell   him,  1 
Catesby, 
His  ancient  knot  of  dangerous  adversaries 
To-morrow  are  let  blood  at  Pomjret-castle  ; 
And  bid  my  lord,  for  joy  of  this  good  news, 
Give  mistress  Shore  one  gentle  kiss  the  more. 
Buckingham. 
Good  Catesby,  go ;  effect  this  business  soundly. 

Catesby. 
My  good  lords  both,  with  all  the  heed  I  can. 

Gloster 
Shall  we  hear  from  you,  Catesby,  ere  we  sleep? 

Catesby. 
You  shall,  my  lord. 

Gloster. 
At  Crosby -place,  there  shall  you  find  us  both. 
[Exit  Catesby. 
Buckingham. 
Now,  my  lord,  what  shall  we  do,  if  we  per- 
ceive 
Lord  Hastings  will  not  yield  to  our  complots? 
Gloster. 
Chop  off  his  head,  man  ;— somewhat  we  will 
do:  — 
And,  look,  when  I  am  king,  claim  thou  of  me 
The  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  all  the  moveables 
Whereof  the  king,  my  brother,  was  possess'd. 
Buckingham. 
I'll  claim  that  promise  at  your  grace's  hand. 

Gloster. 
And  look  to  have  It  yielded  with  all  kindness. 
Come,  let  us  sup  betimes,  that  afterwards 
We  may  digest  our  complots  in  some  form. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Before  Lord  Hastings'  House. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
My  lord !  my  lord !—  [Knocking. 

Hastings.  [Within. 

Who  knocks? 

Messenger. 
One  from  the  lord  Stanley. 

Hastings.  [Within. 

What  is't  o'clock  ? 

Messenger. 
Upon  the  stroke  of  four. 

Enter  Hastings- 
Hastings. 
Cannot  my  lord  Stanley  sleep  these  tedious 
nights  ? 

Messenger. 
So  it  appears  by  that  I  have  to  say. 
First,  he  commends  him  to  your  noble  self. 
Hastings. 
What  then  ? 

Messenger. 
Then  certifies  your  lordship,  that  this  night 
He  dreamt  the  boar  had  rased  off  his  helm  : 
Besides,  he  says,  there  are  two  councils  kept; 
And  that  may  be  determin'd  at  the  one. 
Which  may  make  you  and  him  to  rue  at  th' 

other. 
Therefore,  he  sends  to  know  your  lordship's 

pleasure,— 
If  you  will  presently  take  horse  with  him, 


And  with  all  speed  post  with  him  toward  the 

north, 
To  shun  the  danger  that  his  soul  divines. 
Hastings. 
Go,  fellow,  go  ;  return  unto  thy  lord. 
Bid  him  not  fear  the  separated  council ; 
His  honour  and  myself  are  at  the  one, 
And  at  the  other  is  my  good  friend  Catesby  ; 
Where  nothing  can  proceed  that  toucheth  us, 
Whereof  I  shall  not  have  intelligence. 
Tell  him,  his  fears  are  shallow,  without  in- 
stance : 
And  for  his  dreams — I  wonder  he's  so  simple 
To  trust  the  mockery  of  unquiet  slumbers. 
To  fly  the  boar,  before  the  boar  pursues, 
Were  to  incense  the  boar  to  follow  us, 
And  make  pursuit,  where  he  did  mean  no  chase. 
Go,  bid  thy  master  rise  and  come  to  me  ; 
And  we  will  both  together  to  the  Tower, 
Where,  he  shall  see,  the  boar  will  use  us  kindly. 
Messenger. 
I'll  go,  my  lord,  and  tell  him  what  you  say. 

[Exit. 
Enter  Catesby. 

Catesby. 
Many  good  morrows  to  my  noble  lord  ! 

Hastings. 
Good  morrow,  Catesby :   you  are  early  stir- 
ring, [state  ? 
What  news,  what  news,  in  this  our  tottering 
Catesby. 
It  is  a  reeling  world,  indeed,  my  lord  ; 
And,  I  believe,  will  never  stand  upright, 
Till  Richard  wear  the  garland  of  the  realm. 
Hastings. 
How  !  wear  the  garland  1  dost  thou  mean  the 
crown  ? 

Catesby. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Hastings. 
I'll  have  this  crown  of  mine  cut  from  my 
shoulders, 
Before  I'll  see  the  crown  so  foul  misplac'd. 
But  canst  thou  guess  that  he  doth  aim  at  it  ? 

Catesby. 

Ay,  on  my  life ;  and  hopes  to  find  you  for- 
Upon  his  party  for  the  gain  thereof :  [ward 

And  thereupon  he  sends  you  this  good  news, — 
That  this  same  very  day  your  enemies, 
The  kindred  of  the  queen,  must  die  at  Pom/ret. 
Hastings. 

Indeed,  I  am  no  mourner  for  that  news, 
Because  they  have  been  still  my  adversaries  ; 
But,  that  I'll  give  my  voice  on  Richard's  side, 
To  bar  my  master's  heirs  in  true  descent, 
God  knows,  1  will  not  do  it,  to  the  death. 

Catesby. 
God  keep  your  lordship  in  that  gracious  mind. 

Hastings. 
But  I  shall   laugh  at  this  a  twelve-month 
hence, 
That  they  which  brought  me  in  my  master's 
I  live  to  look  upon  their  tragedy.  [hate, 

Well,  Catesby,  ere  a  fortnight  make  me  older, 
I'll  send  some  packing  that  yet  think  not  on't. 
Cutesby. 
'Tis  a  vile  thing  to  die,  my  gracious  lord, 
When  men  are  unprepar'd,  and  look  not  for  it. 
Hastings. 
O  monstrous,  monstrous  !  and  so  falls  it  out 
With  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey  ;  and  so  'twill  do 

With 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


KING  RICHARD  m. 


639 


With  tome  men  else,  who  think  themselves  as, 

safe 
As  thou,  and  I ;  who,  as  thou  know'st,  are  dear  , 
To  princely  Richard,  and  to  Buckingham. 

The  princes  both  make  high  account  of  you  ;  — 
For  they  account  his  head  upon  the  bridge. 

DVside.  ' 
igs. 
I  know  they  do,  and  1  hare  well  deserv'd  it. 

Enter  Stanley. 

Come  on,  come  on  ;  where  is  your  boar-spear, 

man  ? 
Fear  you  the  boar,  and  go  so  unprovided  ? 

Stanley. 
My    lord,    good    morrow  :  —  good    morrow, 
Catesby. — 
You  may  jest  on,  but,  by  the  holy  rood, 
I  do  not  like  these  several  councils,  I. 

Hastings. 
My  lord,  I  hold  my  life  as  dear  as  yours  ; 
And  never,  in  my  days,  I  do  protest, 
Was  it  so  precious  to  me  as  'tis  now. 
Think  you,  but  that  I  know  our  state  secure, 
I  would  be  so  triumphant  as  1  am  ? 

Stanley. 
The  lords  at  Pom/ret,  when  they  rode  from 
London, 
Were  jocund,  and  suppos'd  their  states  were 

sure. 
And  they,  indeed,  had  no  cause  to  mistrust ; 
But  yet,  you  see,  how  soon  the  day  o'er-cast : 
This  sudden  stab  of  rancour  I  misdoubt. 
Pray  God,  I  say,  1  prove  a  needless  coward  ! 
What,  shall  we  toward  the  Tower?  the  day  is 
spent. 

Hastings. 
Come,  come,  have  with  you. — Wot  you  what, 
my  lord  ? 
To-day,  the  lords  you  talk  of  are  beheaded. 

Stanley. 
They  for  their  truth  might  better  wear  their 
heads, 
Than  some  that  have  accus'd  them  wear  their 
But  come,  my  lord,  let's  away.  [hats. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 

Hastings. 
Go  on  before ;  I'll  talk  with  this  good  fellow, 
[Exeunt  Stanley  and  Catesby. 
How  now,  sirrah  !  how  goes  the  world  with 
thee? 

Pursuivant. 
The  better,  that  your  lordship  please  to  ask. 

Hastings. 
I  tell  thee,  man,  'tis  better  with  me  now, 
Than  when  thou  inet'kt  me  last,  where  now  we 

meet: 
Then,  was  I  going  prisoner  to  the  Tower, 
By  the  suggestion  of  the  queen's  allies  ; 
But  now,  1  tell  thee,  (keep  it  to  thyself) 
This  day  those  enemies  are  put  to  death, 
And  I  in  better  state  than  ere  1  was. 

Pursuivant. 
God  hold  it,  to  your  honour's  good  content. 

Hastings. 
Gramercy,  fellow.    There,  drink  that  for  me. 
[Throwing  him  his  Purse. 

.  Pursuivant. 

I  thank  your  honour.  [Exit  Pursuivant. 


Enter  a  Priest. 
Well  met,  my  lord ;  I  am  glad  to  see  your 


honour. 


llasti 


I  thank  thee,  good  sir  John,  with  all  my  heart. 
I  am  in  your  debt  for  your  last  exercise  ; 
Come  the  next  Sabbath,  and  I  will  content  you. 
Priest. 

I'll  wait  upon  your  lordship. 

Enter  Buckingham 
Buckingham. 
What,  talking  with  a  priest,  lord  chamber- 
lain !  [priest  : 

Your  friends  at  Pom/ret,  they  do   need    the 
Your  honour  hath  no  shriving  work  in  hand. 
Hastings. 
'Good  faith,  and  when  I  met  this  holy  man, 
The  men  you  talk  of  came  into  my  mind. 
What,  go  you  toward  the  Tower  f 
Buckingham. 
1  do,  my  lord  ;  but  long  I  cannot  stay  there : 
I  shall  return  before  your  lordship  thence. 
Hastings. 
Nay,  like  enough,  for  I  stay  dinner  there. 

Buckingham. 
And  supper  too,  although  thou  know'st  it 
not.  [Aside. 

Come,  will  you  go? 

Hastings. 

I'll  wait  upon  your  lordship, 
[Exeunt? 

SCENE  III.    Pomfrei.    Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  Ratcliff,  with  a  Guard,  conducting  Rivers.  ! 
Grey,  and  f'aughan,  to  Execution. 
Rivers. 
Sir  Richard  Ratcliff',  let  me  tell  thee  this :  — 
To-day  shalt  thou  behold  a  subject  die 
For  truth,  for  duty,  and  for  loyalty. 
Grey. 
God  bless  the  prince  from  all  the  pack  of  you  1 
A  knot  you  are  of  damned  blood-suckers. 
Yaughan . 
You  live,  that  shall  cry  woe  for  this  here- 
after. 

Ratcliff. 
Despatch :  the  limit  of  your  lives  is  out. 

Rivers. 
O  Pom/ret,  Pom/ret !  O,  thou  bloody  prison, 
Fatal  and  ominous  to  noble  peers  ! 
Within  the  guilty  closure  of  thy  walls, 
Richard  the  Second  here  was  hack'd  to  death  : 
And,  for  more  slander  to  thy  dismal  seat, 
We  give  to  thee  our  guiltless  blood  to  drink. 
Grey. 
Now,   Margaret's  curse  is  fallen   upon  our 
heads, 
When  she  exclaim'd  on  Hastings,  you,  and  I, 
For  standing  by  when  Richard  stabb'd  her  son. 
Rivers 
Then  curs'd  she  Richard,  then    curs'd  she 
Buckingham, 
Then  curs'd  she  Hastings  :— O,  remember,  God, 
To  hear  her  prayer  for  them,  as  now  for  us  I 
And  for  my  sister,  and  her  princely  sons, 
Be  satisfied,  dear  God,  with  our  true  blood, 
Which,  as  thou  know'st,  unjustly  must  be  spilt ! 
Ratcliff. 
Make  haste  :  the  hour  of  death  is  expiate. 

Rivers. 


64-0 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  in.  Sc.  in. 


Rivera. 
Come,  Grey,  —  come,  Vaughan  ;  — let  us  here 
embrace ; 
Farewell,  until  we  meet  again  in  heaven. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Room  in  the 
Tower. 

Buckingham,  Stanley,  Hastings,  the  Bishop  of 
Ely,  Catesby,  hovel,  and  others,  sitting  at  a 
Table :  Officers  of  the  Council  attending. 

Hastings. 
Now,  noble  peers,  the  cause  why  we  are  met 
Is  to  determine  of  the  coronation  : 
In  God's  name,  speak,  when  is  this  royal  day  ? 
Buckingham. 
Are  all  things  ready  for  the  royal  time  ? 

Stanley. 
They  are;  and  want  but  nomination. 

Ely. 
To-morrow,  then,  1  judge  a  happy  day. 

Buckingham. 

Who  knows  the  lord  protector's  mind  herein  ? 

Who  is  most  inward  with  the  noble  duke  ? 

Ely. 

Your  grace,  we  think,  should  soonest  know 

his  mind. 

Buckingham. 
We  know  each  other's  faces  ;  for  our  hearts, 
He  knows  no  more  of  mine,  than  I  of  jours  ; 
Nor  I  of  his,  my  lord,  than  you  of  mine. 
Lord  Hastings,  you  and  he  are  near  in  love, 

Hastings. 
I  thank  his  grace,  I  know  he  loves  me  well ; 
But  for  his  purpose  in  the  coronation, 
I  have  not  sounded  him,  nor  he  deliver'd 
His  gracious  pleasure  any  way  therein  :    [time ; 
But  yon,  mv  honourable  lords,  may  name  the 
And  in  the  duke's  behalf  I'll  give  my  voice, 
Which,  I  presume,  he'll  take  in  gentle  part. 

Enter  Gloster, 

Ely. 

In  happy  time  here  comes  the  duke  himself. 

Gloster. 
My  noble  lords  and  cousins,  all,  good  morrow. 
I  have  been  long  a  sleeper ;  but,  1  trust, 
My  absence  doth  neglect  no  great  design, 
Which  by  my  presence  might  have  been  con- 
cluded. 

Buckingham. 

Had  you  not  come  upon  your  cue,  mv  lord, 

William  lord  Hastings  had   pronounc'd    your 

part, 
I  mean,  your  voice,  for  crowning  of  the  king. 

Gloster. 
Than  my  lord  Hastings,  no  man  might  be 
bolder : 
His  lordship  knows  me  well,  and  loves  me  well. 
My  lord  of  Ely,  when  I  was  last  in  Holborn, 
1  saw  good  strawberries  in  your  garden  there  ; 
I  do  beseech  you,  send  for  some  of  them. 

Ely. 
Marry,  and  will,  my  lord,  with  all  my  heart. 

Gloster. 
Cousin  of  Buckingham,  a  word  with  you.. 

[Takes  him  aside. 
Catesby  hath  sounded  Hastings  in  our  business, 
And  finds  the  testy  gentleman  so  hot, 


That  he  will  lose  his  head,  ere  give  consent, 
His  master's  child,  as  worshipfully  he  terms  it, 
Shall  lose  the  royalty  of  England's  throne. 
Buckingham. 
Withdraw  yourself  awhile:  I'll  go  with  you. 
[Exeunt  Gloster  una  Buckingham. 

Stanley. 
We  have  not  yet  set  down  this  day  of  triumph. 
To-morrow,  in  my  judgment,  is  too  sudden ; 
,  For  I  myself  am  not  so  well  provided, 
I  As  else  1  would  be  were  the  day  prolong'd. 

Re-enter  Bishop  of  Ely. 
Ely. 
Where  is  my  lord,  the  duke  of  Gloster? 
I  have  sent  for  these  strawberries. 
Hastings. 
His  grace  looks  cheerfully  and  smooth  this 
morning. 
There's  some  conceit  or  other  likes  him  well, 
When  that  he  bids  good  morrow  with  such 

spirit. 
I  think,  there's  never  a  man  in  Christendom 
!  Can  lesser  hide  his  love,  or  hate,  than  he; 
For  by  his  face  straight  shall  you  know  his  heart. 
Stanley. 
What  of  his  heart  perceive  you  in  his  face, 
By  any  livelihood  be  show'd  to-day  ? 
Hastings. 
Marry,  that  with  no  man  here  is  he  offended ; 
For,  were  he,  he  had  shown  it  in  his  looks. 

Re-enter  Gloster  and  Buckingham 

Gloster. 
I  pray  you  all,  tell  me  what  they  deserve. 
That  do  conspire  my  death  with  devilish  plots 
Of  damned  witchcraft  ?  and  that  have  prevail'd 
!  Upon  my  body  with  their  hellish  charms  ? 

Hastings. 
!     The  tender  love  I  bear  your  grace,  my  lord, 
Makes  me  most  forward  in  this  princely  presence 
i  To  doom  th'  offenders:  whosoe'er  they  be, 
i  I  say,  my  lord,  they  have  deserved  death. 

Gloster. 
!     Then,  be  your  eyes  the  witness  of  their  evil. 
Look  how  1  am  bewitch'd ;  behold  mine  arm 
Is  like  a  blasted  sapling  wither'd  up: 
And  this  is  Edward 'swife,  that  monstrous  witch, 
Consorted  with  that  harlot,  strumpet  Shore, 
That  by  their  witchcraft  thus  have  marked  me. 
Hastings. 
If  they  have  done  this  deed,  my  noble  lord,— 

Gloster. 
If!  thou  protector  of  this  damned  strumpet, 
Talk'st  thou  to  meof  ifs  ?— Thou  art  a  traitor:— 
Off  with  his  head !  — now,  by  Saint  Paul  I  swear, 
I  I  will  not  dine  until  1  see  the  same.— 
|  I.ovel,  and  Ratcliff,  look  that  it  be  done: 
'  The  rest,  that  love  me,  rise  and  follow  me. 
!         [Exeunt  Council,  with  Gloster  and  Buck- 
mg/tam. 

Hastings 
Woe,  woe,  for  England!  not  a  whit  for  me; 
For  1,  too  fond,  might  have  prevented  this. 
Stanley  did  dream  the  boar  did  rase  his  helm ; 
And  1  did  scorn  it,  and  disdain'd  to  fly. 
Three  times  to-day  my  foot-cloth    horse  did 

stumble. 
And  started  when  he  look'd  upon  the  Tower, 
As  loath  to  bear  me  to  the  slaughter-house. 
i  O !  now  I  need  the  priest  that  spake  to  me: 
I  I  now  repent  I  told  the  pursuivant, 
As  too  triumphing,  how  mine  enemies, 
To-day  at  Pom/ret  bloodily  were  butcher'd, 

And 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


64. 


And  I  myielf  secure  in  grace  and  favour. 
O,  Margaret,  Margaret!  now  thy  heavy  curie 
Is  lighted  on  poor  Hastings'  wretched  head. 
Ratcllff. 
Come,  come ;  despatch,  the  duke  would  be  at 
dinner: 
Make  a  short  shrift ;  he  longs  to  see  your  head. 
•i:>gs. 
O,  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men  I 
Which  we  more  hunt  for  than  the  grace  of  God 
Who  builds  his  hope  in  air  of  your  good  looks, 
Lives  like  a  drunken  sailor  on  a  mast; 
Ready  with  every  nod  to  tumble  down 
Into  the  fatal  bowels  of  the  deep. 
Lovel. 
Come,  come,  despatch:   'tis  bootless  to  ex- 
claim. 

Hastings. 
O,  bloody  Richard!— miserable  England! 
I  prophesy  the  fearfull'st  time  to  thee, 
That  ever  wretched  age  hath  look'd  upon. 
Come,  load  me  to  the  block ;  bear  him  my  head : 
They  smile  at  me.  who  shortly  shall  be  dead. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.     The  same.     The  Tower  Walls. 

Enter  Gloster  and  Buckingham,  in  rusty 
armour,  marvellous  ill-favoured. 
Gloster. 
Come,  cousin,  canst  thou  quake,  and  change 
thy  colour, 
Murder  thy  breath  in  middle  of  a  word, 
And  then  again  begin,  and  stop  again, 
As  if  thou  wert  distraught,  and  mad  with  terror  ? 
Buckingham. 
Tut  1  I  can  counterfeit  the  deep  tragedian ; 
Speak  and  look  back,  and  pry  on  every  side, 
Tremble  and  start  at  wagging  of  a  straw, 
Intending  deep  suspicion  :  ghastly  looks 
Are  at  my  service,  like  enforced  smiles  ; 
And  both  are  ready  in  their  offices, 
At  any  time  to  grace  my  stratagems. 
But  what !  is  Catesby  gone? 
Gloster. 
He  is ;  and,  see,  he  brings  the  mayor  along. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Catesby. 
Buckingham. 
Lord  mayor,— 

Gloster. 
Look  to  the  drawbridge  there ! 
Buckingham. 

Hark !  a  drum. 
Gloster. 
Catesby,  o'erlook  the  walls. 
Buckingham. 
Lord  mayor,  the  reason  we  have  sent,— 

Gloster. 
Look  back,  defend  thee :  here  are  enemies. 

Buckingham. 
God  and  our  innocency  defend  and  guard  us  I 

Enter  Lovel  aud  Ratcltfl  with  Hastings*  Head. 
Gloster. 
Be  patient,  they  are  friends;    Ratcliff",  and 
Loud. 

Lovel. 

Here  is  the  head  of  that  ignoble  traitor, 

The  dangerous  and  unsuspected  Hastings. 

Gloster. 

So  dear  I  lov'd  the  man,  that  I  must  weep. 

I  took  him  for  the  plainest  harmless  creature, 


That  breath'd  upon  the  earth  a  Christian  ; 
Made  him  my  book,  wherein  my  soul  recorded 
1  The  history  of  all  her  secret  thoughts : 
So  smooth  he  daub'd  his  vice  with  show  of  virtue, 
I  That,  his  apparent  open  guilt  omitted, 
I  mean  his  conversation  with  Shore's  wife. 
He  liv'd  from  all  attainder  of  suspects. 
Buckingham. 

Well,   well,  he  was  the  covert'st  shelter'd 
That  ever  liv'd.—  [traitor 

Would  you  imagine,  or  almost  believe, 
Were't  not  that  by  great  preservation 
We  live  to  tell  it,  that  the  subtle  traitor 
This  day  had  plotted,  in  the  council  house. 
To  murder  me,  and  ray  good  lord  of  Gloster  ? 
Mayor. 

Had  he  done  so  ? 

Gloster. 

What !  think  you  we  are  Turks,  or  infidels  ? 
Or  that  we  would,  against  the  form  of  law, 
Proceed  thus  rashly  in  the  villain's  death, 
But  that  the  extreme  peril  of  the  case, 
The  peace  of  England,  and  our  persons'  safety, 
Enforc'd  us  to  this  execution? 
Mayor. 

Now,  fair  befal  you  1  ne  deserv'd  his  death ; 
And  your  good  graces  both  have  well  proceeded, 
To  warn  false  traitors  from  the  like  attempts. 
Buckingham. 

I  never  look'd  for  better  at  his  hands, 
After  he  once  fell  in  with  mistress  Shore ; 
Yet  had  we  not  determin'd  he  should  die, 
Until  your  lordship  came  to  see  his  end ; 
W7hich  now  the  loving  haste  of  these  our  friends, 
Something  against  our  meanings,  hath  prevented: 
Because,  my  lord,  I  would  have  had  you  heard 
The  traitor  speak,  and  timorously  confess 
The  manner  and  the  purpose  of  his  treasons ; 
That  you  might  well  have  signified  the  same 
Unto  the  citizens,  who,  haply,  may 
Misconstrue  us  in  him,  and  wail  his  death. 
Mayor. 

But,  my  good  lord,  your  grace's  words  shall 
serve, 
As  well  as  I  had  seen,  and  heard  him  speak: 
And  do  not  doubt,  right  noble  princes  both, 
But  I'll  acquaint  our  duteous  citizens 
With  all  your  just  proceedings  in  this  case. 
Gloster. 

And  to  that  end  we  wish'd  your  lordship  here, 
To  avoid  the  censures  of  the  carping  world. 
Buckingham. 

But  since  you  come  too  late  of  our  intent, 
Yet  witness  what  you  hear  we  did  intend : 
And  so,  my  good  lord  mayor,  we  bid  farewell. 
[Exit  Lord  Mayor. 
Gloster. 

Go,  after,  after,  cousin  Buckingham,      [post: 
The  mayor  towards  Guildhall  hies  him  in  all 
There,  at  your  meetest  vantage  of  the  time, 
Infer  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  children: 
Tell  them,  how  Edward  put  to  death  a  citizen, 
Only  for  saying — he  would  make  his  son 
Heir  to  the  crown ;  meaning,  indeed,  his  house, 
Which  by  the  sign  thereof  was  termed  so. 
Moreover,  urge  his  hateful  luxury, 
And  bestial  appetite  in  change  of  lust ;     [wives. 
Which  stretch'd  unto  their  servants,  daughters, 
Even  where  his  raging  eye,  or  savage  heart, 
Without  controul  lusted  to  make  a  prey. 
Nay,  for  a  need,  thus  far  come  near  my  person : 
Tell  them,  when  that  my  mother  went  with  child 
Of  that  insatiate  Edward,  noble  York, 
My  princely  father,  then  had  wars  in  France ; 
T  t  And 


i  64* 


KING  RICHARD  ILL 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


And  by  true  computation  of  the  time, 
Found  that  the  issue  was  not  his  begot ; 
Which  well  appeared  in  his  lineaments, 
Being  nothing  like  the  noble  duke  my  father. 
Yet  touch  this  sparingly,  as  'twere  far  off; 
Because,  my  lord,  you  know,  ray  mother  lives. 
Buckingham. 
Doubt  not,  my  lord,  I'll  play  the  orator, 
As  if  the  golden  fee,  for  which  I  plead, 
Were  for  myself:  and  so,  my  lord,  adieu. 
Gloster 
If  you  thrive  well,  bring  them  to  Baynard's 
castle  ; 
Where  you  shall  find  me  well  accompanied, 
With  reverend  fathers,  and  well-learned  bishops. 
Buckingham. 
I  go ;  and,  towards  three  or  four  o'clock, 
Look  for  the  news  that  the  Guildhall  affords. 
[Exit  Buckingham . 
Gloster. 
Go,  Lovel,  with  all  speed  to  doctor  Shaw, — 
Go  thou  [To  Catesby]  to  friar  Penkeri  —  bid 

them  both 
Meet  me  within  this  hour  at  Baynard's  castle. 

[Exeunt  Lovel  and  Catesby. 
Now  will  I  go,  to  take  some  privy  order, 
To  draw  the  brats  of  Clarence  out  of  sight  •, 
And  to  give  order,  that  no  manner  person 
Have  any  time  recourse  unto  the  princes.  [Exit. 

SCENE  VI.    A  Street. 
Enter  a  Scrivener. 
Scrivener. 
Here   Is   the   indictment  of  the  good   lord 
Hastings  ; 
Which  in  a  set  hand  fairly  is  engross'd, 
That  it  may  be  to-day  reaa  o'er  in  Paul's : 
And  mark  how  well  the  sequel  hangs  together. 
Eleven  hours  I  have  spent  to  write  it  over, 
For  yesternight  by  Catesby  was  it  sent  me. 
The  precedent  was  full  as  long  a  doing ; 
And  yet  within  these  five  hours  Hastings  liv'd, 
Untainted,  unexamin'd,  free,  at  liberty. 
Here's  a  good  world  the  while!  —  Who  is  so 
That  cannot  see  this  palpable  device  ?       [gross, 
Yet  who  so  bold,  but  says  he  sees  it  not  ? 
Bad  is  the  world ;  and  all  will  come  to  nought, 
When  such  ill  dealing  must  be  seen  in  thought. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  VII.    The  same.    The  Court  of 
Baynard's  Castle. 

Enter  Gloster  at  one  door,  and  Bukingham  at 

another. 

Gloster. 

How  now,  how  now !  what  say  the  citizens  ? 

Buckingham. 
Now  by  the  holy  Mother  of  our  Lord, 
The  citizens  are  mum,  say  not  a  word. 
Gloster. 
Touch'd  you  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  chil- 
dren? 

Buckingham. 
I  did;  with  his  contract  with  Lady  Lucy, 
And  his  contract  by  deputy  in  France : 
The  insatiate  greediness  of  his  desires, 
And  his  enforcement  of  the  city  wives ; 
His  tyranny  for  trifles ;  his  own  bastardy, 
As  being  got,  your  father  then  in  France; 
And  his  resemblance,  being  not  like  the  duke. 
Withal  I  did  infer  your  lineaments, 
Being  the  right  idea  of  your  father, 


j  Both  in  your  form  and  nobleness  of  mind : 
t  Laid  open  all  your  victories  in  Scotland, 
:  Your  discipline  in  war,  wisdom  in  peace, 

Your  bounty,  virtue,  fair  humility; 
!  Indeed,  left  nothing  fitting  for  your  purpose 
Untouch 'd,  or  slightly  handled  in  discourse : 
And,  when  my  oratory  drew  toward  end, 
1  bade  them  that  did  love  their  country's  good. 
Cry — "  God   save   Richard,  England's    royal 
king!" 

Gloster. 
And  did  they  so  ? 

Buckingham. 
No,  so  God  help  me,  they  spake  not  a  word ; 
;  But,  like  dumb  statues,  or  breathing  stones, 
j  Star'd  each  on  other,  and  look'd  deadly  pale. 
j  Which  when  I  saw,  1  reprehended  them, 
j  And  ask'd  the  mayor,  what  meant  this  wilful 

silence? 
i  His  answer  was,  the  people  were  not  us'd 
•  To  be  spoke  to,  but  by  the  recorder. 
i  Then,  he  was  urg'd  to  tell  my  tale  again : — 
!  "  Thus  saith  the  duke,  thus  hath  the  duke  in- 

ferr'd ;" 
;  But  nothing  spoke  in  warrant  from  himself. 

When  he  had  done,  some  followers  of  mine  own, 
\  At  lower  end  of  the  hall,  hurl'd  up  their  caps, 
!  And  some  ten  voices  cried,  "  God  save  king 
Richard!" 
And  thus  I  took  the  vantage  of  those  few, — 
"  Thanks, gei.tle  citizens, and  friends,"  quoth  I; 
•*  This  general  applause,  and  cheerful  shout, 
Argues  your  wisdom,  and  your  love  to  Richard ; " 
And  even  here  brake  off,  and  came  away. 
Gloster. 
What  tongueless  blocks  were  they !   would 
they  not  speak  ? 
j  Will  not  the  mayor,  then,  and  his  brethren 
come? 

Buckingham. 
!      The  mayor  is  here  at  hand.     Intend  some 

fear; 
!  Be  not  you  spoke  with,  but  by  mighty  suit : 
I  And  look  you  get  a  prayer-book  in  your  hand, 
i  And  stand  between  two  churchmen,  good  my 

lord; 
!  For  on  that  ground  I'll  make  a  holy  descant : 
!  And  be  not  easily  won  to  our  requests ;  [it. 

1  Play  the  maid's  part,  still  answer  nay,  and  take 
Gloster. 
I  go  ;  and  if  you  plead  as  well  for  them, 
As  1  can  say  nay  to  thee  for  myself, 
No  doubt  we  bring  it  to  a  happy  issue. 
Buckingham. 
Go,  go,  up  to  the  leads  !  the  lord  mayor  knocks. 
[Exit  Gloster. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor,  Aldermen,  and  Citizens. 
Welcome,  my  lordi  I  dance  attendance  here ; 
I  think  the  duke  will  not  be  spoke  withal. 

Enter  from  the  Castle,  Catesby. 
Now,  Catesby!  what  says  your  lord  to  my  re- 
quest ? 

Catesby. 
He  doth  entreat  your  grace,  my  noble  lord, 
To  visit  him  to-morrow,  or  next  day. 
He  is  within,  with  two  right  reverend  fathers, 
Divinely  bent  to  meditation ; 
And  in  no  worldly  suits  would  he  be  mov'd, 
To  draw  him  from  his  holy  exercise. 
Buckingham. 
Return,  good  Catesby,  to  the  gracious  duke : 
Tell  him,  myself,  the  mayor,  and  aldermen, 
In  deep  designs,  in  matter  of  great  moment, 

No 


I... 


Act  hi.  Sc  vii. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


643 


No  less  Importing  than  our  general  good, 
Are  come  to  have  tome  conference  with  his 
grace. 

Catesby. 
I'll  signify  so  much  unto  him  straight.  [Exit. 

Backlngfeam. 
Ah,  ha !  my  lord,  this  prince  Is  not  an  Edward: 
He  is  not  lulling  on  a  lewd  love-bed, 
But  on  his  knees  at  meditation ; 
Not  dallying  with  a  brace  of  courtezans, 
But  meditating  with  two  deep  divines ; 
Not  sleeping  to  engross  his  idle  body, 
But  praying  to  enrich  his  watchful  soul. 
Happy  were  England,  would  this  virtuous  prince 
Take  on  his  grace  the  sovereignty  thereof; 
But,  sure,  I  fear,  we  shall  not  win  him  to  it. 
Mayor. 
Marry,  God  defend  his  grace  should  say  us 
nay  I 

Buckingham. 
I  fear,  he  will.    Here  Catesby  comes  again.— 

Re-enter  Catesby. 
Now  Catesby,  what  says  his  grace? 
Catesby. 
He  wonders  to  what  end  you  have  assembled 
Such  troops  of  citizeus  to  come  to  him : 
His  grace  not  being  warn'd  thereof  before, 
He  fears,  my  lord,  you  mean  no  good  to  him. 
Buckingham. 
Sorry  I  am,  my  noble  cousin  should 
Suspect  me,  that  I  mean  no  good  to  him  : 
By  heaven,  we  come  to  him  in  perfect  love ; 
And  so  once  more  return,  and  tell  his  grace. 

[Exit  Catesby. 
When  holy,  and  devout  religious  men 
Are  at  their  beads,  'tis  much  to  draw  them  thence ; 
So  sweet  is  zealous  contemplation. 

Enter  Cluster.  In  a  Gallery  above,  between  two 
Bishops.    Catesby  returns. 
Mayor. 
See  where  his  grace  stands  'tween  two  clergy- 
men 1 

Buckingham. 
Two  props  of  virtue  for  a  Christian  prince, 
To  stay  him  from  the  fall  of  vanity ; 
And,  see,  a  book  of  prayer  in  his  hand  ; 

True  ornaments  to  know  a  holy  man 

Famous  Plantagenet,  most  gracious  prince, 
Lend  favourable  ear  to  our  requests, 
And  pardon  us  the  interruption 
Of  thy  devotion,  and  right-christian  zeal. 
Gloster. 
My  lord,  there  needs  no  such  apology ; 
I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me, 
Who,  earnest  in  the  service  of  my  God, 
Deferr'd  the  visitation  of  my  friends. 
But,  leaving  this,  what  is  your  grace's  pleasure? 
Buckingham. 
Even  that,  I  hope,  which  pleaseth  God  above, 
And  all  good  men  of  this  ungovern'd  isle. 
Gloster. 
I  do  suspect,  I  have  done  some  offence, 
That  seems  disgracious  in  the  city's  eye ; 
And  that  you  come  to  reprehend  my  ignorance. 
Buckingham. 
You  have,  my  lord:  would  it  might  please 
your  grace, 
On  our  entreaties  to  amend  your  fault. 
Gloster. 
Else  wherefore  breathe  I  in  a  Christian  land  ? 

Buckingham. 
Know  then,  it  is  your  fault  that  you  resign 


The  supreme  leat,  the  throne  majcstlcal, 

The  scepter'd  office  of  your  ancestors, 

Vour  state  of  fortune,  and  your  due  of  birth, 

The  lineal  glory  of  your  royal  house. 

To  the  corruption  of  a  blemish'd  stock  ; 

Whiles,  In  the  mildness  of  your  sleepy  thoughts. 

Which  here  we  waken  to  our  country's  good, 

This  noble  isle  doth  want  her  proper  limbs  ; 

Her  face  defae'd  with  scars  of  infamy, 

Her  royal  stock  graft  with  ignoble  plants. 

And  almost  shoulder'd  in  the  swallowing  gulf 

Of  dark  forgetfulness.  and  deep  oblivion. 

Which  to  recure,  we  heartily  solicit 

Your  gracious  self  to  take  on  you  the  charge 

And  kingly  government  of  this  your  land: 

Not  as  protector,  steward,  substitute, 

Or  lowly  factor  for  another's  gain  ; 

But  as  successively  from  blood  to  blood, 

Your  right  of  birth,  your  empery,  your  own. 

For  this,  consorted  with  the  citizens, 

Your  very  worshipful  and  loving  friends, 

And  by  their  vehement  instigation, 

In  this  just  cause  come  I  to  move  your  grace. 

Gloster. 

I  cannot  tell,  if  to  depait  in  silence, 
Or  bitterly  to  speak  in  your  reproof, 
Best  fitteth  my  degree, "or  jour  condition: 
If,  not  to  answer,— you  might  haply  think, 
Tongue-tied  ambition,  not  replying,  yielded 
To  bear  the  golden  yoke  of  sovereignty, 
Which  fondly  you  would  here  impose  on  me: 
If  to  reprove  you  for  this  suit  of  yours, 
So  season'd  with  your  faithful  love  to  me, 
Then,  on  the  other  side,  I  check'd  my  friends. 
Therefore,  to  speak,  and  to  avoid  the  first, 
And  then,  in  speaking,  not  to  incur  the  last, 
Definitively  thus  I  answer  you. 
Your  love  deserves  my  thanks ;  but  my  desert, 
Unmeritable,  shuns  your  high  request. 
First,  if  all  obstacles  were  cut  away, 
And  that  my  path  were  even  to  the  crown, 
As  the  ripe  revenue  and  due  of  birth  ; 
Yet  so  much  is  my  poverty  of  spirit, 
So  mighty,  and  so  many,  my  defects, 
That  I  would  rather  hide  me  from  my  greatness, 
Being  a  bark  to  brook  no  mighty  sea, 
Than  in  my  greatness  covet  to  be  hid, 
And  in  the  vapour  of  my  glory  smother'd. 
But,  God  be  thank'd,  there  is  no  need  of  me; 
And  much  I  need  to  help  you,  were  there  need  ; 
The  royal  tree  hath  left  us  royal  fruit, 
Which,  mellow'd  by  the  stealing  hours  of  time, 
Will  well  become  the  seat  of  majesty, 
And  make,  no  doubt,  us  happy  by  his  reign. 
On  him  I  lay  that  you  would  lay  on  me, 
The  right  and  fortune  of  his  happy  stars  ; 
Which  God  defend  that  I  should  wring  from 
him! 

Buckingham. 

My  lord,  this  argues  conscience  in  your  grace; 
But  the  respects  thereof  are  nice  and  trivial, 
All  circumstances  well  considered. 
You  say,  that  Edward  is  your  brother's  son  : 
So  say  we  too,  but  not  by  Edward's  wife ; 
For  first  was  he  contract  to  lady  Lucy  ; 
Your  mother  lives  a  witness  to  his  vow: 
And  afterward  by  substitute  betroth'd 
To  Bona,  sister  to  the  king  of  France. 
These  both  put  off,  a  poor  petitioner, 
A  care-craz'd  mother  to  a  many  sons, 
A  beauty- waning  and  distressed  widow, 
Even  in  the  afternoon  of  her  best  days, 
Made  prize  and  purchase  of  his  wanton  eye, 
Seduc'd  the  pitch  and  height  of  his  degree 
To  base  declension  and  loath'd  bigamy. 
By  her,  in  his  unlawful  bed,  he  got 

This 


644 


KING  RICHARD  III 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vii. 


This  Edward,  whom  our  manners  call  the  prince. 
More  bitterly  could  I  expostulate, 
Save  that,  for  reverence  to  some  alive, 
1  give  a  sparing  limit  to  my  tongue. 
Then,  good  my  lord,  take  to  your  royal  self 
This  proffer'd  benefit  of  dignity ; 
If  not  to  bless  us  and  the  land  withal, 
Yet  to  draw  forth  your  noble  ancestry 
From  the  corruption  of  abusing  times, 
Unto  a  lineal  true-derived  course. 
Mayor. 
Do,  good  my  lord ;  your  citizens  entreat  you. 

Buckingham. 
Refuse  not,  mighty  lord,  this  proffer'd  love. 

Oatesby. 
0 1   make  them  joyful :   grant  their  lawful 
suit. 

Gloster. 
Alas  !  why  would  you  heap  this  care  on  me  ? 
I  am  unfit  for  state  and  majesty : 
I  do  beseech  you,  take  it  not  amiss ; 
I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  yield  to  you. 
Buckingham. 
If  you  refuse  it, — as  in  love  and  zeal, 
Loath  to  depose  the  child,  your  brother's  son ; 
As  well  we  know  your  tenderness  of  heart, 
And  gentle,  kind,  effeminate  remorse, 
Which  we  have  noted  in  you  to  your  kindred, 
And  equally,  indeed,  to  all  estates, — 
Yet  know,  whe'r  you  accept  our  suit  or  no, 
Your  brother's  son  shall  never  reign  our  king ; 
But  we  will  plant  some  other  in  your  throne, 
To  the  disgrace  and  downfall  of  your  house. 
And,  in  this  resolution,  here  we  leave  you. — 
Come,  citizens,  we  will  entreat  no  more. 

[Exeunt  Buckingham  and  Citizens. 
Catesby. 
Call  him  again,  sweet  prince;   accept  their 
suit: 
If  you  deny  them,  all  the  land  will  rue  it. 
Gloster. 
Will  you  enforce  me  to  a  world  of  cares  ? 
Call  them  again :  I  am  not  made  of  stone, 
But  penetrable  to  your  kind  entreaties, 

r  [Exit  C atesbtj. 

Albeit  against  my  conscience,  and  my  soul. — 

Re-enter  Buckingham  and  the  rest. 
Cousin  of  Buckingham,  and  sage,  grave  men, 
Since  you  will  buckle  fortune  on  my  back, 
To  bear  her  burden,  whe'r  I  will,  or  no, 
I  must  have  patience  to  endure  the  load : 
But  if  black  scandal,  or  foul-fac'd  reproach, 
Attend  the  sequel  of  your  imposition, 
Your  mere  enforcement  shall  acquittance  me 
From  all  the  impure  blots  and  stains  thereof; 
For  God  doth  know,  and  you  may  partly  see, 
How  far  I  am  from  the  desire  of  this. 
Mayor. 
God  bless  your  grace !  we  see  it,  and  will  say 
it. 

Gloster. 
In  saying  so,  you  shall  but  say  the  truth. 

Buckingham. 
Then  I  salute  you  with  this  royal  title,— 
Long  live  king  Richard,  England' 's  worthy  king ! 

All. 
Amen. 

Buckingham. 
To-morrow  may  it  please  you  to  be  crown 'd? 

Gloster. 
Even  when  you  please,   for  you  will  have 
it  so. 


Buckingham. 
To-morrow,  then,  we  will  attend  your  grace : 
And  so,  most  joyfully,  we  take  our  leave. 
Gloster. 
Come,  let  us  to  our  holy  work  again. 

[To  the  Bishops. 

Farewell,  my  cousin: —farewell,  gentle  friends. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    Before  the  Tower. 

B  titer,  on  one  side,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Duchess 
of  York,  and  Marquess  of  Dorset;  on  the 
other,  Anne,  Duchess  of  Gloster,  leading  Lady 
Margaret  Plantagenet,  Clarence's  young 
Daughter. 

Duchess. 

WHO  meets  us  here? — my  niece  Plantagenet 
Led  in  the  hand  of  her  kind  aunt  oiGloster: 
Now,  for  my  life,  she's  wand'ring  to  the  Tower, 
On  pure  heart's  love,  to  greet  the  tender  prince. — 
Daughter,  well  met. 

Anne. 

God  give  your  graces  both 
A  happy  and  a  joyful  time  of  day. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
As  much  to  you,  good  sister:  whither  away? 

Anne. 

No  farther  than  the  Tower  ;  and,  as  I  guess, 

Upon  the  like  devotion  as  yourselves, 

To  gratulate  the  gentle  princes  there. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

Kind  sister,  thanks :  we'll  enter  all  together : 

Enter  Brakenbury. 

And  in  good  time  here  the  lieutenant  comes. — 
Master  lieutenant,  pray  you,  by  your  leave, 
How  doth  the  prince,  and  my  young  son  of 
York?  . 

Brakenbury. 
Right  well,  dear  madam.    By  your  patience, 
I  may  not  suffer  you  to  visit  them: 
The  king  hath  strictly  charg'd  the  contrary. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
The  king  !  who's  that  ? 

Brakenbury. 

I  mean  the  lord  protector. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

The  Lord  protect  him  from  that  kingly  title  ! 

Hath  he  set  bounds  between  their  love,  and  me? 

I  am  their  mother;  who  shall  bar  me  from 

them? 

Duchess 
I  am  their  father's  mother ;  I  will  see  them. 

Anne. 
Their  aunt  I  am  in  law,  in  love  their  mother: 
Then,  bring  me  to  their  sights ;   I'll  bear  thy 

blame, 
And  take  thy  office  from  thee,  on  my  peril. 
Brakenbury. 
No,  madam,  no ;  I  may  not  leave  it  so : 
I  am  bound  by  oath,  and  therefore  pardon  me. 
'  [Kx\l  Brakenbury. 

Knter  Stanley. 
Stanley. 
Let  me  but  meet  you,  ladies,  one  hour  hence, 
And  I'll  salute  your  grace  of  York  as  mother, 

And 


Act  iv.  Sc.  II. 


KING  RICHARD  IIL 


645 


And  reverend  looker-on  of  two  fair  queens.— 
Come,  madam ,  you  must  strai ght  to  Westminster, 
fTo  the  Duchess  of  (Hotter. 
There  to  be  crowned  Richard's  royal  queen. 
Queen  Elisabeth. 
Ah  !  cut  my  lace  asunder, 
That  my  pent  heart  may  have  some  scope  to 

beat. 
Or  else  I  swoon  with  this  dead-killing  news. 

Anne. 
Despiteful  tidings  1  0,  unpleasing  news  1 

Dorset. 
Be  of  good  cheer :  —  mother,  how  fares  your 
grace? 

Queen  Elisabeth. 
O  Dorset !  speak  not  to  me,  get  thee  gone ; 
Death  and  destruction  dog  thee  at  thy  heels : 
Thy  mother's  name  is  ominous  to  children. 
If  thou  wilt  outstrip  death,  go  cross  the  seas, 
And  live  with  Richmond  from  the  reach  of  hell. 
Go,  hie  thee,  hie  thee,  from  this  slaughter- 
house, 
Lest  thou  increase  the  number  of  the  dead, 
And  make  me  die  the   thrall   of  Margarets 

curse, — 
Nor  mother,  wife,  nor  England's  'counted  queen. 

Stanley. 

Full  of  wise  care  is  this  your  counsel,  madam — 
Take  all  the  swift  advantage  of  the  hours  ; 
You  shall  have  letters  from  me  to  my  son 
In  your  behalf,  to  meet  you  on  the  way : 
Be  not  ta'en  tardy  by  unwise  delay. 
Duchess. 

O  ill-dispersing  wind  of  misery  1  — 
O,  my  accursed  womb  1  the  bed  of  death, 
A  cockatrice  hast  thou  hatch'd  to  the  world, 
Whose  unavoided  eye  is  murderous  1 

Stanley. 
Come,  madam,  come :  I  in  all  haste  was  sent. 

Anne 
And  I  with  all  unwillingness  will  go. — 
O  !  would  to  God,  that  the  inclusive  verge 
Of  golden  metal,  that  must  round  my  brow, 
Were  red-hot  steel  to  sear  me  to  the  brain  1 
Anointed  let  me  be  with  deadly  venom  ; 
And  die,  ere  men  can  say — God  save  the  queen ! 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Go,  go,  poor  soul,  I  envy  not  thy  glory ; 
To  feed  my  humour,  wish  thyself  no  harm. 

Anne 
No  !  why  ?  — When  he,  that  Is  my  husband 

now, 
Came  to  me,  as  I  follow'd  Henry's  corse ; 
When  scarce  the  blood  was  well  wash'd  from 

his  hands, 
Which  issu'd  from  my  other  angel  husband, 
And  that  dear  saint  which,  then,  I  weeping 

follow  'd; 
O  1  when,  I  say,  I  look'd  on  Richard's  face, 
This  was  my  wish,  —  *'  Be  thou,"  quoth  I,  "ac- 

curs'd, 
For  making  me,  so  young,  so  old  a  widow  1 
And,  when  thou  wedd'st,  let  sorrow  haunt  thy 
And  be  thy  wife  (if  any  be  so  mad)  [bed  ; 

More  miserable  by  the  life  of  thee, 
Than  thou  hast  made  me  by  my  dear  lord's 
Lo  !  ere  I  can  repeat  this  curse  again,  [death  1 1 " 
Within  so  small  a  time,  my  woman's  heart 
Grossly  grew  captive  to  his  honey  words, 
And  prov'd  the  subject   of  mine  own   soul's 

curse : 
Which  hitherto  hath  held  mine  eves  from  rest ; 
For  never  yet  one  hour  in  his  bed 


Did  I  enjoy  the  golden  dew  Of  sleep. 
But  with  his  timorous  dreams  was  still  awak'd. 
Besides,  he  hates  me  for  my  father  Warwick  j 
And  will,  no  doubt,  shortly  be  rid  of  me. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Poor  heart,  adieu  ;  I  pity  thy  complaining. 

Anne. 
No  more  than  with  my  soul   I  mourn  for 
yours. 

Dorset. 
Farewell,  thou  woeful  welcomer  of  glory. 

Anne. 
Adieu,  poor  soul,  that  tak'st  thy  leave  of  it. 

Duchess. 
Go  thou  to  Richmond,  and  good  fortune  guide 
thee!—  [To  Dorset. 

Go  thou  to  Richard,  and  good  angels  tend  thee  I — 
[To  Anne. 
Go  thou  to  sanctuary,  and  good  thoughts  pos- 
sess thee  1  [To  Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  to  my  grave,  where  peace  and  rest  lie  with  me ! 
Eighty  odd  years  of  sorrow  have  I  seen, 
And  each  hour's  joy  wreck'd  with  a  week  of 
teen. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Stay   yet;    look   back,   with   me,  unto   the 
Tower — 
Pity,  you  ancient  stones,  those  tender  babes, 
Whom  envy  hath  imraur'd  within  your  walls  ; 
Rough  cradle  for  such  little  pretty  ones ! 
Rude  ragged  nurse,  old  sullen  play-fellow 
For  tender  princes,  use  my  babies  well  1 
So  foolish  sorrow  bids  your  stones  farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace. 

Sound  a  Sennet.  Richard,  as  King  upon  his 
Throne ;  Buckingham,  Catesby,  a  Page,  and 
others. 

King  Richard. 
Stand  all  apart.— Cousin  of  Buckingham! 

Buckingham. 
My  gracious  sovereign. 

King  Richard. 
Give  me  thy  hand.    Thus  high,  by  thy  ad- 
vice, 
And  thy  assistance,  is  king  Richard  seated :  — 
But  shall  we  wear  these  glories  for  a  day, 
Or  shall  they  last,  and  we  rejoice  in  them  ? 

Buckingham. 
Still  live  they,  and  for  ever  let  them  last  • 

King  Richard. 
Ah  1  Buckingham,  now  do  I  play  the  touch, 
To  try  if  thou  be  current  gold,  indeed — 
Young  Edward  lives.— Think  now  what  I  would 
speak. 

,     Buckingham. 
Say  on,  my  loving  lord. 

...^      „    , .     .King  Richard.     , .' 

Why,  Buckingham,  I  say,  I  would  be  king. 

Buckingham. 
Y>  hy,  so  you  are,  my  tnnce-renowned  lord. 

Ha  !  am  I  king?"*Tis  so  ;but  Edward  lives. 

_  . ,        .Buckingham. 

True,  noble  prince. 

King  Richard. 

O  bitter  conrequence, 
That  Edward  still  should  live,— true,   noble 

prince.— 
Cousin,  thou  wast  not  wont  to  be  so  dull :  — 

Shall 


646 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Shall  I  be  plain  ?  —  I  wish  the  bastards  dead  ; 
And  I  would  have  it  suddenly  perform'd. 
What  say'st  thou  now  ?   speak   suddenly,  be 
brief. 

Buckingham. 
Your  grace  may  do  your  pleasure. 

King  Richard. 

Tut,  tut !  thou  art  all  ice,  thy  kindness  freezes. 

Say,  have  I  thy  consent  that  they  shall  die  ? 

Buckingham. 

Give  me  some  little  breath,  some  pause,  dear 

Before  I  positively  speak  in  this  :  [lord, 

will  resolve  you  herein  presently. 

[Exit  Buckingham. 
Catesby. 
The  king  is  angry  :  see,  he  gnaws  his  lip. 

[Aside. 
King  Richard. 
I  will  converse  with  iron-witted  fools, 

[Descends  from  his  Throne. 
And  unrespective  boys  :  none  are  for  me, 
That  look  into  me  with  considerate  eyes. 
High-reaching  Buckingham  grows  circumspect. 
Boy!  — 

Page. 
My  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Know'st  thou  not  any,  whom  corrupting  gold 
Will  tempt  unto  a  close  exploit  of  death  ? 

Page, 
know  a  discontented  gentleman,         [spirit : 
Whose  humble  means  match  not  his  haughty 
Gold  were  as  good  as  twenty  orators, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  tempt  him  to  any  thing. 

King  Richard. 
What  is  his  name  ? 

Page. 
His  name,  my  lord,  is  Tyrrel. 

King  Richard. 
I  partly  know  the  man :  go,  call  him  hither, 
boy.—  [Exit  Page. 

The  deep-revolving  witty  Buckingham 
No  more  shall  be  the  neighbour  to  my  counsels. 
Hath  he  so  long  held  out  with  me  untir'd, 
And  stops  he  now  for  breath?— well,  be  it  so.— 

Enter  Stanley. 
How  now,  lord  Stanley?  what's  the  news? 

Stanley. 
Know,  my  loving  lord, 
The  marquis  Dorset,  as  I  hear,  is  fled 
To  Richmond,  in  the  parts  where  he  abides. 

King  Richard. 
Come  hither,  Catesby :  rumour  it  abroad, 
That  Anne,  my  wife,  is  very  grievous  sick; 
I  will  take  order  for  her  keeping  close. 
Inquire  me  out  some  mean  poor  gentleman, 
Whom  I  will  marry  straight  to  Clarence1  daugh- 
The  boy  is  foolish,  and  I  fear  not  him —  [ter:— 
Look,  how  thou  dream'st!  —  I  say  again,  give 

out, 
That  Anne  my  queen  is  sick,  and  like  to  die : 
About  it ;  for  it  stands  me  much  upon, 
To  stop  all  hopes  whose  growth  may  damage 
me.—  [Exit  Catesby. 

I  must  be  married  to  my  brother's  daughter, 
Or  else  my  kingdom  stands  on  brittle  glass. — 
Murder  hei  brother^  and  then  marry  her? 
Uncertain  w  ay  of  gain  1    But  I  am  in 
So  far  in  blood,  that  sin  will  pluck  on  sin. 
Tear-falling  pity  dwells  not  in  this  eye — 

Re-enter  Page,  with  Tyrrel. 
Is  thy  name  Tyrrel? 


Tyrrel. 
James  Tyrrel,  and  your  most  obedient  subject. 

King  Richard. 
Art  thou,  indeed  ? 

Tyrrel. 
Prove  me,  my  gracious  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Dar'st  thou  resolve  to  kill  a  friend  of  mine? 

Tyrrel. 
Please  you ;  but  I  had  rather  kill  two  enemies. 

King  Richard. 
Why,  then  thou  hast  it :  two  deep  enemies, 
Foes  to  my  rest,  and  my  sweet  sleep's  disturbers, 
Are  they  that  I  would  have  thee  deal  upon. 
Tyrrel,  1  mean  those  bastards  in  the  Tower. 
Tyrrel. 
Let  me  have  open  means  to  come  to  them, 
And  soon  I'll  rid  you  from  the  fear  of  them. 

King  Richard. 
Thou  sing'st  sweet  music.  Hark,  come  hither, 
Tyrrel: 
Go,  by  this  token — Rise,  and  lend  thine  ear. 

[Whispers. 
There  is  no  more  but  so  :— say,  it  is  done, 
And  I  will  love  thee,  and  prefer  thee  for  it. 


Tyrrel. 
I  will  despatch  it  straight. 


[Exit. 


Re-enter  Buckingham. 
Buckingham. 
My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  in  my  mind 
The  late  demand  that  you  did  sound  me  in. 

King  Richard. 
Well,  let  that  rest.     Dorset  is  fled  to  Rich- 
mond. 

Buckingham. 
I  hear  the  news,  my  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Stanley,  he  is  your  wife's  son:— well  look 
unto  it. 

Buckingham. 
My  lord,  I  claim  the  gift,  my  due  by  promise, 
For  which  your  honour  and  your  faith  is  pawn'd  • 
The'  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  the  moveables, 
Which  you  have  promised  I  shall  possess. 

King  Richard. 
Stanley,  look  to  your  wife:  if  she  convey 
Letters  to  Richmond,  you  shall  answer  it. 

Buckingham. 
What  says  your  highness  to  my  just  request  ? 


King  Richard.     , 
me, — Henry  the  sixth 


I  do  remember : 
Did  prophesy,  that  Richmond  should  be  king, 
When  Richmond  was  a  little  peevish  boy. 
A  king !— perhaps— 

Buckingham. 
My  lord, — 

King  Richard.  - 
How  chance,  the  prophet  could  not  at  that 
time, 
Have  told  me,  I  being  by,  that  I  should  kill  him  ? 

Buckingham. 
My  lord,  your  promise  lor  the  earldom,— 

King  Richard.      2 
Richmond!— When  last  I  was  at  Exeter, 
The  mayor  in  courtesy  show'd  me  the  castle, 
And  call'd  it— Rouge-mont:  at  which  name  I 

started, 
Because  a  bard  of  Ireland  told  me  once, 
I  should  not  live  long  after  I  saw  Richmond. 

Buckingham. 
My  lord,— 

King 


XStotta-rd  E.A. 


.KG  IE  A.  IE  I®    ICHH. 

Act    4.    Sc    3. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  RICHARD  HI. 


647 


King  Richard. 
Ay ;  what's  o'clock  ? 

Bucki'.i 
1  am  thus  bold  to  put  your  grace  in  mind 
Of  what  you  promis  d  me. 

King  Richard. 
Well,  but  what's  o'clock? 

Buckingham. 

Upon  the  stroke  of  ten. 
King  Richard. 
Well,  let  it  strike. 

Buckingham. 

Why,  let  it  strike? 
King  Richard. 
Because  that,  like  a  Jack,  thou  keep'st  the 
stroke 
Betwixt  thy  begging  and  my  meditation. 
1  am  not  in  the  giving  vein  to-day. 
Buckingham. 
Why,  then  resolve  me  whether  you  will,  or  no. 

King  Richard. 
Thou  troublest  me:  I  am  not  in  the  vein. 

[Exeunt  King  Richard  and  Train. 

Buckingham. 
And  is  it  thus  ?  repays  he  my  deep  service 
With  such  contempt  ?  made  I  him  kingfor  this? 
O  !  let  me  think  on  Hastings,  and  be  gone 
To  Brecknock,  while  my  fearful  head  is  on. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  Ul.    The  same. 
Enter  Tyrrel. 
Tyrrel. 
The  tyrannous  and  bloody  act  is  done ; 
The  most  arch  deed  of  piteous  massacre, 
That  ever  yet  this  land  was  guilty  of. 
Dighton  and  Forrest,  whom  I  did  suborn 
To  do  this  piece  of  ruthful  butchery, 
Albeit  they  were  flesh'd  villains,  bloody  dogs, 
Melted  with  tenderness  and  mild  compassion, 
Wept  like  to  children  in  their  death's  sad  story. 
44  O  I  thus,"  quoth  Dighton,  "  lay  the   gentle 

babes,"— 
M  Thus,  thus,"  quoth  Forrest, "  girdling  one  ano- 
Within  their  alabaster  innocent  arms :         [ther 
Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk, 
And  in  their  summer  beauty  kiss'd  each  other. 
A  book  of  prayers  on  their  pillow  lay ;     [mind ; 
Which  once,"  quoth  Forrest, "  almost  chang'd  my 
But,  O  !  the  devil  "—there  the  villain  stopp'd  ; 
When  Dighton  thus  told  on,—"  we  smothered 
The  most  replenished  sweet  work  of  nature, 
That,  from  the  prime  creation,  e'er  shefram'd." 
Hence  both  are  gone  with  conscience  and  re- 
morse : 
They  could  not  speak  ;  and  so  I  left  them  both, 
To  bear  this  tidings  to  the  bloody  king. 

Enter  King  Richard. 

And  here  he  comes — All  health,  my  sovereign 
lord! 

King  Richard 
Kind  Tyrrel,  am  I  happy  in  thy  news  ? 

Tyrr,  1 
If  to  have  done  the  thing  you  gave  in  charge 
Beget  your  happiness,  be  happy  then, 
For  it  is  done. 

King  Richard. 
But  did'st  thou  see  them  dead? 
Tyrrel. 
I  did,  my  lord. 


King  Richard. 
And  buried,  gentle  Tyrrel  f 
Tyi 
The  chaplain  of  the  Tower  hath  buried  them  ; 
But  where,  to  say  the  truth,  1  do  not  know. 
King  Kichardi 
Come  to  me,  Tyrrel,  soon,  and  after  supper, 
When  thou  shalt  tell  the  process  of  their  death. 
Mean  time,  but  think  how  1  may  do  thee  good, 
And  be  inheritor  of  thy  desire. 
Farewell,  till  then. 

Tyrrel. 
I  humbly  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 
King  Richard. 
The  son  of  Clarence  have  I  pent  up  close  ; 
His  daughter  meanly  have  I  match 'd  in  marriage ; 
The  sons  of  Edward  sleep  in  Abraham's  bosom, 
And  Anne  my  wife  hath  bid  this  world  good  night. 
Now,  for  I  know  the  Bretagne  Richmond  aims 
At  young  Elizabeth,  my  brother's  daughter, 
And  by  that  knot  looks  proudly  on  the  crown, 
To  her  go  I,  a  jolly  thriving  wooer. 

Enter  Catesby. 
Catesby. 
My  lord!  — 

King  Richard. 
Good  or  bad  news,  that  thou  com'st  in  so 
bluntly  ? 

Catesby. 
Bad  news,  my  lord :  Morton  is  fled  to  Rich- 
mond ; 
And  Buckingham,  back'd  with  the  hardy  Welsh- 
men, 
Is  in  the  field,  and  still  his  power  encreaseth. 
King  Richard. 
Ely  with  Richmond  troubles  me  more  near, 
Than  Buckingham  and  his  rash-levied  strength. 
Come ;  I  have  learn'd,  that  fearful  commenting 
Is  leaden  servitor  to  dull  delay ; 
Delay  leads  impotent  and  snail-pac'd  beggary: 
Then,  fiery  expedition  be  my  wing, 
Jove's  Mercury,  and  herald  for  a  king. 
Go,  muster  men:  my  counsel  is  my  shield ; 
We  must  be  brief,  when  traitors  brave  the  field. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 
Enter  Queen  Margaret. 
Qieen  Margaret. 
So,  now  prosperity  begins  to  mellow, 
And  drop  into  the  rotten  mouth  of  death. 
Here  in  these  confines  slily  have  I  lurk'd, 
To  watch  the  waning  of  mine  enemies. 
J  A  dire  induction  am  I  witness  to, 
And  will  to  France  ;  hoping,  the  consequence 
Will  prove  as  bitter,  black,  and  tragical. 
Withdraw  thee,  wretched  Margaret :  who  comes 
here?  [Retiring. 

Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  and  the  Duchess  of  York. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Ah,  my  poor  princes  1  ah,  my  tender  babes  ! 
My  unblown  flowers,  new-appearing  sweets  1 
If  yet  your  gentle  souls  fly  in  the  air, 
And  be  not  fix'd  in  doom  perpetual, 
j  Hover  about  me  with  your  airy  wings, 
And  hear  your  mother's  lamentation. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Hover  about  her;  say,  that  right  for  right 
Hath  dimm'd  your  infant  morn  to  aged  night. 

Duchess. 
So  many  miseries  have  craz'd  my  voice, 

That 


648 


KING  RICHAKD  III. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


That  my  woe-wearied  tongue  is  still  and  mute — 
Edward  Plantagenet,  why  art  thou  dead  ? 
Queen  Margaret. 
Plantagenet  doth  quit  Plantagenet ; 
Edward  for  Edward  pays  a  dying  debt. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Wilt  thou,  O  God !  fly  from  such  gentle  lambs, 
And  throw  them  in  the  entrails  of  the  wolf? 
When  didst  thou  sleep,  when  such  a  deed  was 
done  ?      _ 

Queen  Margaret. 

When  holy  Harry  died,  and  my  sweet  son. 

Duchess. 
Dead  life,  blind   sight,  poor   mortal    living 
ghost, 
Woe's  scene,  world's  shame,  grave's  due  by  life 

usurp'd, 
Brief  abstract  and  record  of  tedious  days, 
Rest  thy  unrest  on  England's  lawful  earth. 

Unlawfully  made  drunk  with  innocent  blood ! 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Ah  !  that  thou  would'st  as  soon  afford  a  grave. 
As  thou  canst  yield  a  melancholy  seat ; 
Then  would  I  hide  my  bones,  not  rest  them  here ! 
Ah  !  who  hath  any  cause  to  mourn,  but  we?, 

[Sitting  aovnx  by  her. 

Queen  Margaret. 

If  ancient  sorrow  be  most  reyeren.t,    . 

[Coming  forward 

Give  mine  the  benefit  of  seniory, 

And  let  my  griefs  frown  on  the  upper  hand. 

If  sorrow  can  admit  society,      .  ... 

[Sifting  down  with  them. 
Tell  o'er  your  woes  again  by  viewing  mine:  — 
I  had  an  Edward,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him; 
I  had  a  husband,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him  : 
Thou  hadst  an  Edward,  till  a.Richardk\\Vdhim ; 
Thou  hadst  a  Richard,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him. 
Duchess. 

I  had  a  Richard  too,  and  thou  didst  kill  him : 
I  had  a  Rutland  too;  thou  holp'st  to  kill  him. 
Queen  Margaret. 

Thou  hadst  a  Clarence  too,  and  Richard  kill'd 
him. 
From  forth  the  kennel  of  thy  womb  hath  crept 
A  hell-hound,  that  doth  hunt  us  all  to  death  : 
That  dog,  that  had  his  teeth  before  his  eyes, 
To  worry  lambs,  and  lap  their  gentle  blood : 
That  foul  defacer  of  God's  handy- work, 
That  reigns  in  galled  eyes  of  weeping  souls, 
That  excellent  grand  tyrant  of  the  earth, 
Thy  womb  let  loose,  to  chase  us  to  our  graves — 
O  I  upright,  just,  and  true-disposing  God, 
How  do  1  thank  thee,  that  this  carnal  cur 
Preys  on  the  issue  of  his  mother's  body, 
And  makes  her  pew-fellow  with  other's  moan » 
Duchess. 

O,  Harry's  wife  !  triumph  not  in  my  woes : 
God  witness  with  me,  I  have  wept  for  thine. 
Queen  Margaret. 

Bear  with  me :  1  am  hungry  for  revenge, 
And  now  I  cloy  me  with  beholding  it. 
Thy  Edward  he  is  dead,  that  kill'd  my  Edward; 
Thy  other  Edward  dead,  to  quit  my  Edward; 
Young  York  he  is  but  boot,  because  both  they 
Match  not  the  high  perfection  of  my  loss. 
Thy  Clarence  he  is  dead,  that  stabb'd  my  Edward  j 
And  the  beholders  of  this  frantic  play, 
Th'  adulterate  Hastings,  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey, 
Untimely  smother'd  in  their  dusky  graves. 
Richard  yet  lives,  hell's  black  intelligencer, 
Only  reserv'd  their  factor,  to  buy  souls, 


And  send  them  thither ;  but  at  hand,  at  hand, 
Ensues  his  piteous  and  unpitied  end : 
Earth  gapes,  hell  burns,  fiends  roar,  saints  pray 
To  have  him  suddenly  convey'd  from  hence. — 
Cancel  his  bond  of  life,  dear  God !  I  pray, 
That  I  may  live  and  say,  the  dog  is  dead. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

0  !  thou  didst  prophesy,  the  time  would  come 
That  I  should  wish  for  thee  to  help  me  curse 
That  bottled  spider,  that  foul  bunch- back'd  toad 

Queen  Margaret. 

1  call'd  thee  then,  vain  flourish  of  my  fortune 
I  call'd  thee  then,  poor  shadow,  painted  queen ; 
The  presentation  of  but  what  I  Avas, 

The  flattering  index  of  a  direful  pageant, 
One  heav'd  o'  high,  to  be  hurl'd  down  below : 
j  A  mother  only  mock'd  with  two  fair  babes ; 
.  A  dream  of  what  thou  wast ;  a  garish  flag, 
j  To  be  the  aim  of  every  dangerous  shot ; 
I  A  sign  of  dignity,  a  breath,  a  bubble; 
1  A  queen  in  jest,  only  to  fill  the  scene,  [brothers? 
Where  is  thy  husband  now?    where   be   thy 
Where  be  thy  two  sons?  wherein  dost  thou  joy? 
Who  sues,  and  kneels,  and  says  — God  save  the 

queen  ? 
Where  be  the  bending  peers  that  flatter'd  thee 
Wherebe  the  thronging  troops  that  follow'd  thee 
Decline  all  this,  and  see  what  now  thou  art. 
For  happy  wife,  a  most  distressed  widow; 
For  joyful  mother,  one  that  wails  the  name ; 
For  one  being  sued  to,  one  that  humbly  sues ; 
For  queen,  a  very  caitiff"  crown'd  with  care ; 
For  one  that  scorn'd  at  me,  now  scorn'd  of  me; 
For  one  being  fear'd  of  all,  now  fearing  one ; 
For  one  commanding  all,  obey'd  of  none. 
;  Thus  hath  the  course  of  justice  whirl 'd  about, 
i  And  left  thee  but  a  very  prey  to  time ; 
}  Having  no  more  but  thought  of  what  thou  wast 
To  torture  thee  the  more,  being  what  thou  art. 
Thou  didst  usurp  my  place,  and  dost  thou  not 
Usurp  the  just  proportion  of  my  sorrow  ?  [yoke ; 
I  Now,  thy  proud  neck  bears  half  my  burden 'd 
|  From  which,  even  here,  I  slip  my  wearied  head, 
And  leave  the  burden  of  it  all  on  thee,  [chance: 
!  Farewell,   York's  wife,  and  queen  of  sad  mis- 
:  These  English  woes  shall  make  me  smile  in 
France. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
j      O  thou !  well  skill'd  in  curses,  stay  a  while, 
I  And  teach  me  how  to  curse  mine  enemies. 
Queen  Margaret. 
Forbear  to  sleep  the  night,  and  fast  the  day ; 
Compare  dead  happiness  with  living  woe ; 
Think  that  thy  babes  were  fairer  than  they  were 
And  he  that  slew  them  fouler  than  he  is : 
Bettering  thy  loss  makes  the  bad-causer  worse; 
Revolving  this  will  teach  thee  how  to  curse. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
My  words  are  dull;  O!  quicken  them  with 
thine. 

Queen  Margaret. 
Thy  woes  will  make  them  sharp,  and  pierce 
like  mine.  [Exit  Queen  Margaret. 

Duchess. 
Why  should  calamity  be  full  of  words  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Windy  attorneys  to  their  client  woes, 
Airy  succeeders  of  intestate  joys, 
Poor  breathing  orators  of  miseries  !  [part 

Let  them  have  scope :  though  what  they  do  im- 
Help  nothing  else,  yet  do  they  ease  the  heart. 
Duchess. 
If  so,  then  be  not  tongue-ty'd  :  go  with  me, 
And  in  the  breath  of  bitter  words  let's  smother 

My 


At R  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


649 


My  damned    son,    that    thy    two    sweet    sons 
smother'd.  [A  Trumpet  beard. 

The  trumpet  sounds :  be  copious  in  exclaims. 

Kiu.t  King  Richard,  and  his  Train,  inarching. 
King  Kichard. 
Who  Intercepts  me  In  my  expedition  ? 

Duchess. 
O  !  she,  that  might  have  intercepted  thee. 
By  strangling  thee  in  her  accursed  womb, 
From  all  the  slaughters,  wretch,  that  thou  hast 
done. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

gol 

crown,  [right, 

Where  should  be  branded,  if  that  right  were 
The  slaughter  of  the  prince  that    ow'd    that 
crown,  [thers  ? 

And  the  dire  death  of  my  poor  sons,  and  bro- 
Tell  me,  thou  villain-slave,  where  are  my  chil- 
dren ? 

Ducbest. 
Thou  toad,  thou  toad,  where  is  thy  brother 
Clarence, 
And  little  Ned  Plantagenet,  his  son  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Where  is  the  gentle  Rivers,  I'aughan,  Grey  t 

Duchess. 
Where  is  kind  Hastings  f 

King  Richard. 
A  flourish,  trumpets  !— strike  alarum,  drums  ! 
Let  not  the  heavens  hear  these  tell-tale  women 
Rail  on  the  Lord's  anointed.    Strike,  I  say  1  — 
[Flourish.    Alarums. 
Either  be  patient,  and  entreat  me  fair, 
Or  with  the  clamorous  report  of  war 
Thus  will  I  drown  your  exclamations. 

Duchess. 
Art  thou  my  son  ? 

King  Richard. 
Ay  ;  I  thank  God,  my  father,  and  yourself. 

Duchess. 
Then  patiently  hear  my  impatience. 

King  Richard. 
Madam,  I  have  a  touch  of  your  condition, 
That  cannot  brook  the  accent  of  reproof. 

Duchess. 

0  2  let  me  speak. 

King  Richard. 

Do,  then  ;  but  I'll  not  hear. 

Duchess. 

1  will  be  mild  and  gentle  in  my  words. 

King  Richard. 
And  brief,  good  mother ;  for  I  am  in  haste. 

Duchess. 
Art  thou  so  hasty  ?  I  have  stay'd  for  thee, 
God  knows,  in  torment  and  in  agony. 

King  Richard. 
And  came  I  not  at  last  to  comfort  you  ? 

Duchess. 
No,  by  the  holy  rood,  thou  know'st  it  well, 
Thou  cam'st  on  earth  to  make  the  earth  my 
A  grievous  burden  was  thy  birth  to  me  ;    [hell. 
Tetchy  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy  ; 
Thy  school-days,  frightful,  desperate,  wild  and 
furious  ;  [turous  ; 

Thy  prime  of  manhood,  daring,  bold,  and  ven- 
;  Thy  age  confirm'd,    proud,    subtle,    sly,    and 
bloody,  [hatred : 

More  mild,  but   yet  more   harmful,   kind   in 


What  comfortable  hour  canst  thou  name, 
That  ever  grae'd  me  with  thy  company  "r 

King  Richard. 
'Faith,  none,  but  Humphrey  Hour,  that  call'd 
your  grace 
To  breakfast  once  forth  of  my  company. 
If  I  be  so  disgracious  in  your  eye, 
Let  me  march  on.  and  not  offend  you,  madam.— 
Strike  up  the  drum  1 

Duchess. 
I  pr'ythee,  hear  me  speak. 

King  Richard. 
You  speak  too  bitterly. 

Duchess. 

Hear  me  a  word  ; 
For  I  shall  never  speak  to  thee  again. 

King  Richard. 
So. 

Duchess. 
Either  thou  wilt  die  by  God's  just  ordinance, 
Ere  from  this  war  thou  turu  a  conqueror  ; 
Or  1  with  grief  and  extreme  age  shall  perish, 
And  never  look  upon  thy  face  again.        [curse ; 
Therefore,  take  with  thee  my  most  grievous 
Which  in  the  day  of  battle  tire  thee  more, 
Than   all   the    complete    armour    that    thou 

wear'st ! 
My  prayers  on  the  adverse  party  fight ; 
And  there  the  little  souls  of  Edward's  children 
Whisper  the  spirits  of  thine  enemies, 
And  promise  them  success  and  victory. 
Bloody  thou  art,  bloody  will  be  thy  end  ; 
Shame   serves  thy  life,  and   doth   thy  death 
attend.  [Exit. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Though  far  more  cause,  yet  much  less  spirit 
to  curse 
Abides  in  me :  I  say  amen  to  her.  [Going. 

King  Richard. 
Stay,  madam,  I  must  talk  a  word  with  you. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  have  no  more  sons  of  the  royal  blood, 
For   thee   to    slaughter:    for    my   daughters, 
Richard,  [queens ; 

They  shall    be    praying    nuns,    not    weeping 
And  therefore  level  not  to  hit  their  lives. 

King  Richard. 
You  have  a  daughter  call'd  Elizabeth, 
Virtuous  and  fair,  royal  and  gracious. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
And  must  she  die  for  this  ?    O  !  let  her  live, 
And  I'll  corrupt  her  manners,  stain  her  beauty  ; 
Slander  myself  as  false  to  Edward's  bed  ; 
Throw  over  her  the  veil  of  infamy : 
So  she  may  live  unscarr'd  of  bleeding  slaughter, 
I  will  confess  she  was  not  Edward's  daughter. 

King  Richard. 
Wrong  not  her  birth  ;  she  is  a  royal  princess. 

Queen  Elisabeth. 
To  save  her  life,  I'll  say  she  is  not  so. 

King  Richard. 
Her  life  is  safest  only  in  her  birth. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
And  only  In  that  safety  died  her  brothers. 

King  Richard. 
Lo !  at  their  birth  good  stars  were  opposite. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
No,  to  their  lives  ill  friends  were  contrary. 

King  Richard. 
All  unavoided  is  the  doom  of  destiny. 

Queeu 


650 


KING  RICHARD  in. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


Queen  Elizabeth. 
True,  when  avoided  grace  makes  destiny. 
My  babes  were  destin'd  to  a  fairer  death, 
If  grace  had  bless'd  thee  with  a  fairer  life. 
King  Richard. 
You  speak,  as  if  that  I  had  slain  my  cousins. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Cousins,  indeed  ;  and  by  their  uncle  cozen'd 
Of  comfort,  kingdom,  kindred,  freedom,  life. 
Whose  hands  soever  lanc'd  their  tender  hearts, 
Thy  head,  all  indirectly,  gave  direction :  [blunt, 
No  doubt  the  murderous  knife  was  dull  and 
Till  it  was  whetted  on  thy  stone-hard  heart, 
To  revel  in  the  entrails  of  my  lambs. 
But  that  still  use  of  grief  makes  wild  grief  tame, 
My  tongue  should  to  thy  ears  not  name  my 

boys, 
Till  that  my  nails  were  anchor'd  in  thine  eyes ; 
And  I,  in  such  a  desperate  bay  of  death, 
Like  a  poor  bark,  of  sails  and  tackling  reft, 
Rush  all  to  pieces  on  thy  rocky  bosom. 
King  Richard. 
Madam,  so  thrive  I  in  my  enterprize, 
And  dangerous  success  of  bloody  wars, 
As  I  intend  more  good  to  you  and  yours, 
Than  ever  you  or  yours  by  me  were  harm'd  ! 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
What  good  is  cover'd  with  the  face  of  heaven, 
To  be  discover'd,  that  can  do  me  good  ? 
King  Richard. 
Th'  advancement  of  your  children,   gentle 

a  7'        Queen  Elizabeth. 
Up  to  some  scaffold,  there  to  lose  their  heads  ? 

King  Richard. 
Unto  the  dignity  and  height  of  honour. 
The  high  imperial  type  of  this  earth's  glory. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Flatter  my  sorrow  with  report  of  it : 
Tell  me,  what  state,  what  dignity,  what  honour, 
Canst  thou  demise  to  any  child  of  mine  ? 
King  Richard. 
Even  all  I  have ;  ay,  and  myself  and  all, 
Will  I  withal  endow  a  child  of  thine  ; 
So  in  the  Leihe  of  thy  angry  soul 
Thou  drown  the  sad  remembrance  of  those 

wrongs, 
Which,  thou  supposest,  I  have  done  to  thee, 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Be  brief,  lest  that  the  process  of  thy  kindness 
Last  longer  telling  than  thy  kindness'  date. 
King  Richard. 
Then  know,  that  from  my  soul  I  love  thy 
daughter. 

Queen  Elizabeth 
My  daughter's  mother   thinks   it   with  her 
soul. 

King  Richard. 

What  do  you  think  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
That  thou  dost  love  my  daughter  from  thy 
soul.  [brothers ; 

So,  from  thy  soul's  love,  didst  thou  love  her 
And  from  my  heart's  love  I  do  thank  thee  for  it. 
King  Richard. 
Be  not  so  hasty  to  confound  my  meaning. 
I  mean,  that  with  my  soul  I  love  thy  daughter, 
And  do  intend  to  make  her  queen  of  England. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
Well  then,  who  dost  thou  mean  shall  be  her 
king  ? 


King  Richard. 
Even  he  that  makes  her  queen : 


who  else 


should  be  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
What !  thou  ? 

King  Richard. 
Even  so :  how  think  you  of  it  ? 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
How  canst  thou  woo  her  ? 

King  Richard. 

That  I  would  learn  of  you, 
As  one  being  best  acquainted  with  her  humour. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
And  wilt  thou  learn  of  me  ? 

King  Richard. 
Madam,  with  all  my  heart. 

Queen  Elizabeth 
Send   to   her,   by   the   man  that   slew   her 
brothers, 
A  pair  of  bleeding  hearts  ;  thereon  engrave 
Edward  and  York  ;  then,  haply,  will  she  weep : 
Therefore  present  to  her,— as  sometime  Mar- 
garet 
Did  to  thy  father,  steep'd  in  Rutland's  blood,  — 
A  handkerchief;  which,  say  to  her,  did  drain 
The  purple  sap  from  her  sweet  brother's  body, 
And  bid  her  wipe  her  weeping  eyes  withal. 
If  this  inducement  move  her  not  to  love, 
Send  her  a  letter  of  thy  noble  deeds  ; 
Tell  her  thou  mad'st  away  her  uncle  Clarence, 
Her  uncle  Rivers  ;  ay,  and,  for  her  sake, 
Mad'st  quick  conveyance  with  her  good  aunt 
Anne. 

King  Richard. 
You  mock  me,  madam  :  this  is  not  the  way 
To  win  your  daughter. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

There  is  no  other  way, 
Unless  thou  couldst  put  on  some  other  shape, 
And  not  be  Richard  that  hath  done  all  this. 
King  Richard. 
Say,  that  I  did  all  this  for  love  of  her  ? 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Nay,  then  indeed,  she  cannot  choose  but  hate 
thee, 
Having  bought  love  with  such  a  bloody  spoil. 
King  Richard. 
Look,  what  is  done  cannot  be  now  amended  •, 
Men  shall  deal  unadvisedly  sometimes, 
Which  after-hours  give  leisure  to  repent : 
If  I  did  take  the  kingdom  from  your  sons, 
To  make  amends,  I'll  give  it  to  your  daughter. 
If  I  have  kill'd  the  issue  of  your  womb, 
To  quicken  your  increase,  1  will  beget 
Mine  issue  of  your  blood  upon  your  daughter. 
A  grandam's  name  is  little  less  in  love, 
Than  is  the  doting  title  of  a  mother : 
They  are  as  children,  but  one  step  below, 
Even  of  your  mettle,  of  your  very  blood  ; 
Of  all  one  pain,  save  for  a  night  of  groans 
Endur'd  of  her,  for  whom  you  bid  like  sorrow. 
Your  children  were  vexation  to  your  youth  ; 
But  mine  shall  be  a  comfort  to  your  age. 
The  loss  you  have  is  but  a  son,  being  king, 
And  by  that  loss  your  daughter  is  made  queen. 
I  cannot  make  you  what  amends  I  would, 
Therefore,  accept  such  kindness  as  I  can. 
Dorset,  your  son,  that  with  a  fearful  soul 
Leads  discontented  steps  in  foreign  soil. 
This  fair  alliance  quickly  shall  call  home 
To  high  promotions  and  great  dignity : 
The  king,  that  calls  your  beauteous  daughter 
Familiarly  shall  call  thy  Dorset  brother  ;  [wife, 

Again 


IAct  IV.  Sc.  IV. 


KING  KICIIAKD  in. 


65. 


A  i;:iin  shall  you  be  mother  to  a  king, 
And  all  the  ruins  of  distressful  times 
Repair'd  with  double  riches  of  content. 
What  1  we  have  many  goodly  days  to  see : 
The  liquid  drops  of  tears  that  you  have  shed, 
Shall  come  again  transform M  to  orient  pearl, 
Advantaging  their  loan  with  interest 
Of  ten-times-double  gain  of  happiness. 
Go  then,  my  mother  ;  to  thy  daughter  go  : 
Make  bold  her  bashful  years  with  your  ex- 
perience ; 
Prepare  her  ears  to  hear  a  wooer's  tale  ; 
Put  in  her  tender  heart  th'  aspiring  flame 
Of  golden  sov'reignty  ;  acquaint  the  princess 
With  the  sweet  silent  hours  of  marriage  joys  : 
And  when  this  arm  of  mine  hath  chastised 
The  petty  rebel,  dull-brain'd  Buckingham, 
Bound  with  triumphant  garlands  will  1  come, 
Aud  lead  thy  daughter  to  a  conqueror's  bed  ; 
To  whom  1  will  retail  my  conquest  won, 
And  she  shall  be  sole  victress,  C&sar's  Ceesar. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
What  were  I  best  to  say?  her  father's  brother 
Would  be  her  lord?    Or  shall  I  say,  her  uncle? 
Or  he  that  slew  her  brothers  and  her  uncles  ? 
Under  what  title  shall  I  woo  for  thee, 
That  God,  the  law,  my  honour,  and  her  love, 
Can  make  seem  pleasing  to  her  tender  years? 

King  Richard. 
Infer  fair  England's  peace  by  this  alliance. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Which  she  shall  purchase  with  still  lasting 
war. 

King  Richard. 
Tell  her,  the  king,  that  may  command,  en- 
treats. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
That  at  her  handl,  which  the  king's  King 
forbids. 

King  Richard. 
Say,  she  shall  be  a  high  and  mighty  queen. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
To  wail  the  title,  as  her  mother  doth. 

King  Richard. 
Say,  I  will  love  her  everlastingly. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
But  how  long  shall  that  title,  ever,  last  ? 

King  Richard. 
Sweetly  in  force  unto  her  fair  life's  end. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
But  how  long  fairly  shall  her  sweet  life  last  ? 

King  Richard. 
As  long  as  heaven,  and  nature,  lengthens  it. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
As  long  as  hell,  and  Richard,  like  of  it. 

King  Richard. 
Say  I,  her  sovereign,  am  her  subject  low. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
But  she,  your  subject,  loaths  such  sovereignty. 

King  Richard. 
Be  eloquent  in  my  behalf  to  her. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
An  honest  tale  speeds  best,  being  plainly  told. 

King  Richard. 
Then,  plainly  to  her  tell  my  loving  tale. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Plain,  and  not  honest,  is  too  harsh  a  style. 

King  Richard, 
lour  reasons  are  too  shallow  and  too  quick. 


Queen  Elizabeth. 

O,  no,  my  reasons  are  too  deep  and  dead  ;— 

j  Too  deep  and  dead,  poor  infants,  in  their  graves. 

King  Richard. 

Harp  not  on  that  string,  madam  ;  that  is  past. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Harp  on  it  still   shall    I,  till   heart-strings 
break. 

King  Richard. 
Now,  by  my  George,   my  garter,   and   my 
crown, — 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Profan'd,  dlshonour'd,  and  the  third  usurp'd. 

King  Richard. 
I  swear- 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
By  nothing;  for  this  is  no  oath. 
Thy  George,  profan'd,  hath  lost  his  lordly  ho- 
nour; [virtue; 
Thy  garter,   blemish'd,   pawn'd   his    knightly 
Thy  crown,  usurp'd,  disgrae'd  his  kingly  glory. 
If  something  thou  would'st  swear  to  be  believ'd, 
Swear  then  by  something  that  thou  hast  not 
wrong'd. 

King  Richard. 
Now  by  the  world,— 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

•Tis  full  of  thy  foul  wrongs. 
King  Richard. 
My  father's  death,— 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

Thy  life  hath  it  dishonour'd. 
King  Richard. 
Then,  by  myself,— 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

Thyself  is  self-mis-us'd. 
King  Richard. 
Why  then,  by  God,— 

Queen  Elizabeth. 

God's  wrong  is  most  of  all. 
If  thou  hadst  fear'd  to  break  an  oath  by  him, 
The  unity,  the  king  my  husband  made, 
Thou  hadst  not  broken,  nor  my  brothers  died. 
If  thou  hadst  fear'd  to  break  an  oath  by  him, 
The  imperial  metal,  circling  now  thy  head, 
Had  grae'd  the  tender  temples  of  my  child ; 
And  both  the  princes  had  been  breathing  here, 
Which  now,  two  tender  bed-fellows  for  dust, 
Thy  broken  faith  hath  made  the  prey  for  worms. 
What  canst  thou  swear  by  now  ? 
King  Richard. 

The  time  to  come. 
Queen  Elizabeth. 
That  thou  hast  wronged  in  the  time  o'erpast ; 
For  I  myself  have  many  tears  to  wash 
Hereafter  time,  for  time  past  wrong'd  by  thee. 
The   children    live  whose   fathers   thou    hast 

slaughtered, 
Ungovern'd  youth,  to  wail  it  with  their  age  : 
The  parents  live,  whose   children    thou    hast 

butcher'd, 
Old  barren  plants,  to  wail  it  with  their  age. 
Swear  not  by  time  to  come ;  for  that  thou  hast 
Misus'd  ere  us'd,  by  times  ill-us'd  o'er-past. 
King  Richard. 
As  I  intend  to  prosper,  and  repent, 
So  thrive  1  in  my  dangerous  attempt 
Of  hostile  arms  f  myself  myself  confound ! 
Heaven  and  fortune  bar  me  happy  hours  ! 
Day,  yield  me  not  thy  light,  nor,  night,  thy  rest ! 
Be  opposite  all  planets  of  good  luck 
To  my  proceeding,  if,  with  pure  heart's  love, 

Immaculate 


65* 


KING  RICHARD  in. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


Immaculate  devotion,  holy  thoughts, 

I  tender  not  thy  beauteous  princely  daughter ! 

In  her  consists  my  happiness  and  thine; 

Without  her,  follows  to  myself,  and  thee, 

Herself,  the  land,  and  many  a  Christian  soul, 

Death,  desolation,  ruin,  and  decay : 

It  cannot  be  avoided,  but  by  this ; 

It  will  not  be  avoided,  but  by  this. 

Therefore,  dear  mother,  (I  must  call  you  so) 

Be  the  attorney  of  my  love  to  her. 

Plead  what  1  will  be,  not  what  I  have  been ; 

Not  my  deserts,  but  what  I  will  deserve : 

Urge  the  necessity  and  state  of  times, 

And  be  not  peevish  found  in  great  designs. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Shall  I  be  tempted  of  the  devil  thus  ? 

King  Richard. 
Ay,  if  the  devil  tempt  thee  to  do  good. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Shall  I  forget  myself,  to  be  myself? 

King  Richard. 
Ay,  if  your  selPs  remembrance  wrong  yourself. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Yet  thou  didst  kill  my  children. 

King  Richard. 
But  in  your  daughter's  womb  I  bury  them : 
Where,  in  that  nest  of  spicery,  they  will  breed 
Selves  of  themselves,  to  your  recomforture. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
Shall  1  go  win  my  daughter  to  thy  will  ? 

King  Richard. 
And  be  a  happy  mother  by  the  deed. 

Queen  Elizabeth. 
I  go.  —  Write  to  me  very  shortly, 
And  you  shall  understand  from  me  her  mind. 
King  Richard. 
Bear  her  my  true  love's  kiss,  and  so  farewell. 
[Kissing  her.    Exit  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Relenting  Tool,  and  shallow,  changing  woman  1 
How  now  1  what  news  ? 

Enter  Ratcliff;  Catesby  following. 
Ratcliff. 
Most  mighty  sovereign,  on  the  western  coast 
Rideth  a  puissant  navy :  to  our  shores 
Throng  many  doubtful  hollow-hearted  friends, 
Unarm'd,  and  unresolv'd  to  beat  them  back. 
'Tis  thought  that  Richmond  is  their  admiral ; 
And  there  they  hull,  expecting  but  the  aid 
Of  Ruckingham  to  welcome  them  ashore. 

King  Richard. 
Some  light-foot  friend  post  to  the  duke  of 
Norfolk:  — 
Ratcliff,  thyself,— or  Catesby;  where  is  he? 

Catesby. 
Here,  my  good  lord. 

King  Richard. 

Catesby,  fly  to  the  duke. 

Catesby. 
I  will,  my  lord,  with  all  convenient  haste. 

King  Richard. 
Ratcliff,  come  hither.    Post  to  Salisbury  : 
When  thou  com'st  thither, — Dull,  unmindful 
villain,  [To  Catesbi, . 

Why  stay'st  thou  here,  and  go'st  not  to  the 
duke? 

Catesby. 
First,  mighty  liege,  tell  me  your  highness' 
pleasure, 
What  from  your  grace  I  shall  deliver  to  him. 


King  Richard. 
O !  true,  good  Catesby — Bid  him  levy  straight 
The  greatest  strength  and  power  he  can  make, 
And  meet  me  suddenly  at  Salisbury. 
Catesby. 
I  go.  (Exit. 

Ratcliff. 
What,  may  it  please  you,  shall  I  do  at  Salis- 
bury? 

King  Richard. 
Why,  what  wouldst  thou  do  there,  before 
I  go? 

Ratcliff. 
Your  highness  told  me,  I  should  post  before. 

Enter  Stanley. 
King  Richard. 
My  mind  is  chang'd.  —  Stanley,  what  news 
with  vou  • 

Stanley. 
None  good,  my  liege,  to  please  you  with  the 
hearing ; 
Nor  none  so  bad,  but  well  may  be  reported. 
King  Richard. 
Heyday,  a  riddle  1  neither  good  nor  bad  ? 
What  need'st  thou  run  so  many  miles  about, 
When  thou  may'st  tell  thy  tale  the  nearest  way  ? 
Once  more,  what  news  ? 

Stanley. 

Richmond  is  on  the  seas. 

King  Richard. 

There  let  him  sink,  and  be  the  seas  on  him, 

White-liver'd  runagate  !  what  doth  he  there  ? 

Stanley. 

I  know  not,  mighty  sovereign,  but  by  guess. 

King  Richard. 
Well,  as  you  guess  ? 

Stanley. 
Stirr'd  up  by  Dorset,  Ruckingham,  and  Morton, 
He  makes  for  England,  here,  to  claim  the  crown. 
King  Richard. 
Is  the  chair  empty  ?  is  the  sword  unsway'd? 
Is  the  king  dead?  the  empire  unpossess'd? 
What  heir  of  York  is  there  alive,  but  we  ? 
And  who  is  England's  king,  but  great  York's 

heir? 
Then,  tell  me,  what  makes  he  upon  the  seas  ? 
Stanley. 
Unless  for  that,  my  liege,  I  cannot  guess. 

King  Richard. 
Unless  for  that  he  comes  to  be  your  liege, 
You  cannot   guess   wherefore   the  Welshman 

comes. 
Thou  wilt  revolt,  and  fly  to  him,  I  fear. 
Stanley. 
No,  my  good  lord ;  therefore,  mistrust  me 
not. 

King  Richard. 
Where  is  thy  power,  then,  to  beat  him  back  ? 
Where  be  thy  tenants,  and  thy  followers  ? 
Are  they  not  now  upon  the  western  shore, 
Safe-conducting  the  rebels  from  their  ships  ? 
Stanley. 
No,  my  good  lord, my  friends  are  in  the  north. 

King  Richard. 
Cold  friends  to  me:  What  do  they  in  the  north, 
When  they  should  serve  their  sovereign  in  the 
west? 

Stanley. 
They  have  not  been  commanded,  mighty  king. 
Pleaseth  your  majesty  to  give  me  leave, 
I'll  muster  up  my  friends,  and  meet  your  grace. 
Where,  and  what  time,  your  majesty  shall  please. 

King 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


653 


King  Richard. 
Ay,  thou  wouldst  be  gone  to  join  with  Rich- 
mond : 
But  I'll  not  trust  thee. 

Stanley. 

Most  mighty  sovereign, 
You  have   no   cause   to   hold   my  friendship 

doubtful. 
I  never  was,  nor  never  will  be  false. 

King  Rlcftard. 

Go,  then,  and  muster  men :  but  leave  behind 

Your  son,  George  Stanley.    Look  your  heart 

be  firm, 
Or  else  his  head's  assurance  is  but  frail. 
Stanley. 
So  deal  with  him,  as  I  prove  true  to  you. 

[KxWStanley. 

Knter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
My  gracious  sovereign,  now  in  Devonshire, 
As  I  by  friends  am  well  advertised, 
Sir  Edward  Courtney,  and  the  haughty  prelate, 
Bishop  of  Exeter,  his  elder  brother, 
With  many  more  confederates,  are  in  arms. 

Knter  another  Messenger. 

Second  Messenger. 
In  Kent,  my  liege,  the  Guildfords  are  in  arms ; 
And  every  hour  more  competitors 
Flock  to  the  rebels,  and  their  power   grows 
strong. 

Knter  a  third  Messenger 

Third  Messenger. 

My  lord,  the  army  of  great  Buckingham  — 

King  Richard. 
Out  on  ye,  owls  1  nothing  but  songs  of  death? 
[He  strikes  him. 
There,  take  thou  that,  till  thou  bring  better 
news. 

Third  Messenger. 
The  news  I  have  to  tell  your  majesty 
Is,  that  by  sudden  floods  and  fall  of  waters, 
Buckingham's  army  is  dispers'd  and  scatter'd ; 
And  he  himself  wander'd  away  alone, 
No  man  knows  whither. 

King  Richard. 

I  cry  thee  mercy : 
There  is  my  purse,  to  cure  that  blow  of  thine 
Hath  any  well-advised  friend  proclaim'd 
Reward  to  him  that  brings  the  traitor  in  ? 

Third  Messenger. 
Such  proclamation  hath  been  made,  my  lord. 

Enter  a  fourth  Messenger. 

Fourth  Messenger. 

Sir  Thomas  Lovel,  and  lord  marquess  Dorset, 
'Tis  said,  my  liege,  in  Yorkshire  are  in  arms  : 
But  this  good  comfort  bring  I  to  your  highness, — 
The  Bretagne  navy  is  dispers'd  by  tempest. 
Richmond,  in  Dorsetshire,  sent  out  a  boat 
Unto  the  shore,  to  ask  those  on  the  banks, 
If  they  were  his  assistants,  yea,  or  no  ; 
Who  answer'd  him,  they  came  from  Buckingham 
Upon  his  party:  he,  mistrusting  them, 
Hois'd  sail,  and  made  his  course  again  for  Bre- 
tagne. 

King  Klchanl. 

March  on,  march  on,  since  we  are  up  in  arms  ; 
If  not  to  fight  with  foreign  enemies, 
Yet  to  beat  down  these  rebels  here  at  home. 


Enter  Catesby. 

Catesby. 

My  liege,  the  duke  of  Buckingham  \s  taken ; 

That  is  the  best  news :  that  the  earl  of  Rich 

mond 
Is  with  a  mighty  power  landed  at  Mi/ford, 
Is  colder  news,  but  yet  they  must  be  told. 
King  Richard. 
Away  towards  Salisbury!   while  we  reason 
A  royal  battle  might  be  won  and  lost. —     [here, 
Some  one  take  order,  Buckingham  be  brought 
To  Salisbury  :  the  rest  marcli  on  with  me. 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  In  Lord  Stanley'*  House. 
Enter  Stanley  and  Sir  Christopher  Urswick. 

Stanley. 
Sir  Christopher,  tell  Richmond  this  from  me:  — 
That,  in  the  sty  of  the  most  bloody  boar, 
My  son  George  Stanley  is  frank 'd  up  in  hold: 
If  I  revolt,  off  goes  young  George's  head  : 
The  fear  of  that  holds  off  my  present  aid. 
So,  get  thee  gone :  commend  me  to  thy  lord. 
Withal,  say  that  the  queen  hath  heartily  con- 
sented, 
He  should  espouse  Elizabeth  her  daughter. 
But,  tell  me,  where  is  princely  Richmond  now  ? 
Christopher. 
At  Pembroke,  or  at  Ha'rford-west,  in  Wales. 

Stanley. 
What  men  of  name  resort  to  him  ? 

Christopher. 
Sir  Walter  Herbert,  a  renowned  soldier ; 
Sir  Gilbert  Talbot,  sir  William  Stanley  ; 
Oxford,  redoubted  Pembroke,  sir  James  Blunt, 
And  Rice  ap  Thomas,  with  a  valiant  crew ; 
And  many  other  of  great  name  and  worth  : 
And  towards  London  do  they  bend  their  power, 
If  by  the  way  they  be  not  fought  withal. 
Stanley. 
Well,  hie  thee  to  thy  lord ;  I  kiss  his  hand : 
My  letter  will  resolve  him  of  my  mind. 
Farewell.       (Giving  Paper«  to  Sir  Christopher. 
[Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Salisbury.    An  open  Place. 

Enter  the  Sheriff",  an<*  Guard,  with  Buckingham, 
led  to  Execution 

Buckingham. 

WILL  not  king  Richard  let  me  speak  with 
him? 

Sheriff. 
No,  my  good  lord  ;  therefore,  be  patient. 

Buckingham. 
Hastings,  and  Edward's  children,  Grey,  and 
Rivers, 
Holy  king  Henry,  and  thy  fair  son  Edward, 
Vaughan,  and  all  that  have  miscarried 
By  underhand  corrupted  foul  injustice, 
If  that  your  moody  discontented  souls 
Do  through  the  clouds  behold  this  present  hour, 
Even  for  revenge  mock  my  destruction  !  — 
This  is  All-Souls'  day,  fellow,  is  it  not  ? 
Sheriff. 
It  is. 

Buckingham. 


654 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  v.  Sc.  l 


Buckingham. 
Why,  then  All-Souls'  day  is  my  body's  dooms- 
day. 
This  is  the  day,  which,  in  king  Edward's  time, 
I  wish'd  might  fall  on  me,  when  I  was  found 
False  to  his  children,  or  his  wife's  allies  : 
This  is  the  day,  wherein  I  wish'd  to  fall 
By  the  false  faith  of  him  whom  most  I  trusted  ; 
This,  this  All-Souls'  day  to  my  fearful  soul 
Is  the  determin'd  respite  of  my  wrongs. 
That  high  All-Seer,  which  I  dallied  with, 
Hath  turn'd  my  feigned  prayer  on  my  head, 
And  given  in  earnest  what  I  begg'd  in  jest. 
Thus  doth  he  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points   in    their  masters' 

bosoms : 
Thus  Margaret's  curse  falls  heavy  on  my  neck :  — 
"When  he,"  quoth  she,  "shall  split  thy  heart 

with  sorrow, 
Remember  Margaret  was  a  prophetess."— 
Come,  lead  me,  officers,  to  the  block  of  shame  ; 
Wrong  hath  but  wrong,  and  blame  the  due  of 
blame. 

[Exeunt  Buckingham  and  Officers. 

SCENE  II.    A  Plain  near  Tamworth. 

Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours,  Richmond,  Ox- 
ford, Sir  James  Blunt,  Sir  Walter  Herbert, 
and  others  with  Forces,  marching. 

Richmond. 
Fellows  in  arms,  and  my  most  loving  friends, 
Bruis'd  underneath  the  yoke  of  tyranny, 
Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  march'd  on  without  impediment ; 
And  here  receive  we  from  our  father  Stanley 
Lines  of  fair  comfort  and  encouragement. 
The  wretched,  bloody,  and  usurping  boar, 
That  spoiPd  your  summer  fields,  and  fruitful 
vines,  [his  trough 

Swills  your  warm  blood  like  wash,  and  makes 
In  your  embowell'd  bosoms,  this  foul  swine 
Is  now  even  in  the  centre  of  this  isle, 
Near  to  the  town  of  Leicester,  as  we  learn  :         • 
From  Tamworth  thither,  is  but  one  day's  march,  j 
In  God's  name,  cheerly  on,  courageous  friends, 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  perpetual  peace 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war. 
Oxford. 
Every  man's  conscience  is  a  thousand  men, 
To  fight  against  this  guilty  homicide. 
Herbert. 
I  doubt  not,  but  his  friends  will  turn  to  us.     j 

Blunt. 
He  hath  no  friends,  but  what  are  friends  for) 
fear, 
Which  in  his  dearest  need  will  fly  from  him. 
Richmond. 
All  for  our  vantage:  then,  in  God's  name, 
march. 
True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallow's  wings, 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  kings. 
(Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Bostoorth  Field. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  Forces ;  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  Earl  of  Surrey,  and  others. 
King  Richard. 
Here  pitch  our  tent,  even  here  in  Bosworth 

field 

My  lord  of  Surrey,  why  look  you  so  sad  ? 
Surrey. 
My  heart  is  ten  times  lighter  than  my  looks,   j 


King  Richard. 
My  lord  of  Norfolk,— 

Norfolk. 
Here,  most  gracious  liege. 
King  Richard. 
Norfolk,  we  must  have  knocks;  ha!  must  we 
not? 

Norfolk. 
We  must  both  give  and  take,  my  loving  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Up  with  my  tent  1  here  will  I  lie  to-night ; 
iSoldicrs  begin  to  set  up  the  Kitig's  Tent. 
But  where  to-morrow?— Well,   all's  one    for 

that  — 
Who  hath  descried  the  number  of  the  traitors  ? 
Norfolk. 
Six  or  seven  thousand  is  their  utmost  power. 

King  Richard. 
Why,  our  battalia  trebles  that  account : 
Besides,  the  king's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength, 
Which  they  upon  the  adverse  faction  want. 
Up  with  the  tent  I — Come,  noble  gentlemen, 
Let  us  survey  the  vantage  of  the  ground. — 
Call  for  some  men  of  sound  direction. — 
Let's  lack  no  discipline,  make  no  delay, 
For,  lords,  to-morrow  is  a  busy  day.     [Exeunt. 

Enter,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Field,  Richmond, 
Sir  William  Brandon,  Oxford,  and  other 
Officers.  Some  of  the  Soldiers  pitch  Rich- 
mond'i  Tent. 

Richmond. 
The  weary  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set, 
And  by  the  bright  track  of  his  iiery  car, 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to-morrow — 
Sir  William  Brandon,  you  shall  bear  my  stand- 
ard.— 
Give  me  some  ink  and  paper  in  my  tent: 
I'll  draw  the  form  and  model  of  our  battle, 
Limit  each  leader  to  his  several  charge, 
And  part  in  just  proportion  our  small  power. 
My  lord  of  Oxford,  —  you,  sir  William  Brandon, — 
And  you,  sir  Walter  Herbert,  stay  with  me. 
The  earl  of  Pembroke  keeps  his  regiment : 
Good  captain  Blunt,  bear  my  good  night  to  him, 
And  by  the  second  hour  in  the  morning 
Desire  the  earl  to  see  me  in  my  tent :  — 
Yet  one  thing  more,  good  captain,  do  for  me ; 
Where  is  lord  Stanley  quarter'd,  do  you  know  ? 
Blunt. 
Unless  I  have  mista'en  his  colours  much, 
(Which,  well  I  am  assur'd,  I  have  not  done) 
His  regiment  lies  half  a  mile,  at  least, 
South  from  the  mighty  power  of  the  king. 
Richmond. 
If  without  peril  it  be  possible,  [with  him, 

Sweet  Blunt,  make  some  good  means  to  speak 
And  give  him  from  me  this  most  needful  note. 

Blunt. 
Upon  my  life,  my  lord,  I'll  undertake  it : 
And  so,  God  give  you  quiet  rest  to-night  1 
Richmond. 
Good  night,  good  captain  Blunt.  Come,  gentle- 
men, 
Let  us  consult  upon  to-morrow's  business! 
In  to  my  tent,  the  dew  is  raw  and  cold. 

[They  withdraw  into  the  Tent. 

Enter,  to  his  Tent.  King  Richard,  Norfolk,  Rat- 
cliff,  and  Catesby. 
King  Richurd. 


■ 
What  is't  o'clock  ? 

Catesby. 
It's  supper  time,  my  lord ;  it's  nine  o'clock 
Ki' 


- 
ingj 


Act  v.  Sc  hi. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


*53 


King  Richard. 
I  will  not  sup  to-night.— 
Give  me  tome  ink  and  paper.  — 
What,  is  my  beaver  easier  than  it  was, 
And  all  my  armour  laid  into  my  tent? 

>by. 
It  is,  my  liege  ;  and  all  things  are  in  readiness. 

King  Richard. 
Good  Norfolk,  hie  thee  to  thy  charge. 
Use  careful  watch ;  choose  trusty  sentinels. 
Norfolk. 
I  go,  my  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Stir  with  the  lark  to-morrow,  gentle  Norfolk.  ! 

Norfolk. 
I  warrant  you,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

King  Richard. 
Ratcltff! 

Ratcliff. 
My  lord? 

King  Richard. 
Send  out  a  pursuivant  at  arms 
To  Stanley's  regiment :  bid  him  bring  his  power 
Before  sun-rising,  lest  his  son  George  fall 
Into  the  blind  cave  of  eternal  night. — 

Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine Give  me  a  watch  : 

Saddle  white  Surrey  for  the  field  to-morrow. — 
Look  that  my  staves  be  sound,  and  not  too  heavy. 
RatcltfTl— 

Ratcliff. 
My  lord? 

King  Richard. 
Saw'st  thou  the  melancholy  lord  Northumber- 
land? 

Ratcliff. 
Thomas  the  earl  of  Surrey,  and  himself, 
Much  about  cock-shut  time,  from  troop  to  troop 
Went  through  the  army,  cheering  up  the  soldiers. 
King  Richard. 
So :  I  am  satisfied.    Give  me  a  bowl  of  wine : 
I  have  not  that  alacrity  of  spirit, 
Nor  cheer  of  mind,  that  I  was  wont  to  have.— 
Set  it  down.— Is  ink  and  paper  ready  > 

Ratcliff. 
It  is,  my  lord. 

King  Richard. 
Bid  my  guard  watch.    Leave  me. 
Ratcliff",  about  the  mid  of  night,  come  to  my  tent 
And  help  to  arm  me.— Leave  me,  I  say. 

[King  Richard  retires  into  his  Tent.  Exeunt 
Ratcliff  and  Cattsby. 

Richmond1*  Tent  opens,  and  discovers  him  and 

his  Officers,  Ac. 

Enter  Stanley. 

Stanley. 

Fortune  and  victory  sit  on  thy  helm ! 

Richmond. 

All  comfort  that  the  dark  night  can  afford, 
Be  to  thy  person,  noble  father-in-law  I 
Tell  me,  how  fares  our  loving  mother? 
Stanley. 

I,  by  attorney,  bless  thee  from  thy  mother, 
Who  prays  continually  for  Richmond's  good: 

So  much  for  that The  silent  hours  steal  on, 

And  flaky  darkness  breaks  within  the  east. 
In  brief,  for  so  the  season  bids  us  be, 
Prepare  thy  battle  early  in  the  morning; 
And  put  thy  fortune  to  the  arbitrement 
Of  bloody  strokes,  and  mortal-staring  war. 
I,  as  I  may,  (that  which  I  would  I  cannot) 
With  best  advantage  will  deceive  the  time, 
And  aid  thee  in  this  doubtful  shock  of  arms : 


But  on  thy  side  I  may  not  be  too  forward, 
Lest,  being  seen,  thy  brother,  tender  George, 
Be  executed  in  his  father's  sight. 
Farewell.    The  leisure  and  the  fearful  time 
Cuts  off  the  ceremonious  vows  of  love, 
And  ample  interchange  of  sweet  discourse, 
Which  so  long  6under'd  friends  should  dwell 

upon. 
God  give  us  leisure  for  these  rites  of  love ! 
Once  more,  adieu — Be  valiant,  and  speed  well  1 

Richmond. 
Good  lords,  conduct  him  to  his  regiment. 
I'll  strive,  with  troubled  thoughts,  to  take  a  nap ; 
Lest  leaden  slumber  peise  me  down  to-morrow, 
When  I  should  mount  with  wings  of  victory. 
Once  more,  good  night,  kind  lords,  and  gentle- 
men.     [Exeunt  Lords,  &c.  with  Stanley. 
O  1  Thou,  whose  captain  I  account  myself. 
Look  on  my  forces  with  a  gracious  eye ; 
Put  in  their  hands  thy  bruising  irons  of  wrath, 
That  they  may  crush  down  with  a  heavy  fall 
Th*  usurping  helmets  of  our  adversaries  1 
Make  us  thy  ministers  of  chastisement, 
That  we  may  praise  thee  in  thy  victory  1 
To  thee  I  do  commend  my  watchful  soul, 
Ere  I  let  fall  the  windows  of  mine  eyes  : 
Sleeping  and  waking,  O!  defend  me  still ! 

[Sleeps. 

The  Ghost  of  Prince  Edward,  Son  to  Henry 
the  Sixth,  rises  between  the  two  Tents 

Ghost. 
Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow  1 

[To  King  Richard. 
Think,  how  thou  stab'dst  me  in  my  prime  of 
youth 

At  Tewksbury:  despair,  therefore,  and  die 

Be  cheerful,  Richmond  ;  for  the  wronged  souls 
Of  butcher'd  princes  fight  in  thy  behalf: 
King  Henry's  issue,  Richmond,  comforts  thee. 

The  Ghost  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth  rises. 

Ghost. 
When  I  was  mortal,  my  anointed  body 

[To  King  Richard. 
By  thee  was  punched  full  of  deadly  holes. 
Think  on  the  Tomer,  and  me:  despair,  and  die ; 
Harry  the  sixth  bids  thee  despair  and  die. — 
Virtuous  and  holy,  be  thou  conqueror ! 

[To  Richmond. 
Harry  that  prophesy'd  thou  should'st  he  king, 
Doth  comfort  thee  in  sleep :  live,  and  flourish. 

The  Ghost  of  Clarence  rises. 

Ghost. 
Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to  morrow  I 

[To  King  Richard. 
I,  that  was  wash'd  to  death  with  fulsome  wine, 
Poor  Clarence,  by  thy  guile  betray'd  to  death  ! 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  me, 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  sword.    Despair,  and  die. 
Thou  offspring  of  the  house  of  Lancaster, 

[To  Richmond. 
The  wronged  heirs  of  York  do  pray  for  thee; 
Good  angels  guard  thy  battle  1  Live  and  flourish. 

The  Ghosts  of  Rivers,  Grey,  and  Vaughan,  rise. 

Rivers. 
Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow  I 

[To  King  Richard. 
Rivers,  that  died  at  Pom/ret.    Despair,  and  die. 

(fee*. 

Think  upon  Grey,  and  let  thy  soul  despair. 


thv 

[To  King  Richard. 
Vaughan. 


656 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  v.  Sc.  m. 


Vaughan. 

Think  upon  Vaughan,  and  with  guilty  fear 

Let  fallthy  lance.    Despair, fnd£f.- ^^ 

All. 
Awake!  and  think  our  wrongs  in  Richard's 
bosom  ^To  Richmond, 

Will  conquer  him.— Awake,  and  win  the  day  1 
The  Ghost  of  Hastings  rises. 
Ghost. 
Bloody  and  guilty,  guiltily  awake.; 

LTo  King  Rtchard. 
And  in  a  bloody  battle  end  thy  days. 
Think  on  lord  Hastings.    Despair,  and  die — 
Quiet  untroubled  soul,  awake,  awake  1 

fTo  Richmond. 
Arm,  fight,  and  conquer,  for  fair  England's  sake. 
The  Ghosts  of  the  two  young  Princes  rise 

Ghosts. 

Dream  on  thy  cousins  smother'd  in  the  Tower: 

Let  us  be  lead  within  thy  bosom,  Richard, 

And  weigh  thee  down  to  ruin,  shame,  and  death. 

Thy  nephews'  souls  bid  thee  despair,  and  die.— 

Sleep,  Richmond,  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in 

j°y; 

Good  angels  guard  thee  from  the  boar's  annoy ! 
Live,  and  beget  a  happy  race  of  kings. 
Edward's  unhappy  sons  do  bid  thee  flourish. 

The  Ghost  of  Queen  Anne  rises. 
Ghost. 
Richard,  thy  wife,  that  wretched  Anne  thy 
That  never  slept  a  quiet  hour  with  thee,    [wife, 
Now  fills  thy  sleep  with  perturbations : 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  me, 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  sword.  Despair,  and  die— 
Thou,  quiet  soul,  sleep  thou  a  quiet  sleep ; 

I  To  Richmond. 
Dream  of  success  and  happy  victory : 
Thy  adversary's  wife  doth  pray  for  thee. 

The  Ghost  or  Buckingham  rises. 

Ghost. 
The  first  was  I  that  help'd  thee  to  the  crown  ; 
[To  King  Richard. 
The  last  was  I  that  felt  thy  tyranny. 
O  !  in  the  battle  think  on  Buckingham, 
And  die  in  terror  of  thy  guiltiness. 
Dream  on,  dream  on,  of  bloody  deeds  and  death : 
Fainting,  despair ;  despairing,  yield  thy  breath— 
I  died  for  hope  ere  I  could  lend  thee  aid: 

[To  Richmond. 

But  cheer  thy  heart,  and  be  thou  not  dismay'd : 

God,  and  good  angels  fight  on  Richmond's  side ; 

And  Richard  fall  in  height  of  all  his  pride. 

[The  Ghosts  vanish.     King  Richard  starts 

out  of  his  dream. 

King  Richard. 
Give  me  another  horse !— bind  up  my  wounds  !— 
Have  mercy,  Jesu!  —  Soft  1  I  did  but  dream.— 
O,  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me ! — 
The  lights  burn  blue — It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 
What  do  1  fear  ?  myself  ?  there's  none  else  by  ? 
Richard  loves  Richard;  that  is,  I  am  I. 
Is  there  a  murderer  here  ?    No ;  — yes  ;  I  am 
Then  fly,— What,  from  myself?    Great  reason : 

why? 
Lest  I  revenge.    What !  Myself  upon  myself? 
Alack !  I  love  myself.   Wherefore?  for  any  good 
That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself? 

0  !  no:  alas!  I  rather  hate  myself, 
For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

1  am  villain.    Yet  I  lie ;  I  am  not. 


Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well :—  Fool,  do  not  flatter. 
My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues, 
And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale, 
And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 
Perjury,  perjury,  in  the  high'st  degree; 
Murder,  stern  murder,  in  the  dir'st  degree; 
All  several  sins,  all  us'd  in  each  degree, 
Throng  to  the  bar,  crying  all,— Guilty !  Guilty ! 
I  shall  despair. — There  is  no  creature  loves  me ; 
And  if  I  die,  no  soul  shall  pity  me: — 
Nay,  wherefore  should  they?  since  that  I  myself 
Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself. 
Methought,  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murder'd 
Came  to  my  tent ;  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. 

Enter  Ratcliff: 
Ratcliff. 
My  lord,— 

King  Richard. 
Who's  there 

Ratcliff. 
Ratcliff,  my  lord;  'tis  I.    The  early  village 
cock 
Hath  twice  done  salutation  to  the  morn : 
Your  friends  are  up,  and  buckle  on  their  armour. 
King;  Richard. 
O  Ratcliff!  I  have  dream'd  a  fearful  dream.— 
What  thinkest  thou  ?  will  our  friends  prove  all 
true? 

Ratcliff. 
No  doubt,  my  lord. 

King  Richard. 

0  Ratcliff!  I  fear,  I  fear,— 

Ratcliff. 
Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  afraid  of  shadows. 

King  Richard. 
By  the  apostle  Paw,  shadows  to-night 
Have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard, 
Than  can  the  substance  of  ten  thousand  soldiers, 
Armed  in  proof,  and  led  by  shallow  Richmond. 
It  is  not  yet  near  day.     Come,  go  with  me : 
Under  our  tents  I'll  play  the  eaves-dropper, 
To  hear  if  any  mean  to  shrink  from  me. 

[Exeunt  King  Rtchard  and  Ratcliff 

Enter  Oxford  and  others. 

Lords. 
Good  morrow,  Richmond. 

Richmond. 
Cry  mercy,  lords,  [Waking,]  and  watchful 
gentlemen, 
That  you  have  ta'en  a  tardy  sluggard  here. 

Lords. 
How  have  you  slept,  my  lord  ? 

The  sweetest  sleep, and  fairest-boding  dreams, 
That  ever  enter'd  in  a  drowsy  head, 
Have  I  since  your  departure  had,  my  lords. 
Methought,  their  souls,  whose  bodies  Richard 

murder'd, 
Came  to  my  tent,  and  cried  —  On !  victory  1 
I  promise  you,  my  heart  is  very  jocund 
In  the  remembrance  of  so  fair  a  dream. 
How  far  into  the  morning  is  it,  lords  ? 

Lords. 
Upon  the  stroke  oftour. 

.  .     Richmond.  ,     .       ,. 

Why,  then  'tis  time  to  arm,  and  give  direc- 
tion.— [Ho  advances  to^the  Troops. 
More  than  I  have  raid,  loving  countrymen, 
The  leisure  and  enforcement  of  the  time 
Forbids  to  dwell  on:  yet  remember  this,— 
God  and  our  good  cause  fight  upon  our  side ; 

The 


Act  v.  <Sc.  hi. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


657 


The  prayers  of  holy  saints,  and  wronged  souls, 
Like  high-rear'dbul  warks.  stand  before  our  faces. 
Richard  except,  those  whom  we  tight  against 
Had  rather  have  us  win,  than  him  they  follow. 
For  what  is  he  they  follow?  truly,  gentlemen, 
A  bloody  tyrant,  and  a  homicide  ; 
One  rais'd  in  blood,  and  one  in  blood  establish'd  ; 
One  that  made  means  to  come  by  what  he  hath, 
And  slaughter'd  those  that  were  the  means  to 

help  him  ; 
A  Imm  foul  stone,  made  precious  by  the  foil 
Of  England's  chair,  where  he  is  falsely  set ; 
One  that  hath  ever  been  God's  enemy. 
Then,  if  you  fight  against  God's  enemy, 
God  will,  in  justice,  ward  you  as  his  soldiers : 
If  you  do  sweat  to  put  a  tyrant  down, 
You  sleep  in  peace,  the  tyrant  being  slain  ; 
If  you  do  fight  against  your  country's  foes, 
Your  country's  fat  shall  pay  your  pains  the  hire; 
If  you  do  fight  in  safeguard  of  your  wives, 
Your  wives  shall  welcome  home  the  conquerors ; 
If  you  do  free  your  children  from  the  sword, 
Your  children  s  children  quit  it  in  your  age. 
Then,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  all  these  rights, 
Advance   your    standards,   draw    your   willing 

swords. 
For  me,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 
Shall  be  this  cold  corpse  on  the  earth's  cold  face  ; 
But  if  1  thrive,  the  gain  of  my  attempt, 
The  least  of  you  shall  share  his  part  thereof. 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheer- 
fully ; 
God,  and  Saint  George!  Richmond,  and  victory  1 
[Exeunt. 

Re-enter  King  Richard,  Ratcliff,  Attendants, 
and  Forces. 
King  Richard. 
What  said  Northumberland,  as  touching  Rich- 
mond? 

Ratcliff. 
That  he  was  never  trained  up  in  arms. 

King  Richard. 
He  said  the  truth :  and  what  said  Surrey  then  ? 

Ratcliff. 
He  smil'd  and  said,  the  better  for  our  purpose. 

King  Richard. 
He  was  i*  the  right ;  and  so,  indeed,  it  is. 

[Clock  strikes. 

Tell  the  clock  there.— Give  me  a  calendar 

Who  saw  the  sun  to-day  ? 

Ratcliff. 

Not  I,  my  lord. 
King  Richard. 
Then  he  disdains  to  shine ;  for,  by  the  book, 
He  should  have  brav'd  the  east  an  hour  ago : 
A  black  day  will  it  be  to  somebody— 
Ratcliff,— 

Ratcliff. 
My  lord? 

King  Richard. 
The  sun  will  not  be  seen  to-day : 
The  sky  doth  frown  and  lour  upon  our  army. 
I  would,  these  dewy  tears  were  from  the  ground. 
Not  shine  to-day !     Why,  what  is  that  to  me, 
More    than    to  Richmond?    for  the  self-same 

heaven, 
That  frowns  on  me,  looks  sadly  upon  him. 

Enter  Norfolk. 
Norfolk. 
Arm,  arm,  my  lord!   the  foe  vaunts  in  the 
field. 

King  Richard. 
Come,  bustle,  bustle.— Caparison  my  horse— 


Call  up  lord  Stanley,  bid  him  bring  his  power. 
I  will  lead  forth  my  soldiers  to  the  plain, 
And  thus  my  battle  shall  be  ordered. 
My  forewarn  shall  be  drawn  out  all  in  length, 
Consisting  equally  of  horse  and  foot: 
Our  archers  shall  be  placed  in  the  midst. 
John  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  earl  of  Surrey, 
Shall  have  the  leading  of  the  foot  and  horse. 
They  thus  directed,  we  will  follow  [side 

In  the  main  battle ;  whose  puissance  on  either 
Shall  be  well  winged  with  our  chiefest  horse. 
This,  and  Saint  George  to  boot !— What  think'st 
thou,  Norfolk? 

folk. 

A  good  direction,  warlike  sovereign 

This  found  I  on  my  tent  this  morning. 

[Giving  a  Scroll. 
King  Richard.  [Reads. 

"  Jocky  of  Norfolk,  be  not  too  bold, 
For  Dickon  thy  master  is  bought  and  sold." 
A  thing  devised  by  the  enemy. — 
Go,  gentlemen  ;  every  man  to  his  charge. 
Let  not  our  babbling  dreams  affright  our  souls ; 
For  conscience  is  a  word  that  cowards  use, 
Devis'd  at  first  to  keep  the  strong  in  awe :  [law. 
Our  strong  arms  be  our  conscience,  swords  our 
March  on,  join  bravely,  let  us  to't  pell-mell; 
If  not  to  heaven,  then  hand  in  hand  to  hell. — 
What  shall  I  say  more  than  I  have  inferr'd  ? 
Remember  whom  you  are  to  cope  withal ; — 
A  sort  of  vagabonds,  rascals,  and  run-aways, 
A  scum  of  Bretagnes,  and  base  lackey  peasants, 
Whom  their  o'er-cloyed  country  vomits  forth 
To  desperate  adventures  and  assur'd  destruction. 
You  sleeping  safe,  they  bring  you  to  unrest ; 
You  having  lands,  and  bless'd  with  beauteous 

wives, 
They  would  restrain  the  one,  distain  the  other. 
And  who  doth  lead  them,  but  a  paltry  fellow, 
Long  kept  in  Bretagne  at  our  mother's  cost ; 
A  milk-sop,  one  that  never  in  his  life 
Felt  so  much  cold  as  over  shoes  in  snow  ? 
Let's  whip  these  stragglers  o'er  the  seas  again ; 
Lash  hence  these  over-weening  rags  of  France^ 
These  famish'd  beggars,  weary  of  their  lives  ; 
Who,  but  for  dreaming  on  this  fond  exploit, 
Tor  want  of  means,  poor  rats,  had  hang'd  them- 
selves. 
If  we  be  conquer'd,  let  men  conquer  us, 
And  not  these  bastard  Bretagnes;  whom  our 
fathers  [thump'd, 

Have  in  their  own  land  beaten,  bobb'd,  and 
And,  on  record,  left  them  the  heirs  of  shame. 
Shall  these  enjoy  our  lands?  lie  with  our  wives? 
Ravish  our  daughters  ?— Hark,  I  hear  their  drum. 
[Drum  afar  off. 
Fight,  gentlemen  of  England!  fight,  bold  yeo- 
men ! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head ; 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood : 
Amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves ! — 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
What  says  lord  Stanley?  will  he  bring  his  power? 
Messenger. 
My  lord,  he  doth  deny  to  come. 

King  Richard. 
Off  with  his  son  George's  head. 

Norfolk. 
My  lord,  the  enemy  is  pass'd  the  marsh  : 
After  the  battle  let  George  Stanley  die. 
King  Richard. 
A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom. 
Advance  our  standards  !  set  upon  our  foes  ! 

u  v  Our 


6c8 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George 
Inspire  us  with  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons  ! 
Upon  them  I     Victory  sits  on  our  helms. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 

Alarum:  Excursions.    Enter  Norfolk,  and 
Forces ;  to  him  Catesby. 

Catesby. 
Rescue,  my  lord  of  Norfolk!  rescue,  rescue ! 
The  king  enacts  more  wonders  than  a  man, 
Daring  an  opposite  to  every  danger. 
His  horse  is  slain,  and  all  on  foot  he  fights, 
Seeking  for  Richmond  in  the  throat  of  death. 
Rescue,  fair  lord,  or  else  the  day  is  lost. 

Alarum.    Enter  King  Richard. 

King  Richard. 

A  horse  1  a  horse  1  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! 

Catesby. 
Withdraw,  my  lord ;  I'll  help  you  to  a  horse. 

King  Richard. 
Slave  !  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die. 
I  think  there  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field ; 
Five  have  I  slain  to-day,  instead  of  him.— 
A  horse !  a  horse !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  1 

[Exeunt. 

Alarums.  Enter  King  Richard  and  Richmond; 
and  exeunt,  fighting.  Retreat  and  flourish. 
Then  enter  Richmond,  Stanley  bearing  the 
Crown,  with  divers  other  Lords  and  Forces. 

Richmond. 
God,  and  your  arms,  be  prais'd,  victorious 
friends, 
The  day  is  ours,  the  bloody  dog  is  dead. 
Stanley. 
Courageous  Richmond,  well  hast  thou  acquit 
Lo !  here,  this  long-usurped  royalty,  [thee. 

From  the  dead  temples  of  this  bloody  wretch 
Have  I  pluck'd  off,  to  grace  thy  brows  withal ; 
Wear  it,  enjoy  it,  and  make  much  of  it. 


Richmond. 

Great  God  of  heaven,  say,  amen,  to  all ! 

But,  tell  me,  is  young  George  Stanley  living? 

Stanley. 

He  is,  my  lord,  and  safe  in  Leicester  town ; 

Whither,  if  you  please,  we  may  withdraw  us. 

Richmond. 

What  men  of  name  are  slain  on  either  side? 

Stanley. 
John  duke  of  Noifolk,  Walter  lord  Ferrers, 
Sir    Robert    Brackenbury,    and    Sir    William 
Brandon.     „.  ,  . 

Richmond. 
Inter  their  bodies  as  becomes  their  births. 
Proclaim  a  pardon  to  the  soldiers  fled, 
That  in  submission  will  return  to  us ; 
And  then,  as  we  have  ta'en  the  sacrament, 
We  will  unite  the  white  rose  and  the  red:  — 
Smile  heaven  upon  this  fair  conjunction. 

That  long  hath  frown'd  upon  their  enmity ! 

What  traitor  hears  me,  and  says  not,  amen? 
England  hath  long  been  mad,  and  scarr'd  her- 
self; 
The  brother  blindly  shed  the  brother's  blood, 
The  father  rashly  slaughter'd  his  own  son, 
The  son,  compell'd,  been  butcher  to  the  sire ; 
All  this  divided  York  and  Lancaster 

Divided  in  their  dire  division 

O  !  now,  let  Richmond  and  Elizabeth, 
The  true  succeeders  of  each  royal  house, 
By  God's  fair  ordinance  conjoin  together ! 
And  let  their  heirs,  (God,  if  thy  will  be  so) 
Enrich  the  time  to   come  with  smooth-fac'd 

peace ! 
With  smiling  plenty,  and  fair  prosperous  days  ! 
Abate  the  edge  of  traitors,  gracious  Lord, 
That  would  reduce  these  bloody  days  again, 
And  make  poor  England  weep  in  streams  of 

blood ! 
Let  them  not  live  to  taste  this  land's  increase, 
That  would  with  treason  wound  this  fair  land's 

peace  1 
Now  civil  wounds  arestopp'd,  peace  lives  again: 
That  she  may  long  live  here,  God  say  amen !    , 
'  J  TExeunl. 


ki.M,    I1K.NKY  VKi. 


659 


KING  HENEY  VIII, 


DRAMATIS    PERSONA. 


KING  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH. 
fn  (Until  Wolsey.    Cardinal  Campelus. 

I  apiuius,  Ambassador  from  Charles  V. 

Cranmer,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Duke  of  N  orfolk.    Earl  of  Surrey. 

Duke  of  Suffolk.    Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Lord  Chamberlain.    Lord  Chancellor. 

Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester. 

Bishop  of  Lincoln.    Lord  Abergavenny.     Lord 

Sands. 
Sir  Henry  Guildford.    Sir  Thomas  I.ovell. 
Sir  Anthony  Denny.    Sir  Nicholas  Vaux. 
Secretaries  to  Wolsey. 
(rum  well.  Servant  to  Wolsey. 
Griffith,  Gentleman-Usher  to  Queen  Katharine. 
Three  other  Gentlemen.    Garter,  King  at  Arms. 


PROLOGUE. 

1  COME  no  more  tomakeyou  laugh :  things  now, 
That  bear  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow, 
Sad,  high,  and  working,  full  of  state  and  woe. 
Such  noble  scenes  as  draw  the  eye  to  flow, 
We  now  present.    Those  that  can  pity,  here 
May,  if  they  think  it  well,  let  fall  a  tear ; 
The  subject  will  deserve  it:  such,  as  give 
Their  money  out  of  hope  they  may  believe, 
May  here  find  truth  too:  those,  that  come  to  see 
Only  a  show  or  two,  and  so  agree 
The  play  may  pass,  if  they  be  still  and  willing, 
I'll  undertake,  may  see  away  their  shilling 
Richly  in  two  short  hours.     Only  they, 
That  come  to  hear  a  merry,  bawdy  play, 
A  noise  of  targets,  or  to  see  a  fellow 
In  a  long  motley  coat,  guarded  with  yellow, 
Will  be  deceiv'd ;  for,  gentle  hearers,  know. 
To  rank  our  chosen  truth  with  such  a  show 
As  fool  and  fight  is,  beside  forfeiting 
Our  own  brains,  and  the  opinion  that  we  bring, 
To  make  that  only  true  we  now  intend, 
Will  leave  us  never  an  understanding  friend. 
Therefore,  for  goodness'  sake,  and  as  you  are 

known, 
The  first  and  happiest  hearers  of  the  town, 
Be  sad  as  we  would  make  ye :  think,  ye  see 
The  very  persons  of  our  noble  story, 
As  they  were  living ;  think,  you  see  them  great, 
And  follow'd  with  the  general  throng,  and  sweat 
Of  thousand  friends ;  then,  in  a  moment,  gee 


Doctor  Butts,  Physician  to  the  King. 
Surveyor  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 
Brandon,  and  a  Sergeant  at  Anns. 
Door-keeper  of  the  Council- Chamber.    Porter, 

and  his  Man. 
Page  to  Gardiner.    A  Crier. 
Queen  Katharine,  Wife  to  King  Henry. 
Anne  Bullen,  her  Maid  of  Honour. 
An  old  Lady,  Friend  to  Anne  Bullen. 
Patience,  Woman  to  Queen  Katharine. 
Several  Lords  and  Ladies  in  the  Dumb  Shows ; 

Women  attending  upon  the  Queen;    Spirits 

which  appear  to  her;  Scribes,  Officers,  Guards, 

and  other  Attendants. 
SCENE,  chiefly  in  London  and  Westminster ; 
once,  at  Kimbolton. 


How  soon  this  mightiness  meets  misery: 
And,  if  you  can  be  merry  then,  I'll  say, 
A  man  may  weep  upon  his  wedding  day. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. 


London.    An  Ante-chamber  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  at  one  door;  at  the 
other,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  the  Lord 
Abergavenny. 

Buckingham. 

/TJJ.OOD  morrow,  and  well  met.   How  have  you 

VJ  Since  last  we  saw  in  France?  [done, 

Norfolk. 

I  thank  your  grace, 
Healthful;  and  ever  since  a  fresh  admirer 
Of  what  I  saw  there. 

Buckingham. 

An  untimely  ague 
Stay'd  me  a  prisoner  in  my  chamber,  when 
Those  suns  of  glory,  those  two  lights  of  men, 
Met  in  the  vale  of  Andren. 
Norfolk. 
"Twixt  Guynes  and  Arde : 
I  was  then  present,  saw  them  salute  on  horse- 
back; 

Beheld 


66o 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Beheld  them,  when  they  lighted,  how  they  clung 
In  their  embracement,  as  they  grew  together ; 
Which  had  they,  what  four  thron'd  ones  could 
Such  a  compounded  one?  [have  weigh'd 

Buckingham. 

All  the  whole  time 
I  was  my  chamber's  prisoner. 
Norfolk. 

Then  you  lost 
The  view  of  earthly  glory :  men  might  say, 
Till  this  time,  pomp  was  single ;  but  now  married 
To  one  above  itself.     Each  following  dny 
Became  the  next  day's  master,  till  the  last 
Made  former  wonders  it's  :  to-day  the  French 
All  clinquant,  all  in  gold,  like  heathen  gods, 
Shone  down  the  English ;  and  to-morrow  they 
Made  Britain,  India :  every  man  that  stood 
Show'd  like  a  mine.    Their  dwarfish  pages  were 
As  cherubins,  all  gilt :  the  madams,  too, 
Not  us'd  to  toil,  did  almost  sweat  to  bear 
The  pride  upon  them,  that  their  very  labour 
Was  to  them  as  a  painting :  now  this  mask 
Was  cried  incomparable ;  and  the  ensuing  night 
Made  it  a  fool,  and  beggar.     The  two  kings, 
Equal  in  lustre,  were  now  best,  now  worst, 
As  presence  did  present  them  ;  him  in  eye, 
Still  him  in  praise;  and,  being  present  both, 
'Twas  said,  they  saw  but  one:  and  no  discerner 
Durst  wag  his  tongue  in  censure.     When  those 
suns  [leng'd 

(For  so  they  phrase  'em)  by  their  heralds  chal- 
The  noble  spirits  to  arms,  they  did  perform 
Beyond  thought's  compass ;  that  former  fabulous 

story, 
Being  now  seen  possible  enough,  got  credit, 
That  JBevis  was  believ'd. 

Buckingham. 

O!  you  go  far. 
Norfolk. 
As  I  belong  to  worship,  and  affect 
In  honour  honesty,  the  tract  of  every  thing 
Would  by  a  good  discourser  lose  some  life, 
Which  action's  self  was  tongue  to.  All  was  royal: 
To  the  disposing  of  it  nought  rebell'd ; 
Order  gave  each  thing  view  ;  the  office  did 
Distinctly  his  full  function. 

Buckingham. 

Who  did  guide, 
I  mean,  who  set  the  body  and  the  limbs 
Of  this  great  sport  together,  as  you  guess? 
Norfolk. 
One,  certes,  that  promises  no  element 
In  such  a  business. 

Buckingham. 

I  pray  you,  who,  my  lord  ? 
Norfolk. 
All  this  was  order'd  by  the  good  discretion 
Of  the  right  reverend  cardinal  of  York. 
Buckingham. 
The  devil  speed  him  !  no  man's  pie  is  freed 
From  his  ambitious  finger.     What  had  he 
To  do  in  these  fierce  vanities?    I  wonder, 
That  such  a  keech  can,  with  his  very  bulk, 
Take  up  the  rays  o'  the  beneficial  sun, 
And  keep  it  from  the  earth. 
Norfolk. 

Surely,  sir, 
There's  in  him  stuff  that  puts  him  to  these  ends; 
For,  being  not  propp'd  by  ancestry,  whose  grace 
Chalks  successors  their  way,  nor  call'd  upon 
For  high  feats  done  to  the  crown  ;  neither  allied 
To  eminent  assistants,  but,  spider-like, 
Out  of  his  self-drawing  web,  (O  give  us  note,) 


The  force  of  his  own  merit  makes  his  way ; 
A  gift  that  heaven  gives  for  him,  which  buys 
A  place  next  to  the  king. 

Abergavenny. 

I  cannot  tell 
What  heaven  hath  given  him :  let  some  graver 
Pierce  into  that ;  but  I  can  see  his  pride  [eye 
Peep  through  each  part  of  him :  whence  has  he 
If  not  from  hell,  the  devil  is  a  niggard;  [that? 
Or  has  given  all  before,  and  he  begins 
A  new  hell  in  himself. 

Buckingham 

Why  the  devil, 
Upon  this  French  going-out,  took  he  upon  him, 
(Without  the  privity  o'  the  king)  t'  appoint 
Who  should  attend  on  him?    He  makes  up  the 
Of  all  the  gentry ;  for  the  most  part  such      [file 
Too,  whom  as  great  a  charge  as  little  honour 
He  meant  to  lay  upon  :  and  his  own  letter, 
The  honourable  board  of  council  out, 
Must  fetcli  him  in  he  papers. 
Abergavenny. 

I  do  know 
Kinsmen  of  mine,  three  at  the  least,  that  have 
By  this,  so  sicken'd  their  estates,  that  never 
They  shall  abound  as  formerly. 
Buckingham. 

O!  many    [them 
Have  broke  their  backs,  with  laying  manors  on 
For  this  great  journey.     What  did  this  vanity, 
But  minister  communication  of 
A  most  poor  issue  ? 

Norfolk. 

Grievingly  I  think, 
The  peace  between  the  French  and  us  not  values 
The  cost  that  did  conclude  it. 
Buckingham. 

Every  man, 
After  the  hideous  storm  that  follow'd,  was 
A  thing  inspir'd  ;  and,  not  consulting,  broke 
Into  a  general  prophecy, — that  this  tempest, 
Dashing  the  garment  of*  this  peace,  aboded 
The  sudden  breach  on't. 

Norfolk. 

Which  is  budded  out ; 
For  France  hath  flaw'd  the  league,  and  hath 
Our  merchants'  goods  at  Buurdeaux.    [attach'd 
Abergavenny. 

Is  it  therefore 
Th'  ambassador  is  silenc'd  ? 
Norfolk. 

Marry,  is't. 
Abergavenny. 
A  proper  title  of  a  peace,  and  purchas'd 
At  a  superfluous  rate. 

Buckingham. 

Whv.  all  this  business 
Our  reverend  cardinal  carried. 
Norfolk. 

'Like  it  your  grace, 
The  state  takes  notice  of  the  private  difference 
Betwixt  you  and  the  cardinal.     I  advise  you, 
(And  take  it  from  a  heart  that  wishes  towards 

you 
Honour  and  plenteous  safety)  that  you  read 
The  cardinal's  malice  and  his  potency 
Together :  to  consider  farther,  that 
What  his  high  hatred  would  effect  wants  not 
A  minister  in  his  power.     You  know  his  nature, 
That  lie's  revengeful ;  and,  1  know,  his  sword 
Hath  a  sharp  edge  :  it's  long,  and't  may  be  said, 
It  reaches  far  ;  and  where  'twill  not  extend, 

Thither 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


661 


Thither  he  darts  it.     Bosom  up  my  rounsel ; 
You'll  find  it  wholesome,     l-o  I    where  comes 
That  I  advise  your  shunning.  [that  rock, 

Enter  <  -y,(the  Purse  borne  before 

him.  I 

I  with  Papers  his  pas- 

sage i  ■-■-'/,  and  Buck' 

iitgham  un  him,  both  full  of  disdain. 

W< 
The  duke  of  Buckingham's  surveyor  ?  ha  I 
Where'*  his  examination  ? 

tary. 

Here,  so  please  you. 
Wolsey. 
Is  he  In  person  ready  ? 

First  Secretary. 

Ay,  please  your  grace. 

Wolsey. 

Well,  we  shall  then  know  more ;  and  Buck- 

Shall  lessen  this  big  look.  Ungham 

[Exeunt  Wolsey,  and  Train. 

Buckingham. 

This  butcher's  cur  is  venom-mouth'd,  and  I 

Have  not  the  power  to  muzzle  him  ;  therefore, 

best 
Not  wake  him  in  his  slumber.   A  beggar's  book 
Out-worths  a  noble's  blood. 
Norfolk. 

What !  are  you  chard  ? 
Ask  God  for  temperance;  that's  th'  appliance 
Which  your  disease  requires.  [only, 

Buckingham. 

I  read  in's  looks 
Matter  against  me  ;  and  his  eye  revil'd 
Me,  as  his  abject  object :  at  this  instant 
He  bores  me  with  some  trick.     He's  gone  t'  the 
Pll  follow,  and  out-stare  him.  [king : 

Norfolk. 

Stay,  my  lord, 
And  let  your  reason  with  your  choler  question 
What  'tis  you  go  about.    To  climb  steep  hiils, 
Requires  slow  pace  at  first :  anger  is  like 
A  full-hot  horse,  who  being  allow'd  his  way, 
Self-mettle  tires  him.    Not  a  man  in  England 
Can  advise  me  like  you  :  be  to  yourself, 
As  you  would  to  your  friend. 
Buckingham. 

I'll  to  the  king  ; 
And  from  a  mouth  of  honour  quite  cry  down 
This  Ipswich  fellow's  insolence,  or  proclaim 
There's  difference  in  no  persons. 
Norfolk. 

Be  advis'd  ; 
Heat  not  a  furnace  for  your  foe  so  hot 
That  it  do  singe  yourself:  we  may  outrun 
By  violent  swiftness  that  which  we  run  at, 
And  lose  bv  over-running.     Know  you  not, 
The  fire,  that  mounts  the  liquor  till't  run  o'er, 
In  seeming  to  augment  it  wastes  it?    Be  ad- 
I  say  again,  there  is  no  English  soul 


[visd : 
More  stronger  to  direct  you  than  yourself, 
|  If  with  the  sap  of  reason  you  would  quench, 
Or  but  allay,  the  fire  of  passion. 
Buckingham. 

Sir, 
i  I  am  thankful  to  you,  and  I'll  go  along 
,  By  your  prescription  ;  but  this  top-proud  fellow, 
I  W  horn  from  the  flow  of  gall  I  name  not,  but 
j  From  sincere  motions,  by  intelligence, 
And  proofs  as  clear  as  founts  in  July,  when 
We  see  each  grain  of  gravel,  I  do  know 
To  be  corrupt  and  treasonous. 


Norfolk. 

Say  not,  treasonous. 
Buckingham. 
To  the  king  I'll  say't,  and  make  my  vouch  as 
strong 
As  shore  of  rock.    Attend.    This  holy  fox. 
Or  wolf,  or  both,  (for  he  is  equal  ravenous, 
At  he  is  subtle,  and  as  prone  to  mischief, 
As  able  to  perform't,  his  mind  and  place 
Infecting  one  another,  yea,  reciprocally) 
Only  to  show  his  pomp,  as  well  in  Fiance 
As  here  at  home,  suggests  the  king,  our  master. 
To  this  last  costly  treaty,  th'  interview. 
That  swallow'd  so  much  treasure,  and  like  a 
Did  break  i'  the  rinsing.  [glass 

Norfolk. 

Faith,  and  so  it  did. 
Buckingham. 
Pray,  give  me  favour,  sir.    This  cunning  car- 
The  articles  o'  the  combination  drew,        [dinal 
As  himself  pleas'd  ;  and  they  were  ratified, 
As  he  cried,  "  Thus  let  be,'  to  as  much  end. 
As  give  a  crutch  t'  the  dead.    But  our  count- 
cardinal 
Has  done  this,  and  'tis  well ;  for  worthy  Wolsey, 
Who  cannot  err,  he  did  it.     Now  this  follows, 
(Which,  as  I  take  it,  is  a  kind  of  puppy 
To  the  old  dam,  treason)  Charles  the  emperor, 
Under  pretence  to  see  the  queen,  his  aunt, 
(For  'twas,  indeed,  his  colour,  but  he  came 
To  whisper  Wolsey)  here  makes  visitation  : 
His  fears  were,  that  the  interview  betwixt 
England    and    France,   might,    through    their 

amity, 
Breed  him  some  prejudice ;  for  from  this  league, 
Peep'd  harms  that  menae'd  him.     He  privily 
j  Deals  with  our  cardinal,  and,  as  I  trow, 
I  Which  I  do  well ;  for,  I  am  sure,  the  emperor 
i  Paid  ere  he  promis'd,  whereby  his  suit  was 

granted, 
j  Ere  it  was  ask'd  :  but  when  the  way  was  made, 
!  And  pav'd  with  gold, the  emperor  thus  desir'd:  — 
I  That  he  would  please  to  alter  the  king's  course, 
j  And  break  the  foresaid  peace.    Let  the  king 
know, 
(As  soon  he  shall  by  me)  that  thus  the  cardinal 
Does  buy  and  sell  his  honour  as  he  pleases, 
And  for  his  own  advantage. 
Norfolk. 

I  am  sorry 
To  hear  this  of  him  ;  and  could  wish  he  were 
Something  mistaken  in't. 

Buckingham. 

No,  not  a  syllable : 
I  do  pronounce  him  in  that  very  shape, 
He  shall  appear  in  proof. 

Enter  Brandon  ;  a  Sergeant  at  Anns  before 

him,  and  two  or  three  of  the  Guard. 

Brandon. 

Your  office,  sergeant ;  execute  it. 

Sergeant. 

Sir, 
My  lord  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  and  earl 
Of  Hereford,  Stafford,  and  Northampton,  I 
Arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  in  the  name 
Of  our  most  sovereign  king. 

Buckingham. 

I.o,  you,  my  lord ! 
The  net  has  fall'n  upon  me:  I  shall  perish 
Under  device  and  practice. 
Brandon. 

I  am  sorry 
To  see  you  ta'en  from  liberty,  to  look  on 

The 


66a 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  i.  Sc,  h 


The  business  present.    'Tis  his  highness'  plea- 

You  shall  to  the  Tower.  [sure, 

Buckingham. 

It  will  help  me  nothing, 
To  plead  mine  innocence ;  for  that  die  is  on  me, 
Which  makes  my  whit'st  part  black.    The  will 

of  heaven 
Be  done  in  this  and  all  things — I  obey.— 
0 1  my  lord  Aberga'ny,  fare  you  well. 
Brandon. 
Nay,  he  must  bear  you  company.— The  king 
[To  Abergavenny. 
Is  pleas'd  you  shall  to  the  Tower,  till  you  know 
How  he  determines  farther. 

Abergavenny. 

As  the  duke  said, 
The  will  of  heaven  be  done,  and  the  king's 
Bymeobey'd.         „       ,  [pleasure 

Brandon. 
Here  is  a  warrant  from  [bodies 
The  king  V  attach  lord  Montacute ;   and  the 
Of  the  duke's  confessor,  John  de  la  Car, 
One  Gilbert  Peck,  his  chancellor,— 
Buckingham. 

So,  so ;    [hope. 
These  are  the  limbs  o'  the  plot.    No  more,  I 
Brandon. 
A  monk  o'  the  Charlreux. 

Buckingham. 

O !  Nicholas  Hopkins? 
Brandon. 

He. 
Buckingham. 
My  surveyor  is  false :  the  o'er-great  cardinal 
Hath  show'd  him  gold.      My  life  is  spann'd 
I  am  the  shadow  of  poor  Buckingham,  [already : 
Whose  figure  even  this  instant  cloud  puts  on, 
By  darkening  my  clear  sun.— My  lord,  farewell. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  Council-Chamber. 

Cornets.    Enter  King  Henry,  Cardinal  Wolsey, 
the  Lords  of  the  Council,  Sir  Thomas  Lovell, 
Officers,  Attendant.    The  King  enters  leaning 
on  the  Cardinal's  Shoulder. 
King  Henry. 
My  life  itself,  and  the  best  heart  of  it,     [level 
Thanks  you  for  this  great  care.     I  stood  i'  the 
Of  a  full  charg'd  confederacy,  and  give  thanks 
To  you  that  chok'd  it.— Let  be  call'd  before  us 
That  gentleman  of  Buckingham's  :  in  person 
I'll  hear  him  his  confessions  justify. 
And  point  by  point  the  treasons  of  his  master 
He  shall  again  relate. 

The  King  takes  his  State.  The  Lords  of  the 
Council  occupy  their  several  Places.  The 
Cardinal  places  himself  under  the  King's  Feet 
on  his  right  Side. 

A  Noise  within,  crying  Boom  for  the  Queen. 
Enter  the  Queen,  ushered  by  the  Dukes  of 
Norfolk  and  Suffolk:  she  kneels.  The  King 
riseth  from  his  State,  takes  her  up,  kisses,  and 
placeth  her  by  him. 

Queen  Katharine. 
Nay,  we  must  longer  kneel :  I  am  a  suitor. 

King  Henry. 
Arise,  and  take  place  by  us.— Half  your  suit 

Never  name  to  us ;  you  have  half  our  power : 

1  le  other  moiety,  ere  you  ask,  is  given ; 

Repeat  your  will,  and  take  it. 


Queen  Katharine. 

Thank  your  majesty 
That  you  would  love  yourself,  and  in  that  love 
Not  unconsider'd  leave  your  honour,  nor 
The  dignity  of  your  office,  is  the  point 
Of  my  petition. 

King  Henry. 

Lady  mine,  proceed. 

Queen  Katharine. 
I  am  solicited  not  by  a  few, 
And  those  of  true  condition,  that  your  subjects 
Are  in  great  grievance.    There  have  been  com- 
missions [heart 
Sent  down  among  them,  which  hath  flaw'd  the 
Of  all  their  loyalties  :  wherein,  although, 
My  good  lord  cardinal,  they  vent  reproaches 
Most  bitterly  on  you,  as  putter-on 
Of  these  exactions,  yet  the  king  our  master, 
Whose  honour  heaven  shield  from  soil !  even  he 

escapes  not 
Language  unmannerly;  yea,  such  which  breaks 
The  sides  of  loyalty,  and  almost  appears 
In  loud  rebellion. 

Norfolk. 

Not  almost  appears, 
It  doth  appear ;  for  upon  these  taxations, 
The  clothers  all,  not  able  to  maintain 
The  many  to  them  'longing,  have  put  off 
The  spinsters,  carders,  fullers,  weavers,  who, 
Unfit  for  other  life,  compell'd  by  hunger 
And  lack  of  other  means,  in  desperate  manner 
Daring  th'  event  to  the  teeth,  are  all  in  uproar, 
And  danger  serves  among  them. 

King  Henry. 

Taxation ! 
Wherein?  and  what  taxation?— My  lord  car- 
You  that  are  blam'd  for  it  alike  with  us,  [dinal, 
Know  you  of  this  taxation? 

Wolsey. 

Please  you,  sir, 
I  know  but  of  a  single  part,  in  ought 
Pertains  to  the  state ;  and  front  but  in  that  file 
Where  others  tell  steps  with  me. 

Queen  Katharine. 

No,  my  lord, 
You  know  no  more  than  others;  but  you  frame 
Things,  that  are  known  alike,  which  are  not 
wholesome  [must 

To  those  which  would  not  know  them,  and  yet 
Perforce  be  their  acquaintance.  These  exactions, 
Whereof  my  sovereign  would  have  note,  they  are 
Most  pestilent  to  the  hearing ;  and,  to  bear  them, 
The  back  is  sacrifice  to  the  load.  They  say, 
They  are  devis'd  by  you,  or  else  you  suffer 
Too  hard  an  exclamation. 

King  Henry. 

Still  exaction ! 
The  nature  of  it  ?    In  what  kind,  let's  know, 
Is  this  exaction? 

Queen  Katharine. 

I  am  much  too  venturous 
In  tempting  of  your  patience;  but  am  bolden'd 
Under  your  promis'd  pardon.   Thesubjects' grief 
Comes  through  commissions,  which  compel  from 

each 
The  sixth  part  of  his  substance,  to  be  levied 
Without  delay ;  and  the  pretence  for  this 
Is  nam'd,  your  wars  in  France.    This  makes 

bold  mouths: 
Tongues  spit  their  duties  out,  and  cold  hearts 
Allegiance  in  them  :  their  curses  now,     [freeze 
Live  where  their  prayers  did ;  and  it's  come  to 
This  tractable  obedience  is  a  slave  [pass,  i 

To  each  incensed  will.    1  would,  your  highness 

Would 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


KING   IlKNRY  VIII. 


661 


Would  Rive  it  quick  consideration,  for 
Tin  n  H  nit  primer  baseness. 

King  Henry. 

By  my  lire, 
This  is  against  our  pleasure. 

Wo] 

And  for  mc, 
I  have  no  farther  gone  in  this,  than  by 
A  single  voice,  and  that  not  pass'd  me  but 
By  learned  approbation  of  the  judges.     If  I  am 
Traduc'd  by  ignorant  tonjiues,  which   neither 
My  faculties,  nor  person,  yet  will  be  [know 

The  chronicles  of  my  doing,  let  me  say, 
'  Tis  but  the  fate  of  place,  and  the  rough  brake 
That  virtue  must  go  through.    We  must  not 
Our  necessary  actions,  in  the  fear  [stint 

I  To  cope  malicious  censures ;  which  ever, 
As  ravenous  fishes,  do  a  vessel  follow 
That  is  new  trimm'd,  but  benefit  no  farther 
Than  vainly  longing.     What  we  oft  do  best, 
By  sick  interpreters  (once  weak  ones)  is 
Not  ours,  or  not  allow'd;  what  worst,  as  oft, 
Hitting  a  grosser  quality,  is  cried  up 
For  our  best  act.     If  we  shall  stand  still, 
In  fear  our  motion  will  be  mock'd  or  carp'd  at, 
We  should  take  root  here,  where  we  sit,  or  sit 
State  statues  only. 

King  Henry. 

Things  done  well, 
And  with  a  care,  exempt  themselves  from  fear: 
Things  done  without  example,  in  their  issue 
Are  to  be  fear'd.    Have  you  a  precedent 
Of  this  commission  ?    I  believe,  not  any. 
We  must  not  rend  our  subjects  from  our  laws, 
And  stick  them  in  our  will.    Sixth  part  of  each  ? 
A  trembling  contribution  1    Why,  we  take, 
From  every  tree,  lop, bark,  and  part  o'  the  timber ; 
!  And,  though  we  leave  it  with  a  root,  thus  hack'd, 
1  The  air  will  drink  the  sap.    To  every  county 
Where  this  is  question'd  send  our  letters,  with 
Free  pardon  to  each  man  that  has  denied 
The  force  of  this  commission.     Pray,  look  to't ; 
I  put  it  to  your  care. 

Wolsey. 

A  word  with  you. 

[To  the  Secretary. 
Let  there  be  letters  writ  to  every  shire, 
Of  the  king's  grace  and  pardon.     The  griev'd 

commons 
Hardly  conceive  of  me  :  let  it  be  nois'd, 
That  through  our  intercession  this  revokement 
And  pardon  comes.     I  shall  anon  advise  you 
Farther  in  the  proceeding.         [Exit  Secrctarj . 

Enter  Surveyor. 

Queen  Katharine. 
I  am  sorry  that  the  duke  of  Buckingham 
Is  run  in  your  displeasure. 

King  Henry 

It  grieves  many: 
The  gentleman  is    learn'd,   and  a  most  rare 

speaker ; 
To  nature  none  more  bound ;  his  training  such, 
That  he  may  furnish  and  instruct  great  teachers, 
And  never  seek  for  aid  out  of  himself:  yet  see, 
When  these  so  noble  benefits  shall  prove  [rupt, 
Not  well  dispos'd,  the  mind  growing  once  cor- 
They  turn  to  vicious  forms,  ten  times  more  ugly 
Than  ever  they  were  fair.  This  man  so  complete, 
Who  was  enroll'd  mongst  wonders,  and  when  we, 
Almost  with  ravish'd  list'ning,  could  not  find 
His  hour  of  speech  a  minute;  he.  my  lady, 
Hath  into  monstrous  habits  put  the  graces 
That  once  were  his,  and  is  become  as  black 
As  if  besmear'd  in  hell.   Sit  by  us ;  you  shall  hear 


(This  was  his  gentleman  in  trust)  of  him 
Things  to  strike  honour  sad.  — Bid  him  recount 
The  fore-recited  practices,  whereof 
We  cannot  feel  too  little,  hear  too  much. 

Stand  forth ;  and  with  bold  spirit  relate  what 
Mo.-t  like  a  careful  subject,  have  collected  [you, 
Out  of  the  duke  of  Buckingham. 


' 


Speak  freely. 


First,  it  was  usual  with  him,  every  day 
It  would  infect  his  speech,  that  if  the  king 
Should  without  issue  die,  he'd  carry  it  so 
To  make  the  sceptre  his.    These  very  words 
I've  heard  him  utter  to  his  son-in-law, 
Lord  Aberga'ny,  to  whom  by  oath  he  menae'd 
Revenge  upon  the  cardinal. 

Wolsey. 
Please  your  highness,  note 
This  dangerous  conception  in  this  point. 
Not  friended  by  his  wish,  to  your  high  person 
His  will  is  most  malignant ;  and  it  stretches 
Beyond  you,  to  your  friends. 

Queen  Katharine. 

My  learn'd  lord  cardinal, 
Deliver  all  with  charity. 

King  Henry. 

Speak  on. 
How  grounded  he  his  title  to  the  crown, 
Upon  our  fail  ?  to  this  point  hast  thou  heard  him 
At  any  time  speak  aught  ? 

Surveyor. 

He  was  brought  to  this 
By  a  vain  prophecy  of  Nicholas  Hopkins. 

King  Henry. 
What  was  that  Hopkins  t 

Surveyor. 

*  Sir,  a  Charlreux  friar, 
His  confessor  ;  who  fed  him  every  minute 
With  words  of  sovereignty. 

King  Henry. 

How  know'st  thou  this  ? 

Surveyor. 
Not  long  before  your  highness  sped  to  France, 
The  duke  being  at  the  Rose,  within  the  parish 
Saint  Laurence  Poullney,  did  of  me  demand 
What  was  the  speech  among  the  Londoners 
Concerning  the  French  journey?    I  replied. 
Men  fear'd  the  French  would  prove  perfidious, 
To  the  king's  danger.    Presently  the  duke 
Said,  'twas  the  fear,  indeed ;  and  that  he  doubted, 
'T  would  prove  the  verity  of  certain  words 
Spoke  by  a  holy  monk ;  "  that  oft,"  says  he, 
"  Hath  sent  to  me,  wishing  me  to  permit 
John  de  la  Car,  my  chaplain,  a  choice  hour 
To  hear  from  him  a  matter  of  some  moment : 
Whom  after,  under  the  confession's  seal, 
He  solemnly  had  sworn,  that  what  he  spoke 
My  chaplain  to  no  creature  living,  but 
To  me,  should  utter,  with  demure  confidence 
This  pausingly  ensu'd,— Neither  the  king,  nor's 

heirs, 
(Tell  you  the  duke)  shall  prosper :  bid  him  strive 
To  gain  the  love  o'  the  commonalty :  the  duke 
Shall  govern  England." 

Queen  Katharine. 

If  I  know  you  well, 
You  were  the  duke's  surveyor,  and  lost  your 

office 
On  the  complaint  o'  the  tenants :  take  good  heed, 
You  charge  not  in  your  spleen  a  noble  person, 

And 


664 


KING  HENRY  VIIL 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


And  spoil  your  nobler  soul.    I  say,  take  heed ; 
Yes,  heartily  beseech  you. 

King  Henry. 

Let  him  on — 
Go  forward. 

Surveyor. 
On  my  soul,  I'll  speak  but  truth. 
I  told  my  lord  the  duke,  by  the  devil's  illusions 
The  monk  might  be  deceiv'd;  and  that  'twas 

dangerous  for  him, 
To  ruminate  on  this  so  far,  until 
It  forg'd  him  some  design,  which,  being  believ'd, 
It  was  much  like  to  do :  He  answer'd,  "  Tush  '. 
It  can  do  me  no  damage : "  adding  farther, 
That  had  the  king  in  his  last  sickness  fail'd, 
The  cardinal's  and  sir  Thomas  LovelVs  heads 
Should  have  gone  off. 

King  Henry. 
Ha!  what,  so  rank?  Ah,  ha! 
There's  mischief  in  this  man.  —  Canst  thou  say 
farther  ? 

Surveyor, 
I  can,  my  liege. 

King  Henry. 
Proceed. 

surveyor. 

Being  at  Greenwich, 
After  your  highness  had  reprov'd  the  duke 
About  sir  William  Blomer,  — 
King  Henry. 

I  remember, 
Of  such  a  time :  being  my  sworn  servant, 
The  duke  retain'd  him  his.— But  on:   what 
hence  ? 

Surveyor. 
•'  If,"  quoth  he,  "  I  for  this  had  been  com- 
mitted. 
As,  to  the  Tower,  I  thought,  I  would  have  play'd 
The  part  my  father  meant  to  act  upon 
Th'  usurper  Richard;  who,  being  at  Salisbury, 
Made  suit   to   come   in's   presence,  which   if 

granted, 
As  he  made  semblance  of  his  duty,  would 
Have  put  his  knife  into  him." 
King  Henry. 

A  giant  traitor  1 
Wolscy. 
Now,  madam,  may  his  highness  live  in  free- 
dom, 
And  this  man  out  of  prison  ? 

Queen  Katharine. 

God  mend  all ! 
King  Henry. 
There's  something  more  would  out  of  thee: 
what  say'st? 

Surveyor. 

After  "  the  duke  his  father,"  with  "the  knife," 

He  stretch'd  him,  and,  with  one  hand  on  his 

dagger, 
Another  spread  on's  breast,  mounting  his  eyes, 
He  did  discharge  a  horrible  oath :  whose  tenor 
Was,— were  he  evil  us'd,  he  would  out-go 
His  father,  by  as  much  as  a  performance 
Does  an  irresolute  purpose. 

King  Henry. 

There's  his  period, 
To  sheath  his  knife  in  us.    He  is  attach'd ; 
Call  him  to  present  trial :  if  he  may 
Find  mercy  in  the  law,  'tis  his ;  if  none, 
Let  him  not  seek't  of  us.    By  day  and  night, 
He's  traitor  to  the  height.  [Exeunt 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and  Lord  Sands. 

Chamberlain. 

Is't  possible,  the  spells  of  France  should  juggle 

Men  into  such  strange  mysteries  ? 

Sands. 

New  customs, 
Though  they  be  never  so  ridiculous, 
Nay,  let  'em  be  unmanly,  yet  are  follow'd. 
Chamberlain. 
As  far  as  I  see,  all  the  good  our  English 
Have  got  by  the  late  voyage  is  but  merely 
A  fit  or  two  o'  the  face ;  but  they  are  shrewd 

ones, 
For  when  they  hold  'em,  you  would  swear  di- 
rectly, 
Their  very  noses  had  been  counsellors 
To  Pepin  or  Clotharius,  they  keep  state  so. 
Sands. 
They  have  all  new  legs,  and  lame  ones :  one 
would  take  it, 
That  never  saw  'em  pace  before,  the  spavin, 
A  springhalt  reign'd  among  them. 
Chamberlain. 

Death !  my  lord, 
Their  clothes  are  after  such  a  pagan  cut  too, 
That,  sure,  they've  worn  out  Christendom.    How 
What  news,  sir  Thomas  Lovellt  [now  ? 

Enter  Sir  Thomas  Lovell. 
Lovell. 

'Faith,  my  lord, 
I  hear  of  none,  but  the  new  proclamation 
That's  clapp'd  upon  the  court-gate. 
Chamberlain. 

What  is't  for  ? 
Lovell. 
The  reformation  of  our  travell'd  gallants, 
That   fill   the  court  with  quarrels,  talk,  and 
tailors. 

Chamberlain. 
I  am  glad  'tis  there:  now,  I  would  pray  our 
monsieurs 
To  think  an  English  courtier  may  be  wise, 
And  never  see  the  Louvre. 
Lovell. 

They  must  either 
(For  so  run  the  conditions)  leave  those  rem- 
nants 
Of  fool,  and  feather,  that  they  got  in  France, 
With  all  their  honourable  points  of  ignorance 
Pertaining  thereunto,  as  fights  and  fireworks ; 
Abusing  better  men  than  they  can  be, 
Out  of  a  foreign  wisdom ;  renouncing  clean 
The  faith  they  have  in  tennis,  and  tall  stockings, 
j  Short  blister'd  breeches,  and  those   types   of 

travel, 
j  And  understand  again  like  honest  men, 
Or  pack  to  their  old  playfellows:  there,  I  take 
They  may,  cum  privilegio,  wear  away  [it, 

j  The  lag  end  of  their  lewdness,  and  be  laugh'd 
at. 

Sands. 
*Tis  time  to  give  'em  physic,  their  diseases 
j  Are  grown  so  catching. 

Chamberlain. 

What  a  loss  our  ladies 
Will  have  of  these  trim  vanities. 
Lovell. 

Ay,  marry, 
There  will  be  woe  indeed,  lords :  the  sly  whore- 

Have 


• 


:i:-ZMMW  TIME  ^THIIL 
Act    1     5c.    1. 


A.  ;   i.   Sc.  IV. 


KING   HKNRY  VIII. 


665 


Have  got  a  speeding  trick  to  !ay  down  ladies  ; 
A  French  song,  and  a  fiddle,  has  no  fellow. 

Sands. 
The  devil  fiddle  them  !    I  am  glad  they're 
going, 
For,  sure,  there  s  no  converting  of  them  :  now, 
An  honest  country  lord,  as  lam,  heaten 
A  long  time  out  of  play,  may  bring  his  plain- 
song, 
And  have  an  hour  of  hearing,  and,  by'r-lady, 
Held  current  music  too. 

Chamberlain. 

Well  said,  lord  Sands : 
Your  colt's  tooth  is  not  cast  yet. 
Sands. 

No,  my  lord ; 
Nor  shall  not,  while  I  have  a  stump. 
Chamberlain. 

Sir  Thomas, 
Whither  were  you  a  going? 
LovelL 

To  the  cardinal's. 
Your  lordship  is  a  guest  too. 

Chamberlain. 

O!  'tis  true: 
This  night  he  makes  a  supper,  and  a  great  one, 
To  many  lords  and  ladies:  there  will  be 
The  beauty  of  this  kingdom,  I'll  assure  you. 
Lovell. 
That  churchman  bears  a  bounteous  mind  in- 
deed, 
A  hand  as  fruitful  as  the  land  that  feeds  us : 
His  dews  fall  every  where. 

Chamberlain. 

No  doubt,  he's  noble ; 
He  had  a  black  mouth  that  said  other  of  him. 

Sands 
He  may,  my  lord,  he  has  wherewithal:    in 
him, 
Sparing  would  show  a  worse  sin  than  ill  doctrine. 
Men  of  his  way  should  be  most  liberal; 
They  are  set  here  for  examples. 

Chamberlain. 

True,  they  are  so ; 
But  few  now  give  so  great  ones.  My  barge  stays ; 
Your  lordship  shall  along:  —  Come,  good  sir 

Thomas, 
We  shall  be  late  else;  which  I  would  not  be, 
For  I  was  spoke  to,  with  sir  Heni-y  Guildford, 
This  night  to  be  comptrollers 

Sands. 
I  am  your  lordship's      I  Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    The  Presence- Chamber  In  York- 
Place. 

Hautboys.  A  small  Table  under  a  State  for  the 
Cardinal,  a  longer  Table  for  the  Guests;  then 
enter  Anne  BuUcn,  and  divers  Lords,  Ladies, 
and  Gentlewomen,  as  Guests,  at  one  door ;  at 
anoths»"  ioor,  enter  Sir  Henry  Guildford. 

Guildford. 
Ladies,  a  general  welcome  from  his  grace 
Salutes  ye  all :  this  night  he  dedicates 
To  fair  content,  and  you.    None  here,  he  hopes, 
In  all  this  noble  bevy,  has  brought  with  her 
One  care  abroad :  he  would  have  all  as  merry 
As  first  good  company,  good  wine,  good  welcome, 
Can  make  good  people.  — O,  my  lord!  y'are 
tardy; 


:  Lord  ChamhrrLun,  Lord  Sands,  and  Sir 
Thvmas  Lovell. 
The  very  thought  of  this  fair  company 
Clapp'd  wings  to  me. 

Chamberlain. 
You  are  young,  sir  Hurry  Guildford. 
Sands. 
Sir  Thomas  Lovell.  had  the  cardinal 
But  half  my  lay-thoughts  in  him,  some  of  these 
Should  find  a  running  banquet  ere  they  rested, 
I  think,  would  better  please  'em  :  by  my  lift*. 
They  are  a  sweet  society  of  fair  ones. 
Lovell. 
O!  that  your  lordship  were  but  now  confessor 
To  one  or  two  of  these. 

Sands. 

I  would,  I  were ; 
They  should  find  easy  penance. 
Lovell. 

Faith,  how  easy  ? 
Sands. 
As  easy  as  a  down-bed  would  afford  it. 

Chamberlain. 
Sweet  ladies,  will  it  please  you  sit  ?  Sir  Harry, 
ri.ice  you  that  side,  I'll  take  the  charge  of  this: 
His  grace  is  entering. —  Nay,  you  must    not 
freeze ;  [ther  : — 

Two  women  plac'd  together  makes  cold  wea- 
My  lord  Sands,  you  are  one  will  keep  'em  waking; 
Pray,  sit  between  these  ladies. 
Sands. 

By  my  faith,    [ladies  : 
And  thank  your  lordship — By  your  leave,  sweet 
[Seats  himself  between  Anne  Bullen  and 
another  Lady. 
If  I  chance  to  talk  a  little  wild,  forgive  me  ; 
I  had  it  from  my  father. 

Anne. 

Was  he  mad,  sir  ? 
Sands. 
O!  very  mad,  exceeding  mad  ;  in  love  too  ; 
But  he  would  bite  none  :  just  as  I  do  now, 
He  would  kiss  you  twenty  with  a  breath. 

[Kisses  her. 
Chamberlain. 

Well  said,  my  lord — 
So,  now  you  are  fairly  seated — Gentlemen, 
The  penance  lies  on  you,  if  these  fair  ladies 
Pass  away  frowning. 

Sands. 
For  my  little  cure, 
Let  me  alone. 

Hautboys.    Enter  Cardinal  Wolsey,  attended, 

and  takes  his  state. 

Wolsey. 

Y'are  welcome,  my  fair  guests :  that  noble 

Or  gentleman,  that  is  not  freely  merry,      [lady. 

Is  not  my  friend.  This,  to  confirm  my  welcome; 

And  to  you  all  good  health.  [Drinks. 

Sands. 

Your  grace  is  noble: 
Let  me  have  such  a  bowl  may  hold  my  thanks, 
And  save  me  so  much  talking. 
Wolsey. 

My  lord  Sands, 
I  am  beholding  to  you:  cheer  your  neighbours — 
Ladies,  you  are  not  merry :— gentlemen, 
Whose  fault  is  this  ? 

Sands. 
The  red  wine  first  must  rise 
In 


666 


KING  IIENHY  VIII. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


In  their  fair  cheeks,  my  lord ;  then,  we  shall 

Talk  us  to  silence.  [have  'em 

Anne. 

You  are  a  merry  gamester, 
My  lord  Sands. 

Sands. 
Yes,  if  I  make  my  play. 
Here's  to  your  ladyship ;  and  pledge  it,  madam, 
For  'tis  to  such  a  thing,— 
Anne. 

You  cannot  show  me. 
Sands. 
I  told  your  grace,  they  would  talk  anon. 
[Drum  and  Trumpets  within ;  Chambers 
discharged. 

Wolsey. 

What's  that  ? 
Chamberlain. 
Look  out  there,  some  of  you.    ■     ; 

{.Exit  a  Servant. 
Wolsey. 

What  warlike  voice, 
And  to  what  end  is  this?— Nay,  ladies,  fear  not; 
By  all  the  laws  of  war  y'are  privileg'd. 
Re-enter  Servant. 
Chamberlain. 
How  now  !  what  is't  ? 

Servant. 

A  noble  troop  of  strangers, 
For  so  they  seem :  they've  left  their  barge,  and 
And  hither  make,  as  great  ambassadors  [landed; 
From  foreign  princes. 

Wolsey. 

Good  lord  chamberlain, 
Go,  give  them  welcome;  you  can  speak  the 

French  tongue : 
And,  pray,  receive  them  nobly,  and  conduct  them 
Into  our  presence,  where  this  heaven  of  beauty 
Shall  shine  at  full  upon  them — Some  attend 


J* 


[Exit  Chamberlain  attended.  All  arise,  and 

Tables  removed. 
You  have  now  a  broken  banquet;  but  we'll 

mend  it. 
A  good  digestion  to  you  all ;  and,  once  more, 
1  shower  a  welcome  on  ye — Welcome  all. 

Hautboys.  Enter  the  King,  and  others,  as 
Maskers,  habited  like  Shepherds,  ushered  by 
the  Lord  Chamberlain.  They  pass  directly 
before  the  Cardinal,  and  gracefully  salute 
him. 

A  noble  company !  what  are  their  pleasures  ? 
Chamberlain 
Because  they  speak  no  English,  thus  they 

pray'd 
To  tell  your  grace:— That,  having  heard  by  fame 
Of  this  so  noble  and  so  fair  assembly 
This  night  to  meet  here,  they  could  do  no  less, 
Out  of  the  great  respect  they  bear  to  beauty, 
But  leave  their  flocks,  and  under    your    fair 

conduct, 
Crave  leave  to  view  these  ladies,  and  entreat 
An  hour  of  revels  with  them. 
Wolsey. 

Say,  lord  chamberlain, 
They  have  done  my  poor  house  grace ;  for  which 

I  pay  them 
A  thousand  thanks,  and  pray  them  take  their 

pleasures.  .     '•  „,,      T  . 

.adies  chosen  for  the  Dance.    The  Ktng 

takes  Anne  Bulien. 


[La, 


King  Henry. 

The  fairest  hand  I  ever  touch'd.    O,  beauty  I 

Till  now  1  never  knew  thee.       [Music.    Dance.. 

Wolsey. 

My  lord,— 

Chamberlain. 
Your  grace  ? 

Wolsey. 
Pray  tell  them  thus  much  from  me. 
There  should  be  one  amongst  them,  by  his  per- 
son, 
More  worthy  this  place  than  myself;  to  whom, 
If  1  but  knew  him,  with  my  love  and  duty 
I  would  surrender  it. 

Chamberlain. 

I  will,  my  lord. 
[Chamberlain  goes  to  the  Maskers,  and  re- 
turns. 

Wolsey. 
What  say  they  ? 

Chamberlain. 

Such  a  one,  they  all  confess, 
There  is,  indeed  ;  which  they  would  have  your 
Find  out,  and  he  will  take  it.  [grace 

Wolsey. 

Let  me  see  then — 

[Comes  from  his  State. 

By  all  your  good  leaves,  gentlemen  ;  here  I'll 

My  royal  choice.  [make 

King  Henry. 

You  nave  found  him,  cardinal. 
[Unmasking. 
You  hold  a  fair  assembly  ;  you  do  well,  lord  : 
You  are  a  churchman,  or,  I'll  tell  you, cardinal, 
1  should  judge  now  unhappily. 
Wolsey. 

I  am  glad, 
Your  grace  is  grown  so  pleasant. 
King  Henry. 

My  lord  chamberlain, 
Pr'ythee,  come  hither     What  fair  lady's  that  ? 
Chamberlain. 
An't  please  your  grace,  sir  Thomas  Bullen'» 
daughter,— 
The  viscount  Rochford,— one  of  her  highness' 
women. 

King  Henry. 
By  heaven,  she  is  a  dainty  one.— Sweetheart, 
I  were  unmannerly  to  take  you  out, 
And  not  to  kiss  you — A  health,  gentlemen  1 
Let  it  go  round. 

Wolsey. 
Sir  Thomas  LovelU  is  the  banquet  ready 
I'  the  privy  chamber  ? 

Lovell. 

Yes,  my  lord. 
Wolsey. 

Your  grace, 
I  fear,  with  dancing  is  a  little  heated. 
King  Henry 
I  fear,  too  much. 

Wolsey. 

There's  fresher  air,  my  lord, 
In  the  next  chamber. 

lUng  Henry. 
Lead  in  your  ladies,  everyone— Sweet  partner, 
I  must  not  yet  forsake  you.— Let's  be  m;>rry, 
Good  my  lord  cardinal :   I  have  half  a  dozen 

healths 
To  drink  to  these  fair  ladies,  and  a  measure 
To  lead  them  once  again ;  and  then  let's  dreani 
Who's  best  in  favour.— Let  the  musk  knock  it. 
tExeunt  with  Trumpets. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


KING  HKNRY  VIII. 


667 


ACT  II. 

SCEXE  !.    A  Street. 
Enter  Two  Gentlemen,  meeting. 
First  Gentleman. 
HITHER  away  no  fast? 

Second  Gentleman. 

0 1— God  save  you. 
Even  to  the  hall,  to  hear  what  shall  become 
Of  the  great  duke  of  Buckingham. 
First  Gentleman. 

I'll  save  you 
That  labour,  sir.  All's  now  done,  but  the  cere- 
Of  bringing  back  the  prisoner.  [mony 

Second  Gentleman. 

Were  you  there  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
Yes,  indeed,  was  I. 

Second  Gentleman. 
Pray,  speak  what  has  happen'd. 
First  Gentleman. 
You  may  guess  quickly  what. 
Second  Gentleman. 

Is  he  found  guilty  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
Yes,  truly  is  he,  and  condcmn'd  upon  it. 

Second  Gentleman. 
I  am  sorry  for't. 

First  Gentleman. 

So  are  a  number  more. 
Second  Gentleman. 
But,  pray,  how  pass'd  it  ? 

First  Gentleman. 
I'll  tell  you  in  a  little.    The  great  duke 
Came  to  the  bar  ;  where,  to  his  accusations 
He  pleaded  still  not  guilty,  and  alleg'd 
Many  sharp  reasons  to  defeat  the  law. 
The  king's  attorney,  on  the  contrary, 
!  Urg'd  on  the  examinations,  proofs,  confessions 
Of  divers  witnesses,  which  the  duke  desir'd 
To  have  brought,  viva  voce,  to  his  face: 
At  which  appeared  against  him,  his  surveyor; 
Sir  Gilbert  Peck  his  chancellor ;  and  John  Car, 
Confessor  to  him  ;  with  that  devil-monk, 
Hopkins,  that  made  this  mischief. 
Second  Gentleman. 

That  was  he, 
That  fed  him  with  his  prophecies  ? 
First  Gentleman. 

The  same. 
All  these  accus'd  him  strongly;  which  he  fain 
Would  have  flung  from  him,  but,  indeed,  he 

could  not : 
And  so  his  peers,  upon  this  evidence, 
Have  found  him  guilty  of  high  treason.    Much 
He  spoke,  and  learnedly,  for  life ;  but  all 
Was  either  pitied  in  him,  or  forgotten. 
Second  Gentleman. 
After  all  this,  how  did  he  bear  himself? 

First  Gentleman. 
When  he  was  brought  again  to  the  bar  to  hear 
His  knell  rung  out,  his  judgment,  he  was  stirr'd 
With  such  an  agony,  he  sweat  extremelv, 
And  something  spoke  in  choler,  ill,  and  'hast  v: 


W 


nut  he  fell  to  himself  again,  and  sweetly 
In  all  the  rest  show'd  a  most  noble  patience. 
Second  Gentleman. 
I  do  not  think,  he  fears  death. 
First  Gentleman. 

Sure,  he  does  not ; 
He  was  never  so  womanish :  the  cause 
He  may  a  little  grieve  at. 

Second  Gentleman. 

Certainly, 
The  cardinal  is  the  end  of  this. 
First  Gentleman 

•TIs  likely, 
By  all  conjectures  :  first,  Kildare't  attainder, 
Then  deputy  of  Ireland;  who  remov'd, 
Earl  Surrey  was  sent  thither,  and  in  haste  too, 
Lest  he  should  help  his  father. 

Second  Gentleman. 

That  trick  of  state 
Was  a  deep  envious  one. 

First  Gentleman 

At  his  return, 
No  doubt,  he  will  requite  it.    This  is  noted, 
And  generally ;  whoever  the  king  favours. 
The  cardinal  instantly  will  find  employment, 
And  far  enough  from  court  too. 
Second  Gentleman 

All  the  commons 
Hate  him  perniciously,  and,  o'  my  conscience, 
Wish  him  ten  fathom  deep :  this  duke  as  much 
They  love  and  dote  on ;  call  him,  bounteous 
The  mirror  of  all  courtesy —  [Buckingham, 

First  Gentleman. 

Stay  there,  sir; 
And  see  the  noble  ruin'd  man  you  speak  of. 

Enter  Buckingham  from  his  Arraignment;  Tip. 
staves  before  him ;  the  Axe  with  the  Edge 
towards  him  ;  Halberds  on  each  Side:  accom- 
panied with  Sir  Thomas  LoveU,  Sir  Nicholas 
faux,  Sir  William  Sands,  and  common  People. 

Second  Gentleman. 
Let's  stand  close,  and  behold  him. 
Buckingham. 

All  good  people, 
You  that  thus  far  have  come  to  pity  me, 
Hear  what  I  say,  and  then  go  home  and  lose  me. 
1  have  this  day  receiv'd  a  traitor's  judgment, 
And  by  that  name  must  die :  yet,  heaven  bear 

witness, 
And  if  I  have  a  conscience  let  it  sink  me, 
Even  as  the  axe  falls,  if  I  be  not  faithful. 
The  law  I  bear  no  malice  for  my  death, 
It  has  done  upon  the  premises  but  justice; 
But  those  that  sought  it  I  could  wish  more 

Christians: 
Be  what  they  will,  I  heartily  forgive  them. 
Yet  let  them  look  they  glory  not  in  mischief, 
Nor  build  their  evils  on  the  graves  of  great  men  ; 
For  then  my  guiltless  blood  must  cry  against 

them. 
For  farther  life  in  this  world  I  ne'er  hope, 
Nor  will  I  sue,  although  the  king  have  mercies 
More  than  I  dare  make  faults.     You  few  that 

lov'd  me, 
And  dare  be  bold  to  weep  for  Buckingham, 
His  noble  friends  and  fellows,  whom  to  leave 
Is  only  bitter  to  him,  only  dying, 
Go  with  me,  like  good  angels,  to  my  end; 
And,  as  the  long  divorce  of  steel  fails  on  me, 
Make  of  your  prayers  one  sweet  sacrifice. 
And  lift  my  soul  to  heaven. — Lead  on,  o'  God's 
name. 

I^vell. 


$ 


668 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Luvell. 
I  do  beseech  your  grace  for  charity, 
If  ever  any  malice  in  your  heart 
Were  hid  against  me  now  to  forgive  me  frankly. 

Buckingham. 
Sir  Thomas  Lovell,  1  as  free  forgive  you, 
As  I  would  be  forgiven:  I  forgive  all ; 
There  cannot  be  those  numberless  offences 
'Gainst  me,  that  I  can  not  take  peace  with:  no 

black  envy 
Shall  make  my  grave.    Commend  me  to  his 

grace ; 
And,  if  he  speak  of  Buckingham,  pray,  tell  him, 
You  met  him  half  in  heaven.    My  vows  and 

prayers 
Yet  are  the  king's ;  and,  till  my  soul  forsake, 
Shall  cry  for  blessings  on  him :  may  he  live 
Longer  than  I  have  time  to  tell  his  years  ! 
Ever  belov'd,  and  loving,  may  his  rule  be ! 
And  when  old  time  shall  lead  him  to  his  end, 
Goodness  and  he  fill  up  one  monument ! 

Lovell. 
To  the  water  side  1  must  conduct  your  grace ; 
Then,  give  my  charge  up  to  sir  Nicholas  Faux, 
Who  undertakes  you  to  your  end. 

Vaux. 

Prepare  there ! 
The  duke  Is  coming:  see,  the  barge  be  ready  i 
And  fit  it  with  such  furniture,  as  suits 
The  greatness  of  his  person. 
Buckingham. 

Nay,  sir  Nickolas, 
Let  it  alone:  my  state  now  will  but  mock  me. 
When  I  came  hither,  I  was  lord  high  constable, 
And  duke  of  Buckingham;  now,  poor  Edward 

Bohun : 
Yet  1  am  richer  than  my  base  accusers,         [it ; 
That  never  knew  what  truth  meant.   I  now  seal 
And  with  that  blood  will  make  them  one  day 

groan  for't. 
My  noble  father,  Henri/  of  Buckingham, 
W  ho  first  rais'd  head  against  usurping  Richard, 
Flying  for  succour  to  his  servant  Banister, 
Being  distress'd,  was  by  that  wretch  betray'd. 
And  without  trial  fell:  God's  peace  be  with  him  1 
Henry  the  seventh  succeeding,  truly  pitying 
My  father's  loss,  like  a  most  royal  prince, 
Restor'd  me  to  my  honours,  and  out  of  ruins 
Made  my  name  once  more  noble.   Now,  his  son, 
Henry  the  eighth,  life,  honour,  name,  and  all 
That  made  me  happy,  at  one  stroke  has  taken 
For  ever  from  the  world.     I  had  my  trial,    [me 
And,  must  needs  say,  a  noble  one;  which  makes 
A  little  happier  than  my  wretched  father : 
Yet  thus  far  we  are  one  in  fortunes, — both 
Fell  by  our  servants,  by  those  men  we  lov'd 
A  most  unnatural  and  faithless  service !    [most: 
Heaven  has  an  end  in  all :  yet,  you  that  hear  me, 
This  from  a  dying  man  receive  as  certain : 
Where   you   are    liberal   of  your   loves,   and 

counsels, 
Be  sure,  you  be  not  loose ;  for  those  you  make 

friends, 
And  give  your  hearts  to,  when  they  once  per- 
The  least  rub  in  your  fortunes,  fall  away  [ceive 
Like  water  from  ye,  never  found  again 
But  where  they  mean  to  sink  ye.    All  good 

people, 
Pray  forme.     I  must  now  forsake  yc:  the  last 
Of  my  long  weary  life  is  come  upon  me.    [hour 
Farewell :  and  when  you  would  say  something 

that  is  sad, 
Speak  how  I  fell —  I  have  done,  and  God  forgive 

me!  [Exeunt  Buckingham,  &c. 


First  Gentleman. 

0  !  this  is  full  of  pity.  —  Sir,  it  calls, 
I  fear,  too  many  curses  on  their  heads 
That  were  the  authors. 

Second  Gentleman. 

If  the  duke  be  guiltless, 
'Tis  full  of  woe:  yet  I  can  give  you  inkling 
Of  an  ensuing  evil,  if  it  fall, 
Greater  than  this. 

First  Gentleman. 

Good  angels  keep  it  from  us  ! 
What  may  it  be?    You  do  not  doubt  my  faith, 
sir? 

Second  Gentleman. 
This  secret  is  so  weighty,  'twill  require 
A  strong  faith  to  conceal  it. 

First  Gentleman. 

Let  me  have  it : 
I  do  not  talk  much. 

Second  Gentleman 

I  am  confident : 
You  shall,  sir.    Did  you  not  of  late  days  hear 
A  buzzing  of  a  separation 
Between  the  king  and  Katharine  t 
First  Gentleman. 

Yes,  but  it  held  not ; 
For  when  the  king  once  heard  it,  out  of  anger 
He  sent  command  to  the  lord  mayor  straight 
To  stop  the  rumour,  and  allay  those  tongues 
That  durst  disperse  it. 

Second  Gentleman. 

But  that  slander,  sir, 
Is  found  a  truth  now  ;  for  it  grows  again 
Fresher  than  e'er  it  was,  and  held  for  certain 
The  king  will  venture  at  it.    Either  the  car- 
dinal, 
Or  some  about  him  near,  have  out  of  malice  * 
To  the  good  queen  possess'd  him  with  a  scruple, 
That  will  undo  her :  to  confirm  this,  too, 
Cardinal  Campeius  is  arriv'd,  and  lately, 
As  all  think,  ior  this  business. 
First  Gentleman. 

'Tis  the  cardinal  ; 
And  merely  to  revenge  him  on  the  emperor, 
For  not  bestowing  on  him  at  his  asking, 
The  archbishoprick  of  Toledo,  this  is  purpos'd. 
Second  Gentleman. 

1  think,  you  have  hit  the  mark:  but  is't  not 

cruel,  [cardinal 

That  she  should  feel  the  smart  of  this  ?     The 
Will  have  his  will,  and  she  must  fall. 
First  Gentleman. 

'Tis  woful. 
We  are  too  open  here  to  argue  this  ; 
Let's  think  in  private  more.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 


An  Ante-chamber  in  the 
Palace. 


Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  reading  a  Letter. 
Chamberlain. 
"  My  Lord,  —  The  horses  your  lordship  sent 
for,  with  all  the  care  I  had,  I  saw  well  chosen, 
ridden,  and  furnished.  They  were  young,  and 
handsome,  and  of  the  best  breed  in  the  north. 
When  they  were  ready  to  set  out  for  London, 
a  man  of  my  lord  cardinal's,  by  commission  and 
main  power,  took  them  from  me ;  with  this 
reason,  —  his  master  would  be  served  before  a 
subject,  if  not  before  the  king ;  which  stopped 
our  mouths,  sir." 

I  fear,  he  will,  indeed.     Well,  let  him  have 
He  will  have  all,  I  think.  [them : 

Enter 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  VII f. 


669 


Enter  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 

Norfolk. 
Well  met,  my  lord  chamberlain. 

Chamberlain. 
Good  day  to  both  your  grace*. 

Suffolk. 
How  Is  the  king  employM? 
Chamberlain 

I  left  him  private, 
Full  of  sad  thoughts  and  troubles. 
Norfolk. 

What's  the  cause  ? 
Chamberlain 
It  seems,  the  marriage  with  his  brother's  wife 
Has  crept  loo  near  his  conscience. 
Suffolk. 

No;  his  conscience 
Has  crept  too  near  another  lady. 
Norfolk. 

"Tisso. 
This  is  the  cardinal's  doing,  the  king- cardinal: 
That  blind  priest,  like  the  eldest  son  of  fortune, 
Turns  what  he  list.    The  king  will  know  him 
one  day. 

Suffolk. 
Tray  God,  he  do:  he'll  never  know  himself 
else. 

Norfolk. 
How  holily  he  works  in  all  his  business, 
And  with  what  zeal;  for,  now  he  has  crack'd 

the  league 
Between  us  and  the  emperor,  the  queen's  great 

nephew, 

He  dives  into  the  king's  soul ;  and  there  scatters 
"Dangers,  doubts,  wringing  of  the  conscience, 
Fears,  and  despairs,  and  all  these  for  his  mar- 
riage: 
And,  out  of  all  these,  to  restore  the  king, 
He  counsels  a  divorce:  a  loss  of  her, 
That  like  a  jewel  has  hung  twenty  years 
About  his  neck,  yet  never  lost  her  lustre; 
Of  her,  that  loves  him  with  that  excellence 
That  angels  love  good  men  with ;  even  of  her, 
That  when  the  greatest  stroke  of  fortune  falls, 
Will  bless  the  king.     And  is  not  this  course 
pious  ? 

Chamberlain. 

Heaven  keep  me  from  such  counsel!     'Tis 

most  true, 

These  news  are  every  where;    every  tongue 

speaks  them,  [dare 

And  every  true  heart  weeps  for't.     All,  that 

Look  into  these  affairs,  see  this  main  end, — 

The  French  king's  sister.    Heaven  will  one  day 

open 
The  king's  eyes,  that  so  long  have  slept  upon 
This  bold  bad  man. 

Suffolk. 

And  free  us  from  his  slavery. 
Norfolk. 
We  had  need  pray, 
And  heartily,  for  our  deliverance, 
Or  this  imperious  man  will  work  us  all 
From  princes  into  pages.    All  men's  honours 
Lie  like  one  lump  before  him,  to  be  fashion'd 
Into  what  pitch  he  please. 
Suffolk. 

For  me.  my  lords, 
I  love  him  not,  nor  fear  him  ;  there's  my  creed. 
As  I  am  made  without  him,  so  I'll  stand, 
If  the  king  please:  his  curses  and  his  blessings 
Touch  me  alike,  they're  breath  I  not  believe  in. 


I  knew  him,  and  I  know  him ;  so  1  leave  him 
To  him  that  made  him  proud,  the  pope. 
Norfolk. 

Let's  In. 
And  with  some  other  business  put  the  king 
From  these  sad  thoughts,  that  work  too  much 

upon  him. — 
My  lords,  you'll  bear  us  company? 
Chamberlain. 

Excuse  me; 
The  king  hath  sent  me  other-where:  besides, 
You'll  And  a  most  unlit  time  to  disturb  him. 
Health  to  your  lordships. 

Norfolk. 
Thanks,  my  good  lord  chamberlain. 


.,., 


Exit  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Norfolk  ©pens  a  folding- door.     The  King  Is 
discovered  sitting,  and  reading  pensively. 

Suffolk. 
How  sad  he  looks:  sure,  he  is  much  afflicted. 

King  Henry. 
Who  is  there?  ha! 

Norfolk. 
Pray  God,  he  be  not  angry. 

King  Henry. 
Who's  there,  I  say  ?    How  dare  you  thrust 
Into  my  private  meditations  ?  [yourselves 

Who  am  I  ?  ha ! 

Norfolk. 

A  gracious  king,  that  pardons  all  offences, 

Malice  ne'er  meant:  our  breach  of  duty  this 

Is  business  of  estate ;  in  which  we  come      [way 

To  know  your  royal  pleasure. 

King  Henry. 

Ye  are  too  bold. 
Go  to;  I'll  make  ye  know  1  our  times  of  business: 
Is  this  an  hour  for  temporal  affairs  ?  ha !  — 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Campeius. 
Who's  there?  my  good  lord  cardinal  ?—  O  !  my 

Wolsey, 
The  quiet  of  my  wounded  conscience ; 
Thou  art  a  cure  fit  for  a  king. — You're  welcome, 
[To  Campeius. 
Most  learned  reverend  sir,  into  our  kingdom : 
Use  us,  and  it.  —  My  good  lord,  have  great  care 
I  be  not  found  a  talker.  [To  Wolsey. 

Wolsey. 

Sir,  you  cannot. 
I  would  your  grace  would  give  us  but  an  hour 
Of  private  conference. 

King  Henry. 

We  are  busy:  go. 
[To  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 
Norfolk. 
This  priest  has  no  pride  in  him. 

Suffolk. 
Not  to  speak  of; 
I  would  not  be  so  sick  though  for  his 
But  this  cannot  continue.         [place 

Norfolk. 

If  it  do, 

I'll  venture  one  have  at  him. 

Suffolk. 

I  another. 
[Exeunt  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 
Wolsey. 
Your  grace  has  given  a  precedent  of  wisdom 
Above  all  princes,  in  committing  freely 
Your  scruple  to  the  voice  of  Christendom. 
Who  can  be  angry  now ?  what  envy  reach  you? 

The 


[Aside. 


670 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  11.  Sc.  11. 


The  Spaniard,  tied  by  blood  and  favour  to  her, 
Muni  now  confess.  If  they  have  any  goodness, 
'1  In-  trial  just  and  noble.    All  the  clerks, 
I  mean  the  learned  ones,  in  Christian  kingdoms 
Have  their   free   voices:    Home,  the  nurse  of 

judgment, 
Invited  \>y  your  noble  self,  hath  sent 
One  general  tongue  unto  us,  this  good  man, 
Tills  Just  and  learned  priest,  Cardinal  Campeiut ; 
Whom  once  more  I  present  unto  your  highness. 

King  Henry. 
And  once  more  in  mine  arms  I  bid  him  wel- 
come, 
And  thank  the  holy  conclave  for  their  loves: 
They  have  sent  me  such  a  man  1  would  have 
wish'd  for. 

Campchu. 
Your  grace  must  needs  deserve  all  strangers' 
loves, 
You  are  so  noble.    To  your  highness'  hand 
I  tender  my  commission ;  by  whose  virtue, 
(The  court  of  Rome  commanding)  you,  my  lord 
Cardinal  of  York,  are  join'd  with  me,  their 

servant. 
In  the  impartial  Judging  of  this  business. 

King  Henry. 
Two   equal   men.    The  queen  shall  be  ac- 
quainted [  diner  t 
Forthwith  for  what  you  come.  — Where's  Gar- 

Wolsey. 
I  know,  your  majesty  has  always  lov'd  her 
So  dear  In  heart,  not  to  deny  her  that 
A  woman  of  less  place  might  ask  by  law, 
Scholars,  allow'd  freely  to  argue  for  her. 

King  Henry. 
Ay,  and  the  best,  she  shall  have;  and  my 
favour  [dinal, 

To  him  that  does  best :   God  forbid  else.     Car- 
Fr'ythec,  call  Gardiner  to  me,  my  new  secre- 
tary : 
I  Ond  him  a  fit  fellow.  [Bxlt  Woltey. 

Ke-cntcr  Woltey,  with  Gardiner. 

Wolsey. 

Give  me  your  hand  \  much  Joy  and  favour  to 

You  are  the  king's  now.  [you : 

Gardiner. 

But  to  be  commanded 
For  ever  by  your  grace,  whose  hand  has  rais'd 
roe. 

King  Henry. 
Come  hither,  Gardiner. 

[They  walk  and  whisper. 
Campcius. 
My  lord  of  York,  was  not  one  doctor  Pace 
In  this  man's  place  before  him  ? 
Wolsey. 

Yes,  he  was. 
Campeiut. 
Was  he  not  held  a  learned  man  ? 
Wolsey. 

Yes,  surely. 

Campcius. 

Believe  me,  there's  an  ill   opinion   spread, 

Even  of  yourself,  lord  cardinal.  [then, 

Wolsey. 

Howl  of  me? 

Campcius. 

They  will  not  stick  to  say,  you  envied  him ; 

And  fearing  be  would  rise,  he  was  so  virtuous, 

Kept  him  a  foreign  man  still ;  which  so  grlev'd 

That  he  ran  mad,  and  died.  [him, 


Wolsey. 
Heaven's  peace  be  with  him  ! 
That's  Christian  care  enough :  for  living  mur- 

murers 
There's  places  of  rebuke.  He  was  a  fool,     [low, 
For  he  would  needs  be  virtuous  :  that  good  fel- 
If  I  command  him,  follows  my  appointment : 
I   will  have  none  so  near  else.    Learn    this, 

brother, 
We  live  not  to  be  grlp'd  by  meaner  persons. 
King  Henry. 
Deliver  this  with  modesty  to  the  gueen. 

[Exit  Gardiner. 
The  most  convenient  place  that  I  can  think  of, 
lor  such  receipt  of  learning,  is  lilack-Friart : 
There  ye  shall  meet  about  this  weighty  busi- 
ness  

My  WoUey,  see  It  furnish'd O  my  lord  1 

Would  it  not  grieve  an  able  man,  to  leave 
So  sweet  a  bedfellow  ?    But,  conscience,  con- 
science. — 

0  1  'tis  a  tender  place,  and  I  must  leave  her. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    An  Ante-chamber  in  the  Queen' i 
Apartments. 

Enter  Anne  Bullen,  and  an  Old  Lady. 

Anne. 
Not  for  that  neither :_  here's  the  pang  that 
pinches  ; 
His  highness  having  liv'd  so  long  with  her,  and 
So  good  a  lady,  that  no  tongue  could  ever    [she 
Pronounce  dishonour  of  her,  —  by  my  life, 
She  never  knew  harm-doing,—  O  !  now,  after 
So  many  courses  of  the  sun  enthron'd, 
Still  growing  in  a  majesty  and  pomp,  the  which 
To  leave,  a  thousand-fold  more  bitter,  than 
"1'ls  sweet  at  first  t'  acquire, — after  this  process, 
To  give  her  the  avaunt !  it  it  a  pity 
Would  move  a  monster. 

Old  Lady. 
Hearts  of  most  hard  temper 
Melt  and  lament  for  her. 

Anne. 

O  God's  will  1  much  better, 
She  ne'er  had  known  pomp:  though  it  be  tern- 
Yet,  If  that  quarrel,  fortune,  do  divorce  [poral, 
It  from  the  bearer,  'tis  a  sufferance  panging 
As  soul  and  body's  severing. 

Old  Lady. 

Alas,  poor  lady  I 
She's  a  stranger  now  again. 

Anne. 

So  much  the  more 
Must  pity  drop  upon  her.    Verily, 

1  swear,  tis  better  to  be  lowly  born, 
And  range  with  humble  livers  in  content, 
Than  to  be  perk'd  up  in  a  glistering  grief, 
And  wear  a  golden  sorrow. 

Old  Lady. 

Our  content 
Is  our  best  having. 

Anne. 
By  my  troth,  and  maidenhead, 
I  would  not  be  a  queen. 

01<1  La<ly. 

Beshrew  me,  I  would, 
And  renture  maidenhead  for't :  and  so  would 
For  all  this  spice  of  your  hypocrisy.  [you 

You  that  have  so  fair  parts  of  woman  on  you, 
Have,  too,  a  woman's  heart ;  which  ever  yet 
Afrccted  eminence,  wealth,  sovereignty: 

Which 


Act  il  8e,  tr. 


KING  iii;m;v  viii. 


671 


Which,  to  «ay  tooth,  are  blestlnga,  and  which 

i  Saving  your  mlnciiift)  the  oa|  [k-iiu 

>i  vur  loft  .  Ii.mi  il  c  uiisciini  1  would  receive, 
1 1  you  might  please  to  stretch  it. 

Anne. 

Nay,  good  troth,— 

Old  I 
Yet,  troth,  and  troth.  —You  would  not  be  a 
que  Q 

Anne. 
No,  not  for  all  the  richct  under  heaven. 

Old  1 
'Tit  ttrange:   a  three-pence   bowed    would 
hire  me, 
Old  at  I  urn,  to  queen  it.     Hut,  I  pray  you, 
What  think  you  of  a  duchest  ?  have  you  limbt 
To  bear  that  load  of  title  ? 
Anne. 

No,  in  truth. 

Old  Lady. 
Then  you   are  weakly  made.    Pluck   off  a 

little: 

I  would  not  be  a  young  count  in  your  way, 

re  than  blushing  comet  to.     If  your  back 
Caaaot  vouchiafe  this  burden,  'tit  too  weak 
Ever  to  get  a  boy. 

Anne. 

How  you  do  talk  ! 
I  twear  again,  I  would  not  be  a  queen 
1  1,1  all  the  world. 

Old  Lady. 

In  faith,  for  little  England 

You'd  venture  an  emballing:  I  mytelf 

Would    for    Carnarvonshire,    although    there 

'long'd  [comes  here  ? 

No  more  to  the  crown  but  that.    Lo  1    who 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Chamberlain. 

Good  morrow,  ladles.    What  wero't  worth  to 

The  secret  of  your  conference  ?  [know 

Anne. 

My  good  lord, 
Not  your  demand  :  it  values  not  your  asking. 
Our  mistress'  torrowt  we  were  pitying. 
Chamberlain. 
It  was  a  gentle  business,  and  becoming 
The  action  of  Rood  women  :  there  is  hope 
All  will  be  well. 

Anne. 
Now,  I  pray  God,  amen  I 
Chamberlain. 
You  bear  a  gentle  mind,  and  heavenly  bless- 
ings 
Follow  such  creatures.  That  you  may,  fair  lady, 
Perceive  I  speak  sincerely,  and  high  notes 
Ta'en  of  your  many  virtues,  the  king's  majesty 
Commends  his  good  opinion  of  you  to  you,  and 
Does  purpose  honour  to  you,  no  less  flowing 
Than  marchioness  of  Pembroke  ;  to  which  title 
A  thousand  pound  a  year,  annual  tupport, 
Out  of  hit  grace  he  adds. 
Anne. 

I  do  not  know, 
What  kind  of  my  obedience  I  should  tender : 
More  than  my  all  is  nothing;  nor  my  prayers 
Are  not  words  duly  hallow'd,  nor  my  wishes 
More  worth  than  empty  vanities :  yet  prayers, 

and  wishes, 
Are  all  I  can  return.    Beteech  your  lordship, 
Vouchsafe  to  speak  my  thanks,  and  my  obedience, 
As  from  a  blushing  handmaid,  to  his  highness  ; 
Whose  health,  and  royalty,  1  pray  foi. 


un. 

Lady, 
I  shall  not  fail  t'  approve  the  fair  coneeit. 
The  king  hath  of  you — I  have  pcrus'd  her  well 
[Aside. 
Beauty  and  honour  In  her  are  so  mingled. 
That  they  have  caught  the  king ;  and  who  knows 
Hut  from  this  lady  may  proceed  a  gem         [yet, 
To  lighten  all  this  lsle?-f  I 0  her!]    I'll  to  the 
And  say,  1  spoke  with  you.  [king, 

Anne. 

My  honour'd  lord. 
[Exit  Lord  Cham 

Old  I 
Why,  this  it  is:  tee,  tee  I 
I  have  been  begging  sixteen  years  In  court, 
(Am  yet  a  courtier  beggarly)  nor  could 
Come  pat  betwixt  too  early  and  too  late, 
For  any  suit  of  pounds  ;  and  you,  O  fate  I 
A  very  fresh-fish  here,  (lie,  fie,  fie  upon 
This  compell'd  fortune  1)  have  your  mouth  flll'd 
Before  you  open  It.  [up, 

Alllie. 

This  is  strange  to  me. 
Old  Lady. 
How  tastes  it  ?  is  it  bitter?  forty  pence,  no. 
There  was  a  lady  once,  ('tis  an  old  story) 
That  would  not  be  a  queen,  that  would  the  not. 
For  all  the  mud  in  ligypt:— have  you  heard  it? 
Aniin. 
Come,  you  are  pleasant. 

Old  Lady. 

With  your  theme  I  could 
O'ermount  the  lark.    The  marchioness  of  l'cm- 

broke! 
A  thousand  pounds  a  year,  for  pure  respect ; 
No  other  obligation.    By  my  life, 
That  promises  more  thousands :  honour's  train 
Is  longer  than  his  foreskirt.     By  this  time, 
I  know,  your  back  will  bear  a  duchess.  — Say, 
Are  you  not  stronger  than  you  were? 
Anne. 

Good  lady, 
Make  yourself  mirth  with  your  particular  fancy, 
And  leave  me  out  on't.     Would  I  had  no  being, 
If  this  salute  my  blood  a  jot :  it  faints  me, 
To  think  what  follows. 
The  queen  is  comfortless,  and  we  forgetful 
In  our  long  absence.    Pray,  do  not  deliver 
What  here  you've  heard,  to  her. 
Old  Lady. 

What  do  you  thbik  me? 

SCENE  IV.    A  Hall  In  Black-friars. 

Trumpets,  Sennet,  and  Cornets.  Enter  Two 
f'rrgers,  with  short  Silver  Wands;  next  them, 
Two  Scribes,  in  the  habit  of  Doctors;  after 
them,  the  Archbishop  of  Camttrbmrv  alone; 
alter  him,  the  Bishops  ol  1  Iloch- 

ester,  and  Saint  Asaph ;  next  them,  with 
small  distance,  follows  a  Gentleman  bearing 
the  Purse,  with  th< 
nil's    Hat ;   then  two  l'r. 

Silver  Croat 

taptuuedwith 
bear  i  i 

BUver  Pillan 
tide  bj  trdinali  Wobtff  and 

.  with  the  Sword  and 
Maea  1  ikes  place  under  thfl 

of  state;  the  two  Cardinals  sit  under  him  at  ' 
judges.     The  Queen  taket  place  at  tome  dis-  J 

tance  , 


674 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  11.  Sc.  iv. 


tance  from  the  King.  The  Bishops  place 
themselves  on  each  side  the  court,  in  manner 
of  a  consistory ;  below  them,  the  Scribes.  The 
Lords  sit  next  the  Bishops.  The  rest  of  the 
Attendants  stand  in  convenient  order  about 
the  stage. 

Wolsey. 
Whilst  our  commission  from  Rome  is  read, 
Let  silence  be  commanded. 

King  Henry. 

What's  the  need? 
It  hath  already  publicly  been  read, 
And  on  all  sides  th'  authority  allow'd ; 
You  may,  then,  spare  that  time. 
Wolsey. 

Be't  so — Proceed. 
Scribe. 
Say,  Henry  king  of  England,  come  into  the 
court. 

Crier. 
Henry  king  of  England,  &c. 
King  Henry. 
Here. 

Scribe. 
Say,  Katharine  queen  of  England,  come  into 
the  court. 

Crier. 
Katharine,  queen  of  England,  &c. 
[The  Queen  makes  no  answer,  rises  out  of 
her  chair,  goes  about  the  court,  comes  to 
the  King,  and  kneels  at  his  feet ;  then 
speaks. 

Queen  Katharine. 
Sir,  I  desire  you,  do  me  right  and  justice, 
And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  me;  for 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, 
Bom  out  of  your  dominions ;  having  here 
No  judge  indifferent,  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding.    Alas  1  sir, 
In  what  have  I  offended  you  ?  what  cause 
Hath  my  behaviour  given  to  your  displeasure, 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  off, 
And  take  your  good  grace  from  me?    Heaven 

witness, 
I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife, 
At  all  times  to  your  will  conformable : 
Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike, 
Yea,  subject  to  your  countenance ;  glad,  or  sorry, 
As  I  saw  it  inclin'd.    When  was  the  hour 
I  ever  contradicted  your  desire,  [friends 

Or  made  it  not  mine  too?    Or  which  of  your 
Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 
He  were  mine  enemy  ?  what  friend  of  mine, 
That  had  to  him  deriv'd  your  anger,  did  I 
Continue  in  my  liking  ?  nay,  gave  notice 
He  was  from  thence  discharg'd.  Sir,  call  to  mind 
That  I  have  been  your  wife,  in  this  obedience, 
Upward  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 
With  many  children  by  you :  if  in  the  course 
And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  report, 
And  prove  it  too,  against  mine  honour  aught, 
My  bond  to  wedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty, 
Against  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 
Turn  me  away;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt 
Shut  door  upon  me,  and  so  give  me  up 
To  the  sharp'st  kind  of  justice.    Please  you,  sir, 
The  king,  your  father,  was  reputed  for 
A  prince  most  prudent,  of  an  excellent 
And  unmatch'd  wit  and  judgment:  Ferdinand, 
My  father,  king  of  Spain,  was  reckon 'd  one 
The  wisest  prince,  that  there  had  reign 'd  by  many 
A  year  before :  it  is  not  to  be  question'd 
That  they  had  gather'd  a  wise  council  to  them 
Of  every  realm,  that  did  debate  this  business, 
Who  deem'd  our  marriage  lawful.     Wherefore 
I  humbly 


Beseech  you,  sir,  to  spare  me,  till  I  may 
Be  by  my  friends  in  Spain  advis'd,  whose  counsel 
I  will  implore :  if  not,  i'  the  name  of  God, 
Your  pleasure  be  fulfill'd ! 

Wolsey. 

You  have  here,  lady, 
(And  of  your  choice)  these  reverend  fathers; 
Of  singular  integrity  and  learning,  [men 

Yea,  the  elect  o'  the  land,  who  are  assembled 
To  plead  your  cause.     It  shall  be  therefore  boot- 
That  longer  you  desire  the  court,  as  well     [less 
For  your  own  quiet,  as  to  rectify 
What  is  unsettled  in  the  king. 
Campeius. 

His  grace 
Hath  spoken  well,  and  justly :  therefore,  madam, 
It's  fit  this  royal  session  do  proceed, 
And  that,  without  delay,  their  arguments 
Be  now  produc'd  and  heard. 

Queen  Katharine 

Lord  cardinal, 
To  you  I  speak. 

Wolsey. 
Your  pleasure,  madam  ? 
Queen  Katharine. 

Sir, 
I  am  about  to  weep ;  but,  thinking  that 
We  are  a  queen,  (or  long  have  dream'd  so) 

certain 
The  daughter  of  a  king,  my  drops  of  tears 
I'll  turn  to  sparks  of  fire. 

Wolsey. 

Be  patient  yet. 
Queen  Katharine. 
I  will,  when  you  are  humble ;  nay,  before, 
Or  God  will  punish  me.     I  do  believe, 
Induc'd  by  potent  circumstances,  that 
You  are  mine  enemy,  and  make  my  challenge : 
You  shall  not  be  my  judge ;  for  it  is  you 
Have  blown  this  coal  betwixt  my  lord  and  me, 
Which   God's  dew  quench — Therefore,  I  say 
I  utterly  abhor,  yea,  from  my  soul,  [again, 

Refuse  you  for  my  j  udge ;  whom,  yet  once  more, 
1  hold  my  most  malicious  foe,  and  think  not 
At  all  a  friend  to  truth. 

Wolsey. 

I  do  profess, 
You  speak  not  like  yourself;  who  ever  yet 
Have  stood  to  charity,  and  display'd  th  effects 
Of  disposition  gentle,  and  of  wisdom 
O'ertopping  woman's  power.    Madam,  you  do 

me  wrong: 
I  have  no  spleen  against  you;  nor  injustice 
For  you,  or  any :  how  far  1  have  proceeded, 
Or  how  far  farther  shall,  is  warranted 
By  a  commission  from  the  consistory,  [me, 

Yea,  the  whole  consistory  of  Rome.    You  charge 
That  I  have  blown  this  coal :  I  do  deny  it. 
The  king  is  present :  if  it  be  known  to  him, 
That  I  gainsay  my  deed,  how  may  he  wound, 
And  worthily,  my  falsehood ;  yea,  as  much 
As  you  have  done  my  truth.     If  he  know 
That  I  am  free  of  your  report,  he  knows, 
I  am  not  of  your  wrong :  therefore,  in  him 
It  lies,  to  cure  me;  and  the  cure  is,  to      [before 
Remove  these  thoughts  from  you :   the  which 
His  highness  shall  speak  in,  I  do  beseech 
You,  gracious  madam,  to  unthink  your  speaking, 
And  to  say  so  no  more. 

Queen  Katharine. 

My  lord,  my  lord, 
I  am  a  simple  woman,  much  too  weak 
To  oppose  your   cunning.     Y'are  meek,  and 
humble-mouth'd ; 

\ou 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  HENRY  VlLL 


673 


You  sign  your  place  ami  calling  in  full  scorning, 
With  meekness  and  humility;  but  your  heart 
Is  cramm'd  with  arrog;incy,  spleen,  and  pride. 
You  have,  by  fortune  and  nit  highness'  favours, 
Gone    slightly  o'er   low   steps,  and  now   are 

mounted 
Where  powers  are  your  retainers;   and  your 

words, 
Domestics  to  you,  serve  your  will,  as't  please 
Yourself  pronounce  their  office.    I  must  tell  you, 
You  tender  more  your  person's  honour,  than 
Your  high  profession  spiritual ;  that  again 
I  do  refuse  you  for  my  juitge,  and  here, 
Before  you  all,  appeal  unto  the  pope. 
To  bring  my  •  hole  cause  'fore  his  holiness. 
And  to  be  judg'd  by  him. 

[She  curtsies  to  the  King,  and  offers  to 
depart. 

Campeius. 

The  queen  Is  obstinate, 
Stubborn  to  justice,  apt  to  accuse  it,  and 
Disdainful  to  be  tried  by't:  'tis  not  well. 
She's  going  away. 

King  Henry. 
Call  her  again. 

Crier. 
Katharine,  queen  of  England,  come  into  the 
court. 

Gentleman  Usher. 
Madam,  you  are  call'd  back. 

Queen  Katharine* 
What  need  you  note  it?  pray  you,  keep  your 
way: 
When  you  are  call'd,  return  .—Now  the  Lord 

help! 
They  vex  me  past  my  patience— Pray  you,  pass 
I  will  not  tarry;  no,  nor  ever  more,  [on: 

Upon  this  business,  my  appearance  make 
In  any  of  their  courts. 

[Exeunt  Queen,  and  her  Attendants 
King  Henry. 

Go  thy  ways,  Kate : 
That  man  i'  the  world  who  shall  report  he  has 
A  better  wife,  let  him  in  nought  be  trusted, 
For  speaking  false  in  that.    Thou  art,  alone, 
(If  thy  rare  qualities,  sweet  gentleness, 
Thy  meekness  saint-like,  wife-like  government, 
Obeying  in  commanding,  and  thy  parts 
Sovereign  and  pious  else,  could  speak  thee  out) 
The  queen  of  earthly  queens. — She's  noble  born; 
!  And,  like  her  true  nobility,  she  lias 
:  Carried  herself  towards  me. 
Wolsey. 

Most  gracious  sir, 
•  In  humblest  manner  I  require  your  highness, 
That  it  shall  please  you  to  declare,  in  hearing 
Of  all  these  ears,  (for  where  I  am  robb'd  and 

bound. 
There  must  I  be  unloos'd,  although  not  there 
1  At  once,  and  fully  satisfied)  whether  ever  I 
,  Did  broach  this  business  to  your  highness,  or 
1  Laid  any  scruple  in  your  way,  which  might 

Induce  you  to  the  question  on't  ?  or  ever 
I  Have  to  you,  but  with  thanks  to  God  for  such 
l  A  royal  lady,  spake  one  the  least  word  that  might 
j  Be  to  the  prejudice  of  her  present  state, 
Or  touch  of  her  good  person  ? 
King  Henry. 

My  lord  cardinal. 
1  do  excuse  you ;  yea.  upon  mine  honour, 
1  free  you  from't.     You  are  not  to  be  taught 
That  you  have  many  enemies,  that  know  not 
Why  they  are  so,  but,  like  to  village  curs. 
Bark  when  their  fellows  do:  bv  some  of  these 
The  queen  is  put  in  auger.     Y'are  excus'd ; 


But  will  you  b»  more  Justified?  you  ever 
I  la»  c  wisn'd  the  steeping  of  this  business  ;  never 
I  Detir'd  it  to  be  stirr'd;  but  oft  have  hinder'd, 

oft, 
I  The  passages  made  toward  it — On  my  honour, 
I  speak  my  good  lord  cardinal  to  this  point, 
And  thus  far  clear  him.    Now,  what  mov'd  me 

to't, 
I  will  be  bold  with  time,  and  your  attention  :— 
Then,  mark  th'  inducement.    Thus  it  came;— 

give  heed  to't. 
My  conscience  first  received  a  tenderness. 
Scruple,  nnd  prick,  on  certain  speeches  uttcr'd 
By  the  bishop  of  Bayonne,  thin  French  ambas- 
sador ; 
Who  had  been  hither  sent  on  the  debating, 
A  marriage  'twixt  the  duke  of  Orleans  and 
Our  daughter  Mary.     V  the  progress  of  this 
Ere  a  determinate  resolution,  he  [business, 

( I  mean,  the  bishop)  did  require  a  respite ; 
Wherein  he  might  the  king  his  lord  advertise 
Whether  our  daughter  were  legitimate, 
Respecting  this  our  marriage  with  the  dowager. 
Sometimes  our  brother's  wife.     This  respite 

shook 
The  bosom  of  my  conscience,  enter 'd  me, 
Yea,  with  a  splitting  power,  and  made  to  tremble 
The  region  of  my  breast ;  which  fore'd  such  way, 
That  many  maz'd  considcrings  did  throng, 
And  press'd  in  with  this  caution.    First,  me- 

thought, 
I  stood  not  in  the  smile  of  Heaven  ;  who  had 
Commanded  nature,  that  my  lady's  womb, 
If  it  conceiv'd  a  male  child  by  me,  should 
Do  no  more  offices  of  life  to't,  than 
The  grave  does  to  the  dead  ;  for  her  male  Issue 
Or  died  where  they  were  made,  or  shortly  after 
This  world  had  air'd  them.    Hence  I  took  a 

thought, 
This  was  a  judgment  on  me  ;  that  my  kingdom. 
Well  worthy  the  best  heir  o'  the  world,  should 

not 
Be  gladded  in't  by  me.    Then  follows,  that 
I  weigh'd  the  danger  which  my  realms  stood  in 
By  this  my  issue's  fail ;  and  that  gave  to  me 
Many  a  groaning  throe.    Thus  hulling  in 
The  wild  sea  of  my  conscience,  i  did  steer 
Toward  this  remedy,  whereupon  we  are 
:  Now  present  here  together ;  that's  to  say, 
I  meant  to  rectify  my  conscience, — which 
I  then  did  feel  lull  sick,  and  yet  not  well, — 
Ey  all  the  reverend  fathers  of  the  land, 
And  doctors  learn'd.     First,  I  began  in  private 
!  With  you,  my  lord  of  Lincoln  :  you  remember 
;  How  under  my  oppression  I  did  reek, 
When  I  first  mov'd  you. 

Lincoln. 

Very  well,  my  liege. 
King  Henry. 
I      1  have  spoke  long :  be  pleas'd  yourself  to  say 
I  How  far  you  satisfied  me. 

Lincoln. 

So  please  your  highness, 
The  ques-tion  did  at  first  so  stagger  me,— 
Bearing  a  state  of  mighty  moment  in't, 
And  consequence  of  dread, — that  I  committed 
The  daring'st  counsel  which  I  had  to  doubt, 
And  did  entreat  your  highness  to  this  course, 
Which  you  are  running  here. 
King  Henry. 

I  then  mov'd  you, 
My  lord  of  Canterbury  ;  and  got  your  leave 
To  make  this  present  summons. — Unsolicited 
I  left  no  reverend  person  in  this  court ; 
But  by  particular  consent  proceeded, 

x  x  Under 


674 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Under  your  hands  and  seals  :  therefore,  go  on  ; 
For  no  dislike  i'  the  world  against  the  person 
Of  the  good  queen,  but  the  sharp  thorny  points 
Of  my  alleged  reasons  drive  this  forward. 
Prove  but  our  marriage  lawful,  by  my  life, 
And  kingly  dignity,  we  are  contented 
To  wear  our  mortal  state  to  come  with  her, 
Katharine  our  queen,  before  the  primest  crea- 
That's  paragon'd  o'  the  world.  [ture 

Campeius. 

So  please  your  highness, 
The  queen  being  absent,  'tis  a  needful  fitness 
That  we  adjourn  this  court  till  farther  day : 
Meanwhile  must  be  an  earnest  motion 
Made  to  the  queen,  to  call  back  her  appeal 
She  intends  unto  his  holiness. 
King  Henry. 

I  may  perceive,     C  A  side. 
These  cardinals  trifle  with  me :  I  abhor 
This  dilatory  sloth,  and  tricks  of  Rome. 
My  learn'd  and  well-beloved  servant,  Cranmer! 
Pr'ythee,  return  :  with  thy  approach,  I  know. 
My  comfort  comes  along — Break  up  the  court : 
"  say,  set  on.  , 

[Exeunt,  in  manner  as  they  entered. 

ACT   III. 

SCENE  1.    The  Palace  at  Brideioell. 

A  Room  in  the  Queen's  Apartment. 

The  Queen,  and  her  Women,  as  at  work. 

Queen  Katharine. 

TAKE  thy  lute,  wench :  my  soul  grows  sad 
with  troubles  ; 
Sing,  and  disperse  them,  if  thou  canst.    Leave 
working. 

SONO. 
Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees, 
And  the  mountain-tops,  that  freeze, 

Bow  themselves,  when  he  did  sing: 
To  his  music,  plants,  and  flowers, 
Ever  sprung  ;  as  sun,  and  showers, 

There  had  made  a  lasting  spring. 

Every  thing  that  heard  him  play, 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea. 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  ?nusic  is  such  art, 
Killing  care,  and  grief  of 'heart, 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
Queen  Katharine. 
How  now  t 

Gentleman. 

An't  please  your  grace,  the  two  great  cardi- 

Wait  in  the  presence.  [nals 

Queen  Katharine. 

Would  they  speak  with  me  ? 
Gentleman. 
They  will'd  me  say  so,  madam. 
Queen  Katharine. 

Pray  their  graces 
To  come  near.     [Exit  Gentleman.']   What  can 
be  their  business  [vour  ? 

With  me,  a  poor  weak  woman,  fallen  from  fa- 
I  do  not  like  their  coming,  now  I  think  on't. 
They  should  be  good  men,  their  affairs  as  righte- 
But  all  hoods  make  not  monks.  [ous ; 


Enter  Wolsey  and  Campeius. 
Wolsey. 

Peace  to  your  highness 
Queen  Katharine. 
.  Your  graces  find  me  here  part  of  a  house- 
wife ; 
I  would  be  all,  against  the  worst  may  happen. 
What  are  your  pleasures  with   me,  reverend 
lords  ?  __ 

Wolsey. 

May  it  please  you,  noble  madam,  to  withdraw 
Into  your  private  chamber,  we  shall  give  you 
The  full  cause  of  our  coming. 

Queen  Katharine. 

Speak  it  here. 
There's  nothing  I  have  done  yet,  o'  my  con- 
science, 
Deserves  a  corner:  would  all  other  women 
Could  speak  this  with  as  free  a  soul  as  I  do  1 
My  lords,  I  care  not,  (so  much  I  am  happy 
Above  a  number)  if  my  actions 
Were  tried  by  every  tongue,  every  eye  saw  them, 
Envy  and  base  opinion  set  against  them, 
I  know  my  life  so  even.     If  your  business 
Seek  me  out,  and  that  way  I  am  wife  in, 
Out  with  it  boldly :  truth  loves  open  dealing. 
Wolsey. 
Tanta  est  erga  te  mentis  integritas,  regina 
serenissima, — 

Queen  Katharine. 
O,  good  my  lord,  no  Latin : 
I  am  not  such  a  truant  since  my  coming, 
As  not  to  know  the  language  1  have  liv'd  in: 
A  strange  tongue  makes  my  cause  more  strange, 

suspicious ; 
Pray,  speak  in   English.    Here  are  some  will 

thank  you, 
If  you  speak  truth,  for  their  poor  mistress'  sake: 
Believe  me,  she  has  had  much  wrong.    Lord 

cardinal, 
The  willing'st  sin  I  ever  yet  committed, 
May  be  absolv'd  in  English. 
Wolsey. 

Noble  lady, 
I  am  sorry,  my  integrity  should  breed, 
(And  service  to  his  majesty  and  you) 
So  deep  suspicion,  where  all  faith  was  meant. 
We  come  not  by  the  way  of  accusation, 
To  taint  that  honour  every  good  tongue  blesses, 
Nor  to  betray  you  any  way  to  sorrow  ; 
You  have  too  much,  good  lady;  but  to  know 
How  you  stand  minded  in  the  weighty  difference 
Between  the  king  and  you,  and  to  deliver, 
Like  free  and  honest  men,  our  just  opinions, 
And  comforts  to  your  cause. 
Campeius. 

Most  honour'd  madam, 
My  lord  of  York,— o\\t  of  his  noble  nature, 
Zeal  and  obedience  he  still  bore  your  grace, 
Forgetting,  like  a  good  man,  your  late  censure 
Both  of  his  truth  and  him,  (which  was  too  far)— 
Offers,  as  I  do,  in  a  sign  of  peace, 
His  service  and  his  counsel. 

Queen  Katharine. 

To  betray  me.  [Aside 
My  lords,  1  thank  you  both  for  your  good  wills. 
Ye  speak  like  honest  men,  (pray  God,  ye  prove 

so!) 
But  how  to  make  ye  suddenly  an  answer, 
In  such  a  point  of  weight,  so  near  mine  honour, 
(More  near  my  life,  I  fear,)  with  my  weak  wit, 
And  to  such  men  of  gravity  and  learning, 
In  truth,  I  know  not.     I  was  set  at  work 
Among  my  maids ;  full  little,  God  knows,  looking 

Either 


Act  in.  Sc.  i. 


j :  Either  for  luch  men,  or  §uch  business. 
1 1  For  her  sake  that  I  have  been,  for  I  feel 

The  last  fit  of  my  greatness,  good  your  graces, 
Let  me  have  time  and  counsel  for  my  cause. 
Alas !  I  am  a  woman,  friendless,  hopeless. 
Wolsey. 
Madam,  you  wrong  the  king's  love  with  these 
Your  hopes  and  friends  are  infinite.         [fears : 
Queen  Katharine. 

In  England, 
Rut  little  for  my  profit:  can  you  think,  lords, 
That  anv  Englishman  dare  give  me  counsel  ? 
Or  be  a  known  friend,  'gainst  his  highness'  plea- 
sure, 
(Though  he  be  grown  so  desperate  to  be  honest) 
And  live  a  subject  ?    Nay,  forsooth,  my  friends, 
They  that  must  weigh  out  my  afflictions, 
They  that  my  trust  must  grow  to,  live  not  here: 
They  are,  as  all  my  other  comforts,  far  hence, 
In  mine  own  country,  lords. 

Campeius. 

I  would,  your  grace 
Would  leave  your  griefs,  and  take  my  counsel. 
Queen  Katharine. 

How,  sir  ? 
Campeius. 
Put  your  main  cause  into  the  king's  protec- 
tion ; 
He's  loving,  and  most  gracious :  'twill  be  much 
Both  for  your  honour  better,  and  your  cause ; 
For  if  the  trial  of  the  law  o'ertake  you, 
You'll  part  away  disgrac'd. 
Wolsey. 

He  tells  you  rightly. 
Queen  Katharine. 
Ye  tell  me  what  ye  wish  for  both,— my  ruin. 
Is  this  your  Christian  counsel  ?  out  upon  ye  I 
Heaven  is  above  all  yet:  there  sits  a  Judge 
That  no  king  can  corrupt. 

Campeius. 

Your  rage  mistakes  us. 
Que t-u  Katharine. 
The  more  shame  for  ye !  holy  men  I  thought 

ye. 

Upon  my  soul,  two  reverend  cardinal  virtues ; 
But  cardinal  sins,  and  hollow  hearts,  I  fear  ye. 
Mend  them  for  shame,  my  lords.     Is  this  your 

comfort  ? 
The  cordial  that  ye  bring  a  wretched  lady  ? 
A  woman  lost  amonp  ye,  laugh'd  at,  scorn'd? 
I  will  not  wish  ye  half  my  miseries, 
I  have  more  charity ;  but  say,  I  warn'd  ye: 
Take  heed,  for  heaven's  sake,  take  heed,  lest  at 

once 
The  burden  of  my  sorrows  fall  upon  ye. 
Wolsey. 
Madam,  this  is  a  mere  distraction  ; 
You  turn  the  good  we  offer  into  envy. 

Queen  Katharine. 
Ye  turn  me  into  nothing.    Woe  upon  ye, 
And  all  such  false  professors !     Would  ye  have 
( If  ye  have  any  justice,  any  pity,  [me 

If  ye  be  any  thing  but  churchmen's  habits) 
Put  my  sick  cause  into  his  hands  that  hates  me? 
Alas !  he  has  banish'd  me  his  bed  already ; 
His  love,  too  long  ago :  I  am  old,  my  lords, 
And  all  the  fellowship  I  hold  now  with  him 
Is  only  my  obedience.    What  can  happen 
To  meabove  this  wretchedness?  all  your  studies 
Make  me  a  curse  like  this. 

Campeius. 

Your  fears  are  worse. 


KING  HENRY  \  III. 


675 


Queen  Katharine. 

Have  I  llv'd  thus  long— (let  me  speak  myself. 

Since  virtue  finds  no  friends,)— a  wife,  a  true 

one? 
A  woman  (I  dare  say  without  vain-glory) 
Never  yet  branded  with  suspicion  ? 
Have  I  with  all  my  full  affections 
Still  met  the  king?  lov'd  him  next  heaven? 

obey'd  him  ? 
Been,  out  of  fondness,  superstitious  to  him  ? 
Almost  forgot  my  prayers  to  content  him  ? 
And  am  I  thus  rewarded  ?  'tis  riot  well,  lords. 
Bring  me  a  constant  woman  to  her  husband, 
One  that  ne'er  dream'd  a  joy  beyond  his  plea- 
sure, 
And  to  that  woman,  when  she  has  done  most, 
Yet  will  I  add  an  honour, — a  great  patience. 
Wolsey. 
Madam,  you  wander  from  the  good  we  aim  at. 

Queen  Katharine. 
My  lord,  I  dare  not  make  myself  so  guilty, 
To  give  up  willingly  that  noble  title 
Your  master  wed  me  to  :  nothing  but  death 
Shall  e'er  divorce  my  dignities. 
Wolsey. 

Pray,  hear  me. 
Queen  Kathariue. 
Would  I  had  never  trod  this  English  earth. 
Or  felt  the  flatteries  that  grow  upon  it  1 
Ye  have  angels'  faces,  but  heaven  knows  your 

hearts. 
What  will  become  of  me  now,  wretched  lady? 

I  am  the  most  unhappy  woman  living 

Alas  I  poor  wenches,  where  are  now  your  for- 
tunes 1  [To  her  Women, 
Shipwreck *d  upon  a  kingdom,  where  no  pity, 
No  friends,  no  hope,  no  kindred  weep  for  me, 

Almost  no  grave  allow'd  me Like  the  lily, 

That  once  was  mistress  of  the  field  and  flourish'd, 
I'll  hang  my  head,  and  perish. 
Wolsey. 

If  your  grace 
Could  but  be  brought  to  know  our  ends  are 

honest, 
You'd  feel  more  comfort.      Why  should  we, 

good  lady, 
Upon  what  cause,  wrong  you?  alas  !  our  places, 
The  way  of  our  profession  is  against  it: 
WTe  are  to  cure  such  sorrows,  not  to  sow  them. 
For  goodness'  sake,  consider  what  you  do ; 
How  you  may  hurt  yourself,  ay,  utterly 
Grow  from    the   king's   acquaintance   by  this 

carriage. 
The  hearts  of  princes  kiss  obedience, 
So  much  they  love  it;  but  to  stubborn  spirits, 
They  swell,  and  grow  as  terrible  as  storms. 
I  know,  you  have  a  gentle,  noble  temper, 
A  soul  as  even  as  a  calm  :  pray,  think  us 
Those  we  profess,  peace-makers,  friends,  and 
servants. 

Campeius. 
Madam,  you'll  find  it  so.    You  wrong  your 
virtues 
With  these  weak  women's  fears :  a  noble  spirit, 
As  yours  was  put  into  you,  ever  casts 
Such  doubts,  as  false  coin,  from  it.    The  king 

loves  you ; 
Beware,  you"  lose  it  not :  for  us,  if  you  please 
To  trust  us  in  your  business,  we  are  ready 
To  use  our  utmost  studies  in  your  service. 
Queen  Katharine. 
Do  what  ye  will,  my  lords :  and,  pray,  forgive 
If  I  have  us  d  myself  unmannerly.  [me 

Yon  know  I  am  a  woman,  lacking  wit 

To 


676 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


To  make  a  seemly  answer  to  sucli  persons. 
Pray  do  my  service  to  his  majesty: 
He  has  my  heart  yet,  and  shall  have  my  prayers, 
While  1  shall  have  my  life.    Come,  reverend 

fathers ; 
Bestow  vour  counsels  on  me:  she  now  begs, 
That  little  thought,  when  she  set  footing  here, 
She  should  have  bought  her  dignities  so  dear. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  1 1.    Ante-chamber  to  the  Ki'ng's  Apart- 
ment. 

Enter  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  Duke  of  Svjfblk, 
the   Earl   of  Surrey,  and  the  Lord  Cham- 
I     Uerlttin. 

Norfolk. 
If  you  will  now  unite  in  your  complaints, 
And  force  them  with  a  constancy,  the  cardinal 
Cannot  stand  under  them:  if  you  omit 
The  offer  of  this  time,  1  cannot  promise, 
But  that  you  shall  sustain  more  new  disgraces, 
With  these  you  bear  already. 
Surrey. 

I  am  joyful 
To  meet  the  least  occasion,  that  may  give  me 
Remembrance  of  my  father-in-law,  the  duke, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him. 

Suffolk. 

Which  of  the  peers 
Have  uncontemn'd  gone  by  him,  or  at  least 
Strangely  neglected?  when  did  he  regard 
The  stamp  of  nobleness  in  any  person, 
Out  of  himself  r 

Chamberlain. 
My  lords,  you  speak  your  pleasures. 
What  he  deserves  of  you  and  me,  I  know ; 
What  we  can  do  to  him,  (though  now  the  time 
Gives  way  to  us)  1  much  fear.    If  you  cannot 
Bar  his  access  to  the  king,  never  attempt 
Any  ihing  on  him,  for  he  hath  a  witchcraft 
Over  the  king  in's  tongue. 
Norfolk. 

O!  fear  him  not; 
His  spell  in  that  is  out :  the  king  hath  found 
Matter  against  him,  that  for  ever  mars 
The  honey  of  his  language.     No,  he's  settled, 
Not  to  come  off,  in  his  displeasure. 
Surrey. 

Sir, 
I  should  be  glad  to  hear  such  news  as  this 
Once  every  hour. 

Norfolk. 

Believe  it,  this  is  true. 
In  the  divorce  his  contrary  proceedings 
Are  all  unfolded  ;  wherein  he  appears, 
As  I  could  wish  mine  enemy. 
Surrey. 

How  came 
His  practices  to  light? 

Suffolk. 

Most  strangely. 
Surrey. 

O!  how?  how? 
Suffolk. 
The  cardinal's  letter  to  the  pope  miscarried, 
And  came  to  the  eye  o'  the  king  ;  wherein  was 

read. 
How  that  the  cardinal  did  entreat  his  holiness 
To  stay  the  judgment  o'  the  divorce;  for  if 
It  did  take  place,  "  I  do,"  quoth  he,  "  perceive, 
My  king  is  tangled  in  affection  to 
A  creature  of  the  queen's,  lady  Anne  Bullen." 


Surrey. 


Has  the  king  this  ? 

Suffolk. 

Believe  it. 
Surrey. 

Will  this  work  ? 
Chamberlain. 
The  king  in  this    perceives   him,    how   he 
coasts, 
And  hedges,  his  own  way.    But  in  this  point 
i  All  his  tricks  founder,  and  he  brings  his  physic 
After  his  patient's  death:  the  king  already 
Hath  married  the  fair  lady. 
Surrey. 

Would  he  had  1 
Suffolk. 
May  you  be  happy  in  your  wish,  my  lord ; 
For,  I  profess,  you  have  it. 
Surrey. 

Now  all  my  joy 
Trace  the  conjunction  1 

Suffolk. 

My  amen  to't. 
Norfolk. 

All  men's. 
Suffolk. 
There's  order  given  for  her  coronation : 
iMarry,  this  is  yet  but  young,  and  may  be  left 
'To  some  ears  unrecounted.  — But,  my  lords, 
She  is  a  gallant  creature,  and  complete 
In  mind  and  feature :  I  persuade  me,  from  her 
Will  fall  some  blessing  to  this  land,  which  shall 
In  it  be  memoriz'd. 

Surrey. 

But,  will  the  king 
Digest  this  letter  of  the  cardinal's? 
The  Lord  forbid  1     M 

Norfolk. 
Marry,  amen  1 
Suffolk. 

No,  no : 
There  be  more  wasps  that  buz  about  his  nose, 
WTill  make  this   sting   the   sooner.     Cardinal 

Campeius 
Is  stolen  away  to  Rome;  hath  ta'en  no  leave  ; 
Has  left  the  cause  o'  the  king  unhandled,  and 
Is  posted,  as  the  agent  of  our  cardinal, 
To  second  all  his  plot.    I  do  assure  you 
The  king  cried,  ha !  at  this. 

Chamberlain. 

Now,  God  incense  him, 
And  let  him  cry  ha  1  louder. 
Norfolk. 

But,  my  lord, 
When  returns  Cranmert 
Suffolk. 
He  is  return'd,  in  his  opinions,  which 
Have  satisfied  the  king  for  his  divorce, 
Together  with  all  famous  colleges 
;  Almost  in  Christendorn.    Shortly,  I  believe, 
His  second  marriage  shall  be  publish'd,  and 
Her  coronation.    Katharine  no  more 
I  Shall  be  call'd  queen,  but  princess  dowager, 
i  And  widow  to  prince  Arthur. 
Norfolk. 

This  same  Crannier's 
!  A  worthy  fellow,  and  hath  ta'en  much  pain 
In  the  king's  business. 

Suffolk. 
He  has ;  and  we  shall  see  him 
For  it  an  archbishop. 

Norfolk. 
So  I  hear. 

Suffolk. 


Act  hi.  Se.  II. 


KING  HENRY  VnT. 


117. 


Suffolk. 

•Tli  io. 
The  cardinal— 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Cromwell. 

Norfolk. 

ObserTC,  observe ;  he's  moody. 

\Nolscy. 

The  packet,  Cromwell,  gave  It  you  the  king? 

Cromwell. 
To  his  own  hand,  in  his  bedchamber. 

Wo  I 
Look'd  he  o*  th*  inside  of  the  paper  ? 
i  well. 

Presently 
He  did  unseal  them,  and  the  first  he  view'd, 
He  did  it  with  a  serious  mind :  a  heed 
Was  in  his  countenance:  you  he  bade 
I  Attend  him  here  this  morning. 
Wolsey. 

Is  he  ready 
To  come  abroad  ?  „ 

Cromwell. 

I  think,  by  this  he  is. 
Wolsey. 
j      Leave  me  awhile.—  [Exit  Cromwell. 

It  shall  be  to  the  duchess  of  Alencon, 
|  The  French  king's  sister;  he  shall  marry  her — 
Anne  Sullen  f   Mo;    I'll  no  Anne  Bullens  for 

him: 
There's  more  in't  than  fair  visage. — Bullen! 
No,  we'll  no  Bullens.    Speedily  1  wish   [broke! 
To  hear  from  Borne. — The  marchioness  of  Pern. 
Norfolk. 
He's  discontented. 

Suffolk. 
May  be,  he  hears  the  king 
Does  whet  his  anger  to  him. 
Surrey. 

Sharp  enough, 
Lord !  for  thy  justice. 

Wolsey. 
The  late  queen's   gentlewoman,  a  knight's 
daughter, 
To  he  her  mistress'  mistress !  the  queen's  queen  !— 
This  candle  burns  not  clear :  'tis  I  must  snuff  it; 

Then,  out  it  goes What  though  I  know  her 

virtuous, 
And  well  deserving,  yet  I  know  her  for 
A  spleeny  Lutheran  ;  and  not  wholesome  to 
Our  cause,  that  she  should  lie  i'  the  bosom  of 
Our  hard-rul'd  king.    Again,  there  is  sprung  up 
A  n  heretic,  an  arch  one,  Cranmer;  one 
Hath  crawl'd  into  the  favour  of  the  king, 
And  is  his  oracle. 

Norfolk. 

He  is  vex'd  at  something. 
Suffolk. 
I  would,  twere  something  that  would  fret  the 
The  master-cord  on's  heart  1  [string, 

Enter  the  King,  reading  a  Schedule ;  and  Lovell. 
Suffolk. 

The  king,  the  king. 
King  Henry. 
What  piles  of  wealth  hath  he  accumulated, 
To  his  own  portion  I  and  what  expence  by  the 

hour 
Seems  to  flow  from  him  1    How,  i'  the  name  of 

thrift, 
Does  he  rake  this  together?— Now,  my  lords  ; 
Saw  you  the  cardinal  ? 


Norfolk. 

My  lord,  we  have    [motion 
Stood  here  observing  him.    Some  strange  eon- 
Is  in  his  brain  :  he  bites  his  lip,  and  starts  ; 
Stops  on  a  sudden,  looks  upon  the  ground. 
Then,  lays  his  finger  on  his  temple  ;  straight, 
Springs  out  into  fast  gait ;  then,  stops  again, 
Strikes  his  breast  hard  ;  and  anon,  he  casts 
His  eye  against  the  moon.     In  most  strange 
We  have  seen  him  set  himself.  [postures 

King  Henry. 

It  may  well  be : 
There  is  a  mutiny  In's  mind.    This  morning 
Papers  of  state  he  sent  me  to  peruse, 
As  I  requir'd  ;  and,  wot  you,  what  I  found 
There,  on  my  conscience,  put  unwittingly? 
Forsooth  an  inventory,  thus  importing, — 
The  several  parcels  of  his  plate,  his  treasure, 
Rich  stuffs,  and  ornaments  of  household,  which 
I  rind  at  such  proud  rate,  that  it  out-speaks 
Possession  of  a  subject. 

Norfolk. 

It's  heaven's  will : 
Some  spirit  put  this  paper  in  the  packet, 
To  bless  your  eye  withal. 

King  Heury. 

If  we  did  think 
His  contemplation  were  above  the  earth, 
And  fix'd  on  spiritual  object,  he  should  still 
Dwell  in  his  musings :  but,  1  am  afraid, 
His  thinkings  are  below  the  moon,  not  worth 

[He lakes  his  seat/khd  whispers  Lovell,  who 
goes  to  Wolsey. 

Wolsey. 

Heaven  forgive  me! 
Ever  God  bless  your  highness. 
King  Henry. 

Good  my  lord,     [ventory 
You  are  full  of  heavenly  stuff,  and  bear  the  in- 
Of  your  best  graces  in  your  mind,  the  which 
You  were  now  running  o'er:  you  have  scarce 

time 
To  steal  from  spiritual  leisure  a  brief  span. 
To  keep  your  earthly  audit.     Sure,  in  that 
I  deem  you  an  ill  husband,  and  am  glad 
To  have  you  therein  my  companion. 
Wolsey. 

Sir, 
For  holy  offices  I  have  a  time  ;  a  time 
To  think  upon  the  part  of  business,  which 
I  bear  i'  the  state ;  and  nature  does  require 
Her  times  of  preservation,  which,  perforce, 
I  her  frail  son,  amongst  my  brethren  mortal, 
Must  give  my  tendance  to. 

King  Henry. 

You  have  said  well. 
Wolsey. 
And  ever  may  your  highness  yoke  together, 
As  I  will  lend  you  cause,  my  doing  well 
With  my  well  saying! 

King  Henry. 

'Tis  well  said  again  ; 
And  'tis  a  kind  of  good  deed,  to  say  well : 
And  yet  words  are  no  deeds.    My  father  lov'd 

you ; 
He  said  he  did,  and  with  his  deed  did  crown 
His  word  upon  you  :  since  I  had  my  office, 
I  have  kept  you  next  my  heart ;  have  not  alone 
Employ'd  you  where  high  profits  might  come 

home, 
But  par'd  my  present  havings,  to  bestow 
My  bounties  upon  you. 

Wolsey. 


678 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


Wolsey. 

What  should  this  mean ! 


Surrey. 
The  Lord  increase  this  business  ! 


[Aside. 


King  Henry. 

Have  I  not  made  you 
The  prime  man  of  the  state  ?  I  pray  you,  tell  me, 
If  what  I  now  pronounce  you  have  found  true ; 
And,  if  you  may  confess  it,  say  withal, 
If  you  are  bound  to  us,  or  no.    What  say  you  ? 

Wolsey. 

My  sovereign,  I  confess,  your  royal  graces, 

Shower'd  on  me  daily,  have  been  more  than 

could 
My  studied  purposes  requite  ;  which  went 
Beyond  all  man's  endeavours  :  my  endeavours 
Have  ever  come  too  short  of  my  desires, 
Yet  fil'd  with  my  abilities.     Mine  own  ends 
Have  been  mine  so,  that  evermore  they  pointed 
To  the  good  of  your  most  sacred  person,  and 
The  profit  of  the  state.     For  your  great  graces 
Heap'd  upon  me,  poor  undeserver,  I 
Can  nothing  render  but  allegiant  thanks ; 
My  prayers  to  heaven  for  you  ;  my  loyalty, 
Which  ever  has,  and  ever  shall  be  growing, 
Till  death,  that  winter,  kill  it. 

King  Henry. 

Fairly  answer'd: 
A  loyal  and  obedient  subject  is 
Therein  illustrated.    The  honour  of  it 
Does  pay  the  act  of  it ;  as,  i'  the  contrary, 
The  foulness  is  the  punishment.    I  presume, 
That  as  my  hand  has  open'd  bounty  to  you, 
My  heart  dropp'd  love,  my  power  rain'd  honour, 

more 
On  you,  than  any ;  so  your  hand,  and  heart, 
Your  brain,  and  every  function  of  your  power, 
Should,  notwithstanding  that  your  bond  of  duty, 
As  'twere  in  love's  particular,  be  more 
To  me,  your  friend,  than  any. 
Wolsoy. 

I  do  profess, 
That  for  your  highness'  good  I  ever  labour'd 
More  than  mine  own ;  that  am,  have,  and  wi  11  be — 
(Though  all  the  world  should  crack  their  duty 

to  you, 
And  throw  it  from  their  soul ;  though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  them, 

and 
Appear  in  forms  more  horrid)  yet  my  duty, 
As  doth  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break, 
And  stand  unshaken  yours. 

King  Henry. 

'Tis  nobly  spoken. 
Take  notice,  lords,  he  has  a  loyal  breast, 

For  you  have  seen  him  open't Read  o'er  this: 

[Giving  him  Papers. 
And,  after,  this  ;  and  then  to  breakfast,  with 
What  appetite  you  have. 

[Exit  King,  frowning  upon  Cardinal  Wol- 
sey ;  the  Nobles  throng  after  him,  smiling 
and  whispering. 

Wolsey 
What  should  this  mean  ? 
What  sudden  anger's  this  ?  how  have  I  reap'd  it? 
He  parted  frowning  from  me,  as  if  ruin 
Leap'd  from  his  eyes :  so  looks  the  chafed  lion 
Upon  the  daring  huntsman  that  hasgall'd  him  ; 
Then,  makes  him  nothing.  I  must  read  this  paper; 

I  fear,  the  story  of  his  anger 'Tis  so  ; 

This  paper  has  undone  me  ! — 'Tis  th'  account 
Of  all  that  world  of  wealth  I  have  drawn  together 


For  mine  own  ends ;  indeed,  to  gain  the  pope- 

dom, 
And  fee  my  friends  in  Rome.    O  negligence ! 
Fit  for  a  fool  to  fall  by.     What  cross  devil 
Made  me  put  this  main  secret  in  the  packet 
I  sent  the  king  ?  Is  there  no  way  to  cure  this  ? 
No  new  device  to  beat  this  from  his  brains  ? 
I  know  'twill  stir  him  strongly  ;  yet  I  know 
A  way,  if  it  take  right,  in  spite  of  fortune 
Will  bring  me  off  again.    What's  this  ?  _  "  To 

the  Pope?" 
The  letter,  as  I  live,  with  all  the  business 
I  writ  to  his  holiness.    Nay  then,  farewell  ! 
I  have  touch'd   the  highest   point  of  all  my 

greatness, 
And  from  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 
1  haste  now  to  my  setting :  I  shall  fall 
Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening, 
And  no  man  see  me  more. 

Re-enter  the  Dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk,  the 
Earl  of  Surrey,  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Norfolk. 
Hear   the   king's    pleasure,    cardinal ;   who 
commands  you 
To  render  up  the  great  seal  presently 
Into  our  hands,  and  to  confine  yourself 
To  Asher-house,  my  lord  of  Winchester's, 
Till  you  hear  farther  from  his  highness. 


Wolsey. 


Stay: 


Where's  your  commission,  lords  ?  words  cannot 

carry 
Authority  so  weighty. 

Suffolk. 

Who  dare  cross  them, 
Bearing  the  king's  will  from  his  mouth  expressly? 

Wolsev. 
Till  I  find  more  than  will,  or  words,  to  do  it, 
(I  mean  your  malice)  know,  officious  lords, 
I  dare,  and  must  deny  it.    Now,  I  feel 
Of  what  coarse  metal  ye  are  moulded,— envy. 
How  eajrerly  ye  follow  my  disgraces, 
As  if  it  fed  ye !  and  how  sleek  and  wanton 
Ye  appear  in  every  thing  may  bring  my  ruin  ! 
Follow  your  envious  courses,  men  of  malice ; 
You  have  Christian  warrant  for  them,  and,  no 

doubt, 
In  time  will  find  their  fit  rewards.     That  seal, 
You  ask  with  such  a  violence,  the  king,      [me  ; 
( Mine,  and  your  muster)  with  his  own  hand  gave 
Bade  me  enjoy  it,  with  the  place  and  honours, 
During  my  life,  and  to  confirm  his  goodness, 
Tied  it  by  letters  patent.    Now,  who'll  take  it  ? 

Surrey. 
The  king  that  gave  it. 

Wolsey. 

It  must  be  himself,  then. 

Surrey. 
Thou  art  a  proud  traitor,  priest. 

Wolsey. 

Proud  lord,  thou  liest  : 
Within  these  forty  hours  Surrey  durst  better 
Have  burnt  that  tongue,  than  said  so. 

Surrey. 

Thy  ambition, 
Thou  scarlet  sin,  robb'd  this  bewailing  land 
Of  noble  Buckingham,  mv  father-in-law  : 
The  heads  of  all  thy  brother  cardinals, 
( With  thee,  and  all  thy  best  parts  bound  together) 
Weigh'd  not  a  hair  of  his.  Plagueof  your  policy  \ 
You  sent  me  deputy  for  Ireland, 
Far  from  his  succour,  from  the  king,  from  all 

That 


A<T  III.    Sc.  II. 


KING   HKNKY  VIII. 


679 


That  might  hare  merry  on  the  fault  thou  gav'st 

him  ; 
Whilst  your  great  goodness,  out  of  holy  pity, 
Absolv'd  him  with  an  axe. 
Wolirjr. 

This,  and  all  else 
This  talking  lord  can  lay  upon  my  credit, 
I  answer,  is  most  false.    The  duke  by  law 
Found  his  desert*  :  how  innocent  I  was 
From  any  private  malice  in  his  end, 
His  noble  jury  and  foul  cause  can  witness. 
If  I  lor'd  many  words,  lord,  I  should  tell  you. 
You  hare  as  little  honesty  as  honour, 
Th.it  in  the  way  of  loyalty  and  truth 
Toward  the  king,  my  ever  royal  master, 
Dare  mate  a  sounder  man  than  Surrey  can  be, 
And  all  that  love  his  lollies. 
Surrey. 

By  my  soul, 
Your  long   coat,    priest,    protects  you :    thou 

should'st  feel 
My  sword  i'  the  life-blood  of  thee  else.  — My 
Can  ye  endure  to  hear  this  arrogance?     [lords, 
And  from  this  fellow  ?    If  we  live  thus  tamely, 
To  be  thus  jaded  by  a  piece  of  scarlet, 
Farewell  nobility;  let  his  grace  go  forward, 
And  dare  us  with  his  cap,  like  larks. 
Wolsey. 

All  goodness 
Is  poison  to  thy  stomach. 
Surrey. 

Yes,  that  goodness 
Of  gleaning  all  the  land's  wealth  into  one, 
Into  your  own  hands,  cardinal,  by  extortion  ; 
The  goodness  of  your  intercepted  packets, 
You  writ  to  the  pope,  against  the  king ;  your 

goodness, 
Since  you  provoke  me,  shall  be  most  notorious. — 
My  lord  of  Norfolk,— as  you  are  truly  noble, 
As  you  respect  the  common  good,  the  state 
Of  our  despis'd  nobility,  our  issues, 
(Who,  if  he  live,  will  scarce  be  gentlemen) 
Produce  the  grand  sum  of  his  sins,  the  articles 
Collected  from  his  life :— I'll  startle  you 
Worse  than  the  sacring  bell,  when  the  brown 

wench 
Lay  kissing  in  your  arms,  lord  cardinal. 

Wo,- 

How  much,  methinks,  I  could  despise  this  man 
But  that  1  am  bound  in  charity  against  it. 
Norfolk. 
Those  articles,  my  lord,  are  in  the  king's  hand; 
But,  thus  much,  they  are  foul  ones. 
Wolsey. 

So  much  fairer, 
And  spotless,  shall  mine  innocence  arise, 
When  the  king  knows  my  truth. 
Surrey. 

This  cannot  save  you. 
I  thank  my  memory,  I  yet  remember 
Some  of  these  articles ;  and  out  they  shall. 
Now,  if  you  can  blush,  and  cry  guilty,  cardinal, 
You'll  show  a  little  honesty. 
Wolsey. 

Speak  on,  sir; 
I  dare  your  worst  objections  :  if  1  blush, 
It  is  to  see  a  nobleman  want  manners. 
Surrey. 
I  had  rather  want  those,  than  my  head.   Have 
at  you.  [ledge, 

First,  that  without  the  king's  assent  or  know- 
You  wrought  to  be  a  legate;  by  which  power 
You  maim'd  the  jurisdiction  of  all  bishops. 


Norfolk. 
Then,  that  in  all  you  writ  to  Hums,  or  else 
To  foreign  princes,  Ego  et  Rex  mens 
Was  still  Inscribed;  In  which  you  brought  the 
To  be  your  servant.  [king 

Suffolk. 
Then,  that  without  the  knowledge 
Either  of  king  or  council,  when  you  went 
Ambassador  to  the  emperor,  you  made  bold 
To  carry  into  Flanders  the  great  seal. 
Surrey. 
Item,  you  sent  a  large  commission 
To  Gregory  tie  Cassalis,  to  conclude, 
Without  the  kiug's  will  or  the  state's  allowance, 
A  league  between  his  highness  and  Ferrara. 
Suffolk. 
That  out  of  mere  ambition  you  have  caus'd 
Your  holy  hat  to  be  stamp'd  on  the  king's  coin. 
Surrey. 
Then,  that  you  have  sent  innumerable  sub- 
stance, 
(By  what  means  got,  I  leave  to  your  own  con- 
science) 
To  furnish  Rome,  ami  to  prepare  the  ways 
You  have  for  dignities  ;  to  the  mere  undoing 
Of  all  the  kingdom.    Many  more  there  are ; 
Which,  since  they  are  of  you,  and  odious, 
I  will  not  taint  my  mouth  with. 
Chamberlain. 

O  my  lord ! 
Press  not  a  falling  man  too  far  ;  'tis  virtue. 
His  faults  lie  open  to  the  laws  :  let  them, 
Not  you,  correct  him.     My  heart  weeps  to  see 
So  little  of  his  great  self.  [him 

Surrey. 

I  forgive  him. 
Suffolk. 
Lord  cardinal,  the  king's  farther  pleasure  is,— 
Because  all  those  things,  you  have  done  of  late 
By  your  power  legatine  within  this  kingdom, 
Fall  into  the  compass  of  a  prumunire,— 
That  therefore  such  a  writ  be  sued  against  you ; 
To  forfeit  all  your  goods,  lands,  tenements, 
Chattels,  and  whatsoever,  and  to  be 
Out  of  the  king's  protection — This  is  my  charge. 
Norfolk. 
And  so  we'll  leave  you  to  your  meditations, 
How  to  live  better.    For  your  stubborn  answer, 
About  the  giving  back  the  great  seal  to  us, 
The  king  shall  know  it,  and,  no  doubt,  shall 

thank  you. 
So,  fare  you  well,  my  little  good  lord  cardinal. 
3  3    [Exeunt  all  but  Wolsey. 

Wolsey. 
So,  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 
Farewell !  a  long  farewell,  to  all" my  greatness ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hopes,  to-morrow  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honours  thick  upon  him : 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost; 
And, — when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening,— nips  his  root, 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventur'd, 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory, 
But  far  beyond  my  depth:  my  high  blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me ;  and  now  has  left  me 
Weary,  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  for  ever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye: 
I  feel  my  heart  new  open'd.     O  !  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man,  that  hangs  on  princes'  favours. 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  wc  would  aspire  to. 

That 


68o 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  in.  Se.  n. 


That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Luctfer, 
Never  to  hope  again — 

Enter  Cromwell,  amazedly. 

Why,  how  now,  Cromwell! 

Cromwell. 
I  have  no  power  to  speak,  sir. 

Wolsey. 

What!  amaz'd 
At  my  misfortunes?  can  thy  spirit  wonder, 
A  great  man  should  decline  ?  Nay,  an  you  weep, 
I  am  fallen  indeed. 

Cromwell. 

How  does  your  grace  ? 

Wolsey. 

Why,  well: 
Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myself  now ;  and  I  feel  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities,     [cur'd  me, 
A   still  and  quiet  conscience.     The  king  has 
I  humbly  thank  his  grace,  and  from  these  shoul- 
These  ruin'd  pillars,  out  of  pity,  taken       [ders, 
A  load  would  sink  a  navy — too  much  honour. 

0  !  'tis  a  burden,  Cromwell,  'tis  a  burden, 
Too  heavy  for  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven. 

Cromwell. 
I  am  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right  use 
of  it. 

Wolsey. 
I  hope  I  have :  I  am  able  now,  methinks, 
(Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel) 
To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far. 
That  my  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  offer. 
What  news  abroad? 

Cromwell. 

The  heaviest,  and  the  worst, 
Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 
Wolsey. 

God  bless  him ! 
Cromwell. 
The  next  is,  that  sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  Chancellor  in  your  place. 
Wolsey. 
That's  somewhat  sudden ; 
But  he's  a  learned  man.    May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness'  favour,  and  do  justice 
For  truth's  sake,  and  his  conscience ;  that  his 
bones,  [ings, 

When  he  has  run  his  course  and  sleeps  in  bless- 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphans'  tears  wept  on  'em ! 
What  more? 

CromwelL 
That  Cramner  is  returned  with  welcome, 
Install'd  lord  archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
Wolsey. 
That's  news  indeed ! 

Cromwell. 

Last,  that  the  lady  Anne, 
Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  long  married, 
This  day  was  view'd  in  open,  as  his  queen, 
Going  to  chapel ;  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 
Wolsey. 
There  was  the  weight  that  pulled  me  down. 
O  Cromwell! 
The  king  has  gone  beyond  me :  all  my  glories 
In  that  one  woman  I  have  lost  for  ever. 
No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  mine  honours, 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.    Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Crom- 

1  am  a  poor  fallen  man,  unworthy  now     [well; 


To  be  thy  lord  and  master.    Seek  the  king; 
(That  sun,  I  pray,  may  never  set !)  I  have  told 

him 
What,  and  how  true  thou  art :  he  will  advance 
Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  him,     [thee. 
(I  know  his  noble  nature)  not  to  let 
Thy  hopeful  service  perish  too.  Good  Cromwell, 
Neglect  him  not ;  make  use  now,  and  provide 
For  thine  own  future  safety. 

Cromwell. 

O  my  lord ! 
Must  I  then  leave  you?  must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master  ? 
Bear  witness  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord.— 
The  king  shall  have  my  service ;  but  my  prayers, 
For  ever  and  for  ever,  shall  be  yours. 

Wolsey 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries;  but  thou  hast  forc'd  me, 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes ;  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Crom- 
well : 
And,— when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of,— say,  I  taught 

thee, 
Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depthsand  shoals  of  honour, 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  miss'd 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruin'd  me.    [it. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition  : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels;  how  can  man,  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by't? 
Love  thyself  last :  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty,  [thee: 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues :  be  just,  and  fear  not. 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and  truth's  ;  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  O 

Cromwell, 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr. 
Serve  the  king;  and,  —  Pr'ythee,  lead  me  in : 
There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 
To  the  last  penny  ;  'tis  the  king's :  my  robe, 
And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own .    O  Cromwell,  Crom- 
well! 
Had  I  but  serv'd  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  serv'd  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 
Cromwell. 
Good  sir,  have  patience. 
Wolsey. 

So  I  have.    Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court:  my  hopes  in  heaven  do 

dwell.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    A  Street  in  Westminster. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen,  meeting. 
First  Gentleman. 
\7  OU'RE  well  met  once  again. 

Second  Gentleman. 
So  are  you. 

First  Gentleman. 
You  come  to  take  your  stand  here,  and  behold 
The  Lady  Anne  pass  from  her  coronation  ? 

Second 


Act  jv.  Sc.  i. 


KING    IIKNKV  VIII. 


681 


Second  GeutU.-m.in. 
•Tli  nil  mjr  Dusmcss.    At  our  last  encounter, 
Tbo  duke  ot  Buckingham  came  from  his  tri.il. 

man. 
'Tls  very  true ;  but  that  time  offer'd  sorrow, 
This,  general  joy. 

Second  Gentleman. 

Tis  well :  the  citizens, 


each  side  her,  the  Bishops  of  London  and 
Winchester. 
The  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  In  a  coronal  of 

Slid,  wrought  with    flowers,  bearing   the 
turn's  train. 
Certain    Ladies   or    Countesses,  with   plain 
circleU  of  gold  without  flowers. 
Second  Gentleman. 
A  roral  train,  belieTe  me — These  I  know  • 
1 1  am  sure,  have  shown  at  full  their  royal min d»  ;     wlloytnat  tnat  ^^  the  gceptre  ? 
As,  let  V-m  have  their  rights,  they  are  ever 

forward 
In  celebration  of  this  day  with  shows, 
Pageants,  and  sights  of  honour. 

First  Gentleman. 

Never  greater 
Nor,  I'll  assure  you,  better  taken,  sir. 
Second  Gentleman. 
May  I  be  bold  to  ask  what  that  contains, 
That  paper  in  your  hand  ? 

First  Gentleman. 

Yes  ;  'tis  the  list 
Of  those  that  claim  their  offices  this  day, 
By  custom  of  the  coronation. 
The  duke  of  Suffolk  is  the  first,  and  claims 
To  be  high  steward ;  next,  the  duke  of  Norfolk, 
He  to  be  earl  marshal.    You  may  read  the  rest. 
Second  Gentleman. 
I  thank  you,  sir:  had  I  not  known  those 
customs, 
I  should  have  been  beholding  to  your  paper. 
But,  I  beseech  you,  what's  become  of  Katharine, 
The  princess  dowager  ?  how  goes  her  business  ? 
First  Gentleman . 
That  I  can  tell  you  too.    The  archbishop 
Of  Canterbury,  accompanied  with  other 
Learned  and  reverend  fathers  of  his  order. 
Held  a  late  court  at  Dunstable,  six  miles  off 
From  AmpthiU,  where  the  princess  lay ;  to  which 
She  was  often  cited  by  them,  but  appear'd  not : 
And,  to  be  short,  for  not  appearance,  and 
The  king's  late  scruple,  by  the  main  assent 
Of  all  these  learned  men  she  was  divore'd, 
And  the  late  marriage  made  of  none  effect: 
Since  which  she  was  removed  to  Kimbolton, 
Where  she  remains  now,  sick. 

Second  Gentleman. 

Alas,  good  lady! — 

[Trumpets. 

The  trumpets  sound:  stand  close,  the  queen  is 

coming.  [Hautboys. 


THE  ORPF.R  OF  THE  CORONATION. 

A  lively  flourish  of  Trumpets. 
1.  Then,  two  Judges. 

%.  Lord  Chancellor,  with  purse  and  mace  before 
him. 

3.  Choristers  singing.  [Music. 

4.  Mayor  of  London  bearing  the  mace.    Then, 

Garter  in  his  coat  of  arms;  and  on  his  head, 
he  wore  a  gilt  copper  crown. 

5.  Marquess  Dorset,  bearing  a  sceptre  of  gold; 

on  his  head  a  demi-coronal  of  gold.  With 
him  the  Karl  of  Surrey,  bearing  the  rod  of 
silver  with  the  dove ;  crowned  with  an  earl's 
coronet.    Collars  of  SS. 

6.  Duke  of  Suffolk,  in  his  robe  of  estate,  his 

coronet  on  his  head,  bearing  a  long  white 
wand, as  high-steward.  With  him,  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  with  the  rod  of  marshalship ;  a 
coronet  on  his  head.    Collars  of  SS. 

7.  A  canopy  borne  by  four  of  the  Cinque-ports; 

under  it,  the  Queen  in  her  robe ;  in  her  hair, 
richly  adorned  with  pearl,  crowned.     On 


First  Gentleman. 

Marquess  Dorset: 
And  that  the  earl  ot  Surrey,  with  the  rod. 
Second  Gentleman. 
A  bold  brave  gentleman.    That  should  be 
The  duke  of  Suffolk. 

First  Gentleman. 

'Tis  the  same;  high  steward. 
Second  Gentleman. 
And  that  my  lord  of  Norfolk  t 
First  Gentleman. 

Yes. 
Second  Gentleman. 

Heaven  bless  thee ! 

(Looking  on  the  Queen. 
ace  I  ever  look'd  on.— 
Sir,  as  1  have  a  soul,  she  is  an  angel : 
Our  king  has  all  the  Indies  in  his  arms,  [lady: 
And  more,  and  richer,  when  he  strains  that 
1  cannot  blame  his  conscience. 

First  Gentleman. 

They,  that  bear 
The  cloth  of  honour  over  her,  are  four  barons 
Of  the  cinque-ports. 

Second  Gentleman. 
Those  men  are  happy;  and  so  are  all,  are 
near  her. 
I  take  it,  she  that  carries  up  the  train 
Is  that  old  noble  lady,  duchess  of  Norfolk. 
First  Gentleman. 
It  is ;  and  all  the  rest  are  countesses. 

Second  Gentleman. 
Their   coronets   say  so.     These   are   stars, 
And  sometimes  falling  ones.  [indeed ; 

First  Gentleman. 

No  more  of  that. 
[Exit  Frocession,  with  a  great  flourish  of 
Trumpets. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 
God  save  you.  sir!     Where  have   you   been 
broiling? 

Third  Gentleman. 
Among  the  crowd  i'  the  abbey ;  where  a  linger 
Could  not  be  wedg'd  in  more :  I  am  stifled 
With  the  mere  rankness  of  their  joy. 
Second  Gentleman. 
You  saw  the  ceremony  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 
That  I  did. 

First  Gentleman. 
How  was  it  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 
Well  worth  the  seeing. 

Second  Gentleman. 
Good  sir,  speak  it  to  us. 

Third  Gentleman. 
As  well  as  I  am  able.    The  rich  stream 
Of  lords,  and  ladies,  having  brought  the  queen 
To  a  prepar'd  place  in  the  choir,  fell  off 
A  distance  from  her  ■  while  her  grace  sat  down 

To 


68a 


KING  HENRY  VHL 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


To  rest  a  while,  some  half  an  hour  or  so, 
In  a  rich  chair  of  state,  opposing  freely 
The  beauty  of  her  person  to  the  people. 
Believe  me,  sir,  she  is  the  goodliest  woman 
That  ever  lay  by  man:  which  when  the  people 
Had  the  full  view  of,  such  a  noise  arose 
As  the  shrouds  make  at  sea  in  a  stiff  tempest, 
As  loud,  and  to  as  many  tunes :  hats,  cloaks, 
( Doublets,  I  think)  flew  up,  and  had  their  faces 
Been  loose,  this  day  they  had  been  lost.     Such 
I  never  saw  before.    Great-bellied  women,  [joy 
That  had  not  half  a  week  to  go,  like  rams 
In  the  old  time  of  war,  would  shake  the  press, 
And  make  them  reel  before  them.     No  man 

living 
Could  say,  "  This  is  my  wife,"  there;  all  were 
So  strangely  in  one  piece.  [woven 

Second  Gentleman. 
But,  what  follow'd? 

Third  Gentleman. 
At  length  her  grace  rose,  and  with  modest 
paces 
Came  to  the  altar;  where  she  kneel'd,  and  saint 

like 
Cast  her  fair  eyes  to  heaven,  and  pray'd  devoutly. 
Then  rose  again,  and  bow'd  her  to  the  people : 
When  by  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury 
She  had  all  the  royal  makings  of  a  queen ; 
As  holy  oil,  Edward  Confessor's  crown, 
The  rod,  and  bird  of  peace,  and  all  such  emblems 
Laid  nobly  on  her:  which  perform'd,  the  choir, 
With  all  the  choicest  music  of  the  kingdom, 
Together  sung  Te  Deum.    So  she  parted, 
And  with  the  same  full  state  pac'd  back  again 
To  York-place,  where  the  feast  is  held. 
First  Gentleman. 

Sir, 
You  must  no  more  call  it  York-place,  that's  past; 
For,  since  the  cardinal  fell,  that  title's  lost : 
♦lis  now  the  king's,  and  call'd—  Whitehall. 
Third  Gentleman. 

1  know  it; 
But  'tis  so  lately  alter'd,  that  the  old  name 
Is  fresh  about  me. 

Second  Gentleman. 

What  two  reverend  bishops 
Were  those  that  went  on  each  side  of  the  queen  ? 
Third  Gentleman. 
Stokesly  and  Gardiner;   the  one  of  Winchester, 
Newly  preferr'd  from  the  king's  secretary ; 
The  other,  London. 

Second  Gentleman. 

He  of  Winchester 
Is  held  no  great  good  lover  of  the  archbishop's, 
The  virtuous  Cranmer. 

Third  Gentleman. 

All  the  land  knows  that: 
However,  yet  there's  no  great  breach ;  when  it 

comes, 
Cranmer  will  find  a  friend  will  not  shrink  from 

Second  Gentleman. 

Who  may  that  be,  I  pray  you  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 

Thomas  Cromwell; 
A  man  in  much  esteem  with  the  king,  and  truly 
A  worthy  friend.— The  king  has  made  him 
Master  o'  the  jewel-house, 
And  one,  already,  of  the  privy-council. 
Second  Gentleman. 
He  will  deserve  more. 

Third  Gentleman. 

Yes,  without  all  doubt. 


xeunt. 


Come,  gentlemen,  ve  shall  go  my  way,  which 
Is  to  the  court,  and  there  ye  shall  be  my  guests  : 
Something  I  can  command.    As  I  walk  thither, 
I'll  tell  ye  more. 

J  Both. 

You  may  command  us.  sir. 

SCENE  II.    KimboUon. 

Enter  Katharine,  Dowager,  sick  ;  led  between 
Griffith  and  Patience. 

Griffith. 
How  does  your  grace  ? 

Katharine. 
O,  Griffith  !  sick  to  death  : 
My  legs,  like  loaden  branches,  bow  to  the  earth, 
Willing  to  leave  their  burden.  Reach  a  chair :  — 
So,— now,  methinks,  I  feel  a  little  ease.  [me, 
Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  Griffith,  as  thou  led'st 
That  the  great  child  of  honour,  cardinal  Wolsey, 
Was  dead  ? 

Griffith. 
Yes,  madam ;  but,  I  think,  your  grace, 
Out  of  the  pain  you  suffer'd,  gave  no  ear  to't. 
Katharine. 
Pr'ythee,  good  Griffith,  tell  me  how  he  died  : 
If  well,  he  stepp'd  before  me,  happily, 
For  my  example. 

Griffith. 
Well,  the  voice  goes,  madam  : 
For  after  the  stout  earl  Northumberland 
Arrested  him  at  York,  and  brought  him  forward, 
As  a  man  sorely  tainted,  to  his  answer, 
He  fell  sick  suddenly,  and  grew  so  ill, 
He  could  not  sit  his  mule. 

Katharine. 

Alas,  poor  man  ! 

Griffith. 

At  last,  with  easy  roads,  he  came  to  Leicester; 

Lodg'd  in  the  abbey,  where  the  reverend  abbot, 

With  all  his  convent,  honourably  receiv'd  him  : 

To  whom  he  gave  these  words, — "O  father 

abbot, 
An  old  man,  broken  with  the  storms  of  state, 
Is  come  to  lay  his  weary  bones  among  ye  ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  charity  !  " 
So  went  to  bed,  where  eagerly  his  sickness 
Pursu'd  him  still ;  and  three  nights  after  this, 
About  the  hour  of  eight,  which  he  himself 
Foretold  should  be  his  last,  full  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows, 
He  gave  his  honours  to  the  world  again, 
His  blessed  part  to  heaven,  and  slept  in  peace. 
Katharine. 
So  may  he  rest :  his  faults  lie  gently  on  him  ! 
Yet  thus  far,  Griffith,  give  me  leave  to  speak 
And  yet  with  charity. — He  was  a  man         [him, 
Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  ever  ranking 
Himself  with  princes  ;  one,  that  by  suggestion 
Tied  all  the  kingdom  :  simony  was  fair  play  ; 
His  own  opinion  was  his  law  :  i'  the  presence 
He  would  say  untruths,  and  be  ever  double, 
Both  in  his  words  and  meaning.    He  was  never, 
But  where  he  meant  to  ruin,  pitiful : 
His  promises  were,  as  he  then  was,  mighty  ; 
But  his  performance,  as  he  is  now,  nothing. 
Of  his  own  body  he  was  ill,  and  gave 
The  clergy  ill  example. 

Griffith. 

Noble  madam, 
Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass  ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.   May  it  please  your  highness 
To  hear  me  speak  his  good  now  ? 

Katharine. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


68s 


Katharine. 

Yes,  good  Griffith  ; 
1  were  malicious  else. 

Griffith. 

This  cardinal, 
Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashlon'd  to  much  honour  from  his  cradle. 
He  was  a  scholar,  ami  a  ripe,  and  good  one  ; 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading  : 
Lofty  and  sour  to  them  that  lov'd  him  not ; 
But,  to  those  men  that  sought  him,  sweet  as 

summer : 
And  though  he  were  unsatisfied  in  getting, 
(Which  was  a  sin)  yet  in  bestowing,  madam, 
He  was  most  princely.     Kver  witness  for  him 
Those  twins  of  learning,  that  he  rais'd  in  you, 
Ipswich,  and  Oxford!  one  of  which  fell  with 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  that  did  it ;  [him, 
The  other,  though  unfinish'd.  yet  so  famous, 
So  excellent  bi  art,  and  still  so  rising, 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue. 
His  overthrow  heap'd  happiness  upon  him  ; 
For  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  felt  himself, 
And  found  the  blessedness  of  being  little  : 
And,  to  add  greater  honours  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died  fearing  God. 

Katharine. 
After  my  death  1  wish  no  other  herald, 
No  other  speaker  of  my  living  actions, 
To  keep  mine  honour  from  corruption. 
But  such  an  honest  chronicler  as  Griffith. 
Whom  I  most  hated  living,  thou  hast  made  me, 
With  thy  religious  truth  and  modesty, 
Now  in  his  ashes  honour.   Peace  be  with  him  !  — 
Patience,  be  near  me  still  ;  and  set  me  lower  : 
1  have  not  long  to  trouble  thee.— Good  Griffith, 
Cause  the  musicians  play  me  that  sad  note 
1  nam'd  mv  knell,  whilst  I  sit  meditating 
On  that  celestial  harmony  1  go  to. 

[Sad  and  solemn  music 

Griffith. 
She  is  asleep.    Good  wench,  let's  sit  down 
quiet, 
For  fear  we  wake  her:— softly,  gentle  Patience. 

The  Vision.  Enter,  solemnly  tripping  one  alter 
another,  six  Personages,  clad  in  white  robes, 
wearing  on  their  heads  garlands  of  bays,  and 
golden  vizards  on  their  faces  ;  branches  of 
bays,  or  palm,  in  their  hands.  They  first 
congee  unto  her,  then  dance  ;  and,  at  certain 
changes,  the  first  two  hold  a  spare  garland 
over  ncr  head  ;  at  which,  the  other  four  make 
reverend  curt'sies :  then,  the  two  that  held 
the  garland  deliver  the  same  to  the  other  next 
two,  who  observe  the  same  order  in  their 
changes,  and  holding  the  garland  over  her 
head.  Which  done,  they  deliver  the  same 
garland  to  the  last  two,  who  likewise  observe 
the  same  order  :  at  which,  (as  it  were  by  in- 
spiration) she  makes  in  her  sleep  signs  of 
rejoicing,  and  holdeth  up  her  hands  to  heaven. 
And  so  in  their  dancing  they  vanish,  carrying 
the  garland  with  them.  The  music  continues. 

Katharine. 
Spirits  of  peace,  where  are  ye?    Are  ye  all 
gone, 
And  leave  me  here  in  wretchedness  behind  ye  ? 

Griffith. 
Madam,  we  are  here. 

Katharine. 

It  is  not  you  I  call  for. 
Saw  ye  none  enter,  since  I  slept  ? 


Griffith. 

None,  madam. 
Katharine. 
No  !     Saw  you  not,  even  now,  a  blessed  troop 
Invite  me  to  a  banquet ;  whose  bright  faces 
Cast  thousand  beams  upon  me,  like  the  sun? 
They  promis'd  me  eternal  happiness, 
And  brought  me  garlands,  Griffith,  which  I  feel 
I  am  not  worthy  yet  to  wear :  1  shall,  assuredly. 
Griffith. 
I  am  most  joyful,  madam,  such  good  dreams 
Possess  your  fancy. 

Katharine. 

Bid  the  music  leave, 
They  are  harsh  and  heavy  to  me. 

[Music  ceases. 
Patience. 

Do  you  note. 
How  much  her  grace  is  alter'd  on  the  sudden  ? 
How  long  her  face  is  drawn?    How  pale  she 

looks, 
And  of  an  earthy  cold  ?    Mark  her  eyes  1 

Griffith. 
She  is  going,  wench.     Pray,  pray. 

Patience. 

Heaven  comfort  her  I 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
An't  like  your  grace,  — 

Katharine. 

You  are  a  saucy  fellow : 
Deserve  we  no  more  reverence  ? 
Griffith. 

You  are  to  blame. 

Knowing  she  will  not  lose  her  wonted  greatness, 

To  use  so  rude  behaviour :  go  to ;  kneel. 

Messenger. 

I  humbly  do  entreat  your  highness'  pardon  ; 

My  haste  made  me  unmannerly.     There  is  stay* 

ing 
A  gentleman,  sent  from  the  king  to  see  you. 
Katharine. 
Admit  him  entrance,  Griffith  :  but  this  fellow 
Let  me  ne'er  see  again. 

[Exeunt  Griffith  and  Messenger 

Re-enter  Griffith,  with  Capuciu*. 

If  my  sight  fail  not. 
You  should  be  lord  ambassador  from  the  em- 
peror, 
My  royal  nephew  ;  and  your  name  Capucius. 
Capuclus. 
Madam,  the  same,  your  servant. 

Katharine. 

O  my  lord  ! 
The  times,  and  titles,  now  are  alter'd  strangely 
With  me,  since  first  you  knew  me.  But,  I  pray 
What  is  your  pleasure  with  me  ?  [you, 

Capucius. 

Noble  lady, 
First,  mine  own  service  to  your  grace;  the  next, 
The  king's  request  that  1  would  visit  you; 
Who  grieves  much  for  your  weakness,  and  by  me 
Sends  you  his  princely  commendations, 
And  heartily  entreats  you  take  good  comfort. 

Katharine. 
O !  my  good  lord,  that  comfort  comes  too  late: 
"Tis  like  a  pardon  after  execution. 
That  gentle  physic,  given  in  time,  had  cur'd  me; 
But  now  1  am  past  all  comforts  here,  but  prayers. 
How  does  his  highness? 

Capucius. 


684 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  it.  Sc.  jj. 


Capucius. 

Madam,  in  good  health. 

Katharine. 
So  may  he  ever  do;  and  ever  flourish, 
When  1  shall  dwell  with  worms,  and  my  poor 

name 
Banish'd  the  kingdom — Patience,  is  that  letter, 
I  caus'd  you  write,  yet  sent  away  ? 

Patience' 

No,  madam. 
[Giving  it  to  Katharine. 

Katharine. 
Sir,  I  most  humbly  pray  you  to  deliver 
This  to  my  lord  the  king. 

Capucius. 

Most  willing,  madam. 
Katharine. 
Tn  which  I  have  commended  to  his  goodness 
The   model   of  our   chaste   loves,  his   young 

daughter:  — 
The  dews  of  heaven  fall  thick  in  blessings  on 

her! 
Beseeching  him  to  give  her  virtuous  breeding  ; 
(She  is  young,  and  of  a  noble  modest  nature  ; 
I  hope,  she  will  deserve  well ;)  and  a  little 
To  love  her  for  her  mother's  sake,  that  lov'd  him, 
Heaven  knows  how  dearly.    My  next  poor  peti- 
tion 
Is,  that  his  noble  grace  would  have  some  pity 
Upon  my  wretched  women,  that  so  long, 
Have  follow'd  both  my  fortunes  faithfully: 
Of  which  there  is  not  one,  I  dare  avow, 

iAnd  now  I  should  not  lie)  but  will  deserve, 
:or  virtue,  and  true  beauty  of  the  soul, 
For  honesty,  and  decent  carriage, 
A  right  good  husband,  let  him  be  a  noble ; 
And,  sure,  those  men  are  happy  that  shall  have 

them. 
The  last  is,  for  my  men :— they  are  the  poorest, 
But  poverty  could  never  draw  them  from  me ; — 
That  they  may  have  their  wages  duly  paid  them, 
And  something  over  to  remember  me  by: 
If  heaven  had  pleas'd  to  have  given  me  longer 
And  able  means,  we  had  not  parted  thus,  [life, 
These  are  the  whole  contents: — and,  good  my 

lord, 
By  that  you  love  the  dearest  in  this  world, 
As  you  wish  Christian  peace  to  souls  departed, 
Stand  these  poor  people's  friend,  and  urge  the 
To  do  me  this  last  right.  [king 

Capucius. 

By  heaven,  I  will, 
Or  let  me  lose  the  fashion  of  a  man ! 
Katharine. 
I  thank  you,  honest  lord.    Remember  me 
In  all  humility  unto  his  highness : 
Sar,  his  long  trouble  now  is  passing  [him, 

Out  of  this  world:  tell  him,  in  death  I  bless'd 
For  so  I  will.— Mine  eyes  grow  dim.— Farewell, 
My  lord.— Griffith,  farewell — Nay,  Patience, 
You  must  not  leave  me  yet :  I  must  to  bed  ; 

Call  in  more  women When  I  am  dead,  good 

wench, 
Let  me  be  us'd  with  honour :  strew  me  over 
With  maiden  flowers,  that  all  the  world  may 

know 
I  was  a  chaste  wife  to  my  grave.    Embalm  me, 
Then  layme  forth:  although  unqueen'd,  yet  like 
A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  king,  inter  me. 
I  can  no  more. —    [Exeunt,  leading  Katharine. 


'#-##-f 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  1.    A  Gallery  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  a  Page 
with  a  Torch  before  him  ;  met  by  Sir  Thomas 
Lovett. 

Gardiner. 

IT'S  one  o'clock,  boy,  is't  not? 

Boy. 

It  hath  struck. 
Gardiner. 
These  should  be  hours  for  necessities, 
Not  for  delights ;  times  to  repair  our  nature 
With  comforting  repose,  and  not  for  us 
To  waste  these  times. — Good  hour  of  night,  sir 
Whither  so  late  ?  [  Thomas ; 

Lovell. 
Came  you  from  the  king,  my  lord  ? 

Gardiner. 
I  did,  sir  Thomas  ;  and  left  him  at  primero 
With  the  duke  of  Suffolk. 

Lovell. 

I  must  to  him  too, 
Before  he  go  to  bed.    I'll  take  my  leave. 

Gardiner. 
Not  yet,  sir   Thomas   Lovell.      What's    the 
matter  ? 
It  seems  you  are  in  haste :  an  if  there  be 
No  great  offence  belongs  to't,  give  your  friend 
Some  touch  of  your  late  business.    Affairs  that 

walk 
(As,  they  say,  spirits  do)  at  midnight  have 
In  them  a  wilder  nature,  than  the  business 
That  seeks  despatch  by  day. 
Lovell. 

My  lord,  I  love  you, 
And  durst  commend  a  secret  to  your  ear 
Much  weightier  than  this  work.    The  queen's 

in  labour, 
They  say,  in  great  extremity ;  and  fear'd, 
She'll  with  the  labour  end. 

Gardiner. 

The  fruit  she  goes  with 
I  pray  for  heartily ;  that  it  may  find 
Good  time,  and  live:    but  for  the  stock,  sir 
I  wish  it  grubb'd  up  now.  [Thomas, 

Lovell. 

Methinks,  I  could 
Cry  the  amen ;  and  yet  my  conscience  says 
She's  a  good  creature,  and,  sweet  lady,  does 
Deserve  our  better  wishes. 

Gardiner. 

But,  sir,  sir,— 
Hear  me,  sir  Thomas :  y'are  a  gentleman 
Of  mine  own  way;  1  know  you  wise,  religious; 
And,  let  me  tell  you,  it  will  ne'er  be  well, 
'Twill  not,  sir  Thomas  Lovell,  take't  of  me, 
Till  Cranmer,  Cromwell,  her  two  hands,  and  she, 
Sleep  in  their  graves. 

Lovell. 

Now,  sir,  you  speak  of  two 
The  most  remark'd  i'  the  kingdom.     As  for 

Cromwell, 
Beside  that  of  the  jewel-house,  he's  made  master 
O'  the  rolls,  and  the  king's  secretary ;  farther, 

sir, 
Stands  in  the  gnp  and  trade  of  more  preferments, 
With  which  the  time  will  load  him.     Th'  arch- 
bishop 
Is  the  king's  hand,  and  tongue ;  and  who  dare 
One  syllable  against  him?  [speak 

Gardiner. 


Act  v.  5c.  l 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


685 


Gardiner. 

Yea,  yes,  sir  Thomas, 
There  are  that  dare ;  and  I  myself  have  ventur'd 
To  speak  my  mind  of  him:  and,  indeed,  this 

day. 
Sir.  (I  may  tell  it  you)  I  think,  I  have 
Incent'd  the  lords  o'  the  council,  th.it  he  is 
(For  so  1  know  he  is,  they  know  he  is) 
A  most  arch  heretic,  a  pestilence 
That  does  infect  the  land:  withwhich  theymoved 
H.ivc  brolMO  with  the  king  ;  who  hath  so  far 
Given  ear  to  our  complaint,  (of  his  great  grace 
And  princely  care,  foreseeing  those  fell  mis- 
chiefs 
Our  reasons  laid  before  him'*  hath  commanded, 
To-morrow  morning  to  the  council-board 
He    be   convented.      He's    a    rank    weed,    sir 

Thomas, 
And  we  must  root  him  out.    From  your  affairs 
1  hinder  you  too  long:  good  night,  sir  Thomas. 
Lovcll. 
Many  good  nights,  my  lord,    I  rest  your  ser- 
vant. [Exeunt  Gardiner  and  Page. 

As  I.oveli  Is  going  out,  enter  the  King,  and  the 
Diktat  S^kik. 

King  Henry. 
Charles,  I  will  play  no  more  to-night: 
My  mind's  not  on't ;  you  are  too  hard  for  me. 

Suffolk. 
I     Sir,  1  did  never  win  of  you  before. 

King  Henry. 
J     But  little,  Charles; 

'  I  Nor  shall  not  when  my  fancy's  on  my  play. — 
Now,  Lovell,  from  the  queen  what  is' the  uews  ? 
Lovell. 
I  could  not  personally  deliver  to  her 
What  you  commanded  me,  but  by  her  woman 
1  sent  your  message ;  who  return'd  her  thanks 
In  the  greatest  humbleness,  and  desir'd  your 
Most  heartily  to  pray  for  her.  [highness 

King  Henry. 

What  say'st  thou  ?  hal 
To  pray  for  her  ?  what !  is  she  crying  out  ? 

Lovell. 
So  said  her  woman ;  and  that  her  sufferance 
made 
Almost  each  pang  a  death. 

King  Henry. 

Alas,  good  lady  I 
Suffolk. 
God  safely  quit  her  of  her  burden,  and 
With  gentle  travail,  to  the  gladding  of 
Your  highness  with  an  heir  1 
King  Henry. 

Tis  midnight,  Charles: 
Pr'ythee,  to  bed ;  and  in  thy  prayers  remember 
Th*  estate  of  my  poor  queen.    Leave  me  alone, 
For  I  must  think  of  that,  which  company 
Would  not  be  friendly  to. 

Suffolk. 

I  wish  your  highness 
A  quiet  night ;  and  my  good  mistress  will 
Kemember  in  my  prayers. 

King  Henry. 

Charles,  good  night 

[Kxit  Stiffltk: 

Enter  Sir  Anthony  Denny. 
Well,  sir,  what  follows  ? 

Denny. 
Sir,  1  have  brought  my  lord  the  archbishop, 
As  you  commanded  me. 


King  Henry. 

Hal  Canterbury f 
Denny. 
1     Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King  Henry. 
'Tis  true:  where  is  he,  Denny  t 
Denny. 
He  attends  your  highness'  pleasure. 
King  Henry. 

Brine  him  to  ui. 
R£It2fcaM 

Lovell. 

This  is  about  that  which  the  bishop  spake: 
I  am  huppily  come  hither.  [Aside. 

Re-enter  Denny,  with  Cranmer. 
King  Henry. 

Avoid  the  gallery. 
[Lovell  seems  to  stay. 
Ha !  —  I  have  said.  —  Be  gone. 
What !—  [Exeunt  Lovell  and  Denny. 

Cranmer. 
I  am  fearful.  — Wherefore  frowns  he  thus  ? 
'Tis  his  aspect  of  terror:  all's  not  well. 
King  Henry. 
How  now,  my  lord  !    You  do  desire  to  know 
Wherefore  1  sent  for  you. 

Cranmer. 

It  is  my  duty 
T'  attend  your  highness'  pleasure. 
King  Henry. 

Pray  you,  arise, 
My  good  and  gracious  lord  of  Canterbury. 
Come,  you  and  I  must  walk  a  turn  together ; 
1  have  news  to  tell  you.    Come,  come,  give  me 

your  hand. 
Ah,  my  good  lord,  I  grieve  at  what  I  speak, 
And  am  right  sorry  to  repeat  what  follows. 
I  have,  and  most  unwillingly,  of  late 
Heard  many  grievous,  I  do  say,  my  lord, 
Grievous  complaints  of  you ;  which  being  con- 

sider'd 
Have  mov'd  us  and  our  council,  that  you  shall 
This  morning  come  before  us :  where  I  know. 
You  cannot  with  such  freedom  purge  yourself, 
But  that,  till  farther  trial  in  those  charges 
Which  will  require  your  answer,  you  must  take 
j  Your  patience  to  you,  and  be  well  contented 
5  To  make  your  house  our  Tower :  you  a  brother 

of  us, 
It  fits  we  thus  proceed,  or  else  no  witness 
.  Would  come  against  you. 

Cranmer. 
I  humbly  thank  your  highness, 
,  And  am  right  glad  to  catch  this  good  occasion 
Most  throughly  to  be  winnow'd,  where  my  chaff 
And  corn  shall  fly  asunder  ;  for,  I  know, 
There's  none  stands  under  more  calumnious 
;  Than  I  myself,  poor  man.  [tongues, 

King  Henry. 

Stand  up,  good  Canterbury  : 
Thy  truth,  and  thy  integrity,  is  rooted 
;  In  us,  thy  friend.     Give  me  thy  hand,  stand  up : 
;  Pr'ythee,  let's  walk.    Now,  by  my  holy  dame, 
What  manner  of  man  are  you?    My  lord,  I 

look'd 
You  would  have  given  me  your  petition,  that 
i  I  should  have  ta'en  some  pains  to  bring  together 
Yourself  and  your  accusers  ;  and  to  have  heard 
Without  indurance,  farther.  [you, 

Cranmer. 

Most  dread  liege, 
The  good  I  stand  on,  is  my  truth,  and  honesty : 


686 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  v.  Sc.  t. 


If  they  shall  fail,  I,  with  mine  enemies,       [not, 
Will  triumph  o'er  my  person,  which  I  weigh 
Being  of  those  virtues  vacant.    I  fear  nothing 
What  can  be  said  against  me. 

King  Henry. 

Know  you  not 
How  your  state  stands  i'  the  world,  with  the 
whole  world  ?  [practices 

Your  enemies  are  many,  and  not  small ;  their 
Must  bear  the  same  proportion:  and  not  ever 
The  justice  and  the  truth  o'  the  question  carries 
The  due  o'  the  verdict  with  it.    At  what  ease 
Might  corrupt  minds  procure  knaves  as  corrupt 
To  swear  againstyou:  such  things  have  been  done. 
You  are  potently  oppos'd,  and  with  a  malice 
Of  as  great  size.     Ween  you  of  better  luck, 
I  mean  in  perjur'd  witness,  than  your  Master, 
Whose  minister  you  are,  whiles  here  he  liv'd 
Upon  this  naughty  earth  ?    Go  to,  go  to: 
You  take  a  precipice  for  no  leap  of  danger, 
And  woo  your  own  destruction. 
Cranmer. 

God,  and  your  majesty, 
Protect  mine  innocence,  or  I  fall  into 
The  trap  is  laid  for  me  I 

King  Henry. 

Be  of  good  cheer ; 
They  shall  no  more  prevail,  than  we  give  way  to. 
Keep  comfort  to  you ;  and  this  morning,  see 
You  do  appear  before  them.  If  they  shall  chance, 
In  charging  you  with  matters,  to  commit  you, 
The  best  persuasions  to  the  contrary 
Fail  not  to  use,  and  with  what  vehemency 
The  occasion  shall  instruct  you:  if  entreaties 
Will  render  you  no  remedy,  this  ring 
Deliver  them,  and  your  appeal  to  us       [weeps ! 
There  make  before  them. — Look,  the  good  man 
He's   honest,    on   mine   honour.    God's   blest 

Mother ! 
I  swear,  he  is  true-hearted ;  and  a  soul 
None  better  in  my  kingdom. — Getyou  gone, 

And  do  as  I  have  bid  you [Exit  Cranmer. ]Ue 

His  language  in  his  tears.  [has  strangled 

Enter  an  old  Lady . 

Gentleman.  [Within. 

Come  back :  what  mean  you? 

Lady. 

I'll  not  come  back ;  the  tidings  that  I  bring 

Will  make  my  boldness  manners.  —  Now,  good 

angels 
Fly  o'er  thy  royal  head,  and  shade  thy  person 
Under  their  blessed  wings  1 

King  Henry. 

Now,  by  thy  looks 
I  guess  thy  message.     Is  the  queen  deliver'd  ? 
Say,  ay ;  and  of  a  boy. 

Lady. 

Ay,  ay,  my  liege; 
And  of  a  lovely  boy:  the  God  of  heaven 
Both  now  and  ever  bless  her  1  —  'tis  a  girl, 
Promises  boys  hereafter.    Sir,  your  queen 
Desires  your  visitation,  and  to  be 
Acquainted  with  this  stranger:  'tis  as  like  you, 
As  cherry  is  to  cherry. 

King  Henry. 
Lovell,— 


Re-enter  Lovell. 
Lovell. 


Sir. 


King  Henry. 
Give  her  an  hundred  marks.   I'll  to  the  queen. 


Lady. 
An  hundred  marks!    By  this  light,  I'll  ha' 
more. 
An  ordinary  groom  is  for  such  payment : 
I  will  have  more,  or  scold  it  out  of  him. 
Said  I  for  this,  the  girl  was  like  to  him  ? 
I  will  have  more,  or  else  unsay't ;  and  now, 
While  it  is  hot,  I'll  put  it  to  the  issue.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  Lobby  before  the  Council- 
Chamber. 

Enter  Cranmer ;  Servants,  Door-Keeper,  &c. 
attending. 

Cranmer. 
I  hope,  I  am  not  too  late;  and  yet  the  gentle- 
man, 
That  was  sent  to  me  from  the  council,  pray'd  me 
To  make  great  haste.    All  fast?  what  means 

this?    Hoa! 
Who  waits  there?— Sure  you  know  me? 
Door- Keeper. 

Yes,  my  lord ; 
But  yet  I  cannot  help  you. 

Cranmer. 

Why? 

Door-Keeper. 

Your  grace  must  wait,  till  you  be  call'd  for. 

Enter  Doctor  Butts. 

Cranmer. 

So. 
Butts. 
This  is  a  piece  of  malice.    I  am  glad, 
I  came  this  way  so  happily:  the  king 
Shall  understand  it  presently.  [Exit  Butts. 

Cranmer.  [Aside. 

'Tis  Butts, 
The  king's  physician.    As  he  past  along, 
How  earnestly  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  me. 
Pray  heaven,  he  sound  not  my  disgrace  1    For 

certain, 
This  is  of  purpose  laid  by  some  that  hate  me, 
(God  turn  their  hearts!   I  never  sought  their 
malice)  [make  me 

To  quench  mine  honour:  they  would  shame  to 
Wait  else  at  door,  a  fellow  counsellor 
'Mong  boys,  grooms,  and  lackeys.     But  theii 

pleasures 
Must  be  fulfill'd,  and  I  attend  with  patience. 

Enter  the  King  and  Butts,  at  a  window  above. 

Butts. 
I'll  show  your  grace  the  strangest  sight, — 
King  Henry. 

What's  that,  Butts  t 
Butts. 
I  think,  your  highness  saw  this  many  a  day. 

King  Henry. 
Body  o'  me,  where  is  it? 
Butts. 

There,  my  lord: 

The  high  promotionof  his  grace  of  Canterbury ; 

Who  holds  his  state  at  door,  'mongst  pursui- 

Pages,  and  footboys.  [vants, 

King  Henry. 

Ha!    'Tis  he,  indeed. 
Is  this  the  honour  they  do  one  another? 
'Tis  well,  there's  one  above  'em  yet.     I  had 

thought, 
They  had  parted  so  much  honesty  among  'em, 
f  At  least  good  manners)  as  not  thus  to  suffer 
A  man  of  his  place,  and  so  near  our  favour, 

To 


Act  v.  Sc.  11. 


KING  HENRI  VIII. 


687 


To  dance  attendance  on  their  lordihlp'i  plea- 
sures 
And  at  the  door  too,  like  a  post  with  packet*. 
By  holy  Mary,  Suits,  there  *  knavery: 
Let  'em  alone,  niul  draw  the  curtain  clot*; 
We  (hall  hear  more  anon.—  [F.xeunt. 

THE   COfXClL-CHAMBER. 

Enter  the  lord  Chancellor,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
I  of  Surrey,  Ijord  Chamberlain,  Gardiner, 
and  Cromwell.  The  Chancellor  places  himself 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  on  the  left  hand ; 
a  seat  being  left  void  above  him,  as  for  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  The  rest  seat 
themselves  in  order  on  each  side.  Cromweli, 
at  the  lower  end,  at  secretary. 

Chancellor. 
Speak  to  the  business,  master  secretary  : 
Why  are  we  met  in  council  ? 
Cromwell. 

Please  your  honours, 
The  chief  cause  concerns  his  grace  of  Canter- 
bury. 

Gardiner. 
Has  he  had  knowledge  of  it  ? 
Cromwell. 

Yes. 
Norfolk. 

Who  waits  there? 
Door-Keeper. 
Without,  my  noble  lords  ? 
Gardiner. 

Yes, 
Door-Keeper. 

My  lord  archbishop ; 
And  has  done    half  an    hour,  to  know  your 
pleasures. 

Chancellor. 
Let  him  come  in. 

Door-Keeper. 

Your  grace  may  enter  now. 
[Cranmer  approaches  the  Council-table. 
Chancellor. 
My  good  lord  archbisliop^I  am  very  sorry 
To  sit  here  at  this  present,  and  behold 
That  chair  stand  empty  :  but  we  all  are  men, 
In  our  own  natures  frail,  and  capable 
Of  our  flesh  ;  few  are  angels :  out  of  which 
frailty,  [us, 

And  want  of  wisdom,  you,  that  best  should  teach 
Have  misdemean'd  yourself,  and  not  a  little, 
Toward  the  king  first,  then  his  laws,  in  filling 
The  whole  realm,  by  your  teaching,  and  your 

chaplains, 
(For  so  we  are  inform 'd)  with  new  opinions, 
Divers,  and  dangerous  ;  which  are  heresies, 
And,  not  reform'd,  may  prove  pernicious. 

Gardiner. 
Which  reformation  must  be  sudden  too, 
My  noble  lords  ;  for  those  that  tame  wild  horses 
Pace  them  not  in  their  hands  to  make  them 
gentle,  [spur  them, 

But  stop  their  mouths  with  stubborn  bits,  and 
Till  they  obey  the  manage.     If  we  suffer, 
Out  of  our  easiness  and  childish  pity 
To  one  man's  honour,  this  contagious  sickness, 
Farewell  all  physic  :  and  what  follows  then  ? 
Commotions,  uproars,  with  a  general  taint 
Of  the  whole  state :  as,  of  late  days,  our  neigh- 
bours, 
The  upper  Germany,  can  dearly  witness. 
Yet  freshly  pitied  in  our  memories. 

Cranmer. 
My  good  lords,  hitherto,  in  all  tne  progress 


Both  of  my  life  and  office,  I  have  labour'd. 
And  with  no  little  study,  that  my  teaching. 
And  the  strong  course  of  my  authority, 
Might  go  one  way,  and  safely  ;  and  the  end 
Was  ever,  to  do  well :  nor  is  there  living 
(I  speak  it  with  a  single  heart,  my  lords,) 
A  man,  that  more  detests,  more  stirs  against. 
Both  in  his  private  conscience  and  his  place, 
Defacers  of  a  public  peace,  than  1  do. 
Pray  heaven,  the  king  may  never  find  a  heart 
With  less  allegiance  in  it  1     Men,  that  make 
Envy  and  crooked  malice  nourishment,    [ships, 
Dare  bite  the  best.     I  do  beseech  your  lord- 
That  in  this  case  of  justice,  my  accusers, 
Be  what  they  will,  may  stand  forth  face  to  face. 
And  freely  urge  against  me. 
Suffolk. 

Nay,  my  lord, 
That  cannot  be :  you  are  a  counsellor, 
And  by  that  virtue  no  man  dare  accuse  you. 
Gardiner. 
My  lord,  because  we  have  business  of  more 
moment,  [pleasure, 

We  will  be  short  with  you.    'Tis  his  highness' 
And  our  consent,  for  better  trial  of  you, 
From  hence  you  be  committed  to  the  Tower: 
Where,  being  but  a  private  man  again, 
You  shall  know  many  dare  accuse  you  boldly, 
More  than,  I  fear,  you  are  provided  for. 
Cranmer. 
Ah  !  my  good  lord  of  Winchester,  1   thank 
you ;  [pass, 

You  are  always  my  good  friend  !  if  your  will 
I  shall  both  find  your  lordship  judge  and  juror, 
You  are  so  merciful.     I  see  your  end ; 
'Tis  my  undoing.     Love,  and  meekness,  lord, 
Become  a  churchman  better  than  ambition : 
Win  straying  souls  with  modesty  again, 
Cast  none  away.     That  I  shall  clear  myself, 
Lay  all  the  weight  ye  can  upon  my  patience, 
I  make  as  little  doubt,  as  you  do  conscience, 
In  doing  daily  wrongs.     1  could  say  more, 
But    reverence   to    your    calling    makes    me 
modest. 

Gardiner 
My  lord,  my  lord,  you  are  a  sectary  ; 
That's  the  plain  truth :  your  painted  gloss  dis- 
covers, [ness. 
To  men  that  understand  you,  words  and  weak- 
Cromwell. 
My  lord  of  Winchester,  you  are  a  little. 
By  your  good  favour,  too  sharp :  men  so  noble, 
However  faulty,  yet  should  find  respect 
For  what  they  have  been  :  'tis  a  cruelty, 
To  load  a  falling  man. 

Gardiner. 

Good  master  secretary, 
I  cry  your  honour  mercy :  you  may,  worst 
Of  all  this  table,  say  so. 

Cromwell. 

Why,  my  lord  ? 
Gardiner. 
Do  not  I  know  you  for  a  favourer 
Of  this  new  sect  ?  ye  are  not  sound. 
Cromwell. 

Not  sound  ? 
Gardiner, 
say. 

Cromwell. 
Would  you  were  half  so  honest ; 
Men's  prayers,  then,  would  seek  you,  not  their 
fears. 

Gardiner. 
I  shall  remember  this  bold  language. 

Cromwell. 


Not  sound, 


688 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  v.  Sc.  n. 


Cromwell. 

Remember  your  I  old  life  too. 

Chancellor. 


Do. 


Forbear,  for  shame,  my  lords. 
Gardiner. 

Cromwell. 


This  is  too  much  : 


have  done. 

And  I. 
Chancellor. 

Then    thus    for   you,   my  lord It   stands 

I  take  it,  by  all  voices,  that  forthwith     [agreed, 
You  be  convey'd  to  the  Tower  a  prisoner  ; 
There  to  remain,  till  the  king's  farther  pleasure 
Be  known  unto  us.    Are  you  all  agreed,  lords  ? 

All. 
We  are. 

Cranmer. 
Is  there  no  other  way  of  mercy, 
But  I  must  needs  to  the  Tower ;  my  lords  ? 

Gardiner. 

What  other 
Would  you  expect?    You  are  Strang  Jy  trou- 
blesome. 
Let  some  o'  the  guard  be  ready  there. 

Enter  Guard. 
Cranmer. 

For  me  ? 
Must  I  go  like  a  traitor  thither  ? 

Gardiner. 

Receive  him, 
And  see  him  safe  i'  the  Tower. 
Cranmer. 

Stay,  good  my  lords  ; 

I  have  a  little  yet  to  say Look  there,  my 

By  virtue  of  that  ring  I  take  my  cause     [lords  : 
Out  of  the  gripes  of  cruel  men,  and  give  it 
To  a  most  noble  judge,  the  king  my  master. 

Chamberlain. 

This  is  the  king's  ring. 

Surrey. 

*Tis  no  counterfeit. 
Suffolk. 
'Tis  the  right  ring,  by  heaven !    I  told  ye  all, 
When  we  first  put  this  dangerous  stone  a  roll- 
ing, 
'Twould  fall  upon  ourselves. 

Norfolk. 

Do  you  think,  my  lords, 
The  king  will  suffer  but  the  little  finger 
Of  this  man  to  be  vex'd  ? 

Chamberlain. 

'Tis  now  too  certain, 
How  much  more  is  his  life  in  value  with  him. 
Would  I  were  fairly  out  on't. 

Cromwell. 

My  mind  gave  me, 
In  seeking  tales,  and  informations. 
Against  this  man,  whose  honesty  the  devil 
And  his  disciples  only  envy  at,  [ye. 

Ye  blew  the  fire  that  burns  ye.    Now  have  at 

Enter  the  King,  frowning  on  them  ;  he  takes 
his  seat. 
Gardiner. 
Dread  sovereign,  how  much  are  we  bound  to 
heaven 
In  daily  thanks,  that  gave  us  such  a  prince; 
Not  only  good  and  wise,  but  most  religious : 
One  that  in  all  obedience  makes  the  church 


The  chief  aim  of  his  honour;  and,  to  strengthen 
That  holy  duty,  out  of  dear  respect, 
His  royal  self  in  judgment  comes  to  hear 
The  cause  betwixt  her  and  this  great  offender. 
King  Henry. 
You  were  ever  good  at  sudden  commendations, 
Bishop  of  Winchester;  but  know,  I  come  not 
To  hear  such  flattery  now,  and  in  my  presence: 
They  are  too  thin  and  bare  to  hide  offences. 
To  me  you  cannot  reach.   You  play  the  spaniel, 
And  think  with  wagging  of  your  tongue  to  win 

me ; 
But,  whatsoe'er  thou  tak'st  me  for,  I'm  sure, 

Thou  hast  a  cruel  nature,  and  a  bloody 

Good  man,[To  Cranmer,]  sit  down.    Now,  let 

me  see  the  proudest, 
He  that  dares  most,  but  wag  his  finger  at  thee : 
By  all  that's  holy,  he  had  better  starve, 
Than  but  once  think  this  place  becomes  thee  not. 
Surrey. 
May  it  please  your  grace, — 
King  Henry. 
No,  sir,  it  does  not  please  me.     [standing 
I  had  thought,  I  had  had  men  of  some  under- 
And  wisdom  of  my  council;  but  I  find  none. 
Was  it  discretion,  lords,  to  let  this  man, 
This  good  man,  (few  of  you  deserve  that  title) 
This  honest  man,  wait  like  a  lousy  footboy 
At  chamber  door  ?  and  one  as  great  as  you  are  ? 
Why,  what  a  shame  was  this  1    Did  my  com- 
mission 
Bid  ye  so  far  forget  yourselves  ?    I  gave  ye 
Power,  as  he  was  a  councillor,  to  try  him, 
Not  as  a  groom.     There's  some  of  ye,  I  see, 
More  out  of  malice  than  integrity, 
Would  try  him  to  the  utmost,  had  ye  mean  ; 
Which  ye  shall  never  have  while  1  live. 
Chancellor. 

Thus  far, 
My  most  dread  sovereign,  may  it  like  your  grace, 
To  let  my  tongue  excuse  all.    What  was  pur- 

pos  d 
Concerning  his  imprisonment,  was  rather 
(If  there  be  faith  in  men)  meant  for  his  trial, 
And  fair  purgation  *>  the  world,  than  malice, 
I'm  sure,  in  me. 

King  Henry. 
Well,  well,  my  lords,  respect  him  : 
Take  him,  and  use  him  well;  he's  worthy  of  it. 
I  will  say  thus  much  for  him  :  if  a  prince 
May  be  beholding  to  a  subject,  I 
Am,  for  his  love  and  service,  so  to  him. 
Make  me  no  more  ado,  but  all  embrace  him : 
Be  friends,  for  shame,  my  lords!— My  lord  of 

Canterbury, 
I  have  a  suit  which  you  must  not  deny  me; 
That  is,  a  fair  young  maid  that  yet  wants  bap- 
tism, 
You  must  be  godfather,  and  answer  for  her. 
Cranmer. 
The  greatest  monarch  now  alive  may  glory 
In  such  an  honour :  how  may  I  deserve  it, 
That  am  a  poor  and  humble  subject  to  you? 
King  Henry. 
Come,   come,   my   lord,   you'd    spare   your 
spoons. 
You  shall  have  two  noble  partners  with  you; 
The  old  duchess  of  Norfolk,  and  lady  marquess 
Will  these  please  you?  [Dorset; 

Once  more,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  I  charge  you, 
Embrace,  and  love  this  man. 
Gardiner. 

With  a  true  heart, 
And  brother-love,  I  do  it. 

Cranmer. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  HENRI  VIII. 


689 


Cranmer. 

And  1ft  Iiim 

Witness,  how  dear  I  hold  this  confirmation. 

King  Henry. 

Good  man !  those  joyful  tears  show  thy  true 

I  imiioi)  voice,  1  sec,  is  verified  [heart. 

Of  thee,  which  says  thus,  "  Do  my  lord  ol  Can- 

terlntry 
A  shrewd  turn,  and  he  is  your  friend  for  ever." — 
Come,  lords,  we  trillc  tiiiie  away;  I  long 
To  h.i\  ■  this  young  one  made  a  Christian. 
As  1  have  made  ye  one.  lords,  one  remain; 
So  1  grow  stronger,  you  more  honour  gain. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  Palace  Yard. 

Noise  and  Tumult  within.    Enter  Porter  and 

his  Man. 

Porter. 

You'll  leave  your  noise  anon,  ye  rascals :  do 

you  take  the  court  for  Paris-garden  f  ye  rude 

slaves,  leave  your  gaping. 

[Within.]  Good  master  porter,  I  belong  to  the 


Porter. 

Belong  to  the  gallows,  and  be  hanged,  you 
rogue  1  Is  this  a  place  to  roar  in  ? —  Fetch  me  a 
dozen  crab  tree  staves,  and  strong  ones:  these 

are  but  switches   to  them I'll   scratch   your 

heads  :  you  must  be  seeing  christenings?  Do 
you  look  for  ale  and  cakes  here,  you  rude 
rascals  ? 

Man. 
Pray,  sir,  be  patient:  'tis  as  much  impossible, 
Unless  we  sweep 'em  from  thedoor  with  cannons, 
To  scatter  'em.  as  'tis  to  make  'em  sleep 
On  May-day  morning;  which  will  never  be. 
We  may  as  well  push  against  Paul's,  as  stir 'em. 
Porter. 
How  got  they  in,  and  be  hang'd? 

Man. 
Alas,  I  know  not :  how  gets  the  tide  in  ? 
As  much  as  one  sound  cudgel  of  four  foot 
(You  see  the  poor  remainder)  could  distribute, 
1  made  no  spare,  sir. 

Porter. 

You  did  nothing,  sir. 
Man. 
I  am  not  Samson,  nor  sir  Guy,  nor  Colbrand, 
to  mow  'era  down  before  me;  but  if  I  spared 
any,  that  had  a  head  to  hit,  either  young  or  old, 
he  or  she,  cuckold  or  cuckold -maker,  let  me 
ne'er  hope  to  see  a  chine  again ;  and  that  I  would 
not  for  a  cow,  God  save  her. 
[Within.]  Do  you  hear,  master  Porter? 

Porter. 
I  shall  be  with  you  presently,  good  master 
puppy — Keep  the  door  close,  sirrah. 
Man. 
What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Porter. 
What  should  you  do,  but  knock  'em  down  by 
the  dozens?  Is  this  Moorjields  to  muster  in? 
or  have  we  some  strange  Indian  with  the  great 
tool  come  to  court,  the  women  so  besiege  us  ? 
Bless  me,  what  a  fry  of  fornication  is  at  door  ! 
On  my  Christian  conscience,  this  one  christening 
will  beget  a  thousand :  here  will  be  father,  god- 
father, and  all  together. 

Man. 
The  spoons  will  be  the  bigger,  sir.     There  is 
a  fellow  somewhat  near  the  door,  he  should  be 


a  brazier  by  his  face,  for,  o'  my  conscience, 
twenty  of  the  dog-days  now  reign  in's  nose:  all 
that  stand  about  him  are  tinder  the  line,  they 
need  no  other  penance.  That  fire-drake  did  I 
hit  three  times  on  the  head,  and  three  times  was 
his  nose  discharged  against  me :  he  stands  there, 
like  a  mortar-piece,  to  blow  us.  There  was  a 
haberdasher's  wife  of  small  wit  near  him,  that 
railed  upon  me  till  her  pink'd  porringer  fell  oh* 
her  head,  for  kindling  such  a  combustion  in  the 
state.  I  miss'd  the  meteor  once,  and  hit  that 
woman,  who  cried  out,  clubs  !  when  I  might  see 
from  far  some  forty  truncheoners  draw  to  her 
succour,  which  were  the  hope  o'  the  Strand, 
where  she  was  quartered.  They  fell  on ;  I  made 
good  my  place;  at  length  they  came  to  the 
broomstaft" to  me:  1  defied  'em  still;  when  sud- 
denly a  file  of  boys  behind  'em,  loose  shot,  de- 
livered such  a  shower  of  pebbles,  that  I  was 
fain  to  draw  mine  honour  in,  and  let  'em  win 
the  work.  The  devil  was  amongst  'em,  I  think, 
surely. 

Porter. 
These  are  the  youths  that  thunder  at  a  play- 
house, and  fight  for  bitten  apples;  that  no  audi- 
ence, but  the  Tribulation  of  Tower-hill,  or  the 
limbs  of  Limehouse,  their  dear  brothers,  are 
able  to  endure.  1  have  some  of  'em  in  Limbo 
Patrum,  and  there  they  are  like  to  dance  these 
three  days,  besides  the  running  banquet  of  two 
beadles,  that  is  to  come. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 

Chamberlain. 
Mercy  o*  me,  what  a  multitude  are  here ! 
They  grow  still  too;  from  all  parts  they  are 

coming, 
As  if  we  kept  a  fair  here!    Where  are  these 

porters, 
These  lazy  knaves  ? — Ye  have  made  a  fine  hand, 

fellows : 
There's  a  trim  rabble  let  in.    Are  all  these 
Your  faithful  friends  o'  the  suburbs  ?    We  shall 

have 
Great  store  of  room,  no  doubt,  left  for  the  ladies, 
When  they  pass  back  from  the  christening. 

Porter. 

A  n't  please  your  honour 
We  are  but  men  ;  and  what  so  many  may  do, 
Not  being  torn  a  pieces,  we  have  done : 
An  army  caunot  rule  'em. 

Chamberlain. 

As  I  live. 
If  the  king  blame  me  for't,  I'll  lay  ye  all 
By  the  heels,  and  suddenly  ;  and  on  your  heads 
Clap  round  fines  for  neglect.    Y'are  lazy  knaves ; 
And  here  ye  lie  baiting  of  bombards,  when 
Ye  should  do  service.     Hark!    the  trumpets 

sound ; 
They're  come  already  from  the  christening. 
Go,  break  among  the  press,  and  find  a  way  out 
To  let  the  troop  pass  fairly,  or  I'll  find 
A  Mars/ialsea  shall  hold  ye  play    these    two 

months. 

Porter. 

Make  way  there  for  the  princess. 

Man. 
You  great  fellow, 
Stand  close  up,  or  I'll  make  your  head  ache. 

Porter. 
You  i'  the  camblet,  get  up  o'  the  rail  ; 
I'll  peck  you  o'er  the  pales  else.  fExeunt. 

Y  y  SCENE 


690 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


SCENE  IV.    The  Palace  at  Greenwich. 

Enter  Trumpets,  sounding ;  then  two  Aldermen, 
Lord  Mayor,  Garter,  Cranmer,  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, with  his  Marshal's  staff.  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
two  Noblemen  bearing  great  standing  bowls 
for  the  christening  gifts :  then,  four  Noble- 
tra^nbearingacanopy,  under  which  the  Duchess 
of  Norfolk,  godmother,  bearing  the  child  richly 
habited  in  a  mantle,  &c.  Train  borne  by  a 
Lady:  then  follows  the  Marchioness  of  Dors<t, 
the  other  godmother,  and  Ladies.  The  Troop 
pass  once  about  the  stage,  and  Garter  speaks. 

Garter. 
Heaven, 

From  thy  endless  goodness,  send  prosperous  life, 

Long,  and  ever  happy,  to  the  high  and  mighty 

Princess  of  England,  Elizabeth ! 

Flourish.    Enter  King,  and  Train. 

Cranmer. 
And  to  your  royal  grace,  and  the  good  queen, 
[Kneeling. 
My  noble  partners,  and  myself,  thus  pray :  — 
All  comfort,  joy,  in  this  most  gracious  lady, 
Heaven  ever  laid  up  to  make  parents  happy, 
May  hourly  fall  upon  ye  ! 

King  Henry. 
Thank  you,  good  lord  archbishop ; 
What  is  her  name? 

Cranmer. 
Elizabeth. 


King  Henry 


Stand  up,  lord.— . 


[The  King  kisses  the  Child. 
With  this  kiss  take  my  blessing :  God  protect 
Into  whose  hand  I  give  thy  life.  [thee ! 

Cranmer. 

Amen. 
King  Henry. 
My  noble  gossips,  ye  have  been  too  prodigal. 
I  thank  ye  heartily :  so  shall  this  lady, 
When  she  has  so  much  English. 

Cranmer. 

Let  me  speak,  sir, 
For  Heaven  now  bids  me ;  and  the  words  I  utter 
Let  none  think  flattery,  for  they'll  find  them  truth. 
This  royal  infant,— heaven    still   move    about 

her! — 
Though  in  her  cradle,  yet  now  promises 
Upon  this  land  a  thousand  thousand  blessings. 
Which  time  shall  bring  to  ripeness.   She  shall  be 
(But  few  now  living  can  behold  that  goodness) 
A  pattern  to  all  princes  living  with  her, 
And  all  that  shall  succeed  :  Saba  was  never 
More  covetous  of  wisdom,  and  fair  virtue, 
Than  this  pure  soul  shall  be :  all  princely  graces, 
That  mould  up  such  a  mighty  piece  as  this  is, 
With  all  the  virtues  that  attend  the  good, 
Shall  still  be  doubled  on  her :  truth  shall  nurse 

her  ; 
Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her: 
She  ahall  be  lov'd,  and  fear'd :  her  own  shall 

bless  her: 
Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 
And  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow :  good  grows 

with  her. 
In  her  days,  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety 


Under  his  own  vine  what  he  plants  ;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbours. 
God  shall  be  truly  known  ;  and  those  about  her 
From  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  honour, 
And  by  those  claim  their  greatness,  not  by  blood. 
Nor  shall  this  peace  sleep  with  her:  but  as  when 
The  bird  of  wonder  dies,  the  maiden  phcenix, 
Her  ashes  new  create  another  heir, 
As  great  in  admiration  as  herself; 
So  shall  she  leave  her  blessedness  to  one, 
(When  heaven  shall  call  her  from  this  cloud  of 

darkness) 
Who,  from  the  sacred  ashes  of  her  honour, 
Shall  star-like  rise,  as  great  in  fame  as  she  was, 
And  so  stand  fix'd.    Peace,  plenty,  love,  truth, 

terror, 
That  were  the  servants  to  this  chosen  infant, 
Shall  then  be  his,  and  like  a  vine  grow  to  him  : 
Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine, 
His  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations :  he  shall  flourish, 
And,  like  a  mountain  cedar,  reach  his  branches 
To  all  the  plains  about  him.    Our  children's 
Shall  see  this,  and  bless  heaven.  [children 

King  Henry. 

Thou  speakest  wonders. 

Cranmer. 

She  shall  be,  to  the  happiness  of  England, 
An  aged  princess  ;  many  days  shall  see  her, 
And  yet  no  day  without  a  deed  to  crown  it. 
Would  I  had  known  no  more  !  but  she  must  die: 
She  must ;  the  saints  must  have  her :  yet  a  vir- 
A  most  unspotted  lily  shall  she  pass  [gin, 

To  the  ground,  and  all  the  world  shall  mourn 
her. 

King  Henry. 

O,  lord  arch'n'shop ! 
Thou  hast  made  me  now  a  man  :  never,  before 
This  happy  child,  did  1  get  any  thing. 
This  oracle  of  comfort  has  so  pleased  me, 
That  when  I  am  in  heaven  I  shall  desire 
To  see  what  this  child  does,  and  praise  my 

Maker— 
I  thank  ye  all. — To  you,  my  good  lord  mayor, 
And  you,  good  brethren,  I  am  much  behoiding : 
I  have  received  much  honour  by  your  presence, 
And  ye  shall  find  me  thankful. — Lead  the  way, 
lords  :  —  [ye  ; 

Ye  must  all  see  the  queen,  and  she  must  thank 
She  will  be  sick  else.     This  day,  no  man  think 
He  has  business  at  his  house,  for  all  shall  stay : 
This  little  one  shall  make  it  holiday.    [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 

'Tis  ten  to  one,  this  play  can  never  please 

All  that  are  here.    Some  come  to  take  their 

ease, 
And  sleep  an  act  or  two  ;  but  those,  we  fear, 
We  have  frighted  with  our  trumpets  ;  so,  'tis 

clear, 
They'll  say,  'tis  naught:  others,  to  hear  the  city 
Abus'd  extremely,  and  to  cry,  — "that's  witty," 
Which  we  have  not  done  neither  :  that,  I  fear, 
All  the  expected  good  we're  like  to  hear 
For  this  play,  at  this  time,  is  only  in 
The  merciful  construction  of  good  women  ; 
For  such  a  one  we  show'd  'em.     If  they  smile, 
And  say,  'twill  do,  1  know,  within  a  while 
All  the  best  men  are  ours ;  for  'tis  ill  hap, 
If  they  hold,  when  their  ladies  bid  'em  clap. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


Trojan  Commanders. 


PRIAM,  King  of  Troy. 

Hector, 

Troilus, 

Paris,  V  his  Sons. 

Deiphobus, 

Helenus, 

Apneas,      1 

An  tenor,  J 

Calchas,  a  Trojan  Priest,  taking  part  with  the 

Greeks. 
Pandarus,  Uncle  to  Cressida. 
Margarelon,  a  Bastard  Son  of  Priam. 
Agamemnon,  the  Grecian  General. 
Menelaus,  his  Brother. 

Ajax!168'  j   Grecian  Commanders. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

I  N  Troy,  there  lies  the  scene.    From  isles  of 
*         Greece 

The  princes  orgulous,  their  high  blood  chaf'd, 
Have  to  the  port  of  Athens  sent  their  ships. 
Fraught  with  the  ministers  and  instruments 
Of  cruel  war:  sixty  and  nine,  that  wore 
Their  crownets  regal,  from  th*  Athenian  bay 
Put  forth  toward  Phrygia;   and  their  vow  is 

made, 
To  ransack  Troy,  within  whose  strong  immures 
The  ravish 'd  Helen,  Menelaus'  queen, 
With  wanton  Paris  sleeps ;  and  that's  the  quarrel. 
To  Tenedos  they  come. 

And  the  deep-drawing  barks  do  there  disgorge 
Their  warlike   fraughtage:     now  on   Dardan 

plains 
The  fresh  and  yet  unbruised  Greeks  do  pitch 
Their  brave  pavilions:  Priam's  six-gated  city, 
Dardan,  and  Tymbria,  Ilias,  Chetas,  Trojan, 
And  AntenorioVs,  with  massy  staples 
Andcorresponsive  and  fulfilling  bolts, 
Sperr  up  the  sons  of  Troy. 
Now  expectation,  tickling  skittish  spirits 
On  one  and  other  side,  Trojan  and  Greek, 
Sets  all  on  hazard.— And  hither  am  I  come 
A  prologue  arm'd, — but  not  in  confidence 
Of  author's  pen,  or  actor's  voice,  but  suited 
In  like  conditions  as  our  argument, — 
To  tell  you,  fair  behulders,  that  our  play 


■     I 

ties,  ( 
lus,    ) 


Grecian  Commanders. 


Ulysses 

Nestor 

Diomedes 

Patroclus 

Thersites,  a  deformed  and  scurrilous  Grecian. 

Alexander,  Servant  to  Cressida. 

Servant  to  Troilus ;  Servant  to  Paris ;  Servant 

to  Diomedes. 
Helen,  Wife  to  Menelaus. 
Andromache,  Wife  to  Hector. 
Cassandra,  Daughter  to  Priam ;  a  Prophetess. 
Cressida,  Daughter  to  Calchas. 

Trojan  and  Greek  Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 

SCENE,  Troy,  and  the  Grecian  Camp  before  it. 


Leaps  o'er  the  vaunt  and  firstlings  of  those 

broils, 
Beginning  in  the  middle;  starting  thence  away 
To  what  may  be  digested  in  a  play. 
Like,  or  find  fault ;  do  as  your  pleasures  are ; 
Now  good,  or  bad,  'tis  but  the  chance  of  war. 


ACT  L 

SCENE  I.    Troy.    Before  Priam'»  Palace. 

Enter  Troilus  armed,  and  Pandarus. 

Troilus. 

CALL  here  my  varlet ;  I'll  unarm  again: 
Why  should  I  war  without  the  walls  of  Troy 
That  find  such  cruel  battle  here  within  ? 
Each  Trojan,  that  is  master  of  his  heart, 
Let  him  to  field ;  Troilus,  alas  I  hath  none. 
Pandarus. 
Will  this  gear  ne'er  be  mended  ? 

Troilus. 
The  Greeks  are  strong,  and  skilful  to  their 
strength, 
Fierce  to  their  skill,  and  to  their  fierceness 

valiant ; 
But  I  am  weaker  than  a  woman's  tear, 

Tamer 


691 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  1.  Sc.  1. 


Tamer  than  sleep,  fonder  than  ignorance ; 
Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night, 
And  skill-less  as  unpractis'd  infancy. 

Pandarus. 
Well,  I  have  told  you  enough  of  this :  for  my 
part,  I'll  not  meddle  nor  make  no  farther.     He, 
that  will  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat,  must 
needs  tarry  the  grinding. 

Troilus. 
Have  I  not  tarried  ? 

Pandarus. 
Ay,  the  grinding;  but  you  must  tarry  the 
bolting. 

Troilus. 
Have  I  not  tarried? 

Pandarus. 
Ay,  the  bolting;   but  you  must   tarry  the 
leavening. 

Troilus. 
Still  have  I  tarried. 

Pandarus. 
Ay,  to  the  leavening:  but  here's  yet  in  the 
word  hereafter,  the  kneading,  the  making  of  the 
cake,  the  heating  the  oven,  and  the  baking :  nay, 
yon  must  stay  the  cooling  too,  or  you  may  chance 
burn  your  lips. 

Troilus. 
Patience  herself,  what  goddess  e'er  she  be, 
Doth  lesser  blench  at  sufferance  than  I  do. 
At  Priam's  royal  table  do  I  sit ; 
And  when  fair  Cressid comes  into  my  thoughts, — 
So,  traitor! — when  she  comes  ! —  When  is  she 
thence  ? 

Pandarus. 
Well,  she  looked  yesternight  fairer  than  ever 
I  saw  her  look,  or  any  woman  else. 
Troilus. 
I  was  about  to  tell  thee, — when  my  heart, 
As  wedged  with  a  sigh,  would  rive  in  twain, 
Lest  Hector  or  my  father  should  perceive  me, 
I  have  (as  when  the  sun  doth  light  a  storm) 
Bury'd  this  sigh  in  wrinkle  of  a  smile ; 
But  sorrow,  that  is  couch'd  in  seeming  gladness, 
Is  like  that  mirth  fate  turns  to  sudden  sadness. 
Pandarus. 
An  her  hair  were  not  somewhat  darker  than 
Helen's,  (well,  go  to)  there  were  no  more  com- 
parison between  the  women,  —  but,  for  my  part, 
she  is  my  kinswoman :  I  would  not,  as  they  term 
it,  praise  her, — but  I  would  somebody  had  heard 
her  talk  yesterday,  as  I  did :  I  will  not  dispraise 
your  sister  Cassandra's  wit,  but — 

Troilus. 

0  Pandarus!  I  tell  thee,  Pandarus,— 
When  I  do  tell  thee,  there  my  hopes  lie  drown'd, 
Reply  not  in  how  many  fathoms  deep 

They  lie  indrench'd.     I  tell  thee,  1  am  mad 
In  Cressid's  love:  thou  answer'st,  she  is  fair; 
Pour'st  in  the  open  ulcer  of  my  heart      [voice, 
Her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  cheek,  her  gait,   her 
Handiest  in  thy  discourse,  O !  that  her  hand, 
In  whose  comparison  all  whites  are  ink, 
Writing    their  own    reproach:    to  whose  soft 

seizure 
The  cygnet's  down  is  harsh,  and  spirit  of  sense 
Hard  as  the  palm  of  ploughman !    This  thou 

tell'st  me, 
As  true  thou  tell'st  me,  when  I  say— I  love  her; 
But,  saying  thus,  instead  of  oil  and  balm, 
Thou  lay'st  in  every  gash  that  love  hath  given 
The  knife  that  made  it.  [me 

Pandarus. 

1  speak  no  more  than  truth. 


Troilus. 
Thou  dost  not  speak  so  much. 

Pandarus. 
'Faith,  I'll  not  meddle  in't.    Let  her  be  as  she 
is  :  if  she  be  fair,  'tis  the  better  for  her;  an  she 
be  not,  she  has  the  'mends  in  her  own  hands. 
Troilus. 
Good  Pandarus.    How  now,  Pandarus! 

Pandarus. 
I  have  had  my  labour  for  my  travail  ;  ill- 
thought  on  of  her,  and  ill-thought  on  of  you  : 
gone  between  and  between, but  small  thanks  for 
my  labour. 

Troilus. 
What !  art  thou  angry,  Pandarus ?  what  with 
me? 

Pandarus. 
Because  she's  kin  to  me,  therefore,  she's  not 
so  fair  as  Helen:   an  she  were  not  kin  to  me, 
she  would  be  as  fair  on  Friday,  as  Helen  is  on 
Sunday.    But  what  care  I  ?     1  care  not,  an  she 
were  a  black-a-  moor ;  'tis  all  one  to  me. 
Troilus. 
Say  I,  she  is  not  fair  ? 

Pandarus. 
I  do  not  care  whether  you  do  or  no.  She's  a 
fool  to  stay  behind  her  father:  let  her  to  the 
Greeks;  and  so  I'll  tell  her  the  next  time  I  see 
her.  For  my  part,  I'll  meddle  nor  make  no 
more  i'  the  matter. 

Troilus. 
Pandarus,— 

Pandarus. 
Not  I. 

Troilus. 
Sweet  Pandarus, — 

Fandarus. 
Pray  you,  speak  no  more  to  me :  I  will  leave 
all  as  I  found  it,  and  there  an  end. 

[Exit  Pandarus.    An  Alarum. 

Troilus. 
Peace,  you  ungracious  clamours !    Peace,  rude 
sounds ! 
Fools  on  both  sides !    Helen  must  needs  be  fair, 
When  with  your  blood,  you  daily  paint  her  thus. 
I  cannot  fight  upon  this'argument; 
It  is  too  starv'd  a  subject  for  my  sword. 
But  Pandarus— O  gods,  how  do  you  plague  me  1 
I  cannot  come  to  Cressid,  but  by  Pandar ; 
And  he's  as  tetchy  to  be  woo'd  to  woo, 
As  she  is  stubborn-chaste  against  all  suit. 
Tell  me,  Apollo,  for  thy  Daphne's  love, 
What  Cressid  is,  what  Pandar,  and  what  we  ? 
Her  bed  is  India;  there  she  lies,  a  pearl : 
Between  our  Ilium,  and  where  she  resides, 
Let  it  bo  call'd  the  wild  and  wandering  flood; 
Ourself  the  merchant,  and  this  sailing  Pandar, 
Our  doubtful  hope,  our  convoy,  and  our  bark. 

Alarum.    Enter  JEneat. 
JEneas. 
How   now,  prince   Troilus?   wherefore   not 
afield? 

Troilus. 
Because  not  there :  this  woman's  answer  sorts, 
For  womanish  it  is  to  be  from  thence. 
What  news,  /Eneas,  from  the  field  to-day? 
.flSneas. 
That  Paris  is  returned  home,  and  hurt. 

Troilus. 
By  whom,  /Eneas? 

.Eneas. 

Troilus,  by  Menelaus. 
Troilus. 


i  Act  i.  Sc.  il 


TKOILUS  AND  CHESSIDA. 


hi 


Troilus. 

Let  Paris  bleed :  'tis  but  a  scar  to  scorn ; 

Pans  is  gor'd  with  Mencluus'  horn.     [Alarum. 

£nea*. 
Hark,  what  good  sport  is  out  of  town  to-day ! 

Troilu*. 
Better  at  home,  if  "  would  I  might,"  were 
"  may."— 
But  to  the  sport  abroad :— are  you  bound  thither? 

f  neas. 
In  all  s»  ill  haste. 

Troilus. 
Come;  go  we,  then,  together. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Street. 

Enter  Cressida  and  Alexander. 

Cressida. 
Who  were  those  went  by  ? 

Alexander. 

Queen  Hecuba,  and  Helen. 

Cressida. 
And  whither  go  they? 

Alexander. 

Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 
Whose  height  commands  as  subject  all  the  vale, 
To  see  the  battle.    Hector,  whose  patience 
Is  as  a  virtue  fix'd,  to-day  was  movM: 
He  chiil  Andromache,  and  struck  his  armourer; 
And,  like  as  there  were  husbandry  in  war, 
Before  the  sun  rose,  he  was  harness'd  light, 
And  to  the  field  goes  he;  where  every  flower 
Did,  as  a  prophet,  weep  what  it  foresaw 
In  Hectors  wrath. 

Cressida. 
What  was  his  cause  of  anger  ? 
Alexander. 
The  noise  goes,  this:    there  is  among  the 
Greeks 
A  lord  of  Trojan  blood,  nephew  to  Hector : 
They  call  him,  Ajax 

Cressida. 

Good ;  and  what  of  him  ? 
Alexander. 
They  say  he  is  a  very  man  per  se, 
And  stands  alone. 

Cressida. 
So  do  all  men;  unless  they  are  drunk,  sick, 
or  have  no  legs. 

Alexander. 
This  man,  lady,  hath  robbed  many  beasts  of 
their  particular  additions  :  he  is  as  valiant  as  the 
lion,  churlish  as  the  bear,  slow  as  the  elephant; 
a  man    into  whom    nature    hath    so  crowded 
humours,  that  his  valour  is  crushed  into  folly, 
his  folly  sauced  with  discretion:  there  is  no  man 
hath  a  virtue  that  he  hath  not  a  glimpse  of,  nor 
any  man  an  attaint  but  he  carries  some  stain  of 
it.    He  is  melancholy  without  cause,  and  merry 
against  the  hair;   he  hath  the  joints  of  every 
thing ;  but  every  thing  so  out  of  joint,  that  he  is 
a  gouty  Briareus,  many  hands  and  no  use ;  or 
purblind  Argus,  all  eyes  and  no  sight. 
Cressida. 
But  how  should  this  man,  that  makes  me 
smile,  make  Hector  angry  ? 
Alexander. 
They  say,  he  yesterday  coped  Hector  in  the 
battle,  and  struck  him  down;  the  disdain  and 


shame  whereof   hath  ever  since    kept   Hector 
fasting  and  waking. 

Knter  Pandarus. 
Cressida. 
Who  comes  here? 

Alexander. 
Madam,  your  uncle,  Pandarus. 

Cressida. 
Hector's  a  gallant  man. 

Alexander. 
As  may  be  in  the  world,  lady. 

Pandarus. 
What's  that  ?  what's  that  ? 

Cressida. 
Good  morrow,  uncle  Pandarus. 

Pandarus. 
Good  morrow,  cousin  Cressid.    What  do  you 
talk  of?— Good  morrow,  Alexander.—  How  do 
you,  cousin  ?    When  were  you  at  Ilium  f 
Cressida. 
This  morning,  uncle  ? 

Pandarus. 
What  were  you  talking  of,  when  I  came  ?  Was 
Hector  armed,  and  gone,  ere  ye  came  to  Ilium  t 
Helen  was  not  up,  was  she  ? 

Cressida. 
Hector  was  gone ;  but  Helen  was  not  up 

Pandarus. 
E'en  so  :  Hector  was  stirring  early. 

Cressida. 
That  were  we  talking  of,  and  of  his  anger. 

Pandarus. 
Was  he  angry? 

Cressida. 
So  he  says,  here. 

Pandarus. 
True,  he  was  so ;  I  know  the  cause  too  :  he'll 
lay  about  him  to-day,  I  can  tell  them  that :  and 
there's  Troilus  will  not  come  far  behind  him  ; 
let  them  take  heed  of  Troilus,  1  can  tell  them 
that  too. 

Cressida. 
What,  is  he  angry  too  ? 

Pandarus. 
Who,  Troilus  T    Troilus  is  the  better  man  of 
the  two. 

Cressida. 
O,  Jupiter!  there's  no  comparison. 

Pandarus. 
What,  not  between  Troilus  and  Hector t    Do 
you  know  a  man  if  you  sec  him  ? 
Cressida. 
Ay;  if  I  ever  saw  him  before,  and  knew  him. 

Pandarus. 
Well,  I  say,  Troilus  is  Troilus. 

Cressida. 
Then  you  say  as  I  say ;  for,  I  am  sure,  he  Is 
not  Hector. 

Pandarus. 
No,  nor  Hector  \s  not  Troilus,  in  some  degrees. 

Cressida. 
'Tis  just  to  each  of  them  ;  he  is  himself. 

Pandarus. 
Himself?    Alas,  poor  Troilus!     I  would,  he 
were, — 

Cressida. 
So  he  is. 

Pandarus. 
—Condition,  I  had  gone  bare- foot  to  India. 
Cressida. 


69+ 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  11. 


Cressida. 
He  is  not  Hector. 

Fandarus. 
Himself?  no,  he's  not  himself.  —  Would  'a 
were  himself  J     Well,  the  gods  are  above;  time 
must  friend,  or  end.     Well,   Troilus,  well. —  I 
would,  my  heart  were  in  her  body ! — No,  Hector 
is  not  a  better  man  than  Troilus. 
Cressida. 
Excuse  me. 

Pandarus. 
He  is  elder. 

Cressida. 
Pardon  me,  pardon  me. 

Pandarus. 

Th'  other's  not  come  to't ;  you  shall  tell  me 

another  tale,  when  th'  other's  come  to't.   Hector 

♦hall  not  have  his  wit  this  year. 

Cressida. 

He  shall  not  need  it,  if  he  have  his  own. 

Pandarus. 
Nor  his  qualities. 

Cressida. 
No  matter. 

Pandarus. 
Nor  his  beauty. 

Cressida. 
'Twould  not  become  him ;  his  own's  better. 

Pandarus. 
You  have  no  judgment,  niece.    Helen  herself 
swore  th'  other  day,  that  Troilus,  for  a  brown 
favour,  (for  so  'tis,  I  must  confess)— not  brown 
neither— 

Cressida. 
No,  but  brown. 

Pandarus. 
'Faith,  to  say  truth,  brown  and  not  brown. 

Cressida. 
To  say  the  truth,  true  and  not  true. 

Fandarus. 
She  prais'd  his  complexion  above  Paris. 

Cressida. 
Why,  Paris  hath  colour  enough. 

Fandarus. 
So  he  has. 

Cressida. 
Then,  Troilus  should  have  too  much  :  if  she 

S raised  him  above,  his  complexion  is  higher  than 
is :  he  having  colour  enough,  and  the  other 
higher,  is  too  naming  a  praise  for  a  good  com- 

Elexion.     I  had  as  lief  Helen's  golden  tongue 
ad  commended  Troilus  for  a  copper  nose. 

Fandarus. 
I  swear  to  you,  I  think  Helen  loves  him  better 
than  Paris. 

Cressida. 
Then  she's  a  merry  Greek,  indeed. 

Fandarus. 

Nay,  T  am  sure  she  does.    She  came  to  him 

th'  other  day  into  the  compassed  window ;— and, 

you  know,  he  has  not  past  three  or  four  hairs  on 

his  chin. 

Cressida. 

Indeed,  a  tapster's  arithmetick  may  soon  bring 

his  particulars  therein  to  a  total. 

Pandarus. 

Why,  he  is  very  voung;   and  yet  will  he, 

within  three  pound,  lift  as  much  as  his  brother 

Hector. 

Cressida. 
Is  he  so  young  a  man,  and  so  old  a  lifter? 

Fandarus. 
But,  to  prove  to  you  that  Helen  loves  him  :  — 


she  came,  and  puts  me  her  white  hand  to  his 
cloven  chin, — 

Cressida. 
Juno  have  mercy  !— How  came  it  cloven  ? 

Pandarus. 
Why,  you  know,  'tis  dimpled.     I  think  his 
smiling  becomes  him  better  than  any  man  in  all 
Phrygia. 

Cressida. 
O!  he  smiles  valiantly. 

Pandarus. 
Does  he  not  ? 

Cressida. 
O!  yes,  an  'twere  a  cloud  in  autumn. 

Pandarus. 
Why,  go  to  then — But  to  prove  to  you  that 
Helen  loves  Troilus, — 

Cressida. 
Troilus  will  stand  to  the  proof,  if  you'll  prove 
it  so. 

Pandarus. 
Troilus  ?  why,  he  esteems  her  no  more  than 
I  esteem  an  addle  egg. 

Cressida. 
If  you  love  an  addle  egg  as  well  as  you  love 
an  idle  head,  you  would  eat  chickens  i'  the 
shell. 

Pandarus. 
I  cannot  choose  but  laugh',  to  think  how  she 
tickled  his  chin  :  —  indeed,  she  has  a  marvellous 
white  hand,  I  must  needs  confess. 
Cressida. 
Without  the  rack. 

Pandarus. 
And  she  takes  upon  her  to  spy  a  white  hair  on 
his  chin. 

Cressida. 
Alas,  poor  chin  !  many  a  wart  is  richer. 

Pandarus. 
But,  there  was  such  laughing :  queen  Hecuba 
laughed,  that  her  eyes  ran  o'er 
Cressida. 
With  mill-stones. 

Fandarus. 
And  Cassandra  laughed. 

Cressida. 
But  there  was  more  temperate  fire  under  the 
pot  of  her  eyes :  did  her  eyes  run  o'er  too? 
Pandarus. 
And  Hector  laughed. 

Cressida. 
At  what  was  all  this  laughing  ? 

Pandarus. 
Marry,  at  the  white  hair  that  Helen  spied  on 
Troilus'  chin. 

Cressida. 
An't  had  been  a  green  hair  I  should  have 
laughed  too. 

Pandarus. 
They  laughed  not  so  much  at  the  hair,  as  at 
his  pretty  answer. 

Cressida. 
What  was  his  answer  ? 

Pandarus. 
Quoth  she, "  Here's  but  two  and  fifty  hairs  on 
your  chin,  and  one  of  them  is  white." 
Cressida. 
This  is  her  question. 

Pandarus. 

That's  true ;  make  no  question  of  that.  "  Two 

and  fifty  hairs,"  quoth  he, "  and  one  white :  that 

whit* 


Act  i.   Sc.  n. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


695 


white  hair  is  my  father,  and  all  the  rest  nrp  his 
spns."  "Jupiter!  "  quoth  she.  "  w  hich  ol  these 
hairs  is  Paris  my  husband  t  "  "  The  forked 
one," quoth  he;  "pluck't  out,  and  give  it  him." 
Hut  there  was  such  laughing,  and  Helen  so 
blushed,  and  Paris  so  chafed,  and  all  the  rest  so 
laughed,  that  it  passed. 

Cressida. 
So  let  it  now,  for  it  has  been  a  great  while 
going  by. 

Pandarus. 
Well,  cousin,  I  told  you  a  thing  yesterday; 
on'L 

Cressida. 
Soldo. 

Pandarus. 
I'll  be  sworn,  'tis  true:  he  will  weep  you,  an 
'twere  a  man  born  in  April, 
Cressida. 
And  I'll  spring  up  in  his  tears,  an  'twere  a 
nettle  against  May.  [A  retreat  sounded. 

Pandarus. 
Hark  !  they  are  coming  from  the  field.     Shall 
we  stand  up  here,  and  see  them,  as  they  pass 
toward   Ilium?   good  niece,  do;    sweet    niece 
Cressida. 

Cressida. 
At  your  pleasure. 

Pandarus. 
Here,  here ;  here's  an  excellent  place :  here 
we  may  see  most  bravely.     I'll  tell  you  them  all 
by  their  names,  as  they  pass  by,  but  mark  Troilus 
above  the  rest. 

Cressida. 
Speak  not  so  loud. 

.'Eneas  passes  over  the  Stage. 
Pandarus. 
That's  Mneas.     Is  not  that  a  brave  man  ?  he's 
one  of  the  flowers  of  Troy,  I  can  tell  you :  but 
mark  Troilus;  you  shall  see  anon. 
Cressida. 
Who's  that? 

Anterior  passes  over. 
Pandarus. 
That's  Anterior:  he  has  a  shrewd  wit,  I  can 
tell  you ;  and  he's  a  man  good  enough :   he's 
one  o'  the  soundest  judgment  in  Troy,  whoso- 
ever, and  a  proper  man  of  person — When  comes 
Troilus? — I'll  show  you  Troilus  anon:  if  he  see 
me,  you  shall  see  him  nod  at  me. 
Cressida. 
Will  he  give  you  the  nod? 
■   Pandarus. 
You  shall  see. 

Cressida. 
If  he  do,  the  rich  shall  have  more. 
Hector  passes  over. 
Pandarus. 
That's   Hector,   that,   that,  look  you,  that; 
there's  a  fellow  ! — Go  thy  way,  Hector. — There's 
a  brave  man,  niece. — O  brave  Hector! — Look 
how  he  looks ;  there's  a  countenance.     Is't  not 
a  brave  man  ?  „ 

Cressida. 
O !  a  brave  man. 

Pandarus. 
Is  'a  not  ?  It  does  a  man's  heart  good — Look 
you  what  hacks  are  on  his  helmet !  look  you 
yonder,  do  you  see?  look  you  there.  There's 
no  jesting:  there's  laying  on,  take't  off  who 
will,  as  they  say :  there' be  hacks  ! 


Cressida. 

Be  those  with  swords  ? 

Paris  passes  over. 

Pandarus. 

Swords  ?  any  thing,  he  cares  not ;  an  the  devil 

come  to  him,  it's  all  one:  by  god's  lid,  it  does 

one's  heart  good. — Yonder  comes  Paris  ;  yonder 

comes  Paris :  look  ye  yonder,  niece  :  is't  not  a 

gallant  man  too,  is't  not?— Why,  this  is  brave 

now — Who  said  he  came  hurt  home  to-day? 

he's  not  hurt:  why,  this  will  do  Helen's  heart 

good  now.     Ha !  would  I  could  see  Troilus  now. 

— You  shall  see  Troilus  anon. 

Cressida. 

Who's  that? 

Helenus  passes  over. 
Pandarus. 
That's  Helenus. — I  marvel,  where  Troilus  is. 
That's  Helenus.  —  I  think  he  went  not  fortli  to- 
day.— That's  Helenus. 

Cressida. 

Can  Helenus  fight,  uncle  ? 

Pandarus. 

Helenus  ?  no ; — yes,  he'll  fight  indifferent  well. 

— I  marvel,  where    Troilus  is. — Hark  !  do  you 

not  hear  the  people  cry,  Troilus?— Helenus  is  a 

priest. 

Cressida. 
What  sneaking  fellow  comes  yonder? 

Troilus  passes  over. 
Pandarua. 
Where?    yonder?    that's    Deiphobus.  —  'Tis 
Troilus!  there's  a  man,  niece! — Hem!— brave 
Troilus,  the  prince  of  chivalry ! 
Cressida. 
Peace !  for  shame ;  peace  I 
Pandarus. 
Mark  him;  note  him. — O  brave  Troilus!  — 
look  well  upon  him,  niece:  look  you  how  his 
sword  is  bloodied,  and  his  helm  more  hack'd 
than  Hector's;  and  how  he  looks,  and  how  he 
goes  !— O  admirable  youth  !  he  ne'er  saw  three 
and  twenty.     Go  thy  way,  Troilus,  go  thy  way : 
had  I  a  sister  were  a  grace,  or  a  daughter  a  god- 
dess, he  should  take  his  choice.     O  admirable 
man!    Paris? — Paris  is  dirt  to  him;    and.   I 
warrant,  Helen,  to  change,  would  give  money  to 
boot. 

Soldiers  pass  over  the  Stage. 
Cressida. 
Here  come  more. 

Pandarus. 
Asses,  fools,  dolts,  chaff  and  bran,  chaff  and 
bran :   porridge  after  meat.     I  could  live  and 
die  i'the  eyes  of  Troilus.    Ne'er  look,  ne'er  look  : 
the  eagles  are  gone ;  crows  and  daws,  crows  and 
daws.     I  had  rather  be  such  a  man  as  Troilus, 
than  Agamemnon  and  all  Greece. 
Cressida. 
There  is  among  the  Greeks  Achilles,  a  better 
man  than  Troilus. 

Pandarus. 
Achilles?  a  drayman,  a  porter,  a  very  camel. 

Cressida. 
Well,  well. 

Pandarus. 

Well,  well? — Why,  have  you  any  discretion? 

have  you  any  eyes  ?    Do  you  know  what  a  man 

is  ?    Is  not  birth,  beauty,  "good  shape,  discourse, 

manhood,  learning,  gentleness,  virtue,  youth, 

liberality. 


696 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


liberality,  and  such  like,  the  spice  and  salt  that 
season  a  man  ? 

Cressida. 
Ay,  a  minced  man:  and  then  to  be  baked  with 
no  date  in  the  pye, — for  then  the  man's  date's 
out. 

Pandarus. 
You  are  such  another  woman  !  one  knows  not 
at  what  ward  you  lie. 

Cressida. 
Upon  my  back,  to  defend  my  belly;  upon  my 
wit,  to  defend  my  wiles;  upon  my  secrecy,  to 
defend  mine  honesty;  my  mask,  to  defend  my 
beauty;  and  you,  to  defend  all  these:  and  at  all 
these  wards  I  lie,  at  a  thousand  watches. 
Pandarus. 
Say  one  of  your  watches. 

Cressida. 
Nay,  I'll  watch  you  for  that ;  and  that's  one 
of  the  chiefest  of  them  too :  if  1  cannot  ward 
what  1  would  not  have  hit,  I  can  watch  you  for 
telling  how  I  took  the  blow,  unless  it  swell  past 
hiding,  and  then  it's  past  watching. 
Pandarus. 
You  are  such  another ! 

Enter  Troilus'  Boy. 

Boy. 

Sir,  my  lord  would  instantly  speak  with  you. 

Pandarus. 
Where? 

Boy. 
At  your  own  house;  there  he  unarms  him. 

Pandarus. 
Good  boy,  tell  him  I  come.  [Exit  Boy. 

I  doubt  he  be  hurt  — Fare  ye  well,  good  niece. 
Cressida. 
Adieu,  uncle. 

Pandarus. 
I'll  be  with  you,  niece,  by  and  by. 

Cressida. 
To  bring,  uncle,— 

Pandarus. 
Ay.  a  token  from  Troilus. 
Cressida. 
By  the  same  token,  you  are  a  bawd.— 

[Exit  Pandarus. 
Words,  vows,  gifts,  tears,  and  love's  fall  sacrifice, 
He  offers  in  another's  enterprize; 
But  more  in  Troilus  thousand  fold  I  see. 
Than  in  the  glass  of  Pandar's  praise  may  be. 
Yet  hold  I  off.     Women  are  angels,  wooing  : 
Things  won  are  done,  joy's  soul  lies  in  the  doing: 
That  she  belov'd  knows  nought,  that  knows  not 

this,— 
Men  prize  the  thing  ungain'd  more  than  it  is  : 
That  she  was  never  yet,  that  ever  knew 
Love  got  so  sweet  as  when  desire  did  sue. 
Therefore,  this  maxim  out  of  love  I  teach,— 
Achievement  is  command  ;  ungain'd,  beseech  : 
Then,  though  my  heart's  content  firm  love  doth 

bear. 
Nothing  of  that  shall  from  mine  eyes  appear. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.    The  Grecian  Camp.    Before 
Agamemnon's  Tent. 

Sennet    Enter  Agamemnon,  Nestor,  Ulysses, 

Menelaus,  and  others. 

Agamemnon. 

Princes, 

What  grief  hath  set  the  jaundice  on  your  cheeks  ? 


The  ample  proposition,  that  hope  makes 

In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below, 

Fails  in  the  promis'd  largeness :    checks  and 

disasters 
Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  rear'd  ; 
As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 
Infect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  his  grain 
Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth. 
Nor,  princes,  is  it  matter  new  to  us. 
That  we  come  short  of  our  suppose  so  far, 
That  after  seven  years'  siege  yet  Troy  walls 

stand  ; 
Sith  every  action  that  hath  gone  before, 
■Whereof  we  have  record,  trial  did  draw 
Bias  and  thwart,  not  answering  the  aim, 
And  that  unbodied  figure  of  the  thought 
That  gav't  surmised  shape.     Why  then,  you 

princes, 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  behold  our  works, 
And  call  them  shames,  which  are,  indeed, nought 
But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove,        [else 
To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men  ? 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  fortune's  love;  for  then,  the  bold  and  coward, 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread. 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affin'd  and  kin  : 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away  ; 
And  what  hath  mass,  or  matter,  by  itself 


r,  oy 
gled. 


Lies  rich  in  virtue,  and  unmin 

Nestor. 
With  due  observance  of  thy  godlike  seat, 
Great  Agamemnon,  Nestor  shall  apply 
Thy  latest  words.     In  the  reproof  of  chance 
Lies  the  true  proof  of  men :  the  sea  being  smooth, 
How  many  shallow  bauble  boats  dare  sail 
Upon  her  patient  breast,  making  their  way 
With  those  of  nobler  bulk  ? 
But  let  the  ruffian  Boreas  once  enrage 
The  gentle  Thetis,  and,  anon,  behold, 
The  strong-ribb'd  bark  through  liquid  moun- 
tains cut. 
Bounding  between  the  two  moist  elements, 
Like  Perseus'  horse:  where's  then  the  saucy 

boat. 
Whose  weak  untimber'd  sides  but  even  now 
Co-rival'd  greatness  ?  either  to  harbour  fled, 
Or  made  a  toast  for  Neptune.    F.ven  so 
Doth  valour's  show,  and  valour's  worth,  divide 
In  storms  of  fortune  :  for,  in  her  ray  and  bright- 
ness, 
The  herd  hath  more  annoyance  by  the  brize. 
Than  by  the  tiger  ;  but  when  the  splitting  wind 
Makes  flexible  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks, 
And  flies  fled  under  shade,  why  then,  the  thing 

of  courage, 
As  rous'd  with  rage,  with  rage  doth  sympathize, 
And  with  an  accent  tun'd  in  self-same  key, 
Returns  to  chiding  fortune. 

Ulysses. 

Agamemnon,, 
Thou  great  commander,  nerve   and    bone    of 

Greece, 
Heart  of  our  numbers,  soul  and  only  spirit, 
In  whom  the  tempers  and  the  minds  of  all 
Should  be  shut  up,  hear  what  Ulysses  speaks. 
Besides  the  applause  and  approbation 
The  which,  — most  mighty  for  thy  place  and 

sway.—  {To  Agamemnon. 

And  thou  most  reverend  for  thv  stretch'd-out 

life,—  '     [To  Nestor. 

I  give  to  both  your  speeches,  which  were  such. 
As  Agamemnon  and  the  hand  of  Greece 
Should  hold  up  high  in  brass  ;  and  such  again, 
As  venerabl-e  Nestor,  hatch'd  in  silver, 

Should 


Act  i.  Sc.  hi. 


TKOILUS  AND  CRKSSIDA. 


697 


Should  with  a  bond  of  air  (strong  as  the  axle- 

tree  tan 

On  which  heaven  rides)  knit  all  the  Greekish 

To  his  experieue'd  tongue,  — yet  let  it  please 

both,— 
Thou  great,— and  wise,— to  hear  Ulysses  speak. 
Agamemnon. 
Speak,  prince  of  Ithaca  ;  and  be't  of  less  ex- 
!><•«  t 
That  matter  needless,  of  importless  burden, 
Divide  thy  lips,  than  we  are  confident, 
When  rank  Thersites  opes  his  mastiff  jaws, 
Wc  shall  hear  music,  wit,  and  oracle. 
Ulysses. 
Troy,  yet  upon  his  basis,  had  been  down, 
And  the  great  Hector's  sword  had  lack'd  a  mas- 
But  for  these  instances.  [tcr, 

The  specialty  of  rule  hath  been  neglected : 
And  look,  how  many  Grecian  tents  do  stand 
Hollow  upon  this  plain,  so  many  hollow  factions. 
When  that  the  general  is  not  like  the  hive. 
To  whom  the  foragers  shall  all  repair,   [zarded, 
What  honey  is  expected?     Degree  being  vi- 
Th'  un  worthiest  shows  as  fairly  in  the  mask. 
The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets,  and  this 
Observe  degree,  priority,  and  place,        [centre, 
Insisture,  course,  proportion,  season,  form, 
Office,  and  custom,  in  all  line  of  order  : 
And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet,  Sol, 
In  noble  eminence  enthron'd  and  spher'd 
Amidst  the  other  ;  whose  med'cinable  eye 
Corrects  the  ill  aspects  of  planets  evil, 
And  posts,  like  the  commandment  of  a  king, 
Sans  check,  to  good  and  bad.     But  when  the 
In  evil  mixture,  to  disorder  wander,      [planets, 
What  plagues,  and  what  portents  !  what  mutiny  1 
What  raging  of  the  sea,  shaking  of  earth, 
Commotion    in    the    winds,    frights,   changes, 

horrors, 
Divert  and  crack,  rend  and  deracinate 
The  unity  and  married  calm  of  states 
Quite  from  their  fixture !     O !    when  degree 

is  shak'd, 
Which  is  the  ladder  to  all  high  designs, 
The    enterprize    is    sick.      How    could   com- 
munities, 
Degrees  in  schools,  and  brotherhoods  in  cities, 
Peaceful  commerce  from  dividahle  shores, 
The  primogtnitivc  and  due  of  birth, 
Prerogative  of  age,  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 
But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place  ? 
Take  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string, 
And,  hark,  what  discord  follows  1    each  thing 

meets 
In  mere  oppugnancy:  the  bounded  waters 
Should  life  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores, 
And  make  a  sop  of  all  this  solid  globe: 
Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility, 
And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  father  dead  : 
Force  should  be  right ;   or,  rather,  right  and 

wrong, 
(Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides) 
Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  justice 

too. 
Then  evv-ry  thing  includes  itself  in  power, 
Power  into  will,  will  into  apj  etite; 
And  appetite,  an  universal  wolf, 
So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power, 
Must  make  perforce  an  universal  prey, 
And  last  eat  up  himself.     Great  Agamemnon, 
This  chaos,  when  degree  is  suffocate, 
Follows  the  choking: 
And  this  neglection  of  degree  it  is, 
That  by  a  pace  goes  backward,  with  a  purpose 
It  hath  to  climb.     The  general's  disdain 'd 
By  him  one  step  below  ;  he,  by  the  next ; 


Th.it  in  xt,  by  him  beneath :  so,  every  step, 
Bmunpied  by  the  first  pace  that  is  sick 
Of  his  superior,  grows  to  an  envious  fever 
Of  pale  and  bloodless  emulation: 
And  'tis  this  lever  that  keeps  Troy  on  foot, 
Not  her  own  sinews.     To  end  a  tale  of  length, 
Troy    in    our    weakness    stands,   not    in    her 
strength. 

Nestor. 
Most  wisely  hath  Ulysses  here  dlscover'd 
The  fever  whereof  all  our  power  is  sick. 
Agamemnon. 
The  nature  of  the  sickness  found,  Ulysses, 
What  is  the  remedy  ? 

Ulysses. 
The  great  Achilles,  whom  opinion  crowns 
The  sinew  and  the  forehand  of  our  host, 
Having  his  ear  full  of  his  airy  Tame, 
Grows  dainty  of  his  worth,  and  in  his  tent 
Lies  mocking  our  designs.    With  him, Patroctus, 
Upon  a  lazy  bed  the  livelong  day 
Breaks  scurril  jests ; 
And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action 
(Which,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls.) 
He  pageants  us:  sometime,  great  Agamemnon, 
Thy  topless  deputation  he  puts  on  ; 
And,  like  a  strutting  player,  — whose  conceit 
Lies  in  his  hamstring,  and  doth  think  it  rich 
To  hear  the  wooden  dialogue  and  sound 
'Twixt    his   stretch'd    footing   and    the    scaf- 

foldage, — 
Such  to-be-pitied  and  o'er-wrested  seeming 
He  acts  thy  greatness  in  :  and  when  he  speaks, 
Tis  like  a  chime  a  mending;  with  terms  un- 

squar'd, 
Which,  from  the  tongue  of  roaring  Typhon 

dropp'd, 
Would  seem  hyperboles.     At  this  fusty  stuff. 
The  large  Achilles,  on  his  press'd  bed  lolling. 
From  his  deep  chest  laughs  out  a  loud  applause ; 

Cries — "  Excellent !  —  'tis  Agamemnon  just 

Now  play  me  Nestor;  —  hem,  and  stroke  thy 

beard 
As  he,  being  'drest  to  some  oration." 
That's  done;— as  near  as  the  extremest  ends 
Of  parallels— as  like  as  Vulcan  and  his  wife: 
Yet  god  Achilles  still  cries,  "  Excellent  1 
'Tis  Nestor  right !    Now  play  him  me,  Patroclus, 
Arming  to  answer  in  a  night  alarm." 
And  then,  forsooth,  the  faint  defects  of  age 
Must  be  the  scene  of  mirth ;  to  cough,  and  spit, 
And  with  a  palsy,  fumbling  on  his  gorget, 
Shake  in  and  out  the  rivet:— and  at  this  sport, 
Sir  Valour  dies;  cries,  ••  O  ! — enough,  Patro- 
clus ;  — 
Or  give  me  ribs  of  steel !    I  shall  split  all 
In  pleasure  of  my  spleen."    And  in  this  fashion, 
All  our  abilities,  gifts,  natures,  shapes, 
Severals  and  generals  of  grace  exact, 
Achievements,  plots,  orders,  preventions, 
Excitement*  to  the  field,  or  speech  for  truce, 
Success,  or  loss,  what  is,  or  is  not,  serves 
As  stuff  for  these  two  to  make  paradoxes. 

Nestor. 
And  in  the  imitation  of  these  twain, 
(Whom,  as  Ulysses  says,  opinion  crowns 
With  an  imperial  voice)  many  are  infect. 
Ajar  is  grown  self-will'd;  and  bears  his  head 
In  such  a  rein,  in  full  as  proud  a  place 
As  broad  Achilles :  keeps  his  tent  like  him  : 
Makes  factious  feasts  ;  rails  on  our  state  of  war. 
Bold  as  an  oracle :  and  sets  Thermites, 
A  slave  whose  gall  coins  slanders  like  a  mint, 
To  match  us  in  comparisons  with  dirt ; 
To  weaken  cind  discredit  our  exposure, 
How  rank  soever  rounded  in  with  danger. 

Ulysses. 


698 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


Ulysses. 
They  tax  our  policy,  and  call  it  cowardice; 
Count  wisdom  as  no  member  of  the  war ; 
Forestall  prescience,  and  esteem  no  act 
But  that  of  hand :  the  still  and  mental  parts,— 
That  do  contrive  how  many  hands  shall  strike, 
When  fitness   calls   them   on,  and   know,  by 

measure 
Of  their  observant  toil,  the  enemies'  weight,— 
Why,  this  hath  not  a  finger's  dignity. 
They  call  this  bed-work,  mappery,  closet-war : 
So  that  the  ram,  that  batters  down  the  wall. 
For  the  great  swing  and  rudeness  of  his  poise, 
They  place   before   his    hand   that  made  the 

engine, 
Or  those  that  with  the  fineness  of  their  souls 
By  reason  guide  his  execution 
Nestor. 
Let  this  be  granted,  and  Achilles'  horse 
Makes  many  Thetis'  sons.  [A  Tucket. 

Agamemnon. 
What  trumpet?  look,  Menclaus. 

Enter  JEneas. 
Menelaus. 
From  Troy. 

Agamemnon. 
What  would  you  'fore  our  tent? 
JEneas. 

Is  this 
Great  Agamemnon' &  tent,  I  pray  you? 
Agamemnon. 

Even  this. 


May  one,  that  is  a  herald  and  a  prince, 
Do  a  fair  message  to  his  kingly  ears  ? 
Agamemnon. 
With  surety  stronger  than  Achilles'  arm, 
'Fore  all  the  Greekish  heads,  which  witli  one 
Call  Agamemnon  head  and  general.  [voice 

JEneas. 
Fair  leave,  and  large  security.    How  may 
A  stranger  to  those  most  imperial  looks 
Know  them  from  eyes  of  other  mortals  ? 
Agamemnon. 

How? 
JEneas. 
Ay ;  I  ask  that  I  might  waken  reverence, 
And  bid  the  cheek  be  ready  with  a  blush, 
Modest  as  morning  when  she  coldly  eyes 
The  youthful  Phoebus. 
Which  is  that  god  in  office,  guiding  men  ? 
Which  is  the  high  and  mighty  Agamemnon  f 
Agamemnon. 
This  Trojan  scorns  us,  or  the  men  of  Troy 
Ate  ceremonious  courtiers. 
JEneas. 
Courtiers  as  free,  as  debonair,  unarm'd,    ' 
As  bending  angels  :  that's  their  fame  in  peace  ; 
But  when  they  would  seem  soldiers,  they  have 
galls,  [Jove's  accord, 

Good  arms,  strong  joints,  true  swords  ;  and, 
Nothing  so  full  of  heart.     But  peace,  JEneas ! 
Peace,  Trojan  !  lay  thv  finger  on  thy  lips. 
The  worthiness  of  praise  distains  his  worth, 
If  that  the  prais'd  himself  bring   the   praise 

forth ; 
But  what  the  repining  enemy  commends, 
That  breath  fame  blows  ;  that  praise,  sole  pure, 
transcends. 

Agamemnon. 
Sir,  you  of  Troy,  call  you  yourself  Mneas  T 


JEneas. 
Ay,  Greek,  that  is  my  name. 
Agamemnon. 

What's  your  affair,  I  pray  you  ? 
JEneas. 
Sir,  pardon :  'tis  for  Agamemnon's  ears. 

Agamemnon. 
He  hears  nought  privately  that  comes  from 
Troy. 

JEneas. 
Nor  I  from  Troy  came  not  to  whisper  him : 
1  bring  a  trumpet' to  awake  Ins  ear  ; 
To  set  his  sense  on  the  attentive  bent, 
And  then  to  speak. 

Agamemnon. 

Speak  frankly  as  the  wind. 
It  is  not  Agamemnon's  sleeping  hour : 
That  thou  shalt  know,  Trojan,  he  is  awake, 
He  tells  thee  so  himself. 

JEneas. 

Trumpet,  blow  loud, 
Send  thy  brass  voice  through  all  ttiese  lazy 

tents ; 
And  every  Greek  of  mettle,  let  him  know, 
What  Troy  means  fairly  shall  be  spoke  aloud. 

[Trumpet  sounds. 
We  have,  great  Agamemnon,  here  in  Troy, 
A  prince  call'd  Hector,  Priam  is  his  father, 
Who  in  this  dull  and  long-continued  truce 
Is  rusty  grown  :  he  bade  me  take  a  trumpet. 
And  to  this  purpose  speak.  —  Kings,  princes, 

lords, 
If  there  be  one  among  the  fair'st  of  Greece, 
That  holds  his  honour  higher  than  his  ease  ; 
That  seeks  his  praise  more  than  he  fears  his 

peril ; 
That  knows  his  valour,  and  knows  not  his  fear ; 
That  loves  his  mistress  more  than  in  confession 
With  truant  vows  to  her  own  lips  he  loves, 
And  dare  avow  her  beauty  and  her  worth, 
In  other  arms  than  hers,  — to  him  this  chal- 
lenge. 
Hector,  in  view  of  Trojans  and  of  Greeks, 
Shall  make  it  good,  or  do  his  best  to  do  it. 
He  hath  a  lady,  wiser,  fairer,  truer. 
Than  ever  Greek  did  compass  in  his  arms  ; 
And  will  to-morrow  with  his  trumpet  call, 
Mid-way  between  your  tents  and  walls  of  Troy, 
To  rouse  a  Grecian  that  is  true  in  love : 
If  any  come,  Hector  shall  honour  him  ; 
If  none,  he'll  say  in  Troy,  when  he  retires, 
The  Grecian  dames  are  sun-bum'd,  and  not 
The  splinter  of  a  lance.    Even  so  much,  [worth 
Agamemnon. 
This  shall  be  told  our  lovers,  lord  JEneas  ; 
If  none  of  them  have  soul  in  such  a  kind, 
We  left  them  all  at  home :  but  we  are  soldiers  ; 
And  may  that  soldier  a  mere  recreant  prove, 
That  means  not,  hath  not,  or  is  not  in  love  ! 
If  then  one  is,  or  hath,  or  means  to  be, 
That  one  meets  Hector  ;  if  none  else,  I'll  be  he. 
Nestor. 
Tell  him  of  Nestor,  one  that  was  a  man 
When  Hector's  grandsire  suck'd:  he  is  old  now  ; 
But  if  there  be  not  in  our  Grecian  mould 
One  noble  man  that  hath  one  spark  of  fire, 
To  answer  for  his  love,  tell  him  from  me, 
I'll  hide  my  silver  beard  in  a  gold  beaver, 
And  in  my  vantbrace  put  this  wither'd  brawn  ; 
And,  meeting  him,  will  tell  him,  that  my  lady 
Was  fairer  than  his  grandam,  and  as  chaste 
As  mav  be  in  the  world.     His  youth  in  flood, 
I'll  pawn  this  truth  with  my  three  drops  of 
blood.  _ 

JEneas. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


699 


Now  heiTena  forbid  such  scarcity  of  youth ! 

Ulysses. 
Amen. 

Agamemnon. 
Fair  lord  Apneas,  let  me  touch  your  hand  ; 
To  our  pavilion  shall  1  lead  you,  sir. 
Achilles  shall  hive  word  of  this  intent ; 
So  shall  each  lord  of  Greece,  from  tent  to  tent ; 
Yourself  shall  feast  with  us  before  you  go, 
And  find  the  welcome  of  a  noble  foe. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Vlystes  and  Nestor. 

Ulysses. 
Nestor,— 

Nestor. 
What  says  Ulysses  f 

Ulysses. 
I  hare  a  young  conception  in  my  brain  ; 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 

Nestor. 
What  is't  ? 

Ulysses. 
This  'tis. 
Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots  :  the  seeded  pride. 
That  hath  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Achilles,  must  or  now  be  cropp'd. 
Or,  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil, 
To  overbulk  us  all. 

Nestor. 

Well,  and  how  ? 

Ulysses. 
This  challenge  that  the  gallant  Hector  sends, 
However  it  is  spread  in  general  name, 
Relates  in  purpose  only  to  Achilles. 

Nestor. 
The  purpose  is  perspicuous  even  as  substance, 
Whose  grossness  little  characters  sum  up : 
And  in  the  publication  make  no  strain, 
But  that  Achilles,  were  his  brain  as  barren 
As  banks  of  Libya,  (though,  Apollo  knows, 
'Tis  dry  enough)  will,  with    great  speed   of 

judgment, 
Ay,  with  celerity,  find  Hector's  purpose 
Pointing  on  him. 

Ulysses. 
And  wake  him  to  the  answer,  think  you  ? 

Nestor. 
Why,  'tis  most  meet :  whom  may  you  else 
oppose, 
That  can  from  Hector  bring  his  honour  off, 
If  not  Achilles?    Though't  be  a  sportful  corn- 
Yet  in  the  trial  much  opinion  dwells :  [bat, 
For  here  the  Trojans  taste  our  dear'st  repute 
With  their  fin'st  palate :  and  trust  to  me,  Ulys- 
Our  imputation  shall  be  oddly  pois'd  [ses, 
In  this  wild  action  ;  for  the  success, 
Although  particular,  shall  give  a  scantling 
Of  good  or  bad  unto  the  general ; 
And  in  such  indexes  (although  small  pricks 
To  their  subsequent  volumes)  there  is  seen 
The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 
Of  things  to  come  at  large.     It  is  suppos'd, 
He,  that  meets  Hector,  issues  from  our  choice : 
And  choice,  being  mutual  act  of  all  our  souls, 
Makes  merit  her  election,  and  doth  boil. 
As  'twere  from  forth  us  all,  a  man  dist  ill'd 
Out  of  our  virtues  ;  who  miscarrying,        [part, 
What  heart  receives  from  hence  the  conquering 
To  steal  a  strong  opinion  to  themselves  ? 
Which  entertain'd,  limbs  are  his  instruments, 
In  no  less  working,  than  are  swords  and  bows     j 
Directive  by  the  limbs. 


Ulysses. 

01  re  pardon  to  my  speech  :— 
Therefore  'tis  meet  Achilles  meet  not  Hector. 
Let  us,  like  merchants,  show  our  foulest  wares, 
And  think,  perchance,  they'll  sell;  if  not, 
The  lustre  of  the  better  shall  exceed, 
By  showing  the  worst  first.    Do  not  consent, 
That  ever  Hector  and  Achilles  meet ; 
For  both  our  honour  and  our  shame,  in  this, 
Are  dogg'd  with  two  strange  followers. 

Nestor. 
I  see  them  not  with  my  old  eyes :  what  are 
they? 

Ulysses. 

What  glory  our  Achilles  shares  from  Hector, 
Were  he  not  proud,  we  all  should  share  with 
But  he  already  is  too  insolent ;  [him  : 

And  we  were  better  parch  in  Afric  sun, 
Tha.i  in  the  pride  and  salt  scorn  of  his  eyes, 
Sho.  >U'  he  'scape  Hector  fair.     If  he  were  foil'd. 
Why,  then  we  did  our  main  opinion  crush 
In  taint  of  our  best  man.   No ;  make  a  lottery, 
And  by  device  let  blockish  Ajax  draw 
The  sort  to  fight  with  Hector:  among  ourselves, 
Give  him  allowance  &s  the  worthier  man, 
For  that  will  physic  the  great  Myrmidon, 
Who  broils  in  loud  applause ;  and  make  him  fall 
His  crest,  that  prouder  than  blue  Iris  bends. 
If  the  dull  brainless  Ajax  come  sale  off, 
We'll  dress  him  up  in  voices :  if  he  fail, 
Yet  go  we  under  our  opinion  still, 
That  we  have  better  men.    But,  hit  or  miss, 
Our  project's  life  this  shape  of  sense  assumes,— 
Ajax  employ'd  plucks  down  Achilles'  plumes. 
Nestor. 

Now,  Ulysses,  I  begin  to  relish  thy  advice ; 
And  1  will  give  a  taste  of  it  forthwith 
To  Agamemnon :  go  we  to  him  straight. 
Two  curs  shall  tame  each  other :  pride  alone 
Must  tarre  the  mastiffs  on,  as  'twere  their  bone. 
[Exeunt 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    Another  part  of  the  Grecian  Camp. 
Enter  Ajax  and  Thersites. 

Ajax. 
rpHERSITES,— 

Thersites. 
Agamemnon— how  if  he  had  boils?  full,  all 
over,  generally  ? 

Ajax. 
ThersiteSf— 

Thersites. 
And  those  boils  did  run? — Say  so,— did  not 
the  general  run  then  ?  were  not'  that  a  botchy 
core? 

Ajax. 
Dog,- 

Thersites. 
Then  would  come  some  matter  from  him  :  I 
see  none  now. 

Ajax. 
Thou  bitch-wolf's  son,  canst  thou  not  hea;? 
Feel  then.  [Strikes  him. 

Thersites. 
The  plague  of  Greece  upon  thee,  thou  mongrel 
beef-witted  lord! 

Ajax. 


7oo 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  h 


Ajax. 
Speak  then,  thou  vinewd'st  leaven,  speak:  I 
will  beat  thee  into  handsomeness. 
Thersites. 
I  shall  sooner  rail  thee  into  wit  and  holiness  : 
but,  I  think,  thy  horse  will  sooner  con  an  oration, 
than  thou  learn  a  prayer  without  book.     Thou 
canst  strike,  canst  thou  ?  a  red  murrain  o'  thy 
jade's  tricks  ! 

Ajax. 
Toads -stool,  learn  me  the  proclamation. 

Thersites. 
Dost  thou  think  1  have  no  sense,  thou  strik'st 
me  thus  ? 

Ajax. 
The  proclamation,— 

Thersites. 
Thou  art  proclaim'd  a  fool,  1  think. 

Ajax. 
Do  not,  porcupine,  do  not:  my  fingers  itch. 

Thersites. 
I  would,  thou  didst  itch  from  head  to  foot,  and 
I  had  the  scratching  of  thee ;  I  would  make  thee 
the  loathsomest  scab  in  Greece.  When  thou  art 
forth  in  the  incursions,  thou  strikest  as  slow  as 
another. 

Ajax. 
I  say,  the  proclamation,— 
Thersites. 
Thou  grumblest  and  raile«t  every  hour  on 
Achilles ;  and  thou  art  as  full  of  envy  at  his 
greatness,  as  Cerberus  is  at  Proserpina'i  beauty, 
ay,  that  thou  barkest  at  him. 
Ajax. 
Mistress  Thersites! 

Thersites. 
Thou  shouldest  strike  him. 

Ajax. 
Cobloaf! 

Thersites. 
He  would  pun  thee  into  shivers  with  his  fist, 
as  a  sailor  breaks  a  biscuit. 
Ajax. 
You  whoreson  cur  I  [Beating  him. 

Thersites. 
Do,  do. 

Ajax. 
Thou  stool  for  a  witch  ! 

Thersites 
Ay,  do,  do ;  thou  sodden-witted  lord ;  thou 
hast  no  more  brain  than  I  have  in  mine  elbows ; 
an  assinego  may  tutor  thee:  thou  scurvy  valiant 
ass !  thou  art  here  but  to  thrash  Trojans  ;  and 
thou  art  bought  and  sold  among  those  of  any 
wit,  like  a  Barbarian  slave.     If  thou  use  to  beat 
me,  I  will  begin  at  thy  heel,  and  tell  what  thou 
art  by  inches,  thou  thing  of  no  bowels,  thou ! 
Ajax. 
You  dog ! 

Thersites. 
You  scurvy  lord ! 

Ajax. 
You  cur !  [Beating  him. 

Thersites. 
Mars  his  idiot !  do,  rudeness ;  do,  camel ;  do, 
do. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Palroclus. 
Achilles. 
Why,  how  now,   Ajaxf    wherefore  do  vou 
this? 
How  now,  Thersites?  what's  the  matter,  man? 


Thersites. 
You  see  him  there,  do  you  ? 

Achilles. 
Ay ;  what's  the  matter  ? 

Thersites. 
Nay,  look  upon  him. 

Achilles. 
So  I  do :  what's  the  matter  ? 

Thersites. 
Nay,  but  regard  him  well. 
Achilles. 
Well,  why  I  do  so. 

Thersites. 
But  yet  you  look  not  well  upon  him,   for, 
whosoever  you  take  him  to  be  he  is  Ajax. 
Achilles. 
I  know  that,  fool. 

Thersites. 
Ay,  but  that  fool  knows  not  himself. 

Ajax. 
Therefore  I  beat  thee. 

Thersites. 
Lo,  lo,  lo,  lo,  what  modicums  of  wit  he  utters ! 
his  evasions  have  ears  thus  long.  I  have  bobbed 
his  brain,  more  than  he  has  beat  my  bones:  I 
will  buy  nine  sparrows  for  a  penny,  and  his  pia 
mater  is  not  worth  the  ninth  part  of  a  sparrow. 
This  lord,  Achilles,  Ajax,  who  wears  his  wit  in 
his  belly,  and  his  guts  in  his  head,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  say  of  him. 

Achilles. 
What? 

Thersites. 
I  say,  this  Ajax 

Achilles. 
Nay,  good  Ajax. 

[Ajax  offers  to  strike  him. 

Thersites. 
Has  not  so  much  wit  — 

Achilles. 
Nay,  I  must  hold  you. 

Thersites. 
As  will  stop  the  eye  of  Helen's  needle,  for 
whom  he  comes  to  light. 

Achilles. 
Peace,  fool ! 

Thersites. 
I  would  have  peace  and  quietness,  but  the 
fool  will  not :  he  there;  that  he,  look  you  there. 
Ajax. 
O,  thou  damned  cur !    I  shall  — 

Achilles. 
Will  you  set  your  wit  to  a  fool'3  ? 

Thersites. 
No,  I  warrant  you ;  for  a  fool's  will  shame  it. 

Patroclus. 
Good  words,  Thersites. 

Achilles. 
What's  the  quarrel  ? 

Ajax. 
I  bade  the  vile  owl  go  learn  me  the  tenor  of 
the  proclamation,  and  he  rails  upon  me. 

Thersites. 
I  serve  thee  not.  >. 

Ajax. 
Well,  go  to,  go  to. 

Thersites. 

I  serve  here  voluntary.  '.".«. 

Achilles. 


A<  r  ii.  Sc.  n. 


TR0II.U8  AND  CRESSIDA. 


701 


Achilles. 
Your  last  service  vu  sufferance,  'twas  not 
voluntary  ;  M   man    i»   beat«-n   voluntary  :   AJnx 
1  « as  here  the  voluntary,  and  you  as  under  an 
!  impress. 

Thersites. 

I  Even  so?- a  great  deal  of  your  wit,  too,  lies 
In  your  sinews,  or  else  there  be  liars.  Hector 
■turn  have  a  great  catch,  if  he  knock  out  either 
of  your  brains :  he  were  as  good  crack  a  fusty 
nut  with  no  kernel. 

Achilles. 
What,  with  me  too,  Thersites  f 

Thersites. 

There's   Ulysses,  and  old  Nestor,— whose  wit 

was  mouldy  ere  your  grands  ires  had  nails  on 

th.  ir  toes.— yoke  you  like  draught  oxen,  and 

make  you  plough  up  the  war. 

Achilles. 

What?  what? 

Thersites. 
Yes,  good  sooth:  to,  AchiUes!  to,  Ajax!  to— 

Ajax. 
I  shall  cut  out  your  tongue. 
Thersites. 
'Tis  no  matter ;  I  shall  speak  as  much  as  thou, 
afterwards.  _ 

Patroclus. 

No  more  words,  Tkersitet;  peace! 

Thersites. 
1  will  hold  my  peace  when  AchiUes'  brach 
bids  me,  shall  I?  .... 

Achilles. 

There's  for  you,  Patroclus. 

Thersites. 

I  will  see  you  hanged,  like  clotpoles,  ere  I 

come  any  more  to  your  tents :  I  will  keep  where 

there  is  wit  stirring,  and  leave  the  faction  pf 

fools.  IK*" 

Patroclus. 

A  good  riddance. 

Achilles. 
Marry,  this,  sir,  is  proclaimed  through  all  our 
host:  — 
That  Hector,  by  the  fifth  hour  of  the  sun, 
Will,  with  a  trumpet,  'twixt  our  tents  and  Troy, 
To-morrow  morning  call  some  knight  to  arms, 
That  hath  a  stomach ;  and  such  a  one,  that  dare 
Maintain — I  know  not  what:  'tis  trash      Fare- 
well. 

Ajax. 
Farewell.    Who  shall  answer  him  ? 

Achilles. 
I  know  not :  it  is  put  to  lottery;  otherwise, 
He  knew  his  man. 

Ajax. 
O !  meaning  you.— I  will  go  learn  more  of  it. 

SCENE  II.    Troy.    A  Room  in  Priam'* 
Palace. 

Enter  Priam,  Hector,  Troilus,  Paris,  and 
Helenus. 
•  Priam. 

After  so  many  hours,  lives,  speeches  spent, 
Thus  once  again  says  Nestor  from  the  Greeks:  — 
*'  Deliver  Helen,  and  all  damage  else  — 
As  honour,  loss  of  time,  travail,  expence, 
Wounds,  friends,  and  what  else  dear  th.it  is  con- 

sum'd 
In  hot  digestion  of  this  cormorant  war, — 
Shall  be  struck  off:" — Hector,  what  say  you  to't  ? 


Hector. 
J     Though  no  man  lesser  fears  the  Greeks  than  I, 
As  far  as  toucheth  my  particular, 
Yet,  irmi  Frlam, 

Then  is  no  lady  of  more  softer  bowels, 
■  More  spungy  to  suck  in  the  sense  of  fear, 
j  More   ready"  to  cry  out  — "  \Wio  knows   what 

follows?" 
'  Than  Hector  is.    The  wound  of  peace  is  surety, 
Surety  secure;  but  modest  doubt  is  call'd 
The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searche* 
To  the  bottom  of  the  worst    Let  Helen  go : 
Since  the  first    sword  was   drawn  about  this 

question, 
Every  tithe  soul,  'mongst  many  thousand  dismes, 
Hath  been  as  dear  as  Helen ;   1  mean,  of  ours : 
If  we  have  lost  so  many  tenths  of  ours. 
To  guard  a  thing  not  ours,  nor  worth  to  us, 
Had  it  our  name,  the  value  of  one  ten, 
What  merit's  in  that  reason,  which  denies 
The  yielding  of  her  up  ? 

Troilui. 

Fie,  fie,  my  brother ! 
Weigh  you  the  worth  and  honour  ot  a  king, 
So  great  as  our  dread  father,  in  a  scale 
Of  common  ounces  ?  will  you  with  counters  sum 
The  past-proportion  of  his  infinite? 
And  buckle  in  a  waist  most  fathomless, 
With  spans  and  inches  so  diminutive 
As  fears  and  reasons  ?  fie,  for  godly  shame ! 
Helenus. 
No  marvel,  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at  rea- 
sons, 
You  are  so  empty  of  them.    Should  not  our 

father 
Bear  the  great  sway  of  his  affairs  with  reasons. 
Because  your  speech  hath  none,  that  tells  him 

SO?  Troilus. 

You  are  for  dreams  and  slumbers,  brother 
priest : 
You  fur  your  gloves  with  reason.     Here  are 

your  reasons : 
You  know,  an  enemy  intends  you  harm. 
You  know,  a  sword  employ'd  is  perilous, 
And  reason  flies  the  object  of  all  harm. 
Who  marvels,  then,  when  Helenus  beholds 
A  Grecian  and  his  sword,  if  he  do  set 
The  very  wings  of  reason  to  his  heels, 
And  fly  like  chidden  Mercury  from  Jove, 
Or  like  a  star  dis-orb'd  ?— Nay,  if  we  talk  of 

reason, 
Let's  shut  our  gates,  and  sleep:  manhood  and 

honour 
Should  have  hare  hearts,  would  they  but  fat 

their  thoughts 
With  this  cramm'd  reason:  reason  and  respect 
Make  livers  pale,  and  lustlhood  deject. 
Hector. 
Brother,  she  is  not  worth  what  she  doth  cost 
The  holding.  m    . 

Trolluj. 
What  is  aaght,  but  as  'tis  valued  ? 
Hector. 
But  value  dwells  not  in  particular  will ; 
It  holds  his  estimate  and  dignity. 
As  well  wherein  'tis  precious  of  itself, 
As  in  the  prizer.    'Tis  mad  idolatry, 
To  make  the  service  greater  than  the  god; 
And  the  will  dotes,  that  is  inclinable 
To  what  infectiously  itself  affects, 
Without  some  image  of  th'  affected  merit. 
Troilus. 
I  take  to-day  a  wife,  and  my  election 
Is  led  on  in  the  conduct  of  my  will; 

My 


702 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


My  will  enkindled  by  mine  eyes  and  ears, 
Two  traded  pilots  'twixt  the  dangerous  shores 
Of  will  and  judgment.     How  may  I  avoid, 
Although  my  will  distaste  what  it  elected, 
The  wife  I  chose?  there  can  be  no  evasion 
To  blench  from  this,  and  to  stand  firm    by 

honour. 
We  turn  not  back  the  silks  upon  the  merchant. 
When  we  have  spoil'd  them ;  nor  the  remainder 

viands 
We  do  not  throw  in  unrespective  sieve, 
Because  we  now  are  full.     It  was  thought  meet, 
Paris  should  do  some  vengeance  on  the  Greeks : 
Your  breath  of  full  consent  bellied  his  sails ; 
The  seas  and  winds    (old  wranglers)  took  a 

truce, 
And  did  him  service:  he  touch'd  the  ports desir'd ; 
And  for  an  old  aunt,  whom  the  Greeks  held 

captive,  [freshness 

He  brought  a  Grecian  queen,  whose  youth  and 
Wrinkles  Apollo's,  and  makes  stale  the  morning. 
Why  keep  we  her  ?  the  Grecians  keep  our  aunt. 
Is  she  worth  keeping?  why,  she  is  a  pearl, 
Whose  price  hath  launch'd  above  a  thousand 

ships, 
And  turn'd  crown'd  kings  to  merchants, 
if  you'll  avouch  'twas  wisdom  Parts  went, 
As  you  must  need,  for  you  all  cry'd     "  Go,  go  ;M 
If  you'll  confess,  he  brought  home  noble  prize, 
As  you  must  needs,  for  you  all  clapp'd  your 

hands. 
And  cry'd — "  Inestimable!"  why  do  you  now 
The  issue  of  your  proper  wisdoms  rate, 
And  do  a  deed  that  fortune  never  did, 
Beggar  the  estimation  which  you  priz'd 
Kicher  than  sea  and  land?    O,  theft  most  base, 
That  we  have  stolen  what  we  do  fear  to  keep  ! 
But,  thieves,  unworthy  of  a  thing  so  stolen, 
That  in  their  country  did  them  that  disgrace, 
We  fear  to  warrant  in  our  native  place ! 


Cry,  Trojans,  cry  I 


Cassandra. 


[Within. 


Priam. 
What  noise?  what  shriek  is  this? 

Troilus. 
•Tis  our  mad  sister:  I  do  know  her  voice. 

[Within. 


Cry,  Trojans ! 
It  is  Cassandra. 


Cassandra. 
Hector. 


Enter  Cassandra,  raving. 

Cry,  Trojans,  cry !  lend  me  ten  thousand  eyes, 
And  1  will  till  them  will  prophetic  tears. 

Hector. 
Peace,  sister,  peace ! 

Cassandra. 

Virgins  and  boys,  mid-age,  and  wrinkled  old, 
Soft  infancy,  that  nothing  canst  but  cry, 
Add  to  my  clamours  1  let  us  pay  betimes 
A  moiety  of  that  mass  of  moan  to  come. 
Cry,  Trojans,  cry  !  practise  your  eyes  with  tears : 
Troy  must  not  be,  nor  goodly  Ilion  stand ; 
Our  fire-brand  brother,  Part's,  burns  us  all. 
Cry,  Trojans,  cry !  a  Helen,  and  a  woe ! 
Cry,  cryl  Troy  burns,  or  else  let  Helen  go. 

[Exit. 
Hector. 

Now,  youthful   Troilus,  do  not   these  high 
Of  divination  in  our  sister  work  [strains 

Some  touches  of  remorse  ?  or  is  your  blood 
So  madly  hot,  that  no  discourse  of  reason, 
Nor  fear  of  bad  success  in  a  bad  cause, 
Can  qualify  the  same  ? 


Troilus. 

Why,  brother  Hector, 
We  may  not  think  the  justness  of  each  act 
Such  and  no  other  than  event  doth  form  it ; 
Nor  once  deject  the  courage  of  our  minds, 
Because  Cassandra's  mad:  her  brain-sick  rap- 
tures 
Cannot  distaste  the  goodness  of  a  quarrel, 
Which  hath  our  several  honours  all  engag'd 
To  make  it  gracious.     For  my  private  part, 
I  am  no  more  touch'd  than  all  Priam's  sons; 
And  Jove  forbid,  there  should  be  done  amongst 

us 
Such  things  as  might  offend  the  weakest  spleen 
To  fight  for,  and  maintain. 

Paris. 
Else  might  the  world  convince  of  levity, 
As  well  my  undertakings,  as  your  counsels ; 
But,  1  attest  the  gods,  your  full  consent 
Gave  wings  to  my  propension,  and  cut  off 
All  fears  attending  on  so  dire  a  project : 
For  what,  alas !  can  these  my  single  arms  ? 
What  propugnation  is  in  one  man's  valour, 
To  stand  the  pu-h  and  enmity  of  those 
This  quarrel  would  excite?    Yet,  1  protest, 
WTere  I  alone  to  pass  the  difficulties, 
And  had  as  ample  power  as  I  have  will, 
Paris  should  ne'er  retract  what  he  hath  done, 
Nor  faint  in  the  pursuit. 

Priam. 

Part's,  you  speak 
Like  one  besotted  on  your  sweet  delights; 
You  have  the  honey  still,  but  these  the  gall. 
So  to  be  valiant  is  no  praise  at  all. 

Paris. 
Sir,  I  propose  not  merely  to  myself 
The  pleasures  such  a  beauty  brings  with  it, 
But  1  would  have  the  soil  of  her  fair  rape 
Wip'd  off  in  honourable  keeping  her. 
What  treason  were  it  to  the  ransack'd  queen, 
Disgrace  to  your  great  worths,  and  shame  to  me, 
Now  to  deliver  her  possession  up, 
On  terms  of  base  compulsion?    Can  it  be, 
That  so  degenerate  a  strain  as  this, 
Should  once  set  footing  in  your  generous  bosoms? 
There's  not  the  meanest  spirit  on  our  party, 
Without  a  heart  to  date,  or  sword  to  draw, 
When  Helen  is  defended ;  nor  none  so  noble, 
Whose  life  were  ill  bestow'd,  or  death  unfam'd, 
Where  Helen  is  the  subject:  then,  I  say, 
Well  may  we  fight  for  her  whom,  we  know  well, 
The  world's  large  spaces  cannot  parallel. 

Hector. 
Paris,  and  Troilus,  you  have  both  said  well ; 
And  on  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand 
Have  gloz'd, — but  superficially ;  not  much 
Unlike  young  men,  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unfit  to  hear  moral  philosophy. 
The  reasons  you  allege  do  more  conduce 
To  the  hot  passion  of  distemper'd  blood, 
Than  to  make  up  a  free  determination 
'Twixt   right   and  wrong;   for  pleasure,  and 

revenge, 
Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision.    Nature  craves, 
All  dues  be  render'd  to  their  owners  :  now, 
What  nearer  debt  in  all  humanity 
Than  wife  is  to  the  husband?  if  this  law 
Of  nature  be  corrupted  through  affection, 
And  that  great  minds,  of  partial  indulgence 
To  their  benumbed  wills,  resist  the  same, 
There  is  a  law  in  each  well-order'd  nation, 
To  curb  those  raging  appetites  that  are 
Most  disobedient  and  refractory. 
If  Helen,  then,  be  wife  to  Sparta's  king, 

Aa 


'Act  ii.  Sc.  at 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


705 


At  it  If  known  she  It,  these  moral  laws 

Of  nature,  and  of  nation,  spt-ak  aloud 

To  have  Iht  back  return'd  :  t litis  to  persist 

In  doing  wrong  extenuates  not  wrong, 

But    makes    it    much    more    heavy.     Hector's 

opinion 
Is  this,  in  way  of  truth  :  yet,  ne'ertheless, 
My  spritely  brethren,  I  propend  to  you 
lu  n-olution  to  keep  Helen  still ; 
For  'tis  a  cause  that  hath  no  mean  dependance 
Upon  our  joint  and  several  dignities. 

Troilus. 
Why,  there  you  touch'd  the  life  of  our  design  : 
Were  it  not  glory  that  we  more  affected, 
Than  the  performance  of  our  heaving  spleens, 
I  would  not  wish  a  drop  of  Trojan  blood 
Spent  more  in  her  defence.   But,  worthy  Hector, 
She  is  a  theme  of  honour  and  renown  ; 
A  spur  to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds  ; 
Whose  present  courage  may  beat  down  our  foes, 
And  fame,  in  time  to  come,  canonize  us  : 
For.  1  presume,  brave  Hector  would  not  lose 
So  rich  advantage  of  a  promis'd  glory, 
As  smiles  upon  the  forehead  of  this  action, 
Kor  the  wide  world's  revenue. 

Hector. 

I  am  yours, 
You  valiant  offspring  of  great  Priamus — 
1  have  a  roisting  challenge  sent  amongst 
The  dull  and  factious  nobles  of  the  Greeks, 
Will  strike  amazement  to  their  drowsy  spirits. 
I  was  advertis'd,  their  great  general  slept. 
Whilst  emulation  in  the  army  crept: 
This,  I  presume,  will  wake  him.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  Grecian  Camp.    Before 
Achilles'  Tent. 

Enter  Thersites. 
Thersites. 
How  now,  Thersites !  what !  lost  m  the  laby- 
rinth of  thy  fury  ?    Shall  the  elephant  Ajax 
carry  it  thus  ?  he  heats  me,  and  1  rail  at  him : 

0  worthy  satisfaction  !  would,  it  were  other- 
wise; that  I  could  beat  him,  whilst  he  railed  at 
me.  'Sfoot,  I'll  learn  to  conjure  and  raise  de- 
vils, but  I'll  see  some  issue  of  my  spiteful  exe- 
crations. Then,  there's  Achilles,  —  a  rare  engi- 
neer. If  Troy  be  not  taken  till  these  two  un- 
dermine it,  the  walls  will  stand  till  they  fall  of 
themselves.  O,  thou  great  thunder-darter  of 
Olympus!  forget  that  thou  art  Jove  the  king  of 
gods ;  and,  Mercury,  lose  all  the  serpentine 
craft  of  thy  Caduceus,  if  ye  take  not  that  little, 
little,  less-than-little  wit  from  them  that  they 
have;  which  short-armed  ignorance  itself  knows 
is  so  abundant  scarce,  it  will  not  in  circumven- 
tion deliver  a  fly  from  a  spider,  without  drawing 
their  massy  irons  and  cutting  the  web.  After 
this,  the  vengeance  on  the  whole  camp  !  or, 
rather  the  bone-ache ;  for  that,  met h inks,  is  the 
curse  dependant  on  those  that  war  for  a  placket. 

1  have  said  my  prayers,  and  devil,  envy,  say 
Amen.    What,  ho  I  my  lord  Achilles  I 

Enter  Patroclus. 
Patroclus. 
Who'r   there?     Thersites?     Good  Thersites. 
come  in  and  rail. 

Thersites. 
If  I  could  have  remembered  a  gilt  counterfeit, 
thou  wouldest  not  have  slipped  out  of  my  con- 
templation ;  but  it  is  no  matter :  thyself  upon 
thyself!  The  common  cur>e  of  mankind,  tolly 
and  ignorance,  be  thine  in  great  revenue  '.  hea- 


ven bless  thee  from  a  tutor,  and  discipline  come 
DO!  ne.ir  th.  e  !  Let  thy  blood  be  thy  direction 
till  thy  death  !  then,  il  she,  that  lays  thee  out, 
says  thou  art  a  fair  corse,  I'll  be  sworn  and 
sworn  upon't,  she  never  shrouded  any  but  lazars. 
Amen.     Where's  Achilles  t 

Patroclus. 
What  I  art  thou  devout?  wast  thou  In  prayer? 

Jheriitea. 
ear  me  I 

Enter  Achilles. 

Achillea. 
Who's  there  ? 

Patroclus. 
Tfiersites,  my  lord. 

Achillea. 
Where,   where?— Art   thou   come?      Why, 
my  cheese,  my  digestion,  why  hast  thou  not 
served  thyself  in  to  my  table  so  many  meals  ? 
Come  ;  what's  Agamemnon  ? 

Thersites. 
Thy  commander,  Achilles.     Then,  tell  me, 
Patroclus,  what's  Achilles  ? 

Patroclus. 
Thy  lord,  Thersites.    Then,  tell  me,  I  pray 
thee,  what's  thyself? 

Thersites. 
Thy  knower,  Patroclus.   Then  tell  me,  Patro- 
clus, what  art  thou  ? 

Patroclus. 
Thou  may'st  tell,  that  knowest. 

Achilles. 
O !  tell,  tell. 

Thersites. 
I'll  decline  the  whole  question.    Agamemnon 
commands  Achilles  ;  Achilles  is  my  lord  ;  I  am 
Patroclus'  knower  ;  and  Patroclus  is  a  fool. 

Patroclus. 
You  rascal  1 

Thersites. 
Peace,  fool !  I  have  not  done. 

Achilles. 
He  is  a  privileged  man.— Proceed,  Thersites. 

Thersites. 
Agamemnon  is  a  fool  ;    Achilles  is  a  fool  ; 
Thersites  is  a  fool  ;  and,  as  aforesaid,  Patroclus 
is  a  fool. 

Achilles. 
Derive  this :  come. 

Thersites. 

Agamemnon  is  a  fool  to  offer  to  command 

Achillas  ;  Achillas  is  a  fool  to  be  commanded  of 

Agamemnon  ;   Thersites  is  a  fool  to  serve  such  a 

fool ;  and  Patroclus  is  a  fool  po.itive. 

Patroclus. 
Why  am  I  a  fool  ? 

Thersites. 
Make  that  demand  of  the  prover.  —  It  suffices 
me,  thou  art    Look  you,  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Ulysses,  Nestor,  Diomedes, 
and  Ajax. 

Achilles. 

Patroclus,  I'll  speak  with  nobody.  —  Come  in 

with  me,  Thersites.  [Exit. 

Thersites. 

Here  Is  such  patchery,  such  juggling,  and 

such  knavery  !   all  the  argument  is  a  cuckold, 

and  a  whore;  a  good  quarrel,  to  draw  emulous 

factions,  and  bleed  to  death  upon.     Now,  the 

dry 


704 


TROILUS  AND  CRESS1DA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


dry  serpigo  on  the  subject,  and  war  and  lechery 
confound  all  1  [Exit. 

Agamemnon. 
Where  is  Achilles  t 

Patroclus. 
Within  his  tent ;  but  ill-dispos'd,  my  lord. 

Agamemnon. 
Let  it  be  known  to  him  that  we  are  here. 
We  sent  our  messengers ;  and  we  lay  by 
Our  appertainments  visiting  of  him : 
Let  him  be  told  so,  lest,  perchance,  he  think 
We  dare  not  move  the  question  of  our  place, 
Or  know  not  what  we  are. 

Patroclus. 

I  shall  say  so  to  him. 
[Exit. 
Ulysses. 
We  saw  him  at  the  opening  of  his  tent : 
He  is  not  sick. 

Ajax. 
Yes,  lion-sick,  sick  of  proud  heart :  you  may 
call  it  melancholy,  if  yon  will  favour  the  man; 
but,  by  my  head,  'tis  pride:  but  why?  why? 
let  him  show  us  a  cause— A  word,  my  lord. 

[Taking  Agamemnon  aside. 
Nestor. 
What  moves  Ajax  thus  to  bay  at  him  ? 

Ulysses* 
Achilles  hath  inveigfed  his  fool  from  him. 

Nestor. 
Who?  Thersitesf 

Ulysses . 
He. 

Nestor. 
Then  will  Ajax  lack  matter,  if  he  have  lost 
his  argument. 

Ulysses. 
No,  you  see,  he  is  his  argument,  that  has  his 
argument,  Achilles. 

Nestor. 
All  the  better ;  their  fraction  is  more  our  wish, 
than  their  faction:   but  it  was  a  strong  com- 
posure, a  fool  could  disunite. 
Ulysses. 
The  amity  that  wisdom  knits  not,  folly  may 
easily  uutie.    Here  comes  Patroclus. 
Nestor. 
No  Achilles  with  him. 

Re-enter  Patroclus. 

Ulysses. 

The  elephant  hath  joints,  but  none  for  cour- 
tesy :  his  legs  are  legs  for  necessity,  not  for 
flexure. 

Patroclus. 

Achilles  bids  me  say,  he  is  much  sorry, 
If  any  thing  more  than  your  sport  and  pleasure 
Did  move  your  greatness,  and  this  noble  state, 
To  call  upon  him :  he  hopes,  it  is  no  other, 
But,  for  your  health  and  your  digestion  sake, 
An  after-dinner's  breath. 

Agamemnon. 

Hear  you,  Patroclus, 
We  are  too  well  acquainted  with  these  answers : 
But  his  evasion,  wing'd  thus  swift  with  scorn, 
Cannot  outfly  our  apprehensions. 
Much  attribute  he  hath,  and  much  the  reason 
Why  we  ascribe  it  to  him  ;  yet  all  his  virtues, 
Not  virtuously  on  his  own  part  beheld, 
Do  in  our  eyes  begin  to  lose  their  gloss ; 
Yea,  like  fair  fruit  in  an  unwholesome  dish, 
Are  like  to  rot  untasted.    Go  and  tell  him,  [sin 
We  come  to  speak  with  him ;  and  you  shall  not 


If  you  do  say,  we  think  him  over-proud. 

And  under-honest;  in  self-assumption  greater, 

Than  in  the  note  of  judgment;  and  worthier 

than  himself 
Here  tend  the  savage  strangeness  he  puts  on, 
Disguise  the  holy  strength  of  their  command, 
And  underwrite  in  an  observing  kind 
His  humorous  predominance;  yea,  watch 
His  pettish  lunes,  his  ebbs,  his  flows,  as  if 
The  passage  and  whole  carriage  of  this  action 
Node  on  his  tide.    Go,  tell  him  this  :  and  add, 
That,  if  he  overhold  his  price  so  much, 
We'll  none  of  him  ;  but  let  him,  like  an  engine 
Not  portable,  lie  under  this  report  — 
ISring  action  hither,  this  cannot  go  to  war. 
A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance  give 
Before  a  sleeping  giant : — tell  him  so. 

Patroclus. 
I  shall ;  and  bring  his  answer  presently. 

[Exit. 
Agamemnon. 
In  second  voice  we'll  not  be  satisfied. 
We  come  to  speak  with  him.—  Ulysses,  enter 
you.  [Exit  Ulysses. 

Ajax. 
What  is  he  more  than  another? 

Agamemnon. 
No  more  than  what  he  thinks  he  is. 

Ajax. 
Is  he  so  much  ?    Do  you  not  think,  he  thinks 
himself  a  better  man  than  I  am  ? 


No  question. 


Agamemnon. 
Ajax. 


Will  you  subscribe  his  thought,  and  say  he  is? 

Agamemnon. 

No,  noble  Ajax;  you  are  as  strong,  as  valiant, 

as  wise,  no  less  noble,  much  more  gentle,  and 

altogether  more  tractable. 

Ajax. 

Why  should  a  man  be  proud?    How  doth 
pride  grow  ?    1  know  not  what  pride  is. 

Agamemnon. 
Your  mind  is  the  clearer,  Ajax,  and  your 
virtues  the  fairer.  He  that  is  proud,  eats  up 
himself:  pride  is  his  own  glass,  his  own  trumpet 
his  own  chronicle ;  and  whatever  praises  itself 
but  in  the  deed,  devours  the  deed  in  the  praise. 

Ajax. 
I  do  hate  a  proud  man,  as  I  hate  the  engender 
ing  of  toads. 

Nestor. 
Yet  he  loves  himself:  is't  not  strange? 

[Aside. 
Re-enter  Ulysses. 
Ulysses. 
Achilles  will  not  to  ttie  field  to-morrow. 

Agamemnon. 
What's  his  excuse  ? 

Ulysses. 

He  doth  rely  on  none; 
But  carries  on  the  stream  of  his  dispose 
Without  observance  or  respect  of  any, 
In  will  peculiar  and  in  self-admission. 
Agamemnon. 
Why  will  he  not,  upon  our  fair  request, 
Untent  his  person,  and  share  the  air  with  us? 

Ulysses. 
Things  small  as  oothing,  for  request's  sake 
only, 
He  makes  important.     Possess'd   he   Is  with 
greatness ; 

And 


Act  it.  Sc  hi. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSEDA. 


705 


And  speaks  not  to  himself,  but  with  a  pride 
Tli.it  quarrels  at  aelf-breath :  imajrin'd  worth      j 
Holds  in  his  blood  such  swob)  and  hot  discourse, 
That,  'twixt  his  mental  and  his  active  parts, 
Kingdom'd  Achilles  in  commotion  rages, 
And  batters  'gainst  himself:  what  should  I  say?| 
He  is  so  plaguy  proud,  that  the  death  tokens  of 
Cry—"  No  recovery."  [it' 

Agamemnon 

Let  Ajax  go  to  him 

Dear  lord,  go  you  and  greet  him  In  his  tent : 
"Tis  said,  he  holds  vou  well;  and  will  be  led, 
At  your  request,  a  little  from  himself. 
tse* 
O  Agamemnon !  let  it  not  be  so. 
We'll  consecrate  the  steps  that  AJax  makes 
When  they  go  from  Achilla:  shall  the  proud 

lord, 
That  bastes  his  arrogance  with  his  own  seam, 
And  never  suffers  matter  of  the  world 
Enter  his  thoughts,—  save  such  as  doth  revolve 
And  ruminate  himself,— shall  he  he  worshipp'd 
Of  that  wc  hold  an  idol  more  than  he? 
No,  this  thrice  worthy  and  right  valiant  lord 
Must  not  so  stale  his  palm,  nobly  acquir'd ; 
Nor,  by  my  will,  assubjugate  his  merit, 
As  amply  titled   as  Achilles   is,  by  going  to 

Achilles: 
That  were  to  enlard  his  fat-already  pride  ; 
And  add  more  coals  to  Cancer,  when  he  burns 
With  entertaining  great  Hyperion. 
This  lord  go  to  him  1    Jupiter  forbid ; 
And  say  in  thunder— "Achilles,  go  to  him." 
Nestor. 
O !  this  is  well;  he  rubs  the  vein  of  him. 

T  Aside. 
Diomedes. 
And  how  his  silence  drinks  up  this  applause  ! 
[Aside. 
Ajax. 
If  I  go  to  him,  with  my  armed  fist 
I'll  pash  him  o'er  the  face. 

Agamemnon. 
O,  no  1  you  shall  not  go. 
Ajax. 
An  'a  be  proud  with  me,  I'll  pheeze  his  pride. 
Let  me  go  to  him. 

Ulysses. 
Not  for  the  worth  that  hangs  upon  our  quar- 
rel. 

AJax. 

A  paltry,  insolent  fellow  ! 

Nestor. 


How  he  d 


escribes 


Chides  blackness. 


Himself? 

Ajax. 

Can  he  not  be  sociable  ? 
Ulysses. 

The  raven 

[Aside. 
AJax. 

I'll  let  his  humours  blood. 
Agamemnon. 
He  will  be  the  physician,  that  should  be  the 
patient.  [Aside. 

Ajax. 
An  all  men  were  o'  my  mind,— 
Ulysses. 
Wit  would  be  out  of  fashion. 

Ajax. 
'A  should  not  bear  it  so, 
'A  should  eat  swords  first:   shall  pride  carry 
it? 


Nestor. 
An  'twould,  you'd  carry  half.  [Aside. 

Ulysses. 
*A  would  have  ten  shares. 

Ajax. 
I  will  knead  him;  I  will  make  him  supple. 

Nestor. 
He's  not  yet  thorough  warm  :  force  him  with 
praises. 
Pour  in,  pour  in ;  his  ambition  is  dry.      I  *«'de. 
-cs. 
My  lord,  you  feed  too  much  on  this  dislike. 
[  To  Agamemnon. 

Nestor. 
Our  noble  general,  do  not  do  so. 

Diomedes. 
You  must  prepare  to  fight  without  Achilles. 

Ulysses. 
Why,  'tis  this  naming  of  him  does  him  harm. 
Here  is  a  man  — but  'tis  before  his  face; 
I  will  be  silent. 

Nestor. 
Wherefore  should  you  so  ? 
He  is  not  emulous,  as  Achilles  is. 
Ulysses. 
Know  the  whole  world,  he  is  as  valiant. 

Ajax. 
A  whoreson  dog,  that  shall  palter  thus  with  us  I 
Would,  he  were  a  Trojan  1 
Nestor. 

What  a  vice 
Were  it  in  Ajax  now— 

Ulysses. 

If  he  were  proud? 
Diomedes. 
Or  covetous  of  praise  ? 

Ulysses. 

Ay,  or  surly  borne  ? 
Diomedes 
Or  strange,  or  self-affected  ? 

Ulysses. 
Thank  the  heavens,  lord,  thou  art  of  sweet 
composure ; 
Praise  him  that  got  thee,  her  that  gave  thee 

suck  : 
Fam'd  be  thy  tutor,  and  thy  parts  of  nature 
Thrice-fam'd,  beyond  all  erudition  ; 
But  he  that  disciplin'd  thine  arms  to  fight, 
Let  Mars  divide  eternity  in  twain, 
And  give  him  half:  and  for  thy  vigour, 
Bull-bearing  Milo  his  addition  yield 
To  sinewy  Ajax.    I  will  not  praise  thy  wisdom, 
Which,  like  a  bourn,  a  pale,  a  shore,  confines 
Thy  spacious  and  dilated  parts  :  here's  Nestor, 
Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times, 
He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise ; 
But  pardon,  father  Nestor,  were  your  days 
As  green  as  Ajax,  and  your  brain  so  temper'd, 
You  should  not  have  the  eminence  of  him, 
But  be  as  Ajax. 

Ajax. 
Shall  I  call  you  father  ? 
Ulysses. 
Ay,  my  good  son. 

Diomedes. 
Be  rul'd  by  him,  lord  Ajax. 
Ulyshes. 
There  is  no  tarrying  here  :  the  hart  Achilles 
Keeps  thicket.    Please  it  our  great  general 
To  call  together  all  his  state  of  war : 

z  z  Fresh 


706 


TROILUS  AN1)  CRESSIDA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


Fresh  kings  are  come  to  Troy  ,•  to-morrow, 
We  must  with  all  our  main  of  power  stand  fast : 
And  here's  a  lord,— come  knights  from  east  to 

west, 
And  cull  their  flower,  Ajax  shall  cope  the  best. 
Agamemnon. 
Go  we  to  council.    Let  Achilles  sleep : 
Light  boats  sail  swift,  though  greater  hulks  draw 
deep.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Troy.    A  Room  in  Priam's  Palace. 

Enter  Pavdarus  and  a  Servant. 

Pandarus. 

FRIEND  !  you;  pray  you,  a  word.    Do  not 
you  follow  the  young  lord  Paris  f 
Servant. 
Ay,  sir,  when  he  goes  before  me. 

Pandarus. 
You  depend  upon  him,  I  mean  ? 

Servant. 
Sir,  I  do  depend  upon  the  lord. 

Pandarus. 
You  depend  upon  a  noble  gentleman :  I  must 
needs  praise  him. 

Servant. 
The  lord  be  praised  ! 

Pandarus. 
You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Servant. 
Faith,  sir,  superficially. 

Pandarus. 
Friend,  know  me  better.    I  am  the  lord  Pan- 
darus. 

Servant. 
I  hope,  I  shall  know  your  honour  better. 

Pandarus. 
I  do  desire  it. 

Servant. 
You  are  in  the  state  of  grace.    [Music  within. 

Pandarus. 
Grace  !  not  so,  friend ;  honour  and  lordship 
are  my  titles.  — What  music  is  this  ? 
Servant. 
I  do  but  partly  know,  sir :  it  is  music  in  parts. 

Pandarus . 
Know  you  the  musicians  ? 
Servant. 
Wholly,  sir. 

Pandarus. 
Who  play  they  to  ? 

Servant. 
To  the  hearers,  sir. 

Pandarus. 
At  whose  pleasure,  friend  ? 

Servant. 
At  mine,  sir ;  and  theirs  that  love  music. 

Pandarus. 
Command,  I  mean,  friend, 
Servant. 
Who  shall  I  command,  sir  ? 

Pandarus. 
Friend,  we  understand  not  one  another :  I  am 
too  courtly,  and  thou  art  too  cunning.    At  whose 
request  do  these  men  play  ? 


That's  to't,  indeed,  sir.    Marry,  sir,  at  the  I 
request  oiraris,  my  lord,  who  is  there  in  person; 
with  him,  the  mortal  Venus,  the  heart-blood  of 
beauty,  love's  invisible  soul — 

Pandarus. 
Who,  my  cousin  Cressida  ? 
Servant. 
No,  sir,  Helen ;  could  you  not  find  out  that  by 
her  attributes  ? 

Pandarus. 
It  should  seem,  fellow,  that  thou  hast  not  seen 
the  lady  Cressida.  I  come  to  speak  with  Paris 
from  the  prince  Troilus:  I  will  make  a  com- 
plimental  assault  upon  him,  for  my  business 
seeths. 

Servant. 
Sodden  business :    there's  a  stewed  phrase, 
indeed. 

Enter  Paris  and  Helen,  attended. 

Pandarus. 

Fair  be  to  you,  my  lord,  and  to  all  this  fair 

company!  fair  desires,  in  all  fair  measure,  fairly 

guide  them  ;  especially  to  you,  fair  queen  :  fair 

thoughts  be  your  fair  pillow  1 

Helen. 

Dear  lord,  you  are  full  of  fair  words. 

Pandarus. 
You  speak  your  fair  pleasure,  sweet  queen.— 
Fair  prince,  here  is  good  broken  music. 
Paris. 
You  have  broke  it,  cousin ;  and,  by  my  life, 
you  shall  make  it  whole  again  :  you  shall  piece 
it  out  with  a  piece  of  your  performance.  —  Nell, 
he  is  full  of  harmony. 

Pandarus. 
Truly,  lady,  no. 

Helen. 
O.sir!— 

Pandarus. 
Rude,  in  sooth ;  in  good  sooth,  very  rude. 

Paris. 
Well  said,  my  lord.    Well,  you  say  so  in  fits. 

Pandarus. 
I  have  business  to  my  lord,  dear  queen — My 
lord,  will  you  vouchsafe  me  a  word  ? 
Helen. 
Nay,  this  shall  not  hedge  us  out :  we'll  hear 
you  sing,  certainly. 

Pandarus. 
Well,  sweet  queen,  you  are  pleasant  with  me. 

But,  marry,  thus,  my  lord My  dear  lord,  and 

most  esteemed  friend,  your  brother  Troilus — 
Helen. 
My  lord  Pandarus;  honey-sweet  lord,— 

Pandarus. 
Go  to,  sweet  queen,  go  to :— commends  himself 
most  affectionately  to  you. 
Helen. 
You  shall  not  bob  us  out  of  our  melody :  if 
you  do,  our  melancholy  upon  your  head. 
Pandarus. 
Sweet  queen,  sweet  queen;  that's  a  sweet 
que,  n,  —  i' faith  — 

Helen. 
And  to  make  a  sweet  lady  sad   is  a  sour 


Pandarus. 
Nay,  that  shall  not  serve  your  turn ;  that  shall 
It  not,  in  truth,  lal    Nay,  I  care  not  for  such 
words  :  no,  no.— And,  my  lord,  he  desires  you, 

that 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


707 


that  if  the  king  call  for  him  at  supper,  you  will 
make  his  excuse. 

Helen. 

My  lord  Pandarus,— 

Pandarus. 
What  says  my  sweet 


sweet  queen  ? 


—my  very  very 


Paris. 


What  exploit's  in  hand  ?  where  sups  he  to. 
^ht?  Helen. 

Nay,  but  my  lord,— 

Pandarus. 

What  says  my  sweet  queen  ?— My  cousin  will 
fall  out  with  you.  You  must  not  know  where 
he  sups.  D    . 

I'll  lay  my  life,  with  my  disposer  Cressida. 

Pandarus. 
No,  no;  no  such  matter,  you  are  wide.  Come, 
your  disposer  is  sick. 

Paris. 
Well,  I'll  make  excusa 

Pandarus. 
Ay,  good   my  lord.     Why  should  you  say 
CreiSidat  no,  your  poor  disposer's  sick. 
Paris. 

1  spy'  Pandarus. 

You  spy  !  what  do  you  spy  ?— Come,  give  me 
an  instrument — Now,  sweet  queen. 
Helen. 
Why,  this  is  kindly  done. 

Pandarus. 
My  niece  is  horribly  in  love  with  a  thing  you 
have,  sweet  queen. 

Helen. 
She  shall  have  it,  my  lord,  if  it  be  not  my  lord 
ParU-  Pandarus. 

He !  no,  she'll  none  of  him ;  they  two  are 
twain.  „  , 

Helen. 

Falling  in,  after  falling  out,  may  make  them 
three*  Pandarus. 

Come,  come,  I'll  hear  no  more  of  this.  I'll 
sing  you  a  song  now. 

Helen. 
Ay,  ay,  pr'ythee  now.    By  my  troth,  sweet 
lord,  thou  hast  a  tine  forehead. 
Pandarus. 
Ay,  you  may,  you  may. 

Helen. 
Let  thy  song  be  love :  this  love  will  undo  us 
all.     O,  Cupid,  Cupid,  Cupid! 
Pandarus. 
Love  !  ay,  that  it  shall,  i'faith. 

Paris. 
Ay,  good  now,  love,  love,  nothing  but  love. 

Pandarus. 
In  good  troth,  it  begins  so : 

Love ,  love,  nothing  but  love,  still  more  I 

For,  oh  I  love  s  bow 

Shoots  buck  and  doe  : 

The  shaft  confounds, 

Not  that  it  wounds 
But  tickles  still  the  sore. 


These  lovers  cry—  Oh  !  oh !  they  die t 

Y,t  that  which  seems  the  wound  to  kill. 
Doth  turn  oh  I  oh  I  to  ha !  hat  he  I 

So  dying  love  lives  still : 
Oh!  oh!  a  while,  but  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Oh  !  oh  I  groans  out  /or  ha!  ha  I  ha  I 
Hey  hoi 

In  love,  i'faith,  to  the  very  tip  of  the  nose. 

Paris. 

He  eats  nothing  but  doves,  love ;  and  that 

breeds  hot  blood,  and    hot  blood  begets    hot 

thoughts,  and  hot  thoughts  beget  hot  deeds,  and 

hot  deeds  is  love. 

Pandarus. 
Is  this  the  generation  of  love  ?  hot  blood,  hot 
thoughts,  and  hot  deeds? — Why,  they  are  vipers; 
is  love  a  generation  of  vipers?    Sweet  lord, 
who's  a  field  to-day  ? 

Paris. 
Hector,  Deiphobus,  Helenus,  Anterior,  and  all 
the  gallantry  of  Troy  :  I  would  fain  have  armed 
to-day,  but  my  Nell  would  not  have  it  so.    How 
chance  my  brother  Troilus  went  not  ? 
Helen. 
He  hangs  the  lip  at  something : — you  know  all, 
lord  Pandarus.       „      . 

Pandarus. 

Not  I,  honey-sweet  queen. — I  long  to  hear 

how  they  sped  to-day You'll  remember  your 

brother's  excuse  ?      _     . 
Paris. 

To  a  hair.  _     . 

Pandarus. 

Farewell,  sweet  queen. 

Helen. 
Commend  me  to  your  niece. 
Pandarus. 

[Exit. 

[A  Retreat  sounded. 

Paris. 

They're  come  from  field :  let  us  to  Priam's  hall, 

To  greet  the  warriors.    Sweet  Helen,  I  must 

woo  you 
To  help  unarm  our  Hector:  his  stubborn  buckles, 
With    these    your    white    enchanting    fingers 

touch'd, 
Shall  more  obey  than  to  the  edge  of  steel, 
Or  force  of  Greekish  sinews  ;  you  shall  do  more 
Than  all  the  island  kings,  disarm  great  Hector. 
Helen. 
'Twill  make  us  proud  to  be  his  servant,  Paris : 
Yea,  what  he  shall  receive  of  us  in  duty. 
Gives  us  more  palm  in  beauty  than  we  have: 
Yea,  overshines  ourself. 

Paris. 
Sweet,  above  thought  I  love  thee.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.     The  same.     Pandarus'  Orchard. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  a  Servant,  meeting. 

Pandarus. 

How  now  !  where's  thy  master  ?  at  my  cousin 

Cressida't't  ^^ 

No,  sir ;  he  stays  for  you  to  conduct  him 
thither.  _  .      _    ., 

Enter  Troilus. 

Pandarus. 
O  1  here  he  comes.— How  now,  how  now  I 


will,  sweet  queen. 


Troilus. 


Sirrah,  walk  off. 


[Exit  Servant. 
Pandarus. 


708 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


Pandarus. 

Have  you  seen  my  cousin  ? 
Troilus. 

No,  Pandarus  :  I  stalk  about  her  door, 
lake  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks 
Staying  for  waftage.     O  !  be  thou  my  Charon, 
And  give  me  swift  transportance  to  those  fields, 
Where  I  may  wallow  in  the  lily  beds 
Propos'd  for  the  deserver.    O,  gentle  Pandarus ! 
From  Cupid's  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings, 
And  fly  with  me  to  Cressid. 
Pandarus . 

Walk  here  i'  the  orchard.      I'll  bring  her 
straight.  [\\x\l  Pandarus. 

Troilus. 

I  am  giddy :  expectation  whirls  me  round. 
TV  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet 
That  it  enchants  my  sense  ;  what  will  it  be, 
When  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 
Love's  thrice-repured  nectar?  death,  I  fear  me; 
Swooning  destruction  ;  or  some  joy  too  tine, 
Too  subtle-potent,  and  too  sharp  in  sweetness, 
For  the  capacity  of  my  rHder  powers. 
I  fear  it  much  ;  and  I  do  fear  besides, 
That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys  ; 
As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  charge  on  heaps 
The  enemy  flying. 

Re-enter  Pandarus. 
Pandarus. 
She's  making  her  ready;  she'll  come  straight, 
you  must  be  witty  now.  She  does  so  blush,  and 
fetches  her  wind  so  short,  as  if  she  were  frayed 
with  a  sprite  :  I'll  fetch  her.  It  is  the  prettiest 
villain :  she  fetches  her  breath  so  short  as  a 
new-ta'en  sparrow.  [Ex**  Pandarus. 

Troilus. 
Even  such  a  passion  doth  embrace  my  bosom: 
My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse, 
And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage  at  unawares  encountering 
The  eye  of  majesty. 

Knter  Pandarus  and  Cressida. 
Pandarus. 

Come,  come,  what  need  you  blush  ?  shame's  a 
baby. — Here  she  is  now:  swear  the  oaths  now  to 
her,"  that  you  have  sworn  to  me. — What !  are 
you  gone  again  ?  you  must  be  watched  ere  you 
be  made  tame,  must  you  ?  Come  your  ways, 
come  your  ways  ;  an  you  draw  backward,  we'll 
put  you  i'  the  fills. — Why  do  you  not  speak  to 
her?  — Come,  draw  this  curtain,  and  let's  see 
your  picture.  Alas  the  day,  how  loath  you  are 
to  offend  daylight !  an  'twere  dark,  you'd  close 
sooner.  So,  so  ;  rub  on,  and  kiss  the  mistress. 
How  now  !  a  kiss  in  fee-farm  ?  build  there,  car- 
penter ;  the  air  is  sweet.  Nay,  you  shall  fight 
your  hearts  out,  ere  I  part  you.  The  falcon  as 
the  tercel,  for  all  the  ducks  i'  the  river :  go  tO| 
goto. 

Troilus. 

You  have  bereft  me  of  all  words,  lady. 
Pandarus. 

Words  pay  no  debts,  give  her  deeds  ;  but 
she'll  bereave  you  of  the  deeds  too.  if  she  call 
your  activity  in  question.  What !  billing  again  ? 
Here's  —  "  In  witness  whereof  the  parties  inter- 
changeably "  —  Come  in,  come  in  :  I'll  go  get  a 
flre.  [Exit  Pandarus. 

Cressida. 

Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord  ? 
Troilus. 
•      O   Cressida  t  how  often  have  I  wished  me 
i  thus  ? 


Cressida. 
Wished,  my  lord  ? — The  gods  grant !  — .  O  my 


lord! 


Troil 


What  should  they  grant?  what  makes  this 
pretty  abruption  ?    What  too  curious  dreg  es- 
pies my  sweet  lady  in  the  fountain  of  our  love  ? 
Cressida. 
More  dregs  than  water,  if  my  fears  have  eyes. 

Troilus. 
Fears  make  devils  of  cherubins  ;  they  never 
see  truly. 

Cressida. 
Blind  fear,  that  seeing  reason    leads,  finds 
safer  footing  than  blind  reason,  stumbling  with- 
out fear :  to  fear  the  worst,  oft  cures  the  worse. 
Troilus. 

0  !  let  my  lady  apprehend  no  fear :  in  all 
Cupid's  pageant  there  is  presented  no  monster. 

Cressida. 

Nor  nothing  monstrous  neither  ? 
Troilus. 

Nothing,  but  our  undertakings ;  when  we  vow 
to  weep  seas,  live  in  fire,  eat  rocks,  tame  tigers ; 
thinking  it  harder  for  our  mistress  to  devise  im- 
position enough,  than  for  us  to  undergo  any 
difficulty  imposed.  This  is  the  monstrosity  in 
love,  lady,  — that  the  will  is  infinite,  and  the 
execution  confined ;  that  the  desire  is  boundless, 
and  the  act  a  slave  to  limit. 
Cressida. 

They  say,  all  lovers  swear  more  performance 
than  they  are  able,  and  yet  reserve  an  ability 
that  they  never  perform  ;  vowing  more  than  the 
perfection  of  ten,  and  discharging  less  than  the 
tenth  part  of  one.  They  that  have  the  voice  of 
lions,  and  the  act  of  hares,  are  they  not  mon- 
sters ? 

Troilus. 

Are  there  such  ?  such  are  not  we.  Praise  us 
as  we  are  tasted  ;  allow  us  as  we  prove :  our 
head  shall  go  bare,  till  merit  crown  it.  No  per- 
fection in  reversion  shall  have  a  praise  in  pre- 
sent :  we  will  not  name  desert,  before  his  birth  ; 
and,  being  born,  his  addition  shall  be  humble. 
Few  words  to  fair  faith :  Troilus  shall  be  such 
to  Cressid,  as  what  envy  can  say  worst,  shall  be 
a  mock  for  his  truth  ;  and  what  truth  can  speak 
truest,  not  truer  than  Troilus. 
Cressida. 

Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord  ? 

Re-enter  Pandarus. 
Pandarus. 
What !  blushing  still  ?  have  you  not  done  talk- 
ing yet  ? 

Cressida. 
Well,  uncle,  what  folly  I  commit,  I  dedicate 
to  you. 

Pandarus. 

1  thank  you  for  that :  if  my  lord  get  a  boy  of 
you,  you'll  give  him  me.  Be  true  to  my  lord  ; 
if  he  flinch,  chide  me  for  it. 

Troilus. 
You  know  now  your  hostages  ;  your  uncle's 
word,  and  my  firm  faith. 

Pandarus. 
Nay,  I'll  give  my  word  for  her  too.  Our  kin- 
dred, though  they  be  long  ere  they  are  wooed, 
they  are  constant,  being  won  :  they  are  burs, 
I  can  tell  you ;  they'll  stick  where  they  are 
thrown. 

Cressida. 


Aii  in.  8c,  n:. 


TROILUS  AND  CKESSIDA. 


709 


Cressida. 

Boldness  comes  to  me  now,  and  brings  me 
heart.— 
Prince  Troilus,  I  have  lov'd  you  night  and  day 
1  01  many  weary  months. 

Trolius. 
Why  was  my  Cressid,  then,  so  hard  to  win  ? 

Cressida. 
Hard  to  seem  won ;  but  I  was  won,  my  lord, 
With  the  first  glance  that  ever— Pardon  me,— 
If  I  confess  much,  you  will  play  the  tyrant. 
I  love  you  now ;  but  not,  till  now,  so  much 
But  1  might  master  it. —  In  faith,  I  lie: 
My  thoughts  were  like  unbridled  children,  grown 
Too  headstrong  for  their  mother :  see,  we  fools  1 
Win-  have  1  blabb'd  ?  who  shall  be  true  to  us, 
\\  liin  we  are  so  unsecret  to  ourselves  ? — 
But,  though  I  lov'd  you  well,  1  woo'd  you  not; 
And  yet,  good  faith,  I  wish'd  myself  a  man, 
Or  that  we  women  had  men's  privilege 
Of  speaking  first.  Sweet,  bid  me  hold  my  tongue ; 
For,  in  this  rapture,  1  shall  surely  speak 
The  thing  I  shall  repent.    See,  see !  your  silence, 
Cunning  in  dumbness,  from  my  weakness  draws 
My  soul  of  counsel  from  me.     Stop  my  mouth. 
Trollui. 
And  shall,  albeit  sweet  music  issues  thence. 

Pandarus. 
Pretty,  i'faith. 

Cressida. 
My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me ; 
•Twas  not  my  purpose,  thus  to  beg  a  kiss. 
I  am  asham'd:— O  heavens  !  what  have  I  done?— 
For  this  time  will  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 
Troilus. 
Your  leave,  sweet  Cressid? 
Pandarus. 
Leave!   an   you  take  leave   till   to-morrow 
morning, — 

Cressida. 
Pray  you,  content  you. 

Troilus. 

What  offends  you,  lady? 
Cressida. 
Sir,  mine  own  company. 
Troilus. 

You  cannot  shun 
Yourself. 

Cressida. 
Let  me  go  and  try. 
I  have  a  kind  of  self  resides  with  you; 
But  an  unkind  self,  that  itself  will  leave, 
To  be  another's  fool.    I  would  be  gone — 
Where  is  my  wit  ?    1  know  not  what  1  speak. 
Troilus. 
Well  know  they  what  they  speak,  that  speak 
so  wisely. 

Cressida. 
Perchance,  my  lord,  I  show  more  craft  than 
And  fell  so  roundly  to  a  large  confession,  [love, 
To  angle  for  your  thoughts ;  but  you  are  wise, 
Or  else  you  love  not,  for  to  be  wise,  and  love, 
Exceeds  man's  might;  that  dwells  with  gods 
above. 

Troilus. 
O  1  ihat  1  thought  it  could  be  in  a  woman, 
(As,  if  it  can,  1  will  presume  in  you) 
To  feed  for  aye  her  lamp  and  flames  of  love ; 
To  keep  her  constancy  in  plight  and  youth, 
Outliving  beauty's  outward,  with  a  mind 
That  doth  renew  swifter  than  blood  decays : 
Or,  that  persuasion  could  but  thus  convince  me, 
That  my  integrity  and  truth  to  you 


Might  be  affronted  with  the  match  and  weight 
I  Of  such  a  winnow'd  purity  in  love; 
How  were  I  then  uplifted  !  hut.  alas! 
I  am  as  true  as  truth's  simplicity, 
And  simpler  than  the  infancy  of  truth. 

Cressida. 
In  that  I'll  war  with  you. 
Troilui. 
O,  virtuous  fight !    [right. 
When  right  with  right  wars  who  shall  be  most 
(True  swains  in  love  shall,  in  the  world  to  come, 
1  Approve  their  truths  by  Troilus:   when  their 

rhymes, 
•Full  of  protest,  of  oath,  and  big  compare, 
Want  similes,  truth  tir'd  with  iteration,— 
1  As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 
'  As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate, 
!  As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  the  centre,— 
Yet,  after  all  comparisons  of  truth, 
As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited, 
As  true  as  Troilus  shall  crown  up  the  verse, 
And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

Cressida. 

Frophet  may  you  be  I 
iir  from  truth 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  forgot  itself, 
When  waterdrops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Troy, 
And  blind  oblivion  swallow'd  cities  up, 
And  mighty  states  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing ;  yet  let  memory, 
From  false  to  false,  among  false  maids  in  love, 
Upbraid  my  falsehood  1  wheu  they  have  said— 

as  false 
As  air,  as  water,  wind,  or  sandy  earth, 
As  fox  to  lamb,  as  wolf  to  heifer's  calf, 
Pard  to  the  hind,  or  stepdame  to  her  son ; 
Yea,  let  them  say,  to  stick  the  heart  of  falsehood, 
As  false  as  Cressid. 

Pandarus. 
Go  to,  a  bargain  made ;  seal  it,  seal  it :  Fll  be 
the  witness.— Here  I  hold  your  hand  ;  here,  my 
cousin's.  If  ever  you  prove  false  one  to  another, 
since  I  have  taken  such  pains  to  bring  you 
together,  let  all  pitiful  goers-between  be  called 
to  the  world's  end  after  my  name,  call  them  all 
—Pandars:  let  all  constant  men  be  Troiluses, 
all  false  women  O«s?tfs,andallbrokers-between 
Pandars!  say,  amen. 

Troilui. 
Amen. 

Cressida. 
Amen. 

Pandarus. 
Amen.     Whereupon  I  will  show  you  a  cham- 
ber ;   which  bed,  because  it  shall  not  speak  of 
your  pretty  encounters,  press  it  to  death :  away  ! 
And  Cupid  grant  all  tongue-tied  maidens  here, 
Bed,  chamber,  Pandar  to  provide  this  gear  I 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  Grecian  Camp. 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Vlysses,  Diomedes,  Nestor, 
Ajaz,  Mentions,  and  Calchas. 

Calchas. 
Now,  princes,  for  the  service  I  have  done  you, 
Th'  advantage  of  the  time  prompts  me,  aloud 
To  call  for  recompense.    Appear  it  to  your  mind, 
That,  through  the  sight  I  bear  in  things,  to  Jove 
I  have  abandoned  Troy,  left  my  possession, 
Incurr'd  a  traitor's  name  ;  expos'd  myself, 
From  certain  and  possess'd  conveniences, 
To  doubtful  fortunes;  sequestering  from  me  all 
That  time,  acquaintance,  custom,  and  condition, 

Made 


7io 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in 


Made  tame  and  most  familiar  to  my  nature ; 

And  here,  to  do  you  service,  am  become 

As  new  into  the  world,  strange,  unacquainted: 

1  do  beseech  you,  as  in  way  of  taste, 

To  give  me  now  a  little  benefit, 

Out  of  those  many  register'd  in  promise, 

"Which,  you  say,  live  to  come  in  my  behalf. 

Agamemnon. 

What  would'st  thou  of  us,  Trojan  ?   make 
demand. 

Calchas. 

You  have  a  Trojan  prisoner,  call'd  Anterior, 
Yesterday  took :  Troy  holds  him  very  dear. 
Oft  have  you,  (often  have  you  thanks  therefore) 
Desir'd  my  Cressid  in  right  great  exchange, 
Whom  Troy  hath  still  denied;  but  this  Anterior, 
I  know,  is  such  a  wrest  in  their  affairs, 
That  their  negociations  all  must  slack, 
Wanting  his  manage;  and  they  will  almost 
Give  us  a  prince  of  blood,  a  son  of  Priam, 
In  change  of  him  :  let  him  be  sent,  great  princes, 
And  he  shall  buy  my  daughter ;  and  her  presence 
Shall  quite  strike  off  all  service  I  have  done, 
In  most  accepted  pain. 

Agamemnon.       v 

Let  Diomedes  bear  him, 
And  bring  us  Cressid  hither  :  Calchas  shall  have 
What  he  requests  of  us. — Good  Diomed, 
Furnish  you  fairly  for  this  interchange: 
Withal,  bring  word,  if  Hector  will  to-morrow 
Be  answer'd  in  his  challenge.    Ajax  is  ready. 

Diomedes. 
This  shall  I  undertake ;  and  'tis  a  burden 
Which  1  am  proud  to  bear. 

[Exeunt  Diomedes  and  Calchas. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus,  before  their  Tent. 

Ulysses.    * 
Achilles  stands  i'  the  entrance  of  his  tent : 
Please  it  our  general  to  pass  strangely  by  him, 
As  if  he  were  forgot;  and,  princes  all, 
Lay  negligent  and  loose  regard  upon  him. 
I  will  come  last :  'tis  like,  he'll  question  me, 
Why  such  unplausive  eyes  are  bent,  why  turn'd 
If  so,  I  have  derision  medicinable,        [on  him  ? 
To  use  between  your  strangeness  and  his  pride, 
Which  his  own  will  shall  have  desire  to  drink. 
It  may  do  good  :  pride  hath  no  other  glass 
To  show  itself,  but  pride;  for  supple  knees 
Feed  arrogance,  and  are  the  proud  man's  fees. 

Agamemnon. 
We'll  execute  your  purpose,  and  put  on 
A  form  of  strangeness  as  we  pass  along:  — 
So  do  each  lord ;  and  either  greet  him  not, 
Or  else  disdainfully,  which  shall  shake  him  more 
Than  if  not  look'd  on.     I  will  lead  the  way. 
Achilles. 
What!  comes  the  general  to  speak  with  me? 
You  know  my  mind  :  I'll  fight  no  more  'gainst 
Troy. 

Agamemnon. 
What  says  Achilles?  would  he  aught  with  us? 

Nestor. 
Would  you,  my  lord,  aught  with  the  general? 

Achilles. 
No. 

Nestor. 
Nothing,  my  lord. 

Agamemnon. 
The  better. 

[Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Nestor. 
Achilles. 
Good  day,  good  day. 


„  „  ,    Menelaus. 

How  do  you  ?  how  do  you  ?    [Exit  Menelaus. 

What !  does  the  cockold  scorn  me  ? 

Aiax. 
How  now,  Patroclus! 

Achilles. 
Good  morrow,  Ajax. 

*"- 

Achilles. 
Good  morrow. 

Ajax. 
Ay,  and  good  next  day  too.  [Exit  Ajax . 

Achilles. 
What  mean  these  fellows?    Know  they  not 
Achilles? 

Patroclus. 
They  pass  by  strangely:  they  were  us'd  to 
bend, 
To  send  their  smiles  before  them  to  Achilles; 
To  come  as  humbly,  as  they  us'd  to  creep 
To  holy  altars. 

Achilles. 
What !  am  I  poor  of  late? 
'Tis  certain,  greatness,  once  fallen  out  with  for- 
tune. 
Must  fall  out  with  men  too :  what  the  declin'd  is, 
He  shall  as  soon  read  in  the  eyes  of  others, 
As  feel  in  his  own  fall;  for  men,  like  butterflies, 
Show  not  their  mealy  wings  but  to  the  summer, 
And  not  a  man,  for  being  simply  man, 
Hath  any  honour ;  but  honour  for  those  honours 
That  are  without  him,  as  place,  riches,  ami  fa- 
Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit :  [vour, 

Which,  when  they  fall,  as  being  slippery  standers, 
The  love  that  lean'd  on  them,  as  slippery  too, 
Doth  one  pluck  down  another,  and  together 
Die  in  the  fall.     But  'tis  not  so  with  me  : 
Fortune  and  I  are  friends :  I  do  enjoy 
At  ample  point  all  that  I  did  possess,  [out 

Save  these  men's  looks;  who  do,  methinks,  find 
Something  not  worth  in  me  such  rich  behoiding 
As  they  have  often  given.     Here  is  Ulysses; 
I'll  interrupt  his  reading.— 
How  now,  Ulysses! 

Ulysses. 
Now,  great  Thetis'  son ! 

Achilles. 
What  are  you  reading  ? 

Ulysses. 

A  strange  fellow  here 
Writes  me,  that  man— how  dearly  ever  parted, 
How  much  in  having,  or  without  or  in, — 
Cannot  make  boast  to  have  that  which  he  hath, 
Nor  feds  not  what  he  owes,  but  by  reflection ; 
As  when  his  virtues  shining  upon  others 
Heat  them,  and  they  retort  that  heat  again 
To  the  first  giver. 

Aphjl 

This  is  not  strange,  Ulysses. 
The  beauty  that  is  borne  here,  in  the  lace, 
The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itself 
To  others'  eyes :  nor  doth  the  eye  itself 
That  most  pure  spirit  of  sense,  behold  itself, 
Not  going  from  itself;  but  eye  to  eye  oppos'd 
Salutes  each  other  with  each  other's  form : 
For  speculation  turns  not  to  itself, 
Till  it  hath  travell'd,  and  is  married  there   [all. 
Where  it  may  see  itself.    This  is  not  strange  at 

Ulysses. 
I  do  not  strain  at  the  position, 
It  is  familiar,  but  at  the  author's  drift ; 
Who  in  his  circumstance  expressly  proves, 

That 


Act  in.  Sc.  hi. 


TE0ILU8  AND  CKESSIDA. 


711 


I  'That  no  man  is  the  lord  of  any  thing, 
Though  in  and  of  him  then-  he  much  consisting, 
Till  lie  communicate  his  parts  to  others  : 
Nor  dotli  he  of  himself  know  them  for  aught 
Till  he  behold  them  form'd  In  the  applanse 
Where  they  are  extended ;  which,  like  an  arch, 

reverberates 
The  voice  again  ;  or  like  a  gate  of  steel 
Fronting  the  sun,  receives  and  renders  back 
His  figure  and  his  heat.    1  was  much  rapt  in  this ; 
And  apprehended  here  immediately 
The  unknown  AJnx. 

Heavens,  what  a  man  is  there!  a  very  horse: 
That  has  he  knows  not  what.    Nature!  what 

things  there  are. 
Most  abject  in  regard,  and  dear  in  use : 
What  things,  again,  most  dear  in  the  esteem, 
And  poor  in  worth.    Now,  shall  we  see  to-morrow, 
An  act  that  very  chance  doth  throw  upon  him, 
Ajax  renowned.    O  heavens !  what  some  men  do, 
While  some  men  leave  to  do. 
How  some  men  creep  in  skittish  fortune's  hall, 
Whiles  others  play  the  idiots  in  her  eves  I 
How  one  man  eats  into  another's  pride, 
While  pride  is  feasting  in  his  wantonness  ! 
To  see  these  Grecian  lords !— why,  even  already 
They  clap  the  lubber  Ajax  on  the  shoulder, 
As  if  his  foot  were  on  brave  Hector's  breast, 
And  great  Troy  shrinking. 

Achilles. 
I  do  believe  it ;  for  they  pass'd  by  me, 
As  misers  do  by  beggars,  neither  gave  to  me, 
Good  word,  nor  look.     What  1  are  my  deeds 

forgot  ? 

Ulysses. 
Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion  ; 
A  great-sized  monster  of  ingratitudes : 
Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past ;  which  are 

devour'd 
As  fast  as  they  are  made,  forgot  as  s;>on 
As  done.    Perseverance,  dear  my  lord, 
Keeps  honour  bright :  to  have  done,  is  to  hang 
Quite  out  of  fashion,  like  a  rusty  mail        [way  ; 
In  monumental  mockery.      Take  the   instant 
For  honour  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow, 
Where  one  but  goes  abreast:  keep,  then,  the 
For  emulation  hath  a  thousand  sons,  [path, 

That  one  by  one  pursue  :  if  you  give  way, 
Or  edge  aside  from  the  direct  forthright, 
Like  to  an  enter'd  tide,  they  all  rush  by, 
And  leave  you  hindmost ; 
Or,  like  a  gallant  horse  fallen  in  first  rank, 
Lie  there  lor  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 
O'er-run  and  trampled  on.    Then,  what  they 

do  in  present, 
Though  less  than  yours  in  past,  must  o'ertop 

yours ; 
For  time  is  like  a  fashionable  host, 
That  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the 

hand. 
And  with  his  arms  out-stretch'd,  as  he  would  fly, 
Grasps-in  the  comer:  welcome  ever  smiles, 
And  farewell  goes  out  sighing.    Let  not  virtue 

seek  [wit, 

Remuneration  for  the  thing  it  was  ;  for  beauty, 
High  birth,  vigour  of  bone,  desert  in  service, 
Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 
To  envious  and  calumniating  time. 
One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world 

kin,  —  [gawds, 

I  That  all,  with  one  consent,  praise  new-born 
;  Though  they  are  made  and  roouhied  of  things 
.  And  give  to  dust,  that  is  a  little  gilt,  [past, 

More  laud  than  gilt  o'er-dusted. 
1  The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object : 


Then,  marvel  not,  thou  great  and  complete 

man. 
That  all  the  Greeks  begin  to  worship  Ajax  ; 
Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye, 
Than  what  not  stirs.    The  cry  went  once  on 
And  still  it  might,  and  yet  it  may  again,     [thee, 
If  thou  would  -t  not  entomb  thyself  alive, 
And  case  thy  reputation  in  thy  tent ; 
Whose  glorious  deeds,  but  in  these  fields  of  late, 
Made  emulous  missions  'mongstlhe  gods  tln-m- 
And  drave  great  Mart  to  faction.  [selves, 

Achillea. 

Of  this  my  privacy 
I  have  strong  reasons. 

Ulysses. 

But  'gainst  your  privacy 
The  reasons  are  more  potent  and  heroical. 
'Tis  known,  Achilles,  that  you  are  in  love 
With  one  of  Priam's  daughters. 
Achilles. 

Ha  !  known  ? 
Ulysses. 
Is  that  a  wonder  ? 
The  providence  that's  in  a  watchful  state 
Knows  almost  every  grain  of  Plutus'  gold, 
Finds  bottom  in  th*  uncomprehensive  deeps, 
Keeps  place  with  thought,  and  almost,  like  the 

gods, 
Does  thoughts  unveil  in  their  dumb  cradles. 
There  is  a  mystery  (with  whom  relation 
Durst  never  meddle)  in  the  soul  of  state, 
Which  hath  an  operation  more  divine, 
Than  breath,  or  pen,  can  give  expressure  to. 
All  the  commerce  that  you  have  had  with  Troy, 
As  perfectly  is  ours,  as  yours, *my  lord ; 
And  better  would  it  tit  Achilles  much 
To  throw  down  Hector,  than  Polyxena  : 
But  it  must    grieve  young  Pyrrhus,  now  at 
home,  [trump, 

When   fame   shall  in  our  islands   sound  her 
And  all  the  Greekish  girls  shall  tripping  sing,— 
"  Great  Hector's  sister  did  Achilles  win, 
But  our  great  Ajax  bravely  beat  down  him." 
Farewell,  my  lord  :  I  as  your  lover  speak  ; 
The  fool  slides  o'er  the  ice  that  you  should 
break.  [Exit. 

Patroclus. 
To  this  effect,  Achilles,  have  I  mov'd  you. 
A  woman  impudent  and  mannish  grown 
Is  not  more  loath'd,  than  an  effeminate  man 
In  time  of  action.     I  stand  condemn'd  for  this : 
They  think,  my  little  stomach  to  the  war, 
And  your  great  love  to  me,  restrains  you  thus. 
Sweet,  rouse  yourself;  and  the  weak  wanton 

Cupid 
Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  amorous  fold, 
And,  like  a  dew-drop  from  the  lion's  mane, 
Be  shook  to  air. 

Achilles. 
Shall  Ajax  fight  with  Hector  f 
Patroclus. 
Ay;  and,  perhaps,  receive  much  honour  by 
him. 

Achilles. 
I  see,  my  reputation  is  at  stake  ; 
My  fame  is  shrewdly  gor'd. 
Patroclus. 

O  !  then  beware  : 
Those  wounds  heal  ill  that  men  do  give  them- 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary  [selves. 

Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger  ; 
And  danger,  like  an  ague,  subtly  taints, 
Even  then,  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 
Achilles. 
Go  call  Ther sites  hither,  sweet  Patroclus. 

I'll 


712 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  nr. 


I'll  send  the  fool  to  Ajax,  and  desire  him 
T"  invite  the  Trojan  lords,  after  the  combat, 
To  see  us  here  unarm'd.    I  have  a  woman's 
An  appetite  that  I  am  sick  withal,        [longing, 
To  see  great  Hector  in  his  weeds  of  peace  ; 
To  talk  with  him,  and  to  behold  his  visage, 
Even  to  my  full  of  view.    A  labour  sav'd  ! 

Enter  Thersites. 
Thersites. 
A  wonder  ! 

Achilles. 
What? 

Thersites. 
Ajax  goes  up  and  down  the  field  asking  for 
himself. 

Achilles 
How  so  ? 

Thersites. 
He  must  fight  singly  to-morrow  with  Hector; 
and  is  so  prophetically  proud  of  an  heroical 
cudgelling,  that  he  raves  in  saying  nothing. 
Achilles. 
How  can  that  be  ? 

Thersites. 
Why,  he  stalks  up  and  down  like  a  peacock  ;  a 
stride,  and  a  stand  :  ruminates,  like  an  hostess, 
that  hath  no  arithmetic  but  her  brain  to  set  down 
her  reckoning :  bites  his  lip  with  a  politic  regard, 
as  who  should  say — there  were  wit  in  this  head, 
an  'twould  out:  and  so  there  is;  but  it  lies  as 
coldly  in  him  as  fire  in  a  flint,  which  will  not 
show  without  knocking.  The  man's  undone  for 
ever;  for  if  Hector  break  not  his  neck  i'  the 
combat,  he'll  break  't  himself  in  vain-glory.  He 
knows  not  me :  1  said,  "  Good-morrow,  Ajax  ;  " 
and  he  replies,  "  Thanks,  Agamemnon."  What 
think  you  of  this  man,  that  takes  me  for  the 
general  ?  He's  grown  a  very  land-fish,  lan- 
guageless,  a  monster.  A  plague  of  opinion ! 
a  man  may  wear  it  on  both  sides,  like  a  leather 
jerkin. 

Achilles. 
Thou  must  be  my  ambassador  to  him,  Ther- 
sites. 

Thersites. 
Who,  I  ?  why,  he'll  answer  nobody ;  he  pro- 
fesses not  answering :  speaking  is  for  beggars  ; 
he  wears  his  tongue  in  his  arms.     I  will  put 
on  his  presence:    let  Patroclus  make  his  de- 
mands to  me,  you  shall  see  the  pageant  of  Ajax. 
Achilles. 
To   him,   Patroclus:    tell  him, —  I  humbly 
desire    the  valiant   Ajax   to    invite   the    most 
valorous  Hector  to  come  unarmed  to  my  tent ; 
and  to  procure  safe  conduct  for  his  person  of  the 
magnanimous,   and   most   illustrious,    six-or- 
seven-times- honoured,  captain-general  of  the 
Grecian  army,  Agamemnon.    Do  this. 
Patroclus. 
Jove  bless  great  Ajax. 

Thersites. 
Humph  1 

Patroclus. 
I  come  from  the  worthy  Achilles,— 

Thersites. 
Ha! 

Patroclus. 
Who  most  humbly  desires  you  to  invite  Hector 
to  his  tent. — 

Thersites. 
Humph  ! 

Patroclus. 
And  to  procure  safe  conduct  from  Agamemnon. 


Thersites. 
Patrocius. 


Thersites. 


Agamemnon  t 
Ay,  my  lord. 


Ha! 

Patroclus. 
What  say  you  to't  ? 

Thersites. 
God  be  wi'  you,  with  all  my  heart. 

Patroclus. 
Your  answer,  sir. 

Thersites. 
If  to-morrow  be  a  fair  day,  by  eleven  o'clock 
it  will  go  one  way  or  other  :  howsoever,  he  shall 
pay  for  me  ere  he  has  me. 

Patroclus. 
Your  answer,  sir. 

Thersites. 
Fare  you  well,  with  all  my  heart. 

Achilles. 
Why,  but  he  is  not  in  this  tune,  is  he  ? 

Thersites. 
No,  but  he's  out  o'  tune  thus.  What  music 
will  be  in  him  when  Hector  has  knocked  out  his 
brains,  I  know  not ;  but,  I  am  sure,  none  unless 
the  fiddler  Apollo  get  his  sinews  to  make  cat- 
lings on. 

Achilles. 
Come,  thou  shalt  bear  a  letter  to  him  straight. 

Thersites. 
Let  me  bear  another  to  his  horse,  for  that's  the 
more  capable  creature. 

Achilles. 
My  mind  is  troubled,  like  a  fountain  stirr'd ; 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

[Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Thersites. 

Would  the  fountain  of  your  mind  were  clear 

again,  that  I  might  water  an  ass  at  it.     I  had 

rather  be  a  tick  in  a  sheep,  than  such  a  valiant 

ignorance.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.     Troy.    A  Street. 

Enter,  at  one  side,  JEneas,  and  Servant,  with  a 
Torch ;  at  the  other,  Paris,  Deiphobus,  An- 
tenor,  Diomedes,  and  others,  with  Torches. 
Paris. 
CEE,  ho  !  who  is  that  there  ? 
"  Deiphobus. 

It  is  the  lord  JEneas. 
^Eneas. 
Is  the  prince  there  in  person  ?  — 
Had  I  so  good  occasion  to  lie  long, 
As  you,  prince  Paris,  nothing  but  heavenly 

business 
Should  rob  my  bed-mate  of  my  company. 
Diomedes. 
That's  my  mind  too.  —  Good  morrow,  lord 
JEneas. 

Paris. 
A  valiant  Greek,  JEneas,  take  his  hand, 
Witness  the  process  of  your  speech,  wherein 
You  told  how  Diomed,  a  whole  week  by  days, 
Did  haunt  you  in  the  field. 

JEneas. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  u. 


TKOILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


7M 


JEneas. 
Health  to  you,  valiant  sir, 
During  all  question  of  the  gentle  truce  ; 
But  when  I  meet  you  arm'd,  as  black  defiance, 
As  heart  can  think,  or  courage  execute. 
Diomedes. 
The  one  and  other  Diomed  embraces. 
Our  bloods  are  now  in  calm,  and  so  long  health  ; 
lint  when  contention  and  occasion  meet, 
By  Jove,  I'll  play  the  hunter  for  thy  life, 
W'ith  all  my  force,  pursuit,  and  policy. 

JEneas. 

And  thou  shalt  hunt  a  lion,  that  will  fly 
With  his  face  backward.  — In  humane  gentle- 
ness, 
Welcome  to  Troy  :  now,  by  Anchises*  life, 
Welcome,  indeed.     By  Venus'  hand  I  swear, 
No  man  alive  can  love,  in  such  a  sort, 
The  thing  he  means  to  kill,  more  excellently. 
Diomedcs. 
We  sympathize. — Jove,  let  JEneas  live, 
If  to  my  sword  his  fate  be  not  the  glory, 
A  thousand  complete  courses  of  the.  sun  ! 
But,  in  mine  emulous  honour,  let  him  die, 
With  every  joint  a  wound,  and  that  to-morrow  1 
JEneas. 
We  know  each  other  well. 

Diomedes. 
We  do ;  and  long  to  know  each  other  worse. 

Paris. 
This  is  the  most  despiteful  gentle  greeting. 
The  noblest  hateful  love,  that  e'er  I  heard  of.— 
What  business,  lord,  so  early  ? 
JEneas. 
I  was  sent  for  to  the  king ;  but  why,  I  know 
not.  „    , 

Paris. 
His  purpose  meets  you.    'Twas  to  bring  this 
Greek 
To  Calchas'  house  ;  and  there  to  render  him, 
For  the  enfreed  Anterior,  the  fair  Cressid. 
Let's  have  your  company ;  or,  if  you  please, 
Haste  there  before  us.     I  constantly  do  think, 
(Or,  rather,  call  my  thought  a  certain  know- 
ledge) 
My  brother  Troilus  lodges  there  to-night : 
Rouse  him,  and  give  him  note  of  our  approach, 
With  the  whole  quality  wherefore  :  I  fear, 
We  shall  be  much  unwelcome. 
JEneas. 

That  I  assure  you  : 
Troilus  had  rather  Troy  were  borne  to  Greece, 
Than  Cressid  borne  from  Troy. 
Paris. 

There  is  no  help  ; 
The  bitter  disposition  of  the  time 
Will  have  it  so.     On,  lord  ;  we'll  follow  you. 
f*fTfflf- 
Good  morrow,  all.  [Exit. 

Paris. 
And  tell  me,  noble  Diomed ;   'faith,  tell  me 
true, 
Even  in  the  soul  of  sound  good-fellowship,— 
Who,  In  your  thoughts,  merits  fair  Helen  best. 
Myself  or  Menelaust 

Diomedes. 
Both  alike : 
He  merits  well  to  have  her,  that  doth  seek  her 
Not  making  any  scruple  of  her  soilure, 
With  such  a  hell  of  pain,  and  world  of  charge  ; 
And  you  as  well  to  keep  her,  that  defend  her 
Not  palating  the  taste  of  her  dishonour, 


With  such  a  costly  loss  of  wealth  and  friends: 
\  He,  like  a  puling  cuckold,  would  drink  up 
i  The  lees  and  dregs  of  a  flat  tamed  piece ; 
You,  like  a  lecher,  out  of  whorish  loins 
Are  pleas'd  to  breed  out  your  Inheritors : 
Both  merits  pois'd,  each  weighs  nor  less  nor 

more; 
But  he  as  be,  which  heavier  for  a  whore. 

Paris. 

You  are  too  bitter  to  your  countrywoman. 

Diomedes 
She's  bitter  to  her  country.   Hear  me,  Paris: — 
For  every  false  drop  in  her  bawdy  veins 
A  Grecian's  life  hath  sunk ;  for  every  scruple 
Of  her  contamintited  carrion  weight, 
A  Troj  an  hath  been  slain .    Since  s  h  e  could  speak , 
She  hath  not  given  so  many  good  words  breath, 
As  for  her  Greeks  and  Trojans  sufler'd  death. 

Paris. 

Fair  Diomed.  you  do  as  chapmen  do, 
Dispraise  the  thing  that  you  desire  to  buy ; 
But  we  in  silence  hold  this  virtue  well,— 
We'll  not  commend  what  we  intend  to  sell. 
Here  lies  our  way.  [Exeunt. 

SCliJiE  II.    The  same.    A  Court  before  the 
House  of  Pandarus. 

Enter  Troilus  and  Cressida, 

Troilus. 

Dear,  trouble  not  yourself:  the  morn  is  cold. 

Cressida. 
Then,  sweet  my  lord,  I'll  call  mine  uncledown ; 
He  shall  unbolt  the  gates. 

Troilus. 

Trouble  him  not ; 
To  bed,  to  bed:  sleep  kill  those  pretty  eyes, 
And  give  as  soft  attachment  to  thy  senses, 
As  infants*  empty  of  all  thought ! 
Cressida. 

Good  morrow,  then. 
Troilus. 
Pr'ythee  now,  to  bed. 

Cressida. 

Are  you  aweary  of  me? 
Troilus. 
O  Cressida  !  but  that  the  busy  day, 
Wak'd  by  the  lark,  hath  rous'd  the  i  ibald  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  joys  no  longer, 
I  would  not  from  thee. 

Cressida. 
Night  hath  been  too  brief. 
Troilus. 
Beshrew  the  witch !  with  venomous  wights 
she  stays, 
As  tediously  as  hell ;  but  flies  the  grasps  of  love, 
With  wings  more  momentary-swift  than  thought. 
You  will  catch  cold,  and  curse  me. 

Cressida. 

Pr'ythee,  tarry . 

You  men  will  never  tarry. 
O  foolish  Cressid!— 1  might  have  still  held  off, 
And,  then,  you  would   have  tarried.      Hark  I 
there's  one  up. 

Pandarus.  [Within. 

What !  are  ah  the  doors  open  here  ? 

Troilus. 
It  is  your  uncle.  „ 

Enter 


7M- 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSLDA. 


Act  iv.  Sc  11. 


Hunter  Pandarus. 
Cressida. 
A  pestilence  on  him  !  now  will  he  be  mocking: 
I  shall  have  such  a  life — 

Pandarus. 
How  now,  how  now !  how  go  maidenheads?— 
Here,  you  maid ;  where's  my  cousin  Cressid  t 
Cressida. 
Go  hang  yourself,  you  naughty  mocking  uncle ! 
You  bring  me  to  do,— and  then  you  flout  me  too. 
Pandarus. 
To  do  what  ?  to  do  what  ?— let  her  say  what : 
—what  have  1  brought  you  to  do  ? 
Cressida. 
Come,  come ;   beshrew  your    heart !    you'll 
Nor  suffer  others.  [ne'er  be  good, 

Pandarus. 
Ha,  ha !    Alas,  poor  wretch !  a  poor  capoc- 
chio!  —  hast  not  slept  to-night?  would  lie  not, 
a  naughty  man,  let  it  sleep  ?  a  bugbear  take  him  1 
[Knocking. 
Cressida. 
Did  not  I  tell  you  ?— 'would  he  were  knock 'd 
o'  the  head  !— 
Who's  that  at  door?  good  uncle,  go  and  see. — 
My  lord,  come  you  again  into  my  chamber: 
You  smile,  and  mock  me,  as  if  I  meant  naughtily. 
Troilus. 
Ha,  ha! 

Cressida. 
Come,  you  are  deceiv'd ;  I  think  of  no  such 
thing —  [Knocking. 

How  earnestly  they  knock — Pray  you,  come  in : 
I  would  not  for  hal  f  Troy  have  you  seen  here. 
[Exeunt  Troilus  and  Cressida. 
Pandarus 

[Going  to  the  door. 

Who's  there  ?  what's  the  matter  ?  will  you  beat 

down  the  door?  How  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Enter  JEncas. 
JEneni. 

Good  morrow,  lord,  good  morrow. 

Pandarus. 
Who's  there  ?  my  lord  Mneas  !    By  my  troth, 
I  knew  you  not :  what  news  with  you  so  early? 
JEneas. 
Is  not  prince  Troilus  here  ? 
Pandarus. 
Here !  what  should  he  do  here  ? 

JBaeai. 
Come,  he  is  here,  my  lord  ;  do  not  deny  him : 
it  doth  import  him  much  to  speak  with  me. 
Pandarus. 
Is  he  here,  say  you  ?  'tis  more  than  I  know, 
I'll  be  sworn :— for  my  own  part,  I  came  in  late. 
What  should  he  do  here  ? 
jEuezs. 
Who!— nay,  then:— come,  come,  you'll   do 
him  wrong  ere  y'are  'ware.    You'll  be  so  true 
to  him,  to  he  false  to  him.    Do  not  you  know  of 
him,  but  yet  go  fetch  him  hither :  go. 

Enter  Troilus. 
Troilus. 
How  now !  what's  the  matter? 

.(Eneas. 
My  lord,  I  scarce  have  leisure  to  salute  you, 
My  matter  is  so  rash.    There  is  at  hand 
Paris  your  brother,  and  Deiphobus, 
The  Grecian  Diorncd,  and  our  Anterior 


Deliver'd  to  us  ;  and  for  him,  forthwith, 
Ere  the  first  sacrifice,  within  this  hour, 
We  must  give  up  to  Diomedes'  hand 
The  lady  Cressida. 

Troilus. 

Is  it  so  concluded? 
JEneas. 
By  Priam,  and  the  general  state  of  Troy : 
They  are  at  hand,  and  ready  to  effect  it. 
Troilus. 
How  my  achievements  mock  me  ! 
I  will  go  meet  them:— and,  my  lord  Mneas, 
j  We  met  by  chance;  you  did  not  find  me  here. 
jEneai. 
Good,  good,  my  lord ;  the  secrets  of  nature 
Have  not  more  gift  in  taciturnity. 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  Mncas. 

Pandarus. 
Is't  possible  ?  no  sooner  got,  but  lost  ?    The 
devil  take  Anterior!  the  young  prince  will  go 
mad.    A  plague  upon  Anterior!     I  would,  they 
had  broke  's  neck  I 


How  now  ! 
here? 


Ah  !  ah ! 


Enter  Cressida. 

Cressida. 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

Pandarus. 


Who 


Cressida. 

Why  sigh  you  so  profoundly?  where's  my 
lord  ?  gone  1 
Tell  me,  sweet  uncle,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Pandarus. 
Would  I  were  as  deep  under  the  earth  as  I  am 
above ! 

Cressida. 

0  the  gods  !— what's  the  matter  ? 

Pandarus. 
Pr'ythee,  get  thee  in.   Woull  thou  hadst  ne'er 
been  born  !     I  knew,  thou  wouldst  be  his  death. 
— O  poor  gentleman ! — A  plague  upon  Antenor! 
Cressida. 
Good  uncle.  I  beseech  you,  on  my  knees  I  be- 
seech you,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Pandarus. 
Thou  must  be  gone,  wench;  thou  must  be 
gone:  thou  art  changed  for  Antenor.     Thou 
must  to  thy  father,  and  be  gone  from  Troilus  : 
'twill  be  his  death ;  'twill  be  his  bane ;  he  cannot 
bear  it. 

Cressida. 
O,  you  immortal  gods!— I  will  not  go. 

Pandarus. 
Thou  must. 

Cressida. 

1  will  not,  uncle .  I  have  forgot  my  father ; 
1  know  no  touch  of  consanguinity ; 

No  kin,  no  love,  no  blood,  no  sod  so  near  me, 
As  the  sweet  Troilus.—  O  you  gods  divine! 
Make  Cressid'*  namethevery  crown  of  falsehood, 
If  ever  she  leave  Troilus!     Time,  force,  and 

death, 
Do  to  this  body  what  extremity  you  can, 
But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, 
Drawing  all  things  to  it— I'll  go  in,  and  weep.— 
Pandarus. 
Do,  do. 

Cressida. 
Tear  my  bright  hair,  and  scratch  my  praised 
cheeks ; 

Crack 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


TKOILUS  AND  CKESSIDA. 


7»5 


Crack  my  clear  voice  with  *obs,  and  break  my 

heart 
With  souuding  Troiltu.  I  will  not  go  from  Troy. 

[Kxeunl. 

SCENE  111.    The  tamo.    Before  Pandarus' 

House. 

Enter  Paris,  Troilus,  JBncas,  Deiphobus, 

Anterior,  and  Diotnedcs. 

Paris. 

It  is  great  morning,  and  the  hour  prefix'd 
Of  her  delivery  to  this  valiant  Greek 

Comes  fast  upon Good  my  brother  Troilus, 

Tell  you  the  lady  what  she  is  to  do, 
And  haste  her  to  the  purpose. 
Troilus. 

Walk  into  her  house; 
I'll  bring  her  to  the  Grecian  presently ; 
And  to  his  hand  when  1  deliver  her, 
Think  it  an  altar,  and  thy  brother  Troilus 
A  priest,  there  offering  to  it  his  own  heart. 

[Exit. 
Tar  is. 
I  know  what  'tis  to  love; 
And  would,  as  I  shall  pity,  I  could  help!— > 
Please  you,  walk  in,  my  lords.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.   A  Room  in  Pandarus' 
House. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  Crcssida. 
Pandarus. 
Be  moderate,  be  moderate. 
Cressida. 
Why  tell  you  me  of  moderation  ? 
The  grief  is  fine,  full,  perfect,  that  I  taste, 
And  no  less  in  a  sense  as  strong  as  that 
Which  causeth  it :  how  can  I  moderate  it  ? 
If  I  could  temporize  with  my  affection, 
Or  brew  it  to  a  weak  and  colder  palate, 
The  like  allayment  could  I  give  my  grief: 
My  love  admits  no  qualifying  cross, 
No  more  my  grief,  in  such  a  precious  loss. 

Enter  Troiltu. 

Pandarus. 

Here,  here,  here  he  comes —  A  sweet  duck ! 

Cressida. 
O  Troilus!  Troilus!  [Embracing  him. 

Pandarus. 
What  a  pair  of  spectacles  is  here!    Let  me 
embrace  too.    0  heart!— as  the  goodly  saying 

. 0  heart,  heavy  heart, 

Why  sigh' st  thou  without  breaking t 
where  he  answers  again, 

Because  thou  canst  not  ease  thy  smart, 
By  friendship  nor  by  speaking. 

There  was  never  a  truer  rhyme.    Let  us  cast 
away  nothing,  for  we  may  live  to  have  need  of 

such  a  verse :  we  see  it,  we  see  it How  now, 

lambs! 

Troilus. 

Cressid,  1  love  thee  in  so  strain'd  a  purity, 

That  the  bless'd  gods— as  angry  with  my  fancy, 

More  bright  in  zeal  than  the  devotion  which 

Cold  Jips  blow  to  their  deities,— take  thee  from 

me. 

Cressida. 
Have  the  gods  envy  ? 

randarus. 
Ay,  ay,  ay,  ay  ;  'tis  too  plain  a  case. 


Cressida. 

And  is  it  true,  that  I  must  go  from  Troyt 

Troilus. 
A  hateful  truth. 

Crcssida. 
What!  and  from  Troilus  too? 
Troilus. 
From  Troy,  and  Troilus. 
Cressida. 

Is  it  possible  ? 
Troilus. 
And  suddenly;  where  injury  of  chance 
Puts  back  leave-taking,  justles  roughly  by 
All  time  of  pause,  rudely  beguiles  our  lips 
Of  all  rejoindure,  forcibly  prevents 
Our  lock'd  embrasures,  strangles  our  dear  vows 
Even  in  the  birth  of  our  own  labouring  breath. 
We  two,  that  with  so  many  thousand  sighs 
Did  buy  each  other,  must  poorly  sell  ourselves 
With  the  rude  brevity  and  discharge  of  one. 
Injurious  time,  now,  with  a  robber's  haste, 
Crams  his  rich  thievery  up,  he  knows  not  how : 
As  many  farewells  as  be  stars  in  heaven, 
With  distinct  breath  and  consign'd  kisses  to 
He  fumbles  up  into  a  loose  adieu  ;  [them, 

And  scants  us  with  a  single  famish 'd  kiss, 
Distasting  with  the  salt  of  broken  tears. 

tineas.  [Within. 

My  lord !  is  the  lady  ready? 

Troilus. 
Hark  !  you  are  call'd :  some  say,  the  Genius  so 
Cries,  "  Come ! "  to  him  that  instantly  must  die. 
Bid  them  have  patience;  she  shall  come  anon. 
Pandarus. 
Where  are  my  tears?  rain,  to  lay  this  wind, 
or  my  heart  will  be  blown  up  by  the  root  I 

[Exit  Pandarus. 
Cressida. 
I  must  then  to  the  Grecians  ? 
Troilus. 

No  remedy. 
Cressida. 
A  woeful  Cressid  "mongst  the  merry  Greeks ! 
When  shall  we  see  again  ? 
Troilus. 
Hear  me,  my  love.     Be   thou  but  true  of 
heart — 

Cressida. 
I  true?  how  now  !  what  wicked  deem  is  this? 

Troilus. 
Nay,  we  must  use  expostulation  kindly, 
For  it  is  parting  from  us: 
I  speak  not,  "be  thou  true,"  as  fearing  thee; 
For  I  will  throw  my  glove  to  death  himself, 
That  there's  no  maculation  in  thy  heart; 
But,  '•  be  thou  true,"  say  I,  to  fashion  in 
My  sequent  protestation.     Be  thou  true, 
And  1  will  see  thee. 

Cressida. 
O !  you  shall  be  expos'd,  my  lord,  to  dangers 
As  infinite  as  imminent:  but  I'll  be  true. 
Troilus. 
And   I'll    grow   friend  with  danger.     Wear 
this  sleeve. 

Cressida. 
And  you  this  glove.    When  shall  I  see  you? 

Troilus. 
I  will  corrupt  the  Grecian  sentinels, 
To  give  thee  nightly  visitation. 
But  yet,  be  true. 

Cressida. 

O  heavens !— be  true,  again  ? 
Troilus. 


7i6 


TKOILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


Troll  us. 
Hear  why  I  speak  it,  love. 
The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  quality ; 
Their  loving  well  compos'd  with  gift  of  nature, 
Flowing  and  swellingo'er  with  arts  and  exercise: 
How  novelties  may  move,  and  parts  with  person, 
Alas,  a  kind  of  godly  jealousy 
(Which,  I  beseech  you,  call  a  virtuous  sin) 
Makes  me  afraid.     _ 

Cressida. 

O  heavens !  you  love  me  not. 
Troilus. 
Die  I  a  villain,  then  ! 
In  this  I  do  not  call  your  faith  in  question, 
So  mainly  as  my  merit:  I  cannot  sing, 
Nor  heel  the  high  lavolt,  nor  sweeten  talk, 
Nor  play  at  subtle  games ;  fair  virtues  all, 
To  which  the  Grecians  are  most  prompt  and 

pregnant : 

But  I  can  tell,  that  in  each  grace  of  these 
There  lurks  a  still  and  dumb-discoursive  devil, 
That   tempts   most   cunningly.     But   be   not 
tempted. 

C  ressida. 
Do  you  think,  I  will  ? 

Troilus. 
No; 
But  something  may  be  done,  that  we  will  not: 
And  sometimes  we  are  devils  to  ourselves, 
When  we  will  tempt  the  frailty  of  our  powers, 
Presuming  on  their  changeful  potency. 

.Eneas.  [Within. 

Nay,  good  my  lord,— 

Troilus. 

Come,  kiss ;  and  let  us  part. 
Paris.  [Within. 

Brother  Troilus! 

Troilus. 
Good  brother,  come  you  hither ; 
And  bring  JEneas,  and  the  Grecian,  with  you. 
Cressida. 
My  lord,  will  you  be  true? 
Troilus. 
Who,  I?  alas,  it  is  my  vice,  my  fault: 
Whiles  others  fish  with  craft  for  great  opinion, 

with  great  truth  catch  mere  simplicity: 
Whilst  some  with  cunning  gild  their  copper 

crowns, 

With  truth  and  plainness  I  do  wear  mine  bare. 
Fear  not  my  truth:  the  moral  of  my  wit 
Is  plain,  and  true,— there's  all  the  reach  of  it. 

Enter  Mncas,  Paris,  Antcnor,  Deiphobus,  and 
Diomedes. 
Welcome,  sir  Biomed.    Here  is  the  lady, 
Which  for  Anterior  we  deliver  you: 
At  the  port,  lord,  I'll  give  her  to  thy  hand, 
And  by  the  way  possess  thee  what  she  is. 
Entreat  her  fair;  and,  by  my  soul,  fair  Greek, 
If  e'er  thou  stand  at  mercy  of  my  sword, 
Name  Cressid,  and  thy  life  shall  be  as  safe, 
As  Priam  is  in  Won. 

Diomedes. 

Fair  lady  Cressid, 
So  please  you,  save  the  thanks  this  prince  ex- 
pects : 
The  lustre  in  your  eye,  heaven  in  your  cheek, 
Pleads  your  fair  usage ;  and  to  Diomed 
You    shall   be   mistress,   and   command   him 
wholly. 

Troilus. 
Grecian,  thou  dost  not  use  me  courteously, 
To  shame  the  seal  of  my  petition  to  thee, 


'.  In  praising  her.    I  tell  thee,  lord  of  Greece, 
She  is  as  far  high-soaring  o'er  thy  praises, 
I  As  thou  unworthy  to  be  call'd  her  servant. 
I  charge  thee,  use  her  well,  even  for  my  charge  $ 
j  For,  by  the  dreadful  Pluto,  if  thou  dost  not, 
'  Though  the  great  bulk  Achilles  be  thy  guard, 
;  I'll  cut  thy  throat. 

Diomedes. 
O  !  be  not  mov'd,  prince  Troilus. 
Let  me  be  privileg'd  by  my  place,  and  message, 
, To  be  a  speaker  free:  when  I  am  hence, 
I'll  answer  to  my  lust;  and  know  you,  lord, 
I'll  nothing  do  on  charge.     To  her  own  worth 
She  shall  be  priz'd ;  but  that  you  say  —  be't  so, 
I  I'll  speak  it  in  my  spirit  and  honour, — no. 
Troilus. 

Come,  to  the  port I'll  tell  thee,  Diomed, 

•:  This  brave  shall  oft  make  thee  to  hide  thy  head — 
{Lady,  give  me  your  hand;  and,  as  we  walk, 
To  our  own  selves  bend  we  our  needful  talk. 

[Exeunt  Troilus,  Cressida,  and  Diomeiles. 
[Trumpet  sounded. 
Paris. 
Hark !    Hector's  trumpet. 
JEneas. 
How  have  we  spent  this  morning  1 
The  prince  must  think  me  tardy  and  remiss, 
That  swore  to  ride  before  him  to  the  field. 
Paris. 
'Tis  Troilus'  fault.    Come,  come,  to  field  with 
him. 

Deiphobus. 
Let  us  make  ready  straight. 

JEneas. 
Yea,  with  a  bridegroom's  fresh  alacrity, 
Let  us  address  to  tend  on  Hector's  heels. 
The  glory  of  our  Troy  doth  this  day  lie 
On  his  fair  worth,  and  single  chivalry.   [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.   The  Grecian  Camp.    Lists  set  out. 

Enter  Ajar,  armed ;  Agamemnon,  Achilles,  Pa- 
troclus,  Mentions,  Ulysses,  Nestor,  and  others. 

Agamemnon. 
Here  art  thou  in  appointment  fresh  and  fair, 
Anticipating  time.    With  starting  courage 
Give  with  thy  trumpet  a  loud  note  to  Troy, 
Thou  dreadful  Ajax  ;  that  the  appalled  air 
May  pierce  the  head  of  the  great  combatant, 
And  hale  him  hither. 

Ajax. 
Thou,  trumpet,  there's  my  purse. 
Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  brazen  pipe: 
Blow,  villain,  till  thy  sphered  bias  cheek 
Out-swell  the  colic  of  puffd  Aquilon.      [blood ; 
Come,  stretch  thy  chest,  and  let  thy  eyes  spout 
Thou  blow'st  for  Hector.         [Trumpet  sounds. 
Ulysses. 
No  trumpet  answers. 

Achilles. 

Tis  but  early  days. 
Agamemnon. 
Is  not  yond'  Diomed  with  Calchas'  daughter  ? 

Ulysses. 
'Tis  he,  I  ken  the  manner  of  his  gait ; 
He  rises  on  the  toe :  that  spirit  of  his 
In  aspiration  lifts  him  from  the  earth. 

Enter  Diomed,  With    Cressida, 
Agamemnon. 
Is  this  the  lady  Cressid  f 

Diomedes. 

Even  she. 

Agamemnon. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


717 


Agamemnon. 
Most  dearly  welcome  to  the  Greek«,  sweet 
lady. 

Nestor. 
Our  general  doth  salute  you  with  a  kiss. 

Yet  it  the  kindness  but  particular  ; 
'Twere  better  she  were  kiss'd  in  general. 

And  very  courtly  counsel :  I'll  begin. — 
So  much  for  Nestor. 

Acbll 
I'll  take  that  winter  from  your  lips,  fair  lady : 
Achilles  bids  you  welcome. 

Menelaus. 
I  had  good  argument  for  kissing  once. 

Patroclus. 
But  that's  no  argument  for  kissing  now  : 
For  thus  popp'd  Paris  in  his  hardiment, 
And  parted  thus  you  and  your  argument. 
riysses. 

0  1  deadly  gall,  and  theme  of  all  our  scorns, 
For  which  we  lose  our  heads,  to  gild  his  horns. 

Patroclus. 
The  first  was  Menelaus'  kiss;  — this,  mine: 
Patroclus  kisses  you. 

Menelaus. 

0 1  this  is  trim. 

Patroclus. 
Paris,  and  I,  kiss  evermore  for  him. 

Menelaus. 
1*11  have  my  kiss,  sir — Lady,  by  your  leave. 

Cressida. 
In  kissing  do  you  render  or  receive  ? 

Patroclus. 
Both  take  and  give. 

Cressida. 
I'll  make  my  match  to  live. 
The  kiss  you  take  is  better  than  you  give ; 
Therefore  no  kiss. 

Menelaus. 
I'll  give  you  boot ;  I'll  give  you  three  for  one. 

Cressida. 
You're  an  odd  man :  give  even,  or  give  none.  , 

Menelaus. 
An  odd  man,  lady  ?  every  man  is  odd. 

Cressida. 

No,  Paris  is  not ;  for,  you  know,  'tis  true, 

That  you  are  odd,  aud  he  is  even  with  you. 

llfueJuui. 

You  fillip  me  o'  the  head. 

Cressida. 

No,  I'll  be  sworn. 
UlyssfS. 
It  were  no  match,  your  nail  against  his  horn.— 
May  I,  sweet  lady,  beg  a  kiss  of  you  ? 

Cressida. 
You  may. 

Ulysses. 
I  do  desire  it. 
Cressida. 

Why,  beg  then. 
I  iyssM. 
Why  then,  for  Venus'  sake,  give  me  a  kiss, 
When  Helen  is  a  maid  again,  and  his. 
Cressida. 

1  am  your  debtor  ;  claim  It  when  'tis  due. 


Ulyssea. 
Never's  my  day,  and  then  a  kiss  of  you. 

Diomedes. 

Lady,  a  word :  —  I'll  bring  you  to  your  father. 

[Diomcd leads  out  Crestlda. 

Nestor. 

A  woman  of  quick  sense. 

Ulysses. 

Fie,  fie  upon  her  I 
There's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip. 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks ;  her  wanton  spirits  look 
At  every  joint  and  motive  of  her  body.  [out 

O  I  these  encounterers,  so  glib  of  tongue, 
That  give  a  coasting  welcome  ere  it  comes, 
And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts 
To  every  tickling  reader,  set  them  down 
For  sluttish  spoils  of  opportunity, 
And  daughters  of  the  game.     [Trumpet  within. 
All. 
The  Trojans'  trumpet. 

Agamemnon. 

Yonder  comes  the  troop. 

Enter  Hector,  armed  ;  JEneas,  Troilus,  and 
other  Trojans,  with  Attendants. 
JEneas. 
Hall,  all  you  state  of  Greece!  what  shall  be 
done  [purpose. 

To  him  that  victory  commands  ?    Or  do  you 
A  victor  shall  be  known  ?  will  you,  the  knights 
Shall  to  the  edge  of  all  extremity 
Pursue  each  other ;  or  shall  be  divided 
By  any  voice  or  order  of  the  field  ? 
Hector  bade  ask. 

Agamemnon. 
Whicn  way  would  Hector  have  it  ? 

./Eneas. 
He  cares  not :  he'll  obey  conditions. 

Achilles. 
'Tis  done  like  Hector  ;  but  securely  done, 
A  little  proudly,  and  great  deal  disprizing 
The  knight  oppos'd. 

JEneas. 
If  not  Achilles,  sir, 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Achilles. 

If  not  Achilles,  nothing. 

JEneas. 
Therefore    Achilles ;    but,    whate'er.    know . 
In  the  extremity  of  great  and  little,        [this  :  — 
Valour  and  pride  excel  themselves  in  Hector  ;     , 
The  one  almost  as  infinite  as  all, 
The  other  blank  as  nothing.     Weigh  him  well, 
And  that  which  looks  like  pride  is  courtesy. 
This  Ajax  is  half  made  of  Hector's  blood : 
In  love  whereof  half  Hector  stays  at  home  ; 
Half  heart,  half  hand,  half  Hector  comes  to  seek 
This    blended   knight,  half  Trojan,  and    half 
Greek. 

.A.hilles. 
A  maiden  battle,  then  ? —  O  !  I  perceive  you. 

He-enter  Diomed. 
Agamemnon. 
Here  is  sir  Diomed.— Go,  gentle  knight, 
Stand  by  our  Ajax  :  as  you  and  lord  JEneas 
Consent  upon  the  order  of  their  fight, 
So  be  it ;  either  to  the  uttermost, 
Or  else  a  breath  :  the  combatants  being  kin, 
Half  stints  their  strife  before  their  strokes  begin 
[Ajar  and  Hector  enter  the  lists. 
Ulywes. 
They  are  oppos'd  already. 

Agamemnon. 


7i8 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v 


Agamemnon. 
What  Trojan  is   that   same   that   looks  so 
heavy  ? 

Ulysses. 
The  youngest  son  ofPriam,  a  true  knight ; 
Not  yet  mature,  yet  matchless  ;  firm  of  word, 
Speaking  in  deeds,  and  deedless  in  his  tongue  ; 
Not  soon  provok'd,  nor  being  provok'd  soon 

calm'd : 
His  heart  and  hand  both  open,  and  both  free  ; 
For  what  he  has,  he  gives,  what  thinks,  he 

shows ; 
Yet  gives  he  not  till  judgment  guide  his  bounty, 
Nor  dignifies  an  impure  thought  with  breath. 
Manly  as  Hector,  but  more  dangerous  ; 
For  Hector,  in  his  blaze  of  wrath,  subscribes 
To  tender  objects  ;  but  he,  in  heat  of  action, 
Is  more  vindicative  than  jealous  love. 
They  call  him  Troilus  ;  and  on  him  erect 
A  second  hope,  as  fairly  built  as  Hector. 
Thus  says  JEneas  ;  one  that  knows  the  youth, 
Even  to  his  inches,  ami  with  private  soul 
Did  in  great  Won  thus  translate  him  to  me. 

[Alarum.    Hector  and  Ajax  fight. 

Agamemnon. 
They  are  in  action. 

Nestor. 
Now,  Ajax,  hold  thine  own  ! 
Troilus. 

Hector,  thou  sleep'st : 
Awake  thee ! 

Agamemnon. 
His  blows  are  well  dispos'd :-  there,  Ajax! 

Diomedes. 

You  must  no  more.  [Trumpets  cease. 

/Eneas. 

Princes,  enough,  so  please  you. 

Aiax. 

I  am  not  warm  yet:  let  us  fight  again. 

Diomedes. 
As  Hector  pleases. 

Hector. 

Why  then,  will  I  no  more, — 
Thou  art,  great  lord,  my  father's  sister's  son, 
A  cousin-german  to  great  Priam's  seed; 
The  obligation  of  our  blood  forbids 
A  gory  emulation  'twixt  us  twain. 
Were  thy  commixtion  Grec  k  and  Trojan  so, 
That  thou  could'st  say—^  This  hand  is  Grecian 
And  this  is  Trojan ;  the  sinews  of  this  leg    [all, 
All  Greek  and  this  all  Troy ;  my  mother's  blood 
Runs  on  the  dexter  cheek,  and  this  sinister 
Bounds  in  my  father's ;"  by  Jove  multipotent, 
Thou  should'st  not  bear  from  me  a  Greekish 

member 
Wherein  mv  sword  had  not  impressure  made 
Of  our  rank  feud.    But  the  just  gods  gainsay, 
That  any  drop  thou  borrow'dst  from  thy  mother, 
My  sacred  aunt,  should  by  my  mortal  sword 
Be  drain'd !     Let  me  embrace  thee,  Ajax. — 
By  hiin  that  thunders,  thou  hast  lusty  arms. 
Hector  would  have  them  fall  upon  him  thus: 
Cousin,  all  honour  to  thee  ! 

Ajax. 

I  thank  thee.  Hector: 
Thou  art  too  gentle,  and  too  free  a  man. 
I  came  to  kill  thee,  cousin,  and  bear  hence 
A  great  addition  earned  in  thy  death. 

Hector. 
Not  Neopiolemus  so  mirable  [Oyez 

On  whose  bright  crest  Fame  with  her  loud'st 
Cries,  "  This  is  he  !"  could  promise  to  himself 
A  thought  of  added  honour  torn  from  Hector. 


JEneas. 
There  is  expectance  here  from  both  the  sides, 
What  farther  you  will  do. 

Hector. 

We'll  answer  it ; 
The  issue  is  embracement.— Ajax,  farewell. 
Ajax. 
If  I  might  in  entreaties  find  success, 
As  seld  I  have  the  chance,  I  would  desire 
My  famous  cousin  to  our  Grecian  tents. 
Diomedes. 
'Tis  Agamemnon's  wish ;  and  great  Achilles 
Doth  long  to  see  unarm'd  the  valiant  Hector. 
Hector. 
JEneas,  call  my  brother  Troilus  to  me ; 
And  signify  this  loving  interview 
To  the  expecters  of  our  Trojan  part: 
Desire  them  home. —  Give  me  thy  hand,  my 

cousin ; 
I  will  go  eat  with  thee,  and  see  your  knights. 
Ajax. 
Great  Agamemnon  comes  to  meet  us  here. 

Hector. 
The  worthiest  of  them  tell  me,  name  by  name ; 
But  for  Achilles,  mine  own  searching  eyes 
Shall  find  him  by  his  large  and  portly  size. 
Agamemnon. 
Worthy  of  arms  !  as  welcome  as  to  one 
That  would  be  rid  of  such  an  enemy. 
But  that's  no  welcome :  understand  more  clear, 
What's  past,  and  what's  to  come,  is  strew'd  with 
And  formless  ruin  of  oblivion;  [husks 

But  in  this  extant  moment,  faith  and  troth, 
Strain'd  purely  from  all  hollow  bias  drawing, 
Bids  thee,  with  most  divine  integrity,      [come. 
From  heart  of  very  heart,  great  Hector,  wel- 

Hector. 
I  thank  thee,  most  imperious  Agamemnon. 

Agamemnon. 
My  well-fam'd  lord  of  Troy,  no  less  to  you. 

[To  Troilus. 
Menelaus. 
Let  me  confirm  my  princely  brother's  greet- 
ing: 
You  brace  of  warlike  brothers,  welcome  hither. 

Hector. 
Whom  must  we  answer  ? 


The  noble  Menelaus. 

Hector. 
O!   you,  my  lord?   by  Mars  his  gauntlet, 
thanks. 
Mock  not,  that  I  affect  th'  untraded  oath  : 
Your  quondam  wife  swears  still  by  Venus'"  glove; 
She's  well,  but  bade  me  not  commend  her  to 
you. 

Menelaus. 
Name  her  not  now,  sir ;  she's  a  deadly  theme. 

Hector. 

0  1  pardon ;  I  offend. 

Nestor. 

1  have,  thou  gallant  Trojan,  seen  thee  oft, 
Labouring  for  destiny,  make  cruel  way 
Through  ranks  of  Greekish  youth :  and  I  have 

seen  thee, 
As  hot  as  Perseus,  spur  thy  Phrygian  steed, 
Despising  many  forfeits  and  subduements, 
When  thou  hast  hung  thy  advanced  sword  i'  th* 
Not  letting  it  decline  on  the  declin'd ;  [air, 

That  I  have  said  unto  my  standers-by, 
"  Lo  I  Jupiter  is  yonder,  dealing  life." 
And  I  have  seen  thee  pause,  and  take  thy  breath, 

When 


Act  iv.  Sc.  r. 


TKOILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


719 


When  that  a  ring  of  Greeks  hare  hemm'd  thee 

in, 
Like  an  Olympian  wrestling :  this  hare  I  seen  ; 
But  this  thy  countenance,  still  lock'd  in  steel, 
1  never  saw  till  now.     I  knew  thy  grandsire. 
And  once  fought  with  him:  he  was  a  soldier 
But,  bt  mat  Mars  the  captain  of  us  all,  [good; 
Never  like  thee.    Let  an  old  man  embrace  thee ; 
And,  worthy  warrior,  welcome  to  our  tents. 

JEbtM. 

"Tis  the  old  Nestor. 

tor. 

Let  me  embrace  thee,  good  old  chronicle, 
That  hast  $0  long  walk'd  hand  in  hand  with  time. 
Most  reverend  Nestor,  I  am  glad  to  clasp  thee. 

Nestor 
I  would,  my  arms  could  match  thee  in  con. 
tention, 
As  they  contend  with  thee  in  courtesy. 

Hector. 
I  would  they  could. 

Nestor. 
Ha  1    By  this  white  beard,  I'd  fight  with  thee 
to-morrow. 
Well,  welcome,  welcome  1     I  have  seen  the 
time— 

Ulysses. 
I  wonder  now  how  yonder  city  stands, 
When  we  have  here  her  base  and  pillar  by  us. 

Hector. 
1  know  your  favour,  lord  Ulysses,  well. 
Ah,  sir  !  there's  many  a  Greek  and  Trojan  dead, 
Since  first  I  saw  yourself  and  Diotned 
In  ///cm,  on  your  Greekish  embassy. 

Ulysses. 
Sir,  I  foretold  you  then  what  would  ensue : 
My  prophecy  is  but  half  his  journey  yet; 
For  yonder  walls,  that  pertly  front  your  town, 
Yond'  towers,  whose  wanton  tops  do  buss  the 
Must  kiss  their  own  feet.  [clouds, 

Hector, 

I  must  not  believe  you. 
There  they  stand  yet ;  and  modestly  I  think, 
The  fall  of  every  Phrygian  stone  will  cost 
A  drop  of  Grecian  blood:  the  end  crowns  all ; 
And  that  old  common  arbitrator,  time, 
Will  one  day  end  it. 

Ulysses. 

So  to  him  we  leave  it. 
Most  gentle,  and  most  valiant  Hector,  welcome. 
After  the  general,  I  beseech  you  next 
To  feast  with  me,  and  see  me  at  my  tent. 
Achilles. 
I  shall  forestall  thee,  lord  Ulysses,  thou.— 
Now,  Hector,  1  have  fed  mine  eyes  on  thee : 
I  have  with  exact  view  perus'd  thee,  Hectort 
And  quoted  joint  by  joint. 
Hector. 

U  this  Achilles  f 
Achilles. 
I  am  Achilles. 

Hector. 
Stand  fair,  I  pray  thee :  let  me  look  on  thee. 

Achilles. 
Behold  thy  fill. 

Hector. 

Nay,  I  have  done  already. 
Achilles. 
Thou  art  too  brief:  I  will  the  second  time, 
As  I  would  buy  thee,  view  thee  limb  by  limb. 


Hector. 

0  I  like  a  book  of  sport  thou'lt  read  me  o'er  ; 
But  there's  more  in  me  than  thou  understand  st. 
Why  dost  thou  so  oppress  me  with  thine  eye  ? 

Achilles. 
Tell  me,  you  heavens,  in  which  part  of  his 
body 
Shall  I  destroy  him,  whether  there,  there,  or 

there  ? 
That  1  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name, 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach,  whereout 
Hector'*  great  spirit  flew.   Answer  me,  heavens ! 
lor. 
It  would  discredit  the  bless'd  gods,  proud  man. 
To  answer  such  a  question.     Stand  again  : 
Think'st  thou  to  catch  my  life  so  pleasantly, 
As  to  prenominate  in  nice  conjecture, 
Where  thou  wilt  hit  me  dead  ? 
Achilles. 

I  tell  thee,  yea. 
Hector. 
Wert  thou  an  oracle  to  tell  me  so,  [well, 

I'd  not  believe  thee.     Henceforth  guard   thee 
For  I'll  not  kill  thee  there,  nor  there,  nor  there; 
But,  by  the  forge  that  stithied  Mars  his  helm, 
I'll  kill  thee  every  where,  yea,  o'er  and  o'er — 
You,  wisest  Grecians,  pardon  me  this  brag: 
His  insolence  draws  folly  from  my  lips  ! 
But  I'll  endeavour  deeds  to  match  these  words, 
Or  may  I  never  — 

Ajax. 
Do  not  chafe  thee,  cousin  : — 
And  you,  Achilles,  let  these  threats  alone, 
Till  accident,  or  purpose,  bring  you  tot : 
You  may  have  every  day  enough  of  Hector, 
If  you  have  stomach.    The  general  state,  I  fear, 
Can  scarce  entreat  you  to  be  odd  with  him. 
Hector. 

1  pray  you,  let  us  see  you  in  the  field: 
We  have  had  pelting  wars,  since  you  refus'd 
The  Grecians'  cause. 

Achilles. 
Dost  thou  entreat  me,  Hector  t 
To-morrow,  do  I  meet  thee,  fell  as  death  ; 
To-night,  all  friends. 

Hector. 

Thy  hand  upon  that  match. 
Agamemnon. 
First,  all  you  peers  of  Greece,  go  to  my  tent ; 
There  in  the  full  convive  we  :  afterwards. 
As  Hctor's  leisure  and  your  bounties  shall 
Concur  together,  severally  entreat  him. — 
Beat  loud  the  tabourines,  let  the  trumpets  blow, 
That  this  great  soldier  may  his  welcome  know. 
[Exeunt  all  but  Troilus  and  Ulysses. 
Troilus. 
My  lord  Ulysses,  tell  me.  I  beseech  you, 
In  what  place  of  the  field  doth  Calchas  keep? 
Ulysses. 
At  Menelaus'  tent,  most  princely  Troilus : 
There  Diotned  doth  feast  with  him  to-night ; 
Who  neither  looks  upon  the  heaven,  nor  earth, 
But  gives  all  gaze  and  bent  of  amorous  view 
On  the  fair  Cressid. 

Troilus. 
Shall  I,  sweet  lord,  be  bound  to  you  so  much, 
After  we  part  from  Agamemnorii  tent, 
To  bring  me  thither  ? 

Ulysses. 

You  shall  command  me,  sir. 
As  gentle  tell  me,  of  what  honour  was 
This  Cressida  in  Troyt  Had  she  no  lover  there 
That  wails  her  absence  ? 

Troilus. 


720 


TEOILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v, 


.71 


Troilus. 
O,  sir  !  to  such  as  boasting  show  their  scars, 
A  mock  is  due.    Will  you  walk  on,  ray  lord  ? 
She  was  belov'd,  she  lov'd ;  she  is,  and  doth : 
But  still  sweet  love  is  food  for  fortune's  tooth. 
[Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  Grecian  Camp.    Before 
Achilles'  Tent. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Achilles. 

I'LL  heat  his  blood  with  Greekish  wine  to- 
night, 
Which  with  my  scimitar  I'll  cool  to-morrow.— 
Patroclus,  let  us  feast  him  to  the  height. 
Patroclus. 
Here  comes  Thersiies. 

Enter  Thersites. 
Achilles. 

How  now,  thou  core  of  envy  I 
Thou  crusty  batch  of  nature,  what's  the  news  ? 
Thersites. 
Why,  thou  picture  of  what  thou  seemest,  and 
idol  of  idiot-worshippers,  here's  a  letter  for  thee. 
Achilles. 
From  whence,  fragment  ? 
Ther  sites. 
Why,  thou  full  dish  of  fool,  from  Troy. 

Patroclus. 
Who  keeps  the  tent  now  ? 
Thersites. 
The  surgeon's  box,  or  the  patient's  wound. 

Patroclus. 
Well  said,  adversity!  and  what  need  these 
tricks  ? 

Thersites. 
Pr'ythee  be  silent,  boy ;  I  profit  not  by  thy 
talk :  thou  art  thought  to  be  Achilles'  male  var- 
let. 

Patroclus. 
Male  varlet,  you  rogue  !  what's  that  ? 

Thersites. 
Why,  his  masculine  whore.    Now  the  rotten 
diseases  of  the  south,  the  guts-griping,  ruptures, 
catarrhs,  loads  o'  gravel  i'  the  back,  lethargies, 
cold  palsies,  raw  eyes,  dirt-rotten  livers,  wheez- 
[■  ing  lungs,  bladders  full  of  imposthume,  sciaticas, 
.  lime-kilns  F  the  palm,  incurable  bone-ache,  and 
the  rivelled  fee-simple  of  the  tetter,  take  and 
take  again  such  preposterous  discoveries  ! 
Patroclus. 
Why,  thou  damnable  box  of  envy,  thou,  what 
meanest  thou  to  curse  thus  ? 
Thersites. 
Do  I  curse  thee? 

Patroclus. 
WThy  no,  you  ruinous  butt ;  you  whoreson  in- 
distinguishable cur,  no. 

Thersites. 
No  ?  why  art  thou  then  exasperate,  thou  idle 
immaterial  skein  of  sley'd  silk,  thou  green  sar- 
cenet flap  for  a  sore  eye,  thou  tassel  of  a  pro- 
digal's purse,  thou  ?  Ah  !  how  the  poor  world 
is  pestered  with  such  water- flies,  diminutives  of 
nature  I 

Patroclus. 
Out,  gall  I 


Thersites. 

Finch  egg  1 

Achilles. 

My  sweet  Patroclus,  I  am  thwarted  quite 
From  my  great  purpose  in  to-morrow's  battle. 
Here  is  a  letter  from  queen  Hecuba  ; 
A  token  from  her  daughter,  my  fair  love ; 
Both  taxing  me,  and  'gaging  me  to  keep 
An  oath  that  I  have  sworn.    I  will  not  break  it: 
Fall  Greeks,  fail  fame,  honour,  or  go,  or  stay, 
My  major  vow  lies  here  ;  this  I'll  obey. — 
Come,  come,  Thersites,  help  to  trim  my  tent ; 

This  night  in  banqueting  must  all  be  spent 

Away,  Patroclus. 

[Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Thersites. 
With  too  much  blood,  and  too  little  brain, 
these  two  may  run  mad;  but  if  with  too  much 
brain,  and  too  little  blood,  they  do,  I'll  be  a 
curer  of  madmen.  Here's  Agamemnon,— an 
honest  fellow  enough,  and  one  that  loves  quails; 
but  he  has  not  so  much  brain  as  ear-wax  :  and 
the  goodly  transformation  of  Jupiter  there,  his 
brother,  the  bull, — the  primitive  statue,  and 
oblique  memorial  of  cuckolds ;  a  thrifty  shoeing- 
horn  in  a  chain,  hanging  at  his  brother's  leg, — 
to  what  form,  but  that  he  is,  should  wit  larded 
with  malice,  and  malice  forced  with  wit,  turn 
him  to  ?  To  an  ass,  were  nothing :  he  is  both 
ass  and  ox  :  to  an  ox  were  nothing  ;  he  is  both 
ox  and  ass.  To  be  a  dog,  a  mule,  a  cat,  a  fitchew, 
a  toad,  a  lizard,  an  owl,  a  puttock,  or  a  herring 
without  a  roe,  I  would  not  care;  but  to  be 
Menelaus, —  I  would  conspire  against  destiny. 
Ask  me  not  what  I  would  be,  if  I  were  not 
Thersiies,  for  I  care  not  to  be  the  louse  of  a 
lazar,  so  I  were  not  Menelaus. — Hey-day !  spirits 
and  fires ! 

Enter  Hector,  Troilus,  AJax,  Agamemnon, 
Ulysses,  Nestor,  Menelaus,  and  Diomedes, 
with  Lights. 

Agamemnon. 
We  go  wrong  ;  we  go  wrong. 
Ajax. 

No,  yonder  'tis ; 
There,  where  we  see  the  lights. 
Hector. 

I  trouble  you. 
Ajax. 
No,  not  a  whit. 

Ulysses. 
Here  comes  himself  to  guide  you. 

Enter  Achilles. 
Achiiles. 
Welcome,  brave  Hector:   welcome,  princes 
all. 

Agamemnon. 
So  now,  fair  prince  of  Troy,  I  bid  good  night. 
Ajax  commands  the  guard  to  tend  on  you. 
Hector. 
Thanks,  and  good  night,  to  the  Greeks'  ge- 
neral. 

Menelaus. 
Good  night,  my  lord. 

Hector. 
Good  night,  sweet  lord  Menelaus. 

Thersites. 
Sweet  draught:  sweet,  quoth  'a  !  sweet  sink, 
sweet  sewer. 

Achilles. 
Good  night,  and  welcome,  both  at  once  to 
That  go,  or  tarry.  [those 

Agamemnon. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ir. 


TROILUS  AND  CRKSSIDA. 


7i* 


Agamemnon. 

XF.xr unt  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus 

Achilles. 
Old  Nestor  tarries ;  and  you  too,  Diotned, 
Keep  Hector  company  an  hour  or  two. 
Dion 
I  cannot,  lord;  I  have  important  business, 
The  tide  whereof  is  now.— Good  night,  great 
Hector. 

Hector. 
Give  me  your  hand. 

Ulysses. 

'Follow  his  torch,  he  goes 
To  Calchas'  tent :  I'll  keep  you  company. 

[Aside  to  Troilus. 

Troilus. 

Sweet  sir,  you  honour  me. 

Hector. 

And  so  good  night. 
[E«lt  Diomedes  ;  Ulysses  and  Troilus  fol- 
lowing. 

Achilles. 

Come,  come ;  enter  my  tent. 

[Exeunt  Achilles,  Hector,  Ajax,  and  Nestor. 

Thersites. 

That  same  DiomedCi  a  false-hearted  rogue,  a 

most  unjust  knave:  I  will  no  more  trust  him 

when  he  leers,  than  I  will  a  serpent  when  he 

hisses.     He  will  spend  his  mouth,  and  promise, 

like  Brabler  the  hound;  but  when  he  performs, 

astronomers  foretel  it:  it  is  prodigious,  there 

will  come  some  change  :  the  sun  borrows  of  the 

moon,  when  Diomed  keeps  his  word.     I  will 

rather  leave  to  see  Hector,  than  not  to  dog  him : 

th  v  say,  he  keeps  a  Trojan  drab,  and  uses  the 

traitor  Calchas'  tent.     I'll  after — Nothing  but 

lechery  I  all  incontinent  varlett  I  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    Before  Calchas'  Tent. 
Enter  Diomedes. 
Diomedes. 
What  are  you  up  here,  ho?  speak. 

Calchas.  [Within 

Who  calls? 

Diomedes. 
Diomed.  — Calchas,   I  think.  — Where's  your 
daughter  ? 

Calchas.  [Within. 

She  comes  to  you. 

Enter  Troilus  and  Ulysses,  at  a  distance ;  after  | 

them  Thersites. 

Ulysses. 

Stand  where  the  torch  may  not  discover  us. 

Enter  Cressida. 
Troilus. 
Cressid  comes  forth  to  him. 
Diomedes. 

How  now,  my  charge  I 
Cressida. 
Now,  my  sweet  guardian.—  Hark !  a  word  with 
you.  [Whispers 

Troilus. 
Yea,  so  familiar  1 

Ulysses. 
She  will  sing  any  man  at  first  sight. 

Thersites. 
And  any  man  may  sing  her,  if  he  can  take  her 
cliff;  she  s  noted. 


Diomedes. 
Will  you  remember? 

Cressida. 
Remember  ?  yes. 

Diomedes. 
Nay,  but  do  then;    and  let  your  mind  be 
coupled  with  your  words. 
Troilus. 
What  should  she  remember  ? 

Ulysses. 
List. 

Cressida. 
Sweet  honey  Greek,  tempt  me  no  more  to 
folly. 

Thersites. 
Roguery  I 

Diomedes. 
Nay,  then,— 

Cressida. 
I'll  tell  you  what— 
Dioni 
Pho !  pho !  come  tell,  a  pin :  you  are  for- 
sworn.— 

Cressida. 
In  faith,  I  cannot.    What  would  you  have  me 
do? 

Thersites. 
A  juggling  trick,— to  be  secretly  open. 

Diomedes. 
What  did  you  swear  you  would  bestow  on  me? 

Cressida. 
I  pr'ythee,  do  not  hold  me  to  mine  oath  ; 
Bid  me  do  any  thing  but  that,  sweet  Greek. 
Diomedes. 
Good  night. 

Troilus. 

Hold,  patience ! 

Ulysses. 

How  now,  Trojan  ? 
Cressida. 

Diomed, — 
Diomedes. 
No,  no ;  good  night :   I'll  be  your  fool  no 
more. 

Troilus. 
Thy  better  must 

Cressida. 

Hark  I  one  word  in  your  ear. 
Troilus. 
O,  plague  and  madness  I 

Ulysses. 
You  are  raov'd,  prince:  let  us  depart,  I  pray 
you, 
Lest  your  displeasure  should  enlarge  itself 
To  wrathful  terms.    This  place  is  dangerous ; 
The  time  right  deadly :  I  beseech  you,  go. 
Troilus. 
Behold,  I  pray  you  I 

Ulysses. 
Nay,  good  my  lord,  go  off: 
You  flow  to  great  distraction ;  come,  my  lord. 
Troilus. 
I  pr'ythee,  stay. 

Ulysses. 
You  have  not  patience;  come. 

Troilus. 
I  pray  you,  stay.     By  hell,  and  all  hell's  tor- 
1  will  not  speak  a  word.  Qner.ts, 

Diomedes. 

And  so,  good  night 
3  a  Cressida. 


722 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  v.  Sc  ii. 


Cressida. 
Nay,  but  you  part  in  anger. 

Troilus. 

Doth  that  grieve  thee  ? 
O,  wither'd  truth  I 

Ulysses. 
Why,  how  now,  lord  ! 

Troilus. 

By  Jove, 
I  will  be  patient. 

Cressldft. 
Guardian  1  —  why,  Greek  ! 

Diomedes. 
Pho,  pho  1  adieu ;  you  palter. 

Cressida. 
In  faith,  I  do  not ;  come  hither  once  again. 

Ulysses. 

You  shake,  my  lord," at  something;  will  you 

You  will  break  out.  [go  ? 

Troilus. 

She  strokes  his  cheek  I 
Ulysses. 

Come,  come. 
Troilus. 
Nay,  stay :  by  Jove,  I  will  not  speak  a  word. 
There  is  between  my  will  and  all  offences 
A  guard  of  patience :  —  stay  a  little  while. 
Thersites. 
How  the  devil  luxury,  with  his  fat  rump  and 
potatoe  finger,  tickles  these  together  I     Fry, 
lechery,  fry  ! 

Diomedes. 
But  will  you  then  ? 

Cressida. 
In  faith,  I  will,  la:  never  trust  me  else. 

Diomedes. 
Give  me  some  token  for  the  surety  of  it. 

Cressida. 
I'll  fetch  you  one.  [Exit. 

Ulysses. 
You  have  sworn  patience. 
Troilus. 
Fear  me  not,  sweet  lord ; 
I  will  not  be  myself,  nor  have  cognition 
Of  what  I  feel :  I  am  all  patience. 

Re-enter  Cressida. 
Thersites. 
« Now  the  pledge  1  now,  now,  now  ! 

Cressida. 
Here,  Diomed,  keep  this  sleeve. 
Troilus. 

0  beauty  1  where  is  thy  faith  ? 

Ulysses. 

My  lord,— 
Troilus. 

1  will  be  patient ;  outwardly  I  will. 

Cressida. 
You  look  upon  that  sleeve  ;  behold  it  well.— 
He  loved  me— O   false   wench  I  —  Give't   me 
again. 

Diomedes. 
Whose  was't  ? 

Cressida. 
It  is  no  matter,  now  I  have't  again  : 
I  will  not  meet  with  you  to-morrow  night. 
1  pr'ythee,  Diomed,  visit  me  no  more. 
Thersites. 
Now  she  sharpens.  —  Well  said,  whetstone. 


I  shall  have  it. 


Cressida. 
What,  this? 
Diomedes. 


Ay,  that. 


Cressida. 

O,  all  you  gods  !  —  O  pretty,  pretty  pledge  1 
Thy  master  now  lies  thinking  in  his  bed 
Of  thee,  and  me ;  and   sighs,  and   takes   my 
And  gives  memorial  dainty  kisses  to  it,    [glove, 

As  I  kiss  thee Nay,  do  not  snatch  it  from 

me ; 
He  that  takes  that  doth  take  my  heart  withal. 
Diomedes. 
I  had  your  heart  before  ;  this  follows  it. 

Troilus. 
I  did  swear  patience. 

Cressida. 

You  shall  not  have  it,  Diomed ;  'faith  you 

I'll  give  you  something  else.  [shall  not : 

Diomedes. 

I  will  have  this.    Whose  was  it  ? 

Cressida. 

'Tis  no  matter. 
Diomedes. 
Come,  tell  me  whose  it  was. 

Cressida. 

•Twas  one's  that  loved  me  better  than  you 

But,  now  you  have  it,  take  it  [will. 

Diomedes. 

Whose  was  it  ? 
Cressida. 
By  all  Diana's  waiting- women  yond', 
And  by  herself,  I  will  not  tell  you  whose. 
Diomedes. 
To-morrow  will  I  wear  it  on  my  helm, 
And  grieve  his  spirit  that  dares  not  challenge  it. 
Troilus. 
Wert  thou  the  devil,  and  wor'st  it  on  thy 
It  should  be  challeng'd.  [horn, 

Cressida. 
Well,  well,  'tis  done,  'tis  past ;  —  and  yet  it 
I  will  not  keep  my  word.  [is  not : 

Diomedes. 

Why  then,  farewell. 
Thou  never  shalt  mock  Diomed  again. 
Cressida. 

You  shall  not  go One  cannot  speak  a  word, 

But  it  straight  starts  you. 

Diomedes. 

I  do  not  like  this  fooling. 
Thersites. 
Nor  I,  by  Pluto  :  but  that  that  likes  not  you, 
pleases  me  best. 

Diomedes. 
What !  shall  I  come  ?  the  hour  ? 
Cressida. 

Ay,  come :  —  O  Jove !  — 
Do  come :  —  I  shall  be  plagu'd. 
Diomedes. 

Farewell  till  then. 
Cressida. 
Good  night :  I  pr'ythee,  come.  — 

[Exit  Diomedes. 
Troilus,  farewell !  one  eye  yet  looks  on  thee, 
But  with  my  heart  the  other  eye  doth  see. 
Ah,  poor  our  sex  !  this  fault  in  us  I  find, 
The  error  of  our  eye  directs  our  mind. 
What  error  leads,  must  err  :  O  !  then  conclude, 
Minds,  sway'd  by  eyes,  are  full  of  turpitude. 

[Exit  Cressida. 
Thersites. 


Act    5.    Sc.    3. 


Act  v.  Sc  hi. 


TKOILUS  AND  CKESSLDA. 


7*3 


Thertitct. 
A  proof  of  ttrcngth  the  could  not  publish 
more, 
Unlets   the   taid,   "my   mind  it   now  turn'd 
whore." 

Ulyttet. 

All't  done,  my  lord. 

Troilut. 

ItU. 

Ulytset. 

Why  stay  we  then  ? 
Troilut 
To  make  a  recordation  to  my  soul 
Of  every  syllable  that  here  was  spoke. 
But  if  1  tell  how  thete  two  did  co-act, 
Shall  I  not  lie  in  publishing  a  truth  ? 
Sith  yet  there  is  a  credence  in  my  heart, 
An  esperance  so  obstinately  strong, 
That  doth  invert  the  attest  of  eyes  and  ears ; 
As  if  those  organs  had  deceptious  functions, 
Created  only  to  calumniate. 
Was  Cressid  here  ? 

Ulytset. 

I  cannot  conjure,  Trojan. 
Troilut. 
She  was  not,  sure. 

Ulytset. 

Most  sure  she  was. 
Troilut. 
Why,  my  negation  hath  no  taste  of  madness. 

Ulyttet. 
Nor  mine,  my  lord :    Cressid  was  here  but 

■  roil  tu. 
Let  it  not  be  believ'd  for  womanhood  ! 
Think  we  had  mothers  :  do  not  give  advantage 
To  stubborn  critics  — apt,  without  a  theme, 
For  depravation,  —  to  square  the  general  sex 
By  Cressid'a  rule :  rather  think  this  not  Cressid. 
Ulyttet. 
What  hath  she  done,  prince,  that  can  soil  our 
mothers  ?       „,     .. 

Troilut. 

Nothing  at  all,  unless  that  this  were  she. 
Thertites. 

Will  he  swagger  himself  out  on's  own  eyes  ? 
Troiluj. 

This  she  ?  no ;  this  is  Diomed's  Crcssida. 
If  beauty  have  a  soul,  this  is  not  she : 
If  souls  guide  vows,  if  vows  be  sanctimony, 
If  sanctimony  be  the  gods'  delight, 
If  there  be  rule  in  unity  itself, 
This  is  not  she.    O  madness  of  discourse. 
That  cause  sets  up  with  and  against  itself  1 
Bi-fold  authority  !  where  reason  can  revolt 
Without  perdition,  and  loss  assume  all  reason 
Without  revolt :  this  is,  and  is  not,  Cressid ! 
Within  my  soul  there  doth  conduce  a  fight 
Of  this  strange  nature,  that  a  thing  inseparate 
Divides  more  wider  than  the  sky  and  earth  ; 
And  yet  the  spacious  breadth  of  this  division 
Admits  no  orifice  for  a  point,  as  subtle 
As  Arachne's  broken  woof,  to  enter. 
Instance,  O  instance !  strong  as  Pluto'*  gates ; 
Cressid  is  mine,  tied  with  the  bonds  of  heaven  : 
Instance,  O  instance  !  strong  as  heaven  itself; 
The  bonds  of  heaven  are  slipp'd,  dissol  v'd,  and  I 
And  with  another  knot,  five-finger-tied,  [loos'd;  j 
The  fractiont  of  her  faith,  ortt  of  her  love, 
The  fragments,  scraps,  the  bits,    and    greasy 

relique8 
Of  her  o'er-eaten  faith,  are  bound  to  Diomcd. 


LI  met. 

May  worthy  Troilut  be  half  attach'd 
With  that  which  here  hit  passion  doth  exprett? 
Int. 

Ay.  Greek;  and  that  thall  be  divulged  well 
In  characters  at  red  as  Mart  his  heart 
In  Maui 'd  with  Venus:   never  did  young  man 
With  so  eternal  and  to  fix'd  a  toul.  [fancy 

Hark,  Greek  :— as  much  as  I  do  Cretsid  love, 
So  much  by  weight  hate  I  her  Diomed. 
That  sleeve  is  mine,  that  he'll  bear  on  his  helm  : 
Were  it  a  casque  compot'd  by  Vulcan's  skill, 
My  sword  should  bite  it.   Not  the  dreadful  spout, 
Which  shipmen  do  the  hurrirano  call, 
Constring'd  in  mass  by  the  almighty  sun, 
Shall  dizzy  with  more  clamour  Neptune's  ear 
In  his  descent,  than  shall  my  prompted  sword 
Falling  on  Diomed. 

Thersitet. 

He'll  tickle  it  for  his  concupy. 
Troilut. 

0  Cressid!  O  false  Cressid!  false,  false,  false, 
Let  all  untruths  stand  by  thy  stained  name, 
And  they'll  seem  glorious. 

Ulyssct. 

0 1  contain  yourself ; 
Your  passion  draws  ears  hither. 

Enter  JEneat. 

JEneai. 

1  have  been  seeking  you  this  hour,  my  lord. 
Hector,  by  this,  is  arming  him  in  Troy  ; 
Ajax,  your  guard,  stays  to  conduct  you  home. 

Troilut. 

Have  with  you,  prince.— My  courteous  lord, 

Farewell,  revolted  fair  '—and,  Diomed,  [adieu.— 

Stand  fast,  and  wear  a  castle  on  thy  head  1 

Ulysses. 

I'll  bring  you  to  the  gates. 

Troilut. 

LKxeunt  Tromts,  Mneas,  and  Ulyttet. 
Thersitet. 

[Coming  forward. 
Would,  I  could  meet  that  rogue  Diomed.  I 
would  croak  like  a  raven ;  I  would  bode,  I  would 
bode.  Patroclus  will  give  me  any  thing  for  the 
intelligence  of  this  whore :  the  parrot  will  not 
do  more  for  an  almond,  than  he  for  a  commo- 
dious drab.  Lechery,  lechery:  still,  wars  and 
lechery :  nothing  else  holds  fashion.  A  burning 
devil  take  them  1  TKxif. 

SCENE  III.    Troy.    Before  Priam's  Palace. 
Enter  Hector  and  Andromache. 
Andromache. 
When  was  my  lord  so  much  ungently  temper 'd, 
To  stop  his  ears  against  admonishment  ? 
Unarm,  unarm,  and  do  not  fight  to-day. 
Hector 
You  train  me  to  offend  you  ;  get  you  in  : 
By  all  the  everlasting  gods,  I'll  go. 
Andromache. 
My  dreams  will,  sure,  prove  ominout  to  the 

y'  Hector. 

No  more,  I  say. 

Enter  Cattandra. 
Cassandra. 

Where  is  my  brother  Hector  t 
Andromache. 


724 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  v.  Sc.  in. 


Andromache. 
Here,  sister  ;  arm'd,  and  bloody  in  intent. 
Consort  with  me  in  loud  and  dear  petition  : 
Pursue  we  him  on  knees  ;  for  I  have  dream'd 
Of  bloody  turbulence,  and  this  whole  night 
Hath  nothing  been  but  shapes  and  forms  of 
slaughter.     „ 

Cassandra. 

O !  'tis  true. 

Hector. 

Ho !  bid  my  trumpet  sound  1 
Cassandra. 
No   notes  of  sally,  for  the  heavens,  sweet 
brother. 

Hector. 

Begone,  I  say :  the  gods  have  heard  me  swear. 

Ca-ssandra. 
The  gods  are  deaf  to  hot  and  peevish  vows  : 
They  are  polluted  offerings,  more  abhorr'd 
Than  spotted  livers  in  the  sacrifice. 
Andromache. 
O  !  be  persuaded  :  do  not  count  it  holy 
To  hurt  by  being  just :  it  is  as  lawful, 
For  us  to  give  much  count  to  violent  thefts, 
And  rob  in  the  behalf  of  charity. 
Cassandra. 
It  is  the  purpose  that  makes  strong  the  vow ; 
But  vows  to  every  purpose  must  not  hold. 
Unarm,  sweet  Hector. 

Hector. 

Hold  you  still,  I  say, 
Mine  honour  keeps  the  weather  of  my  fate : 
Life  every  man  holds  dear ;  but  the  dear  man 
Holds  honour  far  more  precious- dear  than  life. — 
Enter  Troilus. 

How  now,  young  man!  mean'st  thou  to  fight 
to-day  'r 

Andromache. 
Cassandra,  call  my  father  to  persuade. 

rExIt  Cassandra. 
Hector. 
No,  'faith,  young  Troilus;  doff  thy  harness, 
I  am  to-day  i'the  vein  of  chivalry.  [youth ; 

Let  grow  thy  sinews  till  their  knots  be  strong, 
And  tempt  not  yet  the  brushes  of  the  war. 
Unarm  thee,  go ;  and  doubt  thou  not,  brave  boy, 
I'll  stand,  to-day,  for  thee,  and  me,  and  Troy. 
Troilus. 
Brother,  you  have  a  vice  of  mercy  in  you, 
Which  better  fits  a  lion  than  a  man. 
Hector. 
What  vice  is  that,  good  Troilus  f  chide  me 

for  *•  „     . 

Troilus, 

When  many  times  the  captive  Grecians  fall, 
Even  in  the  fan  and  wind  of  your  fair  sword, 
You  bid  them  rise,  and  live. 
Hector. 
O !  'tis  fair  play 

Troilus. 
Fool's  play,  by  heaven,  Hector. 
Hector. 
How  now  1  how  now  I 

Troilus. 

For  the  love  of  all  the  gods, 
Let's  leave  the  hermit  pity  with  our  mothers, 
And  when  we  have  our  armours  buckled  on, 
The  venom'd  vengeance  ride  upon  our  swords ; 
Spur  them  to  ruthful  work,  rein  them  from 
ruth. 

Hector. 
Fie,  savage,  fie ! 


Troilus. 

Hector,  then  'tis  wars. 
Hector. 
Troilus,  I  would  not  have  you  fight  to-day. 

Troilus. 
Who  should  withhold  me  ? 
Not  fate,  obedience,  nor  the  hand  of  Mars 
Beckoning  with  fiery  truncheon  my  retire ; 
Not  Priamus  and  Hecuba  on  knees, 
Their  eyes  o'ergalled  with  recourse  of  tears ; 
Nor  you,  my  brother,  with  your  true  sword 

drawn, 
Oppos'd  to  hinder  me,  should  stop  my  way, 
But  by  my  ruin. 

Re-enter  Cassandra,  with  Priam. 
Cassandra. 
Lay  hold  upon  him,  Priam,  hold  him  fast : 
He  is  thy  crutch  ;  now,  if  thou  lose  thy  stay, 
Thou  on  him  leaning,  and  all  Troy  on  thee, 
Fall  all  together. 

Priam. 
Come,  Hector,  come;  go  back. 
Thy  wife  hath  dream'd,  thy  mother  hath  had 

visions, 
Cassandra  doth  foresee;  and  I  myself 
Am  like  a  prophet  suddenly  enrapt, 
To  tell  thee  that  this  day  is  ominous : 
Therefore,  come  back. 

Hector. 

JEncas  is  a- field ; 
And  I  do  stand  engag'd  to  many  Greeks, 
Kven  in  the  faith  of  valour,  to  appear 
This  morning  to  them. 

Priam. 

Ay,  but  thou  shalt  not  go. 
Hector. 
I  must  not  break  my  faith. 
You  know  me  dutiful ;  therefore,  dear  sir, 
Let  me  not  shame  respect,  but  give  me  leave 
To  take  that  course  by  your  consent  and  voice, 
Which  you  do  here  forbid  me,  royal  Priam. 
Cassandra. 
O  Priam  !  yield  not  to  him. 
Andromache. 

Do,  not,  dear  father. 
Hector. 
Andromache,  I  am  offended  with  you : 
Upon  the  love  you  bear  me,  get  you  in. 

rExlt  Andromache. 
Troilus. 
This  foolish,  dreaming,  superstitious  girl 
Makes  all  these  bodements. 
Cassandra. 

O  farewell,  dear  Hector! 
Look,  how  thou  diest!  look,  how  thy  eye  turns 

pale  ! 
Look,  how  thy  wounds  do  bleed  at  many  vents  I 
Hark,  how  Troy  roars !  how  Hecuba  cries  out ! 
How  poor  Andromache  shrills  her  dolour  forth  I 
Behold,  distraction,  frenzy,  and  amazement, 
Like  witless  antics,  one  another  meet, 
And  all  cry — Hector!    Hector's  dead  I    O  Hec- 
tor! 

Troilus. 
Away !—  Away  I— 

Cassandra. 
Farewell.— Yet,  soft !  —  Hector,  I  take  my 
leave : 
Thou  dost  thyself  and  all  our  Troy  deceive. 

'  [Exit. 

Hector. 
You  are  amaz'd,  my  liege,  at  her  exclaim. 

Go 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


THOILUS  AND  CRKSSIDA. 


7*5 


j  Co  In,  and  cheer  the  town :   we'll  forth,  and 

tight; 
!  Do  deeds  worth  praise,  and  tell  you  them  at 
night. 

Priam. 
Farewell :  the  god*  with  safety  stand  about 
thee! 
[Exeunt  severally  Priam  and  Hector.    Ala- 
rums. 

Trollus. 
They  are  at  It ;  hark  !  —  Proud  Diomed,  be- 
lieve, 
I  1  come  to  lose  my  arm,  or  win  my  sleeve. 

[Going. 
Enter  Pandarut. 
Pandarus. 
Do  you  hear,  my  lord  ?  do  you  hear  ? 

Trollus. 
What  now  ? 

Panda  rus. 
Here's  a  letter  come  from  yond'  poor  girl. 

Trollus. 
Let  me  read. 

Pandarus. 
A  whoreson  phthisick,  a  whoreson  rascally 
phthisick  so  troubles  me,  and  the  foolish  fortune 
of  this  girl ;  and  what  one  thing,  what  another, 
I  that  1  shall  leave  you  one  o'  these  days :  and  I 
have  a  rheum  in  mine  eyes  too ;  and  such  an 
ache  in  my  bones,  that,  unless  a  man  were  cursed, 
I  cannot  tell  what  to  think  on't.  —  What  says  she 
there  ? 

Trollus. 
Words,  words,  mere  words,  no  matter  from 
the  heart ;                   [Tearing  the  letter, 
her  wav 


Th'  effect  doth  operate  anotl 

Go,    wind   to   wind,    there   turn  "and   change 


way. 


together — 

My  love  with  words  and  errors  still  she  feeds, 
But  edifies  another  with  her  deeds 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  IV.     Between  Troy  and  the  Grecian 
Camp. 

Alarums :  Excursions.    Enter  Thersites. 

Thersites. 
Now  they  are  clapper-clawing  one  another: 
I'll  go  look  on.  That  dissembling  abominable 
varlet  Diomed,  has  got  that  same  scurvy  doting 
foolish  young  knave's  sleeve,  of  Troy  there,  in 
his  helm  :  I  would  fain  see  them  meet ;  that 
that  same  young  Trojan  ass,  that  loves  the 
whore  there,  might  send  that  Greekish  whore- 
masterly  villain,  with  the  sleeve,  back  to  the  dis- 
sembling luxurious  drab  of  a  sleeveless  errand. 
O'  the  other  side,  the  policy  of  those  crafty 
swearing  rascals,  — that  stale  old  mouse-eaten 
dry  cheese,  Nestor,  and  that  same  dog-fox, 
Ulysses, — is  not  proved  worth  a  blackberry:  — 
they  set  me  up  in  policy  that  mongrel  cur,  Ajax, 
against  that  dog  of  as  bad  a  kind,  Achilles  ;  and 
now  is  the  cur  Ajax  prouder  than  the  cur 
Achilles,  and  will  not  arm  to-day :  whereupon  the 
(Grecians  begin  to  proclaim  barbarism,  and  policy 
grows  into  an  ill  opinion.  Soft !  here  comes 
sleeve,  and  th'  other. 

Enter  Diomedet,  Troilut  following. 
Troilus. 
Fly  not;   for  shouldst  thou  take  the  river 
Styx, 
I  would  swim  after. 

Diomedcs. 

Thou  dost  miscall  retire : 


I  do  not  fly,  but  advantageous  care 
Withdrew  me  from  the  odds  of  multitude. 
Have  at  thoe  1 

Thersites. 
Hold   thy   whore,    Grecian  1 —  now  for   thy 
whore,    Trojan  1  — now  the  sleeve  I    now  the 
•leeve  1 

[Exeunt  Troilut  and  Diomedet  fighting 

Enter  Hector. 
Hector. 
What  art  thou,  Greek  ?  art  thou  for  Hector'* 
matcli  ? 
Art  thou  of  blood,  and  honour  ? 
Thersites. 
No,  no;— I  am  a  rascal;   a  scurvy  railing 
knave,  a  very  filthy  rogue. 
Hector. 
I  do  believe  thee : — live.  [Exit . 

Thersites. 
God-a-mercy,  that  thou  wilt  believe  me ;  but 
a  plague  break  thy  neck,  for  frighting  me  1 
What's  become  of  the  wenching  rogues?  1 
think,  they  have  swallowed  one  another :  I 
would  laugh  at  that  miracle;  yet,  in  a  sort, 
lechery  eats  itself.    I'll  seek  them.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.     The  same. 
Enter  Diomedet  and  a  Servant. 
Diomedes. 
Go,  go,  my  servant,  take  thou  Troilus'  horse ; 
Present  the  fair  steed  to  my  lady  Cressid. 
Fellow,  commend  my  service  to  her  beauty; 
Tell  her,  I  have  chastis'd  the  amorous  Trojan, 
And  am  her  knight  by  proof. 
Servant. 
I  go,  my  lord.     [Exit  Servant. 

Enter  Agamemnon. 
Agamemnon. 
Renew,  renew !    The  fierce  Polydamus 
Hath  beat  down  Menon :  bastard  Margarelon 
Hath  Doreus  prisoner, 
And  stands  colossus-wise,  waving  his  beam, 
Upon  the  pashed  corses  of  the  kings 
Epistrophus  and  Cedius  :  Polixerus  is  slain  ; 
Amphimachus,  and  Thoas,  deadly  hurt ; 
Patroclus  ta'en,  or  slain ;  and  Palamedes 
Sore  hurt  and  bruis'd :  the  dreadful  Sagitlary 
Appals  our  numbers.    Haste  we,  Diomed, 
To  reinforcement,  or  we  perish  all. 

Enter  Nestor. 
Nestor. 
Go,  bear  Patroclus'  body  to  Achilles, 
And  bid  the  snail-pac'd  Ajax  arm  for  shame.— 
There  is  a  thousand  Hectors  in  the  field  : 
Now,  here  he  fights  on  Galalhe  his  horse, 
And  there  lacks  work  ;  anon,  he's  there  afoot, 
And  there  they  fly,  or  die,  like  scaled  sculls 
Before  the  belching  whale  :  then,  is  he  yonder, 
And  there  the  strawy  Greeks,  ripe  for  his  edge, 
Fall  down  before  him,  like  the  mower's  swath. 
Here,  there,  and  every  where,  he  leaves,  and 
Dexterity  so  obeying  appetite,  [takes ; 

That  what  he  will,  he  does  ;  and  does  so  much, 
That  proof  is  call'd  impossibility. 

Enter  Ulysses. 

Ulysses. 

O,  courage,  courage," princes!  great  Achilles 

Is  arming,  weeping,  cursing,  vowing  vengeance, 

Patroclus'  wounds  have  rous'd  his  drowsy  blood. 

Together  with  his  mangled  Myrmidons, 

That 


7*6 


TKOILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


That  noseless,  handiest,  hack'd  and  chipp'd, 

come  to  him, 
Crying  on  Hector.    Ajax  hath  lost  a  friend, 
And  foams  at  mouth,  and  he  is  arm'd,  and  at  it, 
Roaring  for  Troilus;  who  hath  done  to-day 
Mad  and  fantastic  execution, 
Engaging  and  redeeming  of  himself, 
With  such  a  careless  force,  and  forceless  care, 
As  if  that  luck,  in  very  spite  of  cunning, 
Bade  him  win  all. 


Enter  Ajax. 
Troilus!  thou  coward  Troilus! 


[Exit. 


Diomedes. 


Nestor. 
So,  so,  we  draw  together. 


Ay,  there,  there. 


Enter  Achilles. 

Achilles. 

Where  Is  this  Hector  t 
Come,  come,  thou  boy-queller !  show  thy  face ; 
Know  what  it  is  to  meet  Achilles  angry. 
Hector!  where's  Hector ?     I   will  none  but 
Hector. 


SCENE  VI.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  Ajax. 
Aiax. 
Troilus!  thou  coward  Troilus,  show  thy  head  1 

Enter  Diomedes, 
Diomedes. 
Troilus,  I  say !  where's  Troilus  f 

Ajax. 

What  would'st  thou? 
Diomedes. 
I  would  correct  him. 

Ajax. 
Were  I  the  general,  thou  should'st  have  my 
office, 
Ere  that  correction.— Troilus,   I    6ayl    what, 
Troilus  I 

Enter  Troilus. 
Troilus. 
O,  traitor  Diomed  /—turn  thy  false  face,  thou 
traitor, 
And  pay  thy  life  thou  ow'st  me  for  my  horse  1 
Diomedes. 
Ha !  art  thou  there  ? 

Ajax. 
I'll  fight  with  him  alone :  stand,  Diomed. 

Diomedes. 
He  is  my  prize,  I  will  not  look  upon. 

Troilus. 
Come  both,  you  cogging  Greeks ;  have  at  you 
both.  [Exeunt,  fighting. 

Enter  Hector. 
Hector. 
Yea,  Troilus?    O!  well  fought,  my  youngest 
brother. 


Enter  Achilles. 

Achilles. 
Now  do  I  see  thee.     Ha !  ■ 
Hector. 

Hector. 
Tause,  if  thou  wilt. 


.  .    „  a  ,     ,      Achilles. 

I  do  disdain  thy  courtesy,  proud  Trojan. 
Be  happy  that  my  arms  are  out  of  use : 
My  rest  and  negligence  befriend  thee  now, 
But  thou  anon  shalt  hear  of  me  again  ; 
Till  when,  go  seek  thy  fortune.  [Exit. 

Hector. 

Fare  thee  well. 
I  would  have  been  much  more  a  fresher  man, 
Had  I  expected  thee. — How  now,  my  brother  I 

Re-enter  Troilus. 

Troilus. 
Ajax  hath  ta'en  JEneas :  shall  it  he  ? 
j  No,  by  the  flame  of  yonder  glorious  heaven, 
He  shall  not  carry  him :  I'll  be  taken  too, 
Or  bring  him  off.— Fate,  hear  me  what  I  say ! 
I  reck  not  though  thou  end  my  life  to-day. 

[Exit. 
Enter  one  in  sumptuous  Armour. 

Hector. 
Stand,  stand,  thou  Greek :  thou  art  a  goodly 
mark. — 
No !  wilt  thou  not  ?—  I  like  thy  armour  well ; 
I'll  frush  it,  and  unlock  the  rivets  all,     [abide  ? 
But  I'll  be  master  of  it — Wilt  thou  not,  beast, 
Why  then,  fly  on,  I'll  hunt  thee  for  thy  hide. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V 11.    The  same. 

Enter  Achilles,  with  Myrmidons. 

Achilles. 
Come  here  about  me,  you  my  Myrmidons  ; 
Mark  what  I  say — Attend  me  where  I  wheel : 
Strikenotastroke.butkeepyourselves  in  breath ; 
And  when  I  have  the  bloody  Hector  found, 
Empale  him  with  your  weapons  round  about ; 
In  fellest  manner  execute  your  aims. 

Follow  me,  sirs,  and  my  proceedings  eye 

It  is  decreed— H ector  the  great  must  die. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.    The  same. 

Enter  Menelaus  and  Paris  fighting:  then, 
Thersites. 

Thersites. 

The  cuckold  and  the  cuckold.maker  are  at  it. 

Now,  bull !  now,  dog  1    'Loo,  Paris,  'loo  !  now, 

my  double-henned  sparrow !  'loo,  Paris,  'loo  ! 

The  bull  has  the  game :— 'ware  horns,  ho  ! 

[Exeunt  Paris  and  Menelaus; 

Enter  Margarelon. 
Margarelon. 
Turn,  slave,  and  fight. 

Thersites. 
What  art  thou? 

Margarelon. 
A  bastard  son  of  Priam's. 
Thersites. 
I  am  a  bastard  too.    I  love  bastards  ;  lama 
bastard  begot,  bastard   instructed,  bastard  in 
mind,  bastard  in  valour,  in  every  thing  illegiti- 
mate.   One   bear  will   not  bite  another,  and 
wherefore  should  one  bastard  t    Take  heed,  the 
quarrel's  most  ominous  to  us:  if  the  son  of  a 
whore  fight  for  a  whore,  he  tempts  judgment. 
Farewell,  bastard. 

Margarelon. 
The  devil  take  thee,  coward !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


Have  at  thee 


Act  v.  Sc  xi. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


7*7 


SCENE  IX.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  Hector, 

Hector. 
Moot  putrifled  core,  so  fair  without, 
Thy  goodly  armour  thus  hath  cost  thy  life. 
Now  is  my  day's  work  done;  I'll  take  good 

breath : 
Rest,  sword ,  thou  hast  thy  fill  of  blood  and 

(Tuts  off  his  Helmet,  and  lays  his  Sword 
aside. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Myntidons. 

Achilles. 

Look,  Hector,  how  the  sun  begins  to  set ; 

How  ugly  night  comes  breathing  at  his  heels: 

Even  with  the  vail  and  dark'ning  of  the  sun, 

To  close  the  day  up,  Hector's  life  is  done. 

Her  tor. 

I  am  unarm'd :  forego  this  vantage,  Greek. 

Achilles. 
Strike,  fellows,  strike  1  this  is  the  man  }}*&• 

So,  Ilion,  fall  thou  next !  now,  Troy,  sink  down; 
Here  lies  thy  heart,  thy  sinews,  and  thy  bone. — 
On,  Myrmidons  ;  and  cry  you  all  amain, 
Achilks  hath  the  mighty  Hector  slain.  .    . 

[A  Retreat  sounded. 

Hark  !  a  retreat  upon  our  Grecian  part. 
Myrmidng. 
The  Trojan  trumpets  sound  the  like,  my  lord. 

Achilles. 
The  dragon  wing  of  night  o'erspreads   the 
earth, 
And,  stickler  like,  the  armies  separates.      [fed, 


My  half-supp'd  sword,  that  frankly  would  have 

Pleas'd  with  this  dainty  bit.  thus  goes  to  bed 

[Mieatns  his  Sword. 
Come,  tie  his  body  to  my  horse's  tail ; 
Along  the  field  I  will  the  Trojan  trail.,. 

fExeunt. 


SCENE  X.    The  same. 
Enter    Agamemnon,  AJax,    Menelaus,   Nestor, 
Diomedes,   and   others,   marching.      Shouts 
within. 

Agamemnon. 
Hark  1  hark  !  what  shout  is  that  ? 
Nestor. 

Peace,  drums ! 
[Within.]  Achilles! 

Achilles  f  Hector's  slain  !  Achilles ! 
Diomedes. 
The  bruit  is,  Hector's  slain,  and  by  Achilles. 

Ajax. 
If  it  be  so,  yet  bragless  let  it  be : 
Great  Hector  was  a  man  as  g^od  as  he. 
Agamemnon. 

March  patiently  along Let  one  be  sent 

To  pray  Achilles  see  us  at  our  tent 

if  in  his  death  the  gods  have  us  befriended, 
Great   Troy  is  ours,  and  orur  sharp  wars  are 


ended . 


.xeunt,  marching. 


SCENE  XI.    Another  part  of  the  Field. 

Enter  JEneas  and  Trojan  Forces. 

./Eneas. 

Stand,  ho  !  yet  are  we  masters  of  the  field. 

Never  go  home :  here  starve  we  out  the  night. 


Enter  Troilus. 
Troilus. 
Hector  i»  slain. 

Hector  T— The  gods  forbid ! 
Troilus. 
He's  dead  ;  and  at  the  murderer's  horse's  tail. 
In  beastly  sort  dragg'd  through  the  shameful 
field.—  [speed  ! 

Frown  on,  you  heavens,  effect  your  rage  with 
Sit,  gods,  upon  your  thrones,  and  smile  at  Troy  t 
I  say,  at  once  let  your  brief  plagues  be  mercy, 
Ana  linger  not  our  sure  destructions  on  I 

My  lord,  you  do  discomfort  all  the  host. 

Troilus. 
You  understand  me  not,  that  tell  me  so. 
I  do  not  speak  of  flight,  of  fear,  of  death  ; 
But  dare  all  imminence,  that  gods  and  men 
Address  their  dangers  in.    Hector  is  gone  ! 
Who  shall  tell  Priam  so,  or  Hecuba? 
Let  him,  that  will  a  screech-owl  aye  be  call'd 
Go  in  to  Troy,  and  say  there—  Hector's  dead: 
There  is  a  word  will  Priam  turn  to  stone, 
Make  wells  and  Niobes  of  the  maids  and  wives, 
Cold  statues  of  the  youth  ;  and,  in  a  word, 
Scare  Troy  out  of  itself.    But,  march,  away : 
Hector  is  dead;  there  is  no  more  to  say. 
Stay  yet. — You  vile  abominable  tents, 
Thus  proudly  pight  upon  our  Phrygian  plains, 
Let  Titan  ris'e  as  early  as  he  dare, 
I'll  through  and  through  you !— And,  thou  great- 

siz'd  coward. 
No  space  of  earth  shall  sunder  our  two  hates : 
I'll  haunt  thee  like  a  wicked  conscience  still, 
That    mouldeth    goblins    swift    as     frenzy's 

thoughts. — 
Strike  a  free  march  to  Troy  /—with  comfort  go : 
Hope  of  revenge  shall  hide  our  inward  woe. 

[Exeunt  JLneas  and  Trojan  Forces. 

As  Troilus  is  going  out,  enter,  from  the  other 

side,  Pandarut. 

Pandarus. 

But  hear  you,  hear  you  I 

Troilus. 

Hence,  broker,  lackey !  ignomy  and  shame 

Pursue  thy  life,  and  live  aye  with  thy  name ! 

Pandarus. 
A  goodly  medicine  for  mine  aching  bones  !— 
O  world  !  world  1  world  !  thus  is  the  poor  agent 
despised.     O,  traitors  and  bawds,  how  earnestly 
are  you  set  a'  work,  and  how  ill  requited  !  why 
should  our  endeavour  be  so  desired,  and  the 
performance  so  loathed?    what  verse  for  it? 
what  instance  for  it? — Let  me  see. — 
Full  merrily  the  humble-bee  doth  sing, 
Till  he  hath  lost  his  honey,  and  his  sting ; 
And  being  once  subdued  in  armed  tail, 
Sweet  honey  and  sweet  notes  together  fail. — 
Good  traders  in  the  flesh,  set  this  in  your  painted 
cloths. 
As  many  as  be  here  of  Pandar's  Hall, 
Your  eyes,  half  out,  weep  out  at  Pandar's  fall ; 
Or,  if  you  cannot  weep,  yet  give  some  groans, 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  aching  bones. 
Brethren,  and  sisters,  of  the  hold-door  trade, 
Some  two  months  hence  my  will  shall  here  be 

made: 
It  should  be  now,  but  that  my  fear  is  this,— 
Some  galled  goose  of  Winchester  would  hiss. 
Till  then  I'll  sweat,  and  seek  about  for  eases  ; 
And  at  that  time  bequeath  you  my  diseases. 


7*8 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


CORIOLANUS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


CAIUS  MARCIUS  CORIOLANUS,  a  noble 
Roman. 

CominVus?1"5'  J  Generals  against  the  Volscians. 
Menenius  Agrippa,  Friend  to  Coriolanus. 
Sicinius  Velutus,  )  ~>  .,  -,,     „       , 

Junius  Brutus      j  Tribunes  of  the  People. 

Young  Marcius,  Son  to  Coriolanus. 

A  Roman  Herald. 

Tullus  Aufidius,  General  of  the  Volscians. 

Lieutenant  to  Aufidius. 

Conspirators  with  Aufidius. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Rome.    A  Street. 

Enter  a  Company  of  mutinous  Citizens,  with 

Staves,  Clubs,  and  other  Weapons. 

First  Citizen. 

T5EFORE  we  proceed  any  farther,  hear  me 

Speak'  All. 

Speak, speak. 

First  Citizen. 
You  are  all  resolved  rather  to  d; 
famish? 

Resolved,  resolved. 

First  Citizen. 
First  you  know,  Caius  Marcius  is  chief  enemy 
to  the  people. 

All. 

We  know't,  we  know't. 

First  Citizen. 
Let  us  kill  him,  and  we'll  have  corn  at  our 
own  price.     Is't  a  verdict? 


A  Citizen  of  Antium. 
Two  Volscian  Guards. 
Volumnia,  Mother  to  Coriolanus. 
Virgilia,  Wife  to  Coriolanus. 
Valeria,  Friend  to  Virgilia. 
Gentlewoman,  attending  on  Virgilia. 

Roman  and  Volscian  Senators,  Patricians, 
JEdiles,  Lictors,  Soldiers,  Citizens,  Messengers, 
Servants  to  Aufidius,  and  other  Attendants. 

SCENE,  partly  in  Rome;  and  partly  in  the 
Territories  of  the  Volscians  and  Antiates. 


I  are  too  dear :  the  leanness  that  afflicts  us,  the 
object  of  our  misery,  is  as  an  inventory  to  par- 
ticularize their  abundance;  our  sufferance  is  a 

J  gain  to  them Let  us  revenge  this  with  our 

i  pikes,  ere  we  become  rakes:  for  the  gods  know, 
|  1  speak  this  in  hunger  for  bread,  not  in  thirst 
'■  for  revenge.       .         .  _ ... 

Second  Citizen. 

j  Would  you  proceed  especially  against  Caius 
!  Marcius? 

All. 

Against  him  first:   he's  a  very  dog  to   the 


than  to    commonalty 


Second  Citizen. 


All. 
No  more  talking  on't;  let  it  be  done.    Away, 

Second  Citizen. 
One  word,  good  citizens. 

First  Citizen. 
We  are  accounted  poor  citizens;  the  patri- 
cians good.  What  authority  surfeits  on,  would 
relieve  us :  if  they  would  yield  us  but  the  super- 
fluity, while  it  were  wholesome,  we  might  guess 
they  relieved  us  humanely  ;  but  they  think,  we 


Consider  you  what  services  he  has  done  for 
his  country?         ,„  • 

'  First  Citizen. 

Very  well ;  and  could  be  content  to  give  him 
good  report  for't,  but  that  he  pays  himself  with 
being  proud.  .  _.t. 

Second  Citizen. 

Nay,  but  speak  not  maliciously. 
First  Citizen. 

I  say  unto  you,  what  he  hath  done  famously, 
he  did  it  to  that  end:  though  soft-conscienced 
men  can  be  content  to  say  it  was  for  his  countrv, 
he  did  it  to  please  his  mother,  and  to  be  partly 
proud ;  which  he  is,  even  to  the  altitude  of  his 

Second  Citizen. 
What   he   cannot   help  in  his    nature,  you 
account  a  vice  in  him.    You  must  in  no  way 
say  he  is  covetous. 

First  Citizen. 


If  1  must  not, 


need  not  be  barren  of  accu- 
sations: 


;Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


C01U0LA.NUS. 


7*9 


sations;  lie  hath  fault*,  wJtHsurplus,  to  tire  in 
repetition.  ":1'"»  ]   What  shouts  are 

tlMM?     The  other  tide  o'  the  city  is  risen: 
why  stay  we  prating  here?  to  the  Capitol! 
All. 
Come,  come. 

First  Citizen. 
Soft!  who  comes  here? 

Enter  Mcnmius  Agrippa. 
Second  Citizen. 
Worthy  Menenius   Agrippa;   one  that  hath 
always  loved  the  people. 

First  Citizen. 
He's  one  honest  enough:  would  all  the  rest 
were  so! 

Menenius. 
What    work's,   my   countrymen,    In    hand? 
Where  go  you 
With  bats  and  clubs?    The  matter?    Speak,  1 
pray  you.  Second  Citiaen 

Our  business  is  not  unknown  to  the  senate : 
they  have  had  inkling  this  fortnight  what  we 
intend  to  do,  which  now  we'll  show  'em  in  deeds. 
They  say,  poor  suitors  have  strong  breaths : 
they  shall  know,  we  have  strong  arms  too. 
Menenius. 

Why,  masters,  my  good  friends,  mine  honest 

Will'you  undo  yourselves?  [neighbours, 

Second  Citizen. 

We  cannot,  sir ;  we  are  undone  already. 
Menenius. 
|     I  tell  you,  friends,  most  charitable  care 
Have  the  patricians  of  you.    For  your  wants. 
Your  suffering  in  this  dearth,  you  may  as  well 
Strike  at  the  heaven  with  your  staves,  as  lift  them 
Against  the  Roman  state;  whose  course  will  on 
The  way  it  takes,  cracking  ten  thousand  curbs 
Of  more  strong  link  asunder,  than  can  ever 
Appear  in  your  impediment.    For  the  dearth, 
The  gods,  not  the  patricians,  make  it ;  and 
Your  knees    to  them,    not  arms,  must  help. 
You  are  transported  by  calamity  [Alack  ! 

Thither  where  more  attends  you ;  and  you  slander 
The  helms  o'  the  state,  who  care  for  you  like 
When  you  curse  them  as  enemies.         [fathers, 
Second  Citizen. 

Care  for  us?— True,  indeed!  — They  ne'er 
cared  for  us  yet.  Suffer  us  to  famish,  and  their 
storehouses  crammed  with  grain;  make  edicts 
for  usury,  to  support  usurers;  repeal  daily  any 
wholesome  act  established  against  the  rich,  and 
provide  more  piercing  statutes  daily  to  chain  up 
and  restrain  the  poor.  If  the  wars  eat  us  not 
up,  they  will ;  and  there's  all  the  love  they  bear 

Menenius. 

Either  you  must 
Confess  yourselves  wondrous  malicious, 
Or  be  accus'd  of  folly.    I  shall  tell  you 
|  A  pretty  tale :  it  may  be,  you  have  heard  it; 
]  But,  since  it  serves  my  purpose,  I  will  venture 
To  scale  't  a  little  more. 

Second  Citizen. 
Well,  I'll  hear  it,  sir :  yet  you  must  not  think 
;  to  fob  off  our  disgrace  with  a  tale;  but,  an't 
please  you,  deliver. 

Menenius. 
There  was  a  time,  when  all  the  body's  members 
Rebell'd  against  the  belly;  thus  accus'd  it:  — 
That  only  like  a  gulf  it  did  remain 
1'  the  midst  o'  the  body,  idle  and  unactive. 
Still  cupboarding  the  viand,  never  bearing 


Like  labour  with  the  rest ;  where  th'  other  in- 
struments 
Did  see,  and  hear,  devise,  instruct,  walk,  feel, 
And,  mutually  participate,  did  minuter 
Unto  the  appetite,  and  affection  common 
Of  the  whole  body.    The  belly  answered,— 
Second  Citizen. 
Well,  sir,  what  answer  made  the  belly  ? 

Menenius. 
Sir,  I  shall  tell  ynu.— With  a  kind  of  smile, 
Which  ne'er  came  from  the  lungs,  but  even  thus, 
(For,  look  you,  I  may  make  the  belly  smile, 
As  well  as  speak)  it  tauntingly  replied 
T*  the  discontented  members,  the  mutinous  parts 
That  envied  his  receipt ;  even  so  most  fitly 
As  you  malign  our  senators,  for  that 
They  arc  not  such  as  you. 

Second  Citizen. 
Your  belly's  answer  ?    What ! 
The  kingly  crowned  head,  the  vigilant  eye, 
The  counsellor  heart,  the  arm  our  soldier, 
Our  steed  the  leg,  the  tongue  our  trumpeter, 
With  other  muniments  and  petty  helps 
In  this  our  fabric,  if  that  they  — 
Menenius. 

What  then?— 
'Fore  me,  this  fellow  speaks  !— what  then?  what 
then? 

Second  Citizen. 
Should  by  the  cormorant  belly  be  restrain'd, 
Who  is  the  sink  o*  the  body,— 
Menenius. 

Well,  what  then? 
Second  Citizen. 
The  former  agents,  if  they  did  complain, 
What  could  the  belly  answer? 
Menenius. 

I  will  tell  you, 
If  you'll  bestow  a  small  (of  what  you  have  little) 
Patience  a  while,  you'll  hear  the  belly's  answer. 
Second  Citizen. 
Y'are  long  about  it. 

Menenius. 

Note  me  this,  good  friend ; 
Your  most  grave  belly  was  deliberate, 
Not  rash  like  his  accusers,  and  thus  answer'd :  — 
"  True  is  it,  my  incorporate  friends,"  quoth  he, 
"  That  I  receive  the  general  food  at  first, 
Which  you  do  live  upon ;  and  fit  it  is, 
Because  I  am  the  store-house,  and  the  shop 
Of  the  whole  body :  but  if  you  do  remember, 
I  send  it  through  the  rivers  of  your  blood, 
Even  to  the  court,  the  heart,  to  the  seat  o'  the 

brain ; 
And  through  the  cranks  and  offices  of  man, 
The  strongest  nerves,  and  small  inferior  veins, 
From  me  receive  that  natural  competency 
Whereby  they  live.   And  though  that  all  at  once, 
You,  my  good  friends,"  this  says  the  belly,  mark 
me,— 

Second  Citizen. 
Ay,  sir;  well,  well. 

Menenius. 

41  Though  all  at  once  cannot 
See  what  I  do  deliver  out  to  each. 
Yet  1  can  make  my  audit  up,  that  all 
From  me  do  back  receive  the  flour  of  all, 
And  leave  mebut  the  bran."  What  say  you  to't  ? 
Second  Citizen. 
It  was  an  answer.    How  apply  you  this  ? 

Menenius. 

The  senators  of  Rome  are  this  good  belly, 

And  you  the  mutinous  members  :  for  examine 

Their 


73° 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Their  counsels,  and  their  cares ;  digest  things  j 

rightly. 
Touching  the  weal  o'  the  common,  you  shall  find,  [ 
No  public  benefit  which  you  receive, 
But  it  proceeds,  or  comes,  from  them  to  you, 
And  no  way  from  yourselves. — What  do  you 
You,  the  great  toe  of  this  assembly  ?—    [think? 
Second  Citizen. 
I  the  great  toe  ?    Why  the  great  toe  ? 

Menenius. 
For  that  being  one  o'  the  lowest,  basest,  I 
poorest, 
Of  this  most  wise  rebellion,  thou  go'st  foremost :  j 
Thou  rascal,  that  art  worst  in  blood  to  run, 
Lead'st  first  to  win  some  vantage — 
But  make  you  ready  your  stiff  bats  and  clubs,      j 
Rome  and  her  rats  are  at  the  point  of  battle ; 
The  one  side  must  have  bale.  — Hail,  noble! 
Marcius! 


Enter  Caius  Marcius. 
Marcius. 
Thanks.— What's  the  matter,  you  dissentious 

rogues, 
That  rubbing  the  poor  itch  of  your  opinion, 
Make  yourselves  scabs  ? 

Second  Citizen. 
We  have  ever  your  good  word,  i 
Marcius 
He  that  will  give  good  words  to  thee,  will 

flatter 
Beneath  abhorring.  —What  would  you  have,  you 

curs. 
That  like  nor  peace,  nor  war  ?  the  one  affrights 

you; 
The  other  makes  you  proud.    He  that  trusts  to 

you, 
Where  he  should  find  you  lions,  finds  you  hares ; 
Where  foxes,  geese:  you  are  no  surer,  no, 
Than  is  the  coal  of  fire  upon  the  ice, 
Or  hailstone  in  the  sun.    Your  virtue  is     [him, 
To  make  him  worthy,  whose  offence  subdues 
And  curse  that  justice  did  it.    Who  deserves 

greatness, 
Deserves  your  hate;  and  your  affections  are 
A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 
Which  would  increase  his  evil.    He  that  depends 
Upon  your  favours,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 
And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.    Hang  ye  1 

Trust  ye? 
With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind, 
And  call  him  noble,  that  was  now  your  hate, 
Him  vile,  that  was  your  garland.    What's  the 

matter, 
That  in  these  several  places  of  the  city 
You  cry  against  the  noble  senate,  who, 
Under  the  gods,  keep  you  in  awe,  which  else 
Would  feed  on  one  another?— What's  their 

seeking  ? 

Menenius. 

For  corn  at  their  own  rates ;  whereof,  they 
The  city  is  well  stor'd.  [say, 

Marcius. 

Hang  'em  !    They  say  ? 
They'll  sit  by  the  fire,  and  presume  to  know 
What's  done  i'  the  Capitol;  who's  like  to  rise, 
Who  thrives,  and  who  declines;  side  factions, 

and  give  out 
Conjectural  marriages ;  making  parties  strong, 
And  feebling  such  as  stand  not  in  their  liking 
Below  their  cobbled  shoes.    They  6ay,  there's 

grain  enough  ? 
Would  the  nobility  lay  aside  their  ruth, 
And  let  me  use  my  sword,  I'd  make  a  quarry 


With  thousands  of  these  quarter'd  slaves,  as 
As  I  could  pick  my  lance.  [high 

Menenius. 
Nay,  these  are  almost  thoroughly  persuaded ; 
For  though  abundantly  they  lack  discretion, 
Yet  are  they  passing  cowardly.    But,  I  beseech 
What  says  the  other  troop  ?  [you, 

Marcius. 
They  are  dissolved.    Hang  "em  ! 
They  said,  they  were  an-hungry;  sigh'd  forth 
proverbs, —  [eat ; 

That  hunger  broke  stone  walls ;  that  dogs  must 
That  meat  was  made  for  mouths ;  that  the  gods 

sent  not 
Corn  for  the  rich  men  only.— With  these  shred 
They  vented  their  complainings;  which  being 

answer'd, 
And  a  petition  granted  them,  a  strange  one, 
(To  break  the  heart  of  generosity,     [their  caps 
And  make  bold  power  look  pale)  they  threw 
As  they  would  hang  them  on  the  horns  o'  the 
Shouting  their  emulation.  [moon, 

Menenius. 

What  is  granted  them  ? 
Marcius. 
Five  tribunes,  to  defend  their  vulgar  wisdoms, 
Of  their  own  choice :  one's  Junius  Brutus, 
Sicinius  Velutus,  and  I  know  not — 'Sdeath  ! 
The  rabble  should  have  first  unroofd  the  city, 
Ere  so  prevail'd  with  me :  it  will  in  time 
Win    upon   power,   and   throw  forth    greater 
For  insurrection's  arguing.  [themes 

Menenius. 

This  is  strange. 
Marcius. 

Go  ;  get  you  home,  you  fragments  1 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Where's  Cuius  Marcius  f 
Marcius. 

Here.    What's  the  matter  ? 
Messenger. 
The  news  is,  sir,  the  Volsces  are  in  arms. 

Marcius. 
I  am  glad  on't:  then,  we  shall  have  means  to 
vent 
Our  musty  superfluity.  —  See,  our  best  elders. 

Enter  Cominius,  Titus  Lartius,  and  other 
Senators;  Junius  Brutus,  and  Sicinius  Ve- 
lutus. 

First  Senator. 
Marcius,  'tis  true,  that  you  have  lately  told  us ; 
The  Volsces  are  in  arms. 

Marcius. 

They  have  a  leader, 
Tullus  Aufldius,  that  will  put  you  to't. 
I  sin  in  envying  his  nobility; 
And  were  I  any  thing  but  what  I  am, 
I  would  wish  me  only  he. 

Cominius. 

You  have  fought  together. 
Marcius. 
Were  half  to  half  the  world  by  th'  ears,  and  he 
Upon  my  party,  I'd  revolt,  to  make 
Only  my  wars  with  him:  he  is  a  lion 
That  I  am  proud  to  hunt. 

First  Senator. 

Then,  worthy  Marcius, 
Attend  upon  Cominius  to  these  wars. 
Cominius. 
It  is  your  former  promise.  , 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


COKIOLANUS. 


73* 


Marcius. 

Sir,  it  is ; 
I    And  I  am  constant  — Titus  I.artius,  thou 
Shall  see  me  once  more  strike  at  Tulltu'  face. 
What  I  art  thou  stiff?  stand'st  out  ? 

ritus. 

No,  Cat'us  Marciut; 
I'll  lean  upon  one  crutch,  and  fight  with  the 
Ere  stay  behind  this  business.  [other, 

Menenius. 

O,  true  bred ! 
First  Senator. 
Your  company  to  the  Capitol;  where,  I  know, 
Our  greatest  friends  attend  us. 

Titus. 

Lead  you  on : 
Follow,  Cominius;  we  must  follow  you; 
Right  worthy  you  priority. 

Cominius. 

Noble  Marchu! 
First  Senator. 
Hence !    To  your  homes !  be  gone. 

[To  the  Citizens. 
Marcius. 

Nay,  let  them  follow. 
The  Volsces  have  much  corn :  take  these  rats 

thither, 
To  gnaw  their  garners — Worshipful  mutineers, 
Your  valour  puts  well  forth:  pray,  follow. 

[Exeunt  Senators,  Coniinius,  f tardus,  Titus, 

and  Menenius.    Citizens  steal  away. 

Sicinius. 

Was  ever  man  so  proud  as  is  this  Marcius  T 

Brutus. 

I      lie  has  no  equal. 

Sicinius. 


When  we  were  chosen  tribunes  for  the  people,— 

Brutus. 
Mark'd  you  his  lip,  and  eyes  ? 

Sicinius. 

Nay,  but  his  taunts. 

Brutus. 
Being  mov'd,  he  will  not  spare  to  gird  the 
gods. 

Sicinius. 
Beraock  the  modest  moon. 

Brutus. 
The  present  wars  devour  him  :  he  is  grown 
Too  proud  to  be  so  valiant. 

Sicinius. 

Such  a  nature, 
Tickled  with  good  success,  disdains  the  shadow 
Which  he  treads  on  at  noon.    But  I  do  wonder, 
His  insolence  can  brook  to  be  commanded 
Under  Cominius. 

Brutus. 

Fame,  at  the  which  he  aims, 
In  whom  already  he  is  well  grae'd,  cannot 
Better  be  held,  nor  more  attain'd,  than  by 
A  place  below  the  first ;  for  what  miscarries 
Shall  be  the  general's  fault,  though  he  perform 
To  the  utmost  of  a  man ;  and  giddy  censure 
Will  then  cry  out  of  Marcius,  «*  O,  if  he 
Had  borne  the  business  l" 

Sicinius. 

Besides,  if  things  go  well, 
Opinion,  that  so  sticks  on  Marcius,  shall 
Of  his  demerits  rob  Cominius. 

Brutus. 

Come: 
Half  all  Cominius'  honours  are  to  Marcius, 


Though  Marcius  earn'd  them  not ;  and  all  hit 

faults 
To  Marcius  shall  be  honours,  though,  indeed, 
In  aught  he  merit  not. 

Sicinius. 

Let's  hence,  and  hear 
How  the  despatch  Is  made;  and  in  what  fashion, 
More  than  his  singularity,  he  goes 
Upon  his  present  action. 

Brutus. 

Let's  along.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  It    Corioti.    The  Senate- House. 

Enter  Tullus  Axtfidius,  and  Senators. 

First  Senator. 

So,  your  opinion  is,  Aufidius, 

That  they  or  Rome  are  enter'd  in  our  counsels, 

And  know  how  we  proceed. 

Aufidius. 

Is  it  not  yours  ? 
What  ever  have  been  thought  on  in  this  state, 
That  could  be  brought  to  bodily  act  ere  Rome 
Had  circumvention  ?    'Tis  not  four  days  gone, 
Since  I  heard  thence;  these  are  the  words :  I 

think, 
I  have  the  letter  here  ;  yes,  here  it  is :  — 

[Reads. 
"  They  have  press'd  a  power,  but  it  is  not  known 
Whether  for  east,  or  west.   The  dearth  is  great ; 
The  people  mutinous  ;  and  it  is  rumour'd, 
Cominius y  Marcius  your  old  enemy, 
(  Who  is  of  Rome  worse  hated  than  of  you) 
And  Titus  Lartius,  a  most  valiant  Roman, 
These  three  lead  on  this  preparation 
Whither  'tis  bent :  most  likely,  'tis  for  you. 
Consider  of  it." 

First  Scuator. 
Our  army's  In  the  field. 
We  never  yet  made  doubt  but  Rome  was  ready 
To  answer  us. 

Aufidius. 
Nor  did  you  think  it  folly, 
>  To  keep  your  great  pretences  veil'd,  till  when 
They  needs  must  show  themselves;  which  in  the 

hatching, 
It  seem'd,  appear'd  to  Rome.  By  the  discovery, 
1  We  shall  be  shorten'd  in  our  aim  ;  which  was, 
To  take  in  many  towns,  ere,  almost,  Rome 
Should  know  we  were  afoot. 

Second  Senator. 

Noble  Aufidius, 
.  Take  your  commission ;  hie  you  to  your  bands. 
Let  us  alone  to  guard  Corioli  : 
1  If  they  set  down  before  's,  for  the  remove 
Bring  up  your  army;  but,  I  think,  you'll  find 
They've  not  prepar'd  for  us. 
Aufidius. 

O!  doubt  not  that ; 
;  I  speak  from  certainties.    Nay,  more ; 
'■  Some  parcels  of  their  power  are  forth  already; 
|  And  only  hitherward.     I  leave  your  honours. 

If  we  and  Cuius  Marcius  chance  to  meet, 
!  'Tis  sworn  between  us,  we  shall  ever  strike 
Till  one  can  do  no  more. 
All. 

The  gods  assist  you  1 
Aufidius. 
And  keep  your  honours  safe  I 
First  Senator. 

Farewell. 
Second  Senator. 

Farewell. 
All. 
Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE 


7>* 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


SCENE  III.  Home.  An  Apartment  in  Marcius' 
House. 

Enter  Volumnia  and  Virgilia.    They  sit  down 

on  two  low  Stools,  and  sew. 

Volumnia. 

I  pray  you,  daughter,  sing ;  or  express  yourself 
in  a  more  comfortable  sort.  If  my  son  were  my 
husband,  I  should  freelier  rejoice  in  that  absence 
wherein  he  won  honour,  than  in  the  embrace- 
ments  of  his  bed.  where  he  would  show  most 
love.  When  yet  he  was  but  tender-bodied,  and 
the  only  son  of  my  womb;  when  youth  with 
comeliness  plucked  all  gaze  his  way;  when,  for 
a  day  of  king's  entreaties,  a  mother  should  not 
sell  him  an  hour  from  her  beholding;  I, — con- 
sidering how  honour  would  become  such  a 
person ;  that  it  was  no  better  than  picture-like 
to  hang  by  the  wall,  if  renown  made  it  not  stir, 
— was  pleased  to  let  him  seek  danger  where  he 
was  like  to  find  fame.  To  a  cruel  war  I  sent 
him  ;  from  whence  he  returned,  his  brows  bound 
with  oak.  I  tell  thee,  daughter,  I  sprang  not 
more  in  joy  at  first  hearing  he  was  a  man-child, 
than  now  in  first  seeing  he  had  proved  himself 
a  man. 

Vlrgilia. 

But  had  he  died  in  the  business,  madam  ?  how 
then? 

Volumnia. 

Then,  his  good  report  should  have  been  my 
son :  I  therein  would  have  found  issue.  Hear 
me  profess  sincerely: — had  I  a  dozen  sons, — each 
in  my  love  alike,  and  none  less  dear  than  thine 
and  my  good  Marcius, — 1  had  rather  had  eleven 
die  nobly  for  their  country,  than  one  voluptu- 
ously surfeit  out  of  action. 

Enter  a  Gentlewoman. 
Gentlewoman. 
Madam,  the  lady  Valeria  is  come  to  visit  you. 

Virgilia. 
'Beseech  you,  give  me  leave  to  retire  myself. 

Volumnia. 
Indeed,  you  shall  not. 
Methinks,  1  hear  hither  your  husband's  drum, 
See  him  pluck  Aufidius  down  by  the  hair ; 
As  children  from  a  bear  the  Volsces  shunning 

/        him : 
Methinks.  I  see  him  stamp  thus,  and  call  thus, — 
"  Come  on,  you  cowards  !  you  were  got  in  fear, 
Though  you  were  born  in  Rome."    His  bloody 

brow 
With  his  mail'd  hand  then  wiping,  forth  he  goes, 
Like  to  a  harvest-man,  that's  task'd  to  mow 
Or  all,  or  lose  his  hire. 

Virgilia. 
His  bloody  brow  ?    O,  Jupiter  I  no  blood. 

Volumnia. 
Away,  you  fool !  it  more  becomes  a  man, 
Than  gilt  his  trophy :  the  breasts  of  Hecuba, 
When  she  did  suckle  Hector,  looked  not  lovelier 
Than  Hector's  forehead,  when  it  spit  forth  blood 
At  Grecian  sword's  contending. — Tell  Valeria, 
We  are  fit  to  bid  her  welcome. 

[Exit  Gentlewoman. 
Virgilia. 
Heavens  bless  my  lord  from  fell  Aufidius  I 

Volumnia. 
He'll  beat  Aufidius'  head  below  his  knee, 
And  tread  upon  his  neck. 
Re-enter  Gentlewoman,  with  Valeria  and  her 
Usher. 
Valeria. 
My  ladies  both,  good  day  to  you. 


Volumnia. 
Sweet  madam, — 

Virgilia. 
I  am  glad  to  see  your  ladyship. 

Valeria. 
How  do  you  both  ?  you  are  manifest  house- 
keepers.   What  are  you  sewing  here  ?    A  fine 
spot,  in  good  faith — How  does  your  little  son? 
Virgilia. 
I  thank  your  ladyship;  well,  good  madam. 

Volumnia. 
He  had  rather  see  the  swords,  and  hear  a  drum, 
than  look  upon  his  school-master. 

Valeria. 

O'  my  word,  the  father's  son  :  I'll  swear  'tis  a 
very  pretty  boy.  O*  my  troth,  I  looked  upon 
him  o  Wednesday  half  an  hour  together :  he  has 
such  a  confirmed  countenance.  I  saw  him  run 
after  a  gilded  butterfly ;  and  when  he  caught  it, 
he  let  it  go  again  ;  and  after  it  again  ;  and  over 
and  over  he  comes,  and  up  again ;  catched  it 
again  :  or  whether  his  fall  enraged  him,  or  how 
'twas,  he  did  so  set  his  teeth,  and  tear  it ;  O  !  I 
warrant,  how  he  mammocked  it  1 
Volumnia. 

One  of  his  father's  moods. 

Valeria. 
Indeed  la,  'tis  a  noble  child. 


Virgilia. 


A  crack,  madam. 

Valeria. 
Come,  lay  aside  your  stitchery  ;  I  must  have 
you  play  the  idle  huswife  with  me  this  after- 
noon. 

Virgilia. 
No,  good  madam  ;  I  will  not  out  of  doors. 

Valeria. 
Not  out  of  doors  ! 

Volumnia. 
She  shall,  she  shall. 

Virgilia. 
Indeed,  no,  by  your  patience  :  I  will  not  over 
the  threshold,  till  my  lord  return   from    the 
wars. 

Volumnia. 
Fie  !  you  confine  yourself  most  unreasonably. 
Come ;  you  must  go  visit  the  good  lady  that 
lies  in. 

Virgilia. 
I  will  wish  her  speedy  strength,  and  visit  her 
with  my  prayers  ;  but  1  cannot  go  thither. 

Volumnia. 
Why,  I  pray  you  ? 

Virgilia. 
'Tis  not  to  save  labour,  nor  that  I  want  love. 

Valeria. 
You  would  be  another  Penelope  ;  yet,  they 
say,  all  the  yarn  she  spun  in  Ulysses*  absence 
did  but  fill  Ithaca  full  of  moths.  Come:  I 
would,  your  cambric  were  sensible  as  your 
finger,  that  you  might  leave  pricking  it  for  pity. 
Come,  you  shall  go  with  us. 

Virgilia. 
No,  good  madam,  pardon  me;  indeed,  I  will 
not  forth. 

Valeria. 
In  truth,  la,  go  with  me ;  and  I'll  tell  you  ex . 
cellent  news  of  your  husband. 

Virgilia. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


CORIOLANUS. 


71% 


VJrgtlla. 
O !  good  madam,  there  can  be  none  yet. 

Valeria. 
Verily,  I  do  not  jest  with  you :   there  came  I 
newt  from  him  last  night. 

Virgilia. 
Indeed,  madam  ? 

Valeria. 
In  earnest,  it's  true ;  I  heard  a  senator  speak 
it.    Thus  it  is:— The  Volsces  have  an  army 
forth,  against  whom  Cominius  the  general  is 
gone,  with  one  part  of  our  Roman  power:  your 
lord,  and  Titus  t.artius,  are  set  down  before  their 
city  Corioli;  they  nothing  doubt  prevailing,  and 
to  make  it  brier  wars.    This  is  true  on  mine 
honour ;  and  to,  I  pray,  go  with  us. 
Virgilia. 
Give  me  excuse,  good  madam  ;  I  will  obey  you 
In  every  thing  hereafter. 

Volumnia. 
Let  her  alone,  lady :  as  she  is  now,  she  will 
but  disease  our  better  mirth. 
Valeria. 
In  troth,  I  think,  she  would — Fare  you  well 
then.— Come,  good  sweet  lady.— Pr'y thee,  Vir- 
gilia, turn  thy  solemness  out  o'  door,  and  go 
along  with  us. 

virgilia. 

No,  at  a  word,  madam ;  Indeed,  I  must  not. 
1  wish  you  much  mirth. 

Valeria. 
:     Well  then,  farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  IV.    Before  Corioli. 

Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours,  Marcius,  Titus 
Lartius,  Officer*,  and  Soldiers.  To  them  a 
Messenger. 

Marcius. 
Yonder  comes  news:— a  wager,  they  have 
met. 

Lartms. 

My  horse  to  yours,  no. 

Marcius. 

•Tis  done. 
Lartius. 


„      ,  Agreed. 

Marcius. 

Say,  has  our  general  met  the  enemy  ? 

Messenger. 
They  lie  in  view,  but  have  not  spoke  as  yet. 

Lartius. 
So,  the  good  horse  is  mine. 
Marcius. 

I'll  buy  him  of  you. 
Lartius. 
No,  I'll  nor  sell,  nor  give  him :  lend  you  him 
I  will, 
For  half  a  hundred  years.  — Summon  the  town. 
Marcius. 
How  far  off  lie  these  armies  ? 
Messenger. 

Within  this  mile  and  half. 
Marcius. 
Then  shall  we  hear  their  'larum,  and  they 
ours. 
Now  Mars,  I  pr'ythee,  make  us  quick  in  work, 
That  we  with  smoking  swords  may  march  from 
hence, 


To  help  our  fielded  friends !— come,  blow  vliy 
blast. 

A  Parley  sounded.    Enter,  on  the  Walls,  two 
Senators,  and  others. 

Tullus  Aiftdius,  is  he  within  your  walls? 
First  Senator. 
No,  nor  a  man  that  fears  you  less  than  he, 
That's  lesser  than  a  little.    Hark,  our  drums 

[Drums  afar  off. 
Are  bringing  forth  our  youth :  we'll  break  our 

walls, 
Rather  than  they  shall  pound  us  up.    Our  gates, 
Which  yet  seem  shut,  we  have  but  pinn'd  with 

rushes ; 
They'll  open  of  themselves.    Hark  you,  far  off: 
[Alarum  afar  off. 
There  is  Aufidius:  list,  what  work  he  makes 
Amongst  your  cloven  army. 

Marcius. 

O  I  they  are  at  it. 
Lartius. 
Their   noise  be  our  instruction.  —  Ladders, 
hoi 

The  Volsces  enter,  and  pass  over  the  Stage. 

Marcius. 

They  fear  us  not,  but  issue  forth  their  city. 

Now  put  your  shields  before  your  hearts,  and 

fight 
With  hearts  more  proof  than  shields — Advance, 

brave  Titus: 
They  do  disdain  us  much  beyond  our  thoughts. 
Which  makes  me  sweat  with  wrath.  —  Come  on 

my  fellows : 
He  that  retires,  I'll  take  him  for  a  Volsce, 
And  he  shall  feel  mine  edge. 

Alarum,  and  exeunt  Romans  and  Volsces, 
fighting.  The  Romans  are  beatei  back  to 
their  Trenches.    Re-enter  Marciu.  enraged. 

Marcius. 

All  the  contagion  of  the  south  light  on  you, 

You  shames  of  Rome  I  you  herd  of— Boils  and 

plagues 
Plaster  you  o'er,  that  you  may  be  abhorr'd 
Farther  than  seen,  and  one  infect  another 
Against  the  wind  a  mile  1    You  souls  of  geese, 
That  bear  the  shapes  of  men,  how  have  you  run 
From  slaves  that  apes  would  beat  1    Pluto  and 

hell! 
All  hurt  behind  ;  backs  red,  and  faces  pale 
With  flight  and  agued  fear  1    Mend,  and  charge 

home, 
Or,  by  the  fires  of  heaven,  I'll  leave  the  foe, 
And  make  my  wars  on  you :  look  to't :  come  on ; 
If  you'll  stand  fast,  we'll  beat  them  to  their  wives, 
As  they  us  to  our  trenches  follow. 

Another  Alarum.  The  Volsces  and  Romans 
re-enter,  and  the  Fight  is  renewed.  The 
Volsces  retire  into  Corioli,  and  Marcius  follows 
them  to  the  Gates. 

So,  now  the  gates  are  ope:— now  prove  good 

seconds. 
'Tis  for  the  followers  fortune  widens  them, 
Not  for  the  fliers  l  mark  me,  and  do  the  like. 

[He  enters  the  Gates,  and  is  >hist  in. 

First  Soldier. 
Fool-hardiness !  not  I. 

Second  Soldier. 
Nor  L 

Third 


7  3+ 


COHIOLANUS. 


Act  i.  8c.  iv. 


Third  Soldier. 
See,  they  have  shut  him  in. 

[Alarum  continues. 
All. 
To  the  pot  I  warrant  him. 

Enter  Titus  Lartius. 
Lartius. 
What  is  become  of  MarciusT 
All. 

Slain,  sir,  doubtless. 
First  Soldier. 
Following  the  fliers  at  the  very  heels, 
With  them  he  enters  ;  who,  upon  the  sudden, 
Clapp'd-to  their  gates :  he  is  himself  alone 
To  answer  all  the  city, 

Lartius. 

O  noble  fellow  ! 
Who  sensibly  outdares  his  senseless  sword, 
And,  when  it  bows,  stands  up.    Thou  art  left, 

Marcius : 
A  carbuncle  entire,  as  big  as  thou  art, 
Were  not  so  rich  a  jewel.    Thou  wast  a  soldier 
Even  to  Cato's  wish,  not  fierce  and  terrible 
Only  in  strokes  ;  but,  with  thy  grim  looks,  and 
The  thunder-like  percussion  of  thy  sounds, 
Thou  mad'st  thine  enemies  shake,  as  if  the 
Were  feverous,  and  did  tremble.  [world 

Re-enter  Marcius,  bleeding,  assaulted  by  the 

Enemy. 

First  Soldier. 

Look,  sir  I 
Lartius. 

O  'tis  Marcius! 
Let's  fetch  him  off,  or  make  remain  alike.  „, 

[They  fight,  and  all  enter  the  City. 

SCENE  V.    Within  the  Town.    A  Street. 
Enter  certain  Romans,  with  Spoils. 
First  Roman. 
This  will  I  carry  to  Rome. 

Second  Roman. 
And  I  this.       ntL1   .  „ 

Third  Roman. 
A  murrain  on't  J     I  took  this  for  silver.        ^ 
[Alarum  continues  still  afar  off. 

Enter  Marcius,  and  Titus  Lartius,  with  a 
Trumpet. 

Marcius. 

See  here  these  movers,  that  do  prize  their 

hours 

At  a  crack'd  drachm  1  Cushions,  leaden  spoons, 

Irons  of  a  doit,  doublets  that  hangmen  would 

Bury  with  those  that  wore  them,  these  base 

slaves, 
Ere  yet  the  fight  be  done,  pack  up.— Down 
with  them  I  —  [him  1 

And  hark,  what  noise  the  general  makes.  —  To 
There  is  the  man  of  my  soul's  hate,  Aufidius, 
Piercing  our  Romans  :  then,  valiant  Titus,  take 
Convenient  numbers  to  make  good  the  city, 
Whilst  I,  with  those  that  have  the  spirit,  will 
To  help  Cominius.  [haste 

Lartius. 

Worthy  sir,  thou  bleed'st ; 
Thy  exercise  hath  been  too  violent 
For  a  second  course  of  fight. 
Marcius. 

Sir,  praise  me  not ; 
My  work  hath  yet  not  warm'd  me.  Fare  you 
The  blood  1  drop  Is  rather  physical 


[well. 


Than  dangerous  to  me.     To  Aufidius  thus 
I  will  appear,  and  fight. 

Lartius. 
Now  the  fair  goddess,  Fortune, 
Fall  deep  in  love  with  thee;  and  her  great 

charms 
Misguide  thy  opposers'  swords  !    Bold  gentle- 
Prosperity  be  thy  page  I  [man, 
Marcius. 

Thy  friend  no  less 
Than  those  she  placeth  highest !    So,  farewell. 
Lartius. 

Thou  worthiest  Marcius!—    __-■,■« 

[Exit  Marcius. 
Go,  sound  thy  trumpet  in  the  market-place  ; 
Call  thither  all  the  officers  of  the  town, 
Where  they  shall  know  our  mind.    Away  1 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Near  the  Camp  of  Cominius. 
Enter  Cominius  and  Forces,  as  in  retreat. 
Cominius. 
Breathe  you,  my  friends.    Well  fought :  we 
are  come  off 
Like  Romans,  neither  foolish  in  our  stands, 
Nor  cowardly  in  retire :  believe  me,  sirs, 
We  shall  be  charg'd  again.     Whiles  we  have 

struck, 
By  interims  and  conveying  gusts,  we  have  heard 
The  charges  of  our  friends :  —  the  Roman  gods 
Lead  their  successes  as  we  wish  our  own, 
That  both    our   powers,  with    smiling   fronts 

encountering, 
May  give  you  thankful  sacrifice  !  — 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Thy  news? 
Messenger. 

The  citizens  of  Corioli  have  issued, 
And  given  to  Lartius  and  to  Marcius  battle : 
I  saw  our  party  to  their  trenches  driven, 
And  then  I  came  away. 

Cominius. 

Though  thou  speak 'st  truth, 
Methinks,  thou  speak'st  not  well.     How  long 
is't  since  ? 

Messenger. 
Above  an  hour,  my  lord. 

Cominius. 
'Tis  not  a  mile  ;  briefly  we  heard  their  drums : 
;  How  could'st  thou  in  a  mile  confound  an  hour, 
And  bring  thy  news  so  late  ? 
Messenger. 

Spies  of  the  Volsces  I 
'  Held  me  in  chase,  that  I  was  forc'd  to  wheel 
Three  or  four  miles  about ;  else  had  I,  sir, 
Half  an  hour  since  brought  my  report 

Enter  Marcius. 
Cominius. 

Who's  yonder, 
That  does  appear  as  he  were  flay'd  ?    O  gods  ! 
He  has  the  stamp  of  Marcius,  and  I  have 
Before-time  seen  him  thus. 
Marcius. 

Come  1  too  late  ? 
Cominius. 
The  shepherd  knows   not   thunder   from  a 
tabor, 
More  than  I  know  the  sound  of  Marcius'  tongue 
From  every  meaner  man.  J± 

Marcius. 


Sc.  vii  L 


COKIOLANUS. 


735 


Marcius. 

Come  I  too  late  ? 
Cominius. 
Ay,  if  you  come  not  In  the  blood  of  other*, 
But  mantled  in  your  own. 

Marcius. 

O  !  let  mo  clip  you 
In  arms  as  sound,  as  when  I  woo'd  ;  in  heart 
As  merry,  as  when  our  nuptial  day  was  done, 
And  tapers  burn'd  to  bedward. 

Cominlus. 

Flower  of  warriors, 
How  is't  with  Titus  Lartius  r 
Marcius. 
As  with  a  man  busied  about  decrees : 
Condemning  some  to  death,  and  some  to  exile  ; 
Ransoming  him,  or   pitying,  threatening   the 
Holding  Corioli  in  the  name  of  Rome,     [other  i 
Even  like  a  fawning  greyhound  in  the  leash, 
To  let  him  slip  at  wilL 

Cominius 

Where  is  that  slave, 
Which  told  me  they  had    beat   you  to  your 
Where  is  he  ?    Call  him  hither.        [trenches  ? 
Marcius. 

Let  him  alone. 
He  did  inform  the  truth :  but  for  our  gentlemen. 
The  common  file,  (A  plague  !  — Tribunes   for 

them?) 
The  mouse  ne'er  shunn'd  the  cat,  as  they  did 
From  rascals  worse  than  they.  [budge 

Cominlus. 

But  how  prevail'd  you  ? 
Marcius. 
Will  the  time  serve  to  tell  ?    I  do  not  think- 
Where  is  the  enemy?  Are  you  lords  o'  the  field? 
If  not,  why  cease  you  till  you  are  so  ? 
Cominius. 
Marcius,  we  have  at  disadvantage  fought, 
And  did  retire  to  win  our  purpose. 
Marcius. 
How  lies  their  battle  ?    Know  you  on  which 
They  have  plac'd  their  men  of  trust  ?  [side 

Cominius. 

As  I  guess,  Marcius, 
Their  bands  i'  the  vaward  are  the  Antiates, 
Of  their  best  trust:  o'er  them  Aufidius, 
Their  very  heart  of  hope. 

Marcius. 

I  do  beseech  you, 
By  all  the  battles  wherein  we  have  fought. 
By  the  blood  we  have  shed  together,  by  the 

vows 
We  have  made  to  endure  friends,  that  you  di- 
rectly 
Set  me  against  Aufidius,  and  his  Antiates  ; 
And  that  you  not  delay  the  present,  but, 
Filling  the  air  with  swords  advane'd  and  darts, 
We  prove  this  very  hour. 

Cominlus. 

Though  I  could  with 
You  were  conducted  to  a  gentle  bath, 
And  balms  applied  to  you,  yet  dare  I  never 
Deny  your  asking.    'I  ake  your  choice  of  those 
That  best  can  aid  your  action. 
Marcius. 

Those  are  they 
That  most  are  willing.— If  any  such  be  here, 
(As  it  were  sin  to  doubt)  that  love  this  painting 
Wherein  you  see  me  smear'd  ;  if  any  fear 
Lesser  his  person  than  an  ill  report ; 
I  If  any  think,  brave  death  outweighs  bad  life, 


And  that  his  country's  dearer  than  himself ; 
Let  him,  alone,  or  so  many  so  minded. 
Wave  thus,  to  express  his  disposition. 
And  follow  Mu  ■  i- i us. 

(They  all  shout,  and  wave  their  Swords ; 

take  him  up  in  their  arms,  and  cast  up 

their  Caps. 
O  me,  alone  I    Make  you  a  sword  of  me  ? 
If  these  shows  be  not  outward,  which  of  you 
But  is  four  Volsces  ?    None  of  you,  but  \» 
Able  to  bear  against  the  great  Aufidius 
A  shield  as  hard  as  his.    A  certain  number, 
Though  thanks  to  all,  must  I  select  from  all : 

the  rest 
Shall  bear  the  business  In  some  other  fight, 
As  cause  will  be  obey'd.    Please  you  to  march  ; 
And  four  shall  quickly  draw  out  my  command, 
Which  men  are  best  inclin'd. 

Cominius. 

March  on,  my  fellows : 
Make  good  this  ostentation,  and  you  shall 
Divide  in  all  with  us.  CExeun*> 

SCENE  VII.    The  Gates  of  Corioli. 

Titus  Lartius,  having  set  a  Guard  upon  Corioli, 
going  with  Drum  and  Trumpet  toward  Comi- 
nius and  Cuius  Marcius,  enters  with  a  Lieu- 
tenant, a  Party  of  Soldiers,  and  a  Scout. 

Lartius. 
So ;  let   the   ports    be  guarded :  keep  your 
duties, 
As  I  have  set  them  down.  If  I  do  send,  despatch 
Those  centuries  to  our  aid  ;  the  rest  will  serve 
For  a  short  holding :  if  we  lose  the  field, 
We  cannot  keep  the  town. 

Lieutenant. 

Fear  not  our  care,  sir. 
Lartius. 

Hence,  and  shut  your  gates  upon  us 

Our  guider,  come;  to  the  Roman  camp  conduct 
us.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.    A  Field  of  Battle  between  the 
Roman  and  the  Volscian  Camps. 

Alarum.    Enter  Marcius  and  Aufidius. 

Marcius. 

I'll  fight  with  none  but  thee ;  for  I  do  hate 

Worse  than  a  promise-breaker.  [thee 

Aufidius. 

We  hate  alike: 
Not  Afric  owns  a  serpent,  I  abhor 
More  than  thy  fame  and  envy.    Fix  thy  foot. 
Marcius. 
Let  the  first  budger  die  the  other's  slave, 
And  the  gods  doom  him  after  1 
Aufidius. 

If  I  fly,  Marcius, 
Halloo  me  like  a  hare. 

Marcius. 
Within  these  three  hours,  Tullus, 
Alone  I  fought  in  your  Corioli  walls,        [blood, 
And  made  what  work  I  pleas 'd.    '  Tis  not  my 
Wherein  thou  seest  me  mask'd:  for  thy  revenge, 
Wrench  up  thy  power  to  the  highest. 
Aufidius. 

Wert  thou  the  Hector, 
That  was  the  whip  of  your  bragg'd  progeny, 
Thou  should'st  not  scape  me  here.— 

[They  fight,  and  certain  1  olsces  come  to  the 
aid  of  Aufidius. 

Officious, 


736 


COKIOLANUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  vnr. 


OfRcious,  and  not  valiant — you  have  shara'dme 
In  your  condemned  seconds..        .    ,     „, 

[Exeunt  fighting,  all  driven  in  by  Marcius. 

SCENE  IX.    The  Roman  Camp. 

Alarum.  A  Retreat  sounded.  Flourish.  Enter 
at  one  side,  Cominius,  and  Romans ;  at  the 
other  side,  Marcius,  with  his  Arm  in  a  Scarf, 
and  other  Romans. 

Cominius. 
If  I  sYiould  tell  thee  o'er  this  thy  day's  work, 
Thou'lt  not  believe  thy  deeds ;  but  I'll  report  it, 
Where  senators  shall  mingle  tears  with  smiles, 
Where  great  patricians  shall  attend,  and  shrug, 
1' the  end,  admire;  where  ladies  shall  be  frighted, 
And,  gladly  quak'd,  hear  more  ;  where  the  dull 

Tribunes, 
That  with  the  fusty  plebeians  hate  thine  honours, 
Shall  say,  against  their  hearts,—"  We  thank  the 
Our  Rome  hath  such  a  soldier ! " —  [gods, 

Yet  cam'st  thou  to  a  morsel  of  this  feast, 
Having  fully  dined  before. 
Enter  Titus  Lartius  with  his  Power,  from  the 
pursuit. 

Lartius.  i 

O  general, 
Here  is  the  steed,  we  the  caparison : 
Hadst  thou  beheld— 

Marcius. 
Pray  now,  no  more :  my  mother, 
Who  has  a  charter  to  extol  her  blood,       [done, 
When  she  does  praise  me,  grieves  me.    I  have 
As  you  have  done ;  that's  what  I  can ;  indue'd 
As  you  have  been  ;  that's  for  my  country: 
He  that  has  but  effected  his  good  will 
Hath  overta'en  mine  act. 

Cominius. 

You  shall  not  be 
The  grave  of  your  deserving:  Rome  must  know 
The  value  of  her  own :  'twere  a  concealment 
Worse  than  a  theft,  no  less  than  a  traducement, 
To  hide  your  doings ;  and  to  silence  that, 
Which,  to  the  spire  and  top  of  praises  vouch *d, 
Would  seem  but  modest.    Therefore,  I  beseech 
In  sign  of  what  you  are,  not  to  reward        [you, 
What  you  have  done,  before  our  army  hear  me. 
Marcius. 
I  have  some  wounds  upon  me,  and  they  smart 
To  hear  themselves  remember'd. 
Cominius. 

Should  they  net, 
Well  might  they  fester  'gainst  ingratitude. 
And  tent  themselves  with  death.    Of  all  the 

horses, 
(Whereof  we  have  ta'en  good,  and  good  store) 

of  all 
The  treasure,  in  this  field  achiev'd  and  city, 
We  render  you  the  tenth ;  to  be  ta'en  forth, 
Before  the  common  distribution, 
At  your  only  choice. 

Marcius. 

I  thank  you,  general ; 
But  cannot  make  my  heart  consent  to  take 
A  bribe  to  pay  my  sword :  I  do  refuse  it ; 
And  stand  upon  my  common  part  with  those 
That  have  beheld  the  doing. 

[A  long  Flourish.    They  all  cry,  Marcius! 
Marcius!  cast  up  their  Caps  and  Lances  : 
Cominius  and  Lartius  stand  bare. 
Marcius. 
May  these  same  instruments,  which  you  pro- 
fane, 


Never  sound  more,  when  drums  and  trumpets 

shall 
I'  the  field  prove  flatterers :  let  courts  and  cities 
Made  all  of  false-fac'd  soothing,  [be 

When  steel  grows  soft  as  the  parasite's  silk : 
Let  them  be  made  an  overture  for  the  wars  ! 
No  more,  I  say.    For  that  1  have  not  wash'd 
My  nose  that  bled,  or  foil'd  some  debile  wretch, 
Which  without  note  here's  many  else  have  done, 
You  shout  me  forth 
In  acclamations  hyperbolical ; 
As  if  I  loved  my  little  should  be  dieted 
In  praises  sauced  with  lies. 

Cominius. 

Too  modest  are  you : 
More  cruel  to  your  good  report,  than  grateful 
To  us  that  give  you  truly.    By  your  patience, 
If  'gainst  yourself  you  be  incehs'd,  we'll  put  you 
(Like   one  that  means  his  proper   harm)    in 

manacles, 
Then  reason  safely  with  you — Therefore,  be  it 

known, 
As  to  us,  to  all  the  world,  that  Caius  Marcius 
Wears  this  war's  garland :  in  token  of  the  which 
My  noble  steed,  known  to  the  camp,  I  give  him, 
With  all  his  trim  belonging ;  and,  from  this  time, 
For  what  he  did  before  Corioli,  call  him, 
With  all  th'  applause  and  clamour  of  the  host, 
Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus — 
Bear  the  addition  nobly  ever ! 

[Flourish.    Trumpets  sound,  and  Drums. 

All. 
Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus! 
Coriolanus. 
I  will  go  wash ; 
And  when  my  face  is  fair,  you  shall  perceive 
Whether  I  blush,  or  no :  howbeit,  I  thank  you — 
I  mean  to  stride  your  steed ;  and,  at  all  times, 
To  undercrest  your  good  addition 
To  the  fairness  of  my  power. 
Cominius. 

So,  to  our  tent ; 
Where,  ere  we  do  repose  us,  we  will  write 
To  Rome  of  our  success.— You,  Titus  Lartius, 
Must  to  Corioli  back  :  send  us  to  Rome 
The  best,  with  whom  we  may  articulate, 
For  their  own  good,  and  ours. 
Lartius. 

I  shall,  my  lord. 
Coriolanus. 
The  gods  begin  to  mock  me.    I,  that  now 
Refus'd  most  princely  gifts,  am  bound  to  beg 
Of  my  lord  general. 

Cominius. 
Take  it:  'tis  yours.- What  is't? 
Coriolanus. 
I  sometime  lay,  here  in  Corioli, 
At  a  poor  man's  house ;  he  us'd  me  kindly : 
He  cried  to  me;  I  saw  him  prisoner; 
But  then  Avfidius  was  within  my  view, 
And  wrath  o'erwhelm'd  my  pity.    I  request  you 
To  give  my  poor  host  freedom. 

Cominius. 

O,  well  begg'd! 
Were  he  the  butcher  of  my  son,  he  should 
Be  free  as  is  the  wind.    Deliver  him,  Titus. 
Lartius. 
Marcius,  his  name  ? 

Coriolanus. 

By  Jupiter,  forgot :  — 
I  am  weary ;  yea,  my  memory  is  tir'd. — 
Have  we  no  wine  here  ? 

Cominius. 


A.  i    u.    Sc.  I. 


CORIOLANUS. 


737 


Cominlus. 

Go  we  to  our  tent. 
The  blood  upon  your  vliage  dries ;  'tis  time 
It  should  be  look'd  to.    Come.  [Exeunt. 

x  £  X.    The  Camp  of  the  VoUcet. 

A  Flourish.    Cornets.    Fnter  Tullus  Aufidius, 
bloody,  with  two  or  three  Soldiers. 
Aufidius. 
The  town  Is  ta'eu ! 

First  Soldier. 
•Twill  be  dellver'd  back  on  good  condition. 

Aufldius. 
Condition!  — 
I  would  I  were  a  Roman ;  for  I  cannot. 
Being  a  Volsce,  be  that  I  am.— Condition  1 
What  good  condition  can  a  treaty  find 
V  the  part  that  is  at  mercy  ?—  Five  times,  Marcius, 
I  have  fought  with  thee :  so  often  hast  thou  beat 

me; 
And  would'st  do  so,  I  think,  should  we  encounter 
As  often  as  we  eat —  By  the  elements, 
If  e'er  again  I  meet  him  beard  to  beard, 
He  is  mine,  or  I  am  his.    Mine  emulation 
Hath  not  that  honour  in't,  it  had ;  for  where 
I  thought  to  crush  him  in  an  equal  force, 
True  sword  to  sword,  I'll  potch  at  him  some  way, 
Or  wrath,  or  craft,  may  get  him. 
First  Soldier. 

He's  the  devil. 
Aufidius. 
Bolder,  though  not  so  subtle.    My  valour's 
poison'd, 
With  only  suffering  stain  by  him ;  for  him 
Shall  fly  out  of  itself.    Nor  sleep,  nor  sanctuary, 
Being  naked,  sick ;  nor  fane,  nor  Capitol, 
The  prayers  of  priests,  nor  times  of  sacrifice, 
Embarquements  all  of  fury,  shall  lift  up 
Their  rotten  privilege  and  custom  'gainst 
My  hate  to  Marcius.    Where  1  find  him,  were  it 
At  home,  upon  my  brother's  guard,  even  there, 
Against  the  hospitable  canon,  would  I        [city: 
Wash  my  fierce  hand  in's  heart.    Go  you  to  the 
Learn,  how  'tis  held;  and  what  they  are,  that 
Be  hostages  for  Rome  [must 

First  Soldier. 

Will  not  you  go  ? 
Aufidius. 
I  am  attended  at  the  cypress  grove:  I  pray 
you, 
(*Tis  south  the  city  mills,)  bring  me  word  thither 
How  the  world  goes,  that  to  the  pace  of  it 
I  may  spur  on  my  journey. 

First  Soldier. 

I  shall,  sir.   [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCEKEl.    Rome.    A  public  Place. 

Enter  Menenius,  Sicinius,  and  Brutus. 

Menenius. 

'T'HE  augurer  tells  me,  we  shall  have  news  to- 

x       night. 

Brutus. 
Good,  or  bad  ? 


Men  en  ins. 
>the 
they  love  not  Marcius. 


Not  according  to  the  prayer  of  the  people,  for 
'  Af< 


Sicinius. 
Nature  teaches  beasts  to  know  their  friends. 

Menenius. 
Fray  you,  whom  does  the  wolf  love  ? 

Sicinius. 
The  lamb. 

Menenius. 
Ay,  to  devour  him;  as  the  hungry  plebeians 
would  the  noble  Marcius. 
Brutus. 
He's  a  lamb  indeed,  that  baes  like  a  bear. 

Menenius. 
He's  a  bear,  indeed,  that  lives  like  a  lamb. 
You  two  are  old  men :  tell  me  one  thing  that  I 
shall  ask  you. 

Both  Tribunes. 
Well,  sir. 

Menenius. 
In  what  enormity  is  Marcius  poor  in,  that  you 
two  have  not  in  abundance  ? 
Brutus. 
He's  poor  in  no  one  fault,  but  stored  with  all. 

Sicinius. 
Especially,  in  pride. 

Brutus. 
And  topping  all  others  in  boasting. 

Menenius. 
This  is  strange  now.    Do  you  two  know  how 
you  are  censured  here  in  the  city,  1  mean  of  us 
o*  the  right  hand  file  ?    Do  you  ? 
Both  Tribunes. 
Why,  how  are  we  censured  ? 

Menenius. 
Because  you  talk  of  pride  now,— Will  you  not 
be  angry  ? 

Both  Tribune . 
Well,  well,  sir;  well. 

Menenius. 
Why,  'tis  no  great  matter;  for  a  very  little 
thief  of  occasion  will  rob  you  of  a  great  deal  of 

Eatience:  give  your  dispositions  the  reins,  and 
e  angry  at  your  pleasures ;  at  the  least,  if  you 
take  it  as  a  pleasure  to  you,  in  being  so.     You 
blame  Marcius  for  being  proud  ? 
Brutus. 
We  do  it  not  alone,  sir. 

Menenius 
I  know,  you  can  do  very  little  alone  ;  for  your 
helps  are  many,  or  else  your  actions  would  grow 
wondrous  single :  your  abilities  are  too  infant- 
like, for  doing  much  alone.     You  talk  of  pride  : 
O  1  that  you  could  turn  your  eyes  toward  the 
napes  of  your  necks,  and  make  but  an  interior 
survey  of  your  good  selves  1     O,  that  you  could  I 
Brutus. 
What  then,  sir  ? 

Menenius. 

Why,  then  you  should  discover  a  brace  of 

unmeriting,  proud,  violent,  testy  magistrates, 

(alias,  fools)  as  any  in  Rome. 

Sicinius. 

Menenius,  you  are  known  well  enough,  too. 

Menenius 
I  am  known  to  he  a  humorous  patrician,  and 
one  that  loves  a  cup  of  hot  wine,  with  not  a  drop 
of  allaying  Tyber  in't :  said  to  be  something  im- 
perfect, in  favouring  the  first  complaint ;  hasty, 
and  tinder-like,  upon  too  trivial  motion:  one 
that  converses  more  with  the  buttock  of  the 
night,  than  with  the  forehead  of  the  morning. 
What  I  think,  I  utter,  and  spend  my  malice  in 
3  B  my 


Z3i 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  il  Sc.  i. 


my  breath.  Meeting  two  such  weals-men  as 
you  are,  (I  cannot  call  you  Lycurguses)  if  the 
drink  you  give  me  touch  my  palate  adversely,  I 
make  a  crooked  face  at  it.  I  cannot  say,  your 
worships  have  delivered  the  matter  well,  when 
I  find  the  ass  in  compound  with  the  major  part 
of  your  syllables ;  and  though  I  must  be  content 
to  bear  with  those  that  say  you  are  reverend 
grave  men,  yet  they  lie  deadly,  that  tell,  you 
have  good  faces.  If  you  see  this  in  the  map  of 
my  microcosm,  follows  it,  that  I  am  known  well 
enough,  too  f  What  harm  can  your  bisson  con- 
spectuities  glean  out  of  this  character,  if  I  be 
known  well  enough,  too  ? 
Brutus. 

Come,  sir,  come ;  we  know  you  well  enough. 
Menenius. 

You  know  neither  me,  yourselves,  nor  any 
thing.  You  are  ambitious  for  poor  knaves'  caps 
and  legs :  you  wear  out  a  good  wholesome  fore- 
noon in  hearing  a  cause  between  an  orange-wife 
and  a  fosset-seller,  and  then  rejourn  the  contro- 
versy of  three-pence  to  a  second  day  of  audience. 
—■When  you  are  hearing  a  matter  between  party 
and  party,  if  you  chance  to  be  pinched  with  the 
colic,  you  make  faces  like  mummers,  set  up 
the  bloody  flag  against  all  patience,  and,  in 
roaring  for  a  chamber-pot,  dismiss  the  contro- 
versy bleeding,  the  more  entangled  by  your 
hearing:  all  the  peace  you  make  in  their  cause 
is,  calling  both  the  parties  knaves.  You  are  a 
pair  of  strange  ones. 

Brutus. 

Come,  come,  you  are  well  understood  to  be  a 
perfecter  giber  for  the  table,  than  a  necessary 
bencher  in  the  Capital. 

Menenius. 

Our  very  priests  must  become  mockers,  if  they 
shall  encounter  such  ridiculous  subjects  as  you 
are.  When  you  speak  best  unto  the  purpose,  it 
is  not  worth  the  wagging  of  your  beards ;  and 
your  beards  deserve  not  so  honourable  a  grave 
as  to  stuff  a  botcher's  cushion,  or  to  be  entombed 
in  an  ass's  pack-saddle.  Yet  you  must  be  saying, 
Marcius  is  proud  ;  who,  in  a  cheap  estimation, 
is  worth  all  your  predecessors  since  Deucalion, 
though,  peradventure,  some  of  the  best  of  'em 
were  hereditary  hangmen.  Good  den  to  your 
worships :  more  of  your  conversation  would  in- 
fect my  brain,  being  the  herdsmen  of  the  beastly 
plebeians.  I  will  be  bold  to  take  my  leave  of 
you. 

{Brutus  and  Sicinius  retire  to  the  back  of 
the  Scene. 

Enter  Volumnia,  Virgilia,  and  Valeria,  &c. 

How  now,  my  as  fair  as  noble  ladies,  (and  the 
moon,  were  she  earthly,  no  nobler)  whither  do 
you  follow  your  eyes  so  fast  ? 
Volumnla. 
Honourable  Menenius,  my  boy  Marcius  ap- 
proaches ;  for  the  love  otJuno,  let's  go. 
Menenius. 
Ha  !  Marcius  coming  home  ? 

Volumnia. 
Ay,  worthy  Menenius,  and  with  most  pros- 
perous approbation. 

Take  my  cap,  Jupiter,  and  I  thank  thee. — Ho  I 
Marcius  coming  home  ? 

Two  Ladies. 
Nay,  'tis  true. 

Volumnia. 
Look,  here's  a  letter  from  him :  the  state  hath 


another,  his  wife  another ;  and,  I  think,  there's 
one  at  home  for  you. 

Menenius. 

I  will  make  my  very  house  reel  to-night A 

letter  for  me  ? 

Virgilia. 
Yes,  certain,  there's  a  letter  for  you ;  I  saw  it. 

Menenius. 
A  letter  for  me?  It  gives  me  an  estate  of 
seven  years'  health ;  in  which  time  I  will  make 
a  lip  at  the  physician  :  the  most  sovereign  pre- 
scription in  Galen  is  but  empiricutic,  and,  to  this 
preservative,  of  no  better  report  than  a  horse- 
drench.  Is  he  not  wounded?  he  was  wont  to 
come  home  wounded. 

Virgilia. 
O!  no,  no,  no. 

Volumnia. 

O!  he  is  wounded  ;  I  thank  the  gods  for't. 

Menenius. 

So  do  I  too,  if  it  be  not  too  much Brings 

'a  victory  in  his  pocket  ?— The  wounds  become 
him. 

Volumnia. 
On's  brows :  Menenius,  he  comes  the  third 
time  home  with  the  oaken  garland. 
Menenius. 
Has  he  disciplined  Aufidius  soundly? 

Volumnia. 
Titus  Lartitts  writes,  they  fought  together, 
but  Aufidius  got  off. 

Menenius. 
And  'twas  time  for  him  too  ;  I'll  warrant  him 
that :  an  he  had  stay'd  by  him,  I  would  not  have 
been  so  fidiused  for  all  the  chests  in  Corioli,  and 
the  gold  that's  in  them.  Is  the  senate  possessed 
of  this  ? 

Volumnia. 
Good  ladies,  let's  go. — Yes,  yes,  yes:  the 
senate  has  letters  from  the  general,  wherein  he 
gives  my  son  the  whole  name  of  the  war.  He 
hath  in  this  action  outdone  his  former  deeds 
doubly. 

Valeria. 

In  troth,  there's  wondrous  things  spoke  of 
him. 

Menenius. 

Wondrous :  ay,  I  warrant  you,  and  not  without 
his  true  purchasing. 

Virgilia. 
The  gods  grant  them  true  ! 
Volumnia. 
True !  pow,  wow. 

Menenius. 
True !  I'll  be  sworn  they  are  true.— Where  is 
he  wounded?— God  save  your  good  worships  ! 
[  To  the  Tribunes ,  who  come  forward .]  Marcius 
is  coming  home :  he  has  more  cause  to  be  proud. 
— Where  is  he  wounded? 

Volumnia. 
I'  the  shoulder,  and  i'  the  left  arm  :  there  will 
be  large  cicatrices  to  show  the  people,  when  he 
shall  stand  for  his  place.     He  receiv'd  in  the 
repulse  of  Tarquin  seven  hurts  i'  the  body. 
Menenius. 
One  i'  the  neck,  and  two  i'  the  thigh,— there's 
nine  that  I  know. 

Volumnia. 
He  had,  before  this  last  expedition,  twenty-five 
wounds  upon  him. 

Menenius. 
Now  it's  twenty-seven :  every  gash  was  an 
enemy's 


Act  ii.  Sc.  L 


COUIOLANUS. 


739i 


enemy's  grave.  (A  Shout  and  Flourish.]    Hark  I 
the  trumpets. 

Volumnia. 

These  are  the  ushers  of  Marcius  ;  b«fore  him 
he  carries  noise,  and  behind  him  he  leaves  tears. 
Death,  that  dark  spirit,  in's  nervy  arm  doth  lie. 
which,  being  advanc'd,  declines,  and  then  men 
die. 

A  Sennet.  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  Cominius 
and  Titus  Lorttus;  between  them,  Coriolanus, 
crowned  with  an  oaken  Garland ;  with  Cap~ 
taint.  Soldiers,  and  a  Herald. 

Herald. 

Know,  Rome,  that  all  alone  Marcius  did  fight 
Within  Corioli's  gates  :  where  he  hath  won, 
With  fame,  a  name  to  Caius  Marcius ;  these 
In  honour  follows,  Coriolanus  :— 
Welcome  to  Home,  renowned  Coriolanus! 

(Flourish. 
All. 
Welcome  to  Rome,  renowned  Coriolanus  I 

Coriolanus. 
No  more  of  this  ;  it  does  offend  my  heart : 
Pray  now,  no  more. 

Cominius. 
Look,  sir,  your  mother,— 
Coriolanus. 

O! 
You  have,  I  know,  petition'd  all  the  gods 
For  my  prosperity.  [Kneels. 

Volurania. 

Nav,  my  good  soldier,  up; 
My  gentle  Marcius,  worthy  Caius,  and 
By  deed-achieving  honour  newly  nam'd, 
What  is  it  ?    Coriolanus,  must  I  call  thee  ? 
But  0 1  thy  wife— 

Coriolanus. 
My  gracious  silence,  h;iil !    [home, 
Would'*t  thou  have  laugh 'd,  had  I  come  coffin'd 
That  weep'st  to  see  me  triumph  ?  Ahl  my  dear, 
Such  eyes  the  widows  in  Coiioli  wear 
And  mothers  that  lack  sons. 
Menenius. 

Now,  the  gods  crown  thee  1 
Coriolanus. 
And  live  you  yet  ?— O  my  sweet  lady,  pardon. 
CTo  Valeria. 
Yolumnia. 
I  know  not  where  to  turn :  —  01  welcome 
home; 
And  welcome,  general; — and  you  are  welcome 

Menenius. 
A  hundred  thousand  welcomes:  I  could  weep, 
And   I  could  laugh;    I  am  light,  and  heavy. 

Welcome ! 
A  curse  begin  at  very  root  on's  heart, 
That  is  not  glad  to  see  thee !  —  You  are  three, 
That  Rome  should  dote  on  ;  yet,  by  the  faith  of 

men, 
We  have  some  old  crab-trees  here  at  home,  that 

will  not 
Be  grafted  to  your  relish.  Yet  welcome,  warriors! 
We  call  a  nettle,  but  a  nettle  ;  and 
The  faults  of  fools,  but  folly. 
Cominius. 


Coriolanus. 
Menenius,  ever,  ever. 

Herald. 
Give  way  there,  and  go  on  1 


Ever  right. 


Coriolanus. 

vl°^c^\mXer) 
Ere  in  our  own  house  I  do  shade  my  head, 
The  good  patricians  must  be  visited  ; 
From  whom  I  have  receiv'd,  not  only  greetings, 
But  with  them  change  of  honours. 

Volumnia. 

I  have  lived 
To  see  inherited  my  very  wishes, 
And  the  buildings  of  my  fancy  : 
Only  there's  one  thing  wanting,  which  I  doubt 
But  our  Rome  will  cast  upon  thee.  [not, 

Coriolanus. 

Know,  good  mother, 
I  had  rather  be  their  servant  in  my  way, 
Than  sway  with  them  In  theirs. 

Cominius. 

[Flourish.    Cornets.    Kxeuhtin  state;  as 
before.    The  Tribunes  remain. 
■Brutus. 
All  tongues  speak  of  him,  and  the  bleared 
sights 
Are  spectacled  to  see  him  :  your  prattling  nurse 
Into  a  rapture  lets  her  baby  cry 
While  she  chats  him  :  the  kitchen  malkin  pins 
Her  richest  lockram  'bout  her  reechy  neck, 
Clambering  the  walls  to  eye  him :  stalls,  bulks 

windows, 
Are  smother'd  up,  leads  fill'd,  and  ridges  hors'd 
With  variable  complexions,  all  agreeing 
In  earnestness  to  see  him:  seld-shown  flamens 
Do  press  among  the  popular  throngs,  and  puff 
To  win  a  vulgar  station  :  our  veil'd  dames 
Commit  the  war  of  white  and  damask  in 
Their  nicely-gaw  ded  cheeks  to  the  wanton  spoil 
Of  Phoebus  burning  kisses :  such  a  pother, 
As  if  that  whatsoever  god,  who  leads  him, 
Were  slily  crept  into  his  human  powers, 
And  gave  him  graceful  posture. 
Slclnius. 

On  the  sudden 
I  warrant  him  consul. 

Brutus. 

Then  our  office  may, 
During  his  power,  go  sleep. 
Sicimus. 
He  cannot  temperately  transport  his  honours 
From  where  he  should  begin,  and  end;  but  will 
Lose  those  he  hath  won. 

Brutus. 

In  that  there's  comfort. 
Sicinius. 
Doubt  not,  the  commoners,  for  whom  we  stand, 
But  they,  upon  their  ancient  malice,  will 
Forget,  with  the  least  cause,  these  his  new 

honours ; 
Which  that  he'll  give  them,  make  I  as  little 
As  he  is  proud  to  do't.  [question 

Brutus. 

I  heard  him  swear, 
Were  he  to  stand  for  consul,  never  would  he 
Appear  i'  the  market-place,  nor  on  him  put 
The  napless  vesture  or  humility ; 
Nor,  showing  (as  the  manner  is)  his  wounds 
To  the  people,  beg  their  stinking  breaths. 
Sicinius. 

•Tis  right. 
Brutus. 

It  was  his  word.  O  !  he  would  miss  it,  rather 
Than  carry  it  but  by  the  suit  o'  the  gentry  to 
And  the  desire  of  the  nobles.  [.him, 


24£L 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  ii.  Se.  i. 


I  wish  no  better, 
Than  have  him  hold  that  purpose,  and  to  put  it 
In  execution.  Brutug> 

'Tis  most  like,  he  will. 
Slcinius. 
It  shall  be  to  him,  then,  as  our  good  wills, 
A  sure  destruction. 

Brutus. 

So  it  must  fall  out 
To  him,  or  our  authorities.    For  an  end, 
We  must  suggest  the  people,  in  what  hatred 
He  still  hath  held  them ;  that  to  his  power  he 

would 
Have  made  them  mules,  sileac'd  their  pleaders, 

and 
Dispropertied  their  freedoms  ;  holding  them, 
In  human  action  and  capacity, 
Of  no  more  soul,  nor  fitness  for  the  world, 
Than  camels  in  their  war;  who  have  their  pro- 
van  d 
Only  for  bearing  burdens,  and  sore  blows 
For  sinking  under  them. 

Sicinius. 

This,  as  you  say,  suggested 
At  some  time  when  his  soaring  insolence 
Shall  teach  the  people,  (which  time  shall  not 

want, 
If  he  be  put  upon't ;  and  that's  as  easy, 
As  to  set  dogs  on  sheep)  will  be  his  fire 
To  kindle  their  dry  stubble ;  and  their  blaze 
Shall  darken  him  for  ever. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Brutus. 

What's  the  matter  ? 
Messenger. 

You  are  sent  for  to  the  Capitol.    'Tis  thought, 
That  Marcius  shall  be  consul.     I  have  seen 
The  dumb  men  throng  to  see  him,  and  the  blind 
To  hear  him  speak :  matrons  flung  gloves, 
Ladies   and  maids  their  scarfs  and  handker- 
chiefs, 
Upon  him  as  he  pass'd ;  the  nobles  bended, 
As  to  Jove's  statue,  and  the  commons  made 
A  shower,  and  thunder,  with  their  caps,  and 
I  never  saw  the  like.  [shouts. 

Brutus. 

Let's  to  the  Capitols 
And  carry  with  us  ears  and  eyes  for  the  time, 
But  hearts  for  the  event. 

Slcinius. 

Havewith^xW 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    The  Capitol. 
Enter  Two  Officers,  to  lay  Cuibions. 
First  Officer. 
Come,  come;    they  are  almost  here.    How 

alships  " 
Second  Officer 


many  stand  for  consulships  ? 


Three,  they  say ;  but  'tis  thought  of  every  one 
Coriolanus  will  carry  it. 

First  Officer. 

That's  a  brave  fellow ;   but  he's  vengeance 
proud,  and  loves  not  the  common  people. 
Second  Officer. 

'Faith,  there  have  been  many  great  men  that 
have  flattered  the  people,  who  ne'er  loved  them ; 
and  there  be  many  that  they  have  loved,  they 
know  not  wherefore :  so  that,  if  they  love  they 


know  not  why,  they  hate  upon  no  better  a 
ground.  Therefore,  for  Coriolanus  neither  to 
care  whether  they  love  or  hate  him  manifests 
the  true  knowledge  he  has  in  their  disposition ; 
and,  out  of  his  noble  carelessness,  lets  them 
plainly  see't         Flrgt  offlcer. 

If  he  did  not  care  whether  he  had  their  love  or 
no,  he  waved  indifferently  'twixt  doing  them 
neither  good, nor  harm ;  but  he  seeks  their  hate 
with  greater  devotion  than  they  can  render  it 
him,  and  leaves  nothing  undone  that  may  fully 
discover  him  their  opposite.  Now,  to  seem  to 
affect  the  malice  and  displeasure  of  the  people  is 
as  bad  as  that  which  he  dislikes,  to  flatter  them 
for  their  love.     „         ,  nmn 

Second  Officer. 

He  hath  deserved  worthily  of  his  country ; 
and  his  ascent  is  not  by  such  easy  degrees  as 
those,  who,  having  been  supple  and  courteous  to 
the  people,  bonneted,  without  any  farther  deed 
to  have  them  at  all  into  their  estimation  and 
report:  but  he  hath  so  planted  his  honours  in 
their  eyes,  and  his  actions  in  their  hearts,  that 
for  their  tongues  to  be  silent,  and  not  confess  so 
much,  were  a  kind  of  ingrateful  injury;  to  re- 
port otherwise  were  a  malice,  that,  giving  itself 
the  lie,  would  pluck  reproof  and  rebuke  from 
every  ear  that  heard  it. 

Firit  Officer. 

No  more  of  him  :  he  is  a  worthy  man.  Make 
way,  they  are  coming. 

A  Sennet.  Enter,  with  Ltctors  before  them, 
Comim'us  the  Consul,  Menenius,  Coriolanus, 
many  other  Senators,  Sicinius  and  Brutus. 
The  Senators  take  their  places  ;  the  Trihunes 
take  theirs  alto  by  themselves. 

Menenius. 
Having  determin'd  of  the  Volsces,  and 
To  send  for  Titus  Lariius,  it  remains, 
As  the  main  point  of  this  our  after-meeting, 
To  gratify  his  noble  service,  that 
Hath  thus  stood  for  his  country.    Therefore, 

please  you, 
Most  reverend  and  grave  elders,  to  desire 
The  present  consul,  and  last  general 
In  our  well-found  successes,  to  report 
A  little  of  that  worthy  work  perform'd 
By  Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus;  whom 
We  meet  here,  both  to  thank,  and  to  remember 
With  honours  like  himself. 

First  Senator. 

Speak,  good  Cominius : 
Leave  nothing  out  for  length,  and  make  us 

think, 
Rather  our  state's  defective  for  requital, 
Than  we  to  stretch  it  out.     Masters  o*  the 

people, 
We  do  request  your  kindest  ears ;  and,  after, 
Your  loving  motion  toward  the  common  body, 
To  yield  what  passes  here. 
Sicinius. 

We  are  convented 
Upon  a  pleasing  treaty ;  and  have  hearts 
Inclinable  to  honour  and  advance 
The  theme  of  our  assembly. 
Brutus. 

Which  the  rather 
We  shall  be  blessed  to  do,  if  he  remember 
A  kinder  value  of  the  people,  than 
He  hath  hereto  priz'd  them  at. 
Menenius. 

That's  off,  that's  off: 
I  would 


Ac  i  n   Sc.  n. 


CORIOLANUS. 


74» 


I  would  you  rather  had  been  illcnt.    Please  you 
To  hear  Cominius  (peak? 

Brutus. 

Most  willingly; 
But  yet  my  caution  wa»  more  pertinent, 
Than  the  rebuke  you  giro  it. 

Menenius. 

lie  loves  your  people ; 
But  tie  him  not  to  be  their  bedfellow — 
■Worthy  Cominius,  speak.— Nay,  keep  your  place. 
[Coriolanus  rises,  and  offers  to  go  away. 

First  Senator. 
Sit,  Coriolanus :  never  shame  to  hear 
What  you  have  nobly  done. 

Coriolanui. 

Your  honours'  pardon : 
I  had  rather  hare  my  wounds  to  heal  again, 
Than  hear  say  how  1  got  them. 

Brutus. 

Sir,  I  hope, 
My  words  dis-bench'd  you  not 
Coriolanus. 

No,  sir:  yet  oft, 
When  blows  have  made  me  stay,  I  fled  from 

words. 
You  sooth 'd  not,  therefore  hurt  not.    But,  your 
1  love  them  as  they  weigh.  [people, 

Menenius. 

Pray  now,  sit  down. 

Coriolanus. 
I  had  rather  have  one  scratch  my  head  i'  the 
sun, 
When  the  alarum  were  struck,  than  idly  sit 
To  hear  my  nothings  monster'd.  [Exit. 

Menenius. 

Masters  of  the  people, 
Your  multiplying  spawn  how  can  he  flatter, 
(That's  thousaud  to  one  good  one)  when  you 

now  see, 
lie  had  rather  venture  all  his  limbs  for  honour, 
Than  one  on's  ears  to  hear  it?— Proceed,  Co- 
minius. 

Cominius. 
I  shall  lack  voice:  the  deeds  of  Coriolanus 
Should  not  be  utter'd  feebly.— It  is  held, 
That  valour  is  the  chiefest  virtue,  and 
Most  dignifies  the  haver:  if  it  be, 
The  man  I  speak  of  cannot  in  the  world 
Be  singly  counterpois'd.    At  sixteen  years, 
When  Tarquin  made  a  head  for  Home,  he  fought 
Beyond  the  mark  of  others:  our  then  dictator, 
I  Whom  with  all  praise  I  point  at,  saw  him  fight, 
I  When  with  his  Amazonian  chin  he  drove 
i  The  bristled  lips  before  him.     He  bestrid 
I  An  o'er-pressed  Roman,  and  i'  the  consul's  view 
I  Slew  three  opposers:  TarquMi  self  he  met, 
I  And  struck  him  on  his  knee:  in  that  day's  feats, 

When  he  might  act  the  woman  in  the  scene, 
I  He  prov'd  best  man  i'  the  field ;  and  for  his  meed 
Was  brow-bound  with  the  oak.     His  pupil  age 
I  Man-enter'd  thus,  he  waxed  like  a  sea; 
And  in  the  brunt  of  seventeen  battles  since, 
He  lurch'd  all  swords  of  the  garland.    For  this 
Before  and  in  Corioli,  let  me  say,  [last, 

I  cannot  speak  him  home :  he  stopp'd  the  fliers, 
And  by  his  rare  example  made  the  coward 
Turn  terror  into  sport.    As  weeds  before 
A  vessel  under  sail,  so  men  obey'd,  [stamp, 

And  fell  below  his  stem:    his  sword,  death's 
Where  it  did  mark,  it  took :  from  face  to  foot 
He  was  a  thing  of  blood,  whose  every  motion 
Was  timed  with  dying  cries.    Alone  he  enter'd 
The  mortal  gate  of  the  citv,  which  he  painted 


With  shunless  destiny,  aidless  came  off. 
Ami  with  a  sudden  reinforcement  struck 
Corioli  like  a  planet.     Now  all's  his; 
When  by  and  by  the  din  of  war  'gan  pierce 
His  ready  sense:  then,  straight  his  doubled  spirit 
He-quicken 'd  what  in  flesh  was  fatigate, 
And  to  the  battle  came  he;  where  he  did 
Run  reeking  o'er  the  lives  of  men,  as  if 
'Twere  a  perpetual  spoil ;  and  till  we  call'd 
Both  field  and  city  ours,  he  never  stood 
To  ease  his  breast  with  panting. 

Menenius. 

Worthy  man ! 
First  Senator. 
He  cannot  but  with  measure  fit  the  honours 
Which  we  devise  him. 

Cominius. 

Our  spoils  he  kick'd  at; 
And  look'd  upon  things  precious,  as  they  were 
The  common  muck  o'  the  world:  he  covets  less 
Than  misery  itself  would  give,  rewards 
His  deeds  with  doing  them,  and  is  content 
To  spend  the  time  to  end  it. 
Menenius. 

He's  right  noble: 
Let  him  be  called  for. 

First  Senator. 

Call  Coriolanus. 


He  doth  appear. 


Offlcer. 


Re-enter  Coriolanus. 
Menenius. 
The  senate,  Coriolanus,  are  well  pleas'd 
To  make  thee  consul. 

Coriolanus. 

I  do  owe  them  still 
My  life,  and  services. 

Menenius. 

It  then  remains, 
That  you  do  speak  to  the  people. 
Coriolanus. 

I  do  beseech  you, 
Let  me  o'erleap  that  custom ;  for  I  cannot 
Put  on  the  gown,  stand  naked,  and  entreat  them. 
For  my  wounds'  sake,  to  give  their  suffrage: 
That  1  may  pass  this  doing.  [please  you, 

SIcinius. 

Sir,  the  people 
Must  have  their  voices ;  neither  will  they  bate 
One  jot  of  ceremony. 

Menenius. 

Put  them  not  to't: 
Pray  you,  go  fit  you  to  the  custom,  and 
Take  to  you,  as  your  predecessors  have, 
Your  honour  with  your  form. 

Coriolanus. 

It  is  a  part 
That  I  shall  blush  in  acting,  and  might  well 
Be  taken  from  the  people. 

Brutus. 

Mark  you  that  ? 
Coriolanus. 
To  brag  unto  them,  — thus  I  did,  and  thus; — 
Show  them  th'  unaching  scars  which  I  should 
As  if  I  had  receiv'd  them  for  the  hire         [hide, 
Of  their  breath  only.— 

Menenius. 

Do  not  stand  upon't. — 
We  recommend  to  you,  tribunes  of  the  people, 
Our  purpose : — to  them,  and  to  our  noble  consul 
Wish  we  all  joy  and  honour. 

Sen  iters. 


74* 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Senators. 
To  Coriolanus  come  all  joy  and  honour ! 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  Senators. 

Brutus. 
You  see  how  he  intends  to  use  the  people. 

Sicinius. 
May  they  perceive  *s  intent !    He  will  require 
As  if  he  did  contemn  what  he  requested   [them, 
Should  be  in  them  to  give. 
Brutus. 
Come;  we'll  Inform  them 
Of  our  proceedings  here :  on  the  market-place, 
1  know  they  do  attend  us.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    The  Forum. 

Enter  several  Citizens. 

First  Citizen. 

Once,  if  he  do  require  our  voices,  we  ought 

not  to  deny  him. 

Second  Citizen. 
We  may,  sir,  if  we  will. 

Third  Citizen. 

We  have  power  in  ourselves  to  do  it,  but  it  is 
a  power  that  we  have  no  power  to  do  :  for  if  he 
shows  us  his  wounds,  and  tell  us  his  deeds,  we 
are  to  put  our  tongues  into  those  wounds,  and 
speak  for  them ;  so,  if  he  tell  us  his  noble  deeds, 
we  must  also  tell  him  our  noble  acceptance  of 
them.  Ingratitude  is  monstrous,  and  for  the 
multitude  to  be  ingrateful  were  to  make  a  mon- 
ster of  the  multitude ;  of  the  which  we,  being 
members,  should  bring  ourselves  to  be  monstrous 
members. 

First  Citizen. 

And  to  make  us  no  better  thought  of,  a  little 
help  will  serve :  for  once  we  stood  up  about  the 
corn,  he  himself  stuck  not  to  call  us  the  many- 
headed  multitude. 

Third  Citizen. 

We  have  been  called  so  of  many ;  not  that  our 
heads  are  some  brown,  some  black",  some  auburn, 
some  bald,  but  that  our  wits  are  so  diversely 
coloured :  and  truly,  1  think,  if  all  our  wits  were 
to  issue  out  of  one  skull,  they  would  fly  east,  west, 
north,  south  ;  and  their  consent  of  one  direct 
way  should  be  at  once  to  all  the  points  o'  the 
compass. 

Second  Citizen. 

Think  you  so?  Which  way,  do  you  judge, 
my  wit  would  fly  ? 

Third  Citizen. 
Nay,  your  wit  will  not  so  soon  out  as  another 
man's  will :  'tis  strongly  wedged  up  in  a  block- 
head ;  but  if  it  were  at  liberty,  'twould,  sure, 
southward. 

Second  Citizen. 
Why  that  way  ? 

Third  Citizen. 
To  lose  itself  in  a  fog ;  where,  being  three 
parts  melted  away  with  rotten  dews,  the  fourth 
would  return,  for  conscience  sake,  to  help  to  get 
thee  a  wife. 

Second  Citizen. 
You  are  never  without  your  tricks:— you  may, 
you  may.  _ 

Third  Citizen. 
Are  you  all  resolved  to  give  your  voices  ?    But 
that's  no  matter  ;  the  greater  part  carries  it.     I 
say,  if  he  would  incline  to  the  people,  there  was 
never  a  worthier  man. 


Enter  Coriolanus  and  Menenius. 
Here  he  comes,  and  in  the  gown  of  humility  : 
mark  his  behaviour.  We  are  not  to  stay  all  to- 
gether, but  to  come  by  him  where  he  stands,  by 
ones,  by  twos,  and  by  threes.  He's  to  make  his 
requests  by  particulars  ;  wherein  every  one  of  us 
has  a  single  honour,  in  giving  him  our  own  voices 
with  our  own  tongues:  therefore,  follow  me 
and  I'll  direct  you  how  you  shall  go  by  him. 

All. 
Content,  content.  [Exeunt. 

Menenius. 
O  sir,  you  are  not  right:  have  you  not  knowi 
The  worthiest  men  have  done  't  ? 

Coriolanus. 

What  must  I  say  ?  — 
I  pray,  sir,— Plague  upon't  J  I  cannot  bring 
My  tongue  to  such  a  pace.  — Look,  sir;  —  mj 

wounds; — 
I  got  them  in  my  country's  service,  when 
Some  certain  of  your  brethren  roar'd,  and  ran 
From  the  noise  of  our  own  drums. 

Menenius. 

O  me,  the  gods  : 
You  must  not  speak  of  that :  you  must  desire 
To  think  upon  you.  [them 

Coriolanus. 

Think  upon  me  ?    Hang  'era  ! 
I  would  they  would  forget  me,  like  the  virtues 
Which  our  divines  lose  by  'em. 

Menenius. 

You'll  mar  all : 
I'll  leave  you.    Pray  you,  speak  to  them,  I  pray 

you, 
In  wholesome  manner.  [Exit . 

Enter  two  Citixens. 
Coriolanus. 

Bid  them  wash  their  faces, 
And  keep  their  teeth  clean.— So,  here  comes  a 

brace. 
You  know  the  cause,  sir,  of  my  standing  here. 
First  Citizen. 
We  do,  sir :  tell  us  what  hath  brought  you 
to't. 

Coriolanus. 
Mine  own  desert. 

Second  Citizen. 

Your  own  desert  ? 

Coriolanus. 

Ay.nc 
Mine  own  desire. 

First  Citizen. 

How !  not  your  own  desire  ? 
Coriolanus. 
No,  6ir  ;  'twas  never  my  desire  yet, 
To  trouble  the  poor  with  begging. 
First  Citizen. 
You  must  think,  if  we  give  you  any  thing,  we 
hope  to  gain  by  you. 

Coriolanus. 
Well  then,  I  pray,  your  price  o'  the  consul- 
ship? 

First  Citizen. 
The  price  is,  to  ask  it  kindly. 
Coriolanus. 

Kindly? 
Sir,  I  pray,  let  me  ha't :  I  have  wounds  to  show 

you, 
Which  shall  be  yours  in  private.— Your  good 
What  say  you  ?  [voice,  sir  ; 

Skcoiul 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


COWOLANUS. 


74-3 


Second  Cltizeu. 

You  shall  hat,  worthy  dr. 

Corioianus. 

A  match,  sir 

There  is  in  all  two  worthy  voices  begg'd. — 
I  have  your  alms  :  adieu. 

First  Citiica. 

But  this  is  something  odd. 

Second  Citizen. 
An  'twere  to  give  again,— bnt  ti»  no  matter. 
[Exeunt  the  Two  Citizens. 

Enter  two  other  Citizens. 

Corioianus. 
Pray  yon  now,  if  it  may  stand  with  the  tune 
of  jour  voices  that  I  may  be  consul,  I  have  here 
the  customary  gown. 

Third  Citizen. 
You  have  deserved  nobly  of  your  country,  and 
j  you  have  not  deserved  nobly. 
Corioianus. 
J     Your  enigma  * 

Third  Citizen. 
You  have  been  a  scourge  to  her  enemies,  you 
J  have  been  a  rod  to  her  friends :  you  have  not, 
indeed,  loved  the  common  people. 
Corioianus. 
You  should  account  me  the  more  virtuous, 
that  1  have  not  been  common  in  my  love.  I 
I  will,  sir,  flatter  my  sworn  brother,  the  people, 
|  to  earn  a  dearer  estimation  of  them  :  'tis  a  con- 
dition they  account  gentle;  and  since  the  wis- 
dom of  their  choice  is  rather  to  have  my  hat 
than  my  heart,  I  will  practise  the  insinuating 
nod,  and  be  oft"  to  them  most  counterfeitly  :  that 
is,  sir,  1  will  counterfeit  the  bewitchment  of 
some  popular  man,  and  give  it  bountifully  to 
the  desirers.  Therefore,  beseech  you,  I  may  be 
consul. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
We  hope  to  find  you  our  friend,  and  therefore 
give  you  our  voices  heartily. 

Third  Citizen. 
You  have  received   many  wounds  for  your 
country. 

Corioianus. 
I  will  not  seal  your  knowledge #rtth  showing 
them.     I  will  make  much  of  your  voices,  and  so 
trouble  you  no  farther. 

Both  Citizens. 

The  gods  give  you  joy,  sir,  heartily. 

[Exeunt. 
Corioianus 

Most  sweet  voices  1— 
Better  it  is  to  die,  better  to  starve, 
Than  crave  the  hire  which  first  we  do  deserve. 
Why  in  this  woolvish  toge  should  I  stand  here, 
To  beg  of  Hob  and  Dick,  that  do  appear,  [to't  :— 
Their    needless  vouches?     Custom    calls  me 
What  custom  wills,  in  all  things  should  wedo't, 
The  dust  on  antique  time  would  lie  unswept, 
And  mountainous  error  be  too  highly  heap'd 
For  truth  to  o'er-peer.— Rather  than  fool  it  so, 
Let  the  high  office  and  the  honour  go 
To  one  that  would  do  thus — 1  am  half  through: 
The  one  part  sufler'd,  the  other  will  I  do. 

Enter  three  other  Citizens. 

Here  come  more  voices 

Your  voices  :  for  your  voices  1  have  fought ; 
watch'd  for  your  voices;  for  your  voices  bear 
Of  wounds  two  dozen  odd ;  battles  thrice  six 
I  have  seen,  and  heard  of:  for  your  voices, 


Have  done  many  things,  some  less,  some  more. 
Your  voices:  indeed,  I  would  be  consul. 
Fifth  r 
He  has  done  nobly,  and  cannot  go  without 
any  honest  man's  voice. 

Sixth  Citizen. 

Therefore,  let  him  be  consul.    The  gods  give 

him  joy,  and  make  him  good  friend  to  the  people. 

All. 

Amen,  amen. — 

God  save  thee,  noble  consul  I    [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Corioianus. 

Worthy  voice*  I 
Re-enter  Menenius,  with  Brutus,  and  Sicinius. 

Menenius. 
You  have  stood  your  limitation ;  and  the  tri- 
bunes 
Endue  you  with  the  people's  voice:  remains 
That,  in  th'  official  marks  invested,  you 
Anon  do  meet  the  senate. 

Corioianus. 

Is  this  done? 
Siciniui. 
The  custom  of  request  you  have  discharged : 
The  people  do  admit  you ;  and  are  summon 'd 
To  meet  anon  upon  your  approbation. 
Corioianus. 
Where?  at  the  senate-house? 
Sicinius. 

There,  Corioianus. 
Corioianus. 
May  I  change  these  garments  ? 

Sicinius. 
You  may,  sir. 

Corioianus. 
That  I'll  straight  do;  and,  knowing  myself 
Repair  to  the  senate-house.  [again, 

Menenius. 
I'll  keep  you  company — Will  you  along? 

Brutus. 
We  stay  here  for  the  people. 
Sicinius. 

Fare  you  well. 
[Exeunt  Corioianus  and  Menenius. 
He  has  it  now ;  and  by  his  looks,  methinks, 
'Tis  warm  at's  heart. 

Brutus. 

With  a  proud  heart  he  wore 
His  humble  weeds.  Will  you  dismiss  the  people? 

Re-enter  Citizens. 
Sicinius. 
How  now,  my  masters  I  have  you  chose  this 
man? 

First  Citizen. 
He  has  our  voices,  sir. 

Brutus. 
We  pray  the  gods  he  may  deserve  your  loves. 

Second  Citizen. 
Amen,  sir.    To  my  poor  unworthy  notice, 
He  mock'd  us  when  he  begg'd  our  voices. 
Third  Citizen. 

Certainly, 
He  flouted  us  down-right. 

First  Citizen. 
No,  'tis  his  kind  of  speech ;  he  did  not  mock 
us. 

Second  Citizen. 
Not  one  amongst  us,  save  yourself,  but  says, 

He 


744 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


He  usM  us  scornfully:  he  should  have  show'd  us 
His  marks  of  merit,  wounds  receiv'd  for's 
country. 


Why,  so  he  did, 


Sicinius, 

am  sure. 

AIL 


No,  no ;  no  man  saw  'em. 
Third  CWzen. 
He  said,  he  had  wounds,  which  he  could  show 
in  private ; 
And  with  his  hat  thus  waving  it  in  scorn, 
*•  I  would  be  consul,"  says  he :  "  aged  custom, 
But  by  your  voices,  will  not  so  permit  me : 
Your  voices  therefore."  When  we  granted  that 
Here  was,—"  I  thank  you  for  your  voices,— 

thank  you,— 
Your  most  sweet  voices:— now  you  have  left 
your  voices, 
have  no  farther  with  you."— Was  not  this 
mockery?       ^^ 

Why,  either,  were  you  ignorant  to  see't, 
Or,  seeing  it,  of  such  childish  friendliness, 
To  yield  your  voices  ? 

Brutus.- 
Could  you  not  have  told  him, 
As  you  were  lesson'd — when  he  had  no  power, 
But  was  a  petty  servant  to  the  state, 
He  was  your  enemy ;  ever  spake  against 
Your  liberties,  and  the  charters  that  you  bear 
I"  the  body  of  the  weal :  and  now,  arriving 
A  place  of  potency,  and  sway  o'  the  state, 
If  he  should  still  malignantly  remain 
Fast  foe  to  the  plebeii,  your  voices  might 
Be  curses  to  yourselves.    You  should  have  said, 
That,  as  his  worthy  deeds  did  claim  no  less 
Than  what  he  stood  for,  so  his  gracious  nature 
Would  think  upon  you  for  your  voices,  and 
Translate  his  malice  towards  you  into  love, 
Standing  your  friendly  lord. 
Sicinius. 

Thus  to  have  said, 
As  you  were  fore-advis'd,  had  touch'd  his  spirit, 
And  tried  his  inclination ;  from  him  pluck'd 
Either  his  gracious  promise,  which  you  might, 
As  cause  had  called  you  up,  have  held  him  to, 
Or  else  it  would  have  gall'd  his  surly  nature, 
Which  easily  endures  not  article 
Tying  him  to  aught;  so,  putting  him  to  rage. 
You  should  haveta'en  th'  advantage  of  his  choler, 
And  pass'd  him  unelected. 
Brutus. 

Did  you  perceive, 
He  did  solicit  you  in  free  contempt, 
When  he  did  need  your  loves,  and  do  you  think, 
That  his  contempt  shall  not  be  bruising  to  you, 
When  he  hath  power  to  crush  ?    Why,  had  your 

bodies, 
No  heart  among  you?  or  had  you  tongues  to  cry 
Against  the  rectorship  of  judgment? 
Sicinius. 

Have  you, 
Ere  now,  denied  the  asker ;  and,  now  again, 
Of  him,  that  did  not  ask,  but  mock,  bestow 
Your  sued-for  tongues? 

Third  Citizen. 
He's  not  confirm'd ;  we  may  deny  him  yet. 

Second  Citizen. 
And  will  deny  him  : 
I'll  have  five  hundred  voices  of  that  sound. 
First  Citizen. 
Ay,  twice  five  hundred,  and  their  friends  to 
piece  'em. 


Brutus. 
Get  you  hence  instantly ;  and  tell  those  friends, 
They  have  chose  a  consul  that  will  from  them  take 
Their  liberties ;  make  them  of  no  more  voice 
Than  dogs,  that  are  as  often  beat  for  barking, 
As  therefore  kept  to  do  so. 
Sicinius. 

Let  them  assemble ; 
And,  on  a  safer  judgment,  all  revoke 
Your  ignorant  election.    Enforce  his  pride, 
And  his  old  hate  unto  you :  besides,  forget  not 
With  what  contempt  he  wore  the  humble  weed ; 
How  in  his  suit  he  scorn'd  you,  but  your  loves, 
Thinking  upon  his  services,  took  from  you 
The  apprehension  of  his  present  portance, 
Which  most  gibingly,  ungravely,  he  did  fashion 
After  the  inveterate  hate  he  bears  you. 
Brutus. 

Lay 
A  fault  on  us,  your  tribunes ;  that  we  labour'd 
(No  impediment  between)  but  that  you  must 
Cast  your  election  on  him. 
Sicinius. 

Say,  you  chose  him 
More  after  our  commandment,  than  as  guided 
By  your  own  true  affections  ;  and  that,  your 

minds, 
Pre-occupy'd  with  what  you  rather  must  do, 
Than  what  you  should,  made  you  against  the 

grain 
To  voice  him  consul.    Lay  the  fault  on  us. 
Brutus. 
Ay,  spare  us  not.    Say,  we  read  lectures  to 
you, 
How  youngly  he  began  to  serve  his  country. 
How  long  continued,  and  what  stock  he  springs 
of,  [came 

The  noble  house  o'the  Marcians  ;  from  whence 
That  Ancus  Marcius,  Numa's  daughter's  son, 
Who,  after  great  Hostilius,  here  was  king. 
Of  the  same  house  Publius  and  Quintus  were, 
That  our  best  water  brought  by  conduits  hither  ; 
[And  Censorinus,  darling  of  the  people,] 
And  nobly  nam'd  so,  twice  being  censor, 
Was  his  great  ancestor. 

Sidnlun. 

One  thus  descended, 
That  hath  beside  well  in  his  person  wrought 
To  be  set  higlrin  place,  we  did  commend 
To  your  remembrances  ;  but  you  have  found, 
Scaling  his  present  bearing  with  his  past, 
That  he's  your  fixed  enemy,  and  revoke 
Your  sudden  approbation. 
Brutus. 
Say,  you  ne'er  had  done't, 
(Harp  on  that  still)  but  by  our  putting  on  ; 
And  presently,  when  you   have   drawn   your 
Repair  to  the  Capitol.  [number, 

We  will  so :  almost  all 
Repent  in  their  election.  [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Brutus. 

Let  them  go  on : 
This  mutiny  were  better  put  in  hazard, 
Than  stay,  past  doubt,  for  greater. 
If,  as  his  nature  is,  he  fall  in  rage 
With  their  refusal,  both  observe  and  answer 
The  vantage  of  his  anger. 

Sicinius. 

To  the  Capitol : 
Come,  we'll  be  there  before  the  stream  o'  the 

people ; 
And  this  shall  seem,  as  partly  'tis,  their  own, 
Which  we  have  goaded  onward.  I  Exeunt. 

ACT 


Act  hi.  He.  I. 


C01U0LANUS. 


745 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Tbe  same.    A  Str«e*. 

Cornets.     Enter  Coriolanus,  Menenius,  Comi- 
nius,  Titus   Lartius,   Senator t,  and    Patri- 

ciiini. 

Coriolanus. 
rpULT.US  Aufidius,  then,  had    made    new 
1      head? 

Lartius. 
He  had,  my  lord ;  and  that  It  was,  which 
Our  swifter  composition.  [caus'd 

Coriolanus. 
So,  then,  the  Volsces  stand  but  as  at  first ; 
Ready,  when  time  shall  prompt  them,  to  make 
Upon  us  again.  [road 

Cominius. 
They  are  worn,  lord  consul,  so, 
That  we  shall  hardly  in  our  ages  see 
Their  banners  wave  again. 

Coriolanus. 

Saw  you  Aufidius? 
Lartius. 
On  safeguard  he  came  to  me  ;  and  did  curse 
Against  the  Volsces,  for  they  had  so  vilely 
Yielded  the  town :  he  is  retir'd  to  Antium. 
Coriolanus. 
Spoke  he  of  me? 

Lartius. 

He  did,  my  lord. 
Coriolanus. 

How  ?  what  ? 
Lartius. 
How  often  he  had  met  you,  sword  to  sword  ; 
That  of  all  things  upon  the  earth  he  hated 
Your  person  most  ;  that  he  would  pawn  his 

fortunes 
To  hopeless  restitution,  so  he  might 
Be  call'd  your  vanquisher. 

Coriolanus. 

At  Antium  lives  he  ? 
Lartius. 
At  Antium. 

Coriolanus. 
I  wish,  1  had  a  cause  to  seek  him  there, 
To  oppose  his  hatred  fully.  —  Welcome  home. 
[To  Lartius. 

Enter  Sicinius  and  Brutus. 
Behold  !  these  are  the  tribunes  of  the  people, 
The  tongues  o'  the  common  mouth.    1  do  de- 
spise them, 
For  they  do  prank  them  in  authority, 
Against  all  noble  sufferance. 
Sicinius. 

Pass  no  farther. 
Coriolanus. 
Ha  !  what  is  that  ? 

Brutus. 
It  will  be  dangerous  to  go  on  :  no  farther. 

Coriolanus. 
What  makes  this  change  ? 
Menemus. 

The  matter  ? 
Cominius. 
Hath  he  not  pass'd  the  noble,  and  the  com- 
mon ? 


Brutus. 
Cominius,  no. 

Coriolanus. 

Have  1  had  children's  voices  ? 
Senator. 
Tribunes,  give  way:  he  shall  to  the  market- 
place. 

Brutus. 
The  people  are  incens'd  against  him. 
Sicinius. 

Stop, 
Or  all  will  fall  in  broil. 

Coriolanus. 

Are  these  your  herd  ?  — 
Must  these  have  voices,  that  can  yield  them 
now,  [are  your  offices  ? 

And  straight  disclaim  their  tongues  ?— What 
You  being  their  mouths,  why  rule  you  not 
Have  you  not  set  them  on  ?  [their  teeth  ? 

Menenius. 

Be  calm,  be  calm. 
Coriolanus. 
It  is  a  purpos'd  thing;,  and  grows  by  plot, 
To  curb  the  will  of  the  nobility  : 
Sufler't,  and  live  with  such  as  cannot  rule. 
Nor  ever  will  be  rul'd. 

Brutus. 

Call't  not  a  plot : 
I  The  people  cry,  you  mock'd  them ;  and,  of  late, 
I  When  corn  was  given  them  gratis,  you  repin'd  ; 
Scandal 'd  the  suppliants  for  the  people,  call'd 

them 
Time-pleasers,  flatterers,  foes  to  nobleness. 
Coriolanus. 
Why,  this  was  known  before. 
Brutus. 

Not  to  them  all. 
Coriolanus. 
Have  you  inform'd  them  sithence  ? 
Brutus. 

How  !  I  inform  them  I 
Coriolanus. 
You  are  like  to  do  such  business. 
Brutus. 

Not  unlike, 
Each  way,  to  better  yours. 

Coriolanus. 
Why,  then,  should  I  be  consul  ?    By  yond* 
clouds, 
Let  me  deserve  so  ill  as  you,  and  make  me 
Your  fellow  tribune. 

Sicinius. 

You  show  too  much  of  that. 
For  which  the  people  stir.     If  you  will  pass 
To  where  you  are  bound,  you  must  inquire  your 

way, 
Which  you  are  out  of,  with  a  gentler  spirit ; 
Or  never  be  so  noble  as  a  consul, 
Nor  yoke  with  him  for  tribune. 
Menenius. 

Let's  be  calm. 
Cominius. 
The  people  are  abuVd ;  set  on.— This  paltering 
Becomes  not  Rome;  nor  has  Coriolanus 
Deserv'd  this  so  dishono  jr'd  rub,  laid  falsely 
I'  the  plain  way  of  his  merit. 
Coriolanus. 

Tell  me  of  com  1 
This  was  my  speech,  and  I  will  speak't  again— 
Menenius. 
Not  now,  not  now. 

First 


7T6 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  hi.  5c- 1. 


First  Senator. 

Not  in  this  heat,  sir,  now. 
Coriolanus. 
Now,  as  I  live,  I  will. — My  nobler  friends, 
I  crave  their  pardons : — 
For  the  mutable,  rank-scented  many,  let  them 
Regard  me  as  I  do  not  flatter,  and 
Therein  behold  themselves.    I  say  again, 
In  soothing  them  we  nourish  'gainst  our  senate 
The  cockle  of  rebellion,  insolence,  sedition, 
"Which  we  ourselves  have  plough'd  for,  sow'd, 

and  scatter'd, 
By  mingling  them  with  us,  the  honour'd  number ; 
Who  lack  not  virtue,  no,  nor  power,  but  that 
WThich  they  have  given  to  beggars. 
Menenius. 

Well,  no  more. 
Senator. 
No  more  words,  we  beseech  you. 

Coriolanus. 

How !  no  more  ? 
As  for  my  country  I  have  shed  my  blood, 
Not  fearing  outward  force,  so  shall  my  lungs 
Coin  words  till  they  decay  against  those  meazels, 
Which  we  disdain  should  tetter  us,  yet  sought 
The  very  way  to  catch  them. 
Brutus. 

You  speak  o'  the  people, 
As  if  you  were  a  god  to  punish,  not 
A  man  of  their  infirmity. 

Sicinius. 

'Twere  well, 
We  let  the  people  know't. 

Menenius. 

What,  what  ?  his  choler  ? 
Coriolanus. 
Choler ! 
Were  I  as  patient  as  the  midnight  sleep, 
By  Jove,  'twould  be  my  mind. 
Sicinius. 

It  is  a  mind, 
That  shall  remain  a  poison  where  it  is, 
Not  poison  any  farther. 

Coriolanus. 

Shall  remain! — 
Hear  you  this  Triton  of  the  minnows?  mark 
His  absolute  "  shall  ?  "  [you 

Cominius. 

'Twas  from  the  canon. 
Coriolanus. 

"Shall!" 
O,  good  but  most  unwise  patricians  1  why, 
You  grave  but  reckless  senators,  have  you  thus 
Given  Hydra  here  to  choose  an  officer, 
That  with  his  peremptory  "  shall,"  being  but 
The  horn  and  noise  o'  the  monsters,  wants  not 

spirit 
To  say,  he'll  turn  your  current  in  a  ditch, 
And  make  your  channel  his  ?    If  he  have  power, 
Then  vail  your  ignorance:  if  none,  awake 
Your  dangerous  lenity.    If  you  are  learned, 
Be  not  as  common  fools  ;  if  you  are  not, 
Let  them  have  cushions  by  you.    You  are  ple- 
beians, 
If  they  be  senators  ;  and  they  are  no  less,  [taste 
When  both  your  voices  blended,  the  great'st 
Most  palates  theirs.    They  choose  their  magis- 
trate ; 
And  such  a  one  as  he,  who  puts  his  "shall,' 
His  popular  •'  shall,"  against  a  graver  bench 
Than  ever  frown'd  in  Greece.    By  Jove  himself, 
It  makes  the  consuls  base ;  and  my  soul  aches, 
To  know,  when  two  authorities  are  up 


Neither  supreme,  how  soon  confusion 
May  enter  'twixt  the  gap  of  both,  and  take 
The  one  by  the  other. 

Cominius. 
Well— on  to  the  market-place. 

Coriolanus. 
Whoever  gave  that  counsel,  to  give  forth 
The  corn  o'  the  store-house  gratis,  as  'twas  us'd 
Sometime  in  Greece,— 

Menenius. 

Well,  well;  no  more  of  that. 

Coriolanus. 
Though  there  the  people  had  more  absolute 
I  say,  they  nourish'd  disobedience,  fed    [power, 
The  ruin  of  the  state. 

Brutus. 

Why,  shall  the  people  give 
One  that  speaks  thus  their  voice  ? 

Coriolanus. 

I'll  give  my  reasons, 
More  worthier  than  their  voices.    Thev  know, 

the  corn 
Was  not  our  recom  pence,  resting  well  assur'd 
They  ne'er  did  service  for't.    Being  press'd  to 

the  war, 
Even  when  the  navel  of  the  state  was  touch 'd, 
They  would  not  thread  the  gates  :  this  kind  of 

service 

Did  not  deserve  corn  gratis  :  being  i'  the  war, 
Their  mutinies  and  revolts,  wherein  they  show'd 
Most  valour,  spoke  not  for  them.  Tlf  accusation 
Which  they  have  often  made  against  the  senate, 
All  cause  unborn,  could  never  be  the  native 
Of  our  so  frank  donation.    Well,  what  then  ? 
How  shall  this  bosom  multiplied  digest 
The  senate's  courtesy  ?    Let  deeds  express 
What's  like  to  be  their  words :— "  We  did  request 
We  are  the  greater  poll,  and  in  true  fear        [it ; 
They  gave  us  our  demands." — Thus  we  debase 
The  nature  of  our  seats,  and  make  the  rabble 
Call  our  cares,  fears  ;  which  will  in  time  break 

ope 
The  locks  o'  the  senate,  and  bring  in  the  crows 

To  peck  the  eagles 

Menenius. 

Come,  enough. 
Brutus. 
Enough,  with  over-measure. 
Coriolanus. 

No,  take  more : 
What  maybe  sworn  by, both  divine  and  human, 
Seal  what  I  end  withal !— This  double  worship, — 
Where  one  part  does  disdain  with  cause,  the 

other 
Insult  without  all  reason  ;  where  gentry,  title, 

wisdom, 
Cannot  conclude,  but  by  the  yea  and  no 
Of  general  ignorance, — it  must  omit 
Real  necessities,  and  give  way  the  while 
To  unstable  slightness.    Purpose  so  barr'd,  it 

follows,  [you, 

Nothing  is  done  to  purpose:  therefore,  beseech 
You  that  will  be  less  fearful  than  discreet, 
That  love  the  fundamental  part  of  state, 
More  than  you  doubt  the  change  on't,  that  prefer 
A  noble  life  before  a  long,  and  wish 
To  jump  a  body  v.  ith  a  dangerous  physic, 
That's  sure  of  death  without  it,  at  once  pluck  out 
The  multitudinous  tongue:  let  them  not  lick 
The  sweet  which  is  their  poison.    Your  dis- 
honour 
Mangles  true  judgment,  and  bereaves  the  state 
Of  that  integrity  which  should  become  it, 

Not 


Act  hi.  Se.  L 


COKIOLANUS. 


7*7 


Not  having  the  power  to  do  the  good  It  would, 
For  th'  ill  which  doth  control  it. 
Brutus. 

He  haa  said  enough. 

Siclnlui. 
He  has  spoken  like  a  traitor,  and  shall  answer 
As  traitors  do. 

Coriolanus. 
Thou  wretch  1  despite  o'er  whelm  thee  !  — 
What  should  the  people  do  with  these  bald  tri- 
bunes ? 
On  whom  depending,  their  obedience  falls 
To  the  greater  bench.     In  a  rebellion,        [law, 
When  what's  not  meet,  but  what  must  be,  was 
Then  were  they  chosen:  in  a  better  hour, 
Let  what  is  meet,  be  said  it  must  be  meet, 
And  throw  their  power  i'  the  dust. 

Brutus. 
Manifest  treason. 

Sicinius. 
This  a  consul  ?  no. 

Brutus. 
The  JEdiles,  ho !  — Let  him  be  apprehended. 

Enter  an  JSdile. 
Sicinius. 
Go,  call  the  people;  [Exit  JEdile]  in  whose 
name,  myself 
Attach  thee  as  a  traitorous  innovator, 
A  foe  to  the  public  weal.    Obey,  1  charge  thee, 
And  follow  to  thine  answer. 

Coriolanus. 

Hence,  old  goat  1 
Senator. 
We'll  surety  him. 

Cominius. 

Aged  sir,  hands  off. 

Coriolanus. 
Hence,  rotten  thing,  or  I  shall  skake  thy  bones 
Out  of  thy  garments. 

Sicinius. 

Help,  ye  citizens  1 

He-enter  the  JEdilt,  with  others,  and  a  liabble 
of  Citizens. 

Menenius. 
On  both  sides  more  respect. 
Sicinius. 

Here's  he,  that  would 
Take  from  you  all  your  power. 
Brutus. 

Seize  him,  JEdiles. 
Citizens. 
Down  with  him  I  down  with  him! 

[Several  speak. 
Second  Senator. 
Weapons!  weapons!  weapons! 
[They  all  bustle  about  Coriolanus. 
Tribunes,  patricians,  citizens !  — what  ho  !— 
Sicinius,  Brutus,  Coriolanus,  citizens ! 
Citizens. 
Peace,  peace,  peace  1  stay,  hold,  peace ! 

Menenius. 
What  is  about  to  be?—  I  am  out  of  breath ; 
Confusion's  near:  1  cannot  speak.  — You,  tri- 
bunes 
To  the  people,  —  Coriolanus,  patience:  — 
Speak,  good  Sicinius. 

Sicinius. 

Hear  me  I  people,  peace ! 


Let's  hear  our  tribune:— Peace!  Speak,  speak, 
speak. 

Sicinius. 
You  are  at  point  to  lose  your  liberties: 
Marcius  would  have  all  from  you ;  Marcius, 
Whom  late  you  have  nam'd  for  consul. 

Menenius. 

Fie.  fie,  fie! 
This  is  the  way  to  kindle,  not  to  quench. 

Senator. 
To  unbuild  the  city,  and  to  lay  all  flat. 

Sicinius. 
What  is  the  city,  but  the  people? 

Citizens. 
The  people  are  the  city . 

Brutus. 
By  the  consent  of  all,  we  were  establish'd 
The  people's  magistrates. 


True, 


Citizens. 

You  so  remain. 

Menenius. 
And  so  are  like  to  do. 

Cominius. 
That  is  the  way  to  lay  the  city  flat ; 
To  bring  the  roof  to  the  foundation, 
And  bury  all,  which  yet  distinctly  ranges, 
In  heaps  and  piles  of  ruin. 

Sicinius. 

This  deserves  death. 

Brutus. 
i     Or  let  us  stand  to  our  authority, 

Or  let  us  lose  it We  do  here  pronounce, 

Upon  the  part  o'  the  people,  in  whose  power 
We  were  elected  theirs,  Marcius  is  worthy 
Of  present  death. 

Sicinius. 

Therefore,  lay  hold  of  him. 
Bear  him  to  the  rock  Tarpeian,  and  from  thence 
Into  destruction  cast  him. 


Brutus. 


.Xdiles,  seize  him. 


Citizens. 
Yield,  Marcius,  yield. 


Menenius. 

Hear  me  one  word. 
Beseech  you,  tribunes,  hear  me  but  a  word. 

Mfe. 

Peace,  peace ! 

Menenius. 

Be  that  you  seem,  truly  your  country's  friend, 
And  temperately  proceed  to  what  you  would 
Thus  violently  redress. 

Brutus. 

Sir,  those  cold  ways, 
That  seem  like  prudent  helps,  are  very  poisonous 
Where  the  disease  is  violent. — Lay  hands  upon 
And  bear  him  to  the  rock.  [him, 

Coriolanus. 

No;  I'll  die  here. 
[Drawing  his  sword. 
There's  some  among  you  have  beheld  me  fight- 
ing: [me. 
Come,  try  upon  yourselves  what  you  have  seen 

Menenius. 
Down  with  that  sword !  —  Tribunes,  withdraw 
a  while. 

Brutus. 
Lay  hands  upon  him. 


748 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Menenius. 

Help  Marcius,  help, 
You  that  be  noble;  help  him,  young,  and  old  1 

Citizens. 
Down  with  him  1  down  with  him ! 
[In  this  mutiny,  the  Tribunes,  the  JKdiks, 
and  the  People,  are  beat  in. 

Menenius. 
Go,  get  you  to  your  house:  be  gone,  away  I 
All  will  be  naught  else. 

Second  Senator. 

Get  you  gone. 

Cominiua. 

Stand  fast ; 
We  have  as  many  friends  as  enemies. 

Meninius. 
Shall  it  be  put  to  that? 

First  Senator. 

The  gods  forbid. 
I  pr'ythee,  noble  friend,  home  to  thy  house ; 
Leave  us  to  cure  this  cause. 

Menenius. 

For  'tis  a  sore  upon  us, 
You  cannot  tent  yourself.  Begone,  'beseech  you. 

Comlnius. 
Come,  sir,  along  with  us. 

Menenius. 
I  would  they  were  barbarians,  as  they  are, 
Though  in  Rome  litter'd,  not  Romans,  as  they 
are  not,  [gone ; 

Though  calv'd  i'  the  porch  o'  the  Capitol:  —  Be 
Put  not  your  worthy  rage  into  your  tongue : 
One  time  will  owe  another. 

Coriolanus. 

On  fair  ground, 
I  could  beat  forty  of  them. 

Menenius. 

I  could  myself 
Take  up  a  brace  of  the  best  of  them ;  yea,  the 
two  tribunes. 

Comlnius. 
But  now  'tis  odds  beyond  arithmetic ; 
And  manhood  is  call'd  foolery,  when  it  stands 
Against  a  falling  fabric — Will  you  hence, 
Before  the  tag  return  ?  whose  rage  doth  rend 
Like  interrupted  waters,  and  o'erbear 
What  they  are  used  to  bear. 

Menenius. 

Pray  you,  be  gone. 
I'll  try  whether  my  old  wit  be  in  request 
With  those  that  have  but  little :  this  must  be 
With  cloth  of  any  colour.  [patch'd 

Cominiua. 

Nay,  come  away. 
[Exeunt  Coriolanus,  Cominius,  and  others. 

First  Patrician. 
This  man  has  marr'd  his  fortune. 

Menenius. 
His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world : 
He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 
Or  Jove  for's  power  to  thunder.    His  heart's  his 

mouth  : 
What  his  breast  forges,  that  his  tongue  must 

vent; 
And,  being  angry,  does  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death.     [A  noise  within. 
Here's  goodly  work  ! 

Second  Patrician: 

I  would  they  were  a-bed! 


Menenius. 

I  would  they  were  in  Tyber!  —  What,  the  ven- 

Could  he  not  speak  them  fair  ?  [geance, 

Re-enter  Brutus  and  Sicinius,  with  the  Rabble. 

Sicinius., 

Where  is  this  viper, 
That  would  depopulate  the  city,  and 
Be  every  man  himself? 

Menenius. 

You  worthy  tribunes,— 

Sicinius. 
He  shall  be  thrown  down  the  Tarpeian  rock 
With  rigorous  hands  :  he  hath  resisted  law, 
And  therefore  law  shall  scorn  him  farther  trial 
Than  the  severity  of  the  public  power, 
Which  he  so  sets  at  nought. 

First  Citizen. 

He  shall  well  know, 
The  noble  tribunes  are  the  people's  mouths, 
And  we  their  hands. 

Citizens. 
He  shall,  sure  on't. 

Menenius. 
Sir,  sir, — 

Sicinius. 
Peace ! 

Menenius. 
Do  not  cry  havock,  where  you  should  but 
hunt 
With  modest  warrant. 

Sicinius. 
Sir,  how  comes't,  that  you 
Have  holp  to  make  this  rescue? 

Menenius. 

Hear  me  speak.— 
As  1  do  know  the  consul's  worthiness, 
So  can  I  name  his  faults — 

Sicinius. 

Consul !  —  what  consul  ? 

Menenius. 
The  consul  Coriolanus. 

Brutus. 

He  a  consul ! 

Citizens. 
No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

Meneniut. 
If,  by  the  tribunes'  leave,  and  yours,  good 
people, 
I  may  be  heard,  I  would  crave  a  word  or  two ; 
The  which  shall  turn  you  to  no  farther  harm, 
Than  so  much  loss  of  time. 

Sicinius.         ...  -    ... 

Speak  briefly  then ; 
For  we  are  peremptory  to  despatch 
This  viperous  traitor.    To  eject  him  hence, 
Were  but  one  danger,  and  to  keep  him  here, 
Our  certain  death :  therefore,  it  is  decreed 
He  dies  to-night. 

Menenius        .      .    „   .  , . 
Now  the  good  gods  forbid, 
That  our  renowned  Rome,  whose  gratitude 
Towards  her  deserved  children  is  enroll'd 
In  Jove's  own  book,  like  an  unnatural  dam 
Should  now  eat  up  her  own  ! 

Sicinius. 
He's  a  disease,  that  must  be  cut  away. 

Menenius. 
O  1  he's  a  limb,  that  has  but  a  disease  ; 
Mortal,  to  cut  it  off;  to  cure  it  easy. 
What  has  he  done  to  Rome  that's  worthy  death  ? 

Killing 


A.  i   in.   Sc.  II. 


CORIOLANUS. 


749 


Killing  our  enemies  ?  The  blood  he  hath  lost, 
(Which,  I  dare  vouch,  It  more  than  that  he  hath, 
Uy  many  an    ounce)    he   dropp'd   it    Tor    hit 

country, 
And  what  is  left,  to  lose  It  by  his  country, 
Were  to  us  all,  that  do't  ana  suffer  it, 
A  brand  to  th'  end  o*  the  world. 
Mm 

This  is  clean  kam. 
Brutus. 

Merely  awry.    When  he  did  love  his  country, 
It  honour'd  him.    _.         , 

Menenlus. 

The  service  of  the  foot. 
Being  once  gangren'd,  is  not  then  respected 
For  what  before  it  was. 

Brutus. 

We'll  hear  no  more.  — 
Pursue  him  to  his  house,  and  pluck  him  thence, 
Lest  his  infection,  being  of  catching  nature, 
Spread  farther. 

Menenlus. 

One  word  more,  one  word. 
This  tiger-footed  rage,  when  it  shall  find 
The  harm  of  unscann'd  swiftness,  will,  too  late, 
Tie   leaden   pounds   to's   heels.     Proceed  by 

process  ; 
Lest  parties  (as  he  is  belov'd)  break  out, 
And  sack  great  Rome  with  Romans, 
lirutus. 

If  it  were  so,— 
biclnlus. 

What  do  ye  talk  ? 
Have  we  not  had  a  taste  of  his  obedience  ? 
Our   JEdiles    smote  P     ourselves    resisted  ?  — 
come!—       .t        . 

Menenlus. 

Consider  this:— he  has  been  bred  i'  the  wars 
Since  he  could  draw  a  sword,  and  is  ill  school'd 
In  boulted  language :  meal  and  bran  together 
He  throws  without  distinction.     Give  me  leave, 
I'll  go  to  him,  and  undertake  to  bring  him  in 

peace 
Where  he  shall  answer,  by  a  lawful  form, 
In  peace,  to  his  utmost  peril. 
First  Senator. 

Noble  tribunes, 
It  is  the  humane  way :  the  other  course 
Will  prove  too  bloody,  and  the  end  of  it 
Unknown  to  the  beginning. 
Sicinius. 

Noble  Menenius, 

Be  you,  then,  as  the  people's  officer 

Masters,  lay  down  your  weapons. 
Brutus. 

„,  ,  Go  not  home. 

Sicinius. 
Meet  on  the  market-place.— We'll  attend  you 
there : 
Where,  if  you  bring  not  Marcius,  we'll  proceed 
In  our  first  way. 


Menenlus. 


I'll  bring  hjm  to  you.— 
Let  me  desire  your  company.  [To  the  Senators. 

He  must  come, 
Or  what  is  worst  will  follow. 
First  Senator. 


Pray  you,  let's  to  him. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Boom  In  Coriolanus^  House. 
Enter  Coriolanus,  and  Patricians. 
Coriolanus. 
Let  them  pull  all  about  mine  ears:  present 
in* 


Death  on  the  wheel,  or  at  wild  horses'  heels  ; 
Or  pile  ten  hills  on  the  Tarpeian  rock. 
That  the  precipitation  might  down  stretch 
Below  the  beam  of  sight,  yet  will  1  still 
Be  thus  to  them. 

Filter  Volumnia. 
First  Patrician. 

You  do  the  nobler. 
Coriolanus. 
I  muse  my  mother 
Does  not  approve  me  farther,  who  was  wont 
To  call  them  woollen  vassals  ;  things  created 
|  To  buy  and  sell  with  groats ;  to  show  bare  heads 

Iln  congregations,  to  yawn,  be  still,  and  wonder, 
When  one  but  of  my  ordinance  stood  up 
To  speak  of  peace,  or  war.    I  talk  of  you : 

[l  0  Volumnia. 
|  Why  did  you  wish  me  milder?    Would  you 

have  me 
I  False  to  my  nature  ?    Rather  say,  I  play 
The  man  1  am. 

V  olumnia. 
O,  sir,  sir,  sir  1 
I  would  have  had  you  put  your  power  well  on, 
Before  you  had  worn  it  out. 
Coriolanus. 

Let  go. 
Volumnia. 
You  might  have  been  enough  the  man  you  are, 
With  striving  less  to  be  so :  lesser  had  been 
The  thwartings  of  your  dispositions,  if 
You  had  not  show'd  them  how  you  were  dis 
Ere  they  lack'd  power  to  cross  you.         [pos'd, 
Torlolanus. 

Let  them  hang. 
Volumnia. 
Ay,  and  burn  too. 

Knter  Menenius,  and  Senators. 
Menenius. 
Come,  come ;  you  have  been  too  rough 
thing  too  rough  : 
You  must  return,  and  mend  it. 
First  Senator. 

There's  no  remedy ; 
Unless,  by  not  so  doing,  our  good  city 
Cleave  in  the  midst,  and  perish. 
Volumnia. 

Pray  be  counsell'd. 
I  have  a  heart  as  little  apt  as  yours, 
But  yet  a  brain,  that  leads  my  use  of  anger 
To  better  vantage. 

Menenius 
Well  said,  noble  woman. 
Before  he  should  thus  stoop  to  the  herd,  but  that 
The  violent  fit  o'  the  time  craves  it  as  physic 
For  the  whole  state,  I  would  put  mine  armour 
Which  I  can  scarcely  bear.  [on, 

Coriolanus. 

What  must  I  do  ? 
Menenius. 
Return  to  the  tribunes. 

Coriolanus. 

Well,  what  then  ?  what  then  f 
Menenius. 
Repent  what  you  have  spoke. 

Coriolanus. 
For  them  ?—  I  cannot  do  it  to  the  gods 
Must  I  then  do't  to  them  ? 
Volumnia. 

You  are  too  absolute ; 
Though 


75° 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ii. 


Though  therein  you  can  never  be  too  noble, 
But  when  extremities  speak.    I  have  heard  you 

say, 
Honour  and  policy,  like  unsever'd  friends, 
1'  the  war  do  grow  together :  grant  that,  and 

tell  me, 
In  peace  what  each  of  them  by  th'  other  lose, 
That  they  combine  not  there  ? 
Coriolanus. 

Tush,  tush  1 
Menenms. 

_  ,        .        A  good  demand. 

Volumnia. 
If  it  be  honour  in  your  wars  to  seem 
The  same  you  are  not,  (which  for  your  best  ends 
You  adopt  your  policy)  how  is  it  less,  or  worse, 
That  it  shall  hold  companionship  in  peace 
With  honour,  as  in  war,  since  that  to  both 
It  stands  in  like  request  ? 

Coriolanus. 

Why  force  you  this  ? 

Volumnia. 
Because  that  now  it  lies  you  on  to  speak 
To  the  people  ;  not  by  your  own  instruction, 
Nor  by  the  matter  which  your  heart  prompts 

you,    • 
But  with  such  words  that  are  but  roted  in 
Your  tongue,  though  but  bastards,  and  syllables 
Of  no  allowance  to  your  bosom's  truth. 
Now,  this  no  more  dishonours  you  at  all. 
Than  to  take  in  a  town  with  gentle  words, 
Which  else  would  put  you  to  your  fortune,  and 

The  hazard  of  much  blood 

I  would  dissemble  with  my  nature,  where, 
My  fortunes  and  my  friends  at  stake,  requir'd 
I  should  do  so  in  honour :  I  am  in  this, 
Your  wife,  your  son,  these  senators,  the  nobles ; 
And  you  will  rather  show  our  general  lowts 
How  you  can  frown,  than  spend  a  fawn  upon 

'em, 
For  the  inheritance  of  their  loves,  and  safeguard 
Of  what  that  want  might  ruin. 

Menenius. 

Noble  lady  !— 
Come,  go  with  us :  speak  fair ;  you  may  salve  so, 
Not  what  is  dangerous  present,  but  the  loss 
Of  what  is  past.     .    . 

Volumnia. 

I  pr'ythee  now,  my  son, 
Go  to  them,  with  this  bonnet  in  thy  hand ; 
And  thus  far  having  stretch'd  it,  (here  be  with 
them)  [ness 

Thy  knee  bussing  the  stones,  (for  in  such  busi- 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 
More  learned  than  the  ears )  waving  thy  head, 
Which  often,  thus,  correcting  thy  stout  heart, 
Now  humble  as  the  ripest  mulberry 
That  will  not  hold  the  handling:  or  say  to  them, 
Thou  art  their  soldier,  and  being  bred  in  broils, 
Hast  not  the  soft  way,  which  thou  dost  confess, 
Were  fit  for  thee  to  use  as  they  to  claim, 
In  asking  their  good-loves ;  but  thou  wilt  frame 
Thyself,  forsooth,  hereafter  theirs,  so  far 
As  thou  hast  power,  and  person. 

Menenius. 

This  but  done,    [yours ; 
Even  as  she  speaks,  why,  their  hearts  were 
For  they  have  pardons,  being  ask'd,  as  free 
As  words  to  little  purpose. 

Volumnia. 

Pr'ythee  now, 
Go,  and  be  rul'd  ;  although,  I  know,  thou  hadst 
Follow  thine  enemy  in  a  fiery  gulf,  [rather 

Than  flatter  him  in  a  bower.   Hero  is  Cominius. 


Enter  Cominius. 
Cominius. 
I  have  been  1'  the  market-place;  and,  sir,  'tis 
You  make  strong  party,  or  defend  yourself    [fit 
By  calmness,  or  by  absence :  all's  in  anger. 
Menenius. 
Only  fair  speech. 

Cominius. 

I  think,  'twill  serve ;  if  lie 
Can  thereto  frame  his  spirit. 
Volumnia. 

He  must,  and  will.— 
Pr'ythee  now,  say  you  will,  and  go  about  it. 
Coriolanus. 
Must  I  go  show  them  my  unbarbed  sconce  ? 
Must  I  with  my  base  tongue  give  to  my  noble 

heart 
A  lie,  that  it  must  bear  ?    Well,  I  will  do't : 
Yet  were  there  but  this  single  plot  to  lose, 
This  mould  of  Marcius,  they  to  dust  should 
grind  it,  [place  I 

And  throw't  against  the  wind To  the  market- 

You  have  put  me  now  to  such  a  part,  which 
I  shall  discharge  to  the  life.  [never 

Cominius. 
Come,  come,  we'll  prompt  you. 
Volumnia. 
I  pr'ythee  now,  sweet  son  :  as  thou  hast  said, 
My  praises  made  thee  first  a  soldier,  so, 
To  have  my  praise  for  this,  perform  a  part 
Thou  hast  not  done  before. 
Coriolanus. 

Well,  I  must  do't. 
Away,  my  disposition,  and  possess  n.e  [turn'd, 
Some  harlot's  spirit !  My  throat  of  war  be 
Which  quired  with  my  drum,  into  a  pipe 
Small  as  an  eunuch,  or  the  virgin  voice 
That  babies  lulls  asleep  1  The  smiles  of  knaves 
Tent  in  my  cheeks  ;  and  school-boys'  tears  take 

up 
The  glasses  of  my  sight !    A  beggar's  tongue 
Make  motion  through  my  lips  ;  and  my  arm'd 


Who  bow'd  but  in  my  stirrup,  bend  like  his 
That  hath  receiv'd  an  alms  1  —  I  will  not  do't, 
Lest  I  surcease  to  honour  mine  own  truth, 
And  by  my  body's  action  teach  my  mind 
A  most  inherent  baseness. 

Volumnia. 

At  thy  choice,  then: 
To  beg  of  thee,  it  is  my  more  dishonour, 
Than  thou  of  them.     Come  all  to  ruin:  let 
Thy  mother  rather  feel  thy  pride,  than  fear 
Thy  dangerous  stoutness  ;  for  I  mock  at  death 
With  as  big  heart  as  thou.    Do  as  tl;ou  list. 
Thy  valiantness  was  mine,  thou  suck'dst  it  from 
But  owe  thy  pride  thyself.  [me, 

Coriolanus. 

Pray,  be  content : 
Mother,  I  am  going  to  the  market-place  ; 
Chide  me  no  more.   I'll  mountebank  their  loves, 
Cog  their  hearts  from  them,  and  come  home  be- 

lov'd 
Of  all  the  trades  in  Rome.    Look,  I  am  going. 
Commend  me  to  my  wife.    I'll  return  consul, 
Or  never  trust  to  what  my  tongue  can  do 
I'  the  way  of  flattery  farther. 
Volumnia. 

Do  your  will.      [Exit. 
Cominius. 
Away  !  the  tribunes  do  attend  you :  arm  your- 
To  answer  mildly ;  for  they  are  prepara      [self 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


COKIOLANUS. 


T|l 


With  accusation*,  as  I  hear,  more  strong 
Than  are  upon  you  yet. 

Coriolanus. 
The  word  is,  mildly :  — pray  you,  let  us  go. 
Let  them  accuse  me  by  invention,  1 
Will  answer  lu  mine  honour. 
M«enius. 

Ay,  but  mildly. 
Coriolanus. 
Well,  mildly  be  it  then  ;  mildly.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    The  Forum. 
Enter  Sicinius  and  BrtUtu. 
Brutus. 
In   this   point  charge  him  home  ;   that   he 
affects 
Tyrannical  power  :  if  he  evade  us  there, 
Enforce  him  with  his  envy  to  the  people  ; 
And  that  the  spoil  got  on  the  Antiates 
Was  ne'er  distributed.— 

Enter  an  JEdile. 
What  I  will  he  come  ? 

JEdile. 

He's  coming. 
Brutus. 

How  accompanied  ? 
JEdile. 
With  old  Menenius,  and  those  senators 
That  always  favour'd  him. 
Sicinius. 

Have  you  a  catalogue 
Of  all  the  voices  that  we  have  procur'd, 
Set  down  by  the  poll  ? 

JEdile. 

I  have ;  'tis  ready. 
Sicinius.. 
Have  you  collected  them  by  tribes  ? 
JEdile. 

I  have. 
Sicinius. 
Assemble  presently  the  people  hither : 
And  when  they  hear  me  say,  "  It  shall  be  so, 
V  the  right  and  strength  o'  the  commons,"  be  it 

either 
For  death,  for  fine,  or  banishment,  then  let  them, 
If  I  say,  fine,  cry  "  fine ; "  if  death,  cry  "  death ; " 
Insisting  on  the  old  prerogative 
And  power  i'  the  truth  o'  the  cause. 
JEdile. 

I  shall  inform  them. 
Brutus. 
And  when  such  time  they  have  begun  to  cry, 
Let  them  not  cease,  but  with  a  din  confus'd 
Enforce  the  present  execution 
Of  what  we  chance  to  sentence. 
JEdile. 

Very  well. 
Sicinius. 
Make  them  be  strong,  and  ready  for  this  hint, 
When  we  shall  hap  to  give't  them. 
Brutus. 

Go :  about  it — 
[Exit  XdiU. 
Put  him  to  choler  straight.  He  bath  been  us'd 
Ever  to  conquer,  and  to  have  his  worth 
Of  contradiction :  being  once  chafd,  he  cannot 
Be  rein'd  again  to  temperance ;  then  he  speaks 
What's  in  his  heart;  and  that  is  there,  which 
With  us  to  break  his  neck.  [looks 


Enter  Coriolanus,  Menenius,  Cotniniut,  Senators, 
and  Patricians. 

Sicinius. 
Well,  here  he  comet. 

Menenius. 

Calmly,  I  do  beseech  you. 
Coriolanus. 
Ay,  as  an  ostler,  that  for  the  poorest  piece 
Will  bear  the  knave   by  the   volume. —  The 

honour'd  gods 
Keep  Rome  in  safety,  and  the  chairs  of  justice 
Supplied  with  worthy  men  1  plant  loveamong  us  1 
Throng  our  large  temples  w  1th  the  shows  of  peace, 
And  not  our  streets  with  war  1 
First  Senator. 

Amen,  amen. 
Menenius. 
A  noble  wish. 

Re-enter  JEdile,  with  Citizen*. 
Sicinius. 
Draw  near,  ye  people. 

JEdile. 
List  to  your  tribunes.     Audience:  peace!  I 
say. 

Coriolanus. 
First,  hear  me  speak. 

Both  Tribunes. 

Well,  say — Peace,  ho  I 
Coriolanus. 
Shall  I  be  charg'd  no  farther  than  this  pre- 
Must  all  determine  here  ?  [sent  ? 

Sicinius. 

I  do  demand. 
If  you  submit  you  to  the  people's  voices, 
Allow  their  officers,  and  are  content 
To  suffer  lawful  censure  for  such  faults 
As  shall  be  prov'd  upon  you  ? 
Coriolanus. 

I  am  content. 
Menenius. 
Lo,  citizens  !  he  says,  he  is  content. 
The  warlike  service  he  has  done,  consider ; 
Think  upon  the  wounds  his  body  bears,  which 
Like  graves  i'  the  holy  churchyard.  [show 

Coriolanus. 

Scratches  with  briars  ; 
Scars  to  move  laughter  only. 
Menenius. 

Consider  farther, 
That  when  he  speaks  not  like  a  citizen, 
You  find  him  like  a  soldier.     Do  not  take 
His  rougher  accents  for  malicious  sounds, 
But,  as  I  say,  such  as  become  a  soldier, 
Rather  than  envy  you. 

Cominlus. 

Well,  well ;  no  more. 
Coriolanus. 
What  is  the  matter, 
That  being  pass'd  for  consul  with  full  voice, 
I  am  so  dishonour'd,  that  the  very  hour 
You  take  it  off  again? 

Sidniu*. 

Answer  to  us. 
Coriolanus. 
Say  then:  'tis  true,  I  ought  so. 

Sicinius. 
We  charge  you,  that  you  have  contriv'd  to  take 
From  Rome  all  seasoned  office,  and  to  wind 
Yourself  into  a  power  tyrannical; 
For  which  you  are  a  traitor  to  the  people. 

Coriolanus. 


7i* 


COKTOLA.NUS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


Coriolanus. 
How  J  Traitor? 

Menenius. 
Nay,  temperately ;  your  promise. 
Coriolanus. 
The  fires  1'  the  lowest  hell  fold  in  the  people ! 
Call  me  their  traitor?— Thou  injurious  tribune, 
Within  thine  eyes  sat  twenty  thousand  deaths, 
In  thy  hands  clutch'd  as  many  millions,  in 
Thy  lying  tongue  both  numbers,  I  would  say, 
Thou  liest,  unto  thee,  with  a  voice  as  free 
As  I  do  pray  the  gods. 

Sicinius. 

Mark  vou  this,  people? 
Citizens. 
To  the  rock !  to  the  rock  with  him ! 
Sicinius. 

Peace ! 
We  need  not  put  new  matter  to  his  charge : 
What  you  have  seen  him  do,  and  heard  him  speak, 
Beating  your  officers,  cursing  yourselves, 
Opposing  laws  with  strokes,  and  here  defying 
Those  whose  great  power  must  try  him ;  even 
So  criminal,  and  in  such  capital  kind,         [this, 
Deserves  th'  extremest  death. 
.    Brutus. 

But  since  he  hath 
Serv'd  well  for  Rome,— 

Coriolanus. 

What  do  you  prate  of  service? 
Brutus. 
I  talk  of  that,  that  know  it 
Coriolanus. 

You? 
Menenius. 

Is  this 
The  promise  that  you  made  your  mother  ? 
Cominlu*. 

Know, 
I  pray  you,— 

Coriolanus. 
I'll  know  no  farther. 
Let  them  pronounce  the  steep  Tarpeian  death, 
Vagabond  exile,  flaying,  pent  to  linger 
But  with  a  grain  a  day,  I  would  not  buy 
Their  mercy  at  the  price  of  one  fair  word, 
Nor  check  my  courage  for  what  they  can  give, 
To  have't  with  saying,  good  morrow. 
SIcinrus. 

For  that  he  has 
(As  much  as  in  him  lies)  from  time  to  time 
Envied  against  the  people,  seeking  means 
To  pluck  away  their  power;  as  now  at  last 
Given  hostile  strokes,  and  that  not  in  the  pre- 
Of  dreaded  justice,  but  on  the  ministers    [sence 
That  do  distribute  it ;  in  the  name  o'  the  people, 
And  in  the  power  of  us,  the  tribunes,  we 
Even  from  this  instant,  banish  him  our  city 
In  peril  of  precipitation 
From  off  the  rock  Tarpeian,  never  more 
To  enter  our  Rome  gates.    V  the  people's  name, 
I  say,  it  shall  be  so. 

Citizen*. 
It  shall  be  so,  it  shall  be  so :  let  him  away, 
He's  banish'd,  and  it  shall  be  so. 
Comintus. 
Hear  me,   my  masters,    and   my    common 
friends:  — 

Sicinius. 
He's  sentenc'd :  no  more  hearing. 
Cominius. 

Let  me  speak. 


I  have  been  consul,  and  can  show  for  Rome, 
Her  enemies'  marks  upon  me.    I  do  love 
My  country's  good,  with  a  respect  more  tender, 
;  More  holy  and  profound,  than  mine  own  life, 
!  My  dear  wife's  estimate,  her  womb's  increase, 
■■  And  treasure  of  my  loins ;  then,  if  I  would 
i  Speak  that  — 

Sicinius. 
We  know  your  drift.    Speak  what  ? 
Brutus. 
There's  no  more  to  be  said ;  but  he  is  banish'd, 
•  As  enemy  to  the  people,  and  his  country. 
I  It  shall  be  so. 

Citizens. 
It  shall  be  so :  it  shall  be  so. 
Coriolanus. 
You  common  cry  of  curs  !  whose  breath  I  hate 
As  reek  o'  the  rotten  fens,  whose  loves  I  prize 
As  the  dead  carcasses  of  unburied  men 
That  do  corrupt  my  air,  I  banish  you ; 
And  here  remain  with  your  uncertainty. 
Let  every  feeble  rumour  shake  your  hearts ! 
Your  enemies,  with  nodding  of  their  plumes, 
Fan  you  into  despair !    Have  the  power  still 
To  banish  your  defenders ;  till,  at  length, 
Your  ignorance,  (which  finds  not,  till  it  feels) 
Making  not  reservation  of  yourselves, 
(Still  your  own  foes)  deliver  you  as  most 
Abated  captives,  to  some  nation 
That  won  you  without  blows  !    Despising, 
For  you,  the  city,  thus  1  turn  my  back. 
There  is  a  world  elsewhere. 

[Exeunt  Coriolanus,  Cominius,  Menenius, 
Senators,  and  Patricians. 
JEdile. 
The  people's  enemy  is  gone,  is  gone ! 

Citizens. 
Our  enemy  is  banish'd !  he  is  gone  1  Hoo  1  hoo  1 
[The  People  shout,  and  throw  up  their  caps. 

Sicinius. 
Go,  see  him  out  at  gates ;  and  follow  him, 
As  he  hath  follow'd  you,  with  all  despite : 
Give  him  deserv'd  vexation.    Let  a  guard 
Attend  us  through  the  city. 
Citizens. 
Come,  come;  let  us  see  him  out  at  gates: 
come.  — 
The  gods  preserve  our  noble  tribunes!— Come. 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  l.    The  same.    Before  a  Gate  of  the 

City. 

Enter  Coriolanus,  Volumnia,  Virgilia,  Menenius, 

Cominius,  arid  several  young  Patricians. 

Coriolanus. 

C^OME,  leave  your  tears:  a  brief  farewell.— 
-»      The  beast 
With  many  heads  butts  me  away — Nay,  mother. 
Where  is  your  ancient  courage?  you  were  us'd 
To  say,  extremity  was  the  trier  of  spirits ; 
That  common  chances  common  men  could  bear ; 
That,  when  the  sea  was  calm,  all  boats  alike 
Show'd  mastership  in  floating  ;  fortune's  blows, 
When  most  struck  home,  being  gentle  wounded, 

craves 
A  noble  cunning.    You  were  us'd  to  load  me 
With  precepts,  that  would  make  invincible 
The  heart  that  conn'd  them. 

Virgilia. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


COUIOLANUS. 


753 


Vir8 
O  heavens  I    O  heavens ! 

Coriolanus. 

Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  woman,— 
Volumnla. 
Now,  the  red  pestilence  strike  all  trades  in 
And  occupations  perish  i  [Hume, 

Coriolanus. 

What,  what,  what! 
I  shall  be  lov'd  when  1  am  luck'd.   Nay,  mother. 
Resume  that  spirit,  when  you  were  wont  to  say, 
If  you  had  been  the  wife  of  Hercules, 
Six  of  his  labours  you'd  have  done,  and  sav'd 
Your  husband  so  much  sweat. — Commius, 

Droop   not:    adieu Farewell,  my  wifel   my 

mother  1 
I'll  do  well  yet.  —  Thou  old  and  true  Menenius, 
Thy  tears  are  Salter  than  a  younger  man's, 
And  venomous  to  thine  eyes. — My  sometime 

general, 
I  have  seen  thee  stern,  and  thou  hast  oft  beheld 
Heart-hardening  spectacles;  tell  these  sad  wo- 
'Tis  fond  to  wail  inevitable  strokes,  [men, 

As  'tis  to  laugh  at  'em.  — My  mother,  you  wot 

well, 
My  hazards  still  have  been  your  solace;  and 
Believe't  not  lightly,  though  I  go  alone, 
Like  to  a  lonely  dragon,  that  his  fen 
Makes  fear'd,  and  talk'dof  more  than  seen,  your 
Will  or  exceed  the  common,  or  be  caught    [son 
With  cautelous  baits  and  practice. 

Volumnia. 

My  first  son, 
Whither  wilt  thou  go?    Take  good  Cominius 
With  thee  a  while:  determine  on  some  course, 
More  than  a  wild  exposture  to  each  chance, 
That  starts  i'  the  way  before  thee. 

Coriolanus. 

O  the  gods ! 

Cominius. 
I'll  follow  thee  a  month ;  devise  with  thee 
Where  thou  shalt  rest,  that  thou  may'st  hear  of 
And  we  of  thee:  so,  if  the  time  thrust  forth  [us, 
A  cause  for  thy  repeal,  we  shall  not  send 
O'er  the  vast  world  to  seek  a  single  man, 
And  lose  advantage,  which  doth  ever  cool 
I'  the  absence  of  the  needer. 

Coriolanus. 

Fare  ye  well ; 
Thou  hast  years  upon  thee;  and  thou  art  too 
Of  the  wars'  surfeits,  to  go  rove  with  one     [full 
That's  yet   unbruis'd:    bring  me   but  out  at 

gate — 
Come,  my  sweet  wife,  my  dearest  mother,  and 
My  friends  of  noble  touch,  when  I  am  forth, 
Bid  me  farewell,  and  smile.    I  pray  you,  come. 
While  I  remain  above  the  ground,  you  fha'l 

IHear  from  me  still ;  and  never  of  me  augl.t 
But  what  is  like  me  formerly. 
Menenius. 

That's  worthily 
I  As  any  ear  can  hear.— Come;  let's  not  weep. — 
I  If  I  could  shake  off  but  one  seven  years 
From  these  old  arms  and  legs,  by  the  good  gods, 
I'd  with  thee  every  foot. 

Coriolanus. 

Give  me  thy  hind— 
Come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Street  near  the 

Gate. 

Enter  Sicinitts,  Brutus,  and  an  JEdile. 

I      „. ,    ,  Sicinius. 

i      Bid  them  all  home:  he's  gone,  and  we'll  no 

farther. — 


The  nobility  are  vex'd,  who,  we  see,  have  sided 
In  his  behalf. 

Brutus. 
Now  we  have  shown  our  power, 
Let  us  seem  humbler  after  it  is  done, 
Than  when  it  was  a  doing. 
Sicinius. 

Bid  them  hornet 
Say,  their  great  enemy  is  gone,  and  they 
Stand  in  their  aucient  strength. 

Brutus. 

Dismiss  them  home. 
[Exit  Aidile. 

Enter  Volumnia,  I'irgilia,  and  Menenius. 
Here  comes  his  mother. 

Stcinius. 

Let's  not  meet  her. 
Brutus. 

Why? 
Sicinius. 
They  say,  she's  mad. 

Brutus. 
They  have  ta'en  note  of  us :  keep  on  your  way. 

Volumnia. 

O I  y'are  well  met.     The  hoarded  plague  o* 

Requite  your  love !  [the  gods 

Menenius. 

Peace,  peace !  be  not  so  loud. 

Volumnia. 

If  that  I  could  for  weeping,  you  should  hear,— 

Nay,  and  you  shall  hear  some. — Will  you  be 

gone?  [To  1i 

Vlrcilla. 


[To  lhutus. 
[To  Sicinius]    I  would, 


You  shall  stay  too. 
I  had  the  power 
To  say  so  to  my  husband. 

Sicinius. 

Are  you  mankind? 
Volumnia. 
Ay,  fool;   is  that  a  shame?— .Note  but  this 
fool— 
Was  not  a  man  my  father  ?    Hadst  thou  foxship 
To  banish  him  that  struck  more  blows  for  Rome, 
Than  thou  hast  spoken  words? 
Sicinius. 

O  blessed  heavens ! 
Volumnia. 
More  noble  blows  than  ever  thou  wise  words ; 
And  for  Rome's  good. — I'll  tell  thee  what — yet 

go:  — 
Nay,  but  thou  shalt  stay  too.—  I  would  my  son 
Were  in  Arabia,  and  thy  tribe  before  him, 
His  good  sword  in  his  hand. 

Sicinius. 

What  then? 

Virgilla. 

What  then  1 
He'd  make  an  end  of  thy  posterity. 

Volumnia. 

Bastards  and  all.—  [Rome! 

Good  man,  the  wounds  that  he  does  bear  for 

Menenius. 
Come,  come:  peace  I 

Sicinius. 
I  would  he  had  continu'd  to  his  country, 
As  he  began  ;  and  not  unknit  himself 
The  noble  knot  he  made. 

Brutus. 

I  would  he  had. 
3  c  Volumnia. 


754 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Volumnia. 
I  would  he  had.     'Twas  you  incens'd  the 
rabble : 
Cats,  that  can  judge  as  fitly  of  his  worth, 
As  I  can  of  those  mysteries,  which  heaven 
Will  not  have  earth  to  know. 


Brutus. 


would  make  it  flame  again.  For  the  nobles 
receive  so  to  heart  the  banishment  of  that  worthy, 
Coriolanus,  that  they  are  in  a  ripe  aptness  to 
take  all  power  from  the  people,  and  to  pluck 
from  them  their  tribunes  for  ever.  This  lies 
glowing,  I  can  tell  you,  and  is  almost  mature  for 
the  violent  breaking  out. 


Pray,  let  us  go. 


Volumnia. 
Now,  pray,  sir,  get  you  gone : 
You  have  done  a  brave  deed.    Ere  you  go,  hear 
As  far  as  doth  the  Capitol  exceed  [this:— 

The  meanest  house  in  Ro?ne,  so  far  my  son, 
This  lady's  husband  here,  this,  do  you  see, 
Whom  you  have  banish'd,  does  exceed  you  all. 

Brutus. 
Well,  well;  we'll  leave  you. 

Why  stay  we  to  be  baited 
With  one  that  wants  her  wits? 


«*>' 


Isce. 


T.k. 


umnia. 

e  my  prayers  with  you— 

. ,    [Exeunt  Tribune*. 
I  would  the  gods  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
But  to  confirm  my  curses.    Could  I  meet  'em 
But  once  a  day,  it  would  unclog  my  heart 
Of  what  lies  heavy  to't. 

You  have  told  them  home, 
And,  by  my  troth,  you  have  cause.    You'll  sup 
with  me  ? 

Volumnia. 
Anger's  my  meat:  I  sup  upon  myself, 
And  so  shall  starve  with  feeding.— Come,  let's  go. 
Leave  this  faint  puling,  and  lament  as  I  do, 
)n  anger,  Juno-ake.    Come,  come,  come. 

_.     _     .  .        Meneniui. 

Fie,  fie,  fie  I  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Highway  between  Rome  and 
Antium. 

Enter  a  Roman  and  a  Volsce,  meeting. 

Roman.     , 
I    know  you  well,  sir,  and  you  know  me. 
Your  name,  I  think,  is  Adrian. 


Coriolanus  banish 

_    _ ,         .  Roman. 

Banished,  sir. 

You  will  be  welcome  with  this  intelligence, 
Nicanor. 

Roman. 

The  day  serves  well  for  them  now.  I  have 
heard  it  said,  the  fittest  time  to  corrupt  a  man's 
wife  is  when  she's  fallen  out  with  her  husband. 
Your  noble  Tullus  Aufidius  will  appear  well  in 
these  wars,  his  great  opposer,  Coriolanus,  being 
now  in  no  request  of  his  country. 

Volsce. 

He  cannot  choose.  I  am  most  fortunate,  thus 
accidentally  to  encounter  you  :  you  have  ended 
my  business,  and  I  will  merrily  accompany  you 
home. 

I  shall  between  this  and  supper  tell  you  most 
strange  things  from  Rome,  all  tending  to  the 
good  of  their  adversaries.  Have  you  an  army 
ready,  say  you  ? 

A  most  royal  one:  the  centurions  and  their 
charges  distinctly  billeted,  already  in  the  enter- 
tainment, and  to  be  on  foot  at  an  hour's  warning. 

I  am  joyful  to  hear  of"their  readiness,  and  am 
the  man,  I  think,  that  shall  set  them  in  present 
action.  So,  sir,  heartily  well  met,  and  most 
glad  of  your  company. 

You  take  my  part  from  me,  sir :  I  have  the 
most  cause  to  be  glad  of  yours. 


Volsce. 
,  I  ha 


It  is  so,  sir:  truly,  I  have  forgot  you. 

Roman. 
I  am  a  Roman  ;  and  my  services  are,  as  you 
are,  against  'em.    Know  you  me  yet  ? 

Volsce. 
Nicanor  f    No. 

Roman. 
The  same,  sir. 

Volsce.  .  .  . 
You  had  more  beard,  when  I  last  saw  you ; 
but  your  favour  is  well  appeared  by  your  tongue. 
What's  the  news  in  Rome?  I  have  a  note  from 
the  Volscian  state,  to  find  you  out  there:  you 
have  well  saved  me  a  day's  journey. 

Roman. 
There  hath  been  in  Rome  strange  insurrec- 
tion: the  people  against  the  senators,  patricians, 
and  nobles. 

Hath  been  !    Is  it  en&ed  then  ?    Our  state 
thinks  not  so :  they  are  in  a  most  warlike  pre- 

Earation,  and  hope  to  come  upon  them  in  the 
eat  of  their  division. 

Roman. 
The  main  blaze  of  it  is  past,  but  a  small  thing 


Well,  let  us  go  togel 


Roman, 
ther. 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.  Antium.  Before  Aufidius's  House. 

Enter  Coriolanus,  in  mean  Apparel,  disguised 
and  muffled. 

Coriolanus. 
A  goodly  city  is  this  Antium — City, 
'Tis  1  that  made  thy  widows  :  many  an  heir 
Of  these  fair  edifices  'fore  my  wars  [not, 

Have  I  heard  groan,  and  drop:  then,  know  me 
Lest  that  thy  wives  with  spits,  and  boys  with 
stones, 

Enter  a  Citizen. 
In  puny  battle  slay  me — Save  you,  sir. 

Citizen. 
And  you. 

Coriolanus. 
Direct  me,  if  it  be  your  will, 
Where  great  Aufidius  lies.    Is  he  in  Antium  t 

Citizen. 
He  is,  and  feasts  the  nobles  of  the  state, 
At  his  house  this  night. 

Coriolanus. 
Which  is  his  house,  beseech  you  r 


Citizen. 
This,  here  before  you. 


Coriolanus. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  ▼. 


CORIOLANUS. 


755 


[Exit. 


fExit. 


■  onus. 
Thank  you,  sir.    Farewell. 
[Exit  Citizen. 
O,  world,  thy  slippery  turn*  1    Friend*  now  fast 

•worn. 
Whose*  double  bosoms  seem  to  wear  one  heart, 
Whose  hours,  «  hose  bed,  whose  meal,  and  exer- 
cise. 
Are  still  together,  who  twin,  as  'twere,  in  love 
Inseparable,  shall  within  this  hour, 
On  a  dissension  of  a  doit,  break  out 
To  bitterest  enmity  :  so,  fullest  foes, 
Whose  passions  and  whose  plots  have  broke 

their  sleep 
To  take  the  one  the  other,  by  some  chance, 
Some  trick  not  worth  an  egg,  shall  grow  dear 

friends. 
And  intei  join  their  issues.     So  with  me  :— 
My  birth-place  hate  I,  and  my  love's  upon 
This  enemy  towu.     I'll  enter:  if  he  slay  me, 
He  does  lair  justice ;  if  he  give  me  way, 
I  '11  do  his  country  service.  [Exit. 

SCESE  V.    The  same.    A  Hall  In  Aufidius' i 
House. 

Music  within.    Enter  a  Servant. 

First  Servant. 
Wine,  wine,  wine !    What  service  is  here  1 
I  think  our  fellows  are  asleep. 

Enter  a  second  Servant. 

Second  Servant. 
Where's  ColusT  my  master  calls  for  him. 
Cotml 

Enter  Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus. 
A  goodly  house.    The  feast  smells  well ;  but  I 
Appear  not  like  a  guest. 

He-enter  the  first  Servant. 

First  Servant. 

What  would  you  have,  friend  ?    Whence  are 

you  ?    Here's  no  place  for  you :  pray,  go  to  the 

door. 

Coriolanus. 
1  have  deserv'd  no  better  entertainment, 
In  being  Coriolanus. 

He-enter  second  Servant. 
Second  Servant. 
Whence  are  you,  sir  ?    Has  the  porter  his  eyes 
,  in  his  head,  that  he  gives  entrance  to  such  com- 
panions ?    Pray,  get  you  out. 
Coriolanus. 
Away! 

Second  Servant. 
Away  ?    Get  you  away. 

Coriolanus. 
Now,  th'art  troublesome. 

Second  Servant. 
Are  you  so  brave  ?    I'll  have  you  talked  with 
anon. 

Enter  a  third  Servant.    The  first  meets  him. 

Third  Servant. 
What  fellow's  this? 

First  Servant. 
A  strange  one  as  ever  I  looked  on :  I  cannot 
get  him  out  o*  the  house.    Pr'ythee,  call  my 
master  to  him. 

Third  Servant. 
What  have  you  to  do  here,  fellow  ?    Pray  you, 
avoid  the  house. 


[Exit. 


Coriolanus. 
Let  me  but  stand ;  I  will  not  hurt  your  hearth. 

Third  Servant. 
What  aro  you  ? 

Coriolanus. 
A  gentleman. 

Third  Servant. 
A  marvellous  poor  one. 

Coriolanus. 
True,  so  I  am. 

Third  Servant. 
Pray  you,  poor  gentleman,  take  up  some  other 
station;   here's  no  place  for  you.    Pray  you, 
avoid:  come. 

Coriolanus. 
Follow  your  function ;  go, 
And  batten  on  cold  bits.         [Pushes  him  away. 
Third  Servant. 
What,  will  you  not  ?    Pr'ythee,  tell  my 
what  a  strange  guest  he  has  here. 
Second  Servant. 
And  I  shall. 

Third  Servant. 
Where  dwell'st  thou  ? 

Coriolanus. 
Under  the  canopy. 

Third  Servant 
Under  the  canopy  ? 

Coriolanus. 
Ay. 

Third  Servant. 
Where's  that  ? 

Coriolanus. 
I'  the  city  of  kites  and  crows. 
Third  Servant. 
1'  the  city  of  kites  and  crows  ?  —  What  an  ass 
it  is  I  —  Then,  thou  dwellest  with  daws  too  ? 
Coriolanus. 
No  ;  I  serve  not  thy  master. 
Third  Servant. 
How,  sir  I    Do  you  meddle  with  my  master  ? 

Coriolanus. 
Ay ;  'tis  an  honester  service  than  to  meddle 
with  thy  mistress. 

Thou   prat'st,   and   prat'st:    serve   with    thy 
trencher.    Hence  1  [Beats  him  away. 

Enter  Aufidius  and  the  second  Servant. 
Aufidius. 
Where  is  this  fellow  ? 

Second  Servant. 
Here,  sir.    I'd  have  beaten  him  like  a  dog, 
but  for  disturbing  the  lords  within. 
Aufidius. 
Whence  com'st  thou  ?  what  would'st  thou  ? 
Thy  name  ?  [name  ? 

Why  speak'st  not?    Speak,  man:  what's  thy 
Coriolanus. 

If,  Tullus,  [Unmuftling. 
Not  yet  thou  know'st  me,  and  seeing  me,  dost 
Think  me  for  the  man  I  am,  necessity  [not 

Commands  me  name  myself. 
Aufidius. 

What  is  thy  name  ? 
[Servant*  retire. 
Coriolanus. 
A  name  unmusical  to  the  Volscians*  ears, 
And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine. 
Aufidius. 

Say,  what's  thy  name  ? 
Thou  hast  a  grim  appearance,  and  thy  face 

Bears 


755 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v. 


Bears  a  command  in't:  though  thy  tackle's  torn, 
Thou  show'st  a  noble  vessel.  What's  thy  name? 
Corlolanus. 
Prepare  thy  brow  to  frown.    Know'st  thou 
me  yet?         ,    _.., 

Aufidius. 

I  know  thee  not.  —  Thy  name  ? 

Coriolanus. 
My  name  is  Cains  Marcius,  who  hath  done 
To  thee  particularly,  and  to  all  the  Volsces, 
Great  hurt  and  mischief;  thereto  witness  may 
My  surname,  Coriolanus.    The  painful  service, 
The  extreme  dangers,  and  the  drops  of  blood 
Shed  for  my  thankless  country,  are  requited 
But  with  that  surname  ;  a  good  memory, 
And  witness  of  the  malice  and  displeasure 
Which  thou  should'st  bear  me.  Only  that  name 
The  cruelty  and  envy  of  the  people,    [remains : 
Permitted  by  our  dastard  nobles,  who 
Have  all  forsook  me,  hath  devour 'd  the  rest ; 
And  suifered  me  by  the  voice  of  slaves  to  be 
Whoop'd  out  of  Rome.    Now,  this  extremity 
Hath  brought  me  to  thy  hearth:  not  out  of 
Mistake  me  not,  to  save  my  life  ;  for  if     [hope, 
I  had  fear'd  death,  of  all  the  men  i'  the  world 
1  would  have  'voided  thee ;  but  in  mere  spite, 
To  be  full  quit  of  those  my  banishers, 
Stand  I  before  thee  here.    Then,  if  thou  hast 
A  heart  of  wreak  in  thee,  that  will  revenge 
Thine  own  particular  wrongs,  and  stop  those 

maims  [straight, 

Of  shame  seen  through  thy  country,  speed  thee 
And  make  my  misery  serve  thy  turn  :  so  use  it, 
That  my  revengeful  services  may  prove 
As  benefits  to  thee  ;  for  I  will  fight 
Against  my  canker'd  country  with  the  spleen 
Of  all  the  under  fiends.    But  if  so  be 
Thou  dar'st  not  this,  and  that  to  prove  more 

fortunes 
Thou  art  tir'd ;  then,  in  a  word,  I  also  am 
Longer  to  live  most  weary,  and  present 
My  throat  to  thee,  and  to  thy  ancient  malice : 
Which  not  to  cut  would  show  thee  but  a  fool, 
Since  1  have  ever  follow'd  thee  with  hate, 
Drawn  tuns  of  blood   out    of  thy   country's 

breast, 
And  cannot  live  but  to  thy  shame,  unless 
It  be  to  do  thee  service. 

AuftdhtA. 

O  Marcius,  Marcius ! 
Each  word  thou  hast  spoke  hath  weeded  from 

my  heart 
A  root  of  ancient  envy.    If  Jupiter 
Should  from  "yond  cloud  speak  divine  things, 
And  say,  "  "fis  true;"  I'd  not  believe  them 

more 
Than  thee,  all  noble  Marcius. — Let  me  twine 
Mine  arms  about  that  body,  where  against 
My  grained  ash  an  hundred  times  hath  broke, 
And  scarr'd  the  moon  with  splinters !    Here  I 
The  anvil  of  my  sword ;  and  do  contest       [clip 
As  hotly  and  as  nobly  with  thy  love, 
As  ever  in  ambitious  strength  I  did 
Contend  against  thy  valour.    Know  thou  first, 
1  lov'd  the  maid  I  married :  never  man 
Sighed  truer  breath  ;  but  that  I  see  thee  here, 

I  Thou  noble  thing,  more  dances  my  rapt  heart, 
Than  when  I  first  my  wedded  mistress  saw 
Bestride  my  threshold.     Why,  thou  Mars,  I  tell 
thee, 


We  have  a  power  on  foot ;  and  I  had  purpose 
Once  more  to  hew  thy  target  from  thy  brawn, 
Or  lose  mine  arm  for't.  Thou  hast  beat  me  out 
Twelve  several  times,  and  I  have  nightly  since 
Dreamt  of  encounters  'twixt  thyself  and  me : 


We  have  been  down  together  in  my  sleep, 
Unbuckling  helms,  fisting  each  other's  throat. 
And  wak'd  half  dead  with  nothing.    Worthy 

Marcius, 
Had  we  no  other  quarrel  else  to  Rome,  but  that 
Thou  art  thence  banish'd,  we  would  muster  all 
From  twelve  to  seventy  ;  and,  pouring  war 
Into  the  bowels  of  ungrateful  Rome, 
Like  a  bold  flood  o'er-bear.     O  1  come ;  go  in, 
And  take  our  friendly  senators  by  the  hands, 
Who  now  are  here,  taking  their  leaves  of  me, 
Who  am  prepar'd  against  your  territories, 
Though  not  for  Rome  itself. 
Coriolanus. 

You  bless  me,  gods ! 
Aufidius. 
Therefore,  most  absolute  sir,  if  thou  wilt  have 
The  leading  of  thine  own  revenges,  take 
Th'  one  half  of  my  commission  ;  and  set  down,— 
As  best  thou  art  experienc'd,  since  thou  know'st 
Thy  country's  strength  and  weakness,  — thine 

own  ways ; 
Whether  to  knock  against  the  gates  of  Rome, 
Or  rudely  visit  them  in  parts  remote, 
To  fright  them,  ere  destroy.    But  come  in  : 
Let  me  commend  thee  first  to  those,  that  shall 
Say,  "  yea,"  to  thy  desires.    A  thousand  wel- 
comes ! 
And  more  a  friend  than  e'er  an  enemy  ; 
Yet,  Marcius,  that  was   much.    Your  hand: 
most  welcome  I 

[Exeunt  Coriolanus  and  Aufidius. 

First  Servant.        [Advancing. 
Here's  a  strange  alteration  ! 

Second  Servant. 
By  my  hand,  I  had  thought  to  have  strucken 
him  with  a  cudgel ;  and  yet  my  mind  gave  me, 
his  clothes  made  a  false  report  of  him. 
First  Servant. 
What  an  arm  he  has  !     He  turned  me  about 
with  his  finger  and  his  thumb,  as  one  would  set 
up  a  top. 

Second  Servant. 
Nay,  I  knew  by  his  face  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  him :  he  had,  sir,  a  kind  of  face,  me- 
thought, —  I  cannot  tell  how  to  term  it. 
First  Servant. 
He  had  so ;  looking  as  it  were, — Would  I  were 
hanged,  but  I  thought  there  was  more  in  him 
than  I  could  think. 

Second  Servant. 
So  did  I,  I'll  be  sworn.    He  is  simply  the 
rarest  man  i'  the  world. 

First  Servant. 
I  think,  he  is  ;  but  a  greater  soldier  than  he, 
you  wot  one. 

Second  Servant. 
Who  ?  my  master  ? 

First  Servant. 
Nay,  it's  no  matter  for  that. 

Second  Servant. 
Worth  six  on  him. 

First  Servant. 
Nay,  not  so  neither  ;  but  I  take  him  to  be  the 
greater  soldier. 

Second  Servant. 
'Faith,  look  you,  one  cannot  tell  how  to  say 
that:  for  the  defence  of  a  town,  our  general  is 
excellent. 

First  Servant . 
Ay,  and  for  an  assault  too. 
3  Re-enter 


Act  iv.   8&  vi 


CORIOLANUS. 


757 


Re-enter  third  Servant. 

Third  Servant. 
O,  slaves  !  1  can  tell  you  newt ;  news,  you 
rascals. 

First  and  Second  Servants. 
What,  what,  what  ?  let's  partake. 

Third  Servant. 
I  would  not  be  a  Roman,  of  all  nations ;  1  had 
as  lieve  be  a  condemned  man. 

First  and  Second  Servants. 
Wherefore?  wherefore? 

Third  Servant. 
Why,  here's  he  that  was  wont  to  thwack  our 
general,— Caius  Marcius. 

First  Servant. 
Why  do  you  say  thwack  our  general  ? 

Third  Servant. 
I  do  not  say,  thwack  our  general ;  but  he  was 
always  good  enough  for  him. 

Second  Servant. 
Come,  we  are  fellows,  and  friends:   he  was 
ever  too  hard  for  him  ;  I  have  heard  him  say  so 
himself. 

First  Servant. 
He  was  too  hard  for  him  directly,  to  say  the 
truth  on't :  before  Corioli,  he  scotched  him  and 
notched  him  like  a  carbonado. 

Second  Servant. 
An  he  had  been  cannibally  given,  he  might 
have  broiled  and  eaten  him  too. 

First  Servant. 
But,  more  of  thy  news  ? 

Third  Servant. 
Why,  he  is  so  made  on  here  within,  as  if  he 
were  son  and  heir  to  Mars :  set  at  upper  end  o' 
the  table ;  no  question  asked  him  by  any  of  the 
senators,  but  they  stand  bald  before  him.  Our 
general  himself  makes  a  mistress  of  him  ;  sanc- 
tifies himself  with's  hand,  and  turns  up  the 
white  o*  the  eye  to  his  discourse.  But  the 
bottom  of  the  news  is,  our  general  is  cut  i'  the 
middle,  and  but  one  half  of  what  he  was  yester- 
day, for  the  other  has  half,  by  the  entreaty  and 
grant  of  the  whole  table.  He'll  go,  he  says,  and 
sowle  the  porter  of  Rome  gates  by  the  ears.  He 
will  mow  down  all  before  him,  and  leave  his 
passage  polled. 

Second  Servant. 
And  he's  as  like  to  do't,  as  any  man  I  can 
imagine. 

Third  Servant. 
Do't!  he  will  do't;  for,  (look  you,  sir,)  he 
has  as  many  friends  as  enemies ;  which  friends, 
sir,  (as  it  were,)  durst  not  (look  you,  sir,)  show 
themselves  (as  we  term  it)  his  friends,  whilst 
he's  in  directitude. 

First  Servant. 
Directitude  !  what's  that  ? 

Third  Servant. 
But  when  they  shall  see,  sir,  his  crest  up  again, 
and  the  man  in  blood,  they  will  out  of  their  bur- 
rows, like  conies  after  rain,  and  revel  all  with 
him. 

First  Servant. 
But  when  goes  this  forward  ? 

Third  Servant. 
To-morrow  ;  to-day ;  presently.      You  shall 
have  the  drum  struck  up  this  afternoon  :  'tis,  as 
it  were,  a  parcel  of  their  feast,  and  to  be  exe- 
cuted ere  they  wipe  their  lips. 


Second  8ervant. 

Why,  then   we  shall  have  a  stirring  world 
again.     This  peace  is  nothing,  but  to  rust  iron, 
increase  tailors,  and  breed  ballad- makers. 
First  Servant. 

Let  me  have  war,  say  I :  it  exceeds  peace,  a* 
far  as  day  does  night;  it's  spritely,  waking,  au- 
dible, and  full  of  vent.  Peace  is  a  very  apoplexy 
lethargy  ;  mulled,  deaf,  sleepy,  insensible :  a 
fetter  of  more  bastard  children,  than  wars  a  de- 
stroyer of  men. 

Second  Servant. 

'Tis  so :  and  as  wars,  In  some  sort,  may  be 

said  to  be  a  ravisher,  so  it  cannot  be  denied,  but 

peace  is  a  great  maker  of  cuckolds. 

First  Servant. 

Ay,  and  it  makes  men  hate  one  another. 

Third  Servant. 
Reason  ;    because   they  then   less  need  one 
another.    The  wars,  for  my  money.     I  hope  to 
see  Romans  as  cheap  as  Volscians —  They  are 
rising,  they  are  rising. 

All. 

In,  in,  in,  in.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Rome.    A  Public  Place. 

Enter  Sicinius  and  Brutus. 

Sicinius. 

We  hear  not  of  him,  neither  need  we  fear  him ; 

His  remedies  are  tame  i'  the  present  peace 

And  quietness  o'  the  people,  which  before 

Were  in  wild  hurry.    Here  do  we  make  his 

friends 
Blush  that  the  world  goes  well ;  who  rather  had. 
Though  they  themselves  did  suffer  by't,  behold 
Dissentious  numbers  pestering  streets,  than  see 
Our  tradesmen  singing  in  their  shops,  and  going 
About  their  functions  friendly. 

Enter  Menenius. 

Brutus. 

We  stood  to't  in  good  time.   Is  this  Menenius  t 

Sicinius. 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he.    O  !  he  is  grown  most  kind 
Of  late. -Hail,  sir! 

Menenius. 
Hail  to  you  both  ! 
Sicinius. 
Your  Coriolanus  is  not  much  miss'd,    [stand, 
But  with  bis  friends:  the  common- wealth  doth 
And  so  would  do,  were  he  more  angry  at  it. 
Menenius. 
All's  well ;  and  might  have  been  much  better, 
He  could  have  temporiz'd.  [if 

Sicinius. 

Where  is  he,  hear  you  ? 
Menenius. 
Nay,  I  hear  nothing :  his  mother  and  his  wife 
Hear  nothing  from  him. 

Enter  three  or  four  Citizens. 
Citizens. 
The  gods  preserve  you  both  ! 
Sicinius. 

Good-den,  our  neighbours. 
Brutus. 
Good-den  to  you  all,  good-den  to  you  all. 

First  Citizen. 

Ourselves,  our  wives,  and  children,  on  our 

Are  bound  to  pray  for  vou  both.  [knees, 

Sicinius. 


758 


COKIOLANUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


Sicinius. 

Live,  and  thrive ! 

Brutus. 

Farewell,  kind  neighbours.   We  wish'd  Corto. 

Had  lov'd  you  as  we  did.  [tonus 

Citizens. 

Now  the  gods  keep  you ! 
Both  Tribunes. 
Farewell,  farewell.  [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Sicinius. 
This  is  a  happier  and  more  comely  time, 
Than  when  these  fellows  ran  about  the  streets, 
Crying  confusion.      _ 

Brutus. 

Caius  Marcius  was 
A  worthy  officer  i*  the  war ;  but  insolent, 
O'ercome  with  pride, ambitious  past  all  thinking, 
Self-loving,  — 

Sicinius. 

And  affecting  one  sole  throne, 
Without  assistance. 

Menenius. 
I  think  not  so. 
Sicinius. 
We  should  by  this,  to  all  our  lamentation, 
If  he  had  gone 'forth  consul,  found  it  so. 
Brutus. 
The  gods  have  well  prevented  it ;  and  Rome 
Sits  safe  and  still  without  him. 
Enter  an  JEdile. 
iEdile. 

Worthy  tribunes, 
There  is  a  slave,  whom  we  have  put  in  prison, 
Reports,  the  Volsces  with  two  several  powers 
Are  enter'd  in  the  Roman  territories  ; 
And  with  the  deepest  malice  of  the  war 
Destroy  what  lies  before  them. 
Menenius. 

'Tis  Aufidius, 
Who,  hearing  of  our  Marcius'  banishment, 
Thrusts  forth  his  horns  again  into  the  world ; 
Which  were  inshell'd  when  Marcius  stood  for 
And  durst  not  once  peep  out.  [Rome, 

Sicinius. 

Come,  what  talk  you 
Of  Marcius  T  „    , 

Brutus. 

Go  see  this  rumourer  whipp'd — It  cannot  be ; 
The  Volsces  dare  break  with  us. 
Menenius. 

Cannot  be ! 
We  have  record  that  very  well  it  can ; 
And  three  examples  of  the  like  have  been 
Within  my  age.    But  reason  with  the  fellow, 
Before  you  punish  him,  where  he  heard  this  ; 
Lest  you  shall  chance  to  whip  your  information, 
And  beat  the  messenger  who  bids  beware 
Of  what  is  to  be  dreaded. 

Sicinius. 

Tell  not  me: 
I  know,  this  cannot  be. 

Brutus. 

Not  possible. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
The  nobles  in  great  earnestness  are  going 
All  to  the  senate  house :  some  news  is  come  in, 
That  turns  their  countenances. 
Sicinius. 

'Tis  this  slave. 


Go  whip  him  'fore  the  people's  eyes :— his  raising ! 
Nothing  but  his  report  1 

Messenger. 

Yes,  worthy  sir, 
The  slave's  report  is  seconded ;  and  more, 
More  fearful,  is  deliver'd. 

Sicinius. 

What  more  fearful  ? 
Messenger. 

It  is  spoke  freely  out  of  many  mouths, 
How  probable  I  do  not  know,  that  Marcius, 
Join'd  with  Aufidius,  leads  a  power  'gainst  Home, 
And  vows  revenge  as  spacious,  as  between 
The  young'st  and  oldest  thing. 
Sicinius. 

This  is  most  likely : 
Brutus. 
Rais'd  only,  that  the  weaker  sort  may  wish 
Good  Marcius  home  again. 
Sicinius. 

The  very  trick  on't. 
Menenius. 
This  Is  unlikely : 
He  and  Aufidius  can  no  more  atone, 
jThan  violentest  contrariety. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
You  are  sent  for  to  the  senate. 
A  fearful  army,  led  by  Caius  Marcius, 
Associated  with  Aufidius,  rages 
Upon  our  territories ;  and  have  already 
O'erborne  their  way,  consum'd  with  fire,  and 
What  lay  before  them.  [took 

Enter  Cominius. 
Cominius. 
O !  you  have  made  good  work. 
Menenius. 

What  news?  what  news? 
Cominius. 
You  have  holp  to  ravish  your  own  daughters, 
and 
To  melt  the  city  leads  upon  your  pates  ; 
To  see  your  wives  dishonour'd  to  your  noses  ;— 
Menenius. 
What's  the  news  ?  what's  the  news  ? 

Cominius. 
Your  temples  burned  in  their  cement ;  and 
Your  franchises,  whereon  you  stood,  confin'd 
Into  an  auger's  bore. 

Menenius. 

Pray  now,  your  news  ? — 
You  have  made  fair  work,  I  fear  me. — Pray,  your 

news  ? 
If  Marcius  should  be  join'd  with  Volscians, — 
Cominius. 

If! 
He  is  their  god :  he  leads  them  like  a  thing 
j  Made  by  some  other  deity  than  nature. 
That  shapes  man  better  ;  and  they  follow  him 
j  Against  us  brats,  with  no  less  confidence 
Than  boys  pursuing  summer  butterflies, 
I  Or  butchers  killing  Mies. 

Menenius. 

You  have  made  good  work, 

You,  and  your  apron-men ;  you  that  stood  so 

Upon  the  voice  of  occupation,  and  [much 

The  breath  of  garlic-eaters  I 

Cominius. 

He  will  shake 
Your  Rome  about  your  ears.  _. 

Menenius. 


Act  iv. 


CORIOLANUS. 


7  59 


McneniiK. 


A*  Hercules 
You  have  made 


Did  shake  down  mellow  fruit. 
fair  work.        Bmtu$ 

But  Is  this  true,  sir  ? 

Cominius. 

Ay ;  and  you'll  look  pale 
Before  you  find  It  other.     All  the  regions 
Do  smilingly  revolt,  and  who  resist 
Are  mock'd  for  valiant  ignorance, 
And  perish  constant  fools.     Who  is't  can  blame 

him? 
Your  enemies,  and  his,  find  something  in  him. 
Menenius. 
We  are  all  undone,  unless 
The  noble  man  have  mercy. 
Cominius. 

Who  shall  ask  it  ? 
The  tribunes  cannot  do't  for  shame ;  the  people 
Deserve  such  pity  of  him,  as  the  wolf 
Does  of  the  shepherds :   for  bis  best  friends, 

if  they 
Should  say,  "  Be  good  to  Rome,"  they  charg'd 

him,  even 
As  those  should  do  that  had  deserv'd  his  hate, 
And  therein  show'd  like  enemies. 
Menenius. 

'Tis  true. 
If  he  were  putting  to  my  house  the  brand 
That  should  consume  it,  I  have  not  the  face 
To  say,  "  Beseech  you,  cease." — You  have  made 

fair  hands, 
You,  and  your  crafts ;  you  have  crafted  fair. 
Cominius. 

You  have  brought 
A  trembling  upon  Rome,  such  as  was  never 
So  incapable  of  help. 

Tribunes. 

Say  not,  we  brought  it. 
Menenius. 
How  !    Was  it  we  ?    We  lov'd  him  ;  but,  like 
beasts 
And    cowardly   nobles,   gave    way  unto    your 

clusters, 
Who  did  hoot  him  out  o'  the  city. 
Cominius. 

But  I  fear 
They'll  roar  him  in  again.     TuUus  Aujidiiu, 
The  second  name  of  men,  obeys  his  points 
As  if  he  were  his  officer.    Desperation 
Is  all  the  policy,  strength,  and  defence, 
That  Rome  can  make  against  them. 
Enter  a  Troop  of  Citizens. 
Menenius. 

Here  come  the  clusters.— 
And  is  Atifiiius  with  him?— You  are  they 
That  made  the  air  unwholesome,  when  you  cast 
Your  stinking,  greasy  caps,  in  hooting  at 
Coriolanus'  exile.    Now  he's  coming; 
And  not  a  hair  upon  a  soldier's  head, 
Which  will  not  prove  a  whip :  as  many  coxcombs, 
As  you  threw  caps  up,  will  he  tumble  down, 
And  pay  you  for  your  voices.    'Tis  no  matter : 
If  he  could  burn  us  all  into  one  coal, 
We  have  deserv'd  it. 

Citizens. 

•Faith,  we  hear  fearful  news. 
First  Citizen. 


Second  Citizen. 
And  so  did  I. 

Third  Citizen. 
And  so  did  I;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  so  did 
;  very  many  of  us.    That  we  did,  we  did  for  the 
best;  and  though  we  willingly  consented  to  his 
I  banishment,  yet  it  was  against  our  will. 
.iius. 
Y'  are  goodly  things,  you  voices  I 
Menenius. 

You  have  made 
Good  work,  you  and  your  cry !  — Shall's  to  the 

Cfl'"*'"        Cominius. 
Ol  ay,  what^ec?mt  Cominiut  and  Mennilut, 

Sicinius. 
Go,  masters,  get  you  home ;  be  not  dismay'd: 
These  are  a  side,  that  would  be  glad  to  have 
This  true,  which  they  so  seem  to  fear.  Go  home, 
And  show  no  sign  of  fear. 

First  Citizen. 

The  gods  be  good  to  us  1  Come,  masters,  let's 
home.  I  ever  said,  we  were  i'  the  wrong,  when 
we  banished  him. 

Second  Citizen. 

So  did  we  all.    But  come,  let'*  home.„.(. 

[Exeunt  Ctttxens. 
Brutus. 

I  do  not  like  this  news. 

Sicinius. 

Nor  »'  Brutus. 

Let's  to  the  Capitol — Would  half  my  wealth 
Would  buy  this  for  a  lie ! 

Sicinius. 


Pray,  let  us 


{Exeunt. 


SCENE  VII. 


When  I  said,  banish  him, 


For  mine  own  part, 
said,  'twas  pity. 


A  Camp ;  at  a  small  distance 
from  Rome. 

Enter  Aujidius,  and  his  Lieutenant. 
Aufidius. 
Do  they  still  fly  to  the  Roman? 
Lieutenant. 

I  do  not  know  what  witchcraft's  in  him,  but 
Your  soldiers  use  him  as  the  grace  'fore  meat. 
Their  talk  at  table,  and  their  thanks  at  end ; 
And  you  are  darken'd  in  this  action,  sir, 
Even  by  your  own. 

Aulidius. 

I  cannot  help  it  now, 
Unless,  by  using  means,  I  lame  the  foot 
Of  our  design.   He  bears  himself  more  proudlier, 
Even  to  my  person,  than  1  thought  he  would 
When  first  I  did  embrace  him  ;  yet  his  nature 
In  that's  no  changeling,  and  I  must  excuse 
What  cannot  be  amended. 

Lieutenant. 

Yet  I  wish,  sir, 

il  mean,  for  your  particular)  you  had  not 
oin'd  in  commission  with  him ;  but  either 
Had  borne  the  action  of  yourself,  or  else 
To  him  had  left  it  solely. 

Aundius. 
I  understand  thee  well ;  and  be  thou  sure. 
When  he  shall  come  to  his  account,  he  knows  not 
What  I  can  urge  against  him.     Although  it 

seems, 
And  so  he  thinks,  and  is  no  less  apparent 
To  the  vulgar  eye,  that  he  bears  all  things  fairly, 

And 


760 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vn. 


And  show  s  good  husbandry  for  the  Volscian  state, 
Fights  dragon-like,  and  does  achieve  as  soon 
As  draw  his  sword ;  yet  he  hath  left  undone 
That,  which  shall  break  his  neck,  or  hazard  mine, 
Whene'er  we  come  to  our  account. 
Lieutenant 

Sir,  I  beseech  you,  think  you  he'll  carry  Rome? 
Aundiui. 

All  places  yield  to  him  ere  he  sits  down ; 
And  the  nobility  of  Rome  are  his  : 
The  senators,  and  patricians,  love  him  too. 
The  tribunes  are  no  soldiers ;  and  their  people 
Will  be  as  rash  in  the  repeal,  as  hasty 
To  expel  him  thence.    I  think,  he'll  be  to  Rome, 
As  is  the  osprey  to  the  fish,  who  takes  it 
By  sovereignty  of  nature.    Firft  he  was 
A  noble  servant  to  them,  but  he  could  not 
Carry  his  honours  even  :  whether  'twas  pride, 
Which  out  of  daily  fortune  ever  taints 
The  happy  man;  whether  defect  of  judgment, 
To  fail  in  the  disposing  of  those  chances 
Which  he  was  lord  of;  or,  whether  nature, 
Not  to  be  other  than  one  thing,  not  moving 
From  the  casque  to  the  cushion,  but  commanding 
Even  with  the  same  austerity  and  garb    [peace, 
As  he  controll'd  the  war ;  but  one  of  these 
(As  he  hath  spices  of  them  all,  not  all, 
For  I  dare  so  far  free  him)  made  him  fear'd, 
So  hated,  and  so  banish'd :  but  he  has  a  merit, 
To  choke  it  in  the  utterance.     So  our  virtues 
Lie  in  the  interpretation  of  the  time, 
And  power,  unto  itself  most  commendable, 
Hath  not  a  tomb  so  evident  as  a  chair 
To  extol  what  it  hath  done. 
One  fire  drives  out  one  fire;  one  nail,  one  nail ; 
Rights  by  rights  fouler,  strengths  by  strengths 

do  fail. 
Come,  let's  away.    When,  Cains,  Rome  is  thine, 
Thou  art  poor'st  of  all ;  then,  shortly  art  thou 
mine.  [Exeunt. 


•$•-$--0-  #■#••#••#■  #••#•■<#• 
ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Rome.    A  Public  Place. 

Enter  Menenius,  Cominius,  Sicinius,  Brutus, 
and  others. 
Menenius. 

NO,  I'll  not  go :  you  hear  what  he  hath  said, 
Which  was   sometime  his  general;   who 
lov'd  him 
In  a  most  dear  particular.    He  call'd  me  father, 
But  what  o'  that?    Go,  you  that  banish'd  him, 
A  mile  before  his  tent  fall  down,  and  knee 
The  way  into  his  mercy.    Nay,  if  he  coy'd 
To  hear  Cominius  speak,  I'll  keep  at  home. 
Cominius. 
He  would  not  seem  to  know  me. 
Menenius. 

Do  you  hear  ? 
Cominius 
Yet  one  time  he  did  call  me  by  my  name. 
I  urg'd  our  old  acquaintance,  and  the  drops 
That  we  have  bled  together.    Coriolanus 
He  would  not  answer  to ;  forbad  all  names : 
He  was  a  kind  of  nothing,  titleless, 
Till  he  had  forg'd  himself  a  name  o'  the  fire 
Of  burning  Rome. 

Menenius. 
Why,  so ;  you  have  made  good  work  : 
A  pair  of  tribunes,  that  have  rack'd  for  Rome, 
To  make  coals  cheap  :  a  noble  memory  1 


Cominius. 
I  minded  him,  how  royal  'twas  to  pardon 
When  it  was  less  expected  :  he  replied, 
It  was  a  bare  petition  of  a  state 
To  one  whom  they  had  punish'd. 
Menenius. 
Very  well :  could  he  say  less  ? 

Cominius. 
I  ofFer'd  to  awaken  his  regard 
For  his  private  friends  :  his  answer  to  me  was, 
He  could  not  stay  to  pick  them  in  a  pile 
Of  noisome,  musty  chaff.    He  said,  'twas  folly, 
For  one  poor  grain  or  two,  to  leave  unburnt, 
And  still  to  nose  th'  offence. 

Menenius- 
For  one  poor  grain  or  two  ? 
I  am  one  of  those;  his  mother,  wife,  his  child, 
And  this  brave  fellow  too ;  we  are  the  grains  : 
You  are  the  musty  chaff,  and  you  are  smelt 
Above  the  moon.    We  must  be  burnt  for  you. 
Sicinius. 
Nay,  pray,  be  patient :  if  you  refuse  your  aid 
In  this  so  never-needed  help,  yet  do  not 
Upbraid's  with  our  distress.    But,  sure,  if  you 
Would  be  your  country's  pleader,  your  good 

tongue, 
More  than  the  instant  army  we  can  make, 
Might  stop  our  countryman. 

Menenius. 

No  ;  I'll  not  meddle. 
Sicinius. 
Pray  you,  go  to  him. 

Menenius. 
What  should  I  do  ? 

Brutus. 
Only  make  trial  what  your  love  can  do 
For  Rome  towards  Marcius. 
Menenius. 

Well ;  and  say  that  Marcius 
Return  me,  as  Cominius  is  return'd, 
Unheard,  what  then  ? — 
But  as  a  discontented  friend,  grief-shot 
With  his  unkindness?  say't  be  so? 
Sicinius. 

Yet  your  good  will 
Must  have  that  thanks  from  Rome,  after  the 
As  you  intended  well.  [measure 

Menenius. 

I'll  undertake  it : 
I  think,  he'll  hear  me.     Yet  to  bite  his  lip, 
And  hum  at  good  Cominius,  much  unhearts  me. 
He  was  not  taken  well;  he  had  not  din'd  : 
The  veins  unfill'd,  our  blood  is  cold,  and  then 
We  pout  upon  the  morning,  are  unapt 
To  give  or  to  forgive ;  but  when  we  have  stufT'd 
These  pipes  and  these  conveyances  of  our  blood 
With  wine  and  feeding,  we  have  suppler  souls 
Than  in  our  priest-like  fasts:  therefore,  I'll 
Till  he  be  dieted  to  my  request,        [watch  him 
And  then  I'll  set  upon  him. 
Brutus. 
You  know  the  very  road  into  his  kindness, 
And  cannot  lose  your  way. 
Menenius. 
Good  faith,  I'll  prove  him,    [ledge 
Speed  how  it  will.    I  shall  ere  long  have  know- 
Of  my  success.  [Exit. 

Cominius. 
He'll  never  hear  him. 
Sicinius. 

Not? 
Cominius. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


CORIOLANUS. 


Comlniua. 
I  till  vou,  he  does  sit  in  gold,  hit  eye 
Red  at  'twould  burn  Home,  and  hit  injury 
The  gaoler  to  his  pity.     1  kncel'd  before  him  ; 
*Twaa  very  faintly  he  said,"  Kise  ;"dismiss'd  me 
Thus  with  his  speechless  hand;  what  he  would 

do, 
He  sent  in  writing  after  me ;  what  he  would  not, 
Bound  with  an  oath  to  yield  to  his  conditions  : 
So  that  all  hope  is  vain, 
Unless  his  noble  mother,  and  his  wife; 
Who,  as  I  hear,  mean  to  solicit  him 
For  mercy  to  his  country.  Therefore,  let's  hence, 
And  with  our  fair  entreaties  haste  them  on. 

[Exeunt. 

SCESE  II.    The  Volscian  Camp  before  Rome. 
The  Guards  at  their  Stations. 

Enter  to  them,  Menenius. 
First  Guard. 
Stay  1    Whence  are  you  ? 

Second  Guard. 

Stand,  and  go  back. 

Menenlus. 
You  guard  like  men  :  'tis  well ;  but,  by  your 
I  am  an  otlicer  of  state,  and  come  [leave, 

To  speak  with  Coriolanus. 

First  Guard. 

From  whence  ? 

Menenlus. 

From  Rome. 
First  Guard. 
You  may  not  pass;  you  must  return:  our 
Will  no  more  hear  from  thence.  [general 

Second  Guard. 
You'll   see  your  Rome  embrae'd  with  fire, 
You'll  speak  with  Coriolanus.  [before 

Menenius. 

Good  my  friends, 
If  you  have  heard  your  general  talk  of  Rome, 
And  of  his  friends  there,  it  is  lots  to  blanks, 
My  name  hath  touch 'd  your  ears ;  it  is  Menenius. 

First  Guard. 
Be  it  so ;  go  back :  the  virtue  of  your  name 
Is  not  here  passable. 

Menenius. 

I  tell  thee,  fellow, 
Thy  general  is  my  lover  :  1  have  been 
The  book  of  his  good  acts,  whence  men  have 
His  fame  unparallel'd,  haply,  amplified  ;     [read 
For  I  have  ever  verified  my  friends, 
(Of  whom  he's  chief)  with  all  the  size  that  verity 
Would  without  lapsing  suffer:  nay,  sometimes, 
Like  to  a  bowl  upon  a  subtle  ground, 
I  have  tumbled  past  the  throw,  and  in  his  praise 
Have  almost  stamp'd  the  leasing.    Therefore, 
1  must  have  leave  to  pass.  [fellow, 

First  Guard. 
'Faith,  sir,  if  you  had  told  as  many  lies  in  his 
behalf,  as  you  have  uttered  words  in  your  own, 
you  should  not  pass  here :  no,  though  it  were  as 
virtuous  to  lie,  as  to  live  chastely.  Therefore, 
go  back. 

Menenius. 
Pr'ythee,  fellow,  remember  my  name  is  Me- 
nenius, always  factionary  on  the  party  of  your 
general. 

Second  Guard. 
j     Howsoever  you  have  been  his  liar,  as  you  say 
you  have,  I  am  one  that,  telling  true  under  him, 
must  say,  you  cannot  pass.    Therefore,  go  back. 

L . 


Menenius. 
Has  he  dined,  canst  thou  tell  ?  for  I  would 
not  speak  with  bim  till  after  dinner. 
First  Guard. 
You  are  a  Roman,  are  you  ? 
Menenius. 
I  am,  as  thy  general  is. 

First  Guard. 
Then  you  should  hate  Rome,  as  he  does.  Can 
you,  when  you  have  pushed  out  your  gates  the 
very  defender  of  them,  and,  in  a  violent  popular 
ignorance,  given  your  enemy  your  shield,  think 
to  front  his  revenges  with  the  easy  groans  of 
old  women,  the  virginal  palms  of  your  daughters, 
or  with  the  palsied  intercession  of  such  a  decayed 
dotant  as  vou  seem  to  be  ?  Can  you  think  to 
blow  out  the  intended  fire  your  city  is  ready  to 
flame  in  with  such  weak  breath  as  this  ?  No, 
you  are  deceived ;  therefore,  back  to  Rome,  and 
prepare  for  your  execution .  You  are  condemned, 
our  general  has  sworn  you  out  of  reprieve  and 
pardon. 

Menenius. 
Sirrah,  if  thy  captain  knew  I  were  here,  he 
would  use  me  with  estimation. 
Second  Guard. 
Come,  my  captain  knows  you  not. 

Menenius. 
I  mean,  thy  general. 

First  Guard. 
My  general  cares  not  for  you.    Back,  I  say :  go, 
lest  I  let  forth  your  half-pint  of  blond, — back,— 
that's  the  utmost  of  your  having : — back. 
Menenlus. 
Nay,  but  fellow,  fellow,— 

Kntcr  Coriolanus  and  Avfidixu. 
Coriolanus. 

What's  the  matter 

Menenius. 

Now,  you  companion,  I'll  say  an  errand  for 
you :  you  shall  know  now  that  I  am  in  estima- 
tion ;  you  shall  perceive  that  a  Jack  guardant 
cannot  office  me  from  my  son  Coriolanus :  guess, 
but  by  my  entertainment  with  him,  if  thou 
stand'st  not  i'  the  state  of  hanging,  or  of  some 
death  more  long  in  spectatorship,  and  crueller 
in  suffering :  behold  now  presently,  and  swoon 
for  what's  to  come  upon  thee. — The  glorious 
gods  sit  in  hourly  synod  about  thy  particular 
prosperity,  and  love  thee  no  worse  than  thy  old 
father  Menenius  does !  O,  my  son  !  my  son ! 
thou  art  preparing  fire  for  us  ;  look  thee,  here's 
water  to  quench  it.  I  was  hardly  moved  to  come 
to  thee;  but  being  assured,  none  but  myself 
could  move  thee,  1  have  been  blown  out  of  your 
gates  with  sighs,  and  conjure  thee  to  pardon 
Rome,  and  thy  petitionary  countrymen.  The 
good  gods  assuage  thy  wrath,  and  turn  the  dregs 
of  it  upon  this  varlet  here ;  this,  who,  like  a 
block,  hath  denied  my  access  to  thee. 

Coriolanus. 
Away! 

Menenius. 
How  !  away  ? 

Coriolanus. 
Wife,  mother,  child,  I  know  not.    My  affairs 
Are  servanted  to  others:  though  I  owe 
My  revenge  properly,  my  remission  lies 
In  Volscian  breasts.  That  we  have  been  familiar, 
Ingrate  forgetfulness  shall  poison,  rather 

Than  pity  note  how  much Therefore,  be  gone : 

Mine  ears  against  your  suits  are  stronger  than 

Your 


761 


CORIOLANUS. 


Your  gates  against  my  force.    Yet,  for  I  lov'd 

thee, 
Take  this  along;  I  writ  it  for  thy  sake, 

[Gives  a  paper. 

And  would  have  sent  it.    Another  word,  Mene- 

nius, 
I  will  not  hear  thee  speak.    This  man,  Aufidius, 
Was  my  belov'd  in  Rome;  yet  thou  heboid's t  — 
Aufidius. 

You  keep  a  constant  temper.  *'.*.. 

[Exeunt  Coriolanus  and  Aufidius. 

First  Guard. 
Now,  sir,  is  your  name  Meneniusf 

Second  Guard. 
'Tis  a  spell,  you  see,  of  much  power.    You 
know  the  way  home  again. 

First  Guard. 
Do  you  hear  how  we  are  shent  for  keeping 
your  greatness  back  ? 

Second  Guard. 
What  cause,  do  you  think,  I  have  to  swoon  ? 

Menenius. 
I  neither  care  for  the  world,  nor  your  general: 
for  such  things  as  you,  1  can  scarce  think  there's 
any,  you  are  so  slight.  He  that  hath  a  will  to 
die  by  himself,  fears  it  not  from  another.  Let 
your  general  do  his  worst.  For  you,  be  that  you 
are,  long ;  and  your  misery  increase  with  your 
age.    1  say  to  you,  as  I  was  said  to,  Away  I 

First  Guard. 

A  noble  fellow,  I  warrant  him. 

Second  Guard. 

The  worthy  fellow  is  our  general:  he, is  the 

rock,  the  oak  not  to  be  wind-shaken.     L exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  Tent  of  Coriolanus. 

Enter  Coriolanus,  Aufidius,  and  others. 

Coriolanus. 

We  will  before  the  walls  of  Rome  to-morrow 

Set  down  our  host.— My  partner  in  this  action, 

You  must  report  to  the  Volscian  lords,  how 

1  have  borne  this  business.  [plainly 

Aufidius. 

Only  their  ends 
You  have  respected ;  stopp'd  your  ears  against 
The  general  suit  of  Rome;  never  admitted 
A  private  whisper,  no,  not  with  such  friends 
That  thought  them  sure  of  you. 
Coriolanus. 

This  last  old  man, 
Whom  with  a  crack'd  heart  I  have  sent  to  Rome, 
Loved  me  above  the  measure  of  a  father ; 
Nay,  godded  me,  indeed.    Their  latest  refuge 
Was  to  send  him  ;  for  whose  old  love  I  have 
(Though  I  show'd  sourly  to  him)  once  more 

offer'd 
The  first  conditions,  which  they  did  refuse, 
And  cannot  now  accept,  to  grace  him  only 
That  thought  he  could  do  more.    A  very  little 
I  have  yielded,  too:  fresh  embassies,  and  suits, 
Nor  from  the  state,  nor  private  friends,  hereafter 
Will  I  lend  ear  to.  —  Ha  I  what  shout  is  this  ?. 
[Snout  within. 

Shall  I  be  tempted  to  infringe  my  vow 
In  the  same  time  'tis  made  ?    I  will  not.— 
Enter,  in  mourning  Habits,  Virgilia,  Volumnia, 
leading  young  Marcius,  Valeria,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

My  wife  comes  foremost;  then,  the  honour'd 
mould 


Act  v.  Sc.  11. 


Wherein  this  trunk  was  fram'd,  and  in  her  hand 
The  grand-child  to  her  blood.  But,  out,  affec- 
AU  bond  and  privilege  of  nature,  break  1  [tion 
Let  it  be  virtuous,  to  be  obstinate. —  [eyes 

What  is  that  curt'sy  worth?  or  those  doves 
Which  can  make  gods  forsworn?— I  melt,  and 

am  not 
Of  stronger  earth  than  others.  — My  mothei 
As  if  Olympus  to  a  molehill  should  [bows 

In  supplication  nod  ;  and  my  young  boy 
Hath  an  aspect  of  intercession,  which    [Volsces 
Great   nature   cries,   "Deny   not."— Let   the 
Plough  Rome,  and  harrow  Italy;  I'll  never 
Be  such  a  gosling  to  obey  instinct,  but  stand, 
As  if  a  man  were  author  of  himself, 
And  knew  no  other  kin. 

Virgilia. 

My  lord  and  husband 
Coriolanus. 
These  eyes  are  not  the  same  I  wore  in  Rome 

Virgilia. 
The  sorrow,  that  delivers  us  thus  chang'd, 
Makes  you  think  so. 

Coriolanus. 

Like  a  dull  actor  now, 
I  have  forgot  my  part,  and  I  am  out, 
Even  to  a  full  disgrace.    Best  of  my  flesh, 
Forgive  my  tyranny ;  but  do  not  say 
For  that,  "  Forgive  our  Romans."— O !  a  kiss 
Long  as  my  exile,  sweet  as  my  revenge  ! 
Now,  by  the  jealous  queen  of  heaven,  that  kiss 
I  carried  from  thee,  dear ;  and  my  true  lip 
Hath  virgin'd  it  e'er  since. — You  gods  I  I  prate, 
And  the  most  noble  mother  of  the  world 


Leave  unsaluted.    Sink,  my  knee, 


the  earth : 
[Kneels. 


Of  thy  deep  duty  more  impression  show 
Than  that  of  common  sons. 

Volumnia. 

O,  stand  up  bless'd ! 
Whilst,  with  no  softer  cushion  than  the  flint, 
I  kneel  before  thee,  and  un properly 
Show  duty,  as  mistaken  all  this  while 
Between  the  child  and  parent.  [Kneels. 

Coriolanus. 

What  is  this  ? 
Your  knees  to  me  ?  to  your  corrected  son  ? 
Then,  let  the  pebbles  on  the  hungry  beach 
Fillip  the  stars ;  then,  let  the  mutinous  winds 
Strike  the  proud  cedars  'gainst  the  fiery  sun, 
Murd'ring  impossibility,  to  make 
What  cannot  be,  slight  work. 

Volumnia. 

Thou  art  my  warrior ; 
I  holp  to  frame  thee.    Do  you  know  this  lady  ? 

Coriolanus. 
The  noble  sister  of  Publicola, 
The  moon  of  Rome  ;  chaste  as  the  icicle, 
That's  curded  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow, 
And  hangs  on  Dion's  temple :  dear  Valeria  I 

Volumnia. 
This  is  a  poor  epitome  of  yours, 
Which,  by  the  interpretation  of  full  time, 
May  show  like  all  yourself. 

Coriolanus. 

The  god  of  soldiers, 
With  the  consent  of  supreme  Jove,  inform 
Thy  thoughts  with  nobleness;  that  thou  may'st 

prove 
To  shame  unvulnerable,  and  stick  i'  the  wars 
Like  a  great  sea-mark,  standing  every  flaw, 
And  saving  those  that  eye  thee  I  v  . 


XStoAaxUA. 

Act     S 


Act  ▼.  Sc.  in. 


CORIOLANUS. 


763 


Volumnia. 

Your  Knee,  sirrah. 
Corlolanu*. 
That's  my  brave  boy ! 

Volumnia. 
Even  he,  your  wife,  this  lady,  and  myself, 
Are  suitors  to  you. 

Coriolanu*. 
I  beseech  you,  peace ; 
Or,  if  you'd  ask,  remember  this  before : 
The  things  I  have  forsworn  to  grant  may  never 
Be  held  by  you  denials.    Do  not  bid  me 
Dismiss  my  soldiers,  or  capitulate 
Again  with  Rome'*  mechanics :  tell  me  not 
■Wherein  1  seem  unnatural :  desire  not 
To  allay  my  rages  and  revenges,  with 
Your  colder  reasons. 

Volumnia. 

O !  no  more,  no  more ! 
You  have  said,  you  will  not  grant  us  any  thing; 
For  we  have  nothing  else  to  ask,  but  that 
Which  you  deny  already :  yet  we  will  ask  ; 
That,  II  you  fail  in  our  request,  the  blame     [us. 
May  bang  upon  your  hardness.  Therefore,  hear 
Corlolanuv 
Atifldius,  and  you  Volsces,  mark  ;  for  we'll 
Hear  nought  from  Borne  in  private — Your  re- 
quest ? 

Volumnia. 
Should  we  be  silent  and  not  speak,  our  raiment, 
And  state  of  bodies,  would  bewray  what  life 
We  have  led  since  thy  exile.    Think  with  thy- 
self, 
How  more  unfortunate  than  all  living  women 
Are  we  come  hither :  since  that  thy  sight,  which 

should 
Make  our  eyes  flow  with  Joy,  hearts  dance  with 

comforts, 
Constrains  them  weep,  and  shake  with  fear  and 

sorrow ; 
Making  the  mother,  wife,  and  child,  to  see 
The  son,  the  husband,  and  the  father,  tearing 
His  country's  bowels  out.    And  to  poor  we, 
Thine  enmity's  most  capital :  thou  barr'st  us 
Our  prayers  to  the  gods,  which  is  a  comfort 
That  all  but  we  enjoy  ;  for  how  can  we, 
Alas !  how  can  we  for  our  country  pray, 
Whereto  we  are  bound,  together  with  thy  victory, 
Whereto  we  are  bound  ?    Alack  1  or  we  must 

lose 
The  country,  our  dear  nurse  ;  or  else  thy  person, 
Our  comfort  in  the  country.    We  must  find 
An  evident  calamity,  though  we  had 
Our  wish,  which  side  should  win  ;  for  either  thou 
Must,  as  a  foreign  recreant,  be  led 
With  manacles  through  our  streets,  or  else 
Triumphantly  tread  on  thy  country's  ruin. 
And  bear  the  palm,  for  having  bravely  shed 
Thy  wife  and  children's  blood.    For  myself,  son, 
I  purpose  not  to  wait  on  fortune,  till 
These  wars  determine:  if  I  cannot  persuade  thee 
father  to  show  a  noble  grace  to  both  parts, 
Than  seek  the  end  of  one,  thou  shalt  no  sooner 
March  to  assault  thy  country,  than  to  tread 
(Trust  to't,  thou  shalt  not)  on  thy  mother's 
That  brought  thee  to  this  world.  [womb, 

Vlrgllia. 

Ay,  and  mine, 

TCiit  brought  you  forth  this  boy,  to  keep  your 

Living  to  time.  [name 

Boy. 

He  shall  not  tread  on  mc : 

I'll  run  away  till  I  am  bigger,  but  then  I'll  fight. 


Coriolanus. 
Not  of  a  woman's  tenderness  to  be, 
Requires  nor  child  nor  woman's  face  to  sob, 
1  have  sat  too  long.  Liming. 

Voluil; 

Nay,  go  not  from  us  thus. 
If  it  were  so,  that  our  request  did  tend 
To  save  the  Romans,  thereby  to  destroy 
The  Volsces  whom  you  serve,  you  might  con- 
demn us, 
As  poisonous  of  your  honour:  no;  our  suit 
Is,  that  you  reconcile  them  :  while  the  Volsce* 
May  say,  "  This  mercy  we  have  show'd  ;  "  the 

Romans, 
"  This  we  receiv'd;"  and  each  in  either  side 
Give  the  all-hail  to  thee,  and  cry,  "  Be  bless'd 
For  making  up  this  peace  1"     Thou  know'st, 

great  son, 
The  end  of  war's  uncertain  ;  but  this  certain, 
That  if  thou  conquer  Borne,  the  benefit 
Which  thou  shalt  thereby  reap  is  such  a  name, 
Whose  repetition  will  be  dogg'd  with  curses, 
Whose  chronicle  thus  writ, — "  The  man  was 

noble, 
But  with  his  last  attempt  he  wip'd  it  out, 
Destroy'd  his  country,  and  his  name  remains 
To  the  ensuing  age  abhorr'd."    Speak  to  me, 

son  1 
Thou  hast  affected  the  fine  strains  of  honour, 
To  imitate  the  graces  of  the  gods  ; 
To  tear  with  thunder  the  wide  cheeks  o'  the  air, 
And  yet  to  charge  thy  sulphur  with  a  bolt 
That  should  but  rive  an  oak.     Why  dost  not 

speak? 
Think'st  thou  it  honourable  for  a  noble  man 
Still  to  remember  wrongs  ?  —  Daughter,  speak 

you; 
He  cares  not  for  your  weeping.  _  Speak  thou, 

boy: 
Perhaps,  thy  childishness  will  move  him  more 
Than  can  our  reasons.— There  is  uo  man  in  the 

world 
More  bound  to's  mother  ;  yet  here  he  lets  me 

prate 
Like  one  i'  the  stocks. — Thou  hast  never  in  thy 
Show'd  thy  dear  mother  any  courtesy ;  [life 

When  she,  (poor  hen  1)  fond  of  no  second  brood, 
Has  cluck'd  thee  to  the  wars,  and  safely  home, 
Loaden  with  honour.   Say,  my  request  s  unjust, 
And  spurn  me  back  ;  but,  if  it  be  not  so, 
Thou  art  not  honest,  and  the  gods  will  plague 

thee, 
That  thou  restrain'st  from  me  the  duty,  which 

I  To  a  mother's  part  belongs lie  turns  away : 

I  Down,  ladies ;  let  us  shame  him  with  our  knees. 
!  To  his  surname,  Coriolanus,  'longs  more  pride, 
;  Than  pity  to  our  prayers.    Down :  an  end ; 
I  This  is  the  last; — so  we  will  home  to  Rome, 
And  die  among  our  neighbours.— Nay,  behold 

us: 
j  This  boy,  that  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have, 
,  But  kneels  and  holds  up  hands  for  fellowship, 
I  Does  reason  our  petition  with  more  strength 
;  Than  thou  hast  to  deny't.  —  Come,  let  us  go. 
This  fellow  had  a  Volscian  to  his  mother  ; 
j  His  wife  is  in  Corioli,  and  his  child 
I  Like  him  by  chance. — Yet  give  us  our  despatch: 
I  am  hush'd  until  our  city  be  afire, 
And  then  I'll  speak  a  little. 

[He  holds  Volumnia  by  the  hand,  silent. 

Coriolanus. 

O  mother,  mother ! 
What  have  you  done?    Behold  !  the  heavens  do 

ope, 
The  gods  look  down,  and  this  unnatural  scene 
They  laugh  at.    O  my  mother !  mother !  O  ! 

You 


7*4 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


You  have  won  a  happy  victory  to  Rome; 
But,  for  your  son,— believe  it,  O  !  believe  it,— 
Most  dangerously  you  have  with  him  prevail'd, 
If  not  most  mortal  to  him.    But  let  it  come — 
Aufidius,  though  I  cannot  make  true  wars, 
1 11  frameconvenientpeace.   Now, good  Aufidius, 
Were  you  in  my  stead,  would  you  have  heard 
A  mother  less,  or  granted  less,  Aufidius  t 
Aufidius. 
I  was  mov'd  withal. 

Coriolanus. 

I  dare  be  sworn,  you  were : 
And,  sir,  it  is  no  little  thing  to  make 
Mine  eyes  to  sweat  compassion.    But,  good  sir, 
What  peace  you'll  make,  advise  me.    For  my 
part,  [you, 

I'll  not  to  Rome,  I'll  back  with  you  ;  and  pray 
Stand  to  me  in  this  cause — O  mother  1  wife ! 

Aufidius.  [Aside. 

I  am  glad,  thou  hast  set  thy  mercy  and  thy 
honour 
At  difference  in  thee:  out  of  that  I'll  work 
Myself  a  former  fortune. 

[The  Ladies  make  signs  to  Coriolanus. 

Coriolanus. 

Ay,  by  and  by  : 
[To  I'olumnta,  Virgilia,  &c. 
But  we  will  drink  together ;  and  you  shall  bear 
A  better  witness  back  than  words,  which  we 
On  like  conditions  will  have  counter-seal'd. 
Come,  enter  with  us.    Ladies,  you  deserve 
To  have  a  temple  built  you :  all  the  swords 


In  Italy,  and  her  confederate  arms, 
Could  not  have  made  this  peace. 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    Rome.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Menenius  and  Sicinius. 
Menenlus. 
See  you  yond'  coign  o'  the  Capitol}  yond' 
curncr-stone  ?  .  . 

Sicinius. 
Why,  what  of  that? 

Menenius. 
If  it  be  possible  for  you  to  displace  it  with 
your  little  finger,  there  is  some  hope  the  ladies 
of  Rome,  especially  his  mother,  may  prevail 
with  him:  but  I  say,  there  is  no  hope  in't.    Our 
throats  are  sentenced,  and  stay  upon  execution. 
Sicinius. 
Is't  possible,  that  so  short  a  time  can  alter 
the  condition  of  a  man? 

Menenius. 
There  is  differency  between  a  grub,  and  a 
butterfly;  yet  your  butterfly  was  a  grub.    This 
Marcius  is  grown  from  man  to  dragon :  he  has 
wings ;  he's  more  than  a  creeping  thing. 
Sicinius. 
He  loved  his  mother  dearly. 

Menenius. 
So  did  he  me;  and  he  no  more  remembers 
his  mother  now,  than  an  eight  year  old  horse. 
The  tartness  of  his  face  sours  ripe  grapes :  when 
he  walks,  he  moves  like  an  engine,  and  the 
ground  shrinks  before  his  treading.  He  is  able 
to  pierce  a  corslet  with  his  eye ;  talks  like  a 
knell,  and  his  hum  is  a  battery.  He  sits  in  his 
state,  as  a  thing  made  for  Alexander.  What  he 
bids  be  done,  is  finished  with  his  bidding:  he 
wants  nothing  of  a  god  but  eternity,  and  a  heaven 
to  throne  in.  _.  .   , 

Sicinius. 

Yes,  mercy,  if  you  report  him  truly. 


Menenius. 
I  paint  him  in  the  character.  Mark  what 
mercy  his  mother  shall  bring  from  him:  there 
is  no  more  mercy  in  him,  than  there  is  milk  in 
a  male  tiger;  that  shall  our  poor  city  find:  and 
all  this  is  'long  of  you. 

Sicinius. 

The  gods  be  good  unto  us ! 

Menenius. 

No,  in  such  a  case  the  gods  will  not  be  good 

unto  us.     When  we  banished  him,  we  respected 

not  them ;  and,  he  returning  to  break  our  necks, 

they  respect  not  us. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Sir,  if  you'd  save  your  life,  fly  to  your  house. 
The  plebeians  have  got  your  fellow-tribune, 
And  hale  him  up  and  down ;  all  swearing,  if 
The  Roman  ladies  bring  not  comfort  home, 
They'll  give  him  death  by  inches. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Sicinius. 

What's  the  news  ? 
Messenger. 
Good  news,  good  news!— The  ladies  have 
prevail'd, 
The  Volscians  are  dislodg'd,  and  Marcius  gone. 
A  merrier  day  did  never  yet  greet  Rome, 
No,  not  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins. 
Sicinius. 

Friend, 
Art  thou  certain  this  is  true  ?  is  it  most  certain  ? 
Messenger. 
As  certain,  as  I  know  the  sun  is  fire:         [it  ? 
Where  have  you  lurk'd,  that  you  make  doubt  of 
Ne'er  through  an  arch  so  hurried  the  blown 
tide,  [hark  you ! 

As  the  recomforted  through  the  gates.    Why, 
[Trumpets    and    Hautboys    sounded,   and 
Drums   beaten,  all  together.     Shouting 
also  within. 
The  trumpets,  sackbuts,  psalteries,  and  fifes, 
Tabors,  and  cymbals,  and  the  shouting  Romans, 
Make  the  sun  dance.    Hark  you  ! 

[Shouting  again. 
Menenius. 

This  is  good  news. 
I  will  go  meet  the  ladies.    This  Volumnia 
Is  worth  of  consuls,  senators,  patricians, 
A  city  full ;  of  tribunes,  such  as  you, 
A  sea  and  land-full.  You  have  pray'd  well  to-day : 
This  morning  for  ten  thousand  of  your  throats 
I'd  not  have  given  a  doit.    Hark,  how  they  joy ! 
[Shouting  and  Music. 
Sicinius. 
First,  the  gods  bless  you  for  their  tidings: 
Accept  my  thankfulness.  [next. 

Messenger. 

Sir,  we  have  all 
Great  cause  to  give  great  thanks. 
Sicinius. 

They  are  near  the  city. 
Messenger. 
Almost  at  point  to  enter. 
Sicinius. 

We  will  meet  them, 

And  help  the  joy.  [Going. 

Enter  the  Ladies,   accompanied   by  Senators, 

Patricians,  and  People.    They  pass  over  the 

Stage. 

First  Senator. 
Behold  our  patroness,  the  life  of  Rome! 


Act  v.  Sc.  v 


CORIOLANUS. 


765 


Call  all  your  tribes  together,  praise  the  gods. 
And  make  triumphant  fires ;  strew  Sowers  before 

them. 
Unshout  the  noiso  that  banlsh'd  Mareiut ; 
lli-l>..il  him  with  the  welcome  of  his  mother: 
Cry,— Welcome,  ladies,  welcome:  — 
All. 

Welcome,  ladies  1 

1  LOVf\  Flourish  with  Drums  and  Trumpets. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Antium.    A  public  P Lice. 

Enter  Tullus  Aufidius,  with  Attendants. 
Aufidlus. 
Go  tell  the  lords  of  the  city,  I  am  here. 
Deliver  them  this  paper:  having  read  it, 
Bid  them  repair  to  the  market-place;  where  1, 
Even  in  theirs'  and  in  the  commons'  ears, 
Will  vouch  the  truth  of  it.     Him  I  accuse, 
The  city  ports  by  this  hath  enter'd,  and 
Intends  V  appear  before  the  people,  hoping 
To  purge  himself  witli  words..    Despatch. 

r     °  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

Enter  three  or  four  Conspirators  of  Aiifidius' 
Faction. 
Most  welcome  1 

First  Conspirator. 
How  is  it  with  our  general? 
Aufidlus. 

Even  so, 
As  with  a  man  by  his  own  alms  empoison'd, 
And  with  his  charity  slain. 

Second  Conspirator. 

Most  noble  sir, 
If  you  do  hold  the  same  Intent,  wherein 
You  wish'd  tis  parties,  we'll  deliver  you 
Of  your  great  danger. 

AufMius. 

Sir,  I  cannot  tell: 
We  must  proceed,  as  we  do  find  the  people. 
Third  Conspirator. 
The  people  will  remain  uncertain,  whilst 
' Twixt  you  there's  difference;  but  the  fall  of 
Makes  the  survivor  heir  of  all.  [either 

Aufidlus. 

I  know  It ; 
And  my  pretext  to  strike  at  him  admits 
A  good  construction.     I  rais'd  him,  and  I  pawn'd 
Mine   honour    for   his    truth:    who  being    so 

heighten'd, 
He  water'd  his  new  plants  with  dews  of  flattery, 
Seducing  so  my  friends  ;  and  to  this  end, 
He  bow'd  his  nature,  never  known  before 
But  to  be  rough,  unswayable,  and  free. 
Third  Conspirator. 

Sir,  his  stoutness, 
When  he  did  stand  for  consul,  which  he  lost 
By  lack  of  stooping,— 

Aufidlus. 

That  I  would  have  spoke  of. 
Being  banish'd  for't,  he  came  unto  my  hearth  ; 
Presented  to  my  knife  his  throat :  I  took  him  ; 
Made  him  joint-servant  with  me ;    gave  him 

way 
In  all  his  own  desires ;  nay,  let  him  choose 
Out  of  my  files,  his  projects  to  accomplish, 
My  best  and  freshest  men;  serv'd  his  design* 

ments 
In  mine  own  person  ;  holp  to  reap  the  fame 
Which  he  did  end  all  his ;  and  took  some  pride 
To  do  myself  this  wrong :  till,  at  the  last, 


I  seem'd  his  follower,  not  partner ;  and 
He  waged  me  with  his  counteuance,  as  if 
I  had  been  mercenary. 

First  Conspirator. 

So  he  did,  my  lord ; 
The  army  marvell'd  at  it ;  and.  in  the  last, 
When  he  had  carried  Home,  and  that  we  look'd 
For  no  less  spoil,  than  glory,— 
Aufidlus. 

There  was  it ; 
For  which  my  sinews  shall  be  stretch'd  upon 

him. 
At  a  few  drops  of  women's  rheum,  which  are 
As  cheap  as  lies,  he  sold  the  blood  and  labour 
Of  our  great  action  :  therefore  shall  he  die, 
And  I'll  renew  me  in  his  fall.    But,  hark  ! 

[Drums  and  Trumpets  sound,  with  great 
Shouts  of  the  People. 

First  Conspirator. 
Your  native  town  you  enter'd  like  a  post, 
And  had  no  welcomes  home ;  but  he  returns, 
Splitting  the  air  with  noise. 

Second  Conspirator. 

And  patient  fools, 
Whose  children  he  hath  slain,  their  base  throats 
With  giving  him  glory.  [tear 

Third  Conspirator. 

Therefore,  at  your  vantage, 
Ere  he  express  himself,  or  move  the  people 
With  what  he  would  say,  let  him  feel  your 

sword, 
Which  we  will  second.    When  he  lies  along, 
After  your  way  his  tale  pronoune'd  shall  bury 
His  reasons  with  his  booy. 
Aufidius. 

Say  no  more. 
Here  come  the  lords. 

Enter  the  Lords  of  the  City. 
Lords. 
You  are  most  welcome  home. 
Aufidius. 

I  have  not  deserv'd  it. 
But,  worthy  lords,  have  you  with  heed  peius'd 
What  I  have  written  to  you  ? 
Lords. 

.    We  have. 
First  Lord. 

And  grieve  to  hear  it. 
What  faults  he  made  before  the  last,  I  think, 
Might  have  found  easy  fines  ;  but  there  to  end, 
Where  he  was  to  begin,  and  give  away 
The  benefit  of  our  levies,  answering  us 
!  With  our  own  charge,  making  a  treaty  where 
i  There  was  a  yielding ;  this  admits  no  excuse. 
Aufidius. 
He  approaches  :  you  shall  hear  him. 
j  Enter  Coriolanus,  with  Drums  and  Colours :  a 
Crowd  of  Citizens  with  him. 
Coriolanus. 
Hail,  lords  1     I  am  return'd  your  soldier ; 
No  more  infected  with  my  country's  love. 
Than  when  I  parted  hence,  but  still  subsisting 
Under  your  great  command.     You  are  to  know, 
That  prosperously  I  have  attempted,  and 
With  bloody  passage  led  your  wars,  even  to 
The  gates  ox  Rome.    Our  spoils  we  have  brought 

home, 
Do  more  than  counterpoise,  a  full  third  part, 
i  The  charges  of  the  action.   We  have  made  peace, 

I  With  no  less  honour  to  the  Antiates, 
Than  shame  to  the  Romans ;  and  we  here  deliver, 
Subscrib'd 


766 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


Subscrib'd  by  the  consuls  and  patricians, 
Together  with  the  seal  o'  the  senate,  what 
We  have  compounded  on. 

AuQdius. 

Read  it  not,  noble  lords  ; 
But  tell  the  traitor  in  the  highest  degree 
He  hath  abus'd  your  powers. 

Coriolanus. 
Traitor  !  -  How  now  I— 

Aufidius. 

Ay,  traitor,  Marcius. 
Coriolanus. 

Marcius ! 
Aufidius. 
Ay,   Marcius,   Caius    Marcivs.     Dost    thou 
think 
I'll  grace  thee  with  that  robbery,  thy  stol'n  name 
Coriolanus  in  Coriulit— 
You  lords  and  heads  of  the  state,  perfidiously 
He  has  betray'd  your  business,  and  given  up 
For  certain  drops  of  salt  vour  city,  Rome, 
I  say  your  city,  to  his  wife  and  mother ; 
Breaking  his  oath  and  resolution,  like 
A  twist  of  rotten  silk ;  never  admitting 
Counsel  o'  the  war,  but  at  his  nurse's  tears 
He  whin'd  and  roar'd  away  your  victory, 
That  pages  blush'd  at  him,  and  men  of  heart 
Look'd  wondering  each  at  other. 

Coriolanus. 

Hear'st  thou,  Mars  f 
Aufidius. 
Name  not  the  god,  thou  boy  of  tears. 
Coriolanus. 

Ha! 
Aufidius. 
No  more. 

Coriolanus. 

Measureless  liar,  thou  hast  made  my  heart 

Too  great   for  what   contains   it.     Boy  1     O 

slave!  — 
Pardon  me,  lords,  'tis  the  first  time  that  ever 
I  was  fore'd  to  scold.   Your  j  udgments,  my  grave 

lords, 
Must  give  this  cur  the  lie  •  and  his  own  notion 
(Who  wears  my  stripes  lmpress'd  upon  him, 

that 
Must  bear  my  beating  to  his  grave)  shall  join 
To  thrust  the  lie  unto  him. 

First  Lord. 
Peace  both,  and  hear  me  speak. 
Coriolanus. 
Cut  me  to  pieces,  Volsces ;  men  and  lads, 
Stain  all  your  edges  on  me. — Boy  I  False  hound  ! 
If  you  have  writ  your  annals  true,  'tis  there, 
That  like  an  eagle  in  a  dove-cote,  I 
Flutter'd  your  Volscians  in  Corioli : 

Alone  I  did  it Boy! 

Aufidius. 

Why,  noble  lords, 
Will  you  be  put  in  mind  of  his  blind  fortune, 
Which  was  your  shame,  by  this  unholy  braggart, 
'Fore  your  own  eyes  and  ears  ? 
All  Conspirators. 
Let  him  die  for-t. 


my 
Mm 


All  People. 
Tear  him  to  pieces ;  do  it  presently.   He  killed 
son  ;— my  daughter :— he  killed  my  cousin 

arcus :  — he  killed  my  father 

Second  Lord. 
Peace,  ho  ! — no  outrage :— peace ! 
The  man  is  noble,  and  his  fame  folds  in 
This  orb  o'  the  earth.    His  last  offences  to  us 
Shall  have  judicious  hearing. —  Stand,  Aufidius, 
And  trouble  not  the  peace. 

Coriolanus. 

O  !  that  I  had  him, 
With  six  Aufidiuses,  or  more,  his  tribe, 
To  use  my  lawful  sword  1 

Aufidius. 

Insolent  villain  ! 
All  Conspirators. 
Kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill  him! 
[Aufidius  and  the  Conspirators  draw,  and 
kill  Cor iolanus,  who  Tails  :  Aufidius  stands 
on  him. 

Lords. 

Hold,  hold,  hold,  hold  1 
Aufidius. 
My  noble  masters,  hear  me  speak. 
First  Lord. 

O  Tullus!  — 
Second  Lord. 
Thou  hast  done  a  deed  whereat  valour  will 
weep. 

Third  Lord. 
Tread    not    upon    him. —  Masters    all,    be 

Put  up  your  swords.  [quiet 

Aufidius. 
My  lords,  when  you  shall  know  (as  in  this 
rage, 
Provok'd  by  him,  you  cannot)  the  great  danger 
Which  this  man's  life  did  owe  you,  you'll  re- 
joice 
That  he  is  thus  cut  off.    Please  it  your  honours 
To  call  me  to  your  senate,  I'll  deliver 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  or  endure 
Your  heaviest  censure. 

First  Lord. 

Bear  from  hence  his  body, 
And  mourn  you  for  him.    Let  him  be  regarded, 
As  the  most  noble  corse  that  ever  herald 
Did  follow  to  his  urn. 

Second  Lord. 

His  own  impatience 
Takes  from  Aufidius  a  great  part  of  blame. 
Let's  make  the  best  of  it. 

Aufidius. 

My  rage  is  gone, 

And  I  am  struck  with   sorrow Take   him 

up :  —  [one.  — 

Help,  three  o'  the  chiefest  soldiers  ;     I'll  be 
Beat  thou  the  drum,  that  it  speak  mournfully  ; 
Trail  your  steel  pikes — Though  in  this  city  he 
Hath  widow'd  and  unchilded  many  a  one, 
Which  to  this  hour  bewail  the  injury, 
Yet  he  shall  have  a  noble  memory.  — 
Assist. 

[Exeunt,  bearing  the  Body  of  Coriolanus. 
A  dead  March  sounded. 


Act  i.  Sc.  I. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


767 


TITUS  ANDEONICUS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


SATURNINUS,  S.m  to  the  late  Emperor  of 

Rome,  and  afterwards  declared  Emperor. 
Bassianus,  Brother  to  Saturninus  ;  in  love  with 

Laviuia. 
Titus    Andronicus,   a  noble  Roman,    General 

against  the  Goths. 
Marcus  Andronicus,  Tribune  of  the  People  ;  and 

Brother  to  Titus. 
Lucius,   \ 

Marti"",'  ( Sont  t0  TitU8  Andronicus. 
Mutius.   J 

Young  Lucius,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Lucius. 
Publius,  Son  to  Marcus  the  Tribune. 


COXES 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Rome.    Before  the  Capitol. 

j  The  Tomb  of  the  Andronici  appearing;  the 

Tribunes  and  Senators  aloft,  as  in  the  Senate. 

r,  below,  Saturninus  and  his  Followers, 

on  one  side ;  and  Bassianus  and  his  Followers, 

on  the  other ;  with  Drum  and  Colours. 

Saturninus. 

NOBLE  patricians,  patrons  of  my  right, 
Defend  the  justice  of  my  cause  with  arms  ; 
And,  countrymen,  my  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  honours  live  in  me, 
Nor  wrong  mine  age  with  this  indignity. 

Romans,  —  friends,  followers,  favourers  of  my 
If  ever  Bassianus,  Ceesar's  son,  [right, 

Were  gracious  in  the  eyes  of  royal  Rome, 
Keep  then  this  passage  to  the  Capitol; 
And  suffer  not  dishonour  to  approach 
Th'  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. 

i     •>  .  .  .    Marcus. 

Princes,  that  strive  by  factions,  and  by  friends, 


JEmilius,  a  noble  Roman. 

Alarbus,      "1 

Demetrius,  >  Sons  to  Tamora. 

Chiron,       J 

Aaron,  a  Moor,  beloved  bu  Tamora. 

A   Captain,  Tribune,   Messenger,  and  Clown ; 

Romans. 
Goths  and  Romans. 
Tamora,  Queen  of  the  Goths. 
Lavinia,  daughter  to  Titus  Andronicus. 
A  Nurse,  and  a  black  Child. 
Kinsmen  of  Titus,  Senators,  Tribunes,  Officers, 
Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 
SCENE,  Rome;  and  the  Country  near  it. 


S3X8HH2 


Ambitiously  for  rule  and  empery, 

Know,  that  the  people  of  Rome,  for  whom  we 

A  special  party,  have  by  common  voice     [stand 

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  yok'd  a  nation  strong,  train'd  up  in  arms. 

Ten  years  are  spent  since  first  he  undertook 

This  cause  of  Rome,  and  chastised  with  arms 

Our  enemies'  pride:  five  times  he  hath   re- 

turn'd 
Bleeding  to  Rome,  bearing  his  valiant  sons 
In  coffins  from  the  field  ; 
And  now  at  last,  laden  with  honour's  spoils, 
Returns  the  good  Andronicus  to  Rome, 
Renowned  Titus,  flourishing  in  arms. 
Let  us  entreat,—  by  honour  of  his  name, 
Whom  worthily  you  would  have  now  succeed, 
And  in  the  Capitol  and  senate's  right, 

Whom  you  pretend  to  honour  and  adore, 

That  you  withdraw  you,  and  abate  your  strength: 
Dismiss  your  followers,  and,  as  suitors  should, 
Plead  your  deserts  in  peace  and  humbleness. 
Saturninus. 

How  fair  the  tribune  speaks  to  calm   my 
thoughts. 

_.  -;ianus. 

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


iG% 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


And  so  1  love  and  honour  thee  and  thine, 
Thy  noble  brother  Titus,  and  his  sons, 
Ana  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  favour, 
Commit  my  cause  in  balance  to  be  weigh 'd. 

[Exeunt  the  Followers  of  Bassianus. 

Saturninus. 
Friends,  that  have  been  thus  forward  m  my 
I  thank  you  all,  and  here  dismiss  you  all;  [right 
And  to  the  love  and  favour  of  my  country 
Commit  myself,  my  person,  and  the  cause. 

[E\eunt  the  Folloicers  of  Saturninus. 
Rome,  be  as  just  and  gracious  unto  me, 
As  I  am  confident  and  kind  to  thee. — 
Open  the  gates,  and  let  me  in. 

Bassianus. 
Tribunes,  and  me,  a  poor  competitor. 
[Saturninus  and  Bassianus  go  into  the  Ca- 
pitol, and  exeunt  with  Senators,  Marcus, 
&c. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 
Enter  a  Captain,  and  others. 

Romans,  make  way  1    The  good  Andronicus, 
Patron  of  virtue,  Rome's  best  champion, 
Successful  in  the  battles  that  he  fights, 
With  honour,  and  with  fortune,  is  return'd, 
From  where  he  circumscribed  with  his  sword, 
And  brought  to  yoke,  the  enemies  of  Rome. 

Sound  Drums  and  Trumpets,  &c.  Enter  Martius 
and  Mutius:  after  them,  two  Men  bearing  a 
Coffin  covered  with  black;  then  Lucius  and 
Quintus.  After  them,  Titus  Andronicus;  and 
then  Tamora,  with  Alarbus,  Chiron,  Deme- 
trius, Aaron,  and  other  Goths,  prisoners;  Sol- 
diers and  People,  following.  The  Bearers  set 
down  the  Coffin,  and  Titus  speaks. 

Titus. 
Hail,  Rome,  victorious  in  thy  mourning  weeds  1  j 
Lo !  as  the  bark  tnat  hath  discharg'd  her  fraught  | 
Returns  with  precious  lading  to  the  bay, 
From  whence  at  first  she  weigh'd  her  anchorage, 
Cometh  Andronicus,  bound  with  laurel  boughs,  • 
To  re-salute  his  country  with  his  tears ; 
Tears  of  true  joy  for  his  return  to  Rome. 
Thou  great  defender  of  this  Capitol, 
Stand  gracious  to  the  rites  that  we  intend  ! 
Romans,  of  five-and-twenty  valiant  sons, 
Half  of  the  number  that  king  Priam  had. 
Behold  the  poor  remains,  alive,  and  dead ! 
These  that  survive  let  Rome  reward  with  love; 
These  that  I  bring  unto  their  latest  home, 
With  burial  amongst  their  ancestors  :      [sword. 
Here  Goths  have  given  me  leave  to  sheath  my 
Titus,  unkind,  and  careless  of  thine  own, 
Why  suffer'st  thou  thy  sons,  unburied  yet, 
To  hover  on  the  dreadful  shore  of  Styx  ? — 
Make  way  to  lay  them  by  their  brethren. 

[The  Tomb  Is  opened. 
There  greet  in  silence,  as  the  dead  are  wont, 
And  sleep  in  peace,  slain  in  your  country's  wars ! 
O  sacred  receptacle  of  my  joys, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility, 
How  many  sons  hast  thou  of  mine  in  store, 
That  thou  wilt  never  render  to  me  more? 
Lucius. 
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  unappeas'd, 
Nor  we  disturb'd  with  prodigies  on  earth. 
Titus. 
I  give  him  you ;  the  noblest  that  survives, 
The  eldest  son  of  this  distressed  queen. 
Tamora. 

Stay,  Roman  brethren !—  Gracious  conqueror, 
Victorious  Titus,  rue  the  tears  I  shed, 
A  mother's  tears  in  passion  for  her  son  : 
And,  if  thy  sons  were  ever  dear  to  thee, 
O !  think  my  son  to  be  as  dear  to  me. 
Sufficeth  not,  that  we  are  brought  to  Rome, 
To  beautify  thy  triumphs,  and  return, 
Captive  to  thee,  and  to  thy  Roman  yoke ; 
But  must  my  sons  be  slaughter'd  in  the  streets, 
For  valiant  doings  in  their  country's  cause? 
O !  if  to  fight  for  king  and  common  weal. 
Were  piety  in  thine,  it  is  in  these. 
Andronicus,  stain  not  thy  tomb  with  blood. 
Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  the  gods  ? 
Draw  near  them,  then,  in  being  merciful : 
Sweet  mercy  is  nobility's  true  badge. 
Thrice-noble  Titus,  spare  my  first-born  son. 
Titus. 
Patient  yourself,  madam,  and  pardon  me. 
These  are  their  brethren,  whom  you  Goths  be- 
held 
Alive,  and  dead;  and  for  their  brethren  slain. 
Religiously  they  ask  a  sacrifice : 
To  this  your  son  is  mark'd ;  and  die  he  must, 
T*  appease  their  groaning  shadows  that  are  gone. 
Lucius. 
Away,  with  him !  and  make  a  fire  straight ; 
And  with  our  swords,  upon  a  pile  of  wood, 
Let's  hew  his  limbs,  till  they  be  clean  consum'd. 
[Exeunt   Lucius,    Quintus,    Martins,  and 
Mutius.  with  Alarbus. 
Tamora. 
O  cruel,  irreligious  piety ! 
Chiron. 
Was  ever  Scythia  half  so  barbarous  ? 

Demetrius. 
Oppose  not  Scythia  to  ambitious  Rome. 
Alarbus  goes  to  rest ;  and  we  survive 
To  tremble  under  Titus'  threatening  look. 
Then,  madam,  stand  resolv'd;  but  hope  withal, 
The  self-same  gods,  that  arm'd  the  queen  of  Troy 
With  opportunity  of  sharp  revenge 
Upon  the  Thracian  tyrant  in  his  tent, 
May  favour  Tamora,  the  queen  of  Goths, 
(Wnen   Goths  were  Goths,  and  Tamora  was 

queen) 
To  quit  the  bloody  wrongs  upon  her  foes. 

Re-enter  Lucius,  Quintus,  Martius,  and  Mutiu 
with  their  Swords  bloody. 
Lucius. 
See,  lord  and  father,  how  we  have  perform'd 
Our  Roman  rites.    Alarbus'  limbs  are  lopp'd, 
And  entrails  feed  the  sacrificing  tire, 
Whose  smoke  like  incense  doth  perfume  the  sky. 
Remaineth  nought,  but  to  inter  our  brethren, 
And  with  loud  'larums  welcome  them  to  Rome. 
Titus. 
Let  it  be  so ;  and  let  Andronicus 
Make  this  his  latest  farewell  to  their  souls. 
[Trumpets  sounded,  and  the  Coffins  laid  in 
the  Tomb. 
In  peace  and  honour  rest  you  here,  my  sons ; 
Rome's  readiest  champions,  repose  you  here  in 
Secure  from  worldly  chances  and  mishaps  !  [rest, 
Here  lurks  no  treason,  here  no  envy  swells, 
Here  grow  no  damned  grudges;  here  are  no 
storms, 

No 


Acr  i.  Sc.  ii. 


TITUS  ANDKOXICUS. 


769 


Ku  uuise,  but  silence  and  eternal  sleep. 

In  peace  and  honour  rest  you  here,  my  sons ! 

In  peace  and  honour  lire  lord  Titus  long; 
My  noble  lord  and  Cither,  live  in  lame. 
Lo  1  at  this  tomb  my  tributary  tears 
1  render,  lor  my  brethren's  obsequies : 
And  at  thy  feet  1  kneel,  with  tears  of  Joy 
Shed  on  the  earth  for  thy  return  to  Rome : 
O !  bless  me  here  with  thy  victorious  hand. 
Whose  fortunes  Route'*  best  citizens  applaud. 
Titus. 
Kind  Rome,  that  hast  thus  lovingly  rcserv'd 
The  cordial  of  mine  age  to  glad  my  heart  1— 
Lavinia,  live;  outlive  thy  father's  days, 
And  fame's  eternal  date,  for  virtue's  praise ! 
(inter  Marcus  Andronicus,  Saturninus,  Bat' 
sianus,  and  other*. 
M.ircus. 
Long  live  lord  Titus,  my  beloved  brother. 
Gracious  triumpher  in  the  eyes  of  Rome! 
Titus. 
Thanks,  gentle  tribune,  noble  brother  Marcus. 

Marcus. 
And  welcome,  nephews,  from  successful  wars, 
You  that  survive,  and  you  that  sleep  in  fame. 
Fair  lords,  your  fortunes  are  alike  in  all, 
That  in  your  country's  service  drew  your  swords ; 
But  safer  triumph  is  this  funeral  pomp, 
That  hath  aspir'd  to  Solon's  happiness, 

And  triumphs  over  chance  in  honour's  bed 

Titus  Andronicus,  the  people  of  Rome, 
Whose  friend  in  justice  thou  hast  ever  been, 
Send  thee  by  me,  their  tribune  and  their  trust, 
This  palliament  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. 
Titus. 
A  better  head  her  glorious  bodv  fits, 
Than  his,  that  shakes  for  age  and"  feebleness: 
What !  should  I  don  this  robe,  and  trouble  you? 
Be  chosen  with  proclamations  to-day; 
To-morrow,  yield  up  rule,  resign  my  life, 
And  set  abroad  new  business  for  you  all  ?— 
Rome.  1  have  been  thy  soldier  forty  years, 
And  led  my  country's  strength  successfully, 
And  buried  one  and  twenty  valiant  sons, 
Knighted  in  field,  slain  manfully  in  arms, 
In  right  and  service  of  their  noble  country. 
Give  me  a  staff  of  honour  for  mine  age, 
But  not  a  sceptre  to  control  the  world  : 
Upright  he  held  it,  lords,  that  held  it  last. 
Marcus. 
Titus,  thou  shalt  obtain  and  ask  the  empery. 

Saturninui. 
Proud    and    ambitious   tribune,   canst    thou 
tell  ?— 

Titui. 
Patience,  prince  Saturninui. 
Saturninus. 

Romans,  do  me  right.— 
Patricians,  draw  your  swords,  and  sheath  them 
Till  Saturninus  be  Rome's  emperor. —         [not 
Andronicus,  would  thou  wert  shipp'd  to  hell, 
Rather  than  rob  me  of  the  people's  hearts. 
Lucius. 
Proud  Saturnine,  interrupter  of  the  good 
That  noble-minded  Titus  means  to  thee  ! 
Titus. 
Content  thee,  prince :  I  will  restore  to  thee 


The  people's  hearts,  and  wean  them  from  them, 
selves.  _ 

Bassunus. 
Andronicus,  1  do  not  flatter  thee. 
But  honour  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  honourable  meed. 
Titus. 
People  of  Rome,  and  people's  tribunes  here, 
1  ask  your  voices,  and  your  suffrages : 
Will  you  bestow  them  friendly  on  Andronicus? 
Tribune. 
To  gratify  the  good  Andronicus, 
And  gratulate  his  safe  return  to  Rome, 
The  people  will  accept  whom  he  admits. 
Titus. 
Tribunes,  I  thank  you ;  and  this  suit  I  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  common-weal : 
Then,  if  you  will  elect  by  my  advice,        [ror ! " 
Crown  him,  and  say,—"  Long  live  our  empe- 
Marcus. 
With  voices  and  applause  of  every  sort, 
Patricians,  and  plebeians,  we  create 
Lord  Saturninus,  Rome's  great  emperor, 
And  say,—"  Long  live  our  Emperor  Saturnine!" 
[A  long  flourish. 
Saturninus. 
Titus  Andronicus,  for  thy  favours  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  honourable  family, 
Lavinia  will  I  make  my  empress, 
Home's  royal  mistress,  mistress  of  my  heart, 
And  in  the  sacred  Pantheon  her  espouse. 
Tell  me,  Andronicus,  doth  this  motion  please 
thee  ? 

Titus. 
It  doth,  my  worthy  lord;  and  in  this  match 
I  hold  me  highly  honour 'd  of  your  grace : 
And  here,  in  sight  of  Rome,  to  Saturnine- 
King  and  commander  of  our  common-weal, 
The  wide  world's  emperor, — do  I  consecrate 
My  sword,  my  chariot,  and  my  prisoners ; 
'Presents  well  worthy  Rome's  imperial  lord: 
1  Receive  them,  then,  the  tribute  that  I  owe, 
Mine  honour's  ensigns  humbled  at  thy  feet. 
I  Saturninus. 

Thanks,  noble  Titus,  father  of  my  life  1 
I  How  proud  I  am  of  thee,  and  of  thy  gifts, 
\Rome  shall  record;  and,  when  I  do  forget 
I  The  least  of  these  unspeakable  deserts, 
1  Romans,  forget  your  fealty  to  me. 
I  Titus. 

Now,  madam,  are  you  prisoner  to  an  emperor ; 
fTo  Tamora. 
To  him.  that  for  your  honour  and  your  state, 
W  ill  use  you  nobly,  and  your  followers. 
Saturninus. 
A  goodly  lady,  trust  me;  of  the  hue 

That  1  would  choose,  were  I  to  choose  anew 

Clear  up,  fair  queen,  that  cloudy  countenance : 
I  Though  chance  of  war  hath  wrought  this  change 

of  cheer, 
jThou  com'st  not  to  be  made  a  scorn  in  Rome: 
Princely  shall  be  thy  usage  every  way. 
,  Kest  on  my  word,  and  let  not  discontent 
Daunt  all  your  hopes  :  madam,  he  comforts  you, 

Can  make  you  greater  than  the  queen  of  Goths 

Lavinia,  you  are  not  displeas'd  with  this  ? 

3  0  lavinia. 


770 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


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

Bassianus. 

Lord  Titus,  by  your  leave,  this  maid  is  mine. 

[Seizing  Lavinia. 

Titus. 

How,  sir  ?  Are  you  in  earnest,  then,  my  lord  ? 

Bassianus. 
Ay,  noble  Titus;  and  resolv'd  withal, 
To  do  myself  this  reason  and  this  right. 

[The  Emperor  courts  Tamora  in  dumb  show. 

Marcus. 
Suum  cuique  is  our  Roman  justice : 
This  prince  in  justice  seizeth  but  his  own. 
Lucius. 
And  that  he  will,  and  shall,  if  Lucius  live. 

Titus. 
Traitors,  avaunt!     Where  is  the  emperor's 
guard  ? 
Treason,  my  lord  I    Lavinia  is  surpriz'd. 
Saturninus. 
Surpriz'd!    By  whom? 

Bassianus. 

By  him  that  justly  may 
Bear  his  betroth'd  from  all  the  world  away. 
[Exeunt  Marcus  and  Bassianus,  with  La- 
vinia. 

Mutius. 
Brothers,  help  to  convey  her  hence  away, 
And  with  my  sword  I'll  keep  this  door  safe. 

[Exeunt  Lucius,  Quintus,  and  Marttus. 
Titus. 
Follow,  my  lord,  and  I'll  soon  bring  her  back. 

Mutius. 
My  lord,  you  pass  not  here. 
Titus. 

What,  villain  boy  1 

Barr'st  me  my  way  in  Rome? 

{Titus  kills  Mutius 

Mutius. 

Help,  Lucius,  help  1 

Re-enter  Lucius. 
Lucius. 
My  lord,  you  are  unjust ;  and,  more  than  so, 
In  wrongful  quarrel  you  have  slain  your  son. 
Titus. 
Nor  thou,  nor  he,  are  any  sons  of  mine : 
My  sons  would  never  so  dishonour  me. 
Traitor,  restore  Lavinia  to  the  emperor. 
Lucius. 
Dead,  if  you  will ;  but  not  to  be  his  wife 
hat  is  another's  lawful  promis'd  love.     [  Rxit . 

Saturninus. 
No,  Titus,  no ;  the  emperor  needs  her  not, 
Nor  her,  nor  thee,  nor  any  of  thy  stock : 
I'll  trust,  by  leisure,  him  that  mocks  me  once; 
Thee  never,  nor  thy  traitorous  haughty  sons, 
Confederates  all  thus  to  dishonour  me. 
Was  there  none  else  in  Rome  to  make  a  stale, 
But  Saturnine  f    Full  well,  Andronicus, 
Agree  these  deeds  with  that  proud  brag  of  thine, 
That  saidst,  I  begg'd  the  empire  at  thy  hands. 
Titus. 
O  monstrous  1  what  reproachful  words  are 
these? 


That 


Saturninus. 
i     But  go  thy  ways ;  go,  give  that  changing  piece 
i  To  him  that  flourish'd  for  her  with  his  sword. 
I  A  valiant  son-in-law  thou  shalt  enjoy; 
:  One  fit  to  bandy  with  thy  lawless  sons, 
|  To  ruffle  in  the  commonwealth  of  Rome. 
Titus. 
These  words  are  razors  to  my  wounded  heart. 

Saturninus. 

And  therefore,  lovely  Tamora,  queen  of  Goths, 

That,   like    the    stately   Phoebe    'mongst   her 

nymphs, 
Dost  overshine  the  gallant'st  dames  of  Rome, 
If  thou  be  pleas'd  with  this  my  sudden  choice, 
Behold,  I  choose  thee,  Tamora,  for  my  bride, 
And  will  create  thee  empress  of  Rome. 
Speak,  queen  of  Goths,  dost  thou  applaud  my 

choice  ? 
And  here  I  swear  by  all  the  Roman  gods,— 
Sith  priest  and  holy  water  are  so  near. 
And  tapers  burn  so  bright,  and  every  thing 
j  In  readiness  for  Hymetueus  stand,  — 
1  will  not  re-salute  the  streets  of  Rome, 
Or  climb  my  palace,  till  from  forth  this  place 
1  lead  espous'd  my  bride  along  with  me. 
TamoM. 
And  here,  in  sight  of  heaven,  to  Rome  I  swear, 
If  Saturnine  advance  the  queen  of  Goths, 
She  will  a  handmaid  be  to  his  desires, 
A  loving  nurse,  a  mother  to  his  youth. 
Saturninus. 
Ascend,  fair  queen,  Pantheon Lords,  ac- 
company 
Your  noble  emperor,  and  his  lovely  bride, 
Sent  by  the  heavens  for  prince  Saturnine, 
Whose  wisdom  hath  her  fortune  conquered  : 
There  shall  we  consummate  our  spousal  rites. 
[Exeunt  Saturninus   and   his   Followers; 
Tamora,  and  her  Sons;  Aaron  and  GotKs. 
Titus. 
I  am  not  bid  to  wait  upon  this  bride. 
Titus,  when  wert  thou  wont  to  walk  alone, 
Dishonour'd  thus,  and  challenged  of  wrongs  ? 

Re-enter  Marcus,  Lucius,  Quintus,  and 
Martius- 
Marcus. 
O,  Titus,  see,  O,  see  what  thou  hast  done ! 
In  a  bad  quarrel  slain  a  virtuous  son. 
Titus. 
No,  foolish  tribune,  no  ;  no  son  of  mine, 
Nor  thou,  nor  these,  confederates  in  the  deed 
That  hath  dishonour'd  all  our  family  : 
Unworthy  brother,  and  unworthy  sons  ! 
Lucius. 
But  let  us  give  him  burial,  as  becomes : 
Give  Mutius  burial  with  our  brethren. 
Titus. 
Traitors,  away  1  he  rests  not  in  this  tomb. 
This  monument  five  hundred  years  hath  stood, 
Which  I  have  sumptuously  re-edified : 
Here  none  but  soldiers,  and  Rome's  servitors, 
Repose  in  fame ;  none  basely  slain  in  brawls. 
Bury  him  where  you  can,  he  comes  not  here. 
Marcus. 
My  lord,  this  is  impiety  in  you. 
My  nephew  Mutius'  deeds  do  plead  for  him  : 
He  must  be  buried  with  his  brethren. 
Quintus  and  Martius. 
And  shall,  or  him  we  will  accompany. 

Titus. 
And  shall !    What  villain  was  it  spoke  that 
word? 

Quintus. 
He  that  would  vouch  it  in  any  place  but  here. 
Titus. 


ACT1.   Sr.  II. 


Till  S  ANDRONICUS. 


771 


litUS. 

What !  would  you  bury  him  in  my  despite  ? 

No,  noble  Tihu  ;  but  entreat  of  thee 
To  pardon  Mutius,  and  to  bury  him. 

Marcus,  even  thou  hast  struck  upon  my  crest. 
And.  with  these  boys,  mine  honour  thou  hast 
My  foes  I  do  repute  you  every  one;  [wounded  : 
So,  trouble  me  no  more,  but  get  you  gone. 

lius. 
He  is  not  with  himself:  let  us  withdraw. 

Quintui. 
Not  I,  till  Mutius^bonet  be  buried. 

[Marcus  and  the  Sons  of  Titus  kneel. 
'  Marcus. 

Brother,  for  in  that  name  doth  nature  plead. 

Quintus. 
Father,  and  in  that  name  doth  nature  speak. 

Titus. 
Speak  thou  no  more,  if  all  the  rest  will  speed. 

ItllCUS. 

Renowned  Titus,  more  than  half  my  soul,— 

Lucius. 
Dear  father,  soul  and  substance  of  us  all, — 

Marcus. 

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

Titus. 

Rise,  Marcus,  rise 

The  dismall'st  day  is  this,  that  e'er  I  saw, 
To  be  dishonour 'd  by  my  sons  in  Rome  I— 
Well,  bury  him,  and  "bury  me  the  next. 

[Mutius  is  put  into  the  Tomb. 
Lucius- 
There  lie  thy  bones,  sweet  Mutius,  with  thy 
friends,  1 

Till  we  with  trophies  do  adorn  thy  tomb ! 

No  man  shed  tears  for  noble  Mutius; 
He  lives  in  fame  that  died  in  virtue's  cause. 

„   .     .  Marcus. 

My  lord,— to  step  out  of  these  dreary  dumps,—  | 
How  comes  it  that  the  subtle  queen  of  Goths 
Is  of  a  sudden  thus  advane'd  in  Rome? 

Titus. 
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,  at  one  side,  Saturninus, 
attended;  Tamora,  Demetrius,  Chiron,  and 
Aaron :  at  the  other  side,  Bassianus,  Lavinia, 
and  others. 

_     _  Saturninus. 

So  Bassianus,  you  have  play'd  your  prize : 

God  give  you  joy,  sir,  of  your  gallant  bride. 

And  you  of  yours,  my  lord.    I  say  no  more, 
Nor  wish  no  less ;  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 


Traitor,  if  Rome  have  law,  or  we  have  power, 
Thou  and  thy  faction  shall  repent  this  rape. 


Bassianus. 
Rape,  call  you  it,  my  lord,  to  seize  my  own, 
My  true-betrothed  love,  and  now  my  wife  ? 
But  let  the  laws  of  Rome  determine  all ; 
Mean  while,  1  am  possess'd  of  that  is  mine. 
Saturninus. 
'Tis  good,  sir :  you  are  very  short  with  us ; 
But,  if  we  live,  we'll  be  as  sharp  with  you. 
nassianus. 
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, 
I  Is  in  opinion,  and  in  honour,  wrong'd; 
I  That  in  the  rescue  of  Lavinia 
I  With  his  own  hand  did  slay  his  youngest  son, 
1  In  seal  to  you,  and  highly  mov'd  to  wrath, 
;  To  be  controll'd  in  that  he  frankly  gave. 
I  Receive  him,  then,  to  favour,  Saturnine, 
,  That  hath  express'd  himself,  in  all  his  deeds, 
;  A  father,  and  a  friend,  to  thee,  and  Rome. 
Titus. 
Prince  Bassianus,  leave  to  plead  my  deeds : 
*Tis  thou,  and  those,  that  have  dishonour'd  me. 
Rome  and  the  righteous  heavens  be  my  judge, 
How  I  have  lov'd  and  honour'd  Saturnine. 

Tamora. 

My  worthy  lord,  if  ever  Tamora 
1  Were  gracious  in  those  princely  eyes  of  thine, 
Then  hear  me  speak  indifferently  tor  all ; 
And  at  my  suit,  sweet,  pardon  what  is  past. 
1  Saturninus. 

What,  madam  !  be  dishonour'd  openly, 
And  basely  put  it  up  without  revenge  ? 
Tamora. 

Not  so,  my  lord  :  the  gods  of  Rome  forefend, 
I  should  be  author  to  dishonour  you  I 
But,  on  mine  honour,  dare  I  undertake 
For  good  lord  Titus'  innocence  in  all, 
Whose  fury,  not  dissembled,  speaks  his  griefs. 
Then,  at  my  suit  look  graciously  on  him ; 
Lose  not  so  noble  a  friend  on  vain  suppose, 
Nor  with  sour  looks  afflict  his  gentle  heart.— 
[  Asido  to  Saturninus..  My  lord,  be  rul'd  by  me, 

be  won  at  last ; 
Dissemble  all  your  griefs  and  discontents  : 
You  are  but  newly  planted  in  your  throne; 
Lest,  then,  the  people,  and  patricians  too, 
Upon  a  just  survey,  take  Titus'  part, 
And  so  supplant  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. 
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 

L 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. 
Saturninus. 

Rise,  Titus,  rise:  my  empress  hath  prevail'd. 
Titus. 

I  thank  your  majesty,  and  her,  my  lord. 
These  words,  these  looks,  infuse  new  life  in  me. 

Tamora. 
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  honour,  good  my  lord, 

That 


772 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  i.  Sc  ii. 


That  I  have  reconoil'd  your  friends  and  you — 
For  you,  prince  Rassiauus,  1  have  pass'd 
My  word  and  promise  to  the  emperor, 
That  you  will  be  more  mild  and  tractable — 
And  fear  not,  lords,  —and  you,  Lavinia — 
By  my  advice,  all  humbled  on  your  knees, 
You  shall  ask  pardon  of  his  majesty. 
Lucius. 
We  do ;  and  vow  to  heaven,  and  to  his  highnecs, 
That  what  we  did  was  mildly,  as  we  might, 
Tendering  our  sister's  honour,  and  our  own. 
Marcus. 
That  on  mine  honour  here  I  do  protest. 

Saturninus. 
Away,  and  talk  not ;  trouble  us  no  more — 

Tamora. 
Nay,  nay,  sweet  emperor,  we   must  all  be 
friends. 
The  tribune  and  his  nephews  kneel  for  grace: 
I  will  not  be  denied.    Sweet  heart,  look  back. 
Saturninus. 
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, 
1  found  a  friend ;  and  sure  as  death  I  swore, 
1  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, 
Titus. 
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. 

Saturninus. 
Be  it  so,  Titus,  and  gramercy  too. 

[Trumpets.    Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  l.    The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Aaron. 

Aaron. 

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

Upon  her  wit  doth  earthly  honour  wait. 
And  virtue  stoops  and  trembles  at  her  frown. 
Then,  Aaron,  arm  thy  heart,  and  fit  thy  thoughts, 
To  mount  aloft  with  thy  imperial  mistress  ; 
And  mount  her  pitch,  whom  thou  in  triumph  long 
Hast  prisoner  held,  fetter'd  in  amorous  chains, 
And  faster  bound  to  Aaron's  charming  eyes, 
Than  is  Prometheus  tied  to  Caucasus. 
Away  with  slavish  weeds,  and  servile  thoughts ! 
1  will  be  bright,  and  shine  in  pearl  and  gold, 
To  wait  upon  this  new-made  empress. 
To  wait,  said  1  ?  to  wanton  with  this  queen, 
This  goddess,  this  Semiramis,  this  nymph, 
This  syren,  that  will  charm  Rome's  Saturnine, 
And  see  his  shipwreck,  and  his  commonweal's 
Holloa  I  what  storm  is  this  ? 


Enter  Demetrius  and  Chiron,  braving. 
Demetrius. 
Chiron,  thy  years  want  wit,  thy  wit  wants  edge 
And  manners,  to  intrude  where  I  am  grac'd, 
And  may,  for  aught  thou  know'st,  affected  be. 
Chiron. 
Demetrius,  thou  dost  over-ween  in  all, 
And  so  in  this,  to  bear  me  down  with  braves. 
'Tis  not  the  difference  of  a  year,  or  two, 
Makes  me  less  gracious,  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. 
Aaron. 
Clubs,  clubs!  these  lovers  will  not  keep  the 
peace. 

Demetrius. 
Why,  boy,  although  our  mother,  unadvis'd, 
Gave  you  a  dancing-rapier  by  your  side, 
Are  you  so  desperate  grown,  to  threat  your 

friends  ? 
Go  to ;  have  your  lath  glued  within  your  sheath, 
Till  you  know  better  how  to  handle  it. 
Chiron. 
Mean  while,  sir,  with  the  little  skill  I  have, 
Full  well  shalt  thou  perceive  how  much  1  dare. 
Demetrius. 
Ay,  boy ;  grow  ye  so  brave?  [They  draw. 

Aaron. 

Why,  how  now,  lords  1 
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  concerns ; 
Nor  would  your  noble  mother  for  much  more 
Be  so  dishonour'd  in  the  court  of  Rome. 
For  shame !  put  up. 

Demetrius. 
Not  I ;  till  I  have  sheath'd 
My  rapier  in  his  bosom,  and,  withal,       [throat, 
Thrust   those  reproachful   speeches  down  his 
That  he  hath  breath'd  in  my  dishonour  here. 
Chiron. 
For  that  I  am  prepar'd  and  full  resolv'd, 
Foul-spoken  coward,  that  thunder'st  with  thy 

tongue, 
And  with  thy  weapon  nothing  dar'st  perform. 
Aaron. 
Away,  I  say ! 
Now  by  the  gods  that  warlike  Goths  adore, 
This  petty  brabble  will  undo  us  all. — 
Why,  lords, — and  think  you  not  how  dangerous 
It  is  to  jet  upon  a  prince's  right? 
What  1  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  1  — an  should  the  empress 
know  [please. 

This  discord's  ground,  the  music  would  not 
Chiron. 
I  care  not,  1,  knew  she  and  all  the  world: 
I  love  Lavinia  more  than  all  the  world. 
Demetrius. 
Youngling,  learn  thou  to  make  some  meaner 
Lavinia  is  thine  elder  brother's  hope,     [choice, 
Aaron. 
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. 

Chiron. 


\i  i  ii.   Sc.  in. 


TITUS  ANDRONK  US. 


773 


Chiron. 
Aaron,  a  thousand  deaths 
Would  1  propose,  to  achieve  her  whom  I  lore. 
Aaron. 
To  achieve  her !— How  ? 

Demetrius. 
Why  mak'st  thou  it  so  strange? 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  woo'd ; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  won ; 
She  is  Lavinia,  therefore  must  be  lov'd. 
What,  man !  more  water  glidethby  the  mill 
'lit. m  wots  the  miller  of;  and  easy  it  U) 
Of  a  cut  loaf  to  steal  a  shive,  we  know : 
Though  Bassianus  be  the  emperor's  brother, 
Better  than  he  have  worn  Vulcan's  budge. 
Aaron. 
Ay,  and  as  good  as  Saiurninus  may.      [Aalde. 

Demetrius. 
Then,  why  should  he  despair,  that  knows  to 
With  words,  fair  looks,  and  liberality?  [court  it 
What  1  hast  thou  not  full  often  struck  a  doe. 
And  borne  her  cleanly  by  the  keeper's  nose? 
Aaron. 
Why  then,  it  seems,  some  certain  snatch  or  so 
Would  serve  your  turns. 

Chiron. 

Ay,  so  the  turn  were  serv'd. 
Demetrius. 
Aaron,  thou  hast  hit  it. 

Aaron. 

Would  you  had  hit  it  too ; 
Then  should  not  we  be  tir'd  with  this  ado. 
Why,  hark  ye,  hark  ye,—  and  are  you  such  fools, 
To  square  for  this?    Would  it  offend  you,  then, 
That  both  should  speed  ? 

Chiron. 

Faith,  not  me. 
Demetrius. 
Nor  me,  so  I  were  one. 

Aaron. 
For  shame  1  be  friends,  and  join  for  that  you 
*Tis  policy  and  stratagem  must  do  [jar. 

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. 
Jlv  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  villainy. 
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;  out  empress,  with  her  sacred  wit, 
To  villainy  and  vengeance  consecrate, 
Will  we  acquaint  with  all  that  we  intend; 
And  she  shall  file  our  engines  with  advice, 
That  will  not  suffer  you  to  square  yourselves, 
But  to  your  wishes'  height  advance  you  both. 
The  emperor's  court  is  like  the  house  of  fame, 
The  palace  full  of  tongues,  of  eyes,  and  ears  : 
The  woods  are  ruthless,  dreadful,  deaf,  and  dull ; 
There  speak,  and  strike,  brave  boys,  and  take 

your  turns : 
There  serve  your  lust,  shadow'd  from  heaven's 
And  revel  in  Laviuia's  treasury.  [eye, 

Chiron. 
Thy  counsel,  lad,  smells  of  no  cowardice. 

Demetrius. 
Hit  fas  aut  nr/as,  till  1  find  the  stream 


To  cool  this  heat,  a  charm  to  calm  the* e  fits, 
Per  Siygu,  per  numes  vchor. 

SCENE  II.    A  Forest  near  Rome.    Horni,  and 
cry  of  Hounds  heard. 

Enter    Titus   Anrironicus,  with    Hunters,  &c. 
■    Marcus,  Lucius,  Quint  us,  and  Marttus. 

Titus. 
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  inspir'd. 

[Horns  wind  a  peal. 

Enter  Saiurninus,  Tamora,  Bassianus,  Lavinia, 
Demetrius,  Chiron,  and  Attendants. 
Titus. 
Many  good  morrows  to  your  majesty:  — 
Madam,  to  you  as  many  and  as  good — 
I  promised  your  grace  a  hunter's  peal. 
Saturninus. 
And  you  have  rung  it  lustily,  my  lords, 
Somewhat  too  early  for  new-married  ladies. 
Bassianus. 
Lavinia,  how  say  you  ? 

Lavinia. 

I  say,  no ; 
I  have  been  broad  awake  two  hours  and  more. 
Saturninus. 
Come  on,  then:   horse  and  chariots  let  us 
have, 
And  to  our  sport. — Madam,  now  shall  ye  see 
Our  Roman  hunting.  [To  Tamora. 

Marcus. 
1  have  dogs,  my  lord. 
Will  rouse  the  proudest  panther  in  the  chase, 
And  climb  the  highest  promontory  top. 
Titus. 
And  I  have  horse  will  follow  where  the  game 
Makes  way,  and  run  like  swallows   o'er  the 
plain. 

Demetrius. 
Chiron,  we   hunt  not,  we,   with  horse  nor 
hound ; 
But  hope  to  pluck  a  dainty  doe  to  ground. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  desert  Fart  of  the  Forest. 

Enter  Aaron,  with  a  Bag  of  Gold. 

Aaron. 
He,  that  had  wit,  would  think  that  1  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  villainy : 
And  so  repose,  sweet  gold,  for  their  unrest, 

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

Enter  Tamora. 

Tamora. 
My  lovely  Aaron,  wherefore  look'st  thou  sad. 
When  every  thing  doth  make  a  gleeful  boast  ? 
The  birds  chaunt  melody  on  every  bush  ; 

The 


77+ 


TITUS  ANDKONICUS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


The  snake  lies  rolled  in  the  cheerful  sun  ; 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind, 
And  make  a  checquer'd  shadow  on  the  ground. 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Aaron,  let  us  sit, 
And,  whilst  the  babbling  echo  mocks  the  hounds, 
Replying  shrilly  to  the  well-tun'd  horns, 
As  if  a  double  hunt  were  heard  at  once, 
Let  us  sit  down,  and  mark  their  yelling  noise : 
And— after  conflict,  such  as  was  suppos'd 
The  wandering  prince  and  Dido  once  enjoy'd, 
When  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surpris'd, 
And  curtain'd  with  a  counsel- keeping  cave, — 
We  may,  each  wreathed  in  the  other's  arms, 
Our  pastimes  done,  possess  a  golden  slumber ; 
Whiles  hounds,  and  horns,  and  sweet  melodious 
Be  unto  us,  as  is  a  nurse's  song  [birds, 

Of  lullaby  to  bring  her  babe  asleep. 
Aaron. 

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

thee, 
This  is  the  day  of  doom  for  Bassianus  ; 
His  Philomel  must  lose  her  tongue  to-day : 
Thy  sons  make  pillage  of  her  chastity, 
And  wash  their  hands  in  Bassianus'  blood. 
Seest  thou  this  letter  ?  take  it  up  I  pray  thee, 
And  give  the  king  this  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. 
Tamora. 

Ah,  my  sweet  Moor,  sweeter  to  me  than  life  ! 
Aaron. 

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

[Exit. 
Enter  Bassianus  and  Lavinia. 
Bassianus. 

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

Saucy  controller  of  my  private  steps  ! 
Had  I  the  power  that,  some  say,  Dian  had, 
Thy  temples  should  be  planted  presently 
With  horns,  as  was  Actccon'% ;  and  the  hounds 
Should  drive  upon  thy  new-transformed  limbs, 
Unmannerly  intruder  as  thou  art  1 
Lavinia. 

Under  your  patience,  gentle  empress, 
'Tis  thought  you  have  a  goodly  gift  in  horning; 
And  to  be  doubted,  that  your  Moor  and  you 
Are  singled  forth  to  try  experiments. 
Jove  shield  your  husband  from  his  hounds  to-day ! 
'Tis  pity,  they  should  take  him  for  a  stag. 
Bassianus. 

Believe  me,  queen,  your  swarth  Cimmerian 
Doth  make  your  honour  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  ? 
Lavinia. 
And  being  intercepted  in  your  sport, 
Great  reason  that  my  noble  lord  be  rated 
For  sauciness  !—  I  pray  you,  let  us  hence, 
And  let  her  'joy  her  raven-colour'd  love : 
This  valley  fits  the  purpose  passing  well. 
Bassianus. 
The  king,  my  brother,  shall  have  notice  »f 
this. 

Lavinia. 
Ay,  for  these  slips  have  made  him  noted  long, 
Good  king  I  to  be  so  mightily  abus'd. 
Tamora. 
Why  have  I  patience  to  endure  all  this  ? 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Chiron. 
Demetrius. 
How  now,  dear  sovereign,  and  our  gracious 
mother ! 
Why  doth  your  highness  look  so  pale  and  wan  ? 
Tamor:.. 
Have  I  not  reason,  think  you,  to  look  pale  ? 
These  two  have  'tic'd  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  misletoe. 
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  fall  mad,  or  else  die  suddenly. 
No  sooner  had  they  told  this  hellish  tale, 
But  straight  they  told  me,  they  would  bind  me 
Unto  the  body  of  a  dismal  yew,  [here 

And  leave  me  to  this  miserable  death : 
And  then  they  call'd  me,  foul  adulteress, 
Lascivious  Goth,  and  all  the  bitterest  terms 
That  ever  ear  did  hear  to  such  effect ; 
And,  had  you  not  by  wondrous  fortune  come, 
This  vengeance  on  me  had  they  executed. 
Revenge  it,  as  you  love  your  mother's  life, 
Or  be  ye  not  henceforth  call'd  my  children. 
Demetrius. 
This  is  a  witness  that  I  am  thy  son. 

[Stabs  Bassianus. 
Chiron. 
And  this  for  me,  struck  home  to  show  my 
strength.  [Stabbing  him  likewise. 

Lavinia. 
Ay,  come,  Semiramis !  —  nay,  barbarous  Ta- 
mora ; 
For  no  name  fits  thy  nature  but  thy  own. 
Tamora. 
Give  me  thy  poniard :  you  shall  know,  my 
boys,  [wrong. 

Your  mother's  hand  shall  right  your  mother's 
Demetrius. 
Stay,  madam,  here  is  more  belongs  to  her : 
First,  thrash  the  corn,  then  after  burn  the  straw 
This  minion  stood  upon  her  chastity. 
Upon  her  nuptial  vow,  her  loyalty,  [ness  : 

And  with  that  painted  hope  braves  your  mighti- 
And  shall  she  carry  this  unto  her  grave  ? 
Chiron. 
An  if  she  do,  I  would  I  were  an  eunuch. 
Drag  hence  her  husband  to  some  secret  hole, 
And  make  his  dead  trunk  pillow  to  our  lust. 

Tamora. 


Act  ii.  ft.  iv. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


775 


T(i  Chiron. 


Tamora. 
Hut  when  ye  hare  the  honey  yo  desire, 
Let  not  this  wasp  outlive  us  both  to  sting. 
on. 
I  warrant  you,  madam,  we  will  make  that 

sure 

Come,  mistress,  now  perforce  we  will  enjoy 
That  nice  preserved  honesty  of  yours. 
Lav> 

0  Tamora!  thou  bcar'st  a  woman's  face,— 

Tamora. 

1  will  not  hear  her  speak :  away  with  her  1 

Lavlnia. 
Sweet  lords,  entreat  her  hear  me  but  a  word. 

Demetrius. 
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. 
Lavlnia. 
When  did  the  tiger's  young  ones  teach  the 
dam? 
0 1  do  not  learn  her  wrath  ;  she  taught  it  thee. 
The  milk,  thou  suck'st  from  her,  did  turn  to 

marble ; 

Even  at  thy  teat  thou  hadst  thy  tyranny. 
Yet  every  mother  breeds  not  sons  alike: 
Do  thou  entreat  her  show  a  woman  pity. 

Chiioii. 
What !  wouldst  thou  have  me  prove  myself  a 
bastard  ? 

Lavinia. 
'Tis  true ;  the  raven  doth  not  hatch  a  lark : 
Yet  have  I  heard,  O,  could  I  find  it  now  ! 
The  lion,  mov'd  with  pity,  did  endure 
To  have  his  princely  paws  par'd  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. 
Tamora. 
I  know  not  what  it  means.    Away  with  her ! 

Lavinia. 

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. 

Tamora. 
Hadst  thou  in  person  ne'er  offended  me, 

Kven  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 
The  worse  to  her,  the  better  lov'd  of  me.  [will : 

Lavi 

O  Tamora  J  be  call'd  a  gentle  queen, 
And  with  thine  own  hands  kill  me  in  this  place; 
For  'tis  not  life  that  1  have  begg'd  so  long : 
Poor  1  was  slain  when  Bassianus  died. 

Tamora. 
What  begg'st  thou  then  ?  fond 


let  me 


Lavinia. 
'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. 


Tamora. 
So  should  I  rob  my  sweet  sons  of  their  fee : 
No ;  let  them  satisfy  their  lust  on  thee. 
trius. 
Away  !  for  thou  hast  stay'd  us  here  too  long. 

La\i 
No  grace  ?    no  womanhood  ?      Ah,  beastly 
creature  1 
The  blot  and  enemy  to  our  general  name  1 
Confusion  fall  — 

luii. 
Nay,  then  I'll  stop  your  mouth,  — Bring  thou 
her  husband :  [  D  ragging  of! 

This  U  the  hole  where  Aaron  bid  us  hide  him. 

;  ■■      I 
Tamora. 
Farewell,  my  sons :  see,  that  you  make  her 
sure. 
Ne'er  let  my  heart  know  merry  cheer  indeed, 
Till  all  the  Andronici  be  made  away. 
Now  will  I  hence  to  seek  my  lovely  Moor, 
And  let  my  spleenful  sons  this  trull  deflour. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same. 
Enter  Aaron,  with  Quintus  and  Martins. 
Aaron. 
Come  on,  my  lords,  the  better  foot  before : 
Straight  will  I  bring  you  to  the  loathsome  pit. 
Where  I  espy'd  the  panther  fast  asleep. 
Quintus. 
My  sight  is  very  dull,  whate'er  it  bodes. 

Martius. 
And  mine,  I  promise  you :  wer't  not  for  shame. 
Well  could  I  leave  our  sport  to  sleep  awhile. 

[\fartius  fails  into  the  Pit. 
Quintus. 
What !  art  thou  fallen  ?    What  subtle  hole  is 
this, 
Whose   mouth  is  cover'd  with   rude-growing 

briars, 
Upon  whose  leaves  are  drops  of  new-shed  blood, 
As  fresh  as  morning's  dew  distill'd  on  flowers  ? 
A  very  fatal  place  it  seems  to  me :—  [fall  ? 

Speak,  brother,  hast  thou  hurt  thee  with  the 
uus. 
O,  brother  !  with  the  dismall'st  object  hurt, 
That  ever  eye  with  sight  made  heart  lament. 

Aaron.  TAsidc. 

Now  will  I  fetch  the  king  to  find  them  here ; 
That  he  thereby  may  give  a  likely  guess, 
How  these  were  they  that  made  away  his  brother. 
[Exit  Aaron. 
Martius. 
I     Why  dost  not  comfort  me,  and  help  me  out 
J  From  this  unhallow'd  and  blood-stained  hole? 

Quintus. 
!     1  am  surprised  with  an  uncouth  fear; 
1  A  chilling  sweat  o'er-runs  my  trembling  joints : 
My  heart  suspects  more  than  mine  eye  can  see. 

Mkrtfoa. 

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. 

Quintus. 
i     Aaron  is  gone ;  and  my  compassionate  heart 
Will  not  permit  mine  eyes  once  to  behold 
The  thing  whereat  it  trembles  by  surmise. 
,  O  I  tell  me  how  it  is  ;  for  ne'er  till  now 
I  Was  I  a  child,  to  fear  I  know  not  what. 
Martius. 
Lord  Bassianus  lies  embrewed  here, 

All 


7?6 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


All  on  a  heap,  like  to  a  slaughter'd  lamb, 
In  this  detested,  dark,  blood-  drinking  pit. 

Quintus. 
If  it  be  dark,  how  dost  thou  know  'tis  he  ? 

Martius. 
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 : 
So  pale  did  shine  the  moon  on  Pyramus, 
When  he  by  night  lay  bath'd  in  maiden  blood. 

0  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  Coct/lus'  misty  mouth. 

Quintus. 

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

may  be  pluck'd  into  the  swallowing  womb 
Of  this  deep  pit,  poor  Bassianus*  grave. 

1  have  no  strength  to  pluck  thee  to  the  brink. 

Martins. 
Nor  I  no  strength  to  climb  without  thy  help. 

Quintus. 
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. 

[Falh  in. 

Enter  Saturninus  and  Aaron. 
Saturninus. 
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  ? 
Martius. 
The  unhappy  son  of  old  Andronicus, 
Brought  hither  in  a  most  unlucky  hour, 
To  find  thy  brother  Bassianus  dead. 
Saturninus. 
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  them  there. 
Martius. 
We  know  not  where  you  left  him  all  alive, 
But,  out  alas  !  here  have  we  found  him  dead. 

Enter  Tamora,  with  Attendants;  Titus 

Andronicus,  and  Lucius. 

Tamora. 

Where  is  my  lord,  the  king  ? 

Saturninus. 

Here,  Tamora;  though  griev'd  with  killing 

grief. 

Tamora. 
Where  is  thy  brother  Bassianus  f 

Saturninus. 
Now  to  thebottom  dost  thou  search  my  wound: 
Poor  Bassianus  here  lies  murdered. 
Tamora. 
Then,  all  too  late  I  bring  this  fatal  writ, 

[Giving  a  Letter. 
The  complot  of  this  timeless  tragedy; 
And  wonder  greatly,  that  man's  face  can  fold 
lu  pleasing  smiles  such  murderous  tyranny. 

Saturninus.  [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. 
Thou  know'st  our  meaning :  Took  for  thy  reward 


Among  the  nettles  at  the  elder  tree, 
Which  overshades  the  mouth  of  that  same  pit, 
Where  we  decreed  to  bury  Bassianus. 
Do  this,  and  purchase  us  thy  lasting  friends." 
O,  Tamora!  was  ever  heard  the  like  ? 
This  is  the  pit,  and  this  the  elder-tree. 
Look,  sirs,  if  you  can  find  the  huntsman  out, 
That  should  have  murder'd  Bassianus  here. 

Aaron. 
My  gracious  lord,  here  is  the  bag  of  gold. 

[Showing  i  t. 
Saturninus. 
Two  of  thy  whelps,  [To  Titus,]  fell  curs  of 
bloody  kind, 
Have  here  bereft  my  brother  of  his  life.  — 
Sirs,  drag  them  from  the  pit  unto  the  prison: 
There  let  them  bide,  until  we  have  devis'd 
Some  never-heard-of  torturing  pain  for  them . 

Tamora. 

What!  are  they  in  this  pit?    O  wondrous 

How  easily  murder  is  discovered  !  [thing  ! 

Titus. 
High  emperor,  upon  my  feeble  knee 
I  beg  this  boon  with  tears  not  lightly  shed ; 
That  this  fell  fault  of  my  accursed  sons, 
Accursed,  if  the  fault  be  prov'd  in  them,— 

Saturninus. 
If  it  be  prov'd !  you  see,  It  is  apparent — 
Who  found  this  letter  ?    Tamora,  was  it  you  ? 

Tamora. 
Andronicus  himself  did  take  it  up. 

Titus. 
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'  willf 
To  answer  their  suspicion  with  their  lives. 

Saturninus. 
Thou  shalt  not  bail  them  :  see,  thou  follow  me. 
Some  bring  the  murder'd  body,  some  the  mur- 
derers : 
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. 

Tamora. 
Andronicus,  I  will  entreat  the  king: 
Fear  not  thy  sons,  they  shall  do  well  enough. 

Come,  Lucius,  come ;  stay  not  to  talk  with 
them.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  V.    The  same. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Chiron,  with  Lavinia, 
ravished;  her  Hands  cut  off",  and  her  Tongue 
cut  out. 

Demetrius. 
So,  now  go  tell,  an  if  thy  tongue  can  speak, 

Who 'twas  that  cut  thy  tongue,  and  ravish'd  thee. 

Chiron. 
Write  down  thy  mind,  bewray  thy  meaning 
so; 
And,  if  thy  stumps  will  let  thee,  play  the  scribe. 

Demetrius. 
See,   how  with  signs   and   tokens   she   can 
scrowl. 

Chiron. 
Go  home,  call   for  sweet  water,  wash   thy 
hands. 

Demetrius. 
She  hath  no  tongue  to  call,  nor  hands  to  wash ; 
And  so  let's  leave  her  to  her  silent  walks. 

Chiron. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  l 


TUTS  ANUKONICUS. 


777 


An  'twere  my  case,  I  should  go  bang  myself. 

trios. 
If  thou  hadst  hands  to  help  thee  knit  the  cord. 
[Exeunt  Demetrius  and  Chiron. 

Wind  Horn"  cms,  from  hunting. 

Who's  this,  -  my  niece,  that  flies  away  so  fast  ? 
Cousin,  a  word:  —where Is  your  husband?  — 
If  1  d<>  dream,  'would  all  my  wealth  would  wake 

me! 
If  I  do  wake,  some  planet  strike  me  down, 
That  1  may  slumber  in  eternal  sleep!  — 
Sneak,  gentle  niece,  what  stem  ungentle  hands 
Have  lopp'd,  and  hew'd,  and  made  thy  body  bare 
Of  her  two  branches ;  those  sweet  ornaments, 
Whose  circling  shadows  kings  have  sought  to 

sleep  in, 
And  might  not  gain  so  great  a  happiness, 
As  half  thy  love  ?    Why  dost  not  speak  to  me  ?— 
Alas  !  a  crhr\son  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  Terms  hath  deflonred  thee, 
And,  lest  thou  should'st  detect  him,  cut  thy 

tongue. 
Ah !  now  thou  turn'st  away  thy  face  for  shame ; 
And,  notwithstanding  all  this  loss  of  blood, — 
As  from  a  conduit  with  three  issuing  spouts,— 
Yet  do  thy  cheeks  look  red,  as  Titan's  face 
Blushing  to  be  encounter'd  with  a  cloud. 
Shall  I  speak  for  thee?  shall  I  say,  'tis  so? 
O !  that  I  knew  thy  heart;  and  knew  the  beast, 
That  1  might  rail  at  him  to  ease  my  mind. 
Sorrow  concealed,  like  an  oven  stopp'd, 
Doth  burn  the  heart  to  cinders  where  it  is. 
Fair  Philomela,  she  but  lost  her  tongue, 
And  in  a  tedious  sampler  sew'd  her  mind; 
But,  lovely  niece,  that  mean  is  cut  from  thee: 
A  craftier  Tereus,  cousin,  has  thou  met, 
And  he  hath  cut  those  pretty  fingers  off, 
That  could  have  better  sew'd  than  Philomel. 
O !  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 
Or,  had  he  heard  the  heavenly  harmony,    [life ; 
Which  that  sweet  tongue  hath  made, 
He  would  have  dropp'd  his  knife,  and  fell  asleep, 
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 ;  [eyes  ? 

What  will  whole  months  of  tears  thy  father's 
Do  not  draw  back,  for  we  will  mourn  with  thee: 
O,  could  our  mourning  ease  thy  misery  1 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Rome.    A  Street. 

Enter  Senators,  Tribunes,  and  Officers  of  Justice, 
with  Martins  and  Quintus,  bound,  passing  on 
to  the  Place  of  Execution ;  Titus  going  before, 
pleading. 

HEAR  me,  grave  fathers!  noble  Tribunes, 
stay! 
For  pity  of  mine  age,  whose  youth  was  spent 


In  dangerous  wars,  whilst  you  securely  slept; 
l'ur  all  my  blood  in  Rotne'i  great  quarrel  shed; 
For  all  the  frosty  nights  that  I  have  watch'd; 
And  for  these  bitter  tears,  which  now  you  tee 
Filling  the  aged  wrinkles  in  my  cheeks; 
He  pitiful  to  my  condemned  sons, 
Whose  souls  are  not  corrupted  as  'tis  thought. 
For  two  and  twenty  sons  I  never  wept, 
Because  they  died  in  honour's  lofty  bed  1 
For  these,  these,  tribunes,  in  the  dust  1  write 

[Throwing  himself  on  the  ground. 
My  heart's  deep  languor,  and  my  soul's  sad 

tears. 
Let  my  tears  stanch  the  earth's  dry  appetite ; 
My  sons'  sweet  blood  will  make  it  shame  and 
blush. 
[Exeunt  Senators,  Tribunes,  Ac,  with  the 
Prisoners. 
O  earth  !  I  will  befriend  thee  more  with  rain, 
That  shall  distil  from  these  two  ancient  urns, 
Than  youthful  April  shall  with  all  his  showers: 
In  summer's  drought,  I'll  drop  upon  thee  still ; 
In  winter,  with  warm  tears  I'll  melt  the  snow, 
And  keep  eternal  spring-time  on  thy  face, 
So  thou  refuse  to  driuk  my  dear  sons'  blood. 

Enter  Lucius,  with  his  Sword  drawn. 

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

Lucius. 
O,  noble  father !  you  lament  in  vain: 
The  tribunes  hear  you  not,  no  man  is  by, 
And  you  recount  your  sorrows  to  a  stone. 

Titus. 
Ah,  Lucius!  for  thy  brothers  let  me  plead.— 
Grave  tribunes,  once  more  I  entreat  of  you. 

Lucius. 
My  gracious  lord,  no  tribune  hears  you  speak. 

Titus. 
Why,  'tis  no  matter,  man:  if  they  did  hear. 
They  would  not  mark  me;  or  if  they  did  mark, 
They  would  not  pity  me,  yet  plead  I  must, 
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  tri- 
bunes, 
For  that  they  will  not  intercept  my  tale. 


[Rising, 
et 


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. 
Home  could  afford  no  tribune  like  to  these. 
A  stone  is  soft  as  wax,  tribunes  more  hard  than 
A  stone  is  silent,  and  offendeth  not,        [stones  ; 
And  tribunes  with  their  tongues  doom  men  to 

death. 
But  wherefore  stand'st  thou  with  thy  weapon 

drawn  ? 

Lucius. 
To  rescue  my  two  brothers  from  their  death  ; 
For  which  attempt  the  judges  have  pronoune'd 
My  everlasting  doom  of  banishment 

O  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  devourcrs  to  be  banished? 
But  who  comes  with  our  brother  Marcus  here  ? 


77* 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  hi.  8c.  i. 


Enter  Marcus  and  Lavinia. 
Marcus. 
Tilus,  prepare  thy  aged  eyes  to  weep ; 
Or,  if  not  so,  thy  noble  heart  to  break  : 
I  bring  consuming  sorrow  to  thine  age. 
Titus. 
Will  it  consume  me?  let  me  see  it,  then. 
Marcus. 

This  was  thy  daughter. 

Titus. 

Why,  Marcus,  so  she  is. 
Lucius. 

Ah  me !  this  object  kills  me. 
Titus. 

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  cam'st, 
And  now,  like  Nilns,  it  disdaineth  bounds — 
!  Give  me  a  sword,  I'll  chop  off  my  hands  too, 
For  they  have  fought  for  Rome,  and  all  in  vain, 
And  they  have  nurs'd  this  woe,  in  feeding  life ; 
In  bootless  prayer  have  they  been  held  up, 
And  they  have  serv'd  me  to  effectless  use: 
Now,  all  the  service  I  require  of  them 
Is,  that  the  one  will  help  to  cut  the  other.— 
'Tis  well,  Lavinia,  that  thou  hast  no  hands, 
For  hands  to  do  Rome  service  are  but  vain. 
Lucius. 

Speak,  gentle  sister,  who  hath  martyr'd  thee  ? 
Marcus. 

O!  that  delightful  engine  of  her  thoughts, 
Thatblabb'd  them  with  such  pleasing  eloquence, 
Is  torn  from  forth  that  pretty  hollow  cage, 
Where,  like  a  sweet  melodious  bird,  it  sung 
Sweet  varied  notes,  enchanting  every  ear. 
Lucius. 

O !  say  thou  for  her,  who  hath  done  this  deed  ? 
Marcus. 

O  !  thus  I  found  her  straying  in  the  park, 
Seeking  to  hide  herself,  as  doth  the  deer, 
That  hath  receiv'd  some  unrecuring  wound. 
Titus. 

It  was  my  deer ;  and  he  that  wounded  her 
Hath  hurt  me  more,  than  had  he  kill'd  me  dead : 
For  now  I  stand  as  one  upon  a  rock, 
Environ'd  with  a  wilderness  of  sea ; 
Who  marks  the  waxing  tide  grow  wave  by  wave, 
Expecting  ever  when  some  envious  surge 
Will  in  his  brinish  bowels  swallow  him. 
This  way  to  death  my  wretched  sons  are  gone, 
Here  stands  my  other  son,  a  banish'd  man, 
And  here  my  brother,  weeping  at  my  woes  ; 
But  that  which  gives  my  soul  the  greatest  spurn, 
Is  dear  Lavinia,  dearer  than  my  soul. — 
Had  I  but  seen  thy  picture  in  this  plight, 
It  would  have  madded  me  ;  what  shall  I  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'd  thee: 
Thy  husband  he  is  dead;  and  for  his  death, 
Thy  brothers  are  condemn'd,  and  dead  by  this. 
Look,  Marcus  ;  ah !  son  Lucius,  look  on  her : 
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. 
Marcus. 

Perchance,  she  weeps  because  they  kill'd  her 
husband ; 
Perchance,  because  she  knows  them  innocent. 


Titus. 
If  they  did  kill  thy  husband,  then  be  joyful, 

Because  the  law  hath  ta'en  revenge  on  them. 

No,  no,  they  would  not  do  so  foul  a  deed ; 

Witness  the  sorrow  that  their  sister  makes 

Gentle  Lavinia,  let  me  kiss  thy  lips, 
Or  make  some  sign  how  1  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,  like  meadows  yet  not  dry, 
With  miry  slime  left  on  them  by  a  flood? 
And  in  the  fountain  shall  we  gaze  so  long, 
Till  the  fresh  taste  be  taken  from  that  clearness, 
And  made  a  brine-pit  with  our  bitter  tears  ? 
i  Or  shall  we  cut  away  our  hands,  like  thine? 
j  Or  shall  we  bite  our  tongues,  and  in  dumb  shows 
!  Pass  the  remainder  of  our  hateful  days  ? 
'  What  shall  wedo  ?  let  us,  that  have  our  tongues, 
;  Plot  some  device  of  farther  misery, 
:  To  make  us  wonder'd  at  in  time  to  come. 

Lucius. 
:     Sweet  father,  cease  your  tears ;  for  at  your 

grief, 
See,  how  my  wretched  sister  sobs  and  weeps. 
Marcus. 
Patience,  dear  niece.  — Good  Titus,  dry  thine 
eyes. 

litus. 

Ah,  Marcus,  Marcus !  brother,  well  I  wot, 
Thy  napkin  cannot  drink  a  tear  of  mine,    [own. 
For  thou,  poor  man,  hast  drown'd  it  with  thine 
Lucius. 
Ah,  my  Lavinia!  I  will  wipe  thy  cheeks. 
Titus. 
|     Mark,  Marcus, mark  1  I  understand  her  signs. 
i  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  ; 
I  As  far  from  help  as  limbo  is  from  bliss. 
Enter  Aaron. 
Aaron. 
I      Titus  Andronicus,  my  lord  the  emperor 
\  Sends  theethis  word,— that,  if  thou  love  thysons, 
'  Let  Marcus,  Lucius,  or  thyself,  old  Titus, 
Or  any  one  of  you,  chop  off  your  hand, 
And  send  it  to  the  king:  he  for  the  same, 
Will  send  thee  hither  both  thy  sons  alive, 
And  that  shall  be  the  ransom  for  their  fault. 
Titus. 
O,  gracious  emperor !  O,  gentle  Aaron! 
Did  ever  raven  sing  so  like  a  lark, 
That  gives  sweet  tidings  of  the  sun's  uprise? 
With  all  my  heart,  I'll  send  the  emperor  my 

hand. 
Good  Aaron,  wilt  thou  help  to  chop  it  off? 
Lucius. 
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. 

Mai  ctw. 
Which  of  your  hands  hath  not  defended  Rome, 
And  rear'd  aloft  the  bloody  battle-axe, 
Writing  destruction  on  the  enemy's  castle  ? 
O !  none  of  both  but  are  of  high  desert. 
My  hand  hath  been  but  idle  ;  let  it  serve 
To  ransom  my  two  nephews  from  their  deal  h, 
Then,  have  I  kept  it  to  a  worthy  end. 

Aaron. 


Act  in.  Sc.  i. 


TITUS  ANDUONICUS. 


779 


Nay,  romp  agree,  whose  hand  shall  go  along, 
lor  ftsjg  they  die  before  their  i>ardon  come. 
Mar. 
My  hand  shall  go. 

By  heaven,  it  shall  not  go. 

Sirs,  strire  no  more :  such  wither'd  herbs  as 
these 
Are  meet  lor  plucking  up,  and  therefore  mine. 

Lucius. 
Sweet  father,  if  I  shall  be  thought  thy  son, 
Let  me  redeem  my  brothers  both  from  death. 

And,  for  our  father's  sake,  and  mother's  care, 
Now  let  me  show  a  brother's  lore  to  thee. 

Agree  between  you ;  I  will  spare  my  hand. 

Lucius. 
Then  I'll  go  fetch  an  axe. 

(IIS 

But  I  will  use  the  axe. 
it  Lucius  and  Marcus. 
Titus. 
Come  hither,  Aaron ;  I'll  deceive  them  both : 
Lend  me  thy  hand,  and  I  will  give  thee  mine. 

If  that  be  eall'd  deceit,  I  will  be  honest, 
And  never,  whilst  1  live,  deceive  men  so:  — 
But  I'll  deceive  you  in  another  sort,         [Aside. 
And  that  you'll  say,  ere  half  an  hour  pass. 

[He  cuts  off  Tuus's  Hand. 

He-enter  Lucius  and  Marcus. 

Titus. 
Now,  stav  your  strife:  what  shall  be, 
s patch  d — 
Good  Aaron,  give  his  majesty  my  hand : 
Tell  him,  it  was  a  hand  that  warded  him 
From  thousand  dangers.    Bid  him  bury  it : 
More  hath  it  merited  ;  that  let  it  have. 
As  for  my  sons,  say,  I  account  of  them 
As  jewels  purchas'd  at  an  easy  price  ; 
And  yet  dear  too,  because  I  bought  mine  own. 
•^  Aaron. 

I  go,  Andronicus :  and  for  thy  hand, 
Look  by  and  by  to  nave  thy  sons  with  thee. — 
[Aside*}  Their  heads,  I  mean — O,  how  this 

villainy 
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. 
Titus. 
O !  here  I  lift  this  one  hand  up  to  heaven, 
And  bow  this  feeble  ruin  to  the  earth  : 
If  any  power  pities  wretched  tears,  [me  ? 

To  that  I  call.- What  1  wilt  thou  kneel  with 
[To  Ldvinia. 
Do  then,  dear  heart ;  for  heaven  shall  hear  our 

prayers, 
Or  with  our  siphs  we'll  breathe  the  welkin  dim, 
And  stain  the  sun  with  fog,  as  sometime  clouds 
When  they  do  hug  him  in  their  melting  bosoms. 
Marcus. 
O!  brother,  speak  with  possibilities. 
And  do  not  break  into  these  deep  extremes. 
Titus. 
Is  not  my  sorrow  deep,  having  no  bottom  ? 
Then,  be  my  passions  bottomless  with  them. 


Marcus. 
|     But  yet  let  reason  govern  thy  lament. 

Titus. 
:      If  there  were  reason  for  these  miseries, 
I  Then  into  limits  could  I  bind  my  woes. 

When  heaven  doth  weep,  doth  not  the  earth 

o'erflow  ? 
;  If  the  winds  rage,  doth  not  the  sea  wax  mad, 

Threat'ning  the  welkin  with  his  big-swoln  face? 

And  wilt  thou  have  a  reason  for  this  coll  ? 

I  am  the  sea ;  hark,  how  her  sighs  do  blow  ! 
'.  She  is  the  weeping  welkin,  I  the  earth  : 

Then,  must  my  sea  be  moved  with  her  sighs; 
!  Then,  must  my  earth  with  her  continual  tears 

Become  a  deluge,  overflow'd  and  drown'd. 
,  For  why?  my  bowels  cannot  hide  her  woes, 

But  like  a  drunkard  must  I  vomit  them. 

Then,  give  me  leave,  for  losers  will  have  leave 
:  To  ease  their  stomachs  with  their  bitter  tongues. 


Enter  a  Messenger,  with 
Hand. 


'wo  Heads  and  a 


is 


Messenger. 
Worthy  Andronicus,  ill  art  thou  repaid 
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  their  sports,  thy  resolution  mock'd, 
That  woe  is  me  to  think  upon  thy  woes, 
More  than  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 

[Exit. 
Marcus. 
Now,  let  hot  JEtna  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 
But  sorrow  flouted  at  is  double  death.        [deal, 
Lucius 
Ah,  that  this  sight  should  make  so  deep  a 
wound, 
And  yet  detested  life  not  shrink  thereat ! 
That  ever  death  should  let  life  bear  his  name. 
Where  life  hath  no  more  interest  but  to  breathe! 
[Lavinia  kisses  him. 
Marcus. 
j     Alas,  poor  heart !  that  kiss  is  comfortless, 
•  As  frozen  water  to  a  starved  snake. 

Titus. 
|     When  will  this  fearful  slumber  have  an  end  ? 

I  Marcus. 

Now,  farewell,  flattery  :  die,  Andronicus. 
Thou  dost  not  slumber :    see,  thy  two  sons' 

heads ; 
I  Thy  warlike  hand ;  thy  mangled  daughter  here; 
I  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  my  griefs  : 
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  ? 
Titus. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  1 

Marcus. 
Why  dost  thou  laugh  ?  it  fits  not  with  this 
hour. 

Titus. 
Why,  I  have  not  another  tear  to  shed: 
Besides,  this  sorrow  is  an  enemy, 
And  would  usurp  upon  my  watery  eyes, 
And  make  them  blind  with  tributary  tears  ; 
Then,  which  way  shall  I  find  revenge's  cave  ? 
For  these  two  heads  do  seem  to  speak  to  me. 


780 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  iii.  Sc.  1. 


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 : 
Lavinia,  thou  shalt  be  employed  in  these  things ; 
Bear  thou  my  hand,  sweet  wench,  between  thy 

teeth. 

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

[Exeunt  Titus,  Marcus,  and  Lavinia. 

Lucius. 

Farewell,  Andronicus,  my  noble  father ; 
The  woeful'st  man  that  ever  liv'd  in  Rome. 
Farewell,  proud  Rome :  till  Lucius  come  again, 
He  leaves  his  pledges  dearer  than  his  life. 
Farewell,  Lavinia,  my  noble  sister ; 
O,  would  thou  wert  as  thou  'tofore  hast  been  ! 
But  now  nor  Lucius,  nor  Lavinia  lives, 
But  in  oblivion,  and  hateful  griefs. 
If  Lucius  live,  he  will  requite  your  wrongs, 
And  make  proud  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  reveng'd  on  Rome  and  Saturnine. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Titus' 1  House. 
A  Banquet  set  out. 

Enter  Titus,  Marcus,  Lavinia,  and  young  Lucius, 
a  Boy. 

Titus. 

So,  so,  now  sit ;  and  look,  you  eat  no  more 
Than  will  preserve  just  so  much  strength  in  us 
As  will  revenge  these  bitter  woes  of  ours. 
Marcus,  unknit  that  sorrow-wreathen  knot : 
Thy  niece  and  I,  poor  creatures,  want  our  hands, 
And  cannot  passionate  our  tenfold  grief 
With  folded  arms.    This  poor  right  hand  of  mine 
Is  left  to  tyrannize  upon  my  breast ; 
And  when  my  heart,  all  mad  with  misery, 
Beats  in  this  hollow  prison  of  my  flesh, 
Then,  thus  I  thump  it  down.— 
Thou  map  of  woe,  that  thus  dost  talk  in  signs, 

[lo  Lavinia. 
When  thy  poor  heart  beats  with  outrageous 

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

Fie,  brother,  fie  !  teach  her  not  thus  to  lay 
Such  violent  hands  upon  her  tender  life. 
Titus. 

How  now  !   has  sorrow  made  thee  dote  al- 
ready ? 
Why,  Marcus,  no  man  should  be  mad  but  I. 
What  violent  hands  can  she  lay  on  her  life  ? 
Ah!   wherefore  dost  thou  urge  the  name  of 
To  bid  Mneas  tell  the  tale  twice  o'er,    [hands  ? 
How  Troy  was  burnt,  and  he  made  miserable  ? 
O  !  handle  not  the  theme,  to  talk  of  hands, 
Lest  we  remember  still,  that  we  have  none. 


Fie,  fie  !  how  franticly  I  square  my  talk  1 

As  if  we  should  forget  we  had  no  hands, 

If  Marcus  did  not  name  the  word  of  hands. — 

Come,  let's  fall  to ;  and,  gentle  girl,  eat  this. — 

Here  is  no  drink.    Hark,  Marcus,  what  she  says ; 

I  can  interpret  all  her  martyr'd  signs : 

She  says,  she  drinks  no  other  drink  but  tears, 

Brew'd  with    her   sorrow,   mesh'd   upon    her 

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

heaven, 
Nor  wink,  nor  nod.  nor  kneel,  nor  make  a  sign, 
But  I  of  these  will  wrest  an  alphabet, 
And  by  still  practice  learn  to  know  thy  meaning. 
Boy. 
Good  grandsire,  leave  these  bitter  deep  la- 
ments : 
Make  my  aunt  merry  with  some  pleasing  tale. 
Marcus. 
Alas  !  the  tender  boy,  in  passion  mov'd, 
Doth  weep  to  see  his  grandsire's  heaviness. 
Titus. 
Peace,  tender  sapling ;  thou  art  made  of  tears, 
And  tears  will  quickly  melt  thy  life  away. — 

[Marcus  strikes  the  Dish  with  a  Knife. 
What  dost  thou  strike  at,  Marcus,  with  thy 
knife  ? 

Marcus. 
At  that  that  I  have  kill'd,  my  lord— a  fly. 

Titus. 
Out  on  thee,    murderer  !    thou   kill'st   my 
heart ; 
Mine  eyes  are  cloy'd  with  view  of  tyranny : 
A  deed  of  death,  done  on  the  innocent, 
Becomes  not  Titus'  brother.     Get  thee  gone ; 
I  see,  thou  art  not  for  my  company. 
Marcus. 
Alas  !  my  lord,  I  have  but  kill'd  a  fly. 

Titus. 
But  how,  if  that  fly  had  a  father  and  mother, 
How  would  he  hang  his  slender  gilded  wings, 
And  buz  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. 

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

T'tus. 
O,  O,  O  1 
Then  pardon  me  for  reprehending  thee, 
For  thou  hast  done  a  charitable  deed. 
Give  me  thy  knife,  I  will  insult  on  him  ; 
Flattering  myself,  as  if  it  were  the  Moor 
Come  hither  purposely  to  poison  me. — 
There's  for  thyself,   and   that's  for   Tamora. 

Ah,  sirrah ! — 
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. 
Marcus. 
Alas,  poor  man  !  grief  h;is  so  wrought  on  him, 
He  takes  false  shadows  for  true  substances. 
Titus. 
Come,  take  away. — 'Lavinia,  go  with  me: 
I'll  to  thy  closet ;  and  go  read  with  thee 
Sad  stories,  chanced  in  the  times  of  old — 
Come,  boy,  and  go  with  me :  thy  sight  is  young, 
And  thou  shalt  read,  when  mine  begins  to  dazzle. 
[Exeuut. 
ACT 


V  i. 


1  II  IS  ANDKONICUS. 


781 


ACT  IV. 

/:  I.    The  $ame.    Before  Titus**  House. 

Enter  Titus  and  Marcus.    Then  enter  young 

Lucius,  Lavinia  running  after  him. 

Boy. 

HELP,  grandslre,  help !  my  aunt  Lavinia 
Follows  me  every  where,  I  "know  uot  why — 
Good  uncle  Marcus,  see  how  swift  she  comes  1 
Alas  1  sweet  aunt,  I  know  not  what  you  mean. 

Marcus. 
Stand  by  me,  Lucius :  do  not  fear  thine  aunt. 

Titus. 
She  loves  thee,  boy,  too  well  to  do  thee  harm. 

Boy. 
Ay,  when  my  father  was  in  Rome,  she  did. 

Marcus. 
What  means  my  niece  Lavinia  by  these  signs  ? 

Titus. 
Fear  her  not,  Lucius: — somewhat  doth  she 
mean. 
See,  Lucius,  see,  how  much  she  makes  of  thee  : 
Somewhither  would  she  have  thee  go  with  her. 
Ah,  boy  !  Cornelia  never  with  more  care 
Read  to  her  sons,  than  she  hath  read  to  thee, 
Sweet  poetry,  and  Tully's  Orator.  [thus? 

Canst  thou  not  guess  wherefore  she  plies  thee 
Boy. 
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 
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, 
1  will  most  willingly  attend  your  ladyship. 
Marcus. 
Lucius,  1  will. 
[Lavinia  turns  over  the  books  which  Lucius 
had  let  fall. 

Titus. 
How  now,  Lavinia! — Marcus,  what  means 
this? 
Some  book  there  is  that  she  desires  to  see — 

Which  is  it,  girl,  of  these  ?— Open  them,  boy 

But  thou  art  deeper  read,  and  better  skill'd ; 
Come,  and  take  choice  of  all  my  library, 
And  so  beguile  thy  sorrow,  till  the  heavens 
Reveal  the  damn'd  contriver  of  this  deed — 
What  book? 
Why  lifts  she  up  her  arms  in  sequence  thus  ? 

Marcus. 
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  to  revenge. 

Titus. 
Lucius,  what  book  is  that  she  tosseth  so? 

Boy. 
Grandsire,  'tis  Ovid's  Metamorphosis  : 
My  mother  gav't  me. 


Marcus. 

For  love  of  her  that's  gone, 
Perhaps,  she  cull'd  it  from  among  the  rest. 
Titus. 
Soft !  so  busily  she  turns  the  leaves ! 
Help  her  :  what  would  she  lind  ?—  Lavinia,  shall 
This  is  the  tragic  tele  of  Philomel,         [I  read? 
And  treats  of  Terms*  treason,  and  his  rape; 
And  rape,  I  fear,  was  root  of  thine  annoy. 
Mar  en*. 
See,  brother,  see!  note,  how  she  quotes  the 
leaves. 

Titus. 
Lavinia,  wert  thou  thus  surpriz'd,  sweet  girl, 
Ravish'd  and  wrong'd,  as  Philomela  was, 
Forc'din  the  ruthless,  vast,  and  gloomy  woods  ?— 
See,  see !  — 


» 


(O,  had  we  never,  never,  hunted  there  I) 
Pattern'd  by  that  the  poet  here  describes. 
By  nature  made  for  murders,  and  for  rapes. 
Marcus. 
O  !  why  should  nature  build  so  foul  a  den, 
Unless  the  gods  delight  in  tragedies  ? 
Titus. 
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? 
Marcus. 
Sit  down,  sweet  niece :  —  brother,  sit  down  by 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  or  Mercury,  [me. — 

Inspire  me,  that  I  may  this  treason  find !  — 
My  lord,  look  here ;  —  look  here,  Lavinia : 
j  This  sandy  plot  is  plain ;  guide,  if  thou  canst, 
This  after  me. 

[He  writes  his  Name  with  his  Staff,  and 
guides  it  with  Feet  and  Mouth. 
I  have  writ  my  name 
Without  the  help  of  any  hand  at  all. 
i  Curs'd  be  that  heart,  that  fore'd  us  to  this  shift !  — 
j  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, 
I  That  we  may  know  the  traitors,  and  the  truth ! 
[She  takes  the  Staff  in  her  Mouth,  and  guides 
it  with  her  Stumps,  and  writes. 

Titus. 
O !  do  you  read,  my  lord,  what  she  hath  writ  ? 
Stuprum — Chiron  — Demetrius. 

Marcus. 
What,  what!  — the  lustful  sons  of  Tamora 
Performers  of  this  heinous,  bloody  deed? 

Titus. 
Magni  dominator  poll, 
Tamlentus  audis  sceleraf  tarn  lentus  tides t 

Marcus. 
O  I  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  feere, 
And  father,  of  that  chaste  dishonour'd  dame, 
Lord  Junius  Brutus  sware  for  Lucrece*  rape, — 
That  we  will  prosecute,  by  good  advice, 
Mortal  revenge  upon  these  traitorous  Goths, 
And  see  their  blood,  or  die  with  this  reproach. 

Titus. 
'Tis  sure  enough,  an  you  knew  how ; 
But  if  you  hurt  these  bear- whelps,  then  beware: 

The 


78* 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc. 


The  dam  will  wake,  and  if  she  wind  you  once,     j 
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're  a  young  huntsman :  Marcus,  let  it  alone ;  j 
And,  come,  I  will  go  get  a  leaf  of  brass, 
And  with  a  gad  of  steel  will  write  these  words,   j 
And  lay  it  by.    The  angry  northern  wind 
Will  blow  these  sands,  like  Sybil's  leaves,  abroad,  \ 
And  where'a  your  lesson  then?— Boy,  what  say  [ 
you? 

Boy. 
I  say,  my  lord,  that  if  I  were  a  man, 
Their  mother's  bed-chamber  should  not  be  safe  j 
For  these  bad  bondmen  to  the  yoke  of  Rome. 

Marcus. 
Ay,  that's  my  boy !  thy  father  hath  full  oft 
For  his  ungrateful  country  done  the  like. 

Boy. 
And,  uncle,  so  will  I,  an  if  I  live. 

Titus. 
Come,  go  with  me  into  mine  armoury ; 
Lucius,  I'll  fit  thee :  and  withal,  my  boy 
Shall  carry  from  me  to  the  empress  sons 
Presents,  that  I  intend  to  send  them  both,  [not? 
Come,  come ;  thou'lt  do  thy  message,  wilt  thou 

Boy. 
Ay,  with  my  dagger  in  their  bosoms,  grandsire. 

Titus. 
No,  boy,  not  so ;  I'll  teach  thee  another  course. 
Lavinia,  come.  —Marcus,  look  to  my  house : 
Lucius  and  I'll  go  brave  it  at  the  court ; 
Ay,  marry,  will  we,  sir ;  and  we'll  be  waited  on. 
[Exeunt  Titus,  Lavinia,  and  Boy. 

Marcus. 
O  heavens !  can  you  hear  a  good  man  groan, 
And  not  relent,  or  not  compassion  him  ? 
Marcus,  attend  him  in  his  ecstasy, 
That  hath  more  scars  of  sorrow  in  his  heart, 
Than  foe-men's  marks  upon  his  batter'd  shield ; 

But  yet  so  just,  that  he  will  not  revenge 

Revenge  the  heavens  for  old  Andronicus! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  In  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Aaron,  Demetrius,  and  Chiron,  at  one 
Door;  at  another  Door,  young  Lucius,  and 
an  Attendant,  with  a  Bundle  of  Weapons,  and 
Verses  writ  upon  them. 

Chiron. 
Demetrius,  here's  the  son  of  Lucius; 

He  hath  some  message  to  deliver  us. 

Aaron. 
Ay,  some  mad  message  from  his  mad  grand- 
father. 

Boy. 
My  lords,  with  all  the"humbleness  I  may, 
I  greet  your  honours  from  Andronicus  ;  — 
[Aside.,  And  pray  the  Roman  gods,  confound 
you  both. 

Demetrius. 
Gramercy,  lovely  Lucius,  what's  the  news  ? 

Bov.  [Aside. 

That  you  are  both  decfpher'd,  that's  the  news, 

For  villains  mark'd  with  rape.  [To  them.]  May 

it  please  you, 
My  grandsire,  well  advis'd,  hath  sent  by  me 
The  goodliest  weapons  of  his  armoury, 
To  gratify  your  honourable  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  Boy  and  Attendant. 

Demetrius. 
What's  here?    A  scroll,  and  written  round 
Let's  see ;  [about  ? 

Integer  vitce,  scelerisque  punts, 
Non  eget  Mauri  j  a  cutis,  nee  arcu. 

Chiron. 

0  1  'tis  a  verse  in  Horace.    I  know  it  well : 
I  read  it  in  the  grammar  long  ago. 

Aaron. 
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, 
And  sends  them  weapons  wrapp'd  about  with 

lines, 
That  wound,  beyond  their  feeling,  to  the  quick ; 
But  were  our  witty  empress  well  a-foot, 
She  would  applaud  Andronicus'  conceit : 
But  let  her  rest  in  her  unrest  awhile. — 
[To  them.]  And  now,  young  lords,  was't  not  a 

happy  star 
Led  us  to  Rome,  strangers,  and  more  than  so, 
Captives,  to  be  advanced  to  this  height  ? 
It  did  me  good,  before  the  palace  gate 
To  brave  the  tribune  in  his  brother's  hearing. 

Demetrius. 
But  me  more  good,  to  see  so  great  a  lord 
Basely  insinuate,  and  send  us  gifts. 

Aaron. 
Had  he  not  reason,  lord  Demetrius  ? 
Did  you  not  use  his  daughter  very  friendly  ? 

Demetrius. 

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

Chiron. 
A  charitable  wish,  and  full  of  love. 

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

Chiron. 
And   that    would   she  for  twenty  thousand 
more. 

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

Pray  to  the  devils ;  the  gods  have  given  us 
over.  [Trumpets  sound. 

Demetrius. 

Why  do  the  emperor's  trumpets  flourish  thus? 

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

Demetrius. 
Soft !  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  a  Nurse,  with  a  Black-a-moor  Child  in 
her"  Anns. 

Nurse. 
Good  morrow,  lords.    O!  tell  me,  did  you  see 
Aaron  the  Moor. 

Aaron. 
Well,  more,  or  less,  or  ne'er  a  whit  at  all, 
Here  Aaron  is ;  and  what  with  Aaron  now  ? 

Nurse. 
O  gentle  Aaron!  we  are  all  undone. 
Now  help,  or  woe  betide  thee  evermore  I 


Art.    t 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


7«3 


•  - 

Why.  what  a  caterwauling  dost  thou  keep. 
What  dost  thou  wrap  and  fumble  in  thine  arms? 

Nurse 
O!  that  which  I  would  hide  from  heaven's 
eye,  [grace— 

Our  empress*  shame,  and  stately  Rome't  dis- 
She  Is  deliver'd,  lords ;  she  is  delfver'd. 

Aaron. 
To  whom  ? 

1  mean  she's  brought  to  bed. 

Aaron. 

Well,  God 
Give  her  good  rest  1    What  hath  he  seut  her  ? 
Nurse. 

A  devil. 
Aaron. 
Why,  then  she's  the  devil's  dam :  •  joyful 
issue. 

Nurse. 
A  joyless,  dismal,  black,  and  sorrowful  issue. 
Here  is  the  babe,  as  loathsome  as  a  toad 
Amongst  the  fairest  breeders  of  our  clime. 
The  empress  sends  it  thee,  thy  stamp,  thy  seal, 
Ai.d  bids  thee  christen  it  with  thy  dagger's 
point. 

Aaron. 

Zounds,  ye  whore !  is  black  so  base  a  hue?— 

Sweet  blowse,  you  are  a  beauteous  blossom,  sure. 

Demetrius. 
Villain,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

Aaron. 
That  which  thou  canst  not  undo. 

Chiron. 
Thou  hast  undone  our  mother. 

Aaron. 
Villain,  I  have  done  tby  mother. 

Demetrius. 

And  therein,  hellish  dog,  thou  hast  undone. 
Woe  to  her  chance,  and  darnn'd  her  loathed 

choice! 
Accurs'd  the  offspring  of  so  foul  a  fiend  I 


It  shall  not  live. 


Aaron. 

It  shall  not  die. 


Nurse. 
Aaron,  it  must :  the  mother  wills  it  so. 

Aaron. 

What !  must  It,  nurse  ?  then  let  no  man  but  I, 

Do  execution  on  my  flesh  and  blood. 

Demetrius. 

I'll  broach  the  tadpole  m  my  rapier's  point. 

Nurse,  give  it  me;  my  sword  shall  soon  despatch 

Aaron. 
Sooner  this  sword  shall  plow  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, 
That  touches  this  my  first-born  son  and  heir. 
I  tell  you,  younglings,  not  Enceladus, 
With  all  his  threateninR  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-lim'd  walls !  ye  alehouse  painted  signs  I 
Coal-black  is  better  than  another  hue, 


[in  that  It  scorns  to  bear  another  hue ; 

iFor  all  the  water  In  the  ocean 
Can  never  turn  the  swan's  black  legs  to  white. 
Although  the  lave  them  hourly  in  the  flood. 
Tell  the  empress  from  me,  I  am  of  age 
To  keep  mine  owu  ;  excuse  it  how  she  can. 

Demetrius. 
Wilt  thou  betray  thy  noble  mistress  thus? 

Aaron. 
My  mistress  is  my  mistress ;  this,  myself; 
The  vigour,  and  the  picture  of  my  youth  : 
This,  before  all  the  world,  do  I  prefer; 
This,  maugre  all  the  world,  will  I  keep  safe, 
Or  some  of  you  shall  smoke  for  it  in  Rome. 
Demetrius. 
By  this  our  mother  is  for  ever  shamed. 

Chiron. 
Rome  will  despise  her  for  this  foul  escape. 

Nurse. 
The  emperor  in  his  rage  will  doom  her  death. 

Chiron. 
I  blush  to  think  upon  this  ignomy. 

Aaron. 

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  fram'd  of  another  leer. 
Look,  how  the  black  slave  smiles  upon   the 

father, 
j  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 
He  is  enfranchised  and  come  to  light :       [were, 
Nay,  he  is  your  brother  by  the  surer  side, 
Although  my  seal  be  stamped  in  his  face. 

Nurse. 
'.     Aaron,  what  shall  I  say  unto  the  empress  ? 

i  Demetrius. 

Advise  thee,  Aaron,  what  is  to  be  done, 
;  And  we  will  all  subscribe  to  thy  advice : 
Save  thou  the  child,  so  we  may  all  be  safe. 

Aaron. 
Then  sit  we  down,  and  let  us  all  consult. 
My  son  and  I  will  have  the  wind  of  you  : 
Keep  there;  now  talk  at  pleasure  of  your  safety. 
[They  sit. 
Demetrius. 
How  many  women  saw  this  child  of  his  ? 

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

Nurse. 
Cornelia  the  midwife,  and  myself; 
J  And  no  one  else,  but  the  deliver'd  empress. 

1  Aaron. 

j      The  empress,  the  midwife,  and  yourself: 

I  Two  may  keep  counsel,  when  the  third's  away. 

•■  Go  to  the  empress  ;  tell  her,  this  I  said 

I     .  ,  ,     .  [Stabbing  her:  she  screams. 

Weke,  weke  I  —  so  cries  a  pig,  prepared  to  the 
spit. 

Demetrius. 
What mean'st  thou, Aaron?  Wherefore  did'st 
thou  this  ? 

Aaron. 
O  lord  !  sir,  'tis  a  deed  of  policy. 
Shall  she  live  to  betray  this  guilt  of  ours, 

A  long- 


73+ 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  il 


A  long-tongu'd  babbling  gossip  ?  no,  lords,  no. 
And  now  be  it  known  to  you  my  full  intent. 
Not  far,  one  Muliteus  lives,  my  countryman  ; 
His  wife  but  yesternight  was  brought  to  bed. 
His  child  is  like  to  her,  fair  as  you  are : 
Go  pack  with  him,  and  give  the  mother  gold, 
And  tell  them  both  the  circumstance  of  all ; 
And  how  by  this  their  child  shall  be  advanc'd, 
And  be  received  for  the  emperor's  heir, 
And  substituted  in  the  place  of  mine, 
To  calm  this  tempest  whirling  in  the  court, 
And  let  the  emperor  dandle  him  for  his  own. 
Hark  ye,  lords  ;  ye  see,  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  ro  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. 

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

Demetrius. 
For  this  care  of  Tamora, 
Herself  and  hers  are  highly  bound  to  thee. 

[Exeunt  Demetrius  and  Chiron  bearing  off 
the  Nurse. 

Aaron. 
Now  to  the  Goths,  as  swift  as  swallow  flies  ; 
There  to  dispose  this  treasure  in  mine  arms, 
And  secretly  to  greet  the  empress'  friends.— 
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  feed  on  curds  and  whey,  and  suck  the  goat, 
And  cabin  in  a  cave  ;  and  bring  you  up 
To  be  a  warrior,  and  command  a  camp. 

[Exit  with  the  Child. 

SCENE  III.    The  »ame.    A  public  Place. 

Enter  Titus,  bearing  Arrows,  with  Letters  on 
the  ends  of  them ;  with  him  Marcus,  young 
Lucius,  and  other  Gentlemen,  with  Bows. 

Titus. 
Come,  Marcus,  come.— Kinsmen,  this  is  the 
Sir  boy,  now  let  me  see  your  archery :    [way — 
Look  ye  draw  home  enough,   and  'tis   there  j  We  win  afl]jct  the  emperor  in  his  pride. 

straight.  Titu8> 

Be™  iZZ^TIlarcus,  she's  gone,  she's        Now,  masters,  draw.    [They  shoot.]     O,  well 


Marcus. 
O,  Publius !  is  not  this  a  heavy  case, 
To  see  thy  noble  uncle  thus  distract  ? 

Publius. 
Therefore,  my  lord,  it  highly  us  concerns, 
By  day  and  night  t'  attend  him  carefully  ; 
And  feed  his  humour  kindly  as  we  may, 
Till  time  beget  some  careful  remedy. 

Marcus. 
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. 

Titus. 

Publius,  how  now  !  how  now,  my  masters  ! 

Have  you  met  with  her  ?  [What ! 

Publius. 
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,         Leise, 
He  thinks  with  Jove  in  heaven,  or  somewhere 
So  that  perforce  you  must  needs  stay  a  time. 

Titus. 

He  doth  me  wrong  to  feed  me  with  delays. 
I'll  dive  into  the  burning  lake  below, 
And  pull  her  out  of  Acheron  by  the  heels. — 
Marcus,  we  are  but  shrubs,  no  cedars  we  •, 
No  big-bon'd  men,  fram'd  of  the  Cyclops'  size, 
But  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, 
To  send  down  justice  for  to  wreak  our  wrongs. 
Come,  to  this  gear.    You  are  a  good  archer, 
Marcus. 

[He  gives  them  the  Arrows. 
Ad  Jovem,  that's  for   you  :  —  here,  ad   Apol- 
Ad  Martem,  that's  for  myself :  —        [linem  :  — 
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. 
Marcus. 

Kinsmen,  shoot  all  your  shafts  into  the  court: 


fled. 


You,  cousins, 


Sirs,  take  you  to  your  tools. 

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 ; 
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  miser- 
able, • 
What  time  I  threw  the  people's  suffrages 
On  him  that  thus  doth  tyrannize  o'er  me.— 
Go,  get  you  gone  ;  and  pray  be  careful  all, 
And  leave  you  not  a  man  of  war  unsearch'd  : 
This  wicked  emperor  may  have   shipp'd  her 

hence, 
And,  kinsmen,  then  we  may  go  pipe  for  justice. 


said,  Lucius  ! 
Good  boy,  in  Virgo's  lap  :  give  it  Pallas. 
Marcus. 
My  lord,  I  aim  a  mile  beyond  the  moon : 
Your  letter  is  with  Jupiter  by  this. 
Titus. 
Ha  !  Publius,  Publius,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
See,  see  !  thou  hast  shot  off  one  of  Taurus' 
horns. 

Marcus. 

This  was  the  sport,  my  lord:  when  Publius 

shot, 

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

That  down  fell  both  the  ram's  horns  in  the 

court ;  [villain. 

And  who  should  find  them  but  the  empress' 

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

choose 
But  give  them  to  his  master  for  a  present. 

Why,  there  it  goes:  God  give  his  lordship 

j°y-  Enter 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


785 


Kuter  the  Clown,  with  a  Basket  and  Two 

Pigeons. 

Newt  I  newt  from  heaven  I    Marcus,  the  post  Is 

come. 
Sirrah,  what  tidings  ?  hare  you  any  letters  ? 
Shall  1  have  justice?  wli.it  says  Jupiter  f 

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

Titus. 
But  what  says  Jupiter,  I  ask  thee  ? 

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

Titus. 
Why,  villain,  art  not  thou  the  carrier  ? 

Clown- 
Ay,  of  my  pigeons,  sir  ;  nothing  else. 

Titus. 
Why,  didst  thou  not  come  from  heaven  ? 

Clown. 
From  heaven  ?  alas,  sir  I  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. 

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

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

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

Titus. 
Sirrah,  come  hither.    Make  no  more  ado, 
But  give  your  pigeons  to  the  emperor : 
By  me  thou  shalt  have  justice  at  his  hands. 
Hold,  hold  :  —  mean  while,  here's  money  for  thy 
Give  me  pen  and  ink.  —  [charges. 

Sirrah,  can  you  with  a  grace  deliver  a  supplica- 
tion ? 

Clown. 
Ay,  sir. 

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

Clown. 
I  warrant  you,  sir  ;  let  me  alone. 

Titus. 
Sirrah,  hast  thou  a  knife  ?    Come,  let  me  see 
Here,  Marcus,  fold  it  in  the  oration,  [it.— 

For  thou  hast  made  it  like  an  humble  sup- 
pliant.— 
And  when  thou  hast  given  it  to  the  emperor, 
Knock  at  my  door,  and  tell  me  what  he  says. 

Clown. 
God  be  with  you,  sir  :  I  will. 

Titus. 
Come,  Marcus,  let  us  go.  —  Publius,  follow 
me.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Saturninus,  Tamora,  Demetrius,  Chiron, 
tf  and  others:   Saturninus  with  the  Ar- 
rows in  his  Hand,  that  Titus  shot 

Saturninus. 
Why,  lords,  what  wrongs  are  these  1    Was 

ever  seen 
An  emperor  of  Rome  thus  overborne, 
Troubled,  confronted  thus ;  and,  for  the  extent 
Of  equal  justice,  us'd  in  such  contempt  ? 
My  lords,  you  know,  as  do  the  mightful  gods, 
( However  these  disturbers  of  our  peace 
liua  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, 
Shall  we  be  thus  afflicted  in  his  wreaks, 
His  fits,  his  frenzy,  and  his  bitterness  ? 
And  now  he  writes  to  heaven  for  his  redress  1 
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  I 
What's  this  but  libelling  against  the  senate, 
And  blazoning  our  injustice  every  where? 
A  goodly  humour,  is  it  not,  my  lords  ? 
As  who  would  say,  in  Rome  no  justice  were. 
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. 


My  gracious  lord,  my  lovely  Saturnine, 


Tamora . 
y  gracious  lord,  my  lovelj  »»..»•<>», 
Lord  of  my  life,  commander  of  my  thoughts, 
Calm  thee,  and  bear  the  faults  of  Titus'  age, 
Th'  effects  of  sorrow  for  his  valiant  sons, 
Whose  loss  hath  piere'd  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,  Tilus.  I  have  touch'd  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  I  would'st  thou  speak  with 
us? 

Clown, 
Yes,  forsooth,  an  your  mistership  be  imperial. 

Tamora. 
Empress  I  am,  but  yonder  sits  the  emperor. 

•Tishe.  — God,  and  saint  Stephen,  give  you 
good  den.  I  have  brought  you  a  letter,  and  a 
couple  of  pigeons  here. 

[Saturninus  reads  the  Letter. 
Saturninus. 
Go,  take  him  away,  and  hang  him  presently. 

Clown. 
How  much  money  must  I  have  ? 

Tamora 
Come,  sirrah  ;  you  must  be  hang'd. 

Clown. 

Hang'd  1    By'r  lady,  then  I  have  brought  up 

a  neck  to  a  fair  end.  [Exit,  guarded. 

Saturninus. 
Despiteful  and  intolerable  wrongs  I 

3  e  Shall 


786 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  iv.  Sc  iv. 


Shall  I  endure  this  monstrous  villainy  ? 
I  know  from  whence  this  same  device  proceeds. 
May  this  be  borne? — as  if  his  traitorous  sons, 
That  died  by  law  for  murder  of  our  brother, 
Have  bymymeans  been  butcher'd  wrongfully. — 
Go,  drag  the  villain  hither  by  the  hair : 
Nor  age,  nor  honour,  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  JEmiUus. 
What  news  with  thee,  JEmiUus  f 
iEmilius. 
Arm,  my  lords  !   Rome  never  had  more  cause. 
The  Goths  havegather'd  head,  and  withapower 
Of  high-resolved  men,  bent  to  the  spoil. 
They  hither  march  amain,  under  conduct 
Of  Lucius,  son  to  old  Andronicus  ; 
Who  threats,  in  course  of  this  revenge,  to  do 
As  much  as  ever  Coriolanus  did. 
Saturninus. 
Is  warlike  Lucius  general  of  the  Goths? 
These  tidings  nip  me ;  and  I  hang  the  head 
As  flowers  with  frost,  or  grass  beat  down  with 

storms. 
Ay,  now  begin  our  sorrows  to  approach. 
'Tis  he  the  common  people  love  so  much  : 
Myself  hath  often  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.        m 

Tamora. 
Why  should  you  fear  ?  is  not  our  city  strong  ? 

Saturninus. 
Ay,  but  the  citizens  favour  Lucius, 
And  will  revolt  from  me  to  succour  him. 
Tamora. 
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  sing, 
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  may'st  thou  the  giddy  men  of  Rome. 
Then  cheer  thy  spirit ;  for  know,  thou  emperor, 
I  will  enchant  the  old  Andronicus, 
With  words  more  sweet,  and  yet  more  dangerous, 
Than  baits  to  fish,  or  honey-stalks  to  sheep  ; 
When  as  the  one  is  wounded  with  the  bait, 
The  other  rotted  with  delicious  feed. 
Saturninus* 
But  he  will  not  entreat  his  son  for  us. 

Tamora. 
If  Tamora  entreat  him,  then  he  will ; 
For  I  can  smooth,  and  fill  his  aged  ear 
With  golden  promises,  that  were  his  heart 
Almost  impregnable,  his  old  ears  deaf, 
Yet  should  both  ear  and  heart  obey  my  tongue. — 
Go  thou  before,  be  our  ambassador : 

[To  JEmiUus. 
Say  that  the  emperor  requests  a  parley 
Of  warlike  Lucius,  and  appoint  the  meeting, 
Even  at  his  father's  house,  the  old  Andronicus. 
Saturninus. 
JEmiUus,  do  this  message  honourably : 
And  if  he  stand  in  hostage  for  his  safety, 
Bid  him  demand  what  pledge  will  please  him 

best-  ^    .» 

/Emihus. 


Your  bidding  shall  I  do  effectually.. 


t  Mmilius. 


Tamora. 
Now  will  I  to  that  old  Andronicus, 
And  temper  him  with  all  the  art  I  have, 
To  pluck  proud  Lucius  from  the  warlike  Goths. 
And  now,  sweet  emperor,  be  blithe  again, 
And  bury  all  thy  fear  in  my  devices. 
Saturninus. 
Then  go  successfully,  and  plead  to  him. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    Plains  near  Rome. 

Enter  Lucius,  and  an  Army  of  Goths,  with  Drum 
and  Colours. 

Lucius. 

APPRO  VED  warriors, andmy  faithful  friends, 
I  have  received  letters  from  great  Rome, 
Which  signify  what  hate  they  bear  their  emperor, 
And  how  desirous  of  our  sight  they  are. 
Therefore,  great  lords,  be,  as  your  titles  witness, 
Imperious,  and  impatient  of  your  wrongs  ; 
And,  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  com- 
fort; 
Whose  high  exploits,  and  honourable  deeds, 
Ingrateful  Rome  requites  with  foul  contempt, 
Be  bold  in  us:  we'll  follow  where  thou  lead'st, 
Like  stinging  bees  in  hottest  summer's  day, 
Led  by  their  master  to  the  flower'd  fields, 
And  be  aveng'd  on  cursed  Tamora. 
Goths. 
And,  as  he  saith,  so  say  we  all  with  him. 

Lucius. 
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. 

Second  Goth. 

Renowned  Lucius,  from  our  troops  I  stray'd, 
To  gaze  upon  a  ruinous  monastery  ; 
And  as  I  earnestly  did  fix  mine  eye 
Upon  the  wasted  building,  suddenly 
I  heard  a  child  try  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  thydam  1 
Did  not  thy  hue  bewray  whose  brat  thou  art, 
Had  nature  lent  thee  but  thy  mother's  look, 
Villain,  thou  might'st  have  been  an  emperor : 
But  where  the  bull  and  cow  are  both  milk-white, 
They  never  do  beget  a  coal-black  calf. 
Peace,  villain,  peace!"— even  thus  he  rates  the 

babe, — 
"  For  I  must  bear  thee  to  a  trusty  Goth  ; 
Who,  when  he  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, 
Surpris'd  him  suddenly,  and  brought  him  hither, 
To  use  as  you  think  needful  of  the  man. 
Lucius. 

O  worthy  Goth  !  this  is  the  incarnate  devil, 
That  robb'd  Andronicus  of  his  good  hand; 
This  is  the  pearl  that  pleas'd  your  empress'  eye, 
And  here's  the  base  fruit  of  his  burning  lust.  — 

Say, 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


TITUS  ANDKiiMCl'S. 


787 


Say,  wall-ey'd   slave,  whither   would'st   thou 

convey 
This  growing  image  of  thy  fiend  like  face? 
Why  dost  not  speak  ?    What !  deaf?  not  a  word  ? 
A  halter,  soldier*  1  hang  him  on  this  tree, 
And  by  his  side  his  fruit  of  bastardy. 
Aaron. 
Touch  not  the  boy;  he  is  of  royal  blood. 

Lucius. 
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. 
Aaron. 

Get  toe  a  ladder 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'll  speak  no  more ;  but  vengeance  rot  you  all  I 
Lucius. 
Say  on;  and   if  it   please   me  which    thou 
speak 'st, 
Thy  child  shall  live,  and  I  will  see  it  nourish'd. 
Aaron. 
An  if  it  please  thee?  why,  assure  thee,  Lucius, 
•Twill  vex  thy  soul  to  hear  what  I  shall  speak  ; 
For  I  must  talk  of  murders,  rapes,  and  massacres, 
Acts  of  black  night,  abominable  deeds, 
Complots  of  mischief,  treason,  villainies 
Ruthful  to  hear,  yet  piteously  perform'd: 
And  this  shall  all  be  buried  in  my  death, 
Unless  thou  sware  to  me  my  child  shall  live. 
Lucius. 
Tell  on  thy  mind :  I  say,  thy  child  shall  live. 

Aaron. 
Swear  that  he  shall,  and  then  I  will  begin. 

Lucius. 
Whom  should  I  swear  by  ?  thou  believ'st  no 
god: 
That  granted,  how  canst  thou  believe  an  oath  ? 
Aaron. 
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  1  have  seen  thee  careful  to  observe, 
Therefore  I  urge  thy  oath  :  — for  that,  I  know, 
An  idiot  holds  his  bauble  for  a  god, 
And  keeps  the  oath,  which   by  that  god  he 
swears, 

To  that  I'll  urge  him Therefore  thou  shalt 

By  that  same  god,  what  god  soe'er  it  be,     [vow 
That  thou  ador'st  and  hast  in  reverence, 
To  save  my  boy,  to  nourish,  and  bring  him  up, 
Or  else  I  will  discover  nought  to  thee. 
Lucius. 
Even  by  my  god,  I  swear  to  thee,  I  will. 

Aaron. 
First,  know  thou,  I  begot  him  on  the  empress. 

Lucius. 
O  most  insatiate,  luxurious  woman  1 

Aaron. 
Tut  1  Lucius,  this  was  but  a  deed  of  charity, 
To  that  which  thou  shalt  hear  of  me  anon. 
'Twas  her  two  sons  that  murder'd  Bassiauus  ; 
They  cut  thy  sister's  tongue,  and  ravish'd  her, 
And  cut  her  hands,  and  trimm'd  her  as  thou 
saw 'st. 

Lucius. 

O,  detestable  villain !  call'st  thou  that  trim- 
ming* 


Aaron. 
Why,  she  was  wash'd,  and  cut,  and  trimm'd; 
and  'twas 
Trim  sport  for  them  that  had  the  doing  of  It. 
Lucius. 
O,  barbarous,  beastly  villains,  like  thyself  I 

Aaron. 
Indeed,  I  was  their  tutor  to  Instruct  them. 
That  codding  spirit  had  they  from  their  mother, 
As  sure  a  card  as  ever  won  the  set: 
That  bloody  mind,  I  think  they  learn'd  of  me, 
As  true  a  dog  as  ever  fought  at  head. 
Well,  let  my  deeds  be  witness  of  my  worth. 
I  train'd  thy  brethren  to  that  guileful  hole, 
Where  the  dead  corpse  of  Bassianus  lay; 
I  wrote  the  letter  that  thy  father  found, 
And  hid  the  gold,  within  the  letter  mentioned, 
Confederate  with  the  queen,  and  her  two  sons; 
And  what  not  done,  that  thou  hast  cause  to  rue, 
Wherein  I  had  no  stroke  of  mischief  in  it? 
I  play'd  the  cheater  for  thy  father's  hand, 
And,  when  1  had  it,  drew  myself  apart, 
And   almost   broke    my   heart   with   extreme 

laughter. 
I  pry'd  me  through  the  crevice  of  a  wall, 
\\  hen,  for  his  hand,  he  had  his  two  sons'  heads ; 
Beheld  his  tears,  and  laugh'd  so  heartily, 
That  both  mine  eyes  were  rainy,  like  to  his : 
And  when  1  told  the  empress  of  this  sport, 
She  swooned  almost  at  my  pleasing  tale, 
And  for  my  tidings  gave  me  twenty  kisses. 
Goth. 
Whatl   canst  thou  say  all  this,  and  never 
blush? 

Aaron. 

Ay,  like  a  black  dog,  as  the  saying  is. 

Lucius. 
Art  thou  not  sorry  for  these  heinous  deeds? 

Aaron  • 
Ay,  that  I  had  not  done  a  thousand  more. 
Even  now  I  curse  the  day,  (and  vet,  I  think, 
Few  come  within  the  compass  of  my  curse) 
Wherein  I  did  not  some  notorious  ill : 
As  kill  a  man,  or  else  devise  his  death ; 
Ravish  a  maid,  or  plot  the  way  to  do  it ; 
Accuse  some  innocent,  and  forswear  myself; 
Set  deadly  enmity  between  two  friends ; 
Make  poor  men's  cattle  break  their  necks ; 
Set  fire  on  barns  and  hay-stacks  in  the  night, 
And  bid  the  owners  quench  them  with  their 
tears.  [graves, 

Oft  have  I    digg'd  up  dead  men  from    their 
And  set  them  upright  at  their  dear  friends'  doors, 
Even  when  their  sorrows  almost  were  forgot ; 
And  on  their  skins,  as  on  the  hark  of  trees, 
Have  with  my  knife  carved  In  Roman  letters, 
"  Let  not  your  sorrow  die,  though  I  am  dead." 
Tut  1  1  have  done  a  thousand  dreadful  things, 
As  willingly  as  one  would  kill  a  fly ; 
And  nothing  grieves  me  heartily  indeed, 
But  that  1  cannot  do  ten  thousand  more. 
Lucius. 
Bring  down  the  devil,  for  he  must  not  die 
So  sweet  a  death  as  hanging,  presently. 
Aaron. 
If  there  be  devils,  would  I  were  a  devil, 
To  live  and  burn  in  everlasting  fire, 
So  I  might  have  your  company  in  hell, 
But  to  torment  you  with  my  bitter  tongue  1 
Lucius. 
Sirs,  stop  his  mouth,  and  let  him  speak  no 
more.  _  ; 

Enter 


788 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


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

Enter  JEmilius. 
Welcome,   JEinilius!    what's    the   news    from 
Borne  t 

JEmilius. 
Lord  Lucius,  and  you  princes  of  the  Goths, 
The  Roman  emperor  greets  you  all  by  me : 
And,  for  he  understands  you  are  in  arms, 
He  craves  a  parley  at  your  father's  house, 
Willing  you  to  demand  your  hostages, 
And  they  shall  be  immediately  deliver'd. 
First  Goth. 
What  says  our  general  ? 

Lucius. 
JEmilius,  let  the  emperor  give  his  pledges 
Unto  my  father  and  my  uncle  Marcus, 
And  we  will  come.  —  March  1  away !     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Home.    Before  Titus's  House. 

Knter  Tamora,  Demetrius,  and  Chiron,  dis- 
guised. 
Tamora. 
Thus,  in  this  strange  and  sad  habiliment, 
I  will  encounter  with  Andronicus, 
And  say,  1  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. 

Titus  opens  his  study  door. 
Titus. 
Who  doth  molest  mv  contemplation  ? 
Is  it  your  trick,  to  make  me  ope  the  door, 
That  so  my  sad  decrees  may  fly  away, 
And  all  my  study  be  to  no  effect  ? 
You  are  deceiv'd ;  for  what  I  mean  to  do, 
See  here,  in  bloody  lines  I  have  set  down, 
And  what  is  written  shall  be  executed. 
Tamora. 
Titus,  I  am  come  to  talk  with  thee. 

Titus. 
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. 
Tamora. 
If  thou  didst  know  me,  thou  would'st  talk  with 
me. 

Titus- 

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  I  know  thee  well 
For  our  proud  empress,  mighty  Tamora. 
Is  not  thy  coming  for  my  other  hand  ? 

Tamora. 
Know,  thou  sad  man,  I  am  not  Tamora : 
She  is  thy  enemy,  and  I  thy  friend. 
I  am  Revenge  ;  sent  from  the  infernal  kingdom, 
To  ease  the  gnawing  vulture  of  thy  mind, 
By  working  wreakful  vengeance  on  thy  foes. 


Come  down,  and  welcome  me  to  this  world's 

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

Titus. 
Art  thou  Revenge  ?  and  art  thou  sent  to  me, 
To  be  a  torment  to  mine  enemies  ? 

Tamora. 
I  am  ;    therefore  come  down,  and  welcome 

me. 

Titus. 
Do  me  some  ? ervice,  ere  I  come  to  thee. 
Lo  I   by  thy  side  where  Rape,  and   Murder, 

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

Tamora. 
These  are  my  ministers,  and  come  with  me. 

Titus. 
Are  they  thy  ministers  ?  what  are  they  call'd  ? 

Tamora. 
Rape,  and  Murder  ;  therefore  called  so, 
'Cause  they  take  vengeance  of  such  kind  of 
men. 

Titus. 
Good  lord !  how  like  the  empress'  sons  they 
are ; 
And  you,  the  empress  :  but  we  worldly  men 
Have  miserable,  mad,  mistaking  eyes. 

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

thee, 

1  will  embrace  thee  in  it  by  and  by.   [Exit  Titus. 

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

Enter  Titus. 

Titus. 
Long  have  I  been  forlorn,  and  all  for  thee. 
Welcome,  dread  fury,  to  my  woeful  house. — 
Rapine,  and  Murder,  you  are  welcome  too. — 
How  like  the  empress  and  her  sons  you  are  ! 
Well  are  you  fitted,  had  you  but  a  Moor  :— 
Could  not  all  hell  afford  you  such  a  devil  ? 
For,  well  I  wot,  the  empress  never  wags, 
But  in  her  company  there  is  a  Moor ; 
And  would  you  represent  our  queen  aright, 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


789 


It  were  convenient  you  had  such  a  dovll. 
Hut  wfliume,  as  you  are.    What  shall  we  do  ? 
Tamora. 
What  would'st  thou  have  us  do,  Andronicus  T 

Demetrius. 
Show  me  a  murderer,  I'll  deal  with  him. 

Chiron. 
Show  me  a  villain  that  hath  done  a  rape, 
And  I  am  sent  to  be  reveng'd  on  him. 
Tamora. 
Show  me  a  thousand  that  have  done  thee 
wrong. 
And  I  will  be  revenged  on  them  all. 
Titus. 
Look  round  about  the  wicked  streets  of  Home, 
And  when  thou  flnd'st  a  man  that's  like  thyself, 
Good  Murder,  stab  him  :  he's  a  murderer.  — 
Go  thou  with  him  ;  and  when  it  is  thy  hap 
To  find  another  that  is  like  to  thee. 
Good  Rapine,  stab  him  :  he  is  a  ravisher — 
Go  thou  with  them  ;  and  in  the  emperor's  court 
There  is  a  queen,  attended  by  a  Moor : 
Well  may'st   thou   know   her   by  thine   own 

proportion, 
For  up  and  down  she  doth  resemble  thee. 
I  pray  thee,  do  on  them  some  violent  death, 
They  have  been  violent  to  me  and  mine. 
Tamora- 
Well  hast  thou  lesson'd  us :  this  shall  we  do. 
But  would  it  please  thee,  good  Andronicus, 
To  send  for  Lucius,  thy  thrice  valiant  son, 
Who  leads  towards  Rome  a  band  of  warlike 

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  shall  they  stoop  and  kneel, 
And  on  them  shalt  thou  ease  thy  angry  heart. 
What  says  Andronicus  to  this  device  ? 
Titus. 
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,  aud  so  let  him, 
As  he  regards  his  aged  father's  life. 
Marcus. 
This  will  I  do,  and  soon  return  again.    [Exit. 

Tamora. 
Now  will  I  hence  about  thy  business, 
And  take  my  ministers  along  with  me. 
Titus. 
Nay,  nay,  let  Rape  and  Murder  stay  with  me. 
Or  else  I'll  call  my  brother  back  again, 
And  cleave  to  no  revenge  but  Lucius. 

Tamora.       [Aside  to  them. 
What  say  you,  boys  ?  will  you  bide  with  him, 
Whiles  I  go  tell  my  lord  the  emperor, 
How  I  have  govern'd  our  determin'd  jest  ? 
Yield  to  his  humour,  smooth  and  speak  him 
And  tarry  with  him,  till  I  turn  again.  [fair, 

Titus.  [Aside. 

I  know  them  all,  though  they  suppose  me 
mad ; 
And  will  o'er-reach  them  in  their  own  devices, 
A  pair  of  cursed  hell-hounds,  and  their  dam. 


Demetrius. 
Madam,  depart  at  pleasure ;  leave  us  here. 

Tamora. 
Farewell,  Andronicus  :  Revenge  now  goes  . 
To  lay  a  complot  to  betray  thy  foes.  [Exit. 

Titus. 
I  know  thou  dost ;  and,  sweet  Revenge,  fare- 
well. 

Chiron. 
Tell  us,  old  man,  how  shall  we  be  employ'd  ? 

Titus. 
Tut  1  I  have  work  enough  for  you  to  do.— 
Publius,  come  hither,  Caius,  and  Valentine  t 

Enter  Publius,  and  others. 
Publius. 
What's  your  will  ' 

Titui. 
Know  you  these  two  ? 

Publiuj. 
The  empress'  sons 
I  take  them  ;  Chiron,  Demetrius. 
Titua. 
Fie,  Publius,  fie  1  thou  art  too  much  deceiv'd ; 
The  one  is  Murder,  Rape  is  the  other's  name: 
And  therefore  bind  them,  gentle  Publius  j 
Caius,  and  Valentine,  lay  hands  on  them. 
Oft  have  you  heard  me  wish  for  such  an  hour, 
And  now  I  find  it :  therefore,  bind  them  sure ; 
And  stop  their  mouths,  if  they  becin  to  cry. 
[Exft  Titus.— Publius,  &c.  seize  Chtroh,  and 
Demetrius. 

Chiron. 
Villains,  forbear !  we  are  the  empress'  sons. 

Publius.  * 
And   therefore   do   we  what   we   are   com- 
manded—  [word. 
Stop  close  their  mouths  ;  let  them  not  speak  a 
Is  he  sure  bound?  look,  that  you  bind  them 
fast. 

Re-enter  Titus  Andronicus,  with  Lavir.ia;  she 

bearing  a  Bason,  and  he  a  Knife. 

Titus. 

Come,  come,  Lavima;    look,  thy  foes   are 

bound. —  [me, 

Sirs,  stop  their  mouths  ;  let  them  not  speak  to 

But  let  them  hear  what  fearful  words  I  utter 

O  villains  1  Chiron  and  Demetrius, 

Here  stands  the  spring  whom  you  have  stain'd 

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

more  dear 
Than  hands  or  tongue,  her  spotless  chastity. 
Inhuman  traitors,  you  constraint  and  fore'd. 
What  would  you  say,  if  I  should  let  you  speak  ? 
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  bason,  that  receives  your  guilty  blood. 
I  You  know,  your  mother  means  to  feast  with  me, 
1  And  calls  herself  Revenge,  and  thinks  me  mad. — 
I  Hark,  villains  !  I  will  grind  your  bones  to  dust, 

And  with  your  blood  and  it,  I'll  make  a  paste  ; 
{  And  of  the  paste  a  coffin  I  will  rear, 
And  make  two  pasties  of  your  shameful  heads  ; 
And  bid  that  strumpet,  your  unhallow'd  dam. 
Like  to  the  earth,  swallow  her  own  increase. 

This 


790 


TITUS  AND110NICUS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


This  is  the  feast  that  I  have  bid  her  to. 
And  this  the  banquet  she  shall  surfeit  on  ; 
For  worse  than  Philomel  you  us'd  my  daughter, 
And  worse  than  Progne  I  will  be  reveng'd. 
And  now  prepare  your  throats.— Lavinia  come, 


[He  cuts  their  Throats. 


Receive  the  blood:  and  when  that  they  are  dead, 
Let  me  go  grind  their  bones  to  powder  small, 
And  with  this  hateful  liquor  temper  it ; 
And  in  that  paste  let  their  vile  heads  be  bak'd — 
Come,  come,  be  every  one  officious 
To  make  this  banquet ;  which  I  wish  may  prove 
More  stern  and  bloody  than  the  Centaurs'  feast. 
So,  now  bring  them  in,  for  1  will  play  the  cook, 
And  see  them  ready  'gainst  their  mother  comes. 
[Exeunt,  bearing  the  dead  Bodies. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Pavilion,  with 

Tables,  &c. 

Enter  Lucius,  Marcus,  and  Goths  ;  with  Aaron, 

Prisoner. 

Lucius. 
Uncle  Marcus,  since  'tis  my  father's  mind, 
That  I  repair  to  Rome,  I  am  content. 

First  Goth. 
And  ours,  with  thine, befall  what  fortune  will. 

Lucius. 
Good  uncle,  take  you  in  this  barbarous  Moor,' 
This  ravenous  tiger,  this  accursed  devil. 
Let  him  receive  no  sustenance  ;  fetter  him, 
Till  he  be  brought  unto  the  empress'  face, 
For  testimony  of  her  foul  proceedings. 
And  see  the  ambush  of  our  friends  be  strong : 
I  fear  the  emperor  means  no  good  to  us. 

Aaron. 
Some  devil  whisper  curses  in  mine  ear, 
And  prompt  me,  that  my  tongue  may  utter  forth 
The  venomous  malice  of  my  swelling  heart ! 

Lucius. 
Away,  inhuman  dog !  unhallow'd  slave  !  — 
Sirs,  help  our  uncle  to  convey  him  in — 

[Exeunt  Goths  with  Aaron.    Trumpets 
sound. 
The  trumpets  show  the  emperor  is  at  hand. 

Enter  Saturninus  and  Tamora,  with  Tribunes, 

Senators,  and  others. 

Saturninus. 

What!  hath  the  firmament  more  suns  than 

one? 

Lucius. 
What  boots  it  thee,  to  call  thyself  a  sun  ? 

Marcus. 
Rome's  emperor, and  nephew,  break  the  parle; 
These  quarrels  must  be  quietly  debated. 
The  feast  is  ready,  which  the  careful  Titus 
Hath  ordain'd  to  an  honourable  end,      [Rome  : 
For  peace,  for  love,  for  league,  and  good  to 
Please  you,  therefore,  draw  nigh,  and  take  your 
places. 

Saturninus. 
Marcus,  we  will. 

[Hautboys  sound.    The  Company  sit  down 
at  Table. 

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

Titus. 

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. 

1 


Saturninus. 
Why  art  thou  thus  attir'd,  Andronicus? 

Titus. 

Because  I  would  be  sure  to  have  all  well, 

To  entertain  your  highness,  and  your  empress. 

Tamora. 

We  are  beholding  to  you,  good  Andronicus. 

Titus. 
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   enforc'd,   stain'd,  and   de- 
flour'd  ? 

Saturninus. 
It  was,  Andronicus. 

Titus. 
Your  reason,  mighty  lord ! 

Saturninus. 
Because  the  girl  should  not  survive  her  shame, 
And  by  her  presence  still  renew  his  sorrows. 

Titus. 
A  reason  mighty,  strong,  and  effectual ; 
A  pattern,  precedent,  and  lively  warrant, 
For  me,  most  wretched,  to  perform  the  like. — 
Die,  die,  Lavinia,  and  thy  shame  with  thee ; 

[He  kills  Lavinia. 
And  with  thy  shame  thy  father's  sorrow  die ! 
Saturninus. 
What  hast  thou  done?  unnatural  and  unkind ! 

Titus. 
Kill'd  her,  for  whom  my  tears  have  made  me 
am  as  woeful  as  Virginius  was,  [blind. 

And  have  a  thousand  times  more  cause  than  he 
To  do  this  outrage ; — and  it  is  now  done. 
Saturninus. 
Whatl  was  she  ravish'd?  tell  who  did  the 
deed. 

Titus. 
Will't  please  you  eat?  will't  please  your  high- 
ness feed  ? 

Tamora. 
Why  hast  thou   slain   thine  only  daughter 
thus  ? 

Titus. 
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. 
Saturninus. 
Go,  fetch  them  hither  to  us  presently. 

Titus. 
Why,  there  they  are  both,  baked  in  that  pie ; 
Whereof  their  mother  daintily  hath  fed, 
Eating  the  flesh  that  she  herself  hath  bred. 
'Tis  true,  'tis  true;  witness  my  knife's  sharp 
point.  [Killing  Tamora. 

Saturninus. 
Die,  frantic  wretch,  for  this  accursed  deed. 

[Killing  Titus. 
Lucius. 
Can  the  son's  eye  behold  his  father  bleed  ? 
There's  meed  for  meed,  death  for  a  deadly  deed. 
[Killing  Saturninus.  A  great  Tumult.  The 
People  in  confusion  disperse.     Marcus, 
Lucius,  and  their  Partisans,  ascend  the 
steps  before  Titus's  House- 
Marcus. 
You  sad-fac'd  men,  people  and  sons  of  Rome, 
By  uproar  sever'd,  like  a  flight  of  fowl 
Scatter'd  by  winds  and  high  tempestuous  gusts, 
O !  let  me  teach  you  how  to  knit  again 
This  scatter'd  corn  into  one  mutual  sheaf, 
These  broken  limbs  again  into  one  body. 

Roman 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


791 


Roman  Lord. 

Lest  Rome  herself  be  b.<ne  unto  henelf ; 
And  she,  whom  mighty  kingdoms  court's)1  to, 
Like  a  forlorn  and  desperate  cast-away, 
Do  shameful  execution  on  herself. 
But  if  my  frosty  signs  and  chaps  of  age, 
Grave  witnesses  of  true  experience. 
Cannot  induce  you  to  attend  my  words,— 
Speak,  Rome's  dear  friend;  as  erst  our  ancestor, 
W  hen  with  his  solemn  tongue  he  did  discourse, 
To  love-sick  Dido's  sad  attending  ear, 
The  story  of  that  baleful  burning  night. 
When  subtle  Greeks  surpris'd    king  Priam's 

Trot/. 
Tell  us,  what  Steffi  hath  bewltch'd  our  ears, 
Or  who  hath  brought  the  fatal  engine  in, 
That    gives   our   Troy,   our   Rome,   the    civil 

wound. — 
My  heart  is  not  compact  of  flint,  nor  steel, 
Nor  can  I  utter  all  our  bitter  grief; 
But  floods  of  tears  will  drown  my  oratory. 
And  break  my  very  utterance,  even  i'  the  time 
When  it  should  move  you  to  attend  me  most, 
Lending  your  kind  commiseration. 
Here  is  acaptain,  let  him  tell  the  tale;    [speak. 
Your  heads  will  throb  and  weep  to  hear  him 
Lucius. 

Then,  noble  auditory,  be  it  known  to  you, 
That  cursed  Chiron  and  Demetrius 
Were  they  that  murdered  our  emperor's  brother; 
And  they  it  was  that  ravished  our  sister. 
For  their  fell  faults  our  brothers  were  beheaded, 
Our  father's  tears  despis'd,  and  basely  cozen 'd 
Of  that  true  hand,  that  fought  Rome's  quarrel 
And  sent  her  enemies  unto  the  grave.  [out, 

Lastly,  myself  unkindly  banished, 
The  gates  shut  on  me,  and  turn'd  weeping  out, 
To  beg  relief  among  Rome's  enemies ; 
Who  drown'd  their  enmity  in  my  true  tears, 
And  op'd  their  arms  to  embrace  me  as  a  friend: 
And  I  am  the  turn'd-forth,  be  it  known  to  you, 
That  have  preserv'd  her  welfare  in  my  blood; 
And  from  her  bosom  took  the  enemy's  point, 
Sheathing  the  steel  in  my  adventurous  body. 
Alas  1  you  know,  I  am  no  vaunter,  1 ; 
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. 

Marcus. 

Now  is  my  turn  to  speak.    Behold  this  child : 
Of  this  was  Tamora  delivered; 
The  issue  of  an  irreligious  Moor, 
Chief  architect  and  plotter  of  these  woes. 
The  villain  is  alive  in  Titus'  house, 
Damn'd  as  he  is,  to  witness  this  is  true. 
Now  judge,  what  cause  had  Titus  to  revenge 
These  wrongs,  unspeakable,  past  patience. 
Or  more  than  any  living  man  could  bear. 
Now  you  have  heard  the  truth,  what  say  you, 

Romans  ? 
Have  we  done  aught  amiss?    Show  us  wherein, 
And  from  the  place  where  you  behold  us  now, 
The  poor  remainder  of  Andronici 
Will,  hand  in  hand,  all  headlong  cast  us  down, 
And  on  the  ragged  stones  beat  forth  our  brains, 
And  make  a  mutual  closure  of  our  house. 
Speak,  Romans,  speak  !  and,  if  you  say.  we  shall, 
Ix> !  hand  in  hand,  Lucius  and"  I  will  fall. 
JEmilius. 

Come,  come,  thou  reverend  man  of  Rome, 
And  bring  our  emperor  gently  in  thy  hand, 
Lucius  our  emperor ;  for,  well  I  know, 
The  common  voice  do  cry,  it  shall  be  so. 


Marcus. 
Lucius,  all  hail  !  Rome's  royal  emperor 

Lucius,  Sec.  descend. 

Go,  go  into  old  Titus'  sorrowful  house. 

[TO  an  Attendant. 
And  hither  hale  that  misbelieving  Moor, 
To  be  adjudg'd  some  direful  slaughtering  death, 
As  punishment  for  his  most  wicked  life.  — 
Lucius,  all  hail  1    Rome's  gracious  governor. 
Lucius. 
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, — 

For  nature  puts  me  to  a  heavy  task 

Stand  all  aloof; — but,  uncle,  draw  you  near, 
To  shed  obsequious  tears  upon  this  trunk.  — 
O  1  take  this  warm  kiss  on  thy  pale  cold  lips, 

[Kisses  Tilus. 
These  sorrowful  drops  upon  thy  blood-staln'd 
The  last  true  duties  of  thy  noble  son  !         [face, 
Marcus. 
Tear  for  tear,  and  loving  kiss  for  kiss, 
Thy  brother  Marcus  tenders  on  thy  lips  : 
O  1  were  the  sum  of  these  that  I  should  pay 
Countless  and  infinite,  yet  would  I  pay  them. 
Lucius. 
Come,  hither,  boy :  come,  come,  and  learn  of 
us 
To  melt  in  showers.    Thy  grandsire  lov'd  thee 
Many  a  time  he  dane'd  thee  on  his  knee,  [well ; 
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 :     [woe. 
Friends  should  associate  friends  in  grief  and 
Bid  him  farewell ;  commit  him  to  the  grave  ; 
Do  him  that  kindness,  and  take  leave  of  him. 
Boy. 
O  grandsire,  grandsire!   eren   with  all  my 
heart 
Would  I  were  dead,  so  you  did  live  again 

0  lord  1  I  cannot  speak  to  him  for  weeping  ■„ 
My  tears  will  choke  me,  if  I  ope  my  mouth. 

Enter  Attendants,  with  Aaron. 
First  Roman. 
You  sad  Andronici,  have  done  with  woes. 
Give  sentence  on  this  execrable  wretch, 
That  hath  been  breeder  of  these  dire  events. 
Lucius. 
Set  him  breast-deep  in  earth,  and  famish  him  ; 
There  let  him  stand,  and  rave  and  cry  for  food : 
If  any  one  relieves,  or  pities  him, 
For  the  offence  he  dies.     This  is  our  doom  ; 
Some  stay  to  see  him  fasten'd  in  the  earth. 
Aaron. 
O  !  why  should  wrath   be   mute,  and    fury 
dumb? 

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

1  do  repent  it  from  my  very  soul. 

Lucius. 
Some   loving   friends    convey   the   emperor 
hence, 
And  give  him  burial  in  his  father's  grave. 
My  father,  and  Lavinia,  shall  forthwith 
Be  closed  in  our  household's  monument. 

As 


7Q2 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


As  for  that  heinous  tiger,  Tamora, 

No  funeral  rite,  nor  man  in  mournful  weeds, 

No  mournful  bell  shall  ring  her  burial ; 

But  throw  her  forth  to  beasts,  and  birds  of  prey. 

Her  life  was  beast-like,  and  devoid  of  pity ; 


And,  being  so,  shall  have  like  want  of  pity. 
See  justice  done  on  Aaron,  that  damn'd  Moor, 
By  whom  our  heavy  haps  had  their  beginning  ; 
Then,  afterwards,  to  order  well  the  state, 
That  like  events  may  ne'er  it  ruinate.   ["Exeunt. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


ESCALUS,  Prince  of  Verona. 
Paris,   a  young  Nobleman,   Kinsman   to   the 
Prince. 

cZ\et!e'}Heads  0ftW0  h0itfle  Houscs' 

Uncle  to  Capulet. 

Romeo,  Son  to  Montague. 

Mercutio,  Kins?nan  to  the  Prince,  and  Friend  to 

Romeo. 
Benvolio,  Nephew  to  Montague,  and  Friend  to 

Romeo. 
Tybalt,  Nephew  to  Lady  Capulet. 
Friar  Laurence,  a  Franciscan. 
Friar  John,  of  the  same  Order. 
Balthasar,  Servant  to  Romeo 


Gregory"*}  Servants  i0  Capulet- 


Peter,  another  Servant  to  Capulet. 

Abram,  Servant  to  Montague. 

An  Apothecary. 

Three  Musicians. 

Chorus.    Boy  ;  Page  to  Paris ;  an  Officer. 

Lady  Montague,  Wife  to  Montague. 

Lady  Capulet,  Wife  to  Capulet. 

Juliet,  Daughter  to  Capulet. 

Nurse  to  Juliet. 

Citizens  of  Verona ;  male  and  female  Relations 

to  both  Houses  ;  Maskers,  Guards,  Watchmen, 

and  Attendants. 

SCENE,  during  the  greater  Part  of  the  Play,  in 
Verona  :  once,  in  the  fifth  Act,  at  Mantua. 


■©••#-'#'#'-#:'#'#--# 


PROLOGUE. 

Chorus. 

TWO  households,  both  alike  in  dignity, 
In  fair  Verona,  where  we  lay  our  scene, 
From  ancient  grudge  break  to  new  mutiny," 

Where  civil  blood  makes  civil  hands  unclean. 
From  forth  the  fatal  loins  of  these  two  foes 

A  pair  of  star-cross'd  lovers  take  their  life  ; 
Whose  misadventur'd  piteous  overthrows 
Do,  with  their  death,  bury   their   parents 
strife. 
The  fearful  passage  of  their  death-mark'd  love, 
l    And  the  continuance  of  their  parents'  rage, 
Which,  but  their  children's  end,  nought  could 
remove, 
Is  now  the  two  hours'  traffic  of  our  stage  ; 
The  which  if  you  with  patient  ears  attend. 
What  here  shall  miss,  our  toil  shall  strive  to 
mend. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I     A  public  Place. 

Enter  Sampson  and  Gregory,  armed  with 

Swords  and  Bucklers. 

Sampson. 

/GREGORY,  on  my  word,  we'll    not   carry 

p*     coals.  _ 

Gregory 

No,  for  then  we  should  be  colliers. 

Sampson. 
I  mean,  an  we  be  in  choler,  we'll  draw. 

Gregory. 
Ay,  while  you  live,  draw  your  neck  out  of  the 
collar. 

Sampson. 

I  strike  quickly,  being  moved. 

Gregory. 
But  thou  art  not  quickly  moved  to  strike. 

Sampson. 
A  dog  of  the  house  of  Montague  moves  me. 

Gregory. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


793 


Gre> 

To  mote  is  to  stir,  and  to  be  valiant  is  to 
stand  ;  therefore,  if  thou  art  moved,  thou  run'st 

awav. 

A  dog  of  that  house  shall  move  me  to  stand. 
I  will  take  the  wall  of  any  man  or  maid  of  Mon- 
tague': _ 
^                          Gregory. 

That  shows  thee  a  weak  slave  ;  for  the  weak- 
est goes  to  the  wall. 

Sampson. 
'Til  true ;   and  therefore  women,  being  the 
weaker  vessels,  are  ever  thrust  to  the  wall :  — 
therefore,  1  will  push  Montague's  men  from  the 
wall,  and  thrust  his  maids  to  the  wall. 
Gregory. 
The  quarrel  is  between  our  masters,  and  us 
their  men. 

Sampson . 

'Tis  all  one,   I  will  snow  myself  a  tyrant : 

when  I  have  fought  with  the  men,  1  will  be 

cruel  with  the  maids ;  I  will  cut  oflT  their  heads. 

Gregory. 

The  heads  of  the  maids  ? 

Sampson. 
Ay,  the  heads  of  the  maids,  or  their  maiden- 
heads ;  take  it  in  what  sense  thou  wilt. 
Gregory. 
They  must  take  it  in  sense,  that  feel  it. 

Sampson. 

Me  they  shall  feel,  while  I  am  able  to  stand ; 

and,  'tis  known,  I  am  a  pretty  piece  of  flesh. 

Gregory. 

•Tls  well,  thou  art  not  fish  ;  if  thou  hadst, 

thou  hadst  been  poor  John.    Draw  thy  tool ; 

here  comes  two  of  the  house  of  the  Montagues. 

Enter  Abram  and  Balthasar. 
Sampson. 
My  naked  weapon  is  out :  quarrel,  I  will  back 
thee. 

Gregory. 
How  !  turn  thy  back,  and  run  ? 

Sampson. 
Fear  me  not. 

Gregory. 
No  marry :  I  fear  thee  ! 

Sampson. 
Let  us  take  the  law  of  our  sides ;  let  them 
begin.  „ 

Gregory. 
I  will  frown  as  I  pass  by,  and  let  them  take  it 
as  they  list. 

Sampson. 
Nay,  as  they  dare.     I  will  bite  my  thumb  at 
them  ;  which  is  a  disgrace  to  them,  if  they  bear 
it. 

Abram. 
Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir  ? 

Sampson. 
I  do  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 
Abram. 
Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir  ? 

Sampson. 
Is  the  law  of  our  side,  if  I  say— ay  ? 

Gregory. 
No. 

Sampson. 
No,  sir,  I  do  not  bite  my  thumb  at  you,  sir  ; 
but  I  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 


Gregory. 

Do  you  quarrel,  sir  ? 

Abram. 
Quarrel,  sir  ?  no,  sir. 

Sampson. 
If  you  do,  sir,  I  am  for  you :  I  serve  as  good  a 
man  as  you. 

Abram. 
No  better. 

Sampson. 
Well,  sir. 

Enter  Benvolio,  at  a  distance. 
Gregory. 
Say  —better :  here  comes  one  of  my  master's 
kinsmen. 

Sampson. 
Yes,  better,  sir. 

Abram. 
You  lie. 

Sampson. 

Draw,  if  you  be  men — Gregory,  remember 

thy  swashing  blow.  [They  fight. 

Benvolio. 

Part,  fools  I  put  up  your  swords ;  you  know 

not  what  you  do.        [Beats  down  their  Swords. 

Enter  Tybalt. 
Tybalt. 
What !  art  thou  drawn  among  these  heartless 
hinds  ? 
Turn  thee,  Benvolio  ;  look  upon  thy  death. 
Benvolio. 
I  do  but  keep  the  peace :  put  up  thy  sword, 
Or  manage  it  to  part  these  men  with  me. 
Tybalt. 
What  1  drawn,  and  talk  of  peace  ?    I  hate  the 
word, 
As  I  hate  hell,  all  Montagues,  and  thee. 
Have  at  thee,  coward.  [They  fight. 

Enter  several  persons  of  both  Houses,  who  join 
the  Fray ;  then  enter  Citizens,  with  Clubs  or 
Partisans. 

First  Citizen. 
Clubs,  bills,  and  partisans  1  strike  !  beat  them 
down  1 
Down  with  the  Capulets !  down  with  the  Mon- 
tagues! 
Enter  Capulet,  in  his  Gown  ;  and  Lady  Capulct. 
Capulet. 
What  noise  is  this?— Give  me  my  long  sword, 
hoi 

Lady  Capulet. 
A  crutch,  a  crutch!  — Why  call  you  for  a 
sword  ? 

Capulet. 
My  sword,  I  say !— Old  Montague  is  come, 
And  flourishes  his  blade  in  spite  of  me. 

Enter  Montague  and- Lady  Montague. 
Montague. 
Thou  villain  Capulet !  —  Hold  me  not;  let  me 
go. 

Lady  Montague. 
Thou  shalt  not  stir  one  foot  to  seek  a  foe. 

Enter  Prince,  with  his  Train. 
Prince. 
Rebellious  subjects,  enemies  to  peace, 
Profaners  of  this  neighbour-stained  steel,— 
Will  they  not  hear?— what  ho  !  you  men,  you 

beasts, 
That  quench  the  fire  of  your  pernicious  rage 
With  purple  fountains  issuing  from  your  veins, 

On 


794- 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


On  patn  of  torture,  from  those  bloody  hands 
Throw  your  mis-temper'd  w  eapons  to  the  ground, 
And  hear  the  sentence  of  your  moved  prince — 
Three  civil  brawls,  bred  of  an  airy  word, 
By  thee,  old  Capulet,  and  Montague, 
Have  thrice  disturb 'd  the  quiet  of  our  streets ; 
And  made  Verona's  ancient  citizens 
Cast  by  their  grave  beseeming  ornaments, 
To  wield  old  partizans,  in  hands  as  old, 
Canker 'd  with  peace,  to  part  your  canker'd  hate. 
If  ever  you  disturb  our  streets  again, 
Your  lives  shall  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  peace: 
For  this  time,  all  the  rest  depart  away. 
You,  Capulet,  shall  go  along  with  me ; 
And,  Montague,  come  you  this  afternoon, 
To  know  our  farther  pleasure  in  this  case, 
To  old  Free-town,  our  common  judgment-place. 
Once  more,  on  pain  of  death,  all  men  depart. 
[Exeunt  Prince  and  Attendants;  Capulet, 
Lady  Capulet,  Tybalt,  Citizens,  and  Ser- 
vants, 

Montague. 
Who  set  this  ancient  quarrel  new  abroach  ?  — 
Speak,  nephew,  were  you  by  when  it  began? 

Benvolio. 
Here  were  the  servants  of  your  adversary, 
And  yours,  close  fighting  ere  1  did  approach. 
1  drew  to  part  them :  in  the  instant  came 
The  fiery  Tybalt,  with  his  sword  prepar'd ; 
Which,  as  he  breath'd  defiance  to  my  ears, 
He  swung  about  his  head,  and  cut  the  winds, 
Who,  nothing  hurt  withal,  hiss'd  him  in  scorn. 
While  we  were  interchanging  thrusts  and  blows, 
Came  more  and  more,  and  fought  on  part  and 

part, 
Till  the  prince  came,  who  parted  either  part. 
Lady  Montague. 

0  !  where  is  Romeo? —saw  you  him  to-day  ? 
Right  glad  I  am  he  was  not  at  this  fray. 

Benvolio. 
Madam,  an  hour  before  the  worshipp'd  sun 
Peer'd  forth  the  golden  window  of  the  east, 
A  troubled  mind  drave  me  to  walk  abroad  ; 
Where,  underneath  the  grove  of  sycamore 
That  westward  rooteth  from  the  city's  side, 
So  early  walking  did  I  see  your  son. 
Towards  him  1  made ;  but  he  was  'ware  of  me, 
And  stole  into  the  covert  of  the  wood: 
1,  measuring  his  affections  by  my  own, 
Which  then  most  sought,  where  most  might  not 

be  found, 
Being  one  too  many  by  my  weary  self, 
Pursu'd  my  humour,  not  pursuing  his, 
And  gladly  shunn'd  who  gladly  fled  from  me. 

Montague. 
Many  a  morning  hath  he  there  been  seen, 
With  tears  augmenting  the  fresh  morning's  dew, 
Addingto  clouds  more  clouds  withhis  deep  sighs : 
But  all  so  soon  as  the  all-cheering  sun 
Should  in  the  farthest  east  begin  to  draw 
The  shady  curtains  from  Aurora's  bed, 
Away  from  light  steals  home  my  heavy  son, 
And  private  in  his  chamber  pens  himself ; 
Shuts  up  his  windows,  locks  fair  daylight  out, 
And  makes  himself  an  artificial  night. 
Black  and  portentous  must  this  humour  prove, 
Unless  good  counsel  may  the  cause  remove. 

Benvolio. 
My  noble  uncle,  do  you  know  the  cause  ? 

Montague. 

1  neither  know  it,  nor  can  learn  of  him. 

Benvolio. 
Have  you  importun'd  him  by  any  means  ? 


Montague. 
Both  by  myself,  and  many  other  friends : 
But  he,  his  own  affections'  counsellor, 
Is  to  himself — I  will  not  say,  how  true — 
But  to  himself  so  secret  and  so  close, 
So  far  from  sounding  and  discovery, 
As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm, 
Ere  he  can  spread  his  sweet  leaves  to  the  air, 
Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  sun.  [grow, 

Could  we  but  learn  from  whence  his  sorrows 
We  would  as  willingly  give  cure,  as  know. 

Enter  Romeo,  at  a  distance. 

Benvolio. 
See,  where  he  comes :  so  please  you  step  aside  ; 
I'll  know  his  grievance,  or  be  much  denied. 

Montague. 
I  would,  thou  wert  so  happy  by  thy  stay 
To  hear  true  shrift.— Come,  madam,  let's  away. 
[Exeunt  Montague  and  Lady. 

Benvolio. 
Good  morrow,  cousin. 

Romeo. 

Is  the  day  so  young  ? 

Benvolio. 
But  new  struck  nine. 

Romeo. 
Ah  me!  sad  hours  seem  long. 
Was  that  my  father  that  went  hence  so  fast? 
Benvolio. 
It  was.     What  sadness   lengthens  Romeo's 
hours? 

Romeo. 
Not  having  that,  which,  having,  makes  them 
short. 

Benvolio. 
In  love? 

Romeo. 
Out. 

Benvolio. 
Of  love? 

Romeo. 
Out  of  her  favour,  where  I  am  in  love. 

Benvolio. 
Alas,  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view, 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof ! 

Romeo  . 
Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still, 
Should  without  eyes  see  pathways  to  his  will ! 
Where  shall  we  dine?— O  me !— What  fray  was 
Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I  have  heard  it  all.     [here? 
Here's  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with 

love: — 
Why  then,  O  brawling  love !    O  loving  hate  ! 
O  any  thing,  of  nothing  first  created  1 
O  heavy  lightness !  serious  vanity ! 
Mis-shapen  chaos  of  well-seeming  forms  ! 
Feather  of  lead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fire,  sick 

health! 
Still-waking  sleep,  that  is  not  what  it  is  !— 
This  love  feel  I,  that  feci  no  love  in  this. 
Dost  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Benvolio. 

No,  coz  ;  I  rather  weep. 
Romeo. 
Good  heart,  at  what? 

Benvolio. 
At  thy  good  heart's  oppression. 

Romeo. 
Why,  such  is  love's  transgression.— 
Griefs  of  mine  own  lie  heavy  in  my  breast ; 
Which  thou  wilt  propagate,  to  have  it  press'd 

With 


A  i- 1  i.  Sc.  II. 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


795 


With  more  of  thine :  this  love,  that  thou  hast 

shown, 
Doth  ad  J  more  grief  to  too  much  of  mine  own. 
Love  is  a  smoke,  made  with  the  fume  of  sighs  ; 
Being  purg'd,  a  fire  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes ; 
Being  vex  d,  a  sea  nourish'd  with  lovers'  tears : 
What  is  it  else?  a  madness  most  discreet, 
A  choking  gall,  and  a  preserving  sweet. 
Farewell,  my  cox.  [Going. 

Benvolio. 

Soft,  I  will  go  along : 
An  if  you  leave  me  so,  you  do  me  wrong. 
Romeo. 
1'ut !  I  have  lost  myself ;  I  am  not  here ; 
This  is  not  Romeo,  he's  some  other  where. 
Benvolio. 
Tell  me  in  sadness,  who  Is  that  you  love. 

Romeo. 
What!  shall  I  groan,  and  tell  thee? 
Ben  vol  io. 

Groan !  why,  no ; 
But  sadly  tell  me,  who. 

Romeo. 
Bid  a  sick  man  in  sadness  make  his  will ; 
A  word  ill  urg'd  to  one  that  is  so  ill-  — 
In  sadness,  cousin,  I  do  love  a  woman. 
Benvolio. 
I  aim'd  so  near,  when  I  suppos'd  you  lov'd. 

Romeo. 
A  right  good  mark-man!— And  she's  fair  1 
love. 

Benvolio. 
A  right  fair  mark,  fair  coz,  is  soonest  hit. 

Romeo. 
Well,  in  that  hit,  you  miss :  she'll  not  be  hit 
With  Cupid's  arrow.    She  hath  Dian't  wit ; 
And  in  strong  proof  of  chastity  well  arm'd, 
From  love's  weak  childish  bow  she  lives  un- 

harm'd. 
She  will  not  stay  the  siege  of  loving  terms, 
Nor  bide  th"  encounter  of  assailing  eyes, 
Nor  ope  her  lap  to  saint-seducing  gold : 
O  !  she  is  rich  in  beauty ;  only  poor, 
That  when  she  dies  with  beauty  dies  her  store. 
Benvolio. 
Then  she  hath  sworn,  that  she  will  still  live 
chaste? 

Romeo. 
She  hath,  and  in  that  sparing  makes  huge 
For  beauty,  starv'd  with  her  severity,     [waste ; 
Cuts  beauty  off  from  all  posterity. 
She  is  too  fair,  too  wise ;  wisely  too  fair, 
To  merit  bliss  by  making  me  despair : 
She  hath  forsworn  to  love,  and  in  that  vow 
Do  1  live  dead,  that  live  to  tell  it  now. 
Benvolio. 
Be  rul'd  by  me ;  forget  to  think  of  her. 

Romeo. 
O  !  teach  me  how  I  should  forget  to  think. 

Benvolio. 
By  giving  liberty  unto  thine  eyes : 
Examine  other  beauties. 

Romeo. 

*Tis  the  way 
To  call  her's,  exquisite,  in  question  more. 
These  happy  masks,  that  kiss  fair  ladies'  brows, 
Being  black,  put  us  in  mind  they  hide  the  fair  : 
He,  that  is  stricken  blind,  cannot  forget 
The  precious  treasure  of  his  eyesight  lost. 
Show  me  a  mistress  that  is  passing  fair, 
What  doth  her  beauty  serve,  but  as  a  note 


Where  I  may  read  who  pass'd  that  passing  fair  ? 
Farewell :  thou  canst  not  teach  me  to  forget. 
Benvolio. 
I'll  pay  that  doctrine,  or  else  die  in  debt. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Street. 
Enter  Capulet,  Paris,  and  Servant. 
Capulet. 
But  Montapue  Is  bound  as  well  as  I, 
In  penalty  alike ;  and  'tis  not  hard,  I  think, 
For  men  so  old  as  we  to  keep  the  peace. 
Paris. 
Of  honourable  reckoning  are  you  both ; 
And  pity  'tis,  you  liv'd  at  odds  so  long. 
But  now,  my  lord,  what  say  you  to  my  suit  ? 
Capulet. 
But  saying  o'er  what  I  have  said  before ; 
My  child  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world, 
She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  fourteen  years : 
Let  two  more  summers  wither  In  their  pride, 
Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  be  a  bride. 
Paris. 
Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers  made. 

Capulet.         • 
And  too  soon  marr'd  are  those  so  early  made. 
Earth  hath  swallowed  all  my  hopes  but  she, 
She  is  the  hopeful  lady  of  my  earth  : 
But  woo  her,  gentle  Paris,  get  her  heart, 
My  will  to  her  consent  is  but  a  part ; 
An  she  agree,  within  her  scope  of  choice 
Ides  my  consent  and  fair  according  voice. 
This  night  I  hold  an  old  accustomed  feast, 
Whereto  I  have  invited  many  a  guest, 
Such  as  I  love ;  and  you,  among  the  store, 
One  more  most  welcome,  makes  my  number 

more. 
At  my  poor  house  look  to  behold  this  night 
Earth-treading  stars,  that  make  dark  heaven 

light: 
Such  comfort,  as  do  lusty  young  men  feel, 
When  well-apparel'd  April  on  the  heel 
Of  limping  winter  treads,  even  such  delight 
Among  fresh  female  buds  shall  you  this  night 
Inherit  at  my  house:  hear  all,  all  see, 
And  like  her  most,  whose  merit  most  shall  be: 
Which,  on  more  view  of  many,  mine  being  one, 
May  stand  in  number,  though  in  reckoning  none. 
Come,  go  with  me — Go,  sirrah,  trudge  about 
Through  fair  Verona;  find  those  persons  out, 
Whose  names   are    written   there,    [Giving  a 

Paper,!  and  to  them  say, 
My  house  and  welcome  on  their  pleasure  stav. 
[Exeunt  Capulet  and  Paris. 
Servant. 
Find  them  out,  whose  names  are  written  here  ? 
It  is  written,  that  the  shoemaker  should  meddle 
with  his  yard,  and  the  tailor  with  his  last,  the 
fisher  with  his  pencil,  and  the  painter  with  his 
nets  ;  but  I  am  sent  to  find  those  persons,  whose 
names  are  here  writ,  and  can  never  find  what 
names  the  writing  person  hath  here  writ.     I 
must  to  the  learned:— in  good  time. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Romeo. 

Benvolio. 

Tut,  man !  one  fire  burns  out  another's  burning. 

One  pain  is  lessen'd  by  another's  anguish  ; 
Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning; 
One   desperate    grief  cures    with    another's 
languish: 
Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thy  eye, 
And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die. 

Romeo. 


796 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


Romeo. 
Your  plantain  leaf  is  excellent  for  that. 

Benvolio. 
For  what,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Romeo. 

For  your  broken  shin. 
Benvolio. 
Why,  Romeo,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Romeo. 
Not  mad,  but  bound  more  than  a  madman  is : 
Shut  up  in  prison,  kept  without  my  food, 
Whipp'd,  and  tormented,  and— Good-den,  good 
fellow. 

Servant. 

God  gi*  good  den. —I  pray,  sir,  can  you  read? 

Romeo. 
Ay,  mine  own  fortune  in  my  misery. 

Servant. 
Perhaps  you  have  learn'd  it  without  book; 
but  I  pray,  can  you  read  any  thing  you  see  ? 
Romeo. 
Ay,  if  I  know  the  letters,  and  the  language. 

Servant. 
Ye  say  honestly.    Rest  you  merry. 

•         Romeo. 
Stay,  fellow ;  1  can  read.  [Reads 

"  Signior  Martino,  and  his  wife,  and  daughters ; 
County  Anselme,  and  his  beauteous  sisters ;  the 
lady  widow  of  Vitruvio  ;  Signior  Placentio,  and 
his  lovely  nieces;  Mercutio,  and  his  brother 
Valentine;  mine  uncle  Capulet,  his  wife,  and 
daughters;  my  fair  niece  Rosaline;  Livia; 
Signior  Valentio,  and  his  cousin  Tybalt;  Lucio, 
and  the  lively  Helena." 
A  fair  assembly;  whither  should  they  come? 
Servant. 

UP- 

Romeo. 

Whither?  to  supper? 

Servant. 

To  our  house.      _, 

Romeo. 

Whose  house? 

Servant. 

My  master's.         _, 

Romeo. 

Indeed,  I  should  have  asked  you  that  before. 

Servant. 
Now,  I'll  tell  you  without  asking.   My  master 
is  the  great  rich  Capulet ;  and  if  you  be  not  of 
the  house  of  Montagues,  I  pray,  co'me  and  crush 
a  cup  of  wine.    Rest  you  merry.  [kxit. 

Benvolio. 
At  this  same  ancient  feast  of  CapuleCs 
Sups  the  fair  Rosaline,  whom  thou  so  lov'st, 
With  all  the  admired  beauties  of  Verona : 
Go  thither ;  and,  with  unattainted  eye, 
Compare  her  face  with  some  that  I  shall  show, 
And  1  will  make  thee  think  thy  swan  a  crow. 

Romeo. 
When  the  devout  religion  of  mine  eye 
Maintains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to 
fires; 
And  these,  who,  often  drown'd,  could  never  die, 

Transparent  heretics,  be  burnt  for  liars. 
One  fairer  than  my  love  1  the  all-seeing  sun 
Ne'er  saw  her  match,  since  first  the  world  begun. 
Benvolio. 
Tut !  you  saw  her  fair,  none  else  being  by, 
Herself  pois'd  with  herself  in  either  eye ; 


But  in  those  crystal  scales,  let  there  be  weigh'd 
Your  lady's  love  against  some  other  maid, 
That  I  will  show  you  shining  at  this  feast, 
And  she  shall  scant  show  well,  that  now  shows 
best. 

Romeo. 
I'll  go  along,  no  such  sight  to  be  shown, 
But  to  rejoice  in  splendour  of  mine  own. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Copula's  House. 
Enter  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
Lady  Capulet. 
Nurse,  where's  my  daughter?  call  her  forth 
to  me. 

Nurse. 
Now,  by  my  maiden-head  at  twelve  year  old, 
I  bade  her  come.  —  What,  lamb!  what,  lady- 
bird!— 
God  forbid!— where's  this  girl?— what,  Juliet! 
Enter  Juliet. 
Juliet. 
How  now  !  who  calls  ? 

Nurse. 

Your  mother. 
Juliet. 

Madam,  I  am  here. 
What  is  your  will? 

Lady  Capulet. 

This  is  the  matter.  —  Nurse,  give  leave  awhile, 

We  must  talk  in  secret. —  Nurse,  come  back 

again : 
I  have  remember'd  me,   thou  shalt  hear  our 

counsel. 
Thou  know'st  my  daughter's  of  a  pretty  age. 
Nurse. 
'Faith,  I  can  tell  her  age  unto  an  hour. 

Lady  Capulet. 
She's  not  fourteen. 

Nurse. 

I'll  lay  fourteen  of  my  teeth, 
And  yet  to  my  teen  be  it  spoken  I  have  but  four, 
She  is  not  fourteen.    How  long  is  it  now 
To  Lammas-tide  t 

Lady  Capulet. 

A  fortnight,  and  odd  days. 
Nurse. 
Even  or  odd,  of  all  days  in  the  year,       [teen. 
Come  Lammas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  four* 
I  Susan  and  she,— God  rest  all  Christian  souls  ! — 

Were  of  an  age Well,  Susan  is  with  God; 

!  She  was  too  good  for  me.    But,  as  I  said, 
On  Lammas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  fourteen ; 
That  shall  she,  marry ;  1  remember  it  well. 
I  'Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years; 
j  And  she  was  wean'd,—  I  never  shall  forget  it,— 
I  Of  all  the  days  of  the  year,  upon  that  day ; 
I  For  I  had  then  laid  wormwood  to  my  dug, 
|  Sitting  in  the  sun  under  the  dove-house  wall ; 
j  My  lord  and  you  were  then  at  Mantua.  — 
i  Nay,  I  do  bear  a  brain :  —  but,  as  I  said, 
When  it  did  taste  the  wormwood  on  the  nipple 
Of  my  dug,  and  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  fool, 
To  see  it  tetchy,  and  fall  out  with  the  dug  ! 
Shake,  quoth  tlie  dove-house:  'twas  no  need,  I 
To  bid  me  trudge.  [trow, 

And  since  that  time  it  is  eleven  years  ; 
For  then  she  could  stand  alone  ;  nay,  by  the 

rood, 
She  could  have  run  and  waddled  all  about, 
For  even  the  day  before  she  broke  her  brow : 
And  then  my  husband— God  be  with  his  soul ! 
'A  was  a  merry  man,— took  up  the  child : 

"  Yea," 


Act  i.  Sc.  rv. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


797 


"  Yen,"  quoth  he. «'  dost  thou  fall  upon  thy  face? 
Thou  wilt  fall  backward,  when  thou  hast  more 

wit  ; 
Wilt  thou  not,  Jute  t "  and,  by  my  holy-dam, 
The  pretty  wretch  left  crying,  ana  said— "  Ay." 
To  see,  now,  how  a  jest  shall  come  about  I 
1  warrant,  an  I  should  live  a  thousand  years, 
1  never  should  forget  it:  "  Wilt  thou  uot,  Jttlet " 

quoth  he ; 
And,  pretty  fool,  it  stinted,  and  said—"  Ay." 
Lad 
Enough  of  this  :  I  pray  thee,  hold  thy  peace. 

Nurse. 
Yes,  madam.    Yet  I  cannot  choose  but  laugh, 
To  think  it  should  leave  crying,  and    say — 

"  Av : " 
And  yet,  1  warrant,  it  had  upon  its  brow 
A  bump  as  big  as  a  young  cockrel's  stone, 
A  perilous  knock  ;  and  it  cried  bitterly,     [face? 
"  Yea,"  quoth  my  husband,  "  fall'st  upon  thy 
Thou  wilt  fall  backward,  when  thou  com'st  to 
age ;  ["  Ay." 

Wilt  thou  not,  JuleT"  it  stinted,  and  said  — 
Juliet. 
And  stint  thou  too,  I  pray  thee,  nurse,  say  I. 

Nurso. 
Peace,  I  have  done.    God  mark  thee  to  his 
grace  1 
Thou  wast  the  prettiest  babe  that  e'er  1  nurs'd : 
An  I  might  live  to  see  thee  married  once, 
1  have  my  wish. 

Lady  Capulet. 
Marry,  that  marry  is  the  very  theme 
I  came  to  talk  of:  —  tell  me,  daughter  Juliet, 
How  stands  your  disposition  to  be  married  ? 
Juliet. 
It  is  an  honour  that  I  dream  not  of. 

None. 
An  honour  !  were  not  I  thine  only  nurse, 
I  would  say,  thou  hadst  suck'd  wisdom  from  thy 
teat. 

Lady  Capulet. 
Well,  think  of  marriage  now  ;  younger  than 
Here  in  Verona,  ladies  of  esteem,  [you, 

Are  made  already  mothers :  by  my  count, 
1  was  your  mother,  much  upon  these  years 
That  you  are  now  a  maid.     Thus,  then,  in 

brief;  — 
The  valiant  Paris  seeks  you  for  his  love. 
Nurse. 
A  man,  young  lady  I  lady,  such  a  man, 
Ai  all  the  world— Why,  he's  a  man  of  wax. 

Lady  Capulet. 
Veronal  summer  hath  not  such  a  flower. 

Nurse. 
Nay,  he's  a  flower ;  in  faith,  a  very  flower. 

Lady  Capulet. 
What  say  you  ?  can  you  love  the  gentleman  ? 
This  night  you  shall  behold  him  at  our  feast : 
Read  o'er  the  volume  of  young  Paris'  face, 
And  find  delight  writ  there  with  beauty's  pen. 
Examine  every  married  lineament, 
And  see  how  one  an  other  lends  content ; 
And  what  obscur'd  in  this  fair  volume  lies, 
Find  written  in  the  margin  of  his  eyes. 
This  precious  book  of  love,  this  unbound  lover, 
To  beautify  him,  only  lacks  a  cover : 
The  fish  lives  in  the  sea  ;  and  'tis  much  pride, 
For  fair  without  the  fair  within  to  hide. 
That  book  in  many's  eyes  doth  share  the  glory, 
That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story  ; 
So  shall  you  share  all  that  he  doth  possess,' 
By  having  him  making  yourself  no  less. 


xcunt. 


Nurse. 
No  less  ?  nay,  bigger :  women  grow  by  men. 

Lady  Capulet. 
Speak  briefly,  can  you  like  of  Paris'  love  ? 

Juii.-t. 
I'll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move  ; 
But  no  more  deep  will  I  endart  mine  eye, 
Than  your  consent  gives  strength  to  make  It  fly. 

r  a  Servant. 

Servant. 
Madam,  the  guests  are  come,  supper  served 
up,  you  called,  my  young  lady  asked  for,  the 
nurse  cursed  in  the  pantry,  and  every  thing  in 
extremity.  I  must  hence  to  wait ;  I  beseech 
you,  follow  straight. 

Lady  Capulet. 
We  follow  thee.    Juliet,  the  county  stays. 

Nurse. 
Go,  girl,  seek  happy  nights  to  happy  days. 


SCENE  IV.    A  Street. 

Enter  Romeo,  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  with  five  or 
six  Maskers,  Torch-bearers,  and  others. 
Romeo. 
What,  6hall  this  speech  be  spoke    for   our 
Or  shall  we  on  without  apology  ?  [excuse, 

Benvolio. 
The  date  is  out  of  such  prolixity : 
We'll  have  no  Cupid  hood-wink'd  with  a  scarf, 
Bearing  a  Tartar's  painted  bow  of  lath, 
Scaring  the  ladies  like  a  crow-keeper  ; 
Nor  no  without-book  prologue,  faintly  spoke 
After  the  prompter,  for  our  entrance : 
|  But,  let  them  measure  us  by  what  they  will, 
;  We'll  measure  them  a  measure,  and  be  gone. 
Homeo. 
Give  me  a  torch  ;  I  am  not  for  this  ambling : 
Being  but  heavy,  1  will  bear  the  light. 
Mercutio. 
Nay,  gentle  Romeo,  we  must  have  you  dance. 

Romeo. 
Not  I,  believe  me.    You  have  dancing  shoes, 
With  nimble  soles ;  I  have  a  soul  of  lead, 
So  stakes  me  to  the  ground,  I  cannot  move. 
Mercutio. 
You  are  a  lover :  borrow  Cupid's  wings, 
And  soar  with  them  above  a  common  bound. 
Romeo. 
I  am  too  sore  enpierced  with  his  shaft, 
To  soar  with  his  light  feathers;  and  so  bound, 
I  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe : 
Under  love's  heavy  burden  do  I  sink. 
Mercutio. 
And,  to  sink  in  it,  should  you  burden  love; 
Too  great  oppression  for  a  tender  thing. 
Romeo. 
Is  love  a  tender  thing  ?  it  is  too  rough, 
Too  rude,  too  boisterous;  and  it  pricks  like 
thorn. 

Mercutio. 

If  love  be  rough  with  you,  be  rough  with  love; 

Prick  love  for  pricking,  and  you   beat   love 

down 

Give  me  a  case  to  put  my  visage  in : 

[Putting  on  a  Mask. 
A  visor  for  a  visor  I  —  what  care  I, 
What  curious  eye  doth  quote  deformities  ? 
Here  are  the  beetle-brows  shall  blush  for  me. 

Benvolio. 


798 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


Benvolio. 
Come,  knock,  and  enter ;  and  no  sooner  in, 
But  every  man  betake  him  to  his  legs. 
Romeo. 
A  torch  for  me :  let  wantons,  light  of  heart, 
Tickle  the  senseless  rushes  with  their  heels ; 
For  I  am  proverb'd  with  a  grandsire  phrase, — 
I'll  be  a  candle-holder,  and  look  on : 
The  game  was  ne'er  so  fair,  and  I  am  done. 
Mercutio. 
Tut !  dun's  the  mouse,  the  constable's  own 
word. 
If  thou  art  dun,  we'll  draw  thee  from  the  mire 
Of   this    save-reverence    love,   wherein    thou 

ctick'st 
Up  to  the  ears — Come,  we  burn  day-light,  ho. 
Romeo.. 
Nay,  that's  not  so. 

Mercutio. 

I  mean,  sir,  in  delay 
We  waste  our  lights  in  vain,  like  lamps  by  day. 
Take  our  good  meaning,  for  our  judgment  sits 
Five  times  in  that,  ere  once  in  our  five  wits. 
Romeo. 
And  we  mean  well  in  going  to  this  mask, 
But  'tis  no  wit  to  go. 

Mercutio. 

Why,  may  one  ask  ? 
Romeo. 
I  dreamt  a  dream  to-night  ? 
Mercutio. 

And  so  did  I. 
Romeo. 

Well,  what  was  yours  ? 

Mercutio. 

That  dreamers  often  lie. 

Romec. 

In  bed  asleep,  while  they  do  dream  things 

true> 

Mercutio. 

O!  then,  I  see,  queen  Mab  hath  been  with 

you. 
She  is  the  fairies'  midwife ;  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman, 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 
Over  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep : 
Her  waggon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs; 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ; 
The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web ; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams  : 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone ;  the  lash,  of  film : 
Her  waggoner,  a  small  grey-coated  gnat, 
Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 
Prick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid. 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub, 
Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies'  coach-makers. 
And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of 

love: 
On  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  court'sies 

straight : 
O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on 

fees: 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream ; 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues, 
Because  their  breaths  with  sweet-meats  tainted 

are. 
Sometime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit : 
And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe- pig's  tail, 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  'a  lies  asleep, 


Then  he  dreams  of  another  benefice. 
Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear,  at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes; 
And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  two, 
And  sleeps  again.    This  is  that  very  Mab, 
That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night ; 
And  bakes  the  elf-locks  in  foul  sluttish  hairs, 
Which,  once  untangled,  much  misfortune  bodes. 
This  is  the  hag,  when  maids  lie  on  their  backs, 
That  presses  them,  and  learns  them  first  to  bear, 
Making  them  women  of  good  carriage. 
This,  is  she —  _ 

Romeo. 

Peace,  peace  I  Mercutio,  peace  I 
Thou  talk'st  of  nothing. 

Mercutio. 

True,  1  talk  of  dreams, 
Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy ; 
Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air ; 
And   more   inconstant    than    the   wind,    who 

wooes 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  north, 
And,  being  anger'd,  puffs  away  from  thence, 
Turning  his  face  to  the  dew-dropping  south. 
Benvolio. 
This  wind,  you  talk  of,  blows  us  from  our- 
selves ; 
Supper  is  done,  and  we  shall  come  too  late. 
Romeq# 
I  fear,  too  early;  for  my  mind  misgives, 
Some  consequence,  yet  hanging  in  the  stars, 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night's  revels;  and  expire  the  term 
Of  a  despised  life,  clos'd  in  my  breast, 
By  some  vile  forfeit  of  untimely  death: 
But  He,  that  hath  the  steerage  of  my  course, 
Direct  my  sail — On,  lusty  gentlemen. 
Benvolio. 
Strike,  drum.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Hall  in  Capulet'B  House. 
Musicians  waiting.    Enter  Servants. 
First  Servant. 
Where's  Polpan,  that  he  helps  not  to  take 
away  ?  he  shift  a  trencher !  he  scrape  a  trencher ! 
Second  Servant. 
When  good  manners  shall  lie  all  in  one  or 
two  men's  hands,  and  they  unwashed  too,  'tis  a 
foul  thing.  -,,__.- 

First  Servant. 
Aw«y  with  the  joint-stools,  remove  the  court- 
cupboard,  look  to  the  plate Good  thou,  save 

me  a  piece  of  marchpane;  and,  as  thou  lovest 
me,  let  the  porter  let  in  Suian  Grindstone,  and 
Nell.— Antony!  and  Polpan! 
Second  Servant. 
Ay,  boy;  ready. 

First  Servant. 
You  are  looked  for,  and  called  for,  asked  for, 
and  sought  for,  in  the  great  chamber. 
Second  Servant. 
We  cannot  be  here  and  there  too.— Cheerly, 
boys:  be  brisk  awhile,  and  the  longer  liyer  tak,e 
alj*  [They  retire  behind. 

Enter  Capulet,  &c.  with  the  Guests,  and  the 
Mashers. 
Capulet. 
Welcome,  gentlemen !  ladies,  that  have  their 

Unplagu  o 


Act  i.  2k.  v. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


:</; 


1'i.pl.i  ;n\l  with  corns,  will  have  a  bout  with 

\ou:  — 
Ah  h.i,  my  mistresses  I  which  of  you  all      (she, 
Will  now  deny  to  dance?  she  that  make*  dainty, 
I'll  «wear,  hath  corns.    Am  I  come  near  you 

now? 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  !  I  have  seen  the 
That  I  have  worn  a  visor,  and  could  tell  [day, 
A  whispering  tale  in  a  fair  lady's  ear.  [gone. 
Such  as  would  please:— 'tis  gone,  'tis  gone,  'tis 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  1— Come,  musicians, 

play. 
A  hall  1  a  hall !  give  room,  and  foot  it,  girls. 

[Music  plays,  and  lliey  dance. 

More  light,  ye  knaves  !  and  turn  the  tables  up, 
And  quench  the  fire,  the  room  is  grown  too 

hot.— 
Ah  1  sirrah,  this  unlook'd-for  sport  comes  well. 
Nay,  sit,  nay,  sit,  good  cousin  Capulet, 
For  you  and  I  are  past  our  dancing  days: 
How  long  is't  now,  since  last  yourself  and  I 
Were  in  a  mask  ? 

Second  Capulet. 

By'r  lady,  thirty  years. 
First  Capulet. 
What,  man!    'tis  not  so  much,  'tis  not  so 
'Tig  since  the  nuptial  of  Lucent io,  [much : 

Come  pentecost  as  quickly  as  it  will, 
Some  five  and  twenty  years ;  and  then  we  mask'd. 
Second  Capulet. 
'Tis  more,  'tis  more:  his  son  is  elder,  sir; 
His  son  U  thirty. 

First  Capulet 
Will  you  tell  me  that? 
His  son  was  but  a  ward  two  years  ago. 
Romeo. 
What  lady  is  that,  which  doth  enrich  the 
Of yonder  knight?  [hand 

Servant. 
I  know  not,  sir. 

Romeo 
0 1  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright 
It  seems  she  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night, 
I. ike  a  rich  jewel  in  an  ^Ethiop's  ear ; 
Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear ! 
So  shows  a  snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows, 
As  yonder  lady  o'er  her  fellows  shows. 
The  measure  done,  I'll  watch  her  place  of  stand, 
And,  touching  hers,  make  blessed  my  rude  hand. 
Did  my  heart  love  till  now  ?  forswear  it,  sight ! 
I  never  saw  true  beauty  till  this  night. 
Tybalt. 
This,  by  his  voice,  should  be  a  Montague.— 
Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy.— What  1   dares  the 

slave 
Come  hither,  cover'd  with  an  antic  face, 
To  deer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity  ? 
Now,  by  the  stock  and  honour  of  my  kin, 
To  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 
First  Capulet. 
Why,  how  now,  kinsman!  wherefore  storm 
you  so? 

Tybalt. 
Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe ; 
A  villain,  that  is  hither  come  in  spite, 
To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  night. 
First  Capulet. 
Youngitowtfo  isit? 

Tybalt. 

•Tis  he,  that  villain  Romeo. 
First  Capulet 
Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  him  alone, 


He  bears  him  like  a  portly  gentleman ; 
Ami,  to  say  truth,  Verona  brags  of  lum. 
To  be  a  virtuous  and  well-govern'd  youth. 
I  "would  not  for  the  wealth  of  all  this  town, 
Here,  in  my  house,  do  him  disparagement; 
Therefore,  be  patient,  take  no  note  of  linn: 
It  is  my  will;  the  which  if  thou  KtptJCt. 
Show  a  fair  presence,  and  put  off  these  frowns, 
An  ill-beseeming  semblance  for  a  feast. 
Tybalt. 
It  fits,  when  such  a  villain  U  a  guest. 
I'll  not  endure  him. 

First  Capulet. 

He  shall  be  endur'd : 
What  I    goodman  boyl— I  say,  he  shall;— go 
Ami  the  master  here,  or  you?  go  to.       [to;  — 
You'll  not  endure  him!  — God  shall  mend  my 

soul  — 
You'll  make  a  mutiny  among  my  guests. 
You  will  set  cock-a-hoop  1  you'll  be  the  man  1 
Tybalt 
Why,  uncle,  'tis  a  shame. 

First  Capulet- 

Go  to,  go  to ; 

You  are  a  saucy  boy Is't  so,  indeed  ? — 

This  trick  may  chance  to  scath  you; — I  know 

what. 
You  must  contrary  me  !  marry,  'tis  time — 
Well  said,  my  hearts  1 — You  are  a  princox; 

go:— 
Be  quiet,  or— More  light,  more  light!— for 

shame  1 
I'll   make   you   quiet;    What  I  —  Cheerly,  my 
hearts  1  _  ,    , 

Tybalt 

Patience  perforce  with  wilful  choler  meeting, 
Makes  my  flesh  tremble  in  their  different  greet- 
I  will  withdraw,  but  this  intrusion  shall,  [ing. 
Now  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  galL-,   . 

[Exit. 
Romeo. 

If  I  profane  with  my  unworthiest  haniL,    - 

[To  Juliet. 
This  holy  shrine,  the  gentle  fine  is  this,— 
My  lips,  two  blushing  pilgrims,  ready  stand 
To  smooth  that  rough  touch  with  a  tender 
kiss.  _  ,. 

Juliet. 

Goodpilgrim.you  do  wrong  your  hand  too  much, 

Which  mannerly  devotion  shows  in  this  ; 
For  saints  have  hands  that  pilgrims'  hands  do 
touch, 
And  palm  to  palm  is  holy  palmers'  kiss. 
Romeo. 
Have  not  saints  lips,  and  holy  palmers  too  * 
Juliet. 
Ay,  pilgrim,  lips  that  they  must  use  in  prayer. 
Romeo. 
O !  then,  dear  saint,  let  lips  do  what  hands  do ; 
They  pray,  grant  thou,  lest  faith  turn  to  des- 

*  Juliet. 

Saints  do  not  move,  though  grant  for  prayers* 
sake. 

Romeo. 
Then  move  not,  while  my  prayer's  effect  I 
take. 
Thus  from  my  lips,  by  thine,  my  siuis  purg'd. 
[Kisfing^hcr. 
Juliet. 
Then  have  my  lips  the  sin  that  they  have  took. 

Romeo. 
Sin  from  my  lips  ?   O,  trespass  sweetly  urg'd  I 
Give  me  my  sin  again. 

Juliet. 


8oo 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


Juliet. 
You  kiss  by  the  book. 

Nurse. 
Madam,  your  mother  craves  a  word  with  you. 

Romeo. 
What  is  her  mother  ? 

Marry,  bachelor, 
Her  mother  is  the  lady  of  the  house, 
And  a  good  lady,  and  a  wise,  and  virtuous. 
I  nurs'd  her  daughter,  that  you  talk'd  withal ; 
I  tell  you  — he  that  can  lay  hold  of  her 
Shall  have  the  chinks. 

Romeo.  m       ,    „ 

Is  she  a  Capuletf 

O,  dear  account !  my  life  is  my  foe's  debt. 

Benvolio. 
Away,  begone :  the  sport  is  at  the  best. 

Romeo. 
Ay,  so  1  fear ;  the  more  is  my  unrest. 

First  Capulet. 
Nay,  gentlemen,  prepare  not  to  be  gone ; 
We  have  a  trifling  foolish  banquet  towards — 
Is  it  e'en  so  ?    Why  then,  I  thank  you  all ; 
I  thank  you,  honest  gentlemen  ;  good  night:  — 
More  torches  here ! — Come  on,  then  let's  to  bed. 
Ah,  sirrah,  by  my  fay,  it  waxes  late ; 
I'll  to  my  rest. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

Come  hither,  nurse.    What  is  yond'  gentle- 
man? 

The  son  and  heir  olf  old  Tiberio. 

Juliet. 
What's  he,  that  now  is  going  out  of  door  ? 

Marry,  that,  I  think,  De  young  Petruchio. 

What's  he,  that  foUows  here,  that  would  not 
dance? 

I  know  not. 


Nurse. 


Go,  ask  his  name.— Tl he  be  married, 
My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed. 

His  name  is  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  j 
The  only  son  of  your  great  enemy. 

My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate ! 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late  I 
Prodigious  birth  of  love  it  is  to  me, 
That  1  must  love  a  loathed  enemy. 


What's  this  ?  wha 


fsthis 


:? 


A  rhyme  I  learn'd  even  now 
Of  one  I  danc'd  withal. 

[One  calls  within,  Juliet  I 

Nurse.. 

Anon,  anon :  — 
Come,  let's  away ;  the  strangers  all  are  gone. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter  Chorus. 
Now  old  desire  doth  in  his  death-bed  lie, 

And  young  affection  gapes  to  be  his  heir  : 
That  fair,  for  which  love  groan'd  for,  and  would 
die, 
With  tender  Juliet  match 'd,  is  now  not  fair. 


Now  Romeo  is  belov'd,  and  loves  again, 

Alike  bewitched  by  the  charm  of  looks; 
But  to  his  foe  snppos'd  he  must  complain, 

And  she  steal  love's  sweet  bait  from  fearful 
hooks : 
Being  held  a  foe,  he  may  not  have  access 

To  breathe  such  vows  as  lovers  use  to  swear  ; 
And  she  as  much  in  love,  her  means  much  less 

To  meet  her  new-beloved  any  where:  [meet, 
But  passion  lends  them  power,  time  means  to 
Tempering  extremities  with  extreme  sweet. 

[Exit. 

•#■#•#••#■•#•  #«••#•■#•#• 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I,    An  open  Place,  adjoining  Capulct't 
Garden. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Romeo. 

CAN  I  go  forward,  when  my  heart  is  here  ? 
Turn  back,  dull  earth,  and  find  thy  centre 

out. 
[He  climbs  the  Wall,  and  leaps  down  with- 
in it. 

Enter  Benvolio,  and  Merculio. 

eenyolio. 
i  Romeo!  Romeo  I 

Mercutio. 

He  is  wise; 
And,  on  my  life,  hath  stolen  him  home  to  bed. 

Benvolio. 
He  ran  this  way,  and  leap'd  this  orchard  wall. 
Call,  good  Mercutio. 

Mercutio    . 

Nay,  I'll  conjure  too. — 
Romeo,  humours,  madman,  passion,  lover  I 
Appear  thou  in  the  likeness  of  a  sigh : 
Speak  but  one  rhyme,  and  I  am  satisfied; 
Cry  but — Ah  me !  pronounce  but— love  and  dove ; 
Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  fair  word, 
One  nick-name  for  her  purblind  son  and  heir, 
Young  Adam  Cupid,  he  that  shot  so  trim, 
When  king  Cophetua  lov'd  the  beggar-maid — 
He  heareth  not,  he  stirreth  not,  he  moveth  not; 
The  ape  is  dead,  and  I  must  conjure  him. — 
I  conjure  thee  by  Rosaline's  bright  eyes, 
By  her  high  forehead,  and  her  scarlet  lip, 
By  her  fine  foot,  straight  leg,  and  quivering  thigh, 
And  the  demesnes  that  there  adjacent  lie, 
That  in  thy  likeness  thou  appear  to  us. 

An  if  he  hear  thee,  thou  wilt  anger  him. 

This  cannot  anger  mm  :  'twould  anger  him 
To  raise  a  spirit  in  his  mistress'  circle 
Of  some  strange  nature,  letting  it  there  stand 
Till  she  had  laid  it,  and  conjur'd  it  down; 
That  were  some  spite.    My  invocation 
Is  fair  and  honest,  and,  in  his  mistress'  name, 
I  conjure  only  but  to  raise  up  him. 

Come,  he  hath  hid  himself  among  these  trees, 
To  be  consorted  with  the  humorous  night : 
Blind  is  his  love,  and  best  befits  the  dark. 

If  love  be  blind,  love  cannot  hit  the  mark. 
Now  will  he  sit  under  a  medlar  tree, 
And  wish  his  mistress  were  that  kind  of  fruit, 
As  maids  call  medlars  when  they  laugh  alone. — 
O  Romeo! 


Act  ii.  So.  n. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


801  1 


O  Romeo!  that  she  were,  O I  that  she  were 
An  open  et  ctetera,  thou  a  poprin  pear ! 
Romeo,  good  night : —  I'll  to  my  truckle-bed ; 
This  field-bed  is  too  cold  for  me  to  sleep. 
Come,  shall  we  go? 

Benvollo. 
Go,  then  ;  for  'tis  in  vain 
To  seek  him  here,  that  means  not  to  be  found. 
>f  xeunt. 


to  be  fp 


SCENE  II.    CopuleC*  Garden. 
Enter  Romeo. 
Romeo. 
He  jesU  at  scars,  that  never  felt  a  wound.; — 
1  Juliet  appears  above,  at  a  window. 
But,  soft  1  what  light  through  yonder  window 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun  !  —   [breaks  ? 
Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 
Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief. 
That  thou,  her  maid,  art  far  more  fair  than  she: 
Be  not  her  maid,  since  she  is  envious; 
Her  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green, 
And  rone  but  fools  do  wear  it;  cast  it  off. — 
It  is  my  lady ;  O  I  it  is  my  love : 
O,  that  she  knew  she  were !  — 
She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing:  what  of  that? 
Her  eye  discourses,  I  will  answer  it — 
I  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  me  she  speaks  : 
Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  In  her  head? 
The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those 

stars. 
As  daylight  doth  a  lamp  :  her  eyes  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright. 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not 

night. 
See,  how  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  ! 
O !  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  touch  that  cheek. 
Juliet. 

Ah  me! 
Romeo. 

She  speaks : 
O,  speak  again,  bright  angel !  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o'er  my  head, 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  heaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned  wond'ring  eyes 
Of  mortals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 
When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds, 
And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 
Juliet. 
O  Romeo,  Romeo!  wherefore  art  thou  Romeo? 
Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name : 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love, 
And  I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 
Romeo. 
Shall  I  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this? 

Juliet. 

'Tis  but  thy  name,  that  is  my  enemy : 
Thou  art  thyself  though,  not  a  Montague. 
What's  Montague  f  it  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot, 
Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 
Belonging  to  a  man.     O  !  be  some  other  name. 
What's  in  a  uame?  that  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 
I  So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  call'd, 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes, 
Without  that  title.— Romeo,  doff  thy  name; 
Ami  for  thy  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee, 
Take  all  myself  ? 

Romeo. 
I  take  thee  at  thy  word. 


Call  me  but  lote,  and  1*11  be  new  baptii'd ; 

Henceforth  I  never  will  be  Romeo. 

Juliet. 

What  man  art  thou,  that,  thus  beicreenM  In 

So  stumblest  on  my  counsel?  [night, 

Romeo. 

By  a  name 
I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  I  am  : 
My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself, 
Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee : 
Had  I  it  written,  1  would  tear  the  word. 
Juliet. 
My  ears  have  yet  not  drunk  a  hundred  words 
Of  that  tongue's  utterance,  yet  I  know  the  sound. 
Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  t 
Borneo. 
i     Neither,  fair  saint,  if  either  thee  displease. 
Juliet. 
How  cam'st  thou  hither,  tell  me  ?  and  where- 
fore ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb  ; 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kiusmen  find  thee  here. 
Romeo. 
With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'erperch  these 
walls ; 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out : 
And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt ; 
Therefore,  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  to  me. 
JuHet. 
If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee. 

Romeo. 

Alack  I  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye. 

Than  twenty  of  their  swords:    look  thou  but 

And  I  am  proof  against  their  enmity.       [sweet, 

Juliet. 

I  would  not  for  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 

Romeo. 
I  have  night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their 
eyes; 
And  but  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here : 
My  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate, 
Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 
Juliet. 

By  whose  direction  fouhd'st  thou  out  this 
place  ? 

Romeo. 
By  love,  that  first  did  prompt  me  to  inquire ; 
He  "lent  me  counsel,  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 
I  am  no  pilot ;  yet,  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise. 
Juliet. 
Thou  know'st  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my 
face; 
Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek, 
For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to- 
night. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny 
What  1  have  spoke :  but  farewell  compliment ! 
Dost  thou  love  me?    I  know  thou  wilt  say  — 

Ay; 
And  I  will  take  thy  word  ;  yet,  if  thou  swear'st, 
Thou  may'st  prove  false :  at  lovers*  perjuries, 
They  say,  Jove  laughs.    O,  gentle  Romeo! 
If  thou  dost  love  pronounce  it  faithfully: 
Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay, 
So  thou  wilt  woo ;  but,  else,  not  for  the  world. 
In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond  ; 
And  therefore  thou  may'st  think  my  haviour 
light : 

.3  f  But 


So* 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  ir. 


But  trust  me,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true     | 
Than  those  that  have  more  cunning   to   be 

strange. 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  over-heard'st,  ere  I  was  ware, 
My  true  love's  passion  :  therefore,  pardon  me  ; 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love, 
Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 
Romeo. 
Lady,  by  yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear. 
That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops,— 
Juliet. 
O  1   swear  not  by  the  moon,  th'  inconstant 
moon 
That  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb, 
Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 
Romeo. 
What  shall  I  swear  by  ? 
Juliet. 

Do  not  swear  at  all ; 
Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self, 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry, 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

Romeo. 

If  my  heart's  dear  love— 
Juliet. 
Well,  do  not  swear.    Although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night : 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvis'd,  too  sudden  ; 
Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be, 
Ere   one  can  say  it  lightens.      Sweet,   good 

night ! 
This  bud  of  love,  by  summer's  ripening  breath, 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we 

meet. 
Good  night,  good  night!  as  sweet  repose  and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast  1 
Romeo. 

0  !  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied  ? 

Juliet. 
What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-night  ? 

Romeo. 
Th'  exchange  of  thy  love's  faithful  vow  for 
mine.  _  „   ' 

Juliet. 

1  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  didst  request  it ; 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 

Romeo. 
Would'st  thou  withdraw  it  ?  for  what  purpose, 
love?  _  ,.  , 

Juliet. 
But  to  be  frank,  and  give  it  thee  again ; 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have. 
My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 
My  love  as  deep ;  the  more  I  give  to  thee, 
The  more  1  have,  for  both  are  infinite. 

[Nurse  calls  within. 
I  hear  some  noise  within :  dear  love,  adieu  ! — 
Anon,  good  nurse  !  —  Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little,  I  will  come  again.  [Exit. 

Romeo. 
O  blessed  blessed  night !  I  am  afeard, 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a  dream, 
Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial. 
Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 
Juliet. 
Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good  night, 
indeed. 
If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  honourable, 
Thy  purpose  marriage,   send    me   word   to- 
morrow, 


By  one  that  I'll  procure  to  come  to  thee, 
Where,  and  what  time,  thou  wilt  perform  the 

rite; 
And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  foot  I'll  lay, 
And  follow  thee  my  lord  throughout  the  world. 
Nurse.  [Within. 


Juliet. 

I  come,  anon.— But  if  thou  mean'st  not  well, 
I  do  beseech  thee, — 

Nurse.  [Within. 

Madam. 

Juliet. 
By  and  by ;  I  come. — 
To  cease  thy  strife,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief: 
To-morrow  will  I  send. 

Romeo. 

So  thrive  my  soul,— 
Juliet. 
A  thousand  times  good  night  1  [Exit. 

Romeo. 
A  thousand  times  the  worse,  to   want  thy 
light. - 
Love  goes  toward  love,  as  school-boys  from  their 

books ; 
But  love  from  love,  toward  school  with  heavy 
looks.  [Retiring. 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 
Juliet. 
Hist !  Romeo,  hist !  —  O,  for  a  falconer's  voice. 
To  lure  this  tercel-gentle  back  again  ! 
Bondage  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud ; 
Else  would  I  tear  the  cave  where  echo  lies, 
And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  thau 

mine 
With  repetition  of  my  Romeo's  name. 

Romeo. 

It  is  my  soul,  that  calls  upon  my  name : 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears  I 
Juliet. 
Romeo! 

Romeo. 
My  dear ! 

Juliet. 

At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 
Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

Romeo. 

By  the  hour  of  nine. 

Juliet. 

I  will  not  fail :  'tis  twenty  years  till  then. 

I  have  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  back. 

Romeo. 

Let  me  stand  here,  till  thou  remember  it. 

Juliet. 
I  shall  forget  to  have  thee  still  stand  there, 
Remembering  how  I  love  thy  company. 
Romeo. 
And  I'll  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget, 
Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this. 
Juliet. 
•Tis  almost  morning,  I  would  have  thee  gone; 
And  yet  no  farther  than  a  wanton's  bird, 
Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand, 
Like  a  poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves, 
And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again, 
So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. 
Romeo. 
I  would,  I  were  thy  bird. 

Juliet. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


803 


Juliet. 

Sweet,  to  would  I : 
Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 
Good  night,  good  uight:  parting  is  such  sweet 

sorrow. 
That  1  shall  say  good  night,  till  it  be  morrow. 

Romeo. 
Sleep  dwell  upon  thine  eyes,  peace  in  thy 
breast  !— 
Would  I  were  sleep  and  peace,  so  sweet  to  rest ! 
Hence  will  1  to  my  ghostly  father's  cell ; 
His  help  to  crate,  and  my  good  hap  to  telL. 

SCENE  III.    Friar  Lturence't  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence,  with  a  basket. 

Friar. 

The  grey-ey'd  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning 

night, 

Checquering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of 

light; 
And  flecked  darkness  like  a  drunkard  reels 
From  forth  day's  path  and  Titan's  fiery  wheels  : 
Now,  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye 
The  day  to  cheer,  and  night's  dank  dew  to  dry, 
I  must  up-fill  this  osier  cage  of  ours, 
With  baleful  weeds,  and  precious-juiced  flowers. 
The  earth,  that's  nature's  mother,  is  her  tomb ; 
What  is  her  burying  grave,  that  is  her  womb; 
And  from  her  womb  children  of  divers  kind 
We  sucking  on  her  natural  bosom  find: 
Many  for  many  virtues  excellent, 
None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  different. 
Ol  mickle  is  the  powerful  grace  that  lies 
In  herbs,  plants,  stones,  and  their  true  qualities: 
For  nought  so  vile  that  on  the  earth  doth  live 
But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doth  give ; 
Nor  aught  so  good,  but  strain'd  from  that  fair 

use. 
Revolts  from  true  birth,  stumbling  on  abuse : 
Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied, 
And  vice  sometime's  by  action  dignified. 
Within  the  infant  rind  of  this  weak  flower 
Poison  hath  residence,  and  medicine  power: 
For  this  being  smelt,  with  that  part  cheers  each 

part; 
Being  tasted,  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart. 
Two  such  opposed  kings  encamp  them  still 
In  man  as  well  as  herbs,  grace,  and  rude  will ; 
And  where  the  worser  is  predominant. 
Full  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant. 
Enter  Romeo. 
Romeo. 
Good  morrow,  father ! 
Friar. 

Benedict te  I 
What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me? — 
Young  son,  it  argues  a  distemper'd  head, 
So  soon  to  bid  good  morrow  to  thy  bed  : 
Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man's  eye, 
And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie; 
But   where    unbruised  youth,  with    unstuff'd 

brain. 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth 
Therefore,  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure,  [reign. 
Thou  art  up-rous'd  by  some  dit>temperature : 
Or  if  not  so,  then  here  I  hit  it  right — 
Our  Romeo  hath  not  been  in  bed  to-night 
Romeo. 
That  last  is  true;  the  sweeter  rest  was  mine. 

Friar. 
God  pardon  sin !  wert  thou  with  Rosaline? 


Roinco. 
With  Rosaline,  my  ghostly  father?  no  ; 
I  have  forgot  that  name,  and  that  name's  woe. 
Friar. 
That's  my  good  son :  but  where  hast  thou 
been,  then  ? 

Romeo. 
I'll  tell  thee,  ere  thou  ask  it  me  again. 
I  have  been  feasting  with  mine  enemy ; 
Where,  on  a  sudden,  one  hath  wounded  me, 
That's  by  me  wounded :  both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies  : 
1  bear  no  hatred,  blessed  man  ;  for,  lo  I 
My  intercession  likewise  steads  my  foe. 
Friar. 
Be  plain,  good  son,  and  homely  in  thy  drift ; 
Riddling  confession  finds  but  riddling  shrift. 
Romeo. 
Then  plainly  know,  my  heart's  dear  love  is  set 
On  the  fair  daughter  of  rich  Capuiet : 
>  As  mine  on  hers,  so  hers  is  set  on  mine ; 
And  all  combin'd,  save  what  thou  must  combine 
By  holy  marriage.    When,  and  where,  and  how, 
W  e  met,  we  woo'd,  and  made  exchange  of  vow, 
I'll  tell  thee  as  we  pass;  but  this  I  pray, 
That  thou  consent  to  marry  us  to-day. 
Friar. 
Holy  Saint  Francis  I  what  a  change  is  here ! 
Is  Rosaline,  whom  thou  didst  love  so  dear, 
So  soon  forsaken?  young  men's  love,  then,  lies 
Not  truly  in  their  hearts,  but  in  their  eyes. 
Jesu  Maria !  what  a  deal  of  brine 
Hath  wash'd  thy  sallow  cheeks  for  Rosaline  ! 
How  much  salt  water  thrown  away  in  waste 
To  season  love,  that  of  it  doth  not  taste ! 
The  sun  not  yet  thy  sighs  from  heaven  clears, 
Thy  old  groans  ring  yet  in  my  ancient  ears  ; 
Lo  !  here  upon  thy  cheek  the  stain  doth  sit 
Of  an  old  tear  that  is  not  wash'd  off  yet. 
If  e'er  thou  wast  thyself,  and  these  woes  thine, 
Thou  and  these  woes  were  all  for  Rosaline  : 
And  art  thou  chang'd?  pronounce  this  sentence, 
then  —  [men . 

Women  may  fall,  when  there's  no  strength  in 
Romeo. 
Thou  chidd'st  me  oft  for  loving  Rosaline. 

Friar. 
For  doting,  not  for  loving,  pupil  mine. 

Romeo. 

And  bad'st  me  bury  love. 

Friar. 

Not  in  a  grave, 
To  lay  one  in,  another  out  to  have. 
Romeo. 
I  pray  thee,  chide  not :  she,  whom  I  love  now, 
Doth  grace  for  grace,  and  love  for  love  allow  : 
The  other  did  not  so. 

Friar 
O!  she  knew  well, 
Thy  love  did  read  by  rote,  and  could  not  spell. 
But  come,  young  waverer,  come,  go  with  me, 
In  one  respect  I'll  thy  assistant  be  ; 
For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  prove, 
To  turn  your  households'  rancour  to  pure  love. 
Romeo. 
O  1  let  us  hence  ;  I  stand  on  sudden  haste. 

Friar. 
Wisely,  and  slow  :  they  stumble  that  run  fast. 
SCENE 


8o4 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  tv. 


SCENE  IV.    A  Street. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 

Mercutio. 

Where  the  devil  should  this  Romeo  be?— 

Came  he  not  home  to-night  ? 

Benvolio. 

Not  to  his  father's :  I  spoke  with  his  man. 

Mercutio. 
Why,  that  same  pale  hard-hearted  wench, 
that  Rosaline, 
Torments  him  so,  that  he  will  sure  run  mad. 
Benvolio. 
Tybalt,  the  kinsman  to  old  Capulet, 
Hath  sent  a  letter  to  his  father's  house. 
Mercutio. 
A  challenge,  on  my  life. 

Benvolio. 
Romeo  will  answer  it. 

Mercutio. 
Any  man  that  can  write  may  answer  a  letter. 

Benvolio. 
Nay,  he  will  answer  the  letter's  master,  how 
he  dares,  being  dared. 

Mercutio. 
Alas,  poor  Romeo!  he  is  already  dead !  stabbed 
with  a  white  wench's  black  eye  ;  run  thorough 
the  ear  with  a  love-song;  the  very  pin  of  his 
heart  cleft  with  the  blind  bow-boy's  butt-shaft ; 
and  is  he  a  man  to  encounter  Tybalt  t 
Benvolio. 
Why,  what  is  Tybalt  t 

Mercutio. 
More  than  prince  of  cats,  I  can  tell  you.  0 1 
he  is  the  courageous  captain  of  compliments. 
He  fights  as  you  sing  prick-song,  keeps  time, 
distance,  and  proportion  ;  rests  me  his  minim 
rest,  one,  two,  and  the  third  in  your  bosom  :  the 
very  butcher  of  a  silk  button,  a  duellist,  a  duel- 
list ;  a  gentleman  of  the  very  first  house,  of  the 
first  and  second  cause.  Ah,  the  immortal  pas- 
sado  !  the  punto  reverso  I  the  hay  1  — 
Benvolio. 

The  what  ?  ' 

Mercutio. 

The  pox  of  such  antic,  lisping,  affecting  fan- 
tasticoes,  these  new  tuners  of  accents  !  —  "  By 
Jesu,  a  very  good  blade ! — a  very  tall  man  1  —  a 
very  good  whore ! " — Why !  is  not  this  a  lament- 
able thing,  grandsire,  that  we  should  be  thus 
afflicted  with  these  strange  flies,  these  fashion- 
mongers,  these  pardonnez-mois,  who  stand  so 
much  on  the  new  form,  that  they  cannot  sit  at 
ease  on  the  old  bench  ?  O,  their  bons,  their 
bons!  _  ,      _ 

Enter  Romeo. 

Benvolio. 

Here  comes  Romeo,  here  comes  Romeo. 
Mercutio. 

Without  his  roe,  like  a  dried  herring.  —  O 
flesh,  flesh,  how  art  thou  fishified  1  —  Now  is  he 
for  the  numbers  that  Petrarch  flowed  in :  Laura,  j 
to  his  lady,  was  a  kitchen-wench;  —  marry,  she 
had  a  better  love  to  be-rhyme  her:  Dido,  a 
dowdy ;  Cleopatra,  a  gipsy  ;  Helen  and  Hero, 
hildings  and  harlots  ;  Thisbe,  a  grey  eye  or  so, 
but  not  to  the  purpose.  — Signior  Romeo,  bon 
jour  I  there's  a  French  salutation  to  your  French 
slop.  You  gave  us  the  counterfeit  fairly  last 
night. 


Romeo. 
Good  morrow  to  you  both.    What  counterfeit 
did  I  give  you  ?      m, 

Mercutio. 
The  slip,  sir,  the  slip :  can  you  not  conceive  ? 

Romeo. 
Pardon,   good    Mercutio,   my  business   was 
great ;  and  in  such  a  case  as  mine,  a  man  may 
strain  courtesy. 

Mercutio. 
That's  as  much  as  to  say— such  a  case  as 
yours  constrains  a  man  to  bow  in  the  hams. 
Romeo. 
Meaning— to  courtesy. 

Mercutio. 
Thou  hast  most  kindly  hit  it. 

Romeo. 
A  most  courteous  exposition. 

Mercutio. 
Nay,  I  am  the  very  pink  of  courtesy. 

Romeo. 
Pink  for  flower. 

Mercutio. 

Right. 

Romeo. 

Why,  then  is  my  pump  well  flowered. 

Mercutio. 
Well  said :  follow  me  this  jest  now,  till  thou 
hast  worn  out  thy  pump  ;  that,  when  the  single 
sole  of  it  is  worn,  the  jest  may  remain,  after  the 
wearing,  solely  singular. 

Romeo. 

0  single-soled  jest  1  solely  singular  for  the 
singleness. 

Mercutio. 
Come  between  us,  good  Benvolio,  for  my  wits 

Romeo. 

Switch  and  spurs,  switch  and  spurs ;  or  I'll 
cry  a  match. 

Mercutio. 

Nay,  if  our  wits  run  the  wild-goose  chase,  I 
have  done ;  for  thou  hast  more  of  the  wild- 
goose  in  one  of  thy  wits,  than,  I  am  sure,  I  have 
in  my  whole  five.  Was  I  with  you  there  for  the 
goose  ? 

Borneo. 

Thou  wast  never  with  me  for  any  thing,  when 
thou  wast  not  there  for  the  goose. 
Mercutio. 

1  will  bite  thee  by  the  ear  for  that  jest. 

Romeo. 
Nay,  good  goose,  bite  not. 
Mercutio. 
Thy  wit  is  a  very  bitter  sweeting ;  it  is  a  most 
sharp  sauce.  _ 

Romeo. 

And  is  it  not  well  served  in  to  a  sweet  goose  ? 
Mercutio. 

0  I  here's  a  wit  of  cheverel,  that  stretches 
from  an  inch  narrow  to  an  ell  broad. 

Romeo. 

1  stretch  it  out  for  that  word — broad:  which 
added  to  the  goose,  proves  thee  far  and  wide 
abroad— goose. 

Mercutio. 
Why,  is  not  this  better  now  than  groaning  for 
love?  now  art  thou  sociable,  now  art  thou 
Romeo  ;  now  art  thou  what  thou  art,  by  art  as 
well  as  by  nature :  for  this  drivelling  love  is  like 
a  great  natural,  that  runs  lolling  up  and  down  to 
hide  his  bauble  in  a  hole.  ^        „ 

Benvolio. 


fail. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  ir. 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


805 


I      Stop  there,  stop  there. 

Mercutio. 
Thou  desirest  me  to  stop  in  my  tale  against 
the  hair. 

Benvolio. 
Thou  would'st  else  have  made  thy  tale  large. 

Mercutio. 
().  thou  art  deceived !  I  would  have  made  it 
short ;  for  1  was  come  to  the  whole  depth  of  my 
tale,  and  meant,  indeed,  to  occupy  the  argument 
no  longer. 

Romeo. 
Here's  goodly  geer  1 

Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 

Mercutio. 
A  sail,  a  sail  1 

Benvolio. 
Two,  two ;  a  shirt,  and  a  smock. 

Nurse. 
Peter,  pr'ythee  give  me  my  fan. 

Mercutio. 
Pr'ythee,  do,  good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face;  for 
her  fan's  the  fairer  of  the  two. 
Nurse. 
God  ye  good  morrow,  gentlemen. 

Mercutio. 
God  ye  good  den,  fair  gentlewoman. 

Nurse. 
Ii  it  good  den? 

Mercutio. 
'Tis  no  less,  I  tell  you ;  for  the  bawdy  hand  of 
the  dial  is  uow  upon  the  prick  of  noon. 

Nurse. 
Out  upon  you  !  what  a  man  are  you. 

Romeo. 
One,  gentlewoman,  that  God  hath  made  for 
himself  to  mar. 

Nurse 
By  my  troth,  it  is  well  said ;— for  himself  to 
mar,  quoth 'a? — Gentlemen,  can  any  of  you  tell 
me  where  I  may  find  the  young  Borneo  f 

Romeo. 
T  can  tell  you ;  but  young  Romeo  will  be  older 
when  you  have  found  him,  than  he  was  when 
you  sought  him.    I  am  the  youngest  of  that 
name,  for  fault  of  a  worse. 

Nurse. 
You  say  welL 

Mercutio. 
Yea!   is   the  worst  well?   very  well   took, 
i'faith ;  wisely,  wisely. 

Nurse. 
If  you  be  he,  sir,  I  desire  some  confidence 
with  you. 

Benvolio. 
She  will  indite  him  to  some  supper. 

Mercutio. 
A  bawd,  a  bawd,  a  bawd !  So  ho ! 


What  hast  thou  found? 


fUercutio. 
ei 


No  hare,  sir;  unless  a  hare,  sir,  in  a  Ienten 
pie,  that  is  something  stale  and  hoar  ere  it  be 
spent. 
An  old  hare  hoar,  and  an  old  hare  hoar, 

Is  very  good  meat  in  lent: 
But  a  hare  that  is  hoar,  is  too  much  for  a  score 
Wkm  it  hoars  ere  it  be  spent — 

Borneo,  will  you  come  to  your  father's  ?  we'll  to 
dinner  thither. 


Romeo. 

I  will  follow  you. 

Mercutio. 
Farewell,  ancient  lady;  farewell,  lady,  lady, 
lady.        [Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio. 

Nurse. 
Marry,  farewell !  —  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  saucy 
merchant  was  this,  that  was  so  full  of  his  ropery  ? 

Romeo. 
A  gentleman,  nurse,  that  loves  to  hear  himself 
talk;  and  will  speak  more  in  a  minute,  than  he 
will  stand  to  in  a  month. 

Nurse. 
An  'a  speak  any  thing  against  me,  I'll  take 
him  down,  an  'a  were  lustier  than  be  is,  and 
twenty  such  Jacks;  and  if  I  cannot,  I'll  find 
those  that  shall.  Scurvy  knave  1  I  am  none  of 
his  flirt-gills;  I  am  none  of  his  skains- mates. 
— And  thou  must  stand  by,  too,  and  Buffer  every 
knave  to  use  me  at  his  pleasure  ? 

Peter. 

I  saw  no  man  use  you  at  his  pleasure;  if  I  had, 
my  weapon  should  quickly  have  been  out,  I 
warrant  you.  1  dare  draw  as  soon  as  another 
man,  if  I  see  occasion  in  a  good  quarrel,  and  the 
law  on  my  side. 

Nurse. 

Now,  afore  God,  I  am  so  vexed,  that  every 

part  about  me  quivers Scurvy  knave! — Pray 

you,  sir,  a  word;  and  as  I  told  you,  my  young 
lady  bade  me  inquire  you  out:  what  she  bid  me 
say,  I  will  keep  to  myself;  but  first  let  me  tell 
yc,  if  ye  should  lead  her  in  a  fool's  paradise,  as 
they  say,  it  were  a  very  gross  kind  of  behaviour, 
as  they  say,  for  the  gentlewoman  is  young ;  and, 
therefore,  if  you  should  deal  double  with  her, 
truly,  it  were  an  ill  thing  to  be  offered  to  any 
gentlewoman,  and  very  weak  dealing. 
Romeo. 

Nurse,  commend  me  to  thy  lady  and  mistress. 
I  protest  unto  thee,— 

Nurse. 

Good  heart!  and,  i'  faith,  I  will  tell  her  as 
much.    Lord,  lord !  she  will  be  a  joyful  woman. 
Romeo. 

What  wilt  thou  tell  her,  nurse  ?  thou  dost  not 
mark  me. 

Nurse. 

I  will  tell  her,  sir, — that  you  do  protest; 
which,  as  I  take  it,  is  a  gentlemanlike  offer. 
Romeo. 

Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  come  to  shrift 
This  afternoon ; 

And  there  she  shall  at  friar  Laurence'  cell 
Be  shriv'd,  and  married.     Here  is  for  thy  pains. 
Nurse. 

No,  truly,  sir ;  not  a  penny. 

Romeo. 
Go  to ;  I  say,  you  shall. 

N urse. 
This  afternoon,  sir?  well,  she  shall  be  there. 

Romeo. 
And  stay,  good  nurse,  behind  the  abbey-wall : 
Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee, 
And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a  tackled  stair ; 
Which  to  the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night 
Farewell !— Be  trusty,  and  I'll  'quite  thy  pains. 
Farewell !— Commend  me  to  thy  mistress. 
Nurse. 
Now,  God  in  heaven  bless  thee !  —  Hark  you, 
sir. 

RoOMR 


8o6 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Romeo. 

What  say'st  thou,  my  dear  nurse  ? 

Nurse. 
1$  your  man  secret  ?    Did  you  ne'er  hear  say, 
Two  may  keep  counsel,  putting  one  away  ? 

Romeo. 
I  warrant  thee ;  my  man's  as  true  as  steel. 

Nurse. 
Well,  sir;  my  mistress  is  the  sweetest  lady— 
Lord,  lord!— when  'twas  a  little  prating  thing, 
—  O  1  —There's  a  nobleman  in  town,  one  Paris, 
that  would  fain  lay  knife  aboard ;  but  she,  good 
soul,  had  as  lieve  see  a  toad,  a  very  toad,  as  see 
him.  I  anger  her  sometimes,  and  tell  her  that 
Paris  is  the  properer  man ;  but,  I'll  warrant 
you,  when  I  say  so,  she  looks  as  pale  as  any 
clout  in  the  varsal  world.  Doth  not  rosemary 
and  Romeo  begin  both  with  a  letter  ? 

Romeo. 

Ay,  nurse ;  What  of  that  ?  both  with  an  R. 

Ah,  mocker  I  that's  the  dog's  name.  R  is  for 
thee  ?  no :  I  know  it  begins  with  some  other 
letter ;  and  she  hath  the  prettiest  sententious  of 
it,  of  you  and  rosemary,  that  it  would  do  you 
good  to  hear  it. 


Romeo, 
to  thy  lady. 


Commend  me 


.   .   Nurse. 
Ay,  a  thousand  times.—  Peter! 


[Exit. 


Peter. 
Anon? 

„  .  Nurse. 

Peter,  take  my  fan,  and  go  before.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Capulei's  Garden. 
Enter  Juliet. 

Juliet. 
The  clock  struck  nine,  when  I  did  send  the 
In  half  an  hour  she  promis'd  to  return,  [nurse ; 
Perchance,  she  cannot  meet  him:— that's  not 

80  — 

O!  sheislame:  love'sheraldsshouldbethoughts, 

Which  ten  times  faster  glide  than  the  sun's  beams 

Driving  back  shadows  over  lowering  hills : 

Therefore  do  nimble-pinion'd  doves  draw  love, 

And  therefore  hath  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings. 

Now  is  the  sun  upon  the  highmost  hill 

Of  this  day's  journey ;  and  from  nine  to  twelve 

Is  three  long  hours,— yet  she  is  not  come. 

Had  she  affections,  and  warm  youthful  blood, 

She'd  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a  ball ; 

My  words  would  bandy  her  to  my  sweet  love, 

And  his  to  me : 

But  old  folks,  many  feign  as  they  were  dead  ; 

Unwieldly,  slow,  heavy,  and  pale  as  lead. 

Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 
O  God !  shecomes — O  honey  nurse !  what  news? 
Hast  thou  met  with  him  ?    Send  thy  man  away. 

Nurse. 
Peter,  stay  at  the  gate.  [Exit  PeU  r. 

Julia. 
Now,  good  sweet  nurse,— O  lord  !  why  look'st 
thou  sad  ? 
Though  news  be  sad,  yet  tell  them  merrily  ; 
If  good,  thou  sham'st  the  music  of  sweet  news 
By  playing  it  to  me  with  so  sour  a  face. 

Nurse. 

I,     I  am  aweary,  give  me  leave  awhile.—     [had  1 
j ;  Fie,  how  my  bones  ache  !    What  a  jaunt  have  I 


Julia. 
I  would,  thou  hadst  my  bones,  and  I  thy  news : 
Nay,  come,  I  pray  thee,  speak  j— good,  good 
nurse,  speak 

NuKe. 
Jesu,  what  haste  1  can  you  not  stay  awhile  ? 
j  Do  you  not  see,  that  I  am  out  of  breath  ? 

Julia. 
How  art  thou  out  of  breath,  when  thou  hast 
breath 
To  say  to  me— that  thou  art  out  of  breath  ? 
The  excuse  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay 
Is  longer  than  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 
Is  thy  news  good,  or  bad  ?  answer  to  that ; 
Say  either,  and  I'll  stay  the  circumstance. 
Let  me  be  satisfied,  is't  good  or  bad? 

Nurse. 
Well,  you  have  made  a  simple  choice ;  you 
know  not  how  to  choose  a  man:  Romeo!  no, 
not  he ;  though  his  face  be  better  than  any  man's, 
yet  his  leg  excels  all  men's ;  and  for  a  hand, 
and  a  foot,  and  a  body, — though  they  be  not  to 
be  talked  on,  yet  they  are  past  compare.  He  is 
not  the  flower  of  courtesy, — but,  I'll  warrant 
him,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.— Go  thy  ways,  wench : 
serve  God — What,  have  you  dined  at  home  ? 

Juliet. 
No,  no :  but  all  this  did  I  know  before. 
What  says  he  of  our  marriage  ?  what  of  that  ? 

Nurse. 
Lord,  how  my  head  aches  !  what  a  head  have  I ! 
It  beats  as  it  would  fall  in  twenty  pieces. 
My  back!  o'  t'  other  side.— O,  my  back,  my 

back !  — 
Beshrew  your  heart  for  sending  me  about, 
To  catch  my  death  with  jaunting  up  and  down. 

Juliet. 
I'  faith,  I  am  sorry  that  thou  art  not  well. 
Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  nurse,  tell  me,  what  says 
my  love  ? 

Nurse. 
Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman, 
And  a  courteous,  and  a  kind,  and  a  handsome, 
!And,  1  warrant,  a  virtuous.— Where  is  your 
mother  ? 

Juliet. 
;     Where  is  my  mother  ?— why,  she  is  within : 
j  Where  should  she  be  ?  How  oddly  thou  reply'st ; 
I "  Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman, — 
Where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

Nurse. 

O,  God's  lady  dear  I 
Are  you  so  hot  ?    Marry,  come  up,  1  trow ; 
Is  this  the  poultice  for  my  aching  bones  ? 
Henceforward  do  your  messages  yourself. 

Juliet. 
Here's  such  a  coil— Come,  what  says  Romeo  f 

Nurse. 
Have  you  got  leave  to  go  to  shrift  to-day  ? 

Juliet. 
I  have. 

Nurse. 
Then,  hie  you  hence  to  friar  Laurence'  cell, 
|  There  stays  a  husband  to  make  you  a  wife : 
i  Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  up  in  your  cheeks, 
They'll  be  in  scarlet  straight  at  any  news. 
Hie  you  to  church  ;  I  must  another  way, 
To  fetch  a  ladder,  by  the  which  your  love 
Must  climb  a  bird's  nest  soon,  when  it  is  dark  ; 
I  am  the  drudge,  and  toil  in  your  delight, 
But  you  shall  bear  the  burden  soon  at  night. 
Go ;  I'll  to  dinner :  hie  you  to  the  cell. 

Juliet. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


807 


Hie  to  high  fortune  !  —  honest  nurse,  farewell. 

SCENE  VI.    Friar  Laurence'*  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

Friar. 
So  smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act, 
That  after-hours  with  sorrow  chide  us  not  I 

Romeo. 
Amen,  amen !  but  come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight : 
Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 
Then  love -devouring  death  do  what  he  dare ; 
It  is  enough  1  may  but  call  her  mine. 

Friar. 
These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends, 
And  in  their  triumph  die :  like  fire  and  powder. 
Which  as  they  kiss  consume.  The  sweetest  honey 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness, 
And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  appetite : 
Therefore,  love  moderately;  long  love  doth  10; 
Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as  too  slow. 

Enter  Juliet. 
Here  comes  the  lady.  — O !  so  light  a  foot 
Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint : 
A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamers 
That  idle  in  the  wanton  summer  air, 
And  yet  not  fall  ;  so  light  is  vanity. 

Juliet. 
Good  even  to  my  ghostly  confessor. 

Friar. 
Romeo  shall  thank  thee,  daughter,  for  us  both. 

Juliet. 
As  much  to  him,  else  are  his  thanks  too  much. 

Romeo. 
Ah,  Juliet !  If  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
Be  heap'd  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more 
To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbour  air,  and  let  rich  music's  tongue 
Unfold  the  imagin'd  happiness,  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  this  dear  encounter. 

Juliet. 
Conceit,  more  rich  in  matter  than  In  words, 
Brags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament : 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth ; 
But  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 
I  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth. 

Friar. 
Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  make  short 
work ; 
For,  by  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone, 
Till  holy  church  incorporate  two  in  one. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  public  Place. 

Enter  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  Paget  and  Servants. 

Benvolio. 

I  PRAY  thee,  good  Mercutio,  let's  retire: 
The  day  is  hot,  the  Capulets  abroad, 
And  if  we  meet  we  shall  not  'scape  a  brawl ; 
For  now,  these  hot  days,  is  the  mad  blood  stir- 
ring. 


utio. 

Thou  art  like  one  of  those  fellows  that,  w  lien 
he  enters  the  confines  of  a  tavern,  clans  me  his 
sword  upon  the  table,  and  says,  "  God  send  me 
n<>  Mad  of  thee  1"  and,  by  the  operation  of  the 
second  cup,  draws  him  on  the  drawer,  when,  in. 
deed,  there  is  no  need. 

Benvolio. 
Am  I  like  such  a  fellow? 

Mercutio. 
Come,  come,  thon  art  as  hot  a  Jack  in  thy 
mood,  as  any  in  Italy;  and  as  soon  moved  to  be 
moody,  and  as  soon  moody  to  be  moved. 

Benvolio. 

And  what  to  ? 

Mercutio. 

Nay,  an  there  were  two  such,  we  should  have 
none  shortly,  for  one  would  kill  the  other. 
Thou !  why  thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  that 
hath  a  hair  more,  or  a  hair  less,  in  his  beard, 
than  thou  hast.  Thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man 
for  cracking  nuts,  having  no  other  reason,  but 
because  thou  hast  hazel  eyes :  what  eye,  but 
such  an  eye,  would  spy  out  such  a  quarrel  ?  Thy 
head  is  as  full  of  quarrels,  as  an  egg  is  full  of 
meat ;  and  yet  thy  head  hath  been  beaten  as 
addle  as  an  egg  for  quarrelling.  Thou  hast 
quarrelled  with  a  man  for  coughing  In  the  street, 
because  he  hath  wakened  thy  dog  that  hath  lain 
asleep  in  the  sun.  Didst  thou  not  fall  out  with 
a  tailor  for  wearing  his  new  doublet  before 
Easter?  with  another,  for  tying  his  new  shoes 
with  old  riband  ?  and  yet  thou  wilt  tutor  me 
from  quarrelling ! 

Benvolio. 
An  I  were  so  apt  to  quarrel  as  thou  art,  any 
man  should  buy  the  fee-simple  of  my  life  for  an 
hour  and  a  quarter. 

Mercutio. 
The  fee-simple?  O  simple  I 

Benvolio. 
By  my  head,  here  come  the  Capulets. 

Enter  Tybalt,  and  others. 

Mercutio. 
By  my  heel,  I  care  not. 

Follow  me  close,  for  I  will  speak  to  them — 
Gentlemen,  good  den  I  a  word  with  one  of  you. 

Mercutio. 
And  but  one  word  with  one  of  us  ?    Couple  It 
with  something;  make  it  a  word  and  a  blow. 

Tybalt. 
You  will  find  me  apt  enough  to  that,  sir,  if 
you  will  give  me  occasion. 

Mercutio. 
Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without 
giving  ? 

Tvbalt. 
Mercutio,  thou  consort 'st  with  Romeo.— 

Mercutio. 
Consort !  what !  dost  thou  make  us  minstrels? 
an  thou  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear 
nothing  but  discords :  here's  my  fiddlestick  ; 
here's  that  shall  make  you  dance.  'Zounds, 
consort ! 

Benvolio. 
We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men : 
Either  withdraw  unto  some  private  place, 
Or  reason  coldly  of  your  grievances, 
Or  else  depart ;  here  all  eyes  gaze  on  us. 

Mercutio. 


8o8 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Mercutio. 
Men's  eyes  were  made  to  look,  and  let  them 
gaze: 
I  will  not  budge  for  no  man's  pleasure,  I. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Tybalt 
Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir.    Here  comes  my 
man. 

Mercutio. 

But  I'll  be  hang'd,  sir,  if  he  wear  your  livery. 

Marry,  go  before  to  field,  he'll  be  your  follower ; 

Your  worship,  in  that  sense,  may  call  him— man. 

Tybalt. 
Romeo,  the  love  1  bear  thee,  can  afford 
No  better  term  than  this— thou  art  a  villain. 

Romeo. 
Tybalt,  the  reason  that  I  have  to  love  thee 
Doth  much  excuse  the  appertaining  rage 
To  such  a  greeting :  —  villain  am  I  none  ; 
Therefore  farewell :  I  see,  thou  know'st  me  not. 

Tybalt. 
Boy,  this  shall  not  excuse  the  injuries 
That  thou  hast  done  me ;  therefore,  turn  and 
draw. 

Romeo. 
1  do  protest,  1  never  injur'd  thee  ; 
But  love  thee  better  than  thou  canst  devise, 
Till  thou  shalt  know  the  reason  of  my  love : 
And  so,  good  Capulet,  —  which  name  I  tender 
As  dearly  as  mine  own,— be  satisfied. 
Mercutio. 

0  calm,  dishonourable,  vile  submission  1 

A  la  staccato,  carries  it  away.  [Draws. 

Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk  ? 

Tybalt. 
What  would'st  thou  have  with  me  ? 

Mercutio. 
Good  king  of  cats,  nothing,  but  one  of  your 
nine  lives;  that  I  mean  to  make  bold  withal, 
and,  as  you  shall  use  me  hereafter,  dry-beat  the 
rest  of  the  eight.  Will  you  pluck  your  sword 
out  of  his  pitcher  by  the  ears  ?  make  haste,  lest 
mine  be  about  your  ears  ere  it  be  out. 
Tybalt. 

1  am  for  you.  [.Drawing. 

Romeo. 
Gentle  Mercutio,  put  thy  rapier  up. 

Mercutio. 
Come,  sir,  your  passado.  [They  fight. 

Romeo. 
Draw,  Benvolio  ;  [shame  ! 

Beat   down   their  weapons  :  —  gentlemen,   for 
Forbear  this  outrage !  —  Tybalt—  Mercutio  — 
The  prince  expressly  hath  forbid  this  bandying 
In  Verona  streets.— Hold,  Tybalt!— good  Mer- 
cutio I 

[Exeunt  Tybalt  and  Ins  Partisans. 
Mercutio. 
lam  hurt;  — 
A  plague  o'  both  the  houses  !  —  I  am  sped  :  — 
Is  he  gone,  and  hath  nothing  ? 
Benvolio. 

What !  art  thou  hurt  ? 
Mercutio. 
Ay,   ay,   a   scratch,  a    scratch;   marry,   'tis 
enough. — 
Where  is  my  page  ?— go,  villain,  fetch  a  sur- 
geon. [Exit  Page. 
Romeo. 
Courage,  man ;  the  hurt  cannot  be  much. 


Mercutio.  , 

No,  'tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as 
a  church  door ;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill  serve : 
ask  for  me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  find  me  a 
grave  man.  I  am  peppered,  1  warrant,  for  this 
world  :  —  a  plague  o'  both  your  houses  !  — 
Zounds  !  a  dog,  a  rat,  a  mouse,  a  cat,  to  scratch 
a  man  to  death  !  a  braggart,  a  rogue,  a  villain, 
that  fights  by  the  book  of  arithmetic !  —Why, 
the  devil,  came  you  between  us  ?  I  was  hurt 
under  your  arm. 

Romeo. 

I  thought  all  for  the  best. 

Mercutio. 
Help  me  into  some  house,  Benvolio, 
Or  I  shall  faint.— A  plague  o'both  your  houses  ! 
They  have  made  worms'  meat  of  me : 
1  have  it,  and  soundly  too  :  —  your  houses  1 

[Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio. 

Romeo. 
This  gentleman,  the  prince's  near  ally, 
My  very  friend,  hath  got  his  mortal  hurt 
In  my  behalf;  my  reputation  stain'd 
With  Tybalt's  slander,  Tybalt,  that  an  hour 
Hath  been  my  cousin  ;  —  O  sweet  Juliet ! 
Thy  beauty  hath  made  me  effeminate, 
And  in  my  temper  soften'd  valour's  steel. 

Re-enter  Benvolio. 

Benvolio. 
O  Romeo,  Romeo !  brave  Mercutid's  dead  ; 
That  gallant  spirit  hath  aspir'd  the  clouds, 
Which  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth. 

Romeo. 
This  day's  black  fate  on  more  days  doth  de- 
pend ; 
This  but  begins  the  woe,  others  must  end. 

Re-enter  Tybalt. 

Benvolio. 
Here  comes  the  furious  Tybalt  back  again. 

Romeo. 
Alive !  in  triumph  !  and  Mercutio  slain  ! 
Away  to  heaven,  respective  lenity, 
And  fire-ey'd  fury  be  my  conduct  now !  — 
Now,  Tybalt,  take  the  villain  back  again, 
That  late  thou  gav'st  me ;  for  Mercutio's  soul 
Is  but  a  little  way  above  our  heads, 
Staying  for  thine  to  keep  him  company : 
Either  thou,  or  I,  or  both,  must  go  with  him. 
Tybalt. 
Thou,  wretched  boy,  that  didst  consort  him 
Shalt  with  him  hence.  [here, 

Romeo. 
This  shall  determine  that. 
[They  fight ;  Tybalt  falls. 
Benvolio. 
Romeo,  away !  begone ! 
The  citizens  are  up,  and  Tybalt  slain :  — 
Stand  not  amaz'd :  —  the  prince  will  doom  thee 

death, 
If  thou  art  taken, — Hence !— be  gone !— away ! 
Romeo. 
O  !  I  am  fortune's  fool. 

Benvolio. 

Why  dost  thou  stay  ° 
[Exit  Romeo 
Enter  Citizens,  &c. 
First  Citizen. 
Which  way  ran  he,  that  kill'd  Mercutio  t 
Tybalt,  that  murderer,  which  way  ran  he  ? 
Benvolio. 
There  lies  that  Tybalt. 

Firet 


Ai  i   in.    Sc.  IL 


UOMKO  AND  JULIET. 


809 


Up,  sir  :  —  go  with  me ; 
I  charge  thee  in  the  prince's  name,  obey. 

Enter  Prince,  attended  ;  Montague,  Capulet, 

their  Wives,  and  others. 

Prince. 

Where  are  the  vile  beginners  of  this  fray  ? 

Bcnvolio. 
O  noble  prince !    I  can  discover  all 
The  unlucky  manage  of  this  fatal  brawl : 
There  lies  the  man,  slain  by  young  Romeo, 
That  slew  thy  kinsman,  brave  Mercutio. 

Lady  Capulet. 

Tybalt,  my  cousin  f— O  my  brother's  child ! 

O  prince !  O  cousin  1  husband  1  O,  the  blood  is 

spiU'd 
Of  my  dear  kinsman  1  —  Prince,  as  thou  art 

true, 
For  blood  of  ours  shed  blood  of  Montague. 

0  cousin,  cousin  1 

Prince. 
Bcnvolio,  who  began  this  bloody  fray  ? 

Bcnvolio. 
Tybalt,  here  slain,  whom  Romeo's  hand  did 

slay: 
Romeo,  that  spoke  him  fair,  bade  him  bethink 
How  nice  the  quarrel  was ;  and  urg'd  withal 
Your  high  displeasure: — all  this,  uttered 
With  gentle  breath,  calm  look,  knees  humbly 

bow'd, 
Could  not  take  truce  with  the  unruly  spleen 
Of  Tybalt,  deaf  to  peace,  but  that  he  tilts 
With  piercing  steel  at  bold  Mercutio'a  breast; 
Who,  all  as  hot,  turns  deadly  point  to  point, 
And,  with  a  martial  scorn,  with  one  hand  beats 
Cold  death  aside,  and  with  the  other  sends 
It  back  to  Tybult,  whose  dexterity 
Retorts  it.    Romeo  he  cries  aloud, 
"Hold,  friends!   friends,  part!"  and,  swifter 

than  his  tongue, 
His  agile  arm  beats  down  their  fatal  points, 
And  'twixtthem  rushes;  underneath  whose  arm, 
An  envious  thrust  from  Tybalt  hit  the  life 
Of  stout  Mercutio,  and  then  Tybalt  fled; 
But  by  and  by  comes  back  to  Romeo, 
Who  had  but  newly  entertain'd  revenge, 
And  to't  they  go  like  lightning ;  for  ere  I 
Could  draw  to  part  them  was  stout  Tybalt  slain ; 
And  as  he  fell  did  Romeo  turn  and  fly. 
This  is  the  truth,  or  let  Benvoliu  die. 

He  is  a  kinsman  io  the'  Montague; 
Affection  makes  him  false,  he  speaks  not  true: 
Some  twenty  of  them  fought  in  this  black  strife, 
And  all  those  twenty  could  but  kill  one  life. 

1  beg  for  justice,  which  thou,  prince,  must  give: 
Romeo  slew  Tybalt,  Romeo  must  not  live. 

Prince. 
Romeo  slew  him,  he  slew  Mercutio  ; 
Who  now  the  price  of  his  dear  blood  doth  owe? 

Montague. 

Not  Romeo,  prince,  he  was  Mercutio's  friend, 

His  fault  concludes  but  what  the  law  should 

The  life  of  Tybalt.  [end, 

And  for  that  offence, 
Immediately  we  do  exile  him  hence: 
I  have  an  interest  in  your  hate's  proceeding. 
My  blood  for  your  rude  brawls  doth  lie  a  bleed- 
But  I'll  amerce  you  with  so  strong  a  fine,   [ing; 
That  you  shall  all  repent  the  loss  of  mine. 
I  will  be  deaf  to  pleading  and  excuses, 
Nor  tears,  nor  prayers,  shall  purchase  outabuses ; 


Therefore,  use  none:  let  Romeo  hence  in  haste, 
Klse,  when  he's  found,  that  hour  is  his  last. 
Bear  hence  this  body,  and  attend  our  will : 
Mercy  but  murders,  pardoning  those  that  kill. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Capulet't  House. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Juliet. 

Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phoebus'  mansion  ;  such  a  waggoner 
As  Phaeton  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. — 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night ! 
That,  unawares,  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk'd  of,  and  unseen  1 — 
Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites 
By  their  own  beauties ;  or  if  love  be  blind, 

It  best  agrees  with  night Come,  civil  night. 

Thou  sober-suited  matron,  all  in  black, 
And  learn  me  how  to  lose  a  winning  match, 
Piay'd  for  a  pair  of  stainless  maidenhoods: 
Hood  my  unmann'd  blood,  bating  in  my  cheeks, 
With  thy  black  mantle ;  till  strange  love,  grown 
Think  true  love  acted  simple  modesty.      [bold, 
Come  night,  come  Romeo,  come  thou  day  in 

night; 
For  thou  wilt  lie  upon  the  wings  of  night 
Whiter  than  new  snow  upon  a  raven's  back. — 
Come,   gentle    night;    come,    loving,    black- 

brow'd  night, 
Give  me  my  Romeo:  and,  when  he  shall  die, 
Take  him  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 
And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine, 
That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night, 

And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish  sun 

O,  I  have  bought  the  mansion  of  a  love, 
But  not  possess'd  it  \  and  though  I  am  sold, 
Not  yet  enjoy'd.     So  tedious  is  this  day, 
As  is  the  night  before  some  festival 
To  an  impatient  child  that  hath  new  robes, 
And  may  not  wear  them.    0 1  here  comes  my 
nurse. 

Enter  Nurse,  with  Cords. 
And  she  brings  news;  and  ev'ry  tongue,  that 

speaks 

But  Romeo's  name,  speaks  heavenly  eloquence 

Now,  nurse,  what  news  ?  What  hast  thou  there  ? 

the  cords 
That  Romeo  bade  thee  fetch  ? 

Nurse. 

Ay,  ay,  the  cords. 
(Throws  them  down. 
Juliet. 
Ah  me!  what  news?  why  dost  thou  wring 
thy  hands  ? 

Nurse. 
Ah,  well-a-dayl  he's  dead,  he's  dead,  he's 
dead! 
We  are  undone,  lady,  we  are  undone !  — 
Alack  the  day !— he's  gone,  he's  kill'd,  he's  dead ! 

Juliet. 

Can  heaven  be  so  envious  ? 

Nurse. 

Romeo  can, 
Though  heaven  cannot.— O  Romeo,  Romeo!  — 
Who  ever  would  have  thought  it?— Romeo! 

Juliet. 
What  devil  art  thou,  that  dost  torment  me 
thus? 
This  torture  should  be  roar'd  in  dismal  hell. 
Hath  Romeo  slain  himself?  say  thou  but  /, 
And  that  bare  vowel,  /,  shall  poison  more 

Than 


8io 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iu 


Than  the  death -darting  eye  of  cockatrice : 
I  am  not  I,  if  there  be  such  an  I; 
Or  those  eyes  shut,  that  make  thee  answer,  I. 
If  he  be  slain,  say  —  1 ;  or  if  not  — no; 
Brief  sounds  determine  of  my  weal  or  woe. 

Nurse. 
I  saw  the  wound,  I  saw  it  with  mine  eyes, — 
God  save  the  mark  !— here  on  his  manly  breast: 
A  piteous  corse,  a  bloody  piteous  corse ; 
Pale,  pale  as  ashes,  all  bedaub'd  in  blood, 
All  in  gore  blood; — I  swounded  at  the  sight. 

Juliet. 
O  break,  my  heart! — poor  bankrupt,  break 
at  once ! 
To  prison,  eyes  ;  ne'er  look  on  liberty : 
Vile  earth,  to  earth  resign  ;  end  motion  here, 
And  thou,  and  Borneo,  press  one  heavy  bier ! 

Nurse. 
O  Tybalt,  Tybalt!  the  best  friend  I  had : 
O  courteous  Tybalt !  honest  gentleman  ! 
That  ever  1  should  live  to  see  thee  dead  ! 

Juliet. 
What  storm  is  this  that  blows  so  contrary  ? 
Is  Romeo  slaughter'd  ?  and  is  Tybalt  dead  ? 
My  dear-lov'd  cousin,  and  my  dearer  lord? — 
Then,  dreadful   trumpet,   sound   the   general 

doom; 
For  who  is  living,  if  those  two  are  gone  ? 

Nurse. 
Tybalt  is  gone,  and  Romeo  banished : 
Romeo,  that  kill'd  him,  he  is  banished. 
Juliet. 
O  God!  — did  Romeo's  hand  shed  Tybalt's 
blood  ? 

Nurse. 
It  did,  it  did ;  alas  the  day !  it  did. 

Juliet. 
O  serpent  heart,  hid  with  a  flowering  face  ! 
Did  ever  dragon  keep  so  fair  a  cave  ? 
Beautiful  tyrant !  fiend  angelical ! 
Dove-feather'd  raven  !  wolvish-ravening  lamb ! 
Despised  substance  of  divinest  show ! 
Just  opposite  to  what  thou  justly  seem'st ! 
A  damned  saint,  an  honourable  villain  !— 
O,  nature  1  what  hadst  thou  to  do  in  hell, 
When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a  fiend 
In  mortal  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh  ?— 
Was  ever  book  containing  such  vile  matter, 
So  fairly  bound  ?    O,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace  1 
Nurse. 

There's  no  trust, 
No  faith,  no  honesty  in  men  ;  all  perjur'd, 
All  forsworn,  all  naught,  all  dissemblers. — 
Ah  !  where's  my  man  ?  give  me  some  aqua 

vitie : — 
These  griefs,  these  woes,  these  sorrows  make 
Shame  come  to  Romeo !  [me  old. 

Juliet. 

Blister'd  be  thy  tongue, 
For  such  a  wish !  he  was  not  born  to  shame : 
Upon  his  brow  shame  is  asham'd  to  sit ; 
For  'tis  a  throne  where  honour  may  be  crown'd 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 
O,  what  a  beast  was  I  to  chide  at  him  1 

Nurse. 
Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  kill'd  your 
cousin  ? 

Juliet. 
Shall  I  speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husband? 
Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth 
thy  name, 


When  I,  thy  three-hours  wife,  have  mangled 

it?— 
But,    wherefore,  villain,  didst   thou   kill   my 

cousin  ? 
That   villain    cousin    would    have    kill'd    my 

husband : 
Back,  foolish  tears,  back  to  your  native  spring; 
Your  tributary  drops  belong  to  woe, 
Which  you,  mistaking,  offer  up  to  joy. 
My  husband  lives,  that  Tybalt  would  have  slain ; 
And  Tybalt's  dead,  that  would  have  slain  my 

husband : 
All  this  is  comfort ;  wherefore  weep  I  then  ? 
Some  word  there  was,  worser  than  Tybalt's 

death, 
That  murder'd  me.    I  would  forget  it  fain ; 
But,  0 1  it  presses  to  my  memory, 
Like  damned  guilty  deeds  to  sinners'  minds : 
Tybalt  is  dead,  and  Romeo — banished  ! 
That— banished,  that  one  word— banished, 
Hath   slain   ten   thousand   Tybalts.      Tybalt's 

death 
Was  woe  enough,  if  it  had  ended  there: 
Or,  —  if  sour  woe  delights  in  fellowship, 
And  needly  will  be  rank'd  with  other  griefs,— 
Why  follow'd  not,  when  she  said—  Tybalt's  dead, 
Thy  father,  or  thy  mother,  nay,  or  both, 
I  Which  modern  lamentation  might  have  mov'd? 
i  But,  with  a  rear-ward  following  Tybalt's  death, 
i  Romeo  is  banished !— to  speak  that  word, 
j  Is  father,  mother,  Tybalt,  Romeo,  Juliet, 
All  slain,  all  dead :  —Romeo  is  banished !  — 
There  is  no  end,  no  limit,  measure,  bound, 
I  Iu  that  word's  death ;  no  words  can  that  woe 

sound — 
j  Where  is  my  father,  and  my  mother,  nurse? 

Nurse. 
i     Weeping  and  wailing  over  Tybalt's  corse  : 
!  Will  you  go  to  them  ?    I  will  bring  you  thither. 

Juliet. 
j     Wash  they  his  wounds  with  tears?  mine  shall 

be  spent, 
j  When  theirs  are  dry,  for  Romeo's  banishment. 
Take  up  those  cords. — Poor  ropes,  you  are 

beguil'd, 
Both  you  and  I,  for  Romeo  is  exil'd : 
He  made  you  for  a  highway  to  my  bed, 
But  I,  a  maid,  die  maiden-widowed.  [bed; 

Come,  cords ;  come,  nurse  :  I'll  to  my  wedding 
And  death,  not  Romeo,  take  my  maidenhead  1 
Nurse. 
Hie  to  your  chamber ;  I'll  find  Romeo 
To  comfort  you :  —  I  wot  well  where  he  is. 
Hark  ye,  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night : 
I'll  to  him ;  he  is  hid  at  Laurence'  cell. 
Juliet. 
O,  find  him  1  give  this  ring  to  my  true  knight, 
And  bid  him  come  to  take  his  last  farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

Friar. 
Romeo,  come  forth ;  come  forth,  thou  fearful 
Afflict  ion  is  enamour'd  of  thy  parts,  [man : 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity. 
Romeo. 
Father,  what  news  ?  what  is  the  prince's  doom? 
What  sorrow  craves  acquaintance  at  my  hand, 
That  I  yet  know  not  ? 

Friar. 

Too  familiar 
Is  my  dear  son  with  such  sour  company  : 
I  bring  thee  tidings  of  the  prince's  doom. 


Ro::ieo. 


Act  hi.  6V.  in. 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


811 


Romeo. 

Whit  less  than  dooms-day  1*  the   prince'* 
doom  ? 

Friar. 
A  gentler  judgment  vanlsh'd  from  hit  lip*, 
Not  body'*  death,  but  body'*  banishment 
Romeo. 
Ua!  banishment?  be  merciful,  *ay— death; 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look, 
Much  more  than  death:  do  not  say— banishment. 
Friar. 
Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  banished  : 
Be  patient,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide. 
Romeo. 
There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls, 
But  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself. 
Hence  banished  is  banish'd  from  the  world, 
And  world's  exile  is  death :— then,  banished 
Is  death  mis-term'd:  calling  death— banishment, 
Thou  cut'st  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe, 
And  smil'st  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 
Friar 
O  deadly  sin  !  O  rude  unthankfulness  ! 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death ;  but  the  kind 

prince, 
Taking  thy  part,  hath  rush'd  aside  the  law, 
And  turn'd  that  black  word  death  to  banish- 
ment : 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

Romeo. 
'Tis  torture,  and  not  mercy :  heaven  is  here, 
Where  Juliet  lives  ;  and  every  cat,  and  dog, 
And  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing, 
Live  here  in  heaven,  and  may  look  on  her  ; 
But  Romeo  may  not.  —  More  validity, 
More  honourable  state,  more  courtship  lives 
In  carrion  flies,  than  Romeo  :  they  may  seize 
On  the  white  wonder  of  dear  Juliet's  hand, 
And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips ; 
Who,  even  in  pure  and  vestal  modesty, 
Still  blush,  as  thinking  their  own  kisses  sin  ; 
This  may  flies  do,  when  1  from  this  must  fly : 
And  say*st  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death  ? 
But  Romeo  may  not ;  he  is  banished. 
Flies  may  do  this,  but  I  from  this  must  fly : 
They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banished. 
Hadst  thou  no  poison  mix'd,  no  sharp-ground 
knife,  [mean, 

No  sudden  mean  of  death,  though    ne'er  so 
But  — banished  — to  kill  me  ;  banished  ? 
O  friar  1  the  damned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 
Howling  attends  it :  how  hast  thou  the  heart, 
Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 
A  sin-absolver,  and  my  friend  profess'd, 
To  mangle  me  with  that  word  —  banished  ? 

Friar. 
Thou  fond  mad  man,  hear  me  but  speak  a 
word. 

Romeo. 
O  !  thou  wilt  speak  again  of  banishment. 

Friar. 
I'll  give  thee  armour  to  keep  off  that  word  ; 
Adversity'*  sweet  milk,  philosophy. 
To  comfort  thee,  though  thou  art  banished. 
Romeo. 
Yet  banished  ?  —  Hang  up  philosophy : 
Unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet, 
Displant  a  town,  reverse  a  prince's  doom, 
It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not :  talk  no  more. 

Friar. 
i     O  !  then  I  see  that  madmen  have  no  ears. 
Romeo. 
How  should  they,  when  that  wise  men  have 
mo  eye*  ? 


i  rUr. 
Lit  me  dispute  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

Romeo. 
Thou  canst  not  speak  of  that  thou  dost  not 

feel. 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love, 
An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished. 
Then  might'st  thou  speak,  then  might's!  thou 

tear  thy  hair, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground,  as  I  do  now, 
Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 

Friar. 
Arise :  one  knocks :  good  Romeo,  hide  thy- 
self. [Knocking  within. 
Romeo. 
Not  I ;  unless  the  breath  of  heart-sick  groans, 
Mist-like,  Infold  me  from  the  search  of  eyes. 

[Knocking. 
Friar. 
Hark,  how  they  knock  I  — Who'*   there?  — 
Romeo,  arise ; 
Thou  wilt  be  taken.  —  Stay  a  while.  —  Stand 


Run 
What 


to  my  study.  —  By  and  by :  —  God\  will ! 
t  wilfulness  is  this  I  —  I  come,  I  come. 


[Knocking 
come   you 


Who   knocks   so   hard?   whence 
what's  your  will  ? 

,    Nurse.  .  [Within. 

Let  me  come  In,  and   you  shall  know  my 

I  come  from  lady  Juliet.  [errand  : 

Fric 


Welcome,  then. 


Enter  Nurse. 

rurse. 
me,  holy  friar, 
Where  is  my  lady's  lord  ?  Where's  Romeo  f 

F"riar. 
There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears 
made  drunk. 

Nurse. 
O  !  he  is  even  in  my  mistress'  case  ; 
Just  in  her  case. 

Friar. 
O  woeful  sympathy  I 
Piteous  predicament ! 

Nurse. 
Even  so  lies  she, 
Blubbering  and  weeping,  weeping  and  blub- 
bering— 
Stand  up,  stand  up  ;  stand,  an  you  be  a  man : 
For  Juliet's  sake,  for  her  sake,  rise  and  stand ; 
Why  should  you  fall  into  so  deep  an  O  ? 

Romeo. 
Nurse ! 

Nurse. 
Ah  sir  !  ah  sir  !  —  Death  is  the  end  of  all. 

Romeo. 
Spak'st  thou  of  Juliet  f  how  is  it  with  her  ? 
Doth  she  not  think  me  an  old  murderer, 
Now  I  have  stain'd  the  childhood  of  our  joy 
With  blood  remov'd  but  little  from  her  own  ? 
Where  is  she?  and  how  doth  she?  and  what 
My  conceal'd  lady  to  our  cancell'd  love  ?     [say* 

Nur»e. 
O,  she  says  nothing,  sir,  but  weeps  and  weeps ; 
And  now  falls  on  her  bed  ;  and  then  starts  up, 
And  Tybalt  calls  ;  and  then  on  Romeo  cries, 
And  then  down  falls  again. 

Romeo. 

As  if  that  name, 

Shot 


8n 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


Shot  from  the  deadly  level  of  a  gun, 
Did  murder  her  ;  as  that  name's  cursed  hand 
Murder'd  her  kinsman.— O  tell  me,  friar,  tell 
In  what  vile  part  of  this  anatomy  [me, 

Doth  my  name  lodge  ?  tell  me,  that  I  may  sack 
The  hateful  mansion.         [Drawing  hit  sword. 
Friar. 

Hold  thy  desperate  hand : 
Art  thou  a  man  ?  thy  form  cries  out,  thou  art ; 
Thy  tears  are  womanish  ;  thy  wild  acts  denote 
The  unreasonable  fury  of  a  beast : 
Unseemly  woman,  in  a  seeming  man  ; 
Or  ill-beseeming  beast,  in  seeming  both  ! 
Thou  hast  amaz'd  me:  by  my  holy  order, 
I  thought  thy  disposition  better  temper 'd. 
Hast  thou  slain  Tybalt t  wilt  thou  slay  thyself? 
And  slay  thy  lady,  too,  that  lives  in  thee. 
By  doing  damned  hate  upon  thyself?      [earth  ? 
Why  rail'st  thou  on  thy  birth,  the  heaven,  and 
Since  birth,  and  heaven,  and  earth,  all  three  do 

meet 
In  thee  at  once,  which  thou  at  once  would'st  lose. 
Fie,  fie  !   thou  sham'st   thy  shape,  thy  love 

thy  wit, 
Which,  like  an  usurer,  abound'st  in  all, 
And  usest  none  in  that  true  use  indeed 
Which   should   bedeck   thy   shape,   thy  love, 

thy  wit.  .     ' 

Thy  noble  shape  is  but  a  form  of  wax, 
Digressing  from  the  valour  of  a  man ; 
Thy  dear  love,  sworn,  but  hollow  perjury, 
Killing  that  love  which  thou  hast  vow'd  to 

cherish  ; 
Thy  wit,  that  ornament  to  shape  and  love, 
Mis-shapen  in  the  conduct  of  them  both, 
Like  powder  in  a  skill-less  soldier's  flask, 
Is  set  afire  by  thine  own  ignorance, 
And  thou  dismember'd  with  thine  own  defence. 
What !  rouse  thee,  man  :  thy  Juliet  is  alive, 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  wast  but  lately  dead ; 
There  art  thou  happy :  Tybalt  would  kill  thee, 
But  thou  slew'st  Tybalt;  there  art  thou  happy 

too: 
The  law,  that  threaten'd  death,  becomes  thy 

friend, 
And  turns  it  to  exile ;  there  art  thou  happy : 
A  pack  of  blessings  lights  upon  thy  back  ; 
Happiness  courts  thee  in  her  best  array ; 
But,  like  a  mis-behav'd  and  sullen  wench, 
Thou  pout'st  upon  thy  fortune  and  thy  love. 
Take  heed,  take  heed,  for  such  die  miserable. 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed, 
Ascend  her  chamber,  hence  and  comfort  her ; 
But,  look,  thou  stay  not  till  the  watch  be  set, 
For  then  thou  canst  not  pass  to  Mantua  ; 
Where  thou  shalt  live,  till  we  can  find  a  time 
To  blaze  your  marriage,  reconcile  your  friends, 
Beg  pardon  of  the  prince,  and  call  thee  back, 
With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 
Than  thou  went'st  forth  in  lamentation.— 
Go  before,  nurse :  commend  me  to  thy  lady ; 
And  bid  her  hasten  all  the  house  to  bed, 
Which  heavy  sorrow  makes  them  apt  unto : 
Romeo  is  coming. 

Nurse. 
O  Lord  I   I  could  have  stay'd  here  all  the 

night, 
To  hear  good  counsel :  O,  what  learning  is  !— 
My  lord,  I'll  tell  my  lady  you  will  come. 

Romeo. 
Do  so,  and  bid  my  sweet  prepare  to  chide. 

Nurse. 
Here,  sir,  a  ring  she  bid  me  give  you,  sir. 
Hie  you,  make  haste,  for  it  grows  very  late. 

[Exit  Nurse. 


Romeo. 
How  well  my  comfort  is  reviv'd  by  this  ! 

Friar. 
Go  hence.    Good  night ;  and  here  stands  all 
your  state: — 
Either  be  gone  before  the  watch  be  set, 
Or  by  the  break  of  day  disguis'd  from  hence. 
Sojourn  in  Mantua  ;  I'll  find  out  your  man, 
And  he  shall  signify  from  time  to  time 
Every  good  hap  to  you  that  chances  here. 
Give  me  thy  hand ;   'tis  late :   farewell ;   good 
night. 

Romeo. 
But  that  a  joy  past  joy  calls  out  on  me, 
It  were  a  grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee : 
Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  CapuleCt  House. 
Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  Paris. 

Capulet. 
Things  have  fallen  out,  sir,  so  unluckily, 
That   we   have    had  no   time   to   move  our 

daughter. 
Look  you,  she  lov'd  her  kinsman  Tybalt  dearly, 
And  so  did  I : — well,  we  were  born  to  die. — 
*Tis  very  late,  she'll  not  come  down  to-night : 
I  promise  you,  but  for  your  company, 
I  would  have  been  a-bed  an  hour  ago. 
Paris 

These  times  of  woe  afford  no  time  to  woo 

Madam,  good  night :    commend   me  to  your 
daughter. 

Lady  Capulet. 
1  will,  and  know  her  mind  early  to-morrow ; 
To-night  she's  mew'd  up  to  her  heaviness. 
Capulet. 
Sir  Paris,  I  will  make  a  desperate  tender 
Of  my  child's  love :  1  think,  she  will  be  rul'd 
In  all  respects  by  me ;  nay  more,  I  doubt  it  not. 
Wife,  go  you  to  her  ere  you  go  to  bed  ; 
Acquaint  her  here  of  my  son  Paris'  love, 
And  bid  her,  mark  you  me,  on  Wednesday  next — 
But,  soft  1    What  day  is  this  ? 
Paris 
J,       ,       Monday,  my  lord. 
Capulet. 
Monday?  ha !   ha !   Well,  Wednesday  is  too 
soon ; 
O'  Thursday  let  it  be:  — o'  Thursday,  tell  her, 
She  shall  be  married  to  this  noble  earl.— 
Will  you  be  ready  ?  do  you  like  this  haste  ? 
We'll  keep  no  great  ado: — a  friend,  or  two; — 
For  hark  you,  Tybalt  being  slain  so  late, 
It  may  be  thought  we  held  him  carelessly, 
Being  our  kinsman,  if  we  revel  much. 
Therefore,  we'll  have  some  half  a  dozen  friends, 
And  there  an  end.    But  what  say  you  to  Thurs- 
day? 

Paris. 
My  lord,  I  would  that  Thursday  were  to-mor- 
row. 

Capulet. 
Well,  get  you  gone :  o'  Thursday  be  it  then.— 
Go  you  to  Juliet,  ere  you  go  to  bed, 
Prepare  her,  wife,  against  this  wedding  day. — 
Farewell,  my  lord. — Light  to  my  chamber,  ho  ! 
Afore  me  !  it  is  so  very  late,  that  we 
May  call  it  early  by  and  by.— Good  night. 

^Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    JuUen  Chamber. 
Enter  Romeo  and  Juliet. 
Juliet. 
Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day : 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


8:3 


It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierc'd  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear ; 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree. 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 
Romeo. 

It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale :  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east. 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops : 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 
Juliet. 

Yon  light  is  not  day-light;  1  know  It,  I : 
It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales, 
To  bo  to  ihee  this  night  a  torch-bearer, 
And  li^ht  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua : 
Therefore,  stay  yet ;  thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 
Romeo. 

Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death ; 
I  am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 
I'll  sav,  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
•Tis  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow  ; 
Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 
The  vaulty  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads  : 
I  have  more  care  to  stay,  than  will  to  go  :— 
Come,  death,  and  welcome  I  Juliet  wills  it  so.— 
How  is't,  my  soul  ?  let's  talk,  it  is  not  day. 
Juliet. 

It  is.  it  is ;  hie  hence,  be  gone,  away ! 
It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune, 
Straining  harsh  discords,  and  unpleasing  sharps. 
Some  say,  the  lark  makes  sweet  division ; 
This  dotn  not  so,  for  she  divideth  us  : 
Some  say.  the  lark  and  loathed  toad  change  eyes; 
() !  now  1  would  they  had  chang'd  voices  too, 
Since  arm  from  arm  that  voice  doth  us  affray, 
Hunting  thee  hence  with  hunts-up  to  the  day. 
0 1  now  be  gone:  more  light  and  light  it  grows. 
Romeo. 

More  light  and  light  ?— more  dark  and  dark 
our  woes. 


Enter  Nurse. 
Nurse. 

Juliet. 


Nurse. 

Nurse. 
Your  lady  mother's  coming  to  your  chamber; 
The  day  is  broke;  be  wary,  look  about. 

[Exit  Kurre. 
Juliet. 
Then,  window,  let  day  in,  and  let  life  out. 

Romeo. 
Farewell, farewell!  one  kiss. and  1*11  descend. 
[Romeo  descend!. 
Juliet. 
Art  thou  gone  so  ?  love,  lord !  ay,  husband, 
friend  ! 
I  must  hear  from  thee  every  day  in  the  hour, 
For  in  a  minute  there  are  many  day*  : 
0 1  by  this  count  I  shall  be  much  in  years, 
Ere  1  again  behold  my  Romeu. 
Romeo. 
Farewell !  I  will  omit  no  opportunity 
That  may  convey  my  greetings,  love,  to  thee. 
Juliet. 
0 1  think'st  thou,  we  shall  ever  meet  again  ? 

Romeo. 
I  doubt  it  not ;  and  all  these  woes  shall  serve 
For  sweet  discourses  in  our  time  to  come. 
Juliet. 
O  God !  I  have  an  ill-divining  soul : 


Methinks,  I  see  thee,  now  thou  art  to  low, 
As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a  tomb: 
Either  my  eyesight  fails,  or  thou  look'st  pale. 

And  trust  me,  lore.  In  my  eye  so  do  you: 
Dry  sorrow  drinks  our  blood.    Adieu  1  adieu ! 
(Exit  Romeo. 
Juliet. 
O  fortune,  fortune!  all  men  call  thee  fickle : 
If  thou  art  tickle,  what  dost  thou  with  him 
That  Is  renown'd  for  faith  ?    Be  fickle,  fortune ; 
For,  then,  I  hope  thou  wilt  not  keep  him  long, 
But  send  him  back. 

Lady  Capulet.  [Within. 

Ho!  daughter,  are  you  np ? 
Juliet. 
Who  is't  that  calls?  is  it  my  lady  mother? 
Is  she  not  down  so  late,  or  up  so  early  ? 
What  unaccustom'd  cause  procures  her  hither  ? 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 
Lady  Capulet. 
Why,  how  now,  Juliet  I 

Juliet. 

Madam,  I  am  not  well. 

Lady  Capulet. 

Evermore  weeping  for  your  cousin's  death  ? 

What !  wilt  thou  wash  him  from  his  grave  with 

tears? 
An  if  thou  could'st,  thou  could'st  not  make  him 

live; 
Therefore,  have  done.    Some  grief  shows  much 

of  love ; 
But  much  of  grief  shows  still  some  want  of  wit. 

Juliet. 
Yet  let  me  weep  for  such  a  feeling  loss. 

Lady  Capulet 
So  shall  you  feel  the  loss,  but  not  the  friend 
W7hich  you  weep  for 

Juliet. 
Feeling  so  the  loss, 
I  cannot  choose  but  ever  weep  the  friend. 
Lady  Capulet. 
Well,  girl,  thou  weep'st  not  so  much  for  his 
death, 
As  that  the  villain  lives  which  slaughter 'd  him. 

Juliet. 
What  villain,  madam? 

Lady  Capulet. 

That  same  villain,  Romeo. 

Juliet. 
Villain  and  he  are  many  miles  asunder. 
God  pardon  him  I     I  do,  with  all  my  heart ; 
And  yet  no  man,  like  he,  doth  grieve  my  heart. 

Lady  Capulet. 
That  Is,  because  the  traitor  murderer  lives. 

Juliet. 
Ay,  madam,  from  the  reach  of  these  my  hands. 
Would  nonebut  I  might  venge  my  cousin's  death ! 

Lady  Capulet. 

We  will  have  vengeance  for  It,  fear  thou  not : 

Then,  weep   no  more.     I'll   send  to  one  in 

Mantua, — 
Where  that  same  banish'd  runagate  doth  live,— 
Shall  give  him  such  an  unaccustom'd  dram 
That  he  shall  soon  keep  Tybalt  company  ; 
And  then,  I  hope,  thou  wilt  be  satisfied. 

Juliet. 
Indeed,  I  never  shall  be  satisfied 
With  Romeo,  till  1  behold  him— dead— 
Is  my  poor  heart  so  for  a  kinsman  vex'd. — 


8 14 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


Madam,  if  you  could  find  out  but  a  man 
To  bear  a  poison,  I  would  temper  it, 
That  Romeo  should  upon  receipt  thereof 
Soon  sleep  in  quiet.— O  !  how  my  heart  abhors 
To  hear  him  nam'd,— and  cannot  come  to  him, — 
To  wreak  the  love  I  bore  my  cousin  Tybalt 
Upon  his  body  that  hath  slaughter'd  him  1 
Lady  Capnlet. 

Find  thou  the  means,  and  I'll  find  such  a  man. 
But  now  I'll  tell  thee  joyful  tidings,  girl. 
Juliet. 

And  joy  comes  well  in  such  a  needy  time. 
What  are  they,  i  beseech  your  ladyship  ? 
Lady  Capulet. 

Well,  well,  thou  hast  a  careful  father,  child  ; 
One  who,  to  put  thee  from  thy  heaviness, 
Hath  sorted  out  a  sudden  day  of  joy, 
That  thou  expect'st  not,  nor  1  look'd  not  for. 
Juliet. 

Madam,  in  happy  time,  what  day  is  that  ? 
•     Lady  Capulet. 

Marry,  my  child,  early  next  Thursday  morn, 
The  gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman, 
The  county  Paris,  at  Saint  Peter's  church 
Shall  happily  make  thee  a  joyful  bride. 
Juliet. 

Now,  by  Saint  Peter's  church,  and  Peter  too, 
He  shall  not  make  me  there  a  joyful  bride. 
I  wonder  at  this  haste  ;  that  I  must  wed 
Ere  he,  that  should  be  husband,  comes  to  woo. 
I  pray  you,  tell  my  lord  and  father,  madam, 
I  will  not  marry  yet ;  and,  when  I  do,  I  swear, 
It  shall  be  Romeo,  whom  you  know  I  hate, 
Rather  than  Paris.— These  are  news  indeed ! 
Lady  Capulet. 

Here  comes  your  father  ;  tell  him  so  yourself. 
And  see  how  he  will  take  it  at  your  hands. 

Enter  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
Capulet. 
When  the  sun  sets,  the  earth  doth  drizzle 
But  for  the  sunset  of  my  brother's  son,     [dew  ; 
It  rains  downright. — 

How  now  1  a  conduit,  girl  ?  what  1  still  in  tears  ? 
Evermore  showering  ?    In  one  little  body 
Thou  counterfeits  a  bark,  a  sea,  a  wind : 
For  still  thy  eyes,  which  I  may  call  the  sea,  [is, 
Do  ebb  and  flow  with  tears  ;  the  bark  thy  body 
Sailing  in  this  salt  flood  ;  the  winds,  thy  sighs  ; 
Who,  raging  with  thy  tears,  and  they  with  them, 
Without  a  sudden  calm,  will  overset 
Thy  tempest-tossed  body.— How  now,  wifel 
Have  you  deliver'd  to  her  our  decree  ? 
Lady  Capulet. 
Ay,  sir ;  but  she  will  none,  she  gives  you 
thanks. 
I  would,  the  fool  were  married  to  her  grave  1 
Capulet. 
Soft,  take  me  with  you,  take  me  with  you, 
wife.  [thanks  ? 

How  I  will  she  none  ?  doth  she  not  give  us 
Is  she  not  proud?  doth  she  not  count  her 

bless'd, 
Unworthy  as  she  is,  that  we  have  wrought 
So  worthy  a  gentleman  to  be  her  bridegroom  ? 
Juliet. 
Not  proud  you  have,  but  thankful  that  you 
Proud  can  1  never  be  of  what  1  hate ;        [have : 
But  thankful  even  for  hate,  that  is  meant  love. 
Capulet. 
How  now !  how  now,  chop-logic  1    What  is 
this  ?  not ;  — 

Proud,  — and,  I  thank  you,— and,  I  thank  you 


And  yet  not  proud  ;  —  mistress  minion,  you, 
Thank   me   no   thankings,  nor  proud  me  no 

prouds, 
But  settle  your  fine  joints  'gainst  Thursday  next 
To  go  with  Paris  to  Saint  Peter's  church, 
Or  1  will  drag  thee  on  a  hurdle  thither. 
Out,  you  green-sickness  carrion !  out,  you  bag- 
You  tallow  face  1  [gage ! 

Lady  Capulet. 

Fie,  fie !  what  are  you  mad  ? 
Juliet. 
Good  father,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees, 
Hear  me  with  patience  but  to  speak  a  word. 
Capulet. 
Hang   thee,   young   baggage  1    disobedient 
wretch  1 
I  tell  thee  what, —  get  thee  to  church  o'  Thurs- 
Or  never  after  look  me  in  the  face.  [day. 

Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me  ; 
My  fingers  itch — Wife,  we  scarce  thought  us 

bless'd, 
That  God  had  lent  us  but  this  only  child  ; 
But  now  I  see  this  one  is  one  too  much, 
And  that  we  have  a  curse  in  having  her. 
Out  on  her,  hilding  I 

Nurse. 

God  in  heaven  bless  her ! 
You  are  to  blame,  my  lord,  to  rate  her  so. 

Capulet. 
And  why,  my  lady  wisdom  ?  hold  your  tongue, 
Good  prudence :  smatter  with  your  gossips  ;  go. 
Nurse. 
I  speak  no  treason. 

Capulet. 

O!  God  ye  good  den. 
Nurse. 
May  not  one  speak  ? 

Capulet. 
Peace,  you  mumbling  fool ! 
Utter  your  gravity  o'er  a  gossip's  bowl, 
For  here  we  need  it  not. 

Lady  Capulet. 

You  are  too  hot. 
Capulet. 
God's  bread  1  it  makes  me  mad. 
Day,  night,  hour,  tide,  time,  work,  play, 
Alone,  in  company,  still  my  care  hath  been 
To  have  her  matcn'dj  and  having  now  provided 
A  gentleman  of  noble  parentage, 
Of  fair  demesnes,  youthful,  and  nobly  train'd, 
Stuff 'd  (as  they  say)  with  honourable  parts, 
Proportion'd  as  one's  thought  would  wish  a 

man,— 
And  then  to  have  a  wretched  puling  fool, 
A  whining  rriammet,  in  her  fortune's  tender, 
To  answer — "  I'll  not  wed," — '•  I  cannot  love," 
MI  am  too  young,"  — "I   pray   you,   pardon 

me;  "  — 
But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  I'll  pardon  you  ; 
Graze  where  you  will,  you  shall  not  house  with 
Look  to't,  think  on't,  I  do  not  use  to  jest,  [me : 
Thursday  is  near ;  lay  hand  on  heart,  advise. 
An  you  be  mine,  I'll  give  you  to  my  friend  ; 
An  you  be  not,  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  i'  the 

streets. 
For,  by  my  soul,  I'll  ne'er  acknowledge  thee, 
Nor  what  is  mine  shall  never  do  thee  good. 
Trust  to't,  bethink  you  ;  I'll  not  be  forsworn. 

[Exit 
Juliet. 
Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds. 
That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief?  — 
O,  sweet  my  mother,  cast  me  not  away  1 

Delay 


Act  iv.  Sc.  l 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


815 


Delay  this  marriage  for  a  month,  a  week  ; 
Or,  it  you  do  not,  maike  the  bridal  bed 
In  that  dim  monument  where  Tybalt  lies. 

Talk  not  to  me,  for  I'll  not  speak  a  word. 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  hare  done  with  thee.     . 

[F.xit. 
Juliet. 
O  God!  —  O  nurse!  how  shall  this  be  pre- 
vented ? 
My  husband  is  on  earth,  my  faith  in  heaven  ; 
How  shall  that  faith  return  again  to  earth, 
Unless  that  husband  send  it  me  from  heaven 
By  leaving  earth  ?— comfort  me,  counsel  me. — 
Alack,  alack  I  that  heaven  should  practise  strata- 
Ucon  so  soft  a  subject  as  myself  1  —  [gems 

What  say'st  thou  ?  hast  thou  not  a  word  of  joy  ? 
Some  comfort,  nurse 

Nurse. 

Faith,  here  'tis.    Romeo 
Is  banished ;  and  all  the  world  to  nothing, 
That  he  dares  ne'er  come  back  to  challenge  you ; 
Or,  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  be  by  stealth. 
Then,  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 
I  think  it  best  you  married  with  the  county. 

0  !  he's  a  lovely  gentleman  ; 

Romeo'%  a  dishclout  to  him  :  an  eagle,  madam, 
Hath  not  so  green,  so  quick,  so  fair  an  eye, 
As  Pari*  hath.    Beshrew  my  very  heart, 

1  think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match, 
For  it  excels  vour  first :  or  if  it  did  not, 
Your  first  is  dead ;  or  'twere  as  good  he  were, 
As  living  here  and  you  no  use  of  him. 

Juliet. 
Speakest  thou  from  thy  heart  ? 
Nurse. 

And  from  my  soul  too  ; 
Or  else  beshrew  them  both. 
Juliet. 

Amen  I 
Nurse. 

What? 
Juliet. 
Well,  thou  hast  comforted  me  marvellous 
Go  in  ;  and  tell  my  lady  I  am  gone,         [much. 
Having  displeas'd  my  father,  to  Laurence'  cell, 
To  make  confession,  and  to  be  absolv'd. 
Nurse. 
Marry,  I  will ;  and  this  is  wisely  done. 

[Exit. 

Juliet. 

Ancient  damnation !    O  most  wicked  fiend  ! 

Is  it  more  sin  to  wish  me  thus  forsworn, 

Or  to  dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongue 

Which  she  hath  praised  him  with  above  com* 

pare 
So  many  thousand  times? — Go,  counsellor ; 
Thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth  shall  be  twain.— 
I'll  to  the  friar,  to  know  his  remedy  ; 
If  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    Friar  Laurence'*  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris. 
Friar. 
QN  Thursday,  sir  ?  the  time  is  very  short. 
Fan's. 
My  father  Capulet  will  have  it  so ; 
And  I  am  nothing  slow,  to  slack  his  haste. 


You  say,  you  do  not  know  the  lady's  mind : 
Uneven  is  the  course;  I  like  it  not. 

Immoderately  she  weeps  for  Tybalt's  death. 
And,  therefore,  have  I  little  talkM  of  love  ; 
For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a  house  of  tears. 
Now,  sir,  her  father  counts  it  dangerous, 
That  she  doth  give  her  sorrow  so  much  sway; 
And  in  his  wisdom  hastes  our  marriage, 
To  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tears  ; 
Which,  too  much  minded  by  herself  alone, 
May  be  put  from  her  by  society. 
Now  do  you  know  the  reason  of  this  haste. 
Friar. 

I  would  I  knew  not  why  it  should  be  slow'd. 

[Aside. 

Look,  sir,  here  comes  the  lady  towards  my  cell. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Paris. 
Happily  met,  my  lady,  and  my  wife  ! 

Juliet. 
That  may  be,  sir,  when  I  may  be  a  wife. 

Paris. 
That  may  be,  must  be,  love,  on  Thursday  next. 

Juliet. 
What  must  be  shall  be. 

Friar. 

That's  a  certain  text. 

Paris. 
Come  you  to  make  confession  to  this  father  ? 

Juliet. 
To  answer  that,  I  should  confess  to  you. 

Paris. 
Do  not  deny  to  him,  that  you  love  me. 

Juliet. 
I  will  confess  to  you,  that  I  love  him. 

Paris. 
So  will  you,  I  am  sure,  that  you  love  me. 

Juliet. 
If  I  do  so,  it  will  be  of  more  price, 
Being  spoke  behind  your  back,  than  to  your  face. 

Paris. 
Poor  soul,  thy  face  is  much  abus'd  with  tears. 

Juliet. 
The  tears  have  got  small  victory  by  that ; 
For  it  was  bad  enough  before  their  spite. 

Paris. 
Thou  wrong'st  it,  more  than  tears,  with  that 
report. 

Juliet. 
That  is  no  slander,  sir,  which  is  a  truth  ; 
And  what  I  spake,  I  spake  it  to  my  face. 

Paris. 
Thy  face  is  mine,  and  thou  hast  slander'd  it. 

Juliet. 
It  may  be  so,  for  it  Is  not  mine  own— 
Are  you  at  leisure,  holy  father,  now, 
Or  snail  I  come  to  you  at  evening  mass  ? 

Friar. 


My  leisure  serves  me,  pensive  daughter,  now.— 
My  lord,  we  must  entreat  the  time  alone. 
Paris. 
God  shield,  I  should  disturb  devotion ! — 
Juliet,  on  Thursday  early  will  I  rouse  you: 
Till  then,  adieu ;  and  keep  this  holy  kiss. 

tKxlt  Paris. 
Juliet. 


8i5 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  iv.  Sc.'j. 


O !  shut  the  door ;  and  when  thou  hast  done  so, 
Come  weep  with  me ;  past  hope,  past  cure,  past 
help! 

Ah,  Juliet!  I  already  know  thy  grief; 
It  strains  me  past  the  compass  of  my  wits  : 
I  hear  thou  must,  and  nothing  must  prorogue  it, 
On  Thursday  next  be  married  to  this  county. 

Juliet. 
Tell  me  not,  friar,  that  thou  hear'st  of  this, 
Unless  thou  tell  me  how  I  may  prevent  it : 
If  in  thy  wisdom  thou  canst  give  no  help, 
Do  thou  but  call  my  resolution  wise, 
And  with  this  knife  I'll  help  it  presently. 
God  join'dmy  heart  andRomeo's,  thou  our  hands ; 
And  ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  seal'd, 
Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed, 
Or  my  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 
Turn  to  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both. 
Therefore,  out  of  thy  long-experienc'd  time, 
Give  me  some  present  counsel ;  or,  behold, 
•Twixt  my  extremes  and  me  this  bloody  knife 
Shall  play  the  umpire  ;  arbitrating  that 
Which  the  commission  of  thy  years  and  art 
Could  to  no  issue  of  true  honour  bring. 
Be  not  so  long  to  speak ;  I  long  to  die, 
If  what  thou  speak 'st  speak  not  of  remedy. 

Hold,  daughter  I    I  do  spy  a  kind  of  hope, 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  which  we  would  prevent. 
If,  rather  than  to  marry  county  Part's, 
Thou  hast  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself, 
Then  is  it  likely  thou  wilt  undertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chide  away  this  shame, 
That  cop'st  with  death  himself  to  'scape  from  it ; 
And,  if  thou  dar'st,  I'll  give  thee  remedy. 

Juliet. 
O  !  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 
From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower ; 
Or  walk  in  thievish  ways ;  or  bid  me  lurk 
Where  serpents  are;   chain  me  with  roaring 
Or  hide  me  nightly  in  a  charnel-house,  [bears  ; 
O'er-cover'd  quite  with  dead  men's  rattling 

bones, 
With  reeky  shanks,  and  yellow  chapless  sculls  ; 
Or  bid  me  go  into  a  new-made  grave, 
And  hide  me  with  a  dead  man  in  his  shroud  ; 
Things  that  to  hear  them  told  have  made  me 

tremble ; 
And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt, 
To  live  an  unstain'd  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

Friar. 

Hold,  then  :  go  home,  be  merry,  give  consent 
To  marry  Paris.    Wednesday  is  to-morrow ; 
To-morrow  night  look  that  thou  lie  alone, 
Let  not  thy  nurse  lie  with  thee  in  thy  chamber : 
Take  thou  this  phial,  being  then  in  bed, 
And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  off; 
When,  presently,  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run 
A  cold  and  drowsy  humour ;  for  no  pulse 
Shall  keep  his  native  progress,  but  surcease: 
No  warmth,  no  breath,  shall  testify  thou  livest ; 
The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 
To  paly  ashes  ;  thy  eyes'  windows  fall, 
Like  death,  when  he  shuts  up  the  day  of  life ; 
Each  part,  depriv'd  of  supple  government, 
Shall,  stiff  and  stark  and  cold,   appear   like 

death : 
And  in  this  borrow  d  likeness  of  shrunk  death 
Thou  shalt  continue  two  and  forty  hours, 
And  then  awake  as  from  a  pleasant  sleep. 
Now,  when  the  bridegroom  in   the  morning 

cornea 


To  rouse  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  thou 

dead: 
Then,  as  the  manner  of  our  country  is, 
In  thy  best  robes  uncover'd  on  the  bier, 
Be  borne  to  burial  in  thy  kindred's  grave, 
Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 
In  the  mean  time,  against  thou  shalt  awake, 
Shall  Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drift ; 
And  hither  shall  he  come,  and  he  and  I 
Will  watch  thy  waking  ;  and  that  very  night 
Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 
And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame, 
If  no  unconstant  toy,  nor  womanish  fear, 
Abate  thy  valour  in  the  acting  it. 

Juliet. 
Give  me,  give  me  !    O  !  tell  me  not  of  fear. 

Friar. 
Hold ;   get  you  gone :   be  strong  and  pros- 
perous 
In  this  resolve.    I'll  send  a  friar  with  speed 
To  Mantua,  with  my  letters  to  thy  lord. 
Juliet. 
Love,  give  me  strength !  and  strength  shall 
help  afford. 
Farewell,  dear  father.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  Capulet's  House. 

Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  Nurse,  and 

Servants. 

Capulet. 

So  many  guests  invite  as  here  are  writ.— 

[Exit  Servant. 
Sirrah,  go  hire  me  twenty  cunning  cooks. 

Second  Servant. 
You  shall  have  none  ill,  sir ;  for  I'll  try  if  they 
can  lick  their  fingers. 

Capulet. 
How  canst  thou  try  them  so  ? 
Second  Servant. 
Marry,  sir,  'tis  an  ill  cook  that  cannot  lick  his 
own  fingers  :  therefore,  he  that  cannot  lick  his 
fingers  goes  not  with  me. 

Capulet. 
Go,  begone —  [Exit  Servant. 

We  shall  be  much  unfurnish'd  for  this  time 

What,  is  my  daughter  gone  to  Friar  Laurence  t 
Nurse. 
Ay,  forsooth. 

Capulet. 
Well,  he  may  chance  to  do  some  good  on  her : 
A  peevish  self-will'd  harlotry  it  is. 

Enter  Juliet. 
Nurse. 
See,  where  she  comes  from  shrift  with  merry 
look. 

Capulet. 
How  now,  my  headstrong  1   where  have  you 
been  gadding? 

Juliet. 

Where  I  have  learn'd  me  to  repent  the  sin 
Of  disobedient  opposition 
To  you,  and  your  behests  ;  and  am  enjoin'd 
By  holy  Laurence  to  fall  prostrate  here, 
And  beg  your  pardon — Pardon,  I  beseech  you 
Henceforward  I  am  ever  rul'd  by  you. 
Capulet. 

Send  for  the  County  :  go  tell  him  of  this. 
I'll  have  this  knot  knit  up  to-morrow  morning. 

Juliet. 
I  met  the  youthful  lord  at  Laurence1  cell : 

And 


Act  it.  Sc.  iv. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


8,7 


And  gave  him  what  become.!  love  1  might, 
Not  stepping  o'er  the  bounds  of  modesty. 

Why,  1  am  glad  on't ;    this  is  well,— stand; 
up: 
T  his  is  as't  should  be.  —  Let  me  see  the  County : 
Ay,  marry,  go,  I  say,  and  fetch  him  hither — 
Now,  afore  God,  this  reverend  holy  friar. 
All  our  whole  city  is  much  bound  to  him. 

Juliet. 
Nurse,  will  you  go  with  me  into  my  closet, 
To  help  me  sort  such  needful  ornaments 
As  you  think  fit  to  furnish  me  to-morrow  ? 

Lady  Capulet. 
No,  not  till  Thursday:  there  is  time  enough. 

Capulet. 
Go,  nurse,  go  with  her.— We'll  to  church  to- 
morrow. [Exeunt  Juliet  and  Nurse- 
Lady  Capulet. 
We  shall  be  shortm  our  provision : 
'Tis  now  near  night. 

Capulet. 

Tush!  I  will  stir  about, 
And  all  things  shall  be  well,  I  warrant  thee, 

wife. 
Go  thou  to  Juliet ;  help  to  deck  up  her : 
I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ;  —  let  me  alone ; 
I'll  play  the  housewife  for  this  once.— What, 

ho!— 
They  are  all  forth  :  well,  I  will  walk  myself 
To  county  Paris,  to  prepare  up  him 
Against  to-morrow.  My  heart  is  wond'rous  light, 
Since  this  same  wayward  girl  is  so  reclaim'd. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  Ul.    Juliet's  Chamber. 

Enter  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

Juliet. 
Ay,  those  attires  are  best :— but,  gentle  nurse, 
I  pray  thee,  leave  me  to  myself  to-night ; 
For  I  have  need  of  many  orisons 
To  move  the  heavens  to  smile  upon  my  state, 
Which,  well  thou  know'st,  is  cross  and  full  of  sin . 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

Lady  Capulet. 
What,  are  you  busy,  ho?  need  you  my  help? 

Juliet. 
No,  madam ;  we  have  cull'd  such  necessaries 
As  are  behoveful  for  our  state  to-morrow : 
So  please  you,  let  me  now  be  left  alone, 
And  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  you ; 
For,  1  am  sure,  you  have  your  hands  full  all, 
In  this  so  sudden  business. 

Lady  Capulet. 

Good  night : 
Get  thee  to  bed,  and  rest ;  for  thou  hast  need. 
[Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nunc. 
Juliet. 
Farewell! — God  knows  when  we  shall  meet 
again. 
1  have  a  faint  cold  fear  thrills  through  my  veins, 
That  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  of  life : 

I'll  call  them  back  again  to  comfort  me 

Nurse!— What  should  she  do  here? 

My  dismal  scene  1  needs  must  act  alone.  — 

Come,  phial — 

What  if  this  mixture  do  not  work  at  all, 

Shall  I  be  married,  then,  to-morrow  morning  ? — 

No.no;— this  shall  forbid  it:—  lie  thou  there 

r Laying  down  a  Dagger. 
What  if  it  be  a  poison,  which  the  friar 


Subtly  hath  mlnlster'd  to  have  me  dead, 

Lest  in  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonoured, 

Because  he  married  me  before  to  Romeo  f 

I  fear,  it  is ;  and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not. 

For  he  hath  still  been  tried  a  holy  man  : 

I  will  not  entertain  so  bad  a  thought.— 

How  if,  when  I  am  laid  into  the  tomb, 

I  wake  before  the  time  that  Romeo 

Come  to  redeem  me  ?  there's  a  fearful  point ! 

Shall  I  not,  then,  be  stifled  in  the  vault,         [in, 

To  whose  foul  mouth  no  healthsome  air  breathes 

And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Romeo  comes  f 

Or,  if  I  live,  is  it  not  very  like. 

The  horrible  conceit  of  death  and  night, 

Together  with  the  terror  of  the  place, — 

As  In  a  vault,  an  ancient  receptacle, 

Where,  for  these  many  hundred  years,  the  bones 

Of  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  pack'd; 

Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth, 

Lies  festering  in  his  shroud ;  where,  as  they  say, 

At  some  hours  in  the  night  spirits  resort :  — 

Alack,  alack  1  is  it  not  like,  that  I, 

So  early  waking,— what  with  loathsome  smells 

And  shrieks  like  mandrakes'  torn  out  of  theearth 

That  living  mortals,  hearing  them,  run  mad  ;  — 

O  !  if  I  wake,  shall  I  not  be  distraught, 

Environed  with  all  these  hideous  fears, 

And  madly  play  with  my  forefathers' joints, 

And  pluck  the  mangled  Tybalt  from  his  shroud? 

And,  in  this  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman's  bone, 

As  with  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains  ? 

O,  look  !  methinks,  I  see  my  cousin's  ghost 

Seeking  out  Romeo,  that  did  spit  his  body 

Upon  a  rapier's  point — Stay,  Tybalt,  stay  !— 

Romeo,  I  come  1  this  do  I  drink  to  thee. 

[She  throws  herself  on  the  Bed 

SCENE  IV.    Capulet' s  Hall. 
Enter  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
Lady  Capulet. 
Hold,  take  these  Keys,  and  fetch  more  spices, 
nurse. 

Nurse. 
They  call  for  dates  and  quinces  in  the  pastry 

Enter  Capulet. 

Capulet. 
Come,  stir,  stir,  stir !  the  second  cock  hath 
crow'd, 

The  curfew  bell  hath  rung,  'tis  three  o'clock  :  — 
Look  to  the  bak'd  meats,  good  Angelica : 
Spare  not  for  cost. 

Nurse. 

Go,  go,  you  cot-quean,  go 
Get  you  to  bed :  'faith,  you'll  be  sick  to-morrow 
For  this  night's  watching. 

Capulet. 

No,  not  a  whit.    What !  I  have  watch'd  ere  now 
All  night  for  lesser  cause,  and  ne'er  been  sick. 

Lady  Capulet. 
Ay,  you  have  been  a  mouse-hunt  in  your  time ; 
But  I  will  watch  you  from  such  watching  now. 
[Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

Capulet. 
A  Jealous-hood,  a  jealous-hood  !— Now,  fellow, 
What's  there  ? 

Enter  Servants,  with  Spits,  Logs,  and  Baskets. 

First  Servant. 
Things  for  the  cook,  sir;  but  I  know  i  or 
what. 

Capulet. 
Make  haste,  make  haste.  [Exit  First  Servant. ,] 
—  Sirrah,  fetch  drier  logs: 
Call  Peter,  he  will  show  thee  where  they  are. 
3  o  Second 


Si3 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  ix. 


Second  Servant. 

I  have  a  head,  sir,  that  will  find  out  logs. 

And  never  trouble  Peter  for  the  matter.   [Exit. 

Capulet. 

'Mass,  and  well  said ;  a  merry  whoreson,  ha  ! 

Thou  shalt  be  logger-head.  —  Good  father!  'tis 

day: 
The  County  will  be  here  with  music  straight. 

[Music  within. 
For  so  he  said  he  would.  —  I  hear  him  near. — 
•Nurse  1  —  Wife  !  —  what,  hoi— what,  nurse,  I 
sayl 

Enter  Nurse. 

Go,  waken  Juliet ;  go,  and  trim  her  up  : 
I'll  go  and  chat  with  Part's.  —  Hie,  make  haste, 
Make  haste;  the  bridegroom  he  is  come  already : 
Make  haste,  1  say.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Juliet's  Chamber ;  Juliet  on  the 
Bed. 

Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse. 
Mistress  !  —  what,  mistress  !—  Juliet! — fast,  I 
warrant  her,  she :  — 
Why,  lamb  1  —  why,  lady  !  —  fie,  you   slug-a- 
bed!— 
Why,  love,   I  say!  — madam!  sweet-heart!— 

why,  bride !  — 
What!  not  a  word?— you  take  your  pennyworths 

now: 
Sleep  for  a  week ;  for  the  next  night,  I  warrant, 
The  county  Paris  hath  set  up  his  rest, 
That  you  shall  rest  but  little — God  forgive  me, 
Marry,  and  amen,  how  sound  is  she  asleep ! 
I   needs   must   wake   her.  —  Madam,   madam, 

madam ! 
Ay,  let  the  County  take  you  in  your  bed  : 
He'll  fright  you  up,  i'  faith.— Will  it  not  be  ? 
What,  drest !  and  in  your  clothes  !  and  down 

again  1 
I  must  needs  wake  you.    Lady !  lady,  lady  !— 
Alas  !  alas  !  — Help  !  help  !  my  lady's  dead  !— 
O,  well-a-day,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! — 
Some  aqua-vitae,  ho  I— my  lord  I  my  lady  ! 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 
Lady  Capulet. 
What  noise  is  here  V 

Nurse. 

O  lamentable  day ! 
Lady  Capulet. 
What  is  the  matter  I 

Nurse. 

Look,  look  !  O  heavy  day  ! 
Lady  Capulet. 
O  me  1  O  me  ! — my  child,  my  only  life, 
Revive,  look  up,  or  I  will  die  with  thee  I— 
Help,  help  1  — call  help. 

Enter  Capulet. 
Capulet. 
For  shame  !  bring  Juliet  forth  ;  her  lord  is 
come. 

Nurse. 
She's  dead,  deceas'd,  she's  dead  ;  alack  the 
day! 

Lady  Capulet 
Alack  the  day!  she's  dead,  she's  dead,  she's 
dead. 

Capulet. 
Ha  !  let  me  see  her.  — Out,  alas  !  she's  cold  ; 
Her  blood  is  settled,  and  her  joints  are  stiff; 
Life  and  these  lips  have  long  been  separated : 


Death  lies  on  her,  like  an  untimely  frost 
Upon  the  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field. 
Nurse. 
O  lamentable  day  ! 

Lady  Capulet. 

O  woful  time ! 
Capulet. 
Death,  that  hath  ta'en  her  hence  to  make  me 
wail, 
Ties  up  my  tongue,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris,  with 

Musicians. 

Friar. 

Come,  is  the  bride  ready  to  go  to  church  ? 

Capulet. 
Ready  to  go,  but  never  to  return.  — 
O  son  !  the  night  before  thy  wedding  day 
Hath  death  lain  with  thy  wife :  —  there  she  lies, 
Flower  as  she  was,  deflowered  by  him. 
Death  is  my  son-in-law,  death  is  my  heir ; 
My  daughter  he  hath  wedded.    I  will  die, 
And  leave  him  all ;  life,  living,  all  is  death's  ! 
Paris. 
Have  1  thought  long  to  see  this  morning's 
face. 
And  doth  it  give  me  such  a  sight  as  this  ? 
Lady  Capulet. 
Accurs'd,  unhappy,  wretched,  hateful  day  1 
Most  miserable  hour,  that  e'er  time  saw 
In  lasting  labour  of  his  pilgrimage  ! 
But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child, 
But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in, 
And  cruel  death  hath  catch'd  it  from  my  sight. 
Nurse. 
O  woe,  O  woful,  woful,  woful  day ! 
Most  lamentable  day  !  most  woful  day, 
That  ever,  ever.  I  did  yet  behold  ! 
O  day  I  O  day !  O  day !  O  hateful  day  1 
Never  was  seen  so  black  a  day  as  this  : 
O  woful  day,  O  woful  day  I 
Paris. 
Beguil'd,  divorced,  wronged,  spited,  slain  ! 
Most  detestable  death,  by  thee  beguil'd, 
By  cruel  cruel  thee  quite  overthrown  !  — 
O  love  !  O  life  I— not  life,  but  love  in  death  ! 
Capulet. 
Despis'd,  distressed,  hated,  martyr'd,  kill'd  ! 
Uncomfortable  time,  why  cam'st  thou  now 
To  murder,  murder  our  solemnity  !  — 
O  child!    O  child!  —  my  soul,  and  not  my 

child!  — 
Dead  art  thou  !— alack  !  my  child  is  dead ; 
And  with  my  child  my  joys  are  buried. 
Friar. 
Peace,  ho  !  for  shame  !  confusion's  cure  lives 
not 
In  these  confusions.     Heaven  and  yourself 
Had  part  in  this  fair  maid,  now  heaven  hath  all ; 
And  all  the  better  is  it  for  the  maid  : 
Your  part  in  her  you  could  not  keep  from  death, 
But  heaven  keeps  his  part  in  eternal  life. 
The  most  you  sought  was  her  promotion, 
For  'twas  your  heaven  she  should  be  advane'd ; 
And  weep  ye  now,  seeing  she  is  advane'd 
Above  the  clouds,  as  high  as  heaven  itself? 
O  !  in  this  love,  you  love  your  child  so  ill, 
That  you  run  mad,  seeing  that  she  is  well : 
She's  not  well  married  that  lives  married  long, 
But  she's  best  married  that  dies  married  young. 
Dry  up  your  tears,  and  stick  your  rosemary 
On  this  fair  corse :  and,  as  the  custom  is, 
In  all  her  best  array  bear  her  to  church  ; 

For 


Act  v.  Se.  L 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


8,9 


For  though  fond  nature  bldi  us  all  lament, 
Yet  nature's  tears  are  reason's  merriment. 
Capulct. 
All  things,  that  we  ordained  festival, 
Turn  from  their  office  to  black  funeral : 
Our  instruments,  to  melancholy  bells  ; 
Our  wedding  cheer,  to  a  sad  burial  feast ; 
Our  solemn  nymns  to  sullen  dirges  change  ; 
Our  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse, 
An. I  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary. 
Friar. 
Sir,  go  you  in,— and,  madam,  go  with  him  ;  — 
And  go,  sir  Pan's  :  —  every  one  prepare 
To  follow  this  fair  corse  unto  her  grave. 
The  heavens  do  low'r  upon  you,  for  some  ill ; 
Move  them  no  more,  by  crossing  their  high  will. 
[F.xcunt  Capulet,  Lady  Capulct,  Parts,  and 
Friar. 

First  Musician. 
'Faith,  we  may  put  up  our  pipes,  and  be  gone. 

Nurse. 
Honest,  good  fellows,  ah  !  put  up,  put  up ;  for, 
well  you  know,  this  is  a  pitiful  case. 

[Exit  Nurse. 
First  Musician. 
Ay,  by  my  troth,  the  case  may  be  amended. 

Enter  Peter. 
Peter. 
Musicians,    O,   musicians  I    ■  Heart's    ease, 
Heart's  ease :  "  O  1  an  you  will  have  me  live, 
play—'*  Heart's  ease." 

First  Musician. 
Why  "  Heart's  ease  ?  " 

Peter. 
O,  musicians  1  because  my  heart  itself  plays  — 
"  My  heart  is  full  of  woe  :  "  O  1  play  me  somo 
merry  dump,  to  comfort  me. 

Second  Musician. 
Not  a  dump  we :  'tis  no  time  to  play  now. 

Peter. 
You  will  not  then  ? 

Musicians. 
No. 

Peter. 
I  will,  then,  give  it  you  soundly. 

First  Musician. 
What  will  you  give  us  ? 
Peter. 
No  money,  on  my  faith ;  but  the  gleek  :  I  will 
give  you  the  minstrel. 

First  Musician. 
Then,  will  I  give  you  the  serving-creature. 

Peter. 
Then,  will  I  lay  the  serving-creature's  dagger 
on  your  pate.     1  will  carry  no  crotchets  :  I'll  re 
you,  I'll  fa  you.    Do  you  note  me  ? 
First  Musician. 
An  you  re  us,  and  fa  us,  you  note  us. 

Second  Musician. 
Pray  you,  put  up  your  dagger,  and  put  out 
your  wit. 

Pater. 
Then  have  at  you  with  my  wit.     I  will  dry- 
beat  you  with  an  iron  wit,  and  put  up  my  iron 
dagger — Answer  me  like  men  : 

When  griping  grief  the  heart  duth  wound, 

And  doleful  dumps  the  mind  oppress. 
Then  music,  with  her  silver  sound  ; 
Why,  "silver  sound?"  why,  "music  with 
her  silver  sound  ?  "    What  say  you,  Simon  Cat- 
Ungf 


First  Musician. 
Marry,  air,  because  silver  hath  a  sweet  sound. 

Pretty  1    What  say  you,  Hugh  Rebeck  t 

Second  Musician. 
I  say  — "silver   sound,"  because  musician* 
sound  for  silver. 

Peter. 
Pretty  too!  — What  say  you,  James  Sound- 
post  t 

Third  Musician. 
'Faith,  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Poler. 

O !  I  cry  you  mercy  ;  you  are  the  singer :  I 

will  say  for  you.    It  is  —  "  music  with  her  silver 

sound,     because  musicians  have  seldom  gold 

for  sounding :  — 

Then  music  with  her  silver  found. 
With  speedy  help  doth  lend  redress. 

[Exit,  singing. 
First  Musician. 
What  a  pestilent  knave  is  this  same. 

Second  Musician. 
Hang  him,  Jack!    Come,  we'll  in  here ;  tarry 
for  the  mourners,  and  stay  dinner.        [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  L    Mantua.    A  Street. 
Enter  Uomco. 

Romeo. 

IF  I  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand 
My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  throne  ; 
And,  all  this  day,  an  unaccustom'd  spirit 
Lilts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 
I  dreamt,  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead  ; 
(Strange  dream !  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to 

think) 
And  breath'd  such  life  with  kisses  in  my  lips, 
That  1  reviv'd,  and  was  an  emperor. 
Ah  me !  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possess 'd, 
When  but  love's  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy  ? 

Enter  Balthasar. 
News  from  Verona!— How  now,  Balthasar  t 
Dost  thou  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  friar  ? 
How  doth  my  lady  ?    Is  my  father  well  ? 
How  fares  my  lady  Juliet  t    That  I  ask  again  ; 
For  nothing  can  be  ill  if  she  be  well. 

Balthasar. 
Then  she  is  well,  and  nothing  can  be  ill : 
Her  body  sleeps  in  Capets'  monument, 
And  her  immortal  part  with  angels  lives. 
I  saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred's  vault, 
And  presently  took  post  to  tell  it  you. 
0  pardon  me  for  bringing  these  ill  news, 
Since  you  did  leave  it  for  my  office,  sir. 

Romeo. 
Is  it  e'en  so  ?  then,  I  defy  you,  stars  I— 
Thou  know'st  my  lodging:   get  me  ink  and 

paper, 
And  hire  post  horses  ;  I  will  hence  to-night. 

Balth. 
I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  have  patience : 
Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
Some  misadventure. 

Romeo. 


820 


K0ME0  AND  JULIET. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Romeo. 
Tush  1  thou  art  deceiv'd ; 
Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  thee  do. 
Hast  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar  ? 
Balthasar. 
No,  my  good  lord. 

Romeo. 

No  matter;  get  thee  gone, 

And  hire  those  horses:  I'll  be  with  thee  straight. 

[Exit  Balthasar. 

Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 

Let's  see  for  means:— O,  mischief!  thou  art 

swift 
To  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men  ! 
I  do  remember  an  apothecary, 
And  hereabouts  he  dwells,  which  late  I  noted 
In  tatter'd  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brows, 
Culling  of  simples  :  meagre  were  his  looks, 
Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones  : 
And  in  his  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 
An  alligator  stuff'd,  and  other  skins 
Of  ill-shap'd  fishes  ;  and  about  his  shelves 
A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 
Green  earthen  pots,  bladders,  and  musty  seeds, 
Remnants  of  packthread,  and  old  cakes  of  roses, 
Were  thinly  scatter'd  to  make  up  a  show. 
Noting  this'  penury,  to  myself  I  said — 
An  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now, 
Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 
Here  lives  a  caitiff  wretch  would  sell  it  him. 
O!  this  same  thought  did  but  fore-run  my  need, 
And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 
As  I  remember,  this  should  be  the  house : 
Being  holiday,  the  beggar's  shop  is  shut. — 
What,  ho!  apothecary! 

Enter  Apothecary. 
Apothecary. 

Who  calls  so  loud? 
Romeo. 
Come  hither,  man.— I  see,  that  thou  art  poor ; 
Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats :  let  me  have 
A  dram  of  poison  ;  such  soon-speeding  geer 
As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins, 
That  the  life-weary  taker  may  fall  dead; 
And  that  the  trunk  may  be  discharg'd  of  breath 
As  violently,  as  hasty  powder  fir'd 
Doth  hurry  from  the  fatal  cannon's  womb. 
Apothecary. 
Such  mortal  drugs  I  have ;  but  Mantua's  law 
Is  death  to  any  he  that  utters  them. 
Romeo. 
Art  thou  so  bare,  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ?  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thy  eyes, 
Contempt  and  beggary  hang  upon  thy  back, 
The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world's 

law: 
The  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich  ; 
Then,  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 
Apothecary. 
My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents. 

Romeo. 
I  pay  thy  poverty,  and  not  thy  will. 

Apothecary. 
Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will, 
And  drink  it  off;  and,  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  despatch  you  straight. 
Romeo. 
There  is  thy  gold;  worse  poison  to  men's 
souls, 
Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world, 
Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  may'st 
not  sell : 


I  sell  thee  poison,  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 
Farewell ;  buy  food,  and  get  thyself  in  flesh.— 
Come,  cordial,  and  not  poison,  go  with  me 
To  Juliet's  grave,  for  there  must  I  use  thee. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Friar  Laurence1*  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  John. 
John. 
Holy  Franciscan  friar  !  brother !  ho  ! 
Enter  Friar  Laurence. 
Laurence. 
This  same  should  be  the  voice  of  friar  John.— 
Welcome  from  Mantua  :  what  says  Romeo? 
Or,  if  his  mind  be  writ,  give  me  his  letter. 
John. 
Going  to  find  a  bare-foot  brother  out, 
One  of  our  order,  to  associate  me, 
Here  in  this  city  visiting  the  sick, 
And  finding  him,  the  searchers  of  the  town, 
Suspecting  that  we  both  were  in  a  house 
Where  the  infectious  pestilence  did  reign, 
Seal'd  up  the  doors,  and  would  not  let  us  forth ; 
So  that  my  speed  to  Mantua  there  was  stay'd. 
Laurence. 
Who  bare  my  letter,  then,  to  Romeo  t 

John. 
I  could  not  send  it, — here  it  is  again,— 
Nor  get  a  messenger  to  bring  it  thee, 
So  fearful  were  they  of  infection. 
Laurence. 
Unhappy  fortune  !  by  my  brotherhood, 
The  letter  was  not  nice,  but  full  of  charge, 
Of  dear  import ;  and  the  neglecting  it 
May  do  much  danger.    Friar  John,  go  hence ; 
Get  me  an  iron  crow,  and  bring  it  straight 
Unto  my  cell. 

John. 
Brother,  I'll  go  and  bring  it  thee.  [Exit. 

Laurence. 
Now  must  I  to  the  monument  alone. 
Within  this  three  hours  will  fair  Juliet  wake; 
She  will  beshrew  me  much,  that  Romeo 
Hath  had  no  notice  of  these  accidents  ; 
But  I  will  write  again  to  Mantua, 
And  keep  her  at  my  cell  till  Romeo  come : 
Poor  living  corse,  clos'd  in  a  dead  man's  tomb ! 


tomb! 
[Exit. 


SCENE  III.    A  Churchyard ;  in  it  a  Monu- 
ment belonging  to  the  Capulets. 

Enter  Paris,  and  his  Page,  bearing  Flowers, 
and  a  Torch . 
Paris. 
Give  me  thy  torch,  boy:  hence,  and  stand 
aloof; 
Yet  put  it  out,  for  I  would  not  be  seen. 
Under  yond'  yew-trees  lay  thee  all  along, 
Holding  thine  ear  close  to  the  hollow  ground  ; 
So  shall  no  foot  upon  the  churchyard  tread, 
Being  loose,  unfirm  with  digging  up  of  graves, 
But  thou  shalt  hear  it :  whistle  then  to  me, 
As  signal  that  thou  hear'st  something  approach. 
Give  me  those  flowers.    Do  as  I  bid  thee ;  go. 
Page. 
I  am  almost  afraid  to  stand  alone 
Here  in  the  churchyard ;  yet  I  will  adventure. 
I  Retires. 
Paris. 
Sweet  flower,  with  flowers  thy  bridal  bed  I 
O  woe !  thy  canopy  is  dust  and  stones,     [strew. 

Which 


A<  i  v.    Sc.  in. 


110ME0  AND  JULIET. 


Sn 


Which  with  sweet  water  nightly  I  will  dew, 
I  Or  wanting  that  with  team  distill'd  by  moaus 

The  obsequies,  that  1  for  thee  will  keen, 
I  Nightly  »hall  be  to  strew  thy  grave  and  weep  t 


apnr 
o-nfght. 
To  cross  my  obsequies,  and  true  love's  rite  ? 


What  cursed  foot  wanders  this  way  to- 


[Thc  Boy  whistles. 
The  boy  gives  warning  something  doth" approach, 
ted  fo< 
my  oh 
\Vh;it!    with   a  torch?  — muffle   me,  night,  a 
while.  [Retires. 

Enter  Romeo  and  BaUhasar,  with  a  Torch, 

Mattock,  &c. 

Uomeo. 

Give  me  that  mattock,  and  the  wrenching 

iron. 
Hold,  take  this  letter:  early  in  the  morning 
See  thou  deliver  it  to  my  lord  and  father. 
Give  me  the  light.     Upon  thy  life  I  charge  thee, 
Whate'er  thou  hear'st  or  seest,  stand  all  aloof, 
And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 
Why  I  descend  into  this  bed  of  death 
Is,  partly,  to  behold  my  lady's  face ; 
But,  chiefly,  to  take  thence  from  her  dead  finger 
A  precious  ring,  a  ring  that  I  must  use 
In  dear  employment.    Therefore  hence,  be  gone : 
But  if  thou,  jealous,  dost  return  to  pry 
In  what  I  farther  shall  intend  to  do, 
By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint, 
And  strew  this  hungry  churchyard  with  thy 

limbs. 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage,  wild ; 
More  fierce,  and  more  inexorable  far. 
Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 

BaUhasar. 
I  will  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Romeo. 
So  shalt  thou  show  me  friendship.  —  Take 
thou  that : 
Live,  and  be  prosperous;  and  farewell,  good 
fellow. 

BaUhasar. 
For  all  this  same,  I'll  hide  me  here  about : 
His  looks  I  fear,  and  his  intents  I  doubt. 

[Retires. 
Romeo. 
Thou  detestable  maw,  thou  womb  of  death, 
Gorg'd  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth, 
Thus  I  enforce  thy  rotten  jaws  to  open, 

[Breaking  open  the  Door  of  the  Monument. 
And,  in  despite,  I'll  cram  thee  with  more  food  1 

Paris. 
This  is  that  banish'd  haughty  Montague, 
That  murder'd  my  love's  cousin, — with  which 

grief, 
It  is  supposed,  the  fair  creature  died,— 
And  here  is  come  to  do  some  villainous  shame 
To  the  dead  bodies :  I  will  apprehend  him.— 

[Advancing. 
Stop  thy  unhallow'd  toil,  vile  Montague. 
Can  vengeance  be  pursu'd  farther  than  death  ? 
Condemned  villain,  I  do  apprehend  thee: 
Obey,  and  go  with  me ;  for  thou  must  die. 
Romeo. 

I  must,  indeed ;  and  therefore  came  1  hither 

Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a  desperate  man  : 
Fly  hence  and  leave  me:— think  upon  these 

gone; 
Let  them  affright  thee— I  beseech  thee,  youth, 
Put  not  another  sin  upon  my  head, 
By  urging  me  to  fury  :  — O,  be  gone  1 
By  heaven,  I  love  thee  better  than  myself, 
For  I  come  hither  arm'd  against  myself: 
Stay  not,  be  gone;— live,  and  hereafter  say— 
A  madman's  mercy  bade  thee  run  away. 


I  do  defy  thy  conjurations. 
And  apprehend  thee  for  a  felon  hero. 

Romeo. 
Wilt  thou  provoke  me?  then,  have  at  thee, 
hoy.  [They  fight. 

O  Lord  1  they  fight  :'¥  will  go  call  the  watch. 

[Exit  Page. 

Paris. 

O !  I  am  slain.    [Falls.Jh— If  thou  be  merciful, 

Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  [Dies. 

Romeo. 
In  faith,  I  will. — Let  me  peruse  this  face :  — 
Mercutio't  kinsman,  noble  county  Paris. — 
What  said  my  man,  when  my  betossed  soul 
Did  not  attend  him  as  we  rode  ?    I  think. 
He  told  me,  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet: 
Said  he  not  so  ?  or  did  I  dream  it  so  ? 
Or  am  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet, 
To  think  it  was  so  ? — O  !  give  me  thy  hand, 
One  writ  with  me  in  sour  misfortune  s  book  ! 
I'll  bury  thee  in  a  triumphant  grave, — 
A  grave?    O,  no  I  a  lantern,  slaughter'd  youth, 
For  here  lies  Juliet;  and  her  beauty  makes 
This  vault  a  feasting  presence  full  of  light. 
Death,  lie  thou  there,  by  a  dead  man  interr'd. 

[Laying  Pari*  in  the  Mopument. 
How  oft,  when  men  are  at  the  point  of  death, 
Have  they  been  merry,  which  their  keepers  call 
A  lightning  before  death  :  O  !  how  may  I 
Call  this  a  lightning  ?  —  O,  my  love  !  my  wife  ! 
Death,  that  hath  suck'd  the  honey  of  thy  breath, 
Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy'beauty : 
Thou  art  not  conquer'd ;  beauty's  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips,  and  in  thy  cheeks, 

And  death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there 

Tybalt,  best  thou  there  in  thy  bloody  sheet  ? 
O  1  what  more  favour  can  I  do  to  thee, 
Than  with  that  hand  that  cut  thy  youth  in  twain, 
To  sunder  his  that  was  thine  enemy  ? 
Forgive  me,  cousin  !_Ah  1  dear  Juliet, 
Why  art  thou  yet  so  fair  ?    Shall  I  believe 
That  unsubstantial  death  is  amorous  ; 
And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 
Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  his  paramour  ? 
For  fear  of  that  I  still  will  stay  with  thee, 
And  never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night 
Depart  again :  here,  here  will  I  remain 
With  worms  that  are  thy  chamber-maids ;  O  ! 
WiU  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest,  [here 

And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars   [last ; 
From  this  world-wearied  flesh.  —Eyes,  look  your 
Arms,  take  your  last  embrace  ;  and  lips,  O  I  you 
The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a  righteous  kiss 
A  dateless  bargain  to  engrossing  death  1  — 
Come,  bitter  conduct,  come,  unsavoury  guide  ! 
Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark ! 
Here's  to  my  love  !  —  [Drinks.J  O,  true  apothe- 
cary ! 
Thy  drugs  are  quick.  —Thus  with  a  kiss  I  die. 

[Dies. 

Enter,  at  the  other  End  of  the  Churchrard,  Friar 

Laurence,  with  a  Lantern,  Crow,  arid  Spade. 

Friar. 

Saint  Francis  be  my  speed  !  how  oft  to-night 

Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves  ?— Who's 

there  ? 

BaUhasar. 
Here's  one,  a  friend,  and  one  that  knows  you 
well. 

Friar. 
Bliss  be  upon  you  !     Tell  me,  good  my  friend. 
What  torch  is  yond',  that  vainly  lends  his  light 

To 


8^^ 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


To  grubs  and  eyeless  sculls  ?  as  I  discern, 
It  burnetii  in  the  Capets'  monument. 

Balthasar. 
It  doth  so,  holy  sir  ;  and  there's  my  master, 
One  that  you  love. 

Friar. 
Who  is  it  ? 

Balthasar. 

Romeo. 
Friar. 
How  long  hath  he  been  there  ? 

Balthasar. 

Full  half  an  hour. 
Friar. 
Go  with  me  to  the  vault. 

Balthasar. 

I  dare  not,  sir. 
My  master  knows  not,  but  1  am  gone  hence ; 
And  fearfully  did  menace  me  with  death, 
If  I  did  stay  to  look  on  his  intents. 

Friar. 
Stay,  then,  I'll  go  alone.— Fear  comes  upon 

0  !  much  I  fear  some  ill  unthrifty  thing,    [me  ; 

Balthasar. 
As  I  did  sleep  under  this  yew-tree  here, 
dreamt  my  master  and  another  fought, 
And  that  my  master  slew  him. 

Friar. 

Romeo!—  ^Advancing. 
Alack,  alack  !  what  blood  is  this,  which  stains 
The  stony  entrance  of  this  sepulchre  ? — 
What  mean  these  masterless  and  gory  swords 
To  lie  discolour'd  by  this  place  of  peace  ? 

[Entering  the  Monument. 
Romeo!  O,  pale  !— Who  else?  what !  Paris  too? 
And  steep'd  in  blood  ?— Ah  !  what  an  unkind 
Is  guilty  of  this  lamentable  chance  ! —  [hour 
The  lady  stirs.  [Juliet  wakes. 

Juliet. 
O,  comfortable  friar  !  where  is  my  lord  ? 

1  do  remember  well  where  I  should  be, 
And  there  I  am — Where  is  my  Romeo t 

[Noise  within. 
Friar. 
I  hear  some  noise — Lady,  come  from  that  nest 
Of  death,  contagion,  and  unnatural  sleep. 
A  greater  Power  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents :  come,  come  away. 
Thy  husband  in  thy  bosom  there  lies  dead  ; 
And  Paris  too :  come,  I'll  dispose  of  thee 
Among  a  sisterhood  of  holy  nuns. 
Stay  not  to  question,  for  the  watch  is  coming  ; 
Come,  go,  good  Juliet—  [Noise  again.]  I  dare 
no  longer  stay.  [Exit. 

Juliet. 

Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I  will  not  away 

What's  here?  a  cup,  clos'd  in  my  true  love's 

hand? 
Poison,  1  see,  hath  been  his  timeless  end— 
O  churl !  drink  all,  and  left  no  friendly  drop, 
To  help  me  after  ? — I  will  kiss  thy  lips  ; 
Haply,  some  poison  yet  doth  hang  on  them, 
To  make  me  die  with  a  restorative.  [Kisses  him. 
Thy  lips  are  warm  ! 


Enter  Watch,  with  the  Page  of  Paris. 
Page. 
This  is  the  place ;  there,  where  the  torch  doth 
burn. 

First  Watchman. 
The   ground   is   bloody:    search   about   the 
churchyard. 
Go,  some  of  you  ;  whoe'er  you  find,  attach. 
_.,-«,,.  .  [Exeunt  some. 

Pitiful  sight  1  here  lies  the  County  slain ;  — 
And  Juliet  bleeding  ;  warm,  and  newly  dead, 

Who  here  hath  lain  these  two  days  buried 

Go,  tell  the  Prince, — run  to  the  Capulets, — 
Baise  up  the  Montagues, — some  others  search  :— 


[Exeunt  other  Watchmen, 
whereon  these  woes  do  lie  : 


We  see  the  ground 

But  the  true  ground  of  all  these  piteous  woes, 

We  cannot  without  circumstance  descry. 

Enter  some  of  the  Watch,  with  Ralthasar. 

Second  Watchman. 
Here's  Romeo's  man;  we  found  him  in  the 
churchyard. 


First  Watchman 
in   safety,  till  th< 


Lead,  boy : 


Eirst  Watchman, 
-which  way  ? 


[Within. 


Juliet. 

Yea,  noise?— then  I'll  be  brief— O  happy 

dagger  !  [Snatching  Romeo's  Dagger. 

This  is  thy  sheath  ;   [Stabs  herself ;]  there  rest, 

and  let  me  die.  [Dies. 


Hold  him   in   safety,  till  the  Prince   come 
hither. 

Enter  another  Watchman,  with  Friar  Laurence. 

,  Third  Watchman. 

Here  is  a  friar,   that   trembles,  sighs,  and 
weeps : 
We  took  this  mattock  and  this  spade  from  him, 
As  he  was  coming  from  this  churchyard  side. 

First  Watchman. 
A  great  suspicion :  stay  the  friar  too. 

Enter  the  Prince  and  Attendants. 

Prince. 
What  misadventure  is  so  early  up, 
That  calls  our  person  from  our  morning  rest  ? 

Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulct,  and  others. 

Capulet. 

What  should  it  be,  that  they  so  shriek  abroad  ? 

Lady  Capulet. 
O  I  the  people  In  the  street  cry  Romeo, 
Some  Juliet,  and  some  Paris  ;  and  all  run 
With  open  outcry  toward  our  monument. 

Prince. 
What  fear  is  this,  which  startles  in  your  ears  ? 

First  Watchman. 
Sovereign,  here  lies  the  county  Paris  slain  ; 
And  Romeo  dead  ;  and  Juliet,  dead  before, 
Warm  and  new  kill'd. 

Prince. 
Search,  seek,  and  know  how  this  foul  murder 
comes. 

First  Watchman 
Here  is  a  friar,  and  slaughter'd  Romeo's  man, 
With  instruments  upon  them  fit  to  open 
These  dead  men's  tombs. 

O,  heaven  1  —  O,  wife !  look  how  our  daughter 
bleeds ! 
This  dagger  hath  mista'en,— for,  lo  !  his  house 
Is  empty  on  the  back  of  Montague, — 
And  is  mis-sheathed  in  my  daughter's  bosom. 

Lady  Capulet. 
O  me  !  this  sight  of  death  Is  as  a  bell, 
That  warns  my  old  age  to  a  sepulchre. 

Enter  Montague  and  others. 

Prince. 
Come,  Montague  ;  for  thou  art  early  up, 
To  see  thy  son  and  heir  more  early  down. 

Montague. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


%M 


Montague. 
Alas,  my  liege,  my  wife  U  dead  to-night ; 
Grief  of  my  sou's  exile  hath  stopp'd  her  breath. 
What  farther  woe  consplrci  again»t  mine  age  ? 
Prince. 
Look,  and  thou  thalt  see. 

Montague. 

0  thou  untaught  1  what  manners  is  in  this, 
To  press  before  thy  father  to  a  grave? 

Prince. 
Seal  up  the  month  of  outrage  for  a  while, 
'1111  we  can  dear  these  ambiguities,     [descent ; 
And  know  their  spring,  their  head,  their  true 
And  then  will  I  be  general  of  your  woes, 
And  lead  you  even  to  death.     Mean  time  for- 
And  let  mischance  be  slave  to  patience.—  [bear, 
Bring  forth  the  parties  of  suspicion. 
Friar. 

1  am  the  greatest,  able  to  do  least, 

Yet  most  suspected,  as  the  time  and  place 
Doth  make  against  me,  of  this  direful  murder  j 
And  here  I  stand,  both  to  impeach  and  purge 
Myself  condemned,  and  myself  excus'd. 
Prince. 
Then,  say  at  once  what  thou  dost  know  in 

Friar. 
I  will  be  brief,  for  my  short  date  of  breath 
Is  not  so  long  as  is  a  tedious  tale. 
Romeo,  there  dead,  was  husband  to  that  Juliet ; 
And  she.  there  dead,  that  Romeo's  faithful  wife : 
1  married  them  ;  and  their  stolen  marriage-day 
Was  Tybalt's  dooms-day,  whose  untimely  death 
Banish'd  the  new-made  bridegroom  from  this 

city ; 
For  whom,  and  not  for  Tybalt,  Juliet  pin'd. 
You,  to  remove  that  siege  of  grief  from  her, 
Betroth'd,  and  would  have  married  her  perforce, 
To  county  Paris :  then,  comes  she  to  me, 
And,  with  wild  looks,  bid  me  devise  some  means 
To  rid  her  from  this  second  marriage,. 
Or  in  my  cell  there  would  she  kill  herself. 
Then  gave  I  her,  (so  tutor'd  by  my  art) 
A  sleeping  potion  ;  which  so  took  effect 
As  I  intended,  for  it  wrought  on  her 
The  form  of  death  :  meantime,  I  writ  to  Romeo, 
That  he  should  hither  come,  as  this  dire  night, 
To  help  to  take  her  from  her  borrow'd  grave, 
Being  the  time  the  potion's  force  should  cease. 
But  he  which  bore  my  letter,  friar  John, 
Was  stay'd  by  accident,  andyesternight 
Beturn'd  my  letter  back.     Then,  all  alone, 
At  the  prefixed  hour  of  her  waking. 
Came  I  to  take  her  from  her  kindred's  vault, 
Meaning  to  keep  her  closely  at  my  cell, 
Till  I  conveniently  could  send  to  Romeo : 
But.  when  I  came,  (some  minute  ere  the  time 
Of  her  awakening)  here  untimely  lay 
The  noble  Paris,  and  true  Romeo,  dead. 
She  wakes  ;  and  I  entreated  her  come  forth, 
And  bear  this  work  of  heaven  with  patience : 


But  then  a  noise  did  scare  me  from  the  tomb, 
And  she,  too  desperate,  would  not  go  with  me, 
But  (as  it  seems)  did  violence  on  herself. 
All  this  I  know,  and  to  the  marriage 
Her  nurse  is  privy;  and,  if  aught  in  this 
Miscarried  by  my  fault,  let  my  old  life 
Be  sacrifie'd  some  hour  before  his  time. 
Unto  the  rigour  of  severest  law. 
Frince. 

We  still  have  known  thee  for  a  holy  man.— 

Where's  Rotneo's  man  ?  what  can  he  say  in  this  ? 

Baithasar. 

I  brought  my  master  news  o(  Juliet's  death, 
And  then  in  post  he  came  from  Mantua, 
To  this  same  place,  to  this  same  monument. 
This  letter  he  early  bid  me  give  his  father ; 
And  threaten *d  me  with  death,  going  in  the  vault, 
If  I  departed  not,  and  left  him  there. 
Prince. 

Give  me  the  letter,  I  will  look  on  it — 
Where  is  the  County's  page,  that  rais'd  the 

watch  ?— 
Sirrah,  what  made  your  master  in  this  place  ? 
Page. 

He  came  with  flowers  to  strew  his  lady's  grave, 
And  bid  me  stand  aloof,  and  so  I  did  : 
Anon,  comes  one  with  light  to  ope  the  tomb, 
And,  by  and  by,  my  master  drew  on  him  ; 
And  then  I  ran  away  to  call  the  watch. 
Prince. 

This  letter  doth  make  good  the  friar's  words, 
Their  course  of  love,  the  tidings  of  her  death : 
And  here  he  writes,  that  he  did  buy  a  poison 
Of  a  poor  'pothecary ;  and  therewithal 
Came  to  this  vault  to  die,  and  lie  with  Juliet — 
Where  be  these  enemies?    Capulel!  Montague! 
See,  what  a  scourge  is  laid  upon  your  hate. 
That  heaven  finds  means  to  kill  your  joys  with 

love; 
And  T,  for  winking  at  your  discords  too, 
Have  lost  a  brace  of  kinsmen:— all  are  punish'd. 
Capulet. 

O,  brother  Montague!  give  me  thy  hand: 
This  is  my  daughter's  jointure  ;  for  no  more 
Can  I  demand. 

Montague. 
But  I  ran  give  thee  more ; 
For  I  will  raise  her  statue  in  pure  gold, 
That,  while  Verona  by  that  name  is  known, 
There  shall  no  figure  at  such  rate  be  set, 
As  that  of  true  and  faithful  Juliet. 
Capulet. 

As  rich  shall  Romeohy  his  lady  lie; 
Poor  sacrifices  of  our  enmity  ! 

Prince, 
A  glooming  peace  this  morning  with  it  brings, 
I     The  sun  for  sorrow  will  not  show  his  head. 
i  Go  hence,  to  have  more  talk  of  these  sad  things; 

Some  shall  be  pardon'd,  and  some  punished: 
For  never  was  a  story  of  more  woe, 
I  Than  this  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo.       [  K  xeunt 


St* 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


TIMON,  a  noble  Athenian. 

Lucius,  ~i 

Lucullus,        >  Three  flattering  Lords. 

Sempronius,  J 

Ventidius,  one  of  Timon' &  false  Friends. 

Apemantus,  a  churlish  Philosopher. 

Alcibiades,  an  Athenian  Captain. 

Flavins,  Steward  to  Timon. 

Flaminius,  f 

Lucilius,     >  Servants  to  Timon. 

Servilius,    3 

'h,-'»    j  Servants  to  Timon's  Creditors. 


j< 


Thilotus, 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Athens.    A  Hall  in  Timon's  Hou>e. 

Enter  Poet,  Painter,  Jeweller,  Merchant,  and 

others,  at  several  Doors. 

Poet. 

GOOD  day,  sir.  „  .  . 
Painter. 
I  am  glad  y'are  well. 

Poet. 


have  not  seen  you  long, 
world  ? 

Painter. 


How  goes  the 


It  wears,  sir,  as  it  grows. 
Poet. 

Ay,  that's  well  known  ; 
But  what  particular  rarity  ?  what  strange, 
Which  manifold  record  not  matches  ?    See, 
Magic  of  bounty  1  all  these  spirits  thy  power 
Hath  conjur'd  to  attend.    I  know  the  merchant. 
Painter. 
I  know  them  both :  th'  other's  a  jeweller. 

Merchant. 
O !  'tis  a  worthy  lord. 

Jeweller. 

Nay,  that'i  most  fix'd. 
Merchant. 
A  most  incomparable  man  ;  breath 'd,  as  it 
were, 
To  an  untirable  and  continuate  goodness  : 
He  passes. 


Titus. 

Lucius,        J-  Servants  to  Timon's  Creditors 

Hortensius 

Servants  of  Varro,  Ventidius,  and  Isidore :  three 

of  Timon's  Creditors. 
Cupid  and  Maskers.     Three  Strangers. 
Poet,  Painter,  Jeweller,  and  Merchant 
An  old  Athenian.    A  Page.    A  Fool. 

Sandra,  }    distresses  to  Alcibiades 
Lords,  Senators,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Thieves,  and 
Attendants. 
SCENE,  Athens  ;  and  the  Woods  adjoining 


Jeweller. 
I  have  a  jewel  here  — 
Merchant. 
O  !   pray,  let's  see't.     For  the  lord  Timon, 
sir? 

Jeweller. 

If  he  will  touch  the  estimate  ;  but,  for  that— 

Poet. 
"  When  we  for  recompence  have  prais'd  the 
vile, 
It  stains  the  glory  in  that  happy  verse 
Which  aptly  sings  the  good." 
Merchant. 

'Tis  a  good  form. 
Jeweller. 
And  rich :  here  is  a  water,  look  ye. 

Painter. 
You  are  rapt,  sir,  in  some  work,  some  dedi- 
cation 
To  the  great  lord.     ^ 

8  Poet. 

A  thing  slipp'd  idly  from  me. 
Our  poesy  is  as  a  gum,  which  oozes 
From  whence  'tis  nourish'd:  the  fire  i'  the  flint 
Shows  not,  till  it  be  struck  ;  our  gentle  flame 
Provokes  itself,  and,  like  the  current,  flies 
Each  bound  it  chafes.    What  have  you  there  ? 
Painter. 
A    picture,   sir.  —  When  comes   your   book 
forth  ? 

Poet. 
Upon  the  heels  of  my  presentment,  sir. 
|  Let's  see  your  piece.  . 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


**5 


l'ainlrr. 


Tis  a  good  piece. 


Port, 


So  *tl» :  this  comes  off  well,  and  excellent. 

Painter. 
Indifferent. 

Foet. 
Admirable  !    How  this  grace 
Speaks  hli  own  standing ;  what  a  mental  power 
This  eye  shoots  forth ;  how  big  imagination 
Moves  In  this  lip ;  to  the  dumbness  of  the  gesture 
One  might  interpret. 

Painter. 
It  is  a  pretty  mocking  of  the  life. 
Here  is  a  touch  ;  is't  good  ? 
Poet. 

I'll  say  of  it, 
It  tutors  nature :  artificial  strife 
Lives  in  these  touches,  livelier  than  life. 

Enter  certain  Senators,  who  pats  over  the 
Stage. 
Painter. 
How  this  lord  is  follow 'd! 

Poet. 
The  senators  of  Athens :  —  happy  men ! 

Painter. 
Look,  more ! 

Poet. 
You  see  this  confluence,  this  great  flood  of 
visitors. 
I  have  in  this  rough  work  shapM  out  a  man, 
Whom  this  beneath  world  doth  embrace  and  hug 
With  amplest  entertainment :  my  free  drift 
Halts  not  particularly,  but  moves  itself 
In  a  wide  sea  of  wax  :  no  levell'd  malice 
Infects  one  comma  in  the  course  I  hold, 
nut  flies  an  eagle  flight,  bold,  and  forth  on, 
Leaving  no  tract  behind. 

l'ai  uter. 
How  shall  I  understand  you  ? 

Poet. 
I  will  unbolt  to  you. 
You  see  how  all  conditions,  how  all  minds, 
(As  well  of  glib  and  slippery  creatures,  as 
Of  grave  and  austere  quality)  tender  down 
Their  services  to  lord  Timon :  his  large  fortune, 
Upon  his  good  and  gracious  nature  hanging, 
Subdues  and  properties  to  his  love  and  tendance 
All  sorts  of  hearts  ;  yea,  from  the  glass-fac'd 

flatterer 
To  Apemuntus,  that  few  things  loves  better 
Than  to  abhor  himself:  even  he  drops  down 
The  knee  before  him,  and  returns  in  peace 
Most  rich  in  Timon's  nod. 

Painter 
I  saw  them  speak  together. 

Poet. 
Sir,  I  have  upon  a  high  and  pleasant  hill, 
Feign'd  Fortune  to  be  thron'd :  the  base  o'  the 

mount 
Is  rank'd  with  all  deserts,  all  kind  of  natures, 
That  labour  on  the  bosom  of  this  sphere 
To  propagate  their  states :  amongst  them  all, 
Whose  eyes  are  on  this  sovereign  lady  fix'd, 
One  do  I  personate  of  lord  Thnon's  frame  ; 
Whom  Fortune  with  her  ivory  hand  wafts  to 

her, 
Whoie  present  grace  to  present  slaves  and  ser- 
Translates  his  rivals.  [vants 

Painter. 

'Tis  conceiv'd  to  scope. 


This  throne,  this  Fortune,  and  this  hill,  me- 

thinks, 
With  one  man  beckon'd  from  the  rest  below, 
Bowing  his  head  against  the  steepy  mount 
To  climb  Ids  happiness,  would  be  well  express'd 
In  our  condition. 

Poet. 
Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me  on. 
All  those  which  were  his  fellows  but  of  late, 
(Some  better  than  his  value)  on  the  moment 
Follow  his  strides ;  his  lobbies  fill  with  tend. 
Rain  sacrificial  whisperings  in  his  ear,       [ancc, 
Make  sacred  even  his  stirrup,  and  through  him 
Drink  the  free  air. 

Painter. 

Ay,  marry,  what  of  these  ? 

Poet. 

When  Fortune,  in  her  shift  and  change  of 

mood,  [ants, 

Spurns  down  her  late  belov'd,  all  his  depend- 

Which  labour'd  after  him  to  the  mountain  s  top, 

Even  on  their  knees  and  hands,  let  him  slip 

down, 
Not  one  accompanying  his  declining  foot. 
Painter. 
'Tis  common : 
A  thousand  moral  paintings  I  can  show, 
That  shall  demonstrate  these  quick  blows  of 

Fortune's 
More  pregnantly  than  words.    Yet  you  do  well, 
To  show  lord  Timon,  that  mean  eyes  have  6een 
The  foot  above  the  head. 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Timon,  attended  ;  the 
Servant  of  Ventidius  talking  with  him. 
Timon. 
Imprison'd  is  he,  say  you  ? 
Ventidius's  Servant. 
Ay,  my  good  lord  :  five  talents  is  his  debt ; 
His  means  most  short,  his  creditors  most  strait : 
Your  honourable  letter  he  desires 
To  those  have  shut  him  up  ;  which  failing. 
Periods  his  comfort. 

Timon. 

Noble  Ventidius!    Well; 
I  am  not  of  that  feather,  to  shake  off  [him 

My  friend  when  he  must  need  me.     I  do  know 
A  gentleman  that  well  deserves  a  help, 
Which  he  shall  have.    I'll  pay  the  debt,  and 
free  him. 

Ventidius's  Servant. 
Your  lordship  ever  binds  him. 

Timon . 
Commend  me  to  him :  I  will  send  his  ran- 
som; 
And,  being  enfranchis'd,  bid  him  come  to  me.— 
*Tis  not  enough  to  help  the  feeble  up, 
But  to  support  him  after — Fare  you  well. 
Ventidius's  Servant. 
All  happiness  to  your  honour  l  [Exit. 

Enter  an  old  Athenian 
Old  Athenian. 
Lord  Timon,  hear  me  speak. 
Timou. 

Freely,  good  father. 
Old  Athenian . 
Thou  hast  a  servant  nam'd  l.ucilius. 

Timon. 
I  have  so:  what  of  him  ? 

Old  Athenian. 
Most  noble  Timon,  call  the  man  beforethee. 
Timon. 


8a6 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


Timon. 
Attends  he  here,  or  no  ?—Lucilius! 

Enter  Lucilius. 

Lucilius. 
Here,  at  your  lordship's  service. 

Old  Athenian. 
This  fellow  here,  lord  Timon,  this  thy  crea- 
ture, 
By  night  frequents  my  house.    1  am  a  man 
That  from  my  first  have  been  inclin'd  to  thrift, 
And  my  estate  deserves  an  heir,  more  rais'd 
Than  one  which  holds  a  trencher. 
Timon. 

Well ;  what  farther  ? 
Old  Athenian. 
One  only  daughter  have  I ;  no  kin  else, 
On  whom  I  may  confer  what  I  have  got : 
The  maid  is  fair,  o'  the  youngest  for  a  bride, 
And  I  have  bred  her  at  my  dearest  cost 
In  qualities  of  the  best.    This  man  of  thine 
Attempts  her  love :  I  pr'ythee,  noble  lord, 
Join  with  me  to  forbid  him  her  resort ; 
Myself  have  spoke  in  vain. 

Timon. 

The  man  is  honest. 
Old  Athenian. 
Therefore  he  will  be,  Timon  : 
His  honesty  rewards  him  in  itself; 
It  must  not  bear  my  daughter. 

Timon. 

Does  she  love  him  ? 
Old  Athenian. 
She  is  young,  and  apt : 
Our  own  precedent  passions  do  instruct  us 
What  levity's  in  youth. 

Timon.  [To  Lucilius. 

Love  you  the  maid  ? 

Lucilius. 
Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  and  she  accepts  of  it. 

Old  Athenian  ■ 
If  in  her  marriage  my  consent  be  missing, 
I  call  the  gods  to  witness,  I  will  choose 
Mine  heir  from  forth  the  beggars  of  the  world, 
And  dispossess  her  all. 

Timon. 
How  shall  she  be  endow'd, 
If  she  be  mated  with  an  equal  husband  ? 
Old  Athenian. 
Three  talents  on  the  present ;  in  future  all. 

Timon. 
This  gentleman  of  mine  hath  serv'd  me  long : 
To  build  his  fortune,  I  will  strain  a  little, 
For  'tis  a  bond  in  men.   Give  him  thy  daughter ; 
What  you  bestow,  in  him  I'll  counterpoise, 
And  make  him  weigh  with  her. 
Old  Athenian. 

Most  noble  lord, 
Pawn  me  to  this  your  honour,  she  is  his. 
Timon. 
My  hand  to  thee  ;  mine  honour  on  my  pro- 
mise. 

Lucilius. 
Humbly  I  thank  your  lordship.    Never  may 
That  state  or  fortune  fall  into  my  keeping, 
Which  is  not  ow'd  to  you ! 

[Exeunt  Lucilius  and  old  Athenian. 

Poet. 

Vouchsafe  my  labour,  and  long  live  your  lord- 
ship ! 


Timon. 
I  thank  you  ;  you  shall  hear  from  me  anon : 
Go   not   away.— What   have   you   there,   my 
friend?  ' 

Painter. 
A  piece  of  painting,  which  I  do  beseech 
Your  lordship  to  accept. 

Timon. 

Painting  is  welcome. 
The  painting  is  almost  the  natural  man  ; 
For  since  dishonour  traffics  with  man's  nature, 
He  is  but  outside:  these  pencil'd  figures  are 
Even  such  as  they  give  out.    1  like  your  work, 
And  you  shall  find,  I  like  it :  wait  attendance 
Till  you  hear  farther  from  me. 
Painter. 

The  gods  preserve  you  ! 
Timon. 
Well  fare  you,  gentleman:   give  me   your 
hand  ; 
We  must  needs  dine  together.  —  Sir,  your  jewel 
Hath  suffer'd  under  praise. 

Jeweller. 

What,  my  lord !  dispraise  ? 
Timon. 
A  mere  satiety  of  commendations. 
If  I  should  pay  you  for't  as  'tis  extoll'd, 
It  would  unclew  me  quite. 
Jeweller. 

My  lord,  'tis  rated 
As  those  which  sell  would  give :  but  you  well 

know, 
Things  of  like  value,  differing  in  the  owners, 
Are  prized  by  their  masters.  Believe't,  dear  lord, 
You  mend  the  jewel  by  the  wearing  it 
Timon. 

Well  mock'd. 

Merchant. 

No,  my  good  lord ;   he  speaks  the  common 

Which  all  men  speak  with  him.  [tongue, 

Timon. 

Look,  who  comes  here.    Will  you  be  chid  ? 

Enter  Apemantus. 

Jeweller. 
We'll  bear,  with  your  lordship. 
Merchant. 

He'll  spare  none. 
Timon. 
Good  morrow  to  thee,  gentle  Apemantus. 

Apemantus. 
Till  I  be  gentle,  stay  thou  for  thy  good  mor- 
row ; 
When  thou  art  Timon's  dog,  and  these  knaves 
honest. 

Timon. 
Why  dost   thou   call   them   knaves?    thou 
know'st  them  not. 

Apemantus. 
Are  they  not  Athenians  ? 
Timon. 
Yes. 

Apemantus. 
Then  I  repent  not. 

Jeweller. 
You  know  me,  Apemantus. 
Apemantus. 
Thou  know'st,  I  do ;  I  call'd  thee  by  thy 
name. 

Timon. 
Thou  art  proud,  Apemantus. 

Apemantui. 


h 


Act  l  Sc.  i. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


8:7 


1 

Of  nothing  so  much,  as  that  I  am  not  like 
Timon. 

Tlmon. 
Whither  art  going? 

Apemantus. 
To  knock  out  an  honest  Athenian'*  brains. 

Ti;. 
That's  a  deed  thou'lt  die  for. 
Apemantus. 
Right,  if  doing  nothing  be  death  by  the  law. 

Timon. 
How  likest  thou  this  picture,  Apemantus  t 

Apemantus. 
The  best,  for  the  innocence. 

Timon. 
Wrought  he  not  well  that  painted  it  ? 

Apemantus. 
He  wrought  better  that  made  the  painter ; 
and  yet  he's  but  a  filthy  piece  of  work. 
Painter. 
Y'are  a  dog. 

Apemantus. 
Thy  mother's  of  my  generation  :  what's  she, 
if  I  be  a  dog  ? 

Tlmon. 
Wilt  dine  with  me,  Apemantus? 

Apemantus. 
No  ;  I  eat  not  lords. 

Timon. 
An  thou  should'st,  thou'dst  anger  ladies. 

Apemantus. 
O  1  they  eat  lords  ;  so  they  come  by  great 
bellies. 

Timon. 
That's  a  lascivious  apprehension. 

Apemantus. 
So  thou  apprehend'st  it.    Take   it  for  thy 
labour. 

Timon. 
How  dost  thou  like  this  jewel,  Apemantus  f 

Apemantus. 
Not  so  well  as  plain-dealing,  which  will  not 
cost  a  man  a  doit. 

Timon. 
What  dost  thou  think  'tis  worth  ? 

Apemantus. 
Not  worth  my  thinking.  —  How  now,  poet  1 

Poet. 
How  now,  philosopher? 

Apemantus. 
Thou  liest. 

Poet. 
Art  not  one  ? 

Apemantus. 
Yes. 

Poet. 
Then,  I  lie  not. 

Apemantus. 
Art  not  a  poet  ? 

Poet. 
Yes. 

Apemantus. 
Then,  thou  liest:    look    in    thy   last  work, 
where  thou  hast  feign'd  him  a  worthy  fellow. 
Poet. 
That's  not  feign'd  ;  he  is  so. 
Apemantus. 
Yes,  he  is  worthy  of  thee,  and  to  pay  thee 
for  thy  labour :  he  that  loves  to  be  flattered  is 


worthy  o'  the  flatterer.    Heavens,  that  1  wer*  a 
lord! 

Timon. 
What  would'st  do  then,  Apemantus  t 

Apemantus. 
Even  as  Apemantus  does  now,  hate  a  lord  with 
my  heart. 

Timon. 
What,  thyself? 

Apemantus. 
Ay. 

Timon. 
Wherefore  ? 

Apemantus. 
That  1  had  no  angry  wit  to  be  a  lord.  —  Art 
not  thou  a  merchant  ? 

Merchant. 
Ay,  Apemantus. 

Apemantus. 
Traffic  confound  thee,  If  the  gods  will  not ! 

Merchant. 
If  traffic  do  It,  the  gods  do  It. 

Apemantus. 
Traffic's  thy  god ;  and  thy  god  confound  thee  I 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  a  Servant. 

Timon. 
What  trumpet's  that  ? 

Servant. 

•Tis  Alcibiades,  and 
Some  twenty  horse,  all  of  companionship. 

Timon. 
Pray,  entertain  them ;  give  them  guide  to  us.— 
[Exeunt  some  Attendants. 
You  must  needs  dine  with  me — Go  not  you 

hence, 
Till  I  have  thank'd  you ;  and  when  dinner's  done 
Show  me  this   piece.  —  I  am  joyful  of  your 
sights — 

Enter  Alcibiades,  with  his  Company. 
Most  welcome,  sir  1 

Apemantus. 

So,  so,  there — 
Aches  contract  and  starve  your  supple  joints !  — 
That  there  should  be  small  love  'mongst  these 

sweet  knaves, 
And  all  this  courtesy !  The  strain  of  man's  bred 
Into  baboon  and  monkey.  [out 

Alcibiades. 
Sir,  you  have  sav'd  my  longing,  and  I  feed 
Most  hungerly  on  your  sight. 

Timon. 

Right  welcome,  sir: 
Ere  we  depart,  we'll  share  a  bounteous  time 
In  different  pleasures.    Pray  you,  let  us  In. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Apemantus. 

Enter  Two  Lords. 

First  Lord. 
What  time  0'  day  is't,  Apemantus  t 

Apemantus. 
Time  to  be  honest. 

First  Lord. 
That  time  serves  still. 

Apemantus. 
The  most  accursed  thou,  that  still  omit'st  it. 

Second  Lord. 
Thou  art  going  to  lord  Timon'*  feast. 

Apemantus. 


828 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  l 


Apemantus. 

Ay;  to  see  meat  fill  knaves,  and  wine  heat 

fooIs-  Second  Lord. 

Fare  thee  well ;  fare  thee  well. 
Apemantus. 

Thou  art  a  fool  to  bid  me  farewell  twice. 
Second  Lord. 

Why,  Apemantus? 

Apemantus. 

Should'st  have  kept  one  to  thyself,  for  I  mean 
to  give  thee  none. 

First  Lord. 

Hang  thyself.    Apemantus> 

No,  I  will  do  nothing  at  thy  bidding :  make 
thy  requests  to  thy  friend. 

Away,  unpeaceable  dog!  or  111  spurn  thee 

hence.  , 

Apemantus. 

I  will  fly,  like  a  dog,  the  heels  of  the  asfyxit 

First  Lord. 
He's  opposite  to  humanity.    Come,  shall  we 
And  taste  lord  Timon  %  bounty  ?  he  outgoes  [in, 
The  very  heart  of  kindness. 

Second  Lord. 
He  pours  it  out ;  Plutus,  the  god  of  gold, 
Is  but  his  steward:  no  meed,  but  he  repays 
Sevenfold  above  itself;  no  gift  to  him, 
But  breeds  the  giver  a  return  exceeding 
Ail  use  of  quittance. 

First  Lord. 

The  noblest  mind  he  carries, 
That  ever  govern'd  man. 

Second  Lord. 
Long  may  he  live  in  fortunes !    Shall  we  in? 

First  Lord. 
I'll  keep  you  company.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State  in 
Tt'mon's  House. 

Hautboys  playing  loud  Music.  A  great  banquet 
served  in;  Flavius  and  others  attending:  then, 
enter  7'imon,  Afcibiades,  Lucius,  Lucullus* 
Sempronius,  and  other  Athenian  Senators, 
with  Ventidius,  whom  Timon  redeemed  from 
prison,  and  Attendants:  then  comes,  dropping 
after  all,  Apemantus,  discontentedly,  like  him- 
self. 

Ventidius. 

Most  honour'd  Timon,  it  hath  pleas'd  the  gods 
to  remember 
My  father's  age,  and  call  him  to  long  peace. 
He  is  gone  happy,  and  has  left  me  rich  : 
Then,  as  in  grateful  virtue  I  am  bound 
To  your  free  heart,  I  do  return  those  talents, 
Doubled  with  thanks  and  service,  from  whose 
I  deriv'd  liberty.      Timon  ChelP 

O !  by  no  means, 
Honest  Ventidius :  you  mistake  my  love. 
I  gave  it  freely  ever ;  and  there's  none 
Can  truly  say,  he  gives,  if  he  receives:        [dare 
If  our  betters  play  at  that  game,  we  must  not 
To  imitate  them:  faults  that  are  rich  are  fair. 
Ventidius. 
A  noble  spirit  I     Timon 

Nay,  my  lords, 
Ceremony  was  but  devis'd  at  first, 
To  set  a  glass  on  faint  deeds,  hollow  welcomes, 


Recanting  goodness,  sorry  ere  'tis  shown ; 

But  where  there  is  true  friendship,  there  needs 

none. 
Pray,  sit:  more  welcome  are  ye  to  my  fortunes. 
Than  my  fortunes  to  me.  [They  sit. 

First  Lord. 
My  lord,  we  always  have  confess'd  it. 

Apemantus. 
Ho,  ho,  confess'd  it  ?  hang'd  it,  have  you  not  ? 

Timon. 
O,  Apemantus!— yon  are  welcome. 

Apemantus. 
No,  you  shall  not  make  me  welcome: 
I  come  to  have  thee  thrust  me  out  of  doors. 
Timon. 
Fie!  thou'rt  a  churl:  you  have  got  a  humour 
there 
Does  not  become  a  man,  'tis  much  to  blame. — 
They  say,  my  lords,  ira furor  brevis  est, 
But  yond'  man  is  ever  angry. 
Go,  let  him  have  a  table  by  himself; 
For  he  does  neither  affect  company, 
Nor  is  he  fit  for't,  indeed. 

Apemantus. 
Let  me  stay  at  thine  apperil,  Timon : 
I  come  to  observe ;  I  give  thee  warning  on't. 
Timon. 
I  take  no  heed  of  thee ;  thou  art  an  Athenian, 
therefore,  welcome.     I  myself  would  have  no 
power;  pr'ythee,  let  my  meat  make  thee  silent. 
Apemantus. 
I  scorn  thy  meat;  'twould  choke  me,  for  I 

should  ne'er  flatter  thee O  you  gods  !  what  a 

number  of  men  eat  Timon,  and  he  sees  them 
not !  It  grieves  me,  to  see  so  many  dip  their 
meat  in  one  man's  blood;  and  all  the  madness 
is,  he  cheers  them  up  too. 
I  wonder,  men  dare  trust  themselves  with  men: 
Methinks,   they  should   invite   them   without 

knives ; 
Good  for  their  meat,  and  safer  for  their  lives. 
There's  much  example  for't;  the  fellow,  that 
sits  next  him  now,  parts  bread  with  him,  and 
pledges  the  breath  of  him  in  a  divided  draught, 
is  the  readiest  man  to  kill  him:  it  has  been 
proved.  If  1  were  a  huge  man,  I  should  fear  to 
drink  at  meals ; 

Lest  they  should  spy  my  windpipe's  dangerous 

notes:  [throats. 

Great  men  should  drink  with  harness  on  their 

Timon. 

My  lord,  in  heart ;  and  let  the  health  go  round. 

Second  Lord. 
Let  it  flow  this  way,  my  good  lord. 

Apemantus. 
Flow  this  way?    A  brave  fellow!— he  keeps 
his  tides  well.    Those  healths  will  make  thee 
and  thy  state  look  ill,  Timon. 
Here's  that,  which  is  too  weak  to  be  a  sinner, 
Honest  water,  which  ne'er  left  man  i'  the  mire: 
This  and  my  food  are  equals,  there's  no  odds, 
Feasts  are  too  proud  to  give  thanks  to  the  gods. 
Apemantus'  Grace. 

Immortal  gods,  I  crave  no  pelf; 
I  pray  for  no  man,  but  myself. 
Grant  1  may  never  prove  so  fond, 
To  trust  man  on  his  oath  or  bond ; 
Or  a  harlot  for  her  weeping; 
Or  a  dog  that  seems  a  sleeping  ; 
Or  a  keeper  with  my  freedom ; 
Or  my  friends,  if  I  should  need  'em. 


Act  1     Sc.  2. 


Act  i.  Sc.  II. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


8a, 


Amen.    Sofallto't: 
Rich  men  lin,  and  I  eat  root.         .... 
[Eats  and  drinks. 
Much  good  dlch  thy  good  heart,  Apemantus! 
Timon. 
Captain  Alcibiades,  your  heart's  in  the  field 
now. 

Alcibiades. 
My  heart  is  erer  at  your  service,  my  lord. 

Timon. 
You  had  rather  be  at  a  breakfast  of  enemies, 
than  a  dinner  of  friends. 

Alcibiades. 
So  they  were  bleeding-new,  my  lord,  there's 
no  meat  like  'em  :  I  could  wish  my  best  friend 
at  sucii  a  feast. 

Apcmantus. 
•Would  all  those  flatterers  were  thine  enemies 
then,  that  then  thou  might'st  kill  'em,  and  bid 
me  to  'em. 

First  Lord. 

Might  we  but  have  that  happiness,  my  lord, 

that  you  would  once  use  our  hearts,  whereby  we 

might  express  some  part  of  our  zeals,  we  should 

think  ourselves  for  ever  perfect. 

.1011. 

O  1  no  doubt,  my  good  friends  ;  but  the  gods 
themselves  have  provided  that  I  shall  have  much 
help  from  you :  how  had  you  been  my  friends 
else  ?  why  have  you  that  charitable  title  from 
thousands,  did  you  not  chiefly  belong  to  my 
heart  ?  I  have  told  more  of  you  to  myself,  than 
you  can  with  modesty  speak  In  your  own  behalf 


and  thus  far  1  confirm  you.  O,  you  gods !  think 
I,  what  need  we  have  any  friends,  if  we  should 
ne'er  have  need  of  'em  ?  they  were  the  most 


needless  creatures  living,  should  we  ne'er  have 
use  for  'em ;  and  would  most  resemble  sweet 
instruments  hung  up  in  cases,  that  keep  their 
sounds  to  themselves.  Why,  I  have  often  wished 
myself  poorer,  that  I  might  come  nearer  to  you. 
We  are  born  to  do  benefits;  and  what  better  or 
properer  can  we  call  our  own,  than  the  riches  of 
our  friends  ?  0 1  what  a  precious  comfort  'tis, 
to  have  so  many,  like  brothers,  commanding  one 
another's  fortunes.  O  joy,  e'en  made  away  ere 
't  can  be  born  1  Mine  eyes  cannot  hold  out 
water,  methinks :  to  forget  their  faults,  I  drink 
to  you. 

Apcmantus. 

Thou  weep'6t  to  make  them  drink,  Timon. 

Second  Lord. 
Joy  had  the  like  conception  in  our  eyes, 
And  at  that  instant  like  a  babe  sprung  up. 
Apemantus. 
Ho,  ho !   I  laugh  to  think  that  babe  a  bastard. 

Third  Lord. 
I  promise  you,  my  lord,  you  mov'd  me  much. 

Apcmantus. 
Much  1  [Tucket  sounded. 

Timon. 
What  means  that  trump?— How  now  ! 
Enter  a  Servant. 
Servant. 
Please  you,  my  lord,  there  are  certain  ladies 
most  desirous  of  admittance. 
Timon. 
Ladies  !    What  are  their  wills  ? 

Servant. 
There  comes  with  them  a  forerunner,  mv  lord, 
which  bears  that  office  to  signify  their  pleasures. 


T I  mi  on. 

I  pray,  let  them  be  admitted. 

fester  Cujifd. 

Cupid, 

Hall  to  thee,  worthy  Timon  ;  and  to  all 

That  of  his  bounties  taste!  — The  five  best 

senses 
Acknowledge   thee   their   patron ;    and  come 

freely 
To  gratulate  thy  plenteous  bosom.    The  ear, 
Taste,  touch,  smell,  pleas'd  from  thy  table  rise; 
They  only  now  come  but  to  feast  thine  eyes. 
Timon. 
They  are  welcome  all.    Let  them  have  kind 
admittance : 
Music,  make  their  welcome.  [Exit  Cupid. 

First  Lord. 
You  see,  my  lord,  how  ample  y'are  belov'd. 

Music.  Re-enter  Cupid,  with  a  masque  of 
Ladies  as  Amazons,  with  Lutes  in  their 
Hands,  dancing,  and  playing. 

Apemantus. 
Hey  day !  what  a  sweep  of  vanity  comes  this 
They  dance  !  they  are  mad  women.  [way  ! 

Like  madness  is  the  glory  of  this  life, 
As  this  pomp  shows  to  a  little  oil,  and  root. 
We  make  ourselves  fools,  to  disport  ourselves ; 
And  spend  our  flatteries,  to  drink  those  men, 
Upon  whose  age  we  void  it  up  again, 
With  poisonous  spite,  and  envy. 
Who  lives,  that's  not  depraved,  or  depraves  ? 
Who  dies,  that  bears  not  one  spurn  to  their 
Of  their  friends'  gift  ?  [graves 

I  should  fear,  those,  that  dance  before  me  now, 
Would  one  day  stamp  upon  me:  't  has  been 

done. 
Men  shut  their  doors  against  a  setting  sun. 

The  Lords  rise  from  Table,  with  much  adoring 
of  Timon;  and,  to  show  their  loves,  each 
singles  out  an  Amazon,  and  all  dance,  Men 
with  Women,  a  lofty  Strain  or  two  to  the 
Hautboys,  and  cease. 

Timon. 
You  have  done  our  pleasures  much  grace,  fair 
ladies, 
Set  a  fair  fashion  on  our  entertainment, 
Which  was  not  half  so  beautiful  and  kind  : 
You  have  added  worth  unto't,  and  lustre. 
And  entertain'd  me  with  mine  own  device; 
I  am  to  thank  you  for  it. 

First  Lady. 
My  lord,  you  take  us  even  at  the  best. 

Apemantus. 
'Faith,  for  the  worst  is  filthy;  and  would  not 
hold  taking,  I  doubt  me. 

Timon. 
Ladies,  there  is  an  idle  banquet 
Attends  you :  please  you  to  dispose  yourselves. 
All  Ladies. 
Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Cupid,  and  Ladies. 
Timon. 
Flavins  ! 

Flavius. 
My  lord. 

Timon. 
The  little  casket  bring  me  hither. 
Flavius. 
Yes,  my  lord.  [Aside.]  More  jewels  yet ! 
There  is  no  crossing  him  in  his  humour; 
Else  I  should  tell  him,— well,— i'  faith,  1  should, 

When 


6'sO 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  i.  Sc.  11 


When  all's  spent,  he'd  be  cross'd  then,  an  he 

'Tis  pity  bounty  had  not  eyes  behind,      [could. 

That  man  might  ne'er  be  wretched  for  his  mind. 

[Exit,  and  returns  with  the  Casket. 

First  Lord. 
Where  be  our  men  ? 

Servant. 
Here,  my  lord,  in  readiness. 
Second  Lord. 
Our  horses  ! 

Timon. 
O,  my  friends  !         [good  lord, 
I  have  one  word  to  say  to  you.    Look  you,  my 
I  must  entreat  you,  honour  me  so  much, 
As  to  advance  this  jewel ;  accept  it  and  wear  it, 
Kind  my  lord. 

First  Lord. 
I  am  so  far  already  in  your  gifts, m 

All. 
So  are  we  all. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Servant. 

My  lord,  there  are  certain  nobles  of  the  senate 

newly  alighted,  and  come  to  visit  you. 

Timon. 

They  are  fairly  welcome. 

Flavius. 

I  beseech  your  honour, 
Vouchsafe  me  a  word :  it  does  concern  you  near. 
Timon. 
Near?  why  then  another  time  I'll  hear  thee : 
I  pry'thee,  let's  be  provided  to  show  them  enter- 
tainment. 

Flavius. 
I  scarce  know  ho  w .  [  A  side. 

Enter  another  Servant. 
Second  Servant. 
May  it  please  your  honour,  lord  Lucius, 
Out  of  his  free  love,  hath  presented  to  you 
Four  milk-white  horses,  trapp'd  in  silver. 
Timon. 
I  shall  accept  them  fairly :  let  the  presents 
Enter  a  third  Servant. 

Be  worthily  entertain'd.  —  How  now  1    what 
news? 

Third  Servant. 
Please  you,  my  lord,  that  honourable  gentle- 
man, lord  Luculitu,  entreats  your  company  to- 
morrow to  hunt  with  him ;  and  has  sent  your 
honour  two  brace  of  greyhounds. 

Timon. 
I'll  hunt  with  him  ;  and  let  them  be  receiv'd, 
Not  without  fair  reward. 

Flavius.  [Aside. 

What  will  this  come  to  ? 
He  commands  us  to  provide,  and  give  great  gifts, 
And  all  out  of  an  empty  coffer : 
Nor  will  he  know  his  purse ;  or  yield  me  this, 
To  show  him  what  a  beggar  his  heart  is, 
Being  of  no  power  to  make  his  wishes  good. 
His  promises  fly  so  beyond  his  state, 
That  what  he  speaks  is  all  in  debt ;  he  owes 
For  every  word:  he  is  so  kind,  that  he  now 
Pays  interest  for't ;  his  land's  put  to  their  books. 
Well,  would  I  were  gently  put  out  of  office, 
Before  I  were  forc'd  out ! 
Happier  is  he  that  has  no  friend  to  feed 
Than  such  as  do  even  enemies  exceed. 
I  bleed  inwardly  for  my  lord.  [Exit. 


Timon. 

You  do  yourselves 
Much  wrong :  you  bate  too  much  of  your  own 
Here,  my  lord,  a  trifle  of  our  love.         [merits. 
Second  Lord. 
With  more  than  common  thanks  I  will  re- 
ceive it. 

Third  Lord. 
O  !  he's  the  very  soul  of  bounty. 

Timon. 
And  now  1  remember,  my  lord,  you  gave 
Good  words  the  other  day  of  a  bay  courser 
I  rode  on  :  it  is  yours,  because  you  lik'd  it. 
Second  Lord. 

0  I   I  beseech  vou,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  in 

that 

Timon. 
You  may  take  my  word,  my  lord :  I  know  no 
man 
Can  justly  praise,  but  what  he  does  affect : 
I  weigh  my  friend's  affection  with  mine  own ; 
I'll  tell  you  true.    I'll  call  to  you. 
All  Lords. 

O  1  none  so  welcome. 
Timon. 

1  take  all,  and  your  several  visitations, 
So  kind  to  heart,  'tis  not  enough  to  give : 
Methinks,  I  could  deal  kingdoms  to  my  friends, 
And  ne'er  be  weary — Alcibiades, 

Thou  art  a  soldier,  therefore  seldom  rich  : 
It  comes  in  charity  to  thee ;  for  all  thy  living 
Is  'mongst  the  dead,  and  all  the  lands  thou  hast 
Lie  in  a  pitch'd  field. 

Alcibiades. 

Ay,  defil'd  land,  my  lord. 
First  Lord. 
We  are  so  virtuously  bound,— 
Timon. 

And  so. 
Am  I  to  you. 

Second  Lord. 
So  infinitely  endear 'd,— 
Timon. 
All  to  you.— Lights  !  more  lights  I 
First  Lord. 

The  best  of  happiness, 
Honour,  and   fortunes,  keep   with  you,  lord 
Timon. 

Timon. 
Ready  for  his  friends. 

[Exeunt  Alcibiades,  Lords,  &c. 
Apemantus. 

What  a  coil's  here  ! 
Serving  of  becks,  and  jutting  out  of  bums  ! 
I  doubt  whether  their  legs  be  worth  the  sums 
That  are  given  for  'em.     Friendship's  full  of 

dregs : 
Methinks,  false  hearts  should  never  have  sound 

legs. 
Thus   honest  fools   lay  out   their   wealth   on 
court'sies. 

Timon. 
Vow,  Apemantus,  if  thou  wert  not  sullen, 
I'd  be  good  to  thee. 

Apemantus. 
No,  I'll  nothing ;  for  if  I  should  be  brib'd  too, 
there  would  be  none  left  to  rail  upon  thee,  and 
then  thou  would'st  sin  the  faster.  Thou  giv'st 
so  long,  Timon,  I  fear  me,  thou  wilt  give  away 
thyself  in  paper  shortly :  what  need  these  feasts, 
pomps,  and  vain  glories  ? 

Timon. 
Nay,  an  you  begin  to  rail  on  society  once,  I  am 
gworn 


Act  ii.  Sc.  h. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


8:1 


i     sworn  not  to  give  regard  to  you.    Farewell  v  and 

1 '  come  with  better  music.  [Exit. 

Apcni  . 

So;  — thou  wilt  not  hear  me  now;—       [th<  „ 

Thou  shalt  not  then  ;  I'll  lock  thy  heaven  from 

O,  that  men's  ears  should  be 

To  counsel  deaf,  but  not  to  Cattery  1         [Exit. 

,(4y      ,/iv      ^*>      ,r>f      .0,      ,r>      ^>      .(*>,      ,/*y      ,pj. 

V  ™  V  •>  V  "v'  9ttt 
ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    The  lame.    A  Room  In  a  Senator's 
House. 

Enter  a  Senator,  with  Papers  in  his  Hand. 
Senator. 

AND  late,  tire  thousand  to   Varro ;   and  to 
Isodore 

He  owes  nine  thousand,  besides  my  former  sum, 
Which  makes  it  five-and-twenty.— Still  inmotion 
Of  raging  waste?    It  cannot  hold ;  it  will  not. 
If  I  want  gold,  steal  but  a  beggar's  dog, 
And  give  it  Timon,  why,  the  dog  coins  gold  : 
If  I  would  sell  my  horse,  and  buy  twenty  more 
Better  than  he,  why,  give  my  horse  to  Timon; 
Ask  nothing,  give  it  him,  it  foals  me  straight, 
And  able  horses.    No  porter  at  his  gate  ; 
But  rather  one  that  smiles,  and  still  invites 
All  that  pass  by.     It  cannot  hold  ;  no  reason 
Can  sound  his  state  in  safety.     Cap/iis,  ho  I 
Caphis,  I  say  I 

Enter  Caphis. 
Caphis. 
Here,  sir :  what  is  your  pleasure  ? 
Senator. 
Get  on  your  cloak,  and  haste  you  to  lord 
Timon; 
Importune  him  for  my  moneys  ;  be  not  ceas'd 
With  slight  denial ;  nor  then  silenc'd,  when  — 
"  Commend  me  to  your  master"— and  the  cap 
Plays  in  the  right  hand,  thus;— but  tell  him, 
My  uses  cry  to  me.     I  must  serve  my  turn 
Out  of  mine  own  :  his  days  and  times  are  past, 
And  my  reliances  on  his  fracted  dates 
Have  smit  my  credit.     I  love,  and  honour  him, 
But  must  not  break  my  back  to  heal  his  finger. 
Immediate  are  my  needs ;  and  my  relief 
Must  not  be  toss'd  and  turn'd  to  me  in  words, 
But  find  supply  immediate.    Get  you  gone : 
Put  on  a  most  importunate  aspect, 
A  visage  of  demand  ;  for,  I  do  fear, 
When  every  feather  sticks  in  his  own  wing, 
Lord  Timon  will  be  left  a  naked  gull, 
Which  flashes  now  a  phoenix.    Get  you  gone. 
Caphis. 
I  go,  sir. 

Senator. 
Ay,  go,  sir.  —  Take  the  bonds  along  with  you, 
Ana  have  the  dates  in  compt. 

Caphis. 

I  will,  sir. 
Senator. 

Go. 
[Exeunt. 

SCESE  II.    The  same.    A  Hall  in  Timon'* 
House. 

Enter  Flavius,  with  many  Bills  in  his  Hand. 

Flavius. 
No  care,  no  «top  :  so  senseless  of  expense, 


That  he  will  neither  know  how  to  malntaUl  S? 
Nor  cease  his  flow  of  riot ;  takes  no  account 
How  things  go  from  him,  nor  resumes  no  care 
Of  what  is  to  continue.     Ntver  mind 
Was  to  be  so  unwise,  to  be  so  kind. 
What  shall  be  done?    He  will  not  hear,  till  feel. 
I  must  be  round  with  him,  now  he  comes  from 
Fie,  fie,  fie,  fie  I  [hunting. 

Enter  Caphis,  and  the  Servants  of  Isidore  and 
f'arro. 

Caphis. 
Good  even,  Varro.    What  1 
You  come  for  money? 

Varro's  Servant. 

Is't  not  your  business  too? 
Caphis. 
It  is — And  yours  too,  hidoref 
Isidore's  Servant. 

„    l.,  Itisx*. 

Caphis. 
Would  we  were  all  discharg'd  I 
Varro's  Serrant 

I  fear  It 
Caphis. 
Here  comes  the  lord. 

Enter  Timon,  Alcibiades,  and  Lords,  fee. 

Timon. 

So  soon  as  dinner's  done,  we'll  forth  again, 

My  Alcibiades — With  me!  what  is  your  will ? 

Caphis. 

My  lord,  here  is  a  note  of  certain  dues. 

Timon. 

Dues  I    Whence  are  you  ? 

Caphis. 

Of  Athens  here,  my  lord. 
Timon. 
Go  to  my  steward. 

Caphis. 
Please  it  your  lordship,  he  hath  put  me  off 
To  the  succession  of  new  days  this  month  : 
My  master  is  awak'd  by  great  occasion 
To  call  upon  his  own,  and  humbly  prays  you, 
That  with  your  other  noble  parts  you'll  suit, 
In  giving  him  his  right. 

Timon. 

Mine  honest  friend, 
I  pr'ythee,  but  repair  to  me  next  morning. 
Caphis. 
Nay,  good  my  lord,— 

Timoo. 

Contain  thyself,  good  friend. 
Varro's  Servant. 
One  Varro's  servant,  my  good  lord,— 
Isidore's  Servant. 

From  Isidore: 
He  humbly  prays  your  speedy  payment,— 
Caphis. 
If  you  did  know,  my  lord,  my  master's  wants,— 

Varro's  Servant. 
'Twas  due  on  forfeiture,  my  lord,  six  weeks. 
And  past- 
Isidore's  Servant. 
Your  steward  puts  me  off,  my  lord ; 
And  I  am  sent  expressly  to  your  lordship. 
Timon. 
Give  me  breath — 
I  do  beseech  you,  good  my  lords,  keep  on ; 

[Exeunt  Alcibiades  and  Lords . 

m 


*v 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it 


I'll  wait  upon  you  instantly.  —  Come  hither: 
pray  you,  [To  Flavins. 

How  goes  the  world,  that  I  am  thus  encounter'd 
With  clamorous  demands  of  date,  broken  bonds, 
And  the  detention  of  long-since-due  debts, 
Against  my  honour  ? 


Flavius. 

Please  yoi 
The  time  is  unagreeable  to  this  business : 


Tease  you,  gentlemen, 


Your  importunacy  cease  till  after  dinner, 
That  I  may  make  his  lordship  understand 
Wherefore  you  are  not  paid. 

Timon.     _  _ .     , 

Do  so,  my  friends, 
See  them  well  entertain'd.  [Exit  Timon. 

Flavius.  _ 

Pray,  draw  near. 

[Exit  Flavius. 
Enter  Apemantus  and  a  Fool. 

Stay,  stay ;  here  comes  the  fool  with  Apeman- 
tus: let's  have  some  sport  with  'em. 

Varro's  Servant. 


Hang  him,  he'll  abuse  us 


.     ,  Isidore's  S 

A  plague  upon  nim,  do 


Jervant. 

og! 


How  dost,  fool 
Dost  dialogue 


Varro's  Servant. 
)1? 

with  thv  shadoi 


Varro's  Servant. 
I  speak  not  to  thee. 

No ;  'tis  to  thyselfl — Come*  away. 


[To  the  Fool. 


Isidore's  Servant. 


,     .    .  ,  [To  Varro'i  Servant. 

There's  the  fool  hangs  on  your  back  already. 

No,  thou  stand'st  single  ;  thou'rt  not  on  him 
yet. 

Caphis. 
Where's  the  fool  now  ? 

Apemantus. 
He  last  asked  the  question.  — Poor  rogues, 
and  usurers'  men;   bawds  between   gold  and 
want. 


All  Servants. 
What  are  we,  Apemantus  t 


Apemantus. 
All  Servants. 


Asses. 

Why? 

.    Apemantus. 
That  you  ask  me  what  you  are,  and  do  not 
know  yourselves Speak  to  'em,  fool. 

Fool. 
How  do  you,  gentlemen? 

Gvamercies,  good  fool.  How  does  your  mis- 
tress ? 

Fool. 

She's  e'en  setting  on  water  to  scald  such 
chickens  as  you  are.  Would,  we  could  see  you 
at  Corinth  I 

_      -  Apemantus. 

Good:  gramercy. 

Enter  Page. 

Fool. 
Look    you,  here  comes  my  mistress  page. 


Page.  [To  the  Fool, 

Why,  how  now,  captain!  what  do  you  in  this 
wise  company  ?—  How  dost  thou,  Apemantus? 
Apemantus. 
Would   I  had  a  rod  in  my  mouth,  that   I 
might  answer  thee  profitably. 
Page. 
Pr'ythee,  Apemantus,  read  me  the  superscrip- 
tion of  these  letters :  I  know  not  which  is  which. 

Apemantus. 
Canst  not  read  ? 


No. 


Page. 


Apemantus. 
There  will  little  learning  die,  then,  that  day 
thou  art  hanged.    This  is  to  lord  Timon;  this 
to  Alcibiades.    Go:  thou  wast  born  a  bastard, 
and  thou'lt  die  a  bawd. 

Page. 

Thou  wast  whelped  a  dog;  and  thou  shalt 
famish,  a  dog's  death.    Answer  not ;  I  am  gone. 
[Exit  Page, 
Apemantus. 
Even  so  thou  out-run'st  grace.    Fool,  I  will 
go  with  you  to  lord  Ti/non's. 
Fool. 
Will  you  leave  me  there  ? 

Apemantus. 
If  Timon  stay  at  home — Yon  three  serve 
three  usurers  ? 

All  Servants. 
I  would  they  served  us  1 

Apemantus. 
So  would  I,— as  good  a  trick  as  ever  hangman 
served  thief. 

Fool. 
Are  you  three  usurers'  men  ? 

All  Servants. 
Ay,  fool. 

Fool. 
I  think,  no  usurer  but  has  a  fool  to  his  ser- 
vant:  my  mistress  is  one,  and  I  am  her  fool 
When  men  come  to  borrow  of  your  masters 
they  approach  sadly,  and  go  away  merry ;  but 
they  enter  my  mistress*  house  merrily,  and  go 
away  sadly.    The  reason  of  this  ? 
Varro's  Servant. 
I  could  render  one. 

Apemantus. 
Do  it,  then,  that  we  may  account  thee  a  whore- 
master,  and  a  knave;  which  notwithstanding, 
thou  shalt  be  no  less  esteemed. 
Varro's  Servant. 
What  is  a  whoremaster,  fool  ? 

Fool. 
A  fool  in  good  clothes,  and  something  like 
thee.  'Tis  a  spirit:  sometime  it  appears  like  a 
lord  ;  sometime  like  a  lawyer ;  sometime  like  a 
philosopher,  with  two  stones  more  than  his 
artificial  one.  He  is  very  often  like  a  knight; 
and  generally  in  all  shap'es,  that  man  goes  up 
and  down  in  from  fourscore  to  thirteen,  this 
spirit  walks  in. 

Varro's  Servant. 
Thou  art  not  altogether  a  fool. 

Fool. 
Nor  thou  altogether  a  wise  man:  as  much 
foolery  as  I  have,  so  much  wit  thou  lackest. 
Apemantus. 
That  answer  might  have  become  Apemantus. 

All  Servants. 
Aside,  aside :  here  comes  lord  Timon. 

Re-enter. 


Act  ti.   Sr.  ii. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


«33 


Pray  you,  walk  near :  I'll  speak  with  you  1 

*  ■  [Exeunt  Sin 


lie-enter  Timon  and  1  Lunis. 
Apcmantus. 
Come,  with  me,  Fool,  come. 

I  do  not  always  follow  lover,  elder  brother 
and  woman  ;  sometime,  the  philosopher. 
[ C  \ « t  f  n  t  Apcmantus  W 

■  i  us. 

anon 
rvanl 
Timon. 
You  make  me  marvel.    Wherefore,  ere  this 
time, 
Had  you  not  fully  laid  my  state  before  me, 
That  1  might  so  have  rated  my  expense 
As  I  had  leave  of  means  ? 

Flavius. 

You  would  not  hear  me, 
At  many  leisures  I  propos'd. 
Timon. 

Goto: 
Perchance,  some  single  vantages  you  took, 
When  my  indi>position  put  you  back ; 
And  that  unaptness  made  your  minister, 
Thus  to  excuse  yourself. 

Flavius. 

O,  my  good  lord ! 
At  many  times  I  brought  in  my  accounts,     [off, 
Laid  them  before  you :  you  would  throw  them 
And  say,  you  found  them  in  mine  honesty. 
When  for  some  trifling  present  you  have  bid  me 
Return  so  much,  I  have  shook  my  head,  and 

wept; 
Yea,  'gainst  the  authority  of  manners,  pray'd  you 
To  hold  your  hand  more  close:  1  did  endure 
Not  seldom,  nor  no  slight  checks,  when  1  have 
Prompted  you,  in  the  ebb  of  your  estate, 
And  your  great  flow  of  debts.    My  loved  lord, 
Though  you  hear  now,  (too  late)  yet  now's  a  time, 
The  greatest  of  your  having  lacks  a  half 
To  pay  your  present  debts. 
Timon. 

Let  all  my  land  be  sold. 
Flavins. 
•Tis  all  engag'd,  some  forfeited  and  gone  ; 
And  what  remains  will  hardly  stop  the  mouth 
Of  present  dues.    The  future  comes  apace  ; 
What  shall  defend  the  interim  ?  and  at  length 
How  goes  our  reckoning  ? 
Timon. 
To  LacecUemon  did  my  land  extend. 

Flavius. 
O,  my  good  lord  !  the  world  is  but  a  word ; 
Were  it  all  yours  to  give  it  in  a  breath, 
How  quickly  were  it  gone? 
Timon. 

You  tell  me  true. 
Flavius. 
If  you  suspect  my  husbandry,  or  falsehood, 
Call  me  before  th*  exactest  auditors, 
And  set  me  on  the  proof.    So  the  gods  bless  me, 
When  all  our  offices  have  been  oppress'd 
With  riotous  feeders ;  when  our  vaults  have  wept 
With  drunken  spilth  of  wine;  when  every  room 
Hath  blaz'd  with  lights,  and  bray'd  with  min- 
I  have  retir'd  me  to  a  wasteful  cock,       [strelsy, 
And  set  mine  eyes  at  flow. 
Timon. 

Pr'ythee,  no  more. 
Flavius. 
Heavens,  have  I  said,  the  bounty  of  this  lord! 
liow  many  prodigal  bits  have  slaves,  and  peasants, 


This  night  englutted  !    Who  is  not  Timon't? 
What  heart,  head,  sword,  force,  means,  but  is 

lord  Timon' %  ? 
Great  Timon,  noble,  worthy,  royal  Timon! 
Ah!   when  the  means  are  gone  that  buy  this 

praise, 
The  breath  is  gone  whereof  this  praise  is  made : 
Feast- won,  fast-lost;  one  cloud  of  winter  showers, 
These  flies  are  couch'd. 

Timon. 
Come,  sermon  me  no  farther. 
No  villainous  bounty  yet  hath  pass'd  my  heart ; 
Unwisely,  not  ignobly,  have  I  given.  [lack, 

Why  dost  thou  weep  ?  Canst  thou  the  conscience 
To  think  1  shall  lack  friends  ?    Secure  thy  heart, 
If  I  would  broach  the  vessels  of  my  love, 
And  try  the  argument  of  hearts  by  borrowing, 
Men,  and  men's  fortunes,  could  I  frankly  use, 
As  I  can  bid  thee  speak. 

riavius. 
Assurance  bless  your  thoughts  1 
Timon. 
And,  in  some  sort,  these  wants  of  mine  are 
crown'd, 
That  1  account  them  blessings  ;  for  by  these 
Shall  I  try  friends.    You  shall  perceive,  how  you 
Mistake  my  fortunes  ;  I  am  wealthy  in  my  friends. 
Within  there!— Flaminiusl  Seroiliusl 

Enter  Flaminius,  Servilius,  and  other  Servants. 
Servants. 
My  lord,  my  lord,— 

Timon. 

I  will  despatch  you  severally You,  to  lord 

Lucius;—  to  lord  Lucullus  you;  I  hunted  with 
his  honour  to-day : — you,  to  Sempronius.  Com- 
mend me  to  their  loves  ;  and,  I  am  proud,  say, 
that  my  occasions  have  found  time  to  use  them 
toward  a  supply  of  money :  let  the  request  be 
fifty  talents. 

Flaminius. 
As  you  have  said,  my  lord. 
Flavius. 
Lord  Lucius,  and  Lucullus  f  humph  1 

Timon. 
Go   you,    sir,  [To  another  Servant]  to  the 
senators, 
(Of  whom,  even  to  the  state's  best  health,  I  have 
Deserv'd  this  hearing)  bid  'em  send  o'  the  instant 
A  thousand  talents  to  me. 
Flavius. 

I  have  been  bold, 
(For  that  I  knew  it  the  most  general  way) 
To  them  to  use  your  signet,  and  your  name  ; 
But  they  do  shake  their  heads,  and  I  am  here 
No  richer  in  return. 

Timon. 

Is't  true?  can't  be? 
Flavius. 
They  answer,  in  a  joint  and  corporate  voice, 
That  now  they  are  at  fall,  want  treasure,  cannot 
Do  what  they  would ;  are  sorry — you  are  honour- 
able,— 
Butyet  they  could  havewish'd— they  knownot — 
Something  hath  been  amiss _a  noble  nature 
May  catch  a  wrench — would  all  were  well— 'Us 

Pity :  — 
And  so,  intending  other  serious  matters, 
After  distasteful  looks,  and  these  hard  tractions, 
With  certain  half-caps,  and  cold-moving  nods, 
They  froze  me  into  silence. 
Timon. 

You  gods,  reward  them  !  — 
3  ■  Pr'ythee, 


83+ 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  v. 


Pr'ythee,  man,  look  cheerly :  these  old  fellows    j 
Have  their  ingratitude  in  them  hereditary : 
Their  blood  is  cak'd,  'tis  cold,  it  seldom  flows  ;    j 
'Tis  lack  of  kindly  warmth  they  are  not  kind, 
And  nature,  as  it  grows  again  toward  earth, 
Is  fashion'd  for  the  journey,  dull,  and  heavy — 
Go  to  Ventidius,— (To  a  Servant.]    'Pr'ythee, 

[To  Flavins,}  be  not  sad, 
Thou  art  true,  and  honest:  ingeniously  I  speak, 
No  blame  belongs  to  thee.— fro  Servant.]  Yen- 

tiilius  lately 
Buried  his  father  ;  by  whose  death,  he's  stepp'd 
Into  a  great  estate :  when  he  was  poor, 
Imprison'd,  and  in  scarcity  of  friends, 
1  clear'd  him  with  five  talents  :  greet  him  from 
Bid  him  suppose  some  good  necessity         [me  ; 
Touches  his  friend,  which  craves  to  be  remem- 

ber'd 
With  those  five  talents :  — that  had,  [To  Fla- 
vins] give  it  these  fellows 
To  whom  'tis  instant  due.   Ne'er  speak,  or  think, 
That  Timon,i  fortunes  'mong  his  friends  can 
sink. 

Flavius. 
I  would,  I  could  not  think  it :  that  thought  is 
bounty's  foe ; 
Being  free  itself,  it  thinks  all  others  so. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE 


The  same.    A  Room  in  Lucullus's 
House. 

Flaminius  waiting.    Enter  a  Servant  to  him. 
Servant. 

I  HAVE  told  my  lord  of  you;  he  is  coming 
down  to  you. 

Flaminius. 
I  thank  you,  sir. 

Enter  Lucullus. 
Servant. 
Here's  my  lord. 

Lucullus.                      TAside.  i 
One  of  lord  Timon's  men  ?  a  gift,  I  warrant.  • 
Why,  this  hits  right ;  I  dreamt  of  a  silver  bason* 
and  ewer  to-night.    Flaminius,  honest  Flami- 
nius, you  are  very  respectively  welcome,  sir : 

Fill  me  some  wine.-[Exit  Servant.]  And  howj 
does  that  honourable  complete,  free-hearted, 
gentleman  of  Athens,  thy  very  bountiful  good! 
lord  and  master  ? 

Flaminius. 
His  health  is  well,  sir. 

Lucullus. 
I  am  right  glad  that  his  health  is  well,  sir. 
And  what  hast  thou  there  under   thy  cloak, 
pretty  Flaminius  t 

Flaminius. 
'Faith,  nothing  but  an  empty  box,  sir,  which, 
in  my  lord's  behalf,  I  come  to  entreat  your 
honour  to  supply ;  who,  having  great  and  instant 
occasion  to  use  fifty  talents,  hath  sent  to  your 
lordship  to  furnish  him,  nothing  doubting  your 
present  assistance  therein. 
Lucullus. 
La,  la,  la,  la,— nothing  doubting,  says  he? 
alas,  good  lord !  a  noble  gentleman  'tis,  if  he 
would  not  keep  so  good  a  house.    Many  a  time 
and  often  I  have  dined  with  him,  and  told  him 


on't ;  and  come  again  to  supper  to  him,  of  pur- 
pose to  have  him  spend  less,  and  yet  he  would 
embrace  no  counsel,  take  no  warning  by  my 
coming.  Every  man  has  his  fault,  and  honesty 
is  his :  I  have  told  him  on't,  but  I  could  ne'er 
get  him  from  it. 

Re-enter  Servant  with  Wine. 

Servant. 
Please  your  lordship,  here  is  the  wine. 

Lucullus. 
Flaminius,  I  have  noted  thee  always  wise 
Here's  to  thee. 

Flaminius. 
Your  lordship  speaks  your  pleasure. 

Lucullus. 
I  have  observed  thee  always  for  a  towardly 
prompt  spirit,  —  give  thee  thy  due, — and  one 
that  knows  what  belongs  to  reason  ;  and  canst 
use  the  time  well,  if  the  time  use  thee  well : 
good  parts  in  thee.— Get  you  gone,  sirrah.— [To 
the  Servant,  who  goes  out.]— Draw  nearer, 
honest  Flaminius.  Thy  lord's  a  bountiful  gen- 
tleman ;  but  thou  art  wise,  and  thou  knowest 
well  enough,  although  thou  comest  to  me,  that 
this  is  no  time  to  lend  money,  especially  upon 
bare  friendship,  without  security.  Here's  three 
solidares  for  thee:  good  boy,  wink  at  me,  and 
say,  thou  saw'st  me  not.    Fare  thee  well. 

Flaminius. 
Is't  possible,  the  world  should  so  much  differ, 
And  we  alive  that  liv'd  ?  Fly,  damned  baseness, 
To  him  that  worships  thee. 

[Throwing  the  Money  away. 

Lucullus. 
Ha !  now  I  see  thou  art  a  fool,  and  fit  for  thy 
master.  [Exit  Lucullus. 

Flaminiut. 
May  these  add  to  the  number  that  may  scald 
Let  molten  coin  be  thy  damnation,  [thee ! 

Thou  disease  of  a  friend,  and  not  himself  1 
Has  friendship  such  a  faint  and  milky  heart, 
It  turns  in  less  than  two  nights  ?    O  you  gods ! 
I  feel  my  master's  passion.    This  slave, 
Unto  his  honour,  has  my  lord's  meat  in  him  : 
Why  should  it  thrive,  and  turn  to  nutriment, 
When  he  is  turn'd  to  poison  ? 
O,  may  diseases  only  work  upon't! 
And,  when  he's  sick  to  death,  let  not  that  part 

of  nature, 
Which  my  lord  paid  for,  be  of  any  power 
To  expel  sickness,  but  prolong  his  hour  ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Lucius,  with  three  Strangers. 
Lucius. 
Who  ?  the  lord  Timon  f  he  is  my  very  good 
friend,  and  an  honourable  gentleman. 
First  Stranger. 
We  know  him  for  no  less^  though  we  are  but 
strangers  to  him.    But  I  can  tell  you  one  thing, 
my  lord,  and  which  I  hear  from  common  ru- 
mours :  now  lord  Timon's  happy  hours  are  done 
and  past,  and  his  estate  shrinks  from  him. 
Lucius. 
Fie !  no,  do  not  believe  it ;  he  cannot  want  for 
money. 

Second  Stranger. 
But  believe  you  this,  my  lord,  that,  not  long 
ago,  one  of  his  men  was  with  the  lord  Lucullus, 
to  borrow  so  many  talents ;  nay,  urged  extremely 


Act  hi.  Sc.  hi. 


TIMON  OF  ATII1.NS. 


835 


for't,  ami  showed  what  necessity  belonged  to't, 
ami  n|  was  denied. 

Lucius. 

How? 

Second  Stranger. 

I  tell  you,  denied,  my  lord. 
Lucius. 
What  a  strange  case  was  that !  now,  before  the 
gods,  I  am  asham'd  on't.  Denied  that  honour- 
able man  ?  there  was  very  little  honour  showed 
in't.  For  my  own  part,  1  must  needs  confess,  I 
have  received  some  small  kindnesses  from  him, 
as  money,  plate,  jewels,  and  such  like  trifles, 
nothing  comparing  to  his  ;  yet,  had  he  mistook 
him,  and  sent  to  me,  I  should  ne'er  have  denied 
his  occasion  so  many  talents. 

Enter  Servilius. 
Serviliui. 
See,  by  good  hap,  yonder's  my  lord ;  I  have 
sweat  to  see  his  honour.— My  honoured  U>fdfc— 
[  To  Lucius. 
Lucius. 
Serviliui  !  you  are  kindly  met,  sir.    Fare  thee 
well:  commend  me  to  thy  honourable-virtuous 
lord,  my  very  exquisite  friend. 
Servilius. 
May  it  please  your  honour,  my  lord  hath  sent— 

Lucius. 
Ha  !  what  h  is  he  sent  ?    I  am  so  much  en- 
deared to  that  lord,  he's  ever  sending:  how 
shall  I  thank  him,  thinkest  thou  ?    And  what 
has  he  sent  now  ? 

Scrvilius. 

He  has  only  sent  his  present  occasion  now, 
my  lord  ;  requesting  your  lordship  to  supply  his 
instant  use  with  so  many  talents. 
Lucius. 
I  know,  his  lordship  is  but  merry  with  me : 
He  cannot  want  fifty-five  hundred  talents. 
Servilius. 
But  in  the  mean  time  he  wants  less,  my  lord. 
If  his  occasion  were  not  virtuous, 
I  should  not  urge  it  half  so  faithfully. 
Lucius. 
I      Dost  thou  speak  seriously,  Servilius  f 
Servilius. 
Upon  my  soul,  'tis  true,  sir. 

Lucius. 
What  a  wicked  beast  was  I,  to  disfurnish  my- 
self  against  such  a  good  time,  when  1  might  have 
\  shown  myself  honourable  I  how  unluckily  it  hap- 
•  peued,  that  I  should  purchase  the  day  before  for 
a  little  part,  and  undo  a  great  deal  of  honour !  — 
j  Servilius,  now  before  the  gods,  I  am  not  able  to 
do ;  the  more  beast,  I  say. — I  was  sending  to  use 
lord  Timon  myself,  these  gentlemen  can  witness ; 
but  I  would  not,  for  the  wealth  of  Athens,  I  had 
done  it  now.    Commend  me  bountifully  to  his 
I  good  lordship ;  and  I  hope,  his  honour  will  con- 
ceive the  fairest  of  me,  because  I  have  no  power 
]  to  be  kind  : — and  tell  him  this  from  me,  I  count 
'  it  one  of  my  greatest  afflictions,  say,  that  I  can- 
:  not  pleasure  such  an  honourable  gentleman. 
Good  Servilius,  will  you  befriend  me  so  far,  as  to 
;  use  mine  own  words  to  him  ? 
Scrvilius. 
Yes,  sir,  I  shall. 

Lucius. 
I'll  look  you  out  a  good  turn,  Servilius— 

[Exit  Servilius. 
True,  as  you  said,  Timon  is  shrunk  indeed  ; 
And  he  that's  once  denied  will  hardly  speed. 

[Ehtluciu.*. 


First  Stranger. 
Do  you  observe  this,  HostiliusT 
Second  Stranger. 
Ay,  too  well. 

First  Stranger. 
Why  this 
Is  the  world's  soul ;  and  just  of  the  sam*  piece 
Is  every  flatterer's  sport.     Who  can  call  him 
His  friend,  that  dips  in  the  same  dish  ?  for,  in 
My  knowing.  Timon  has  been  this  lord's  father, 
And  kept  his  credit  with  his  purse, 
Supported  his  estate  ;  nay,  Timon't  money 
Has  paid  his  men  their  wages :  he  ne'er  drinks, 
But  Timon'*  silver  treads  upon  his  lip  ; 
And  yet,  (O,  see  the  monstrousness  of  man 
When  he  looks  out  in  an  ungrateful  shape !) 
He  does  deny  him,  in  respect  of  his, 
What  charitable  men  afford  to  beggars. 

Third  Stranger 
Religion  groans  at  it. 

First  Stranger. 

For  mine  own,  part, 
I  never  tasted  Timon  in  my  life, 
Nor  came  any  of  his  bounties  over  me, 
To  mark  me  for  his  friend  ;  yet,  I  protest, 
For  his  right  noble  mind,  illustrious  virtue, 
And  honourable  carriage, 
Had  his  necessity  made  use  of  me, 
I  would  have  put  my  wealth  into  donation, 
And  the  best  half  should  have  return'd  to  him, 
So  much  I  love  his  heart.    But,  I  perceive, 
Men  must  learn  now  with  pity  to  dispense: 
For  policy  sits  above  conscience.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Room  In  Sem- 
pronius's  House. 

Enter  Sempronius,  and  a  Servant  of  Timoti'i. 

Sempronius. 
Must  he  needs  trouble  me  In't  ?     Humph  ! 

'Bove  all  others  ? 
He  might  have  tried  lord  Lucius,  or  Lucullut ; 
And  now  Ventidius  is  wealthy  too, 
Whom  he  redeem'd  from  prison  :  all  these 
Owe  their  estates  unto  him. 
Servant. 

My  lord. 
They  have  all  been  touch'd,  and  found  base 
For  they  have  all  denied  him.  [metal ; 

Sempronius. 

How  !  have  they  denied  him  ? 
Have  Ventidius  and  Lucullus  denied  him  ? 
And  does  he  send  to  me  ?    Three  ?  humph  1 
It  shows  but  little  love  or  judgment  in  him  : 
Must  I  be  his  last  refuge  ?     His  friends,  like 

physicians, 
Thrice  give  him  over  !   must  I  take  the  cure 

upon  me  ? 
He  has  much  disgrae'd  me  in't :  I  am  angry  at 

him, 
That  might  have  known  my  place.    I  see  no 

sense  for't. 
But  his  occasions  might  have  woo'd  me  first ; 
For,  in  my  conscience,  I  was  the  first  man 
That  e'er  received  gift  from  him : 
And  does  he  think  so  backwardly  of  me  now, 
That  I'll  requite  it  last  ?    No  :  so  it  may  prove 
An  argument  of  laughter  to  the  rest, 
And  amongst  lords  I  be  thought  a  fool. 
I  had  rather  than  the  worth  of  thrice  the  sum, 
He  had  sent  to  me  first,  but  for  my  mind's  sake ; 
I'd  such  a  courage  to  do  him  good.    But  now 

return. 


836 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  hi. 


And  with  their  faint  reply  this  answer  join  ; 
Who  bates  mine  honour  shall  not  know  my  coin. 

(Exit. 
Servant. 
Excellent  1  Your  lordship's  a  goodly  villain. 
The  devil  knew  not  what  he  did,  when  he  made 
man  politic ;  he  crossed  himself  by't :  and  I  can- 
not think,  but,  in  the  end,  the  villainies  of  man 
will  set  him  clear.  How  fairly  this  lord  strives 
to  appear  foul  ?  takes  virtuous  copies  to  be 
wicked  ;  like  those  that,  under  hot  ardent  zeal, 
would  set  whole  realms  on  fire.  Of  such  a 
nature  is  his  politic  love. 
This  was  my  lord's  best  hope ;  now  all  are  fled, 
Save  only  the  gods.  Now  his  friends  are  dead, 
Doors,  that  were  ne'er  acquainted  with  their 

wards 
Many  a  bounteous  year,  must  be  employ'd 
Now  to  guard  sure  their  master : 
And  this  is  all  a  liberal  course  allows  ; 
Who  cannot  keep  his  wealth  must  keep  his 


house. 


[Exit. 


SCENE  IV.    The  same.    A  Hall  in  Timon's 
House. 

Enter  Two  Servants  of  Varro,  and  the  Servant 
of  Lucius,  meeting  Titus,  Hortensius,  and 
other  Servants  to  Timon's  Creditors,  waiting 
his  coming  out. 

Varro's  Servant. 
Well  met ;    good-morrow,   Titus   and    Hor- 
tensius. 

Titus. 
The  like  to  you,  kind  Varro. 

Hortensius. 

Lucius  t 
What,  do  we  meet  together  ? 

Lucius's  Servant. 

Ay  ;  and,  I  think, 
One  business  does  command  us  all,  for  mine 
It  money. 

Titus. 
So  is  theirs,  and  ours. 

Enter  Philotus. 

Lucius's  Servant. 

And,  sir, 
Philotus  too ! 

Philotus. 
Good  day  at  once. 
Lucius's  Servant. 

Welcome,  good  brother. 
What  do  you  think  the  hour  ? 
Philotus. 

Labouring  for  nine. 
Lucius's  Servant. 
So  much  ? 

Philotus. 
Is  not  my  lord  seen  yet  • 
Lucius  s  Servant. 

Not  yet. 
Philotus. 
I  wonder  on't :  he  was  wont  to  shine  at  seven. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Ay,  but  the  days  are  waxed  shorter  with  him  : 
You  must  consider,  that  a  prodigal  course 
Is  like  the  sun's  ;  but  not,  like  his,  recoverable. 
I  fear,  'tis  deepest  winter  in  lord  Timon's  purse ; 
That  is,  one  may  reach  deep  enough,  and  yet 
Find  little. 

Philotus. 
I  am  of  your  fear  for  that. 


Titus. 
I'll  show  you  how  t'  observe  a  strange  event. 
Your  lord  sends  now  for  money. 
Hortensius. 

Most  true,  he  does. 
Titus. 
And  he  wears  jewels  now  of  Timon's  gift, 
For  which  I  wait  for  money. 
Hortensius. 
It  is  against  my  heart. 

Lucius's  Servant. 

Mark,  how  strange  it  shows, 
Timon  in  this  should  pay  more  than  he  owes : 
And  e'en  as  if  your  lord  should  wear  rich  jewels, 
And  send  for  money  for  'em. 
Hortensius. 
I'm  weary  of  this  charge,  the  gods  can  witness : 
I  know,  my  lord  hath  spent  of  Timon's  wealth. 
And  now  ingratitude  makes  it  worse  than  stealth. 
Varro's  First  Servant. 
Yes,  mine's  three  thousand  crowns;  what's 
yours  ? 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Five  thousand  mine. 

Varro's  First  Servant. 
'Tis  much  deep:  and  it  should  seem  by  the 
sum, 
Your  master's  confidence  was  above  mine ; 
Else,  surely,  his  had  equall'd. 

Enter  Flaminius. 
Titus. 
One  of  lord  Timon's  men. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Flaminius!     Sir,  a  word.    Pray,  is  my  lord 
ready  to  come  forth  ? 

Flaminius. 
No,  indeed,  he  is  not. 

Titus. 
We   attend   his    lordship:    pray,  signify  so 
much. 

Flaminius. 
I  need  not  tell  him  that ;  he  knows,  you  are 
too  diligent.  [Exit  Flaminius. 

Enter  Flavius  in  a  Cloak,  muffled. 
Lucius's  Servant. 
Ha  !  is  not  that  his  Steward  muffled  so  ? 
He  goes  away  in  a  cloud  :  call  him,  call  him. 
Titus. 
Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 

Varro's  First  Servant. 
By  vour  leave,  sir,  — 

Flavin?. 
What  do  you  ask  of  me,  my  friend  ? 

Titus. 
We  wait  for  certain  money  here,  sir. 
Flavitu. 

Ay, 
If  money  were  as  certain  as  your  waiting,    [not, 
'Twere  sure  enough.    Why  then  preferr'd  you 
Your  sums  and  bills,  when  your  false  masters  ate 
Of  my  lord  s  meat  •    Then,  they  could  smile, 

and  fawn 
Upon  his  debts,  and  take  down  the  interest 
Into  their  gluttonous  maws.  You  do  yourselves 

but  wrong, 
To  stir  me  up ;  let  me  pass  quietly : 
Believe't,  my  lord  and  I  have  made  an  end; 
I  have  no  more  to  reckon,  he  to  spend. 

Lucius's 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


*57 


Lucius's  S<  r 

Ay,  but  this  answer  will  not  serve. 

.in  J. 

If 'twill  not  serve, 
•Tis  not  so  base  as  you ;  for  you  servo  knaves. 

[Exit. 
Varro's  First  Servant. 
How  1  what  does  his  cashier'd  worship  mutter  ? 

Varro's  Second  Servant. 
No  matter  what :  he's  poor,  and  that's  revenge 
enough.     Who  can  speak  broader  than  he  that 
has  no  house  to  put  his  head  in  ?  such  may  rail 
against  great  buildings. 

Enter  Seii'ilitts. 

Titus. 
O !  here's  Servilius;  now  we  shall  know  some 
i  answer. 

Servilius. 
If  I  might  beseech  you,  gentlemen,  to  repair 
I  some  other  hour,  I  should  derive  much  from't ; 
for,  take't  of  my  soul,  my  lord  leans  wondrously 
to  discontent.  His  comfortable  temper  has  for- 
sook him :  he's  much  out  of  health,  and  keeps 
his  chamber. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Many  do  keep  their  chambers,  are  not  sick : 
And  it'  it  be  so  far  beyond  his  health, 
Methinks,  he  should  the  sooner  pay  his  debts, 
And  make  a  clear  way  to  the  gods. 

Servilius. 

Good  gods  J 
Titus. 
We  cannot  take  this  for  answer,  sir. 

Flaminius.  [Within. 

Servilius,  help !— my  lord !  my  lord  I 

Enter  Timon,  in  a  rage!    Flaminius,  following. 

Timon. 
What !  are  my  doors  oppos'd  against  my  pas- 
sage? 
Have  I  been  ever  free,  and  must  my  house 
Be  my  retentive  enemy,  my  gaol  ? 
The  place  which  I  have  feasted,  does  it  now, 
Like  all  mankind,  show  me  an  iron  heart  ? 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Put  in  now,  Titus. 

Titus. 
My  lord,  here  is  my  bill. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Here's  mine. 

llortensius's  Servant. 
And  mine,  my  lord. 

Both  Varro's  Servants. 
And  ours,  my  lord. 

Philotus. 
All  our  bills. 

Timon. 
Knock  me  down  with  'em :  cleave  me  to  the 
girdle. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Alas  1  my  lord,— 

Timon. 
Cut  my  heart  in  sums. 

Titus. 
Mine,  fifty  talents. 

Timon. 
Tell  out  my  blood. 

Lucius's  Servant. 
Five  thousand  crowns,  my  lord. 


Five  thousand  drops  pays  that.— 
What  yours  ?— and  yours  r 

Varro's  First  Servant. 
My  lord,  - 

Varro's  Second  Servant. 
My  lord,- 

Timon. 


Tear  me,  take  me;  and  the  gods  fall  jpon 

"Exit. 


you! 


I      Faith,  I  perceive  our  masters  may  throw  their 
caps  at  their  money :  these  debts  may  well  be 
called  desperate  ones,  for  a  madman  owes  'em. 
[Exeunt. 

Ke- enter  Timon  and  FLivius. 

Timon. 

They  have  e'en  put  my  breath  from  me,  the 

Creditors  ? — devils  1  [slaves  : 

Flavius. 

My  dear  lord,— 

Timon. 
What  if  it  should  be  so? 

Flavius. 
My  lord,— 

Timon. 
I'll  have  it  so.  — My  steward ! 

Flavius. 
Here,  my  lord. 

Timon. 
So  fitly  ?    Go,  bid  all  my  friends  again, 
Lucius,  Lucullus,  and  Sempronius;  all : 
I'll  once  more  feast  the  rascals. 
Flavius. 

O  my  lord  I 
You  only  speak  from  your  distracted  soul : 
There  is  not  so  much  left  to  furnish  out 
A  moderate  table. 

Timon. 

Be't  not  in  thy  care :  go, 
I  charge  thee ;  invite  them  all :  let  in  the  tide 
Of  knaves  once  more ;  my  cook  and  I'll  provide. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    The  same.    The  Senate-House. 
The  Senate  sitting.    Enter  Alcibiadcs,  attended. 
First  Senator. 
My  lord,  you  have  my  voice  to't :  the  fault's 
bloody ;  'tis  necessary  he  should  die. 
Nothing  emboldens  sin  so  much  as  mercy. 
Second  Senator. 
Most  true;  the  law  shall  bruise  him. 

Alcibiades. 
Honour,  health,  and  compassion  to  the  senate ! 

First  Senator. 
Now,  captain? 

Alcibiadcs. 
I  am  an  humble  suitor  to  your  virtues  ; 
For  pity  is  the  virtue  of  the  law, 
And  none  but  tyrants  use  it  cruelly. 
It  pleases  time  and  fortune  to  lie  heavy 
Upon  a  friend  of  mine  ;  who,  in  hot  blood, 
Hath  stepp'd  into  the  law,  which  is  past  depth 
To  those  that  without  heed  do  plunge  into  't. 
He  is  a  man,  setting  his  fate  aside, 
Of  comely  virtues: 

Nor  did  he  soil  the  fact  with  cowardice  ; 
(An  honour  in  him  which  buys  out  his  fault) 
But,  with  a  noble  fury,  and  fair  spirit. 
Seeing  his  reputation  touch'd  to  death, 
He  did  oppose  his  foe : 

And 


838 


TIMON  OY  ATHENS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


And  with  such  sober  and  unnoted  passion 
He  did  behave  his  anger,  ere  'twas  spent, 
As  if  he  had  but  prov'd  an  argument. 
First  Senator. 
You  undergo  too  strict  a  paradox, 
Striving  to  make  an  ugly  deed  look  fair  : 
Your  words  have  took  such  pains,  as  if  they 

labour'd 
To   bring   manslaughter   into   form,   and   set 

quarrelling 
Upon  the  head  of  valour ;  which,  indeed, 
Is  valour  misbegot,  and  came  into  the  world 
When  sects  and  factions  were  newly  born. 
He's  truly  valiant,  that  can  wisely  suffer 
The  worst  that  man  can  breathe,  and  make  his 

wrongs 
His  outsides;  to  wear  them  like  his  raiment, 

carelessly, 
And  ne'er  prefer  his  Injuries  to  his  heart, 
To  bring  it  into  danger. 
If  wrongs  be  evils,  and  enforce  us  kill, 
What  folly  'tis  to  hazard  life  for  ill  ? 
Alcibiados. 
My  lord,— 

First  Senator. 
You  cannot  make  gross  sins  look  clear : 
To  revenge  is  no  valour  but  to  bear. 

Alcibiades. 
My  lords,  then,  under  favour,  pardon  me, 
If  I  speak  like  a  captain. 
Why  do  fond  men  expose  themselves  to  battle, 
And  not  endure  all  threats  ?  sleep  upon't, 
And  let  the  foes  quietly  cut  their  throats, 
Without  repugnancy  ?  if  there  be 
Such  valour  in  the  bearing,  what  make  we 
Abroad  ?  why  then,  women  are  more  valiant, 
That  stay  at  home,  if  bearing  carry  it,     [fellow, 
And  the  ass  more  captain  than  the  lion  ;   the 
Loaden  with  irons,  wiser  than  the  judge, 
If  wisdom  be  in  suffering.     O,  my  lords  1 
As  you  are  great,  be  pitifully  good : 
Who  cannot  condemn  rashness  in  cold  blood? 
To  kill,  I  grant,  is  sin's  extremest  gust ; 
But  in  defence,  by  mercy,  'tis  most  just. 
To  be  in  anger,  is  impiety  ; 
But  who  is  man,  that  is  not  angry  ? 
Weigh  but  the  crime  with  this. 
Second  Senator. 
You  breathe  in  vain. 

Alcibiades. 

In  vain  ?  his  service  done 
At  Lacedcemon,  and  Byzantium, 
Were  a  sufficient  briber  for  his  life. 
First  Senator. 
What's  that  ? 

Alcibiades. 
Why,  say,  my  lords,  he  has  done  fair  service, 
And  slain  in  fight  many  of  your  enemies. 
How  full  of  valour  did  he  bear  himself 
In  the  last  conflict,  and  made  plenteous  wounds  ? 
Second  Senator. 
He  has  made  too  much  plenty  with  him, 
He's  a  sworn  rioter :  he  has  a  sin,  that  often 
Drowns  him,  and  takes  his  valour  prisoner 
If  there  were  no  foes,  that  were  enough 
To  overcome  him  :  in  that  beastly  fury 
He  has  been  known  to  commit  outrages, 
And  cherish  factions.     'Tis  inferr'd  to  us, 
His  days  are  foul,  and  his  drink  dangerous. 
First  Senator. 
He  dies. 

Alcibiades. 
Hard  fate  !  he  might  have  died  in  war. 


My  lords,  if  not  for  any  parts  in  him,         [time, 
Though  his  right  arm  might  purchase  his  own 
And  be  in  debt  to  none,  yet,  more  to  move  you, 
Take  my  deserts  to  his,  and  join  them  both: 
And  for,  I  know,  your  reverend  ages  love 
Security,  I'll  pawn  my  victories,  all 
My  honour  to  you,  upon  his  good  returns. 
If  by  this  crime  he  owes  the  law  his  life, 
Why,  let  the  war  receive't  in  valiant  gore ; 
For  law  is  strict,  and  war  is  nothing  more. 
First  Senator. 
We  are  for  law:  he  dies ;  urge  it  no  more, 
On    height    of   our    displeasure.      Friend,    or 

brother, 
He  forfeits  his  own  blood  that  spills  another. 
Alcibiades. 
Must  it  be  so  ?  it  must  not  be.    My  lords, 
I  do  beseech  you,  know  me. 

Second  Senator. 
How! 

Alcibiades. 
Call  me  to  your  remembrances. 
Third  Senator. 

What ! 

Alcibiades. 
I  cannot  think,  but  your  age  has  forgot  me ; 
It  could  not  else  be,  I  should  prove  so  base, 
To  sue,  and  be  denied  such  common  grace. 
My  wounds  ache  at  you. 

First  Senator. 

Do  you  dare  our  anger  ? 
'Tis  in  few  words,  but  spacious  in  effect : 
We  banish  thee  for  ever. 

Alcibiades. 

Banish  me ! 
Banish  your  dotage,  banish  usury, 
That  makes  the  senate  ugly. 

First  Senator. 

If,  after  two  days'  shine  Athens  contain  thee, 

Attend  our  weightier  judgment.    And,  not  to 

swell  our  spirit. 
He  shall  be  executed  presently. 

tExeunt  Senators. 
Alcibiades. 
Now  the  gods  keep  you  old  enough  ;  that  you 
may  live 
Only  in  bone,  that  none  may  look  on  you  ! 
I  am  worse  than  mad:  I  have  kept  back  their 

foes, 
While  they  have  told  their  money,  and  let  out 
Their  coin  upon  large  interest ;  I  myself, 
Rich  only  in  large  hurts :  —  all  those,  for  this  ? 
Is  this  the  balsam,  that  the  usuring  senate 
Pours  into  captains'  wounds  ?    Banishment ! 
It  comes  not  ill ;  I  hate  not  to  be  banish'd: 
It  is  a  cause  worthy  my  spleen  and  fury, 
That  I  may  strike  at  Athens.     I'll  cheer  up 
My  discontented  troops,  and  lay  for  hearts. 
'Tis  honour  with  most  lands  to  be  at  odds  ; 
Soldiers  should  brook  as  little  wrongs,  as  gods 


Exit. 
SCENE  VI.    A  Banquet-hall  in  Timon's  House. 

Music.    Tables   set  out:    Servants   attending. 
Enter  divers  Lords,  at  several  Doors. 
First  Lord. 
The  good  time  of  day  to  you,  sir. 

Second  Lord. 

I  also  wish  it  to  vou.    I  think,  this  honourable 

lord  did  but  try  us"  this  other  day. 

First  Lord. 

Upon  that  were  my  thoughts  tiring,  when  we 

encountered. 


Aoi  in.   Sc.  vi. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


839 


encountered.     1  hope,  it  is  not  10  low  with  him, 
as  ha  made  it  seem  in  the  trial  of  hit  several 

fririuis. 

It  should  not  be,  by  the  persuasion  of  his  new 
feasting. 

First  Lord. 

1  should  think  so.  He  hath  sent  me  an  earnest 
inviting,  which  many  my  near  occasions  did 
urge  me  to  put  off;  but  he  hath  conjured  me 
beyond  them,  and  I  must  needs  appear. 

Second  Lord. 
In  like  manner  was  I  In  debt  to  my  impor- 
tunate business,  but  he  would  not  hear  my  ex- 
cuse.    I  am  sorry,  when  he  sent  to  borrow  of 
me,  that  my  provision  was  out. 

First  Lord. 
I  am  sick  of  that  grief  too,  as  I  understand 
how  all  things  go. 

Second  Lord. 
Every  man  here's  so.    What  would  he  have 
borrowed  of  you  ? 

First  Lord. 
A  thousand  pieces. 

Second  Lord. 
A  thousand  pieces ! 

First  Lord. 
What  of  you  ? 

Third  Lord. 
He  sent  to  me,  sir, — Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Timon,  and  Attendants. 

Timon. 
With  all  my  heart,  gentlemen  both :  —And 
how  fare  you  ? 

First  Lord. 
Ever  at  the  best,  hearing  well  of  your  lordship. 

Second  Lord. 
The  swallow  follows  not  summer  more  will- 
ing, than  we  your  lordship. 

Timon.  f  Aside. 

Nor  more  willingly  leaves  winter  ;  such  sum- 
mer-birds are  men.  [To  them.J  Gentlemen, 
our  dinner  will  not  recompense  this  long  stay: 
feast  your  ears  with  the  music  awhile,  if  they 
will  fare  so  harshly  o'  the  trumpet's  sound  ;  we 
•hall  to't  presently. 

First  Lord. 
1  hope,  it  remains  not  unkindly  with  your 
lordship,  that  I  returned  you  an  empty  mes- 
senger. 

Timon. 
O,  sir !  let  it  not  trouble  you. 
Second  Lord. 
My  noble  lord,— 

Timon. 
Ah  1  my  good  friend,  what  cheer  ? 

[The  Banquet  brought  in. 
Second  Lord. 
My  most  honourable  lord,  I  am  e'en  sick  of 
shame,  that  when  your  lordship  this  other  day 
sent  to  me,  I  was  so  unfortunate  a  beggar. 

Timon. 
Think  not  on't,  sir. 

Second  Lord. 
If  you  had  sent  but  two  hours  before,— 

Timon. 
Let  it  not  cumber  your  better  remembrance. 
— Come,  bring  in  all  together. 
Second  Lord. 
All  covered  dishes ! 


_      i   .         ,     First  Lord. 
Royal  cheer,  I  warrant  you. 

Third  Lord.      . 
Doubt  not  that.  If  money,  and  the  season  can 
yield  it. 

How  do  you  ?    What  s  the  news  ? 

Third  Lord. 
!     Alcibiades  is  banished  :  hear  you  of  it  ? 

^•W^,b^l.h1ea!SeCOndLOrd'- 

Tlii/d  Iord- 
'Tis  so;  be  sure  of  it 


First  Lord. 

Second  Lord. 

what  ? 


How  ?  how  ? 
I  pray  you,  upon 

My  worthy  friends,  will  you  draw  near? 

Third  Lord. 
I'll  tell  you  more  anon.    Here's  a  noble  feast 


toward 
This  is  the  old  man  sti 


Second  Lord. 


MAr* 


Will'thold?  wi 

Second  Lord. 
It  does  ;  but  time  will — and 


do  conceive. 


Third  Lord. 


Timon. 

Each  man  to  his  stool,  with  that  spur  as  he 
would  to  the  lip  of  his  mistress :  your  diet  shall 
be  in  all  places  alike.  Make  not  a  city  feast  of 
it,  to  let  the  meat  cool  ere  we  can  agree  upon 
the  first  place :  sit,  sit.  The  gods  require  our 
thanks. 

"  You  great  benefactors,  sprinkle  our  society 
with  thankfulness.  For  your  own  gifts  make 
yourselves  praised,  but  reserve  still  to  give,  lest 
your  deities  be  despised.  Lend  to  each  man 
enough,  that  one  need  not  lend  to  another ;  for, 
were  your  godheads  to  borrow  of  men,  men 
would  forsake  the  gods.  Make  the  meat  be 
beloved,  more  than  the  man  that  gives  it.  Let 
no  assembly  of  twenty  be  without  a  score  of 
villains  :  if  there  sit  twelve  women  at  the  table, 
Jet  a  dozen  of  them  be — as  they  are. — The  rest 
of  your  fees,  O  gods  1 — the  senators  of  Athens, 
together  with  the  common  lag  of  people, — what 
is  amiss  in  them,  you  gods  make  suitable  for 
destruction.  For  these,  my  present  friends, — 
as  they  are  to  me  nothing,  so  in  nothing  bless 
them,  and  to  nothing  are  they  welcome." 
Uncover,  dogs,  and  lap. 

[The  Dishes  uncovered  are  full  of  warm 
Water. 

What  does  his  lordship  mean' 

Some  other. 
I  know  not. 

Timon. 
May  you  a  better  feast  never  behold, 
You  knot  of  mouth-friends  !  smoke,  and  luke- 
warm water 
Is  your  perfection.    This  is  Timon's  last ; 
Who  stuck  and  spangled  you  with  flatteries, 
Washes  it  off,  and  sprinkles  in  your  faces 

v  1  »       [Throwing  W'aler  In  their  Faces. 

Your  reeking  villainy.    Live  loath  d,  and  long, 
Most  smiling,  smooth,  detested  parasites, 
Courteous  destroyers,  affable  wolves,  meek  bears; 

You 


S.-jo 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vi. 


You  fools  of  fortune,  trencher-friends,  time's 

flies, 
Cap  and  knee  slaves,  vapours,  and  minute-jacks  ! 
Of  man,  and  beast,  the  infinite  malady 
Crust  you  quite  o'er  ! — What  1  dost  thou  go? 
Soft,    take   thy  physic   first— thou   too,— and 

thou:  — 
[Throws  the  Dishes  at  them,  and  drives 

Stay,  I  will  lend  thee  money,  borrow  none.  — 
What,  all  in  motion  ?    Henceforth  be  no  feast, 
Whereat  a  villain's  not  a  welcome  guest. 
Burn,  house !  sink,  A/hens!  henceforth  hated  be 
Of  Timon,  man,  and  all  humanity  1  [Exit. 

Re-enter  the  Lords,  with  other  Lords  and 
Senators. 


lo?drsSltL°rd- 


How  now,  my 

Second  Lord.  _.        .  m     ' 
Know  you  the  quality  of  lord  Timon 's  fury  ? 

Third  Lord. 
Push  1  did  you  see  my  cap  ? 

Fourth  Lord. 
I  have  lost  ray  gown. 

Third  Lord. 
He's  but  a  mad  lord,  and  nought  but  humour 
sways  him.     He  gave  me  a  jewel  the  other  day, 
and  now  he  has  beat  it  out  of  my  hat :— did  you 
see  my  jewel  ? 

Fourth  Lord. 
Did  you  see  my  cap  ? 

Second  Lord. 
Here  'tis. 

Fourth  Lord. 
Here  lies  my  gown. 

First  Lord. 
Let's  make  no  stay. 

Second  Lord. 
Lord  Timon' 's  mad. 

Third  Lord. 

I  feel't  upon  my  bones. 

Fourth  Lord.      ,  .    M 

One  day  he  gives  us  diamonds,    next    day 
stones.  [Exeunt. 


#••#•#••#■•#••#••#•#••#••#• 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I.    Without  the  Walls  of  Athens. 
Enter  Timon. 

LET  me  look  back  upon  thee,  O  thou  wall, 
That  girdlest  in  those  wolve3  !    Dive  in  the 
earth, 
And  fence  not  Athens!    Matrons,  turn  incon- 
tinent ; 
Obedience  fail  in  children  !  slaves,  and  fools, 
Pluck   the   grave   wrinkled  senate   from   the 

bench, 
And  minister  in  their  steads !  to  general  filths 
Convert  o'  the  instant  green  virginity  1 
Do't  in  your  parents'  eyes!  bankrupts,  hold  fast ; 
Rather  than  render  back,  out  with  your  knives, 
And  cut  your  trusters'  throats  !  bound  servants, 

steal ! 
Large-handed  robbers  your  grave  masters  are, 
And  pill  by  law :  maid,  to  thy  master's  bed ; 


Thy  mistress  is  o'  the  brothel  1  son  of  sixteen. 
Pluck  the  lin'd  crutch  from  thy  old  limping  sire, 
With  it  beat  out  his  brains  !  piety,  and  fear, 
Religion  to  the  gods,  peace,  justice,  truth, 
Domestic  awe,  night-rest,  and  neighbourhood, 
Instruction,  manners,  mysteries,  and  trades, 
Degrees,  observances,  customs,  and  laws, 
Decline  to  your  confounding  contraries, 
And  yet   confusion  live  !  —  Plagues,   incident 

to  men, 
Your  potent  and  infectious  fevers  heap 
On  Athens,  ripe  for  stroke  !  thou  cold  sciatica, 
Cripple  our  senators,  that  their  limbs  may  halt 
As  lamely  as  their  manners  1  lust  and  liberty 
Creep  in  the  minds  and  marrows  of  our  youth, 
That  'gainst  the  stream  of  virtue  they  may 

strive, 
And  drown  themselves  in  riot !  itches,  blains, 
Sow  all  the  Athenian  bosoms,  and  their  crop 
Be  general  leprosy  1  breath  infect  breath, 
That  their  society,  as  their  friendship,  may 
Be  merely  poison !    Nothing  I'll  bear  from  thee, 
But  nakedness,  thou  detestable  town  ! 
Take  thou  that  too,  with  multiplying  bans  1 
Timon  will  to  the  woods  ;  where  he  shall  find 
Th'  unkindest  beast  more  kinder  than  mankind. 
The  gods  confound  (hear  me,  you  good  gods 

all) 
The  Athenians  both  within  and  out  that  wall ! 
And  grant,  as  Timon  grows,  his  hate  may  grow 
To  the  whole  race  of  mankind,  high,  and  low  1 
Amen.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    Athens.    A  Room  in  Timon's 
House. 

Enter  Flavins,  with  two  or  three  Servants. 

First  Servant. 
Hear   you,   master    steward  !    where  s   our 
master  ? 
Are  we  undone  ?  cast  off?  nothing  remaining  ? 

Alack  !  my  fellows,  what  should  I  say  to  you? 
Let  me  be  recorded  by  the  righteous  gods, 
I  am  as  poor  as  you. 

First  Servant, 

Such  a  house  broke  ! 
So  noble  a  master  fallen  1    All  gone,  and  not 
One  friend  to  take  his  fortune  by  the  arm, 
And  go  along  with  him  I 

Second  Servant. 

As  we  do  turn  our  backs 
From  our  companion,  thrown  into  his  grave, 
So  his  familiars  to  his  buried  fortunes 
Slink  all  away ;  leave  their  false  vows  with  him, 
Like  empty  purses  pick'd ;  and  his  poor  self, 
A  dedicated  beggar  to  the  air, 
With  his  disease  of  all-shunn'd  poverty, 
Walks,   like   contempt,  alone — More  of  our 
fellows. 

Enter  other  Servants. 

All  broken  implements  of  a  ruin'd  house. 

Third  Servant.  .  „ 
Yet  do  our  hearts  wear  Timon's  livery. 
That  see  I  by  our  faces :  we  are  fellows  still. 
Serving  alike  in  sorrow.    Leak'd  is  our  bark  ; 
And  we,  poor  mates,  stand  on  the  dying  deck. 
Hearing  the  surges  threat :  we  must  all  part 
Into  this  sea  of  air. 


Good"  fellows  all, 


The  latest  of  my  wealth  I'll  share  amongst  you. 
Wherever 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


*4« 


Wherever  we  shall  meet,  for  Timon'*  lake. 
Lot's  yet  be  fellows;  let's  shake  our  heads,  and 

As  'twere  a  knell  unto  our  master's  fortunes, 

*'  We  have  seen  bettor  days."    Let  each  take 
some;  ig  them  Money. 

Nay,  put  out  all  your  hands.    Not  one  wofd 
more: 

Thus  part  we  rich  In  sorrow,  parting  poor. 

[They  embrace,  and  part  several  wayi. 

O,  the  fierce  wretchedness  that  glory  brings  ds ! 

Who  wtmld  not  wish  to  be  from  wealth  exempt, 

Since  riches  point  to  misery  and  contempt  ? 

Who  would  be  so  mock'd  with  glory  ?  or  to  live 

But  In  a  dream  of  friendship  ? 

To  have  his  pomp,  and  all  what  state  com- 
pounds, 

But  only  painted,  like  his  varnish'd  friends? 

Poor  honest   lord  1   brought  low  by  his  own 
heart ; 

Undone  by  goodness.     Strange,  unusual  blood, 

When  man's  worst  sin  is,  he  does  too  much 
good! 

Who,  then,  dares  to  be  half  so  kind  again  ? 

For  bounty,  that  makes  gods,  does  still  mar 
men. 

My  dearest  lord,— bless'd,  to  be  most  accurs'd, 

Bich,  only  to  be  wretched, — thy  great  fortunes 

Are  made  thy  chief  afflictions.     Alas,  kind  lord  ! 

He's  flung  in  rage  from  this  ingrateful  seat 

Of  monstrous  friends ; 

Nor  has  he  with  him  to  supply  his  life, 

Or  that  which  can  command  it. 

I'll  follow,  and  inquire  him  out : 

I'll  ever  serve  his  mind  with  my  best  will ; 
.  Whilst  I  have  gold  I'll  be  his  steward  still. 

[Kxit. 

SCENE  III.    The  Wood*. 
Enter  Timon. 
Timou 
O,  blessed  breeding  sun!  draw  from  the  earth 
Botten  humidity  ;  below  thy  sister's  orb 
Infect  the  air.   "Twinn'd  brothers  of  one  womb, 
Whose  procreation,  residence,  and  birth, 
Scarce   is  dividant,  touch  them  with  several 

fortunes. 
The  greater  scorns  the  lesser :  not  nature, 
(To  whom  all  sores  lay  siege)  can  bear  great 
But  by  contempt  of  nature.  [fortune, 

Baise  me  this  beg<?ar,  and  deny't  that  lord  ; 
The  senator  shall  bear  contempt  hereditary, 
The  beggar  native  honour. 
It  is  the  pasture  lards  the  rother's  sides, 
The  want  that  makes  him  lean.    Who  dares, 

who  dares, 
In  purity  of  manhood  stand  upright, 
And  say,  "  This  man's  a  flatterer  ?  "  if  one  be, 
So  are  they  all ;  for  every  grise  of  fortune 
Is  smoothed  by  that  below :  the  learned  pate 
Ducks  to  the  golden  fool.    All  is  oblique ; 
There's  nothing  level  in  our  cursed  natures. 
But  direct  villainy.     Therefore,  be  abhorr'd 
All  feasts,  societies,  and  throngs  of  men  ! 
His  semblable,  yea,  himself,  Timon  disdains : 
Destruction  fang  mankind! — Earth,  yield  me 

roots!  [DigBin*. 

Who  seeks  for  better  of  thee,  sauce  his  palate 
With  thy  most  operant  poison — What  is  here  ? 
Gold  ?  yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold  ?    No, 

gods, 
1  am  no  idle  votarist.   Boots,  you  clear  heavens  ! 
Thus  much  of  this  will  make  black,  white;  foul, 

fair; 
Wrong,  right ;  base,  noble ;  old,  young;  coward, 

valiant. 


Ha !  you  gods,  why  this  ?    What  this,  you  gods  ! 

Why,  this 
Will  lug  your  priests  and  servants  from  your 

sides. 
!  Pluck  stout  men's   pillows  from  below  their 

heads, 
i  This  yellow  slave  [curs'd  ; 

Will  "knit  and  break  religions:  bless  th'  ac- 
Make  the  hoar  leprosy  ador'd ;  place  thieves. 
And  give  them  title,  knee,  and  approbation, 
With  senators  on  the  bench  :  this  is  it, 
That  makes  the  wappen'd  widow  wed  again : 
She,  whom  the  spital-house,  and  ulcerous  sores 
Would  cast  the  gorge  at,  this  embalms  and 

spices 
To  the  April  day  again.    Come,  damned  earth, 
Thou  common  whore  of  mankind,  that  put'st 

odds 
Among  the  rout  of  nations,  I  will  make  thee 
Do  thy  right  nature — [March  afar  off.}—  Ha !  a 

drum  ?— Thou'rt  quick, 
But  yet  I'll  bury  thee :  thou'lt  go,  strong  thief, 
When  gouty  keepers  of  thee  cannot  stand. — 
Nay,  stay  tnou  out  for  earnest. 

[Beserving  some  gold. 

Hiiter  Alcibiades,  with  Drum  and  Fife,  in  warlike 
manner;  and  Phrynia  and  Timandra. 

la What  art  thou  there? 
I  Speak. 

Timon. 
A  beast,  as  thou  art.    The  canker  gnaw  thy 
heart, 
;  For  showing  me  again  the  eyes  of  man  ! 

Alcibiades. 
What  is  thy  name?  Is  man  so  hateful  to  thee, 
That  art  thyself  a  man  i 

Timon. 
I  am  misanthntpos,  and  hate  mankind. 
For  thy  part,  I  do  wish  thou  wert  a  dog, 
That  1  might  love  thee  something. 

Alcibiades. 

I  know  thee  well ; 
But  In  thy  fortunes  am  unlearn'd  and  strange. 

Timon. 
I  know  thee  too ;  and  more,  than  that  1  know 
thee, 
I  I  not  desire  to  know.    Follow  thy  drum  ; 
!  With  man's  blood    paint   the    ground,  gules, 

gules: 
Beligious  canons,  civil  laws  are  cruel ;       [thine 
Then  what  should  war  be  ?    This  fell  whore  of 
Hath  in  her  more  destruction  than  thy  sword, 
For  all  her  cherubin  look. 


Phrynia. 

Thy  lips  rot  off! 

Timon. 
1  will  not  kiss  thee ;  then,  the  rot  returns 
J  To  thine  own  lips  again. 

i  Alcibiades. 

How  came  the  noble  Timon  to  this  change  ? 

Timon. 
As  the  moon  does,  by  wanting  light  to  give : 
But  then,  renew  I  could  not,  like  the  moon  ; 
There  were  no  suns  to  borrow  of. 

Alcibiades. 

Noble  Tunon, 
What  friendship  may  I  do  thee  ? 

Timon. 

None,  but  to 
Maintain  my  opinion. 

Alcibiades. 


?4-i 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Alcibiades. 

What  is  it,  Timont 
Timon. 
Promise  me  friendship,  but  perform  none :  if 
thou  wilt  not  promise,  the  gods  plague  thee,  for 
thou  art  a  man  1  if  thou  dost  perform,  confound 
thee,  for  thou  art  a  man  ! 

Alcibiades. 
I  have  heard  in  some  sort  of  thy  miseries. 

Timon. 
Thou  saw'st  them,  when  I  had  prosperity. 

Alcibiades. 
I  see  them  now ;  then  was  a  blessed  time. 

Timon. 
As  thine  is  now,  held  with  a  brace  of  harlots. 

Timandra. 
Is  this  th'  Athenian  minion,  whom  the  world 
Voic'd  so  regardfully  ? 

Timon. 

Art  thou  Timandra  ? 
Timandra. 
Yes. 

Timon. 
Be  a  whore  still !  they  love  thee  not,  that  use 
thee: 
Give  them  diseases,  leaving  with  thee  their  lust. 
Make  use  of  thy  salt  hours ;  season  the  slaves 
For  tubs,  and  baths  ;  bring  down  rose-cheeked 
To  the  tub-fast,  and  the  diet.  [youth 

Timandra. 

Hang  thee,  monster ! 
Alcibiades. 
Pardon  him,  sweet  Timandra,  for  his  wits 
Are  drown'd  and  lost  in  his  calamities — 
I  have  but  little  gold  of  late,  brave  Timon, 
The  want  whereof  doth  daily  make  revolt 
In  my  penurious  band :  I  have  heard  and  griev'd, 
How  cursed  Athens,  mindless  of  thy  worth, 
Forgetting  thy  great  deeds,  when  neighbour 

states, 
But   for  thy  sword  and   fortune,  trod   upon 
them,— 

Timon. 
I  pr'ythee,  beat  thy  drum,  and  get  thee  gone. 

Alcibiades. 
I  am  thy  friend,  and  pity  thee,  dear  Timon. 

Timon. 

How  dost  thou  pity  him,  whom  thou  dost 

I  had  rather  be  alone.  [trouble  ? 

Alcibiades. 

Why,  fare  thee  well : 
Here  is  some  gold  for  thee. 
Timon. 

Keep  it,  I  cannot  eat  it. 
Alcibiades. 
When  I  have  laid  proud  Athens  on  a  heap, — 

Timon. 
Warr'st  thou  'gainst  Athens? 

Alcibiades. 
Ay  Timon,  and  have  cause. 
Timon. 
The  gods  confound  them  all  in  thy  conquest; 
And  thee  after,  when  thou  hast  conquered : 
Alcibiades. 
Why  me,  Timon  t 

Timon. 

That,  by  killing  of  villains, 
Thou  wast  born  to  conquer  my  country. 
Put  up  thy  gold:  go  on,  —  here's  gold,  —  go  on  ; 
Be  as  a  planetary  plague,  when  Jove 


Will  o'er  some  high-vic'd  city  hang  his  poison 
I  In  the  sick  air :  let  not  thy  sword  skip  one. 
Pity  not  honour'd  age  for  his  white  beard  ; 
He  is  an  usurer.    Strike  me  the  counterfeit 
It  is  her  habit  only  that  is  honest,         [matron  ; 
I  Herself 's  a  bawd.     Let  not  the  virgin's  cheek 
'Make  soft  thy  trenchant  sword ;  for  those  milk- 
paps, 
'That  through  the  window-bars  bore  at  men's 
iAre  not  within  the  leaf  of  pity  writ,  [eyes, 

;  But  set  them  down  horrible  traitors.    Spare  not 

the  babe, 
Whose  dimpled  smiles  from  fools  exhaust  their 
Think  it  a  bastard,  whom  the  oracle       [mercy  : 
Hath  doubtfully  pronounc'd  thy  throat  shall  cut, 
And  mince  it  sans  remorse:  swear  against  ob- 
jects ; 
Put  armour  on  thine  ears,  and  on  thine  eyes, 
Whose  proof,  nor  yells  of  mothers,  maids,  nor 

babes, 
Nor  sight  of  priests  in  holy  vestments  bleeding, 
Shall  pierce  a  jot.    There's  gold  to  pay  thy 

soldiers : 
Make  large  confusion  ;  and  thy  fury  spent, 
Confounded  be  thyself  1    Speak  not,  be  gone. 
Alcibiades. 
Hast  thou  gold  yet  ?    I'll  take  the  gold  thou 
Not  all  thy  counsel.  [giv'st  me, 

Timon. 
Dost  thou,  or  dost  thou  not,  heaven's  curse 
upon  thee  1 

Phrynia  and  Timandra. 
Give  us  some  gold,  good  Timon :  hast  thou 
more? 

Timon. 

Enough  to  make  a  whore  forswear  her  trade, 

And  to  make  whores,  a  bawd.    Hold  up,  you 

sluts, 
Your  aprons  mountant :  you  are  not  oathable,— 
Although,  I  know,  you'll  swear,  terribly  swear, 
Into  strong  shudders,  and  to  heavenly  agues, 
The  immortal  gods  that  hear  you,— spare  your 

oaths, 
I'll  trust  to  your  conditions :  be  whores  still ; 
And  he  whose  pious  breath  seeks  to  convert  you, 
Be  strong  in  whore,  allure  him,  burn  him  up ; 
Let  your  close  tire  predominate  his  smoke, 
And  be  no  turncoats.    Yet  may  your  pains,  six 

months, 
Be  quite  contrary :  and  thatch  your  poor  thin 

roofs 
With  burdens  of  the  dead;  — some  that  were 

hang'd, 
No  matter: — wear  them,  betray  with  them: 

whore  still; 
Paint  till  a  horse  may  mire  upon  your  face : 
A  pox  of  wrinkles ! 

Phrynia  and  Timandra. 

Well,  more  gold What  then  ?— 

Believ't,  that  we'll  do  any  thing  for  gold. 
Timon. 
Consumptions  sow  [shins. 

In  hollow  bones  of  man ;   strike  their  sharp 
And  mar  men's  spurring.    Crack  the  lawyer's 

voice, 

That  he  may  never  more  false  title  plead, 
Nor  sound  his  quillets  shrilly :  hoar  the  flamen, 
That  scolds  against  the  quality  of  flesh, 
And  not  believes  himself:  down  with  the  nose, 
Down  with  it  flat ;  take  the  bridge  quite  away 
Of  him,  that  his  particular  to  foresee, 
Smells  from  the  general  weal:  make  curl'd-pate 

ruffians  bald ; 
And  let  the  unscarr'd  braggarts  of  the  war 
Derive  some  pain  from  vou.    Plague  all, 

That 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


TIMON  OF  ATHHNS. 


843 


That  your  activity  may  defeat  and  quell 
The  source  of  all  erection  —There's  more  gold: 
l)o  you  damn  others,  and  let  this  damn  you, 
And  ditches  grave  you  all ' 

IMirynla  and  Timandra. 
More  counsel  with  more  money,  bounteous 
Timon. 

Tlmon. 
More  whore,  more  mischief  first ;  I  have  given 
you  earnest. 

Alclbiadci. 
Strike  up  the  drum  towards  Athens!     Fare- 
well, Timon; 
If  I  thrive  well,  I'll  visit  thee  again. 
Timon. 
If  I  hope  well,  I'll  never  see  thee  more. 

Alcibiades. 
I  never  did  thee  harm. 

Timon. 
Yes,  thou  spok'st  well  of  me. 
Alcibiades. 

Call'st  thou  that  harm  ? 
Timon. 
Men  daily  find  it.    Get  thee  away, 
And  take  thy  beagles  with  thee. 
Alcibiades. 

We  but  offend  him — 
Strike  t 

[Drum  beats.    Exeunt  Alcibiades,  Phrynia, 
and  TimanAm. 

Timon. 
That  nature,  being  sick  of  man's  unkindness, 
Should  yet  be  hungry  1  —  Common  mother,  thou, 
[Digging. 
Whose  womb  unmeasurable,  and  infinite  breast, 
Teems,  and  feeds  all ;  whose  self-same  mettle, 
Whereof  thy  proud  child,  arrogant  man,  is  puff  d, 
Engenders  the  black  toad,  and  adder  blue, 
I  The  gilded  newt,  and  eyeless  venom'd  worm, 

With  all  the  abhorred  births  below  crisp  heaven 
!  Whereon  Hyperion's  quickening  fire  doth  shine ; 
'  Yield  him,  who  all  the  human  sons  doth  hate, 
From  forth  thy  plenteous  bosom,  one  poor  root  I 
F.nsear  thy  fertile  and  conceptions  womb ; 
Let  it  no  more  bring  out  ingrateful  man  ! 
Go   great  with    tigers,    dragons,  wolves,    and 

bears ; 
Teem  with  new  monsters,  whom  thy  upward 
llath  to  the  marbled  mansion  all  above       [face 
Never  presented  l  —  O  1  a  root,  — dear  thanks  ! 
Dry  up  thy  marrows,  vines,  and  plough-torn 

leas; 
Whereof  ingrateful  man,  with  liquorish  draughts, 
And  morsels  unctuous,  greases  his  pure  mind, 
That  from  it  all  consideration  slips 

Enter  Apemantus. 

More  man  ?    Plague  1  plague  I 

Apemantus. 

I  was  directed  hittier:  men  report,        [them. 

Thou  dost  affect  my  manners,  and  dost   use 

Timon. 

'Tis,  then,  because  thou  dost  not  keep  a  dog 

Whom  I  would  imitate.     Consumption  catch 

thee! 

Apemantus. 
This  is  in  thee  a  nature  but  infected  ; 
A  poor  unmanly  melancholy,  sprung      [place  ? 
From  change  of  fortune.     Why  this  spade?  this 
This  slave-like  habit  ?  and  these  looks  of  care? 
Thy  flatterers  yet  wear  silk,  drink  wine,  lie  soft, 
Hug  their  diseas'd  perfumes,  and  have  forgot 
That  ever  Timon  was.     Shame  not  these  woods, 


Hy  putting  on  the  cunning  of  a  carper. 
lit-  thou  a  flatterer  now,  and  seek  to  thrive 
By  that  which  has  undone  thee:  hinge  thy  knee, 
And  let  his  very  breath,  whom  thou'lt  observe, 
Blow  off  thy  cap;  praise  his  most  vicious  strain, 
And  call  it  excellent.     Thou  wast  told  thus ; 
Thou  gav'st  thine  ears,  like  tapsters  that  bade 

welcome, 
To  knaves,  and  all  approachcrs:  'tis  most  just. 
That  thou  turn  rascal ;  had'st  thou  wealth  again, 
ltascals  .should  have't.    Do  not  assume  my  like* 
ness. 

Tlmon. 
Were  I  like  thee,  I'd  throw  away  myself. 

Apemantus. 

Thou  hast  cast  away  thyself,  being  like  thyself; 

A  madman  so  long,  now  a  fool    What !  think'st 

That  the  bleak  air,  thy  boisterous  chamberlain, 

Will  put  thy  shirt  on  warm  ?    Will  these  moist 

trees, 
That  have  outliv'd  the  eagle,  page  thy  heels, 
And  skip  when  thou  point'st  out?    Will  the 

cold  brook, 
Candied  with  ice,  caudle  thy  morning  taste, 
To  cure  thy  o'er-night's  surfeit  ?  call  the  crea- 
tures,— 
Whose  naked  natures  live  in  all  the  spite 
Of  wreakful   heaven,   whose   bare    unhoused 

trunks. 
To  the  conflicting  elements  expos'd, 
Answer  mere  nature, — bid  them  flatter  thee; 
O  ]  thou  Shalt  find— 

Timon. 
A  fool  of  thee.    Depart. 
Apemantus. 
I  love  thee  better  now  than  e'er  I  did. 

Timon. 
I  hate  thee  worse. 

Apemantus. 
Why? 
Timon. 

Thou  flatter'st  misery. 
Apemantus. 
I  flatter  not,  but  say  thou  art  a  caitiff. 

Tlmon. 
Why  dost  thou  seek  me  out  ? 
Apemantus. 

To  vex  thee. 
Timon. 
Always  a  villain's  office,  or  a  fool's. 
Dost  please  thyself  in't  ? 

Apemantus. 
Ay. 
Timon. 

What  I  a  knave  too  ? 
Apemantus. 
If  thou  didst  put  this  sour  cold  habit  on 
To  castigate  thy  pride,  'twere  well ;  but  thou 
Dost  it  enforcedly  :  thou'dst  courtier  be  again, 
Wert  thou  not  beggar.    Willing  misery 
Outlives  incertain  pomp,  is  crown 'd  before : 
The  one  is  filling  still,  never  complete, 
The  other,  at  high  wish  :  best  state,  contentless, 
Hath  a  distracted  and  most  wretched  being, 
Worse  than  the  worst,  content. 
Thou  should'st  desire  to  die,  being  miserable. 
Timon. 
Not  by  his  breath,  that  is  more  miserable. 
Thou  art  a  slave,  whom  Fortune's  tender  arm 
With  favour  never  clasp'd,  but  bred  a  dog. 
Hadst  thou,  like  us,  from  our  first  swath,  pro- 
ceeded 

The 


*44- 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  it.  Sc.  hi. 


The  sweet  degrees  that  this  brief  world  affords 

To  such  as  may  the  passive  drugs  of  it 

Freely  command,  thou  would'st  have  plung'd 

thyself 
In  general  riot ;  melted  down  thy  youth 
In  different  beds  of  lust ;  and  never  learn'd 
The  icy  precepts  of  respect,  but  follow'd 
The  sugar'd  game  before  thee.    But  myself, 
Who  had  the  world  as  my  confectionary ; 
The  mouths,  the  tongues,  the  eyes,  and  hearts 

of  men 
At  duty,  more  than  I  could  frame  employment ; 
That  numberless  upon  me  stuck,  as  leaves 
Do  on  the  oak,  have  with  one  winter's  brush 
Fell  from  their  boughs,  and  left  me  open,  bare 
For  every  storm  that  blows ; —  I,  to  bear  this, 
That  never  knew  but  better,  is  some  burden  : 
Thy  nature  did  commence  in  sufferance,  time 
Hath  made  thee  hard  in't.    Why  should'st  thou 

hate  men  ? 
They  never  flatter 'd  thee :  what  hast  thou  given  ? 
If  thou  wilt  curse,  thy  father,  that  poor  rag, 
Must  be  thy  subject ;  who,  in  spite,  put  stuff 
To  some  she  beggar,  and  compounded  thee 
Poor  rogue  hereditary.    Hence  J  be  gone  ! — 
If  thou  hadst  not  been  born  the  worst  of  men, 
Thou  hadst  been  a  knave,  and  flatterer. 
Apemantus. 

Art  thou  proud  yet  ? 
Timon. 
Ay,  that  I  am  not  thee. 

Apemantus. 

I,  that  I  was 
No  prodigal. 

Timon. 
I,  that  I  am  one  now : 
Were  all  the  wealth  I  have  shut  up  in  thee, 
I'd  give  thee  leave  to  hang  it.   Get  thee  gone. — 
That  the  whole  life  of  Athens  were  in  this  ! 
Thus  would  I  eat  it.  [Eating  a  Koot. 

Apemantus. 

Here;  I  will  mend  thy  feast. 
[Offering  him  something. 

Timon. 
First  mend  my  company,  take  away  thyself. 

Apemantus. 
So  I  shall  mend  mine  own,  by  the  lack  of 
thine. 

Timon. 
'Tis  not  well  mended  so,  it  is  but  botch'd  ; 
if  not,  I  would  it  were. 

Apemantus. 
What  would'st  thou  have  to  Athens  f 

Timon. 

Thee  thither  in  a  whirlwind.    If  thou  wilt, 

Tell  them  there  I  have  gold :  look,  so  I  have. 

Apemantus. 

Here  is  no  use  for  gold. 

Timon. 

The  best,  and  truest ; 
For  here  it  sleeps,  and  does  no  hired  harm. 
Apemantus. 
Where  ly'st  o'  nights,  Timon  t 
Timon. 

Under  that's  above  me. 
Where  feed'st  thou  o'  days,  Apemantus  f 
Apemantus. 
Where  my  stomach  finds  meat ;  or,  rather, 
where  I  eat  it. 

Timon. 
Would  poison  were  obedient,  and  knew  my 
mind  1 


Apemantus. 
Where  would'st  thou  send  it  ? 

Timon. 
To  sauce  thy  dishes. 

Apemantus. 
The  middle  of  humanity  thou  never  knewest, 
but  the  extremity  of  both  ends.    When  thou 
wast  in  thy  gilt,  and  thy  perfume,  they  mocked 
thee  for  too  much  curiosity :  in  thy  rags  thou 
knowest  none,  but  art  despised  for  the  contrary. 
There's  a  medlar  for  thee ;  eat  it. 
Timon. 
On  what  I  hate,  I  feed  not. 

Apemantus. 
Dost  hate  a  medlar  ? 

Timon. 
Ay,  though  it  look  like  thee. 
Apemantus. 
An  thou  hadst  hated  meddlers  sooner,  thou 
should'st  have  loved  thyself  better  now.     What 
man  didst  thou  ever  know  unthrift,  that  was 
beloved  after  his  means  ? 

Timon. 
Who,  without  those  means  thou  talkest  of 
didst  thou  ever  know  beloved  ? 
Apemantus. 
Myself. 

Timon. 
I  understand  thee :  thou  hadst  some  means  to 
keep  a  dog. 

Apemantus. 
What  things  in  the  world  canst  thou  nearest 
compare  to  thy  flatterers  ? 
Timon. 
Women  nearest ;  but  men,  men  are  the  things 
themselves.    What  would'st  thou  do  with  the 
world,  Apemantus,  if  it  lay  in  thy  power  ? 
Apemantus. 
Give  it  the  beasts,  to  be  rid  of  the  men. 

Timon. 
Would'st  thou  have  thyself  fall  in  the  con- 
fusion of  men,  and  rema'in  a  beast  with  the 
beasts  ? 

Apemantus. 
Ay,  Timon. 

Timon. 
A  beastly  ambition,  which  the  gods  grant  thee 
to  attain  to.  If  thou  wert  the  lion,  the  fox  would 
beguile  thee:  if  thou  wert  the  lamb,  the  fox 
would  eat  thee :  if  thou  wert  the  fox,  the  lion 
would  suspect  thee,  when,  peradventure,  thou 
wert  accused  by  the  ass :  if  thou  wert  the  ass, 
thy  dulness  would  torment  thee,  and  still  thou 
livedst  but  as  a  breakfast  to  the  wolf:  if  thou 
wert  the  wolf,  thy  greediness  would  afflict  thee, 
and  oft  thou  should'st  hazard  thy  life  for  thy 
dinner :  wert  thou  the  unicorn,  pride  and  wrath 
would  confound  thee,  and  make  thine  own  self 
the  conquest  of  thy  fury :  wert  thou  a  bear,  thou 
would'st  be  killed  by  the  horse:  wert  thou  a 
liorse,  thou  would'st  be  seized  by  the  leopard: 
wert  thou  a  leopard,  thou  wert  german  to  the 
lion,  and  the  spots  of  thy  kindred  were  jurors 
on  thy  life ;  all  thy  safety  were  remotion,  and 
thy  defence,  absence.  What  beast  could'st  thou 
be,  that  were  not  subject  to  a  beast  ?  and  what 
a  beast  art  thou  already,  that  seest  not  thy  loss 
in  transformation. 

Apemantus.    .  . 
If  thou  could'st  please  me  with  speaking  to 
me,  thou  might'st  have  hit  upon  it  here :  the 
commonwealth  of  Athens  is  become  a  forest  of 


Timon. 


Act  iv.  Sc  in. 


T1M0N  OF  ATHENS. 


UV 


Timon. 
How  has  the  ait  broke  the  wall,  that  thou  art 
out  of  the  city? 

Apemantus. 
Yonder  comes  a  poet,  and  a  painter.    The 
plague  of  company  light  upon  thee  I     I  will  fear 
i  to  catch  it,  and  nive  way.     When  I  know  not 
:  what  else  to  do,  I'll  see  thee  again. 
'1  Unon. 
When  there  is  nothing  living  but  thee,  thou 
i  shalt  be  welcome.     I  had  rather  be  a  beggar's 
dog,  than  Apemanlus. 

Apemantus. 
Thou  art  the  cap  of  all  the  fools  alive. 

Timon. 
Would  thou  wert  clean  enough  to  spit  upon. 

Apemantus. 
A  plague  on  thee,  thou  art  too  bad  to  curse. 

Timon. 
All  villains  that  do  stand  by  thee,  are  pure. 

Apemantus. 
There  is  no  leprosy  but  what  thou  speak'st. 

Timon. 
If  I  name  thee.— 
I'll  beat  thee,  but  I  should  infect  my  hands. 

Apemantus. 
I  would,  my  tongue  could  rot  them  off ! 

Timon. 
Away,  thou  issue  of  a  mangy  dog  I 
Choler  does  kill  me,  that  thou  art  alive  ; 
I  swoon  to  see  thee. 


Timon. 
Apemantus. 


Throng'd  to  ? 
Ay. 


Apemantus. 
Would  thou  would'st  burst ! 

Timon. 

Away, 
Thou  tedious  rogue !  I  am  sorry,  I  shall  lose 
A  stone  by  thee.  [Throws  a  Ston«-  at  hhn . 

Apemantus. 

Timon. 

Slave ! 

Apemantus. 

Toadt 
Timon. 

Rogue,  rogue,  rogue  1 
UpC'nqntus  retreats  backward,  as  going. 
I  am  sick  of  this  false  world,  and  will  love  nought 
But  even  the  mere  necessities  upon't. 
Then,  Timon,  presently  prepare  thy  grave : 
Lie  where  the  light  foam  of  the  sea  may  beat 
Thy  grave-stone  daily  ;  make  thine  epitaph, 
That  death  in  me  at  others'  lives  may  laugh. 
O,  thou  sweet  king-killer,  and  dear  divorce 

•Twixt  natural  son  and  sire!  thou  bright  defiler 
Of  Hymen's  purest  bed  I  thou  valiant  Mars! 
Thou  ever  young,   fresh,   lov'd,  and  delicate 

wooer. 
Whose  blush  doth  thaw  the  consecrated  snow 
That  lies  on  Dion's  lap  1  thou  visible  god, 
That  solder'st  close  impossibilities,        [tongue, 
And  mak'st  them  kiss  !  that  speak'st  with  every 
To  every  purpose  1    O  thou  touch  of  hearts  ! 
Think,  thy  slave  man  rebels  ;  and  by  thy  virtue 
Set  them  into  confounding  odds,  that  beasts 
May  have  the  world  in  empire  1 

Apemantus. 

Would  'twere  so ; 
But  not  till  I  am  dead  !—  I'll  say,  thou'st  gold : 
Thou  will  be  throng'd  to  shortly. 


Timon. 
Thy  back,  1  pr'ythea- 

Apemantus. 

Live,  and  love  thy  misery  ! 
Timon. 
Long  live  so,  and  so  die  1 — I  am  quit.— 

[Exit  Apemantm. 
More  things  like  men  ?— Eat,  Timon,  and  abhor 
them. 

Enter  Banditti. 

First  Bandit. 

Where  should  he  have  this  gold  ?    It  is  some 

poor    fragment,   some   slender  ort  of  his  re- 

j  mainder.      The   mere  want  of  gold,  and  the 

falling-from  of  his  friends,  drove  him  into  this 

melancholy. 

Second  Bandit. 
It  is  noised,  he  hath  a  mass  of  treasure. 

Third  Bandit. 
Let  us  make  the  assay  upon  him  :  if  he  care 
not  for't,  he  will  supply  us  easily  ;  if  he  covet- 
ously reserve  It,  how  snail's  get  it  } 
Second  Bandit. 
True ;  for  he  bears  it  not  about  him,  'tis  hid. 

First  Bandit. 
Is  not  this  he  ? 

All. 
Where? 

Second  Bandit. 
'Tis  his  description. 

Third  Bandit. 
He  ;  I  know  him. 

All. 
Save  thee,  Timon. 

Timon. 
Now,  thieves  ? 

All. 
Soldiers,  not  thieves. 

Timon. 
Both  too  ;  and  women's  sons. 

All. 
We  are  not  thieves,  but  men  that  much  do 
want. 

Timon. 
Your  greatest  want  is,  you  want  much  of  meat. 
!  Why  should  you  want  ?    Behold,  the  earth  hath 

roots ; 
,  Witldn  this  mile  break  forth  a  hundred  springs  ; 
1  The  oaks  bear  mast,  the  briars  scarlet  hips  ; 
\  The  bounteous  housewife,  nature,  on  each  bush 
!  Lays  her  full  mess  before  you.    Want  I    why 
want? 

First  Bandit. 
>     We  cannot  live  on  grass,  on  berries,  water, 
As  beasts,  and  birds,  and  fishes. 

Timon. 
I     Nor  on  the  beasts  themselves,  the  birds,  and 

fishes  | 
1  You  must  eat  men.    Yet  thanks  I  must  you  con, 
j  That  you  are  thieves  profess'd,  that  you  work  not 
In  holier  shapes  ;  for  there  is  boundless  theft 
]  In  limited  professions.    Rascal  thieves,  [grape, 
I  Here's  gold.    Go,  suck  the  subtle  blood  o*  the 
Till  the  high  fever  seethe  your  blood  to  froth. 
And  so  'scape  hanging :  trust  not  the  physician ; 
His  antidotes  are  poison,  and  he  slays    [gether  ; 
i  More  than  you  rob :  take  wealth  and  lives  to- 
Do  villainy,  do,  since  you  protest  to  do't, 
Like  workmen.    I'll  example  you  with  thieverv : 


$4-6 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  the  vast  sea :  the  moon's  an  arrant  thief, 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun : 
The  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  moon  into  salt  tears  :  the  earth's  a  thief, 
That  feeds  and  breeds  by  a  composture  stolen 
From  general  excrement :  each  thing's  a  thief. 
The  laws,  your  curb  and  whip,  in  their  rough 

power 
Have  uncheck'd  theft.    Love  not  yourselves ; 

away '.  [throats ; 

Rob  one  another.     There's  more  gold:    cut 
All  that  you  meet  are  thieves.     To  Athens,  go : 
Break  open  shops  ;  nothing  can  you  steal, 
But  thieves  do  lose  it.    Steal  not  less,  for  this 
1  give  vou  ;  and  gold  confound,  you  hpwsoe'er  1 

Amen.  {Tttnon  retires  to  his  Cave. 

Third  Bandit. 
He  has  almost  charmed  me  from  my  pro- 
fession, by  persuading  me  to  it. 
First  Bandit. 
'Tis  in  the  malice  of  mankind,  that  he  thus 
advises  us ;  not  to  have  us  thrive  in  our  mystery. 
Second  Bandit. 
I'll  believe  him  as  an  enemy,  and  give  over 
my  trade.  _        '      „ 

First  Bandit. 
Let  us  first  see  peace  in  Athens :  there  is  no 
time  so  miserable,  but  a  man  may  be  true. 

[Exeunt  Banditti. 

Enter  Flavius. 
Flavius. 
O  you  gods  I 
Is  yond*  despis'd  and  ruinous  man  my  lord  ? 
Full  of  decay  and  failing  ?    O  monument, 
And  wonder  of  good  deeds  evilly  bestow'd  ! 
What  an  alteration  of  honour  has  desperate  want 

made  ! 
What  viler  thing  upon  the  earth,  than  friends 
Who  can  bring  noblest  minds  to  basest  ends  ? 
How  rarely  does  it  meet  with  this  time's  guise, 
When  man  was  wish'd  to  love  his  enemies : 
Grant,  I  may  ever  love,  and  rather  woo       [do  ! 
Those  that  would  mischief  me,  than  those  that 
He  has  caught  me  in  his  eye :  I  will  present 
My  honest  grief  unto  him  ;  and,  as  my  lord, 
Still  serve  him  with  my  life. —My  dearest  master! 

Timon  comes  forward  from  his  Cavo. 
Timon. 
Away !  what  art  thou  ? 

Flavius. 

Have  you  forgot  me,  sir  ? 
Timon. 
Why  dost  ask  that  ?    I  have  forgot  all  men  ; 
Then,  if  thou  grant'st  thou'rt  a  man,  I  have 
forgot  thee.    _.     . 

Flavius. 
An  honest  poor  servant  of  yours. 
Timon. 

Then,  I  know  thee  not: 
I  never  had  honest  man  about  me,  I ; 
All  I  kept  were  knaves,  to  serve  in  meat  to  vil- 
lains. •  •     , 

Flavius. 
The  gods  are  witness, 
Ne'er  did  poor  steward  wear  a  truer  grief 
For  his  undone  lord,  than  mine  eyes  for  you. 
Timon. 
Whatl   dost  thou  weep?  — Come  nearer:— 
then,  I  love  thee, 
Because  thou  art  a  woman,  and  disclaim'st 
Flinty  mankind  \  whose  eyes  do  never  give, 


But  thorough  lust,  and  laughter.    Pity's  sleep- 
ing: 
Strange  times,  that  weep  with  laughing,  not  with 
weeping ! 

Havius. 
1  beg  of  you  to  know  me,  good  my  lord, 
T*  accept  my  grief,  and,  whilst  this  poor  wealth 
To  entertain  me  as  your  steward  still.        [lasts, 
Timon. 
Had  I  a  steward 
So  true,  so  just,  and  now  so  comfortable  ? 
It  almost  turns  my  dangerous  nature  wild. 
Let  me  behold  thy  face.    Surely,  this  man 
Was  born  of  woman. — 
Forgive  my  general  and  exceptless  rashness, 
You  perpetual-sober  gods  !     1  do  proclaim 
One  honest  man, — mistake  me  not,  —  but  one ; 
No  more,  I  pray, — and  he's  a  steward.— 
How  fain  would  I  have  hated  all  mankind, 
And  thou  redeem'st  thyself:  but  all,  save  thee, 
I  fell  with  curses. 

Methinks,  thou  art  more  honest  now,  than  wise ; 
For  by  oppressing  and  betraying  me, 
Thou  might'st  have  sooner  got  another  service, 
For  many  so  arrive  at  second  masters, 
Upon  their  first  lord's  neck.    But  tell  me  true, 
(tor  I  must  ever  doubt,  though  ne'er  so  sure) 
is  not  thy  kindness  subtle,  covetous, 
If  not  a  usuring  kindness ;   and  as  rich  men 

deal  gifts, 
Expecting  in  return  twenty  for  one  ? 
Flavius. 
No,  my  most  worthy  master  ;  in  whose  breast 
Doubt  and  suspect,  alas  !  are  plac'd  too  late. 
You  should  have  fear'd  false  times,  when  you 

did  feast : 
Suspect  still  comes  where  an  estate  is  least. 
That  which  I  show,  heaven  knows,  is  merely 

love, 
Duty  and  zeal  to  your  unmatched  mind, 
Care  of  your  food  and  living  :  and,  believe  it, 
My  most  honour'd  lord, 
For  any  benefit  that  points  to  me, 
Either  in  hope,  or  present,  I'd  exchange 
For  this  one  wish,— that  you  had  power  and 

wealth 
To  requite  me  by  making  rich  yourself. 
Timon. 
Look  thee,  'tis  so. — Thou  singly  honest  man, 
Here,  take  ;  — the  gods  out  of  my  misery 
Have  sent  thee  treasure.     Go,  live  rich,  and 

happy ; 
But  thus  conditional:— thou  shalt  build  from 

men; 
Hate  all,  curse  all ;  show  charity  to  none, 
But  let  the  famish'd  flesh  slide  from  the  bone, 
Ere  thou  relieve  the  beggar  :  give  to  dogs 
What  thou  deny'st  to  men ;  let  prisons  swal- 
low 'em, 
Debts  wither  'em  to  nothing.     Be  men  like 

blasted  woods, 
And  may  diseases  lick  up  their  false  bloods ! 
And  so  farewell,  and  thrive. 
Flavius. 

O  !  let  me  stay 
And  comfort  you,  my  master. 
Timon. 

If  thouhat'st 
Curses,  stay  not :  fly,  whilst  thou'rt  bless'd  and 

free. 
Ne'er  see  thou  man,  and  let  me  ne'er  see  thee, 
^xeunt  severally, 


Act  v.  .sy.  i 


TIMON  OF  AiilKXS. 


Ul 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    Before  Timon' t  Care. 
Enter  Poet  and  Painter. 

Painter. 

AS  I  took  note  of  the  place,  it  cannot  be  far 
where  he  abides. 

Poet. 

What's  to  be  thought  of  him?  Does  the 
rumour  hold  for  true,  that  he  is  so  full  of  gold  ? 
Painter. 
Certain  :  Alcibiades  reports  It ;  Phrynia  and 
Timandra  had  gold  of  him :  he  likewise  en- 
riched poor  straggling  soldiers  with  great  quan- 
tity. 'Tis  said,  he  gave  unto  his  steward  a 
mighty  sum. 

Poet. 
Then  this  breaking  of  his  has  been  but  a  try 
for  his  friends. 

Painter. 
Nothing  else ;  you  shall  see  him  a  palm  in 
Athens  again,  and  flourish  with  the  highest. 
Therefore,  'tis  not  amiss,  we  tender  our  loves 
to  him,  in  this  supposed  distress  of  his  :  it  will 
show  honestly  in  us,  and  is  very  likely  to  load 
our  purposes  with  what  they  travail  for,  if 
it  be  a  just  and  true  report  that  goes  of  his 
having. 

Poet. 
What  have  you  now  to  present  unto  him  ? 

Fainter. 
Nothing  at  this  time  but  my  visitation  ;  only, 
I  will  promise  him  an  excellent  piece. 
Poet. 
I  must  serve  him  so  too ;  tell  him  of  an  intent 
that's  coming  toward  him. 
Painter. 
Good  as  the  best.    Promising  is  the  very  air  o' 
the  time :  it  opens  the  eyes  of  expectation :  per- 
formance is  ever  the  duller  for  his  act ;  and,  but 
in  the  plainer  and  simpler  kind  of  people,  the 
deed  of  saying  is  quite  out  of  use.    To  promise 
is  most  courtly  and  fashionable:   performance 
is  a  kind  of  will,  or  testament,  which  argues  a 
great  sickness  in  his  judgment  that  makes  it. 

Enter  Timon,  from  Irs  Cave. 
Timon. 
Excellent  workman  !    Thou  canst  not  paint  a 
man  so  bad  as  is  thyself. 

r\  >.t. 

I  am  thinking,  what  I  shall  say  I  have  pro- 
vided for  him.  It  must  be  a  personating  of  him- 
self: a  satire  against  the  softness  of  prosperity, 
with  a  discovery  of  the  infinite  flatteries  that 
follow  youth  and  opulency. 

Timon. 
Must  thou  needs  stand  for  a  villain  in  thine 
own  work  ?    Wilt  thou  whip  thine  own  faults 
in  other  men  ?    Do  so ;  I  have  gold  for  thee. 
Poet. 
Kay,  let's  seek  him  : 
Then  do  we  sin  against  our  own  estate, 
When  we  may  profit  meet,  and  come  too  late. 

Painter. 
True; 
When  the   day  serves,   before   black-corner'd 

night, 
Find  what  thou  want'st  by  free  and  offer'd  light. 
Come. 


Timon. 

I'll  meet  you  at  the  turn.    What  a  god's  gold, 
'lli.it  lit-  is  worshipp'd  in  a  baser  temple, 
Than  where  swine  feed  I  [the  foam  ; 

'Tis  thou  that  rigg'st  the  bark,  and  plough'st 
Settlest  admired  reverence  in  a  slave  : 
To  thee  be  worship;  and  thy  saints  for  aye 
Be  crown'd  with  plagues,  that  thee  alone  obey ! 
Fit  I  meet  them.  [Advancing. 

Poet. 
Hall,  worthy  Timon  I 

Painter. 

Our  late  noble  master. 
Timon. 
Have  I  once  liv'd  to  see  two  honest  men  ? 

Poet. 
Sir, 
Having  often  of  your  open  bounty  tasted. 
Hearing  you  were  retird,  your  friends  fall'n  off, 
Whose  thankless  natures  —  O,  abhorred  spirits  I 
Not  all  the  whips  of  heaven  are  large  enough— 
Whatl  to  you, 
Whose  star-like  nobleness  gave  life  and  influence 
To  their  whole  being  ?     1  am  rapt,  and  cannot 
The  monstrous  bulk  of  this  ingratitude     [cover 
With  any  size  of  words. 

Timon. 

Let  it  go  naked,  men  may  see't  the  better : 

You,  that  are  honest,  by  being  what  you  are, 

Make  them  best  seen,  and  known. 

Painter. 

He,  and  myself, 
Have  travell'd  in  the  great  shower  of  your  gifts 
And  sweetly  felt  it. 

Timon. 

Ay,  you  are  honest  men, 
Painter. 
We  are  hither  come  to  offer  you  our  service. 

Timon. 
Most  honest  men !    Why,  how  shall  I  requite 
you? 
Can  you  eat  roots,  and  drink  cold  water?  no. 
Both. 
What  we  can  do,  we'll  do,  to  do  you  service. 

Timon. 
You  are  honest  men.    You  have  heard  that  I 
have  gold ; 
I  am  sure  you  have :    speak  truth ;    you  are 
honest  men. 

Painter. 
So  it  is  said,  my  noble  lord ;  but  therefore 
Came  not  my  friend,  nor  I. 
Timon. 
Good  honest  men  !— Thoudraw'stacounterfeit 
Best  in  all  Athens :  thou  art,  indeed,  the  best ; 
Thou  counterfeit'st  most  lively. 
Painter. 

So,  so,  my  lord. 
Timon. 
Even  so,  sir,  as  I  say.— And,  for  thy  fiction, 
Why,  thy  verse  swells  with  stuff  so  fine  and 

smooth, 
That  thou  art  even  natural  in  thine  art— 
Hut,  for  all  this,  mine  honest-natur'd  friends, 
I  must  needs  say,  you  have  a  little  fault: 
Marry,  'tis  not  monstrous  in  you ;  neither  wish  I, 
You  take  much  pains  to  mend. 
Both. 

Besee<  h  your  honour, 
To  make  it  known  to  us. 

Timon. 

Y<r.  11  take  it  ill. 

Both. 


8+3 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  v.  So,  1. 1 


Both. 
Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 
Timon. 

Will  you,  indeed  ? 
Both. 
Doubt  it  not,  worthy  lord. 

Timon. 
There's  never  a  one  of  you  but  trusts  a  knave, 
That  mightily  deceives  you. 
Both. 

Do  we,  my  lord? 
Timon. 
Ay,  and  yon  hear  him  cog,  see  him  dissemble, 
Know  his  gross  patchery,  love  him,  feed  him, 
Keep  in  your  bosom  ;  yet  remain  assur'd, 
That  he's  a  made-up  villain. 
Painter. 
I  know  none  such,  my  lord. 
Poet. 

Nor  I. 
Timon. 
Look  you,  I  love  you  well ;  I'll  give  you  gold, 
Rid  me  these  villains  from  your  companies : 
Hang  them,  or  stab  them,  drown  them  in  a 

draught, 
Confound  them  by  some  course,  and  come  to 
I'll  give  you  gold  enough.  [me, 

Both. 
Name  them,  my  lord;  let's  know  them. 

Timon. 
You  that  way,  and  you  this  ;  but  two  in  corn- 
Each  man  apart,  all  single  and  alone,    [pany :  — 
Y«t  an  arch-villain  keeps  him  company, 
If,  where  thou  art,  two  villains  shall  not  be, 

[To  the  Painter. 

Come  not  near  him — If  thou  would'st  not  reside 

[To  the  Poet. 

But  where  one  villain  is,  then  him  abandon.— 

Hence  \  pack  !  there's  gold ;  ye  came  for  gold, 

ye  slaves : 
You  have  done  work  for  me,  there's  payment : 

hence  1 
You  are  an  alchymist,  make  gold  of  that. 
Out,  rascal  dogs  1  [Exit,  beating  them  out. 

SCENE '"II.    The  same. 

Enter  Flavins,  and  two  Senators. 

Flavius. 
It  is  In  vain  that  you  would  speak  with  Timon  ; 
For  he  is  set  so  only  to  himself, 
That  nothing  but  himself,  which  looks  like  man, 
Is  friendly  with  him. 

First  Senator. 

Bring  us  to  his  cave : 
It  is  our  part,  and  promise  to  the  Athenians, 
To  speak  with  Timon. 

Second  Senator. 

At  all  times  alike 
Men  are  not  still  the  same.    'Twas  time,  and 

griefs, 
That  fram'd  him  thus :  time,  with  his  fairer  hand 
Offering  the  fortunes  of  his  former  days, 
The  former  man  may  make  him.    Bring  us  to 
And  chance  it  as  it  may.  [him, 

Flavius. 

Here  is  his  cave — 
Peace  and  content  be  here!   Lord   Timon! 

Timon! 
Look  out, and  speak  to  friends.    Th'  Athenians, 
By  two  of  their  most  reverend  senate,  greet  thee : 
Speak  to  them,  noble  Timon. 


Enter  Timon. 


Timon. 
Thou   sun,  that   comfort'st,  burn!  — Speak, 
and  be  hang'd : 
For  each  true  word,  a  blister  ;  and  each  false 
Be  as  a  cauterizing  to  the  root  o'  the  tongue, 
Consuming  it  with  speaking  J 

First  Senator. 

Worthy  Timon,— 
Timon. 
Of  none  but  such  as  you,  and  you  of  Timon. 

Second  Senator. 
The  senators  of  Athens  greet  thee,  Timon. 

Timon. 
I  thank  them  ;  and  would  send  them  back  the 
Could  I  but  catch  it  for  them.  [plague, 

First  Senator. 

O!  forget 
What  we  are  sorry  for  ourselves  in  thee. 
The  senators,  with  one  consent  of  love, 
Entreat  thee  back  to  Athens;  who  have  thought 
On  special  dignities,  which  vacant  lie 
For  thy  best  use  and  wearing. 

Second  Senator. 

They  confess 
Toward  thee  forgetfulness,  too  general,  gross ; 
Which  now  the  public  body,  which  doth  seldom 
Play  the  recanter,  feeling  in  itself 
A  lack  of  Timon's  aid,  hath  sense  withal 
Of  its  own  fall,  restraining  aid  to  Timon; 
And  send  forth  us,  to  make  their  sorrowed 

render, 
Together  with  a  recompense,  more  fruitful 
Than  their  offence  can  weigh  down  by  the  dram  ; 
Ay,  even   such  heaps  and  sums  of  love  and 

wealth, 
As  shall  to  thee  blot  out  what  wrongs  were 

theirs, 
And  write  in  thee  the  figures  of  their  love, 
Ever  to  read  them  thine. 

Timon. 

You  witch  me  in  it ; 
Surprise  me  to  the  very  brink  of  tears : 
Lend  me  a  fool's  heart,  and  a  woman's  eyes, 
And  I'll   beweep  these  comforts,  worthy  se- 
nators. 

First  Senator. 

Therefore,  so  please  thee  to  return  with  us, 

And  of  our  Athens,  thine  and  ours,  to  take 

The  captainship,  thou  shalt  be  met  with  thanks, 

Allow'd  with    absolute  power,  and  thy   good 

name 
Live  with  authority:  —  so  soon  we  shall  drive 
Of  Alcibiades  th'  approaches  wild ;  [back 

Who,  like  a  boar  too  savage,  doth  root  up 
His  country's  peace. 

Second  Senator. 
And  shakes  his  threat'ning  sword 
Against  the  walls  of  Athens. 

First  Senator. 

Therefore,  Timon,— 
Timon. 
Well,  sir,  I  will ;  therefore,  I  will,  sir ;  thus, — 
If  Alcibiades  kill  my  countrymen, 
Let  Alcibiades  know  this  of  Timon, 
That  Timon  cares  not.   But  if  he  sack  fair  Athens, 
And  take  our  goodly  aged  men  by  the  beards, 
Giving  our  holy  virgins  to  the  stain 
Of  contumelious,  beastly,  mad-brain'd  war, 
Then,  let  him  know, — and  tell   him,   Timon 

speaks  it, 
In  pity  of  our  aged,  and  our  youth, 

I  cannot 


Act  v.  Se,  v. 


li.Mn.N   OF  ATHENS. 


849 


I  cannot  choose  but  tell  him. -that  I  caro  not, 
And  let  blm  take't  at  worst ;  for  their  knives  care 

not, 
While  you  have  throats  to  answer :  for  myself, 
There's  not  a  whittle  In  th'  unruly  camp, 
Hut  I  do  prize  it  at  my  love,  before 
The  reverend'st  throat  in  Athens.    So  I  leave  you 
1  To  the  protection  of  the  prosperous  gods, 
As  thieves  to  keeper*. 


Flavius. 

Stay  not :  all's  in  vain. 

Timon. 
Why,  I  was  writing  of  my  epitaph, 
It  will  be  seen  to-morrow.    My  long  sickness 
Of  health,  and  living,  now  begins  to  mend, 
And  nothing  brings  me  all  things.    Go  ;    live 
Be  Akibiades  your  plague,  you  his,  [still : 

And  last  so  long  enough  1 

First  Senator. 

We  speak  in  vain. 

Ttmoo. 

But  yet  I  love  my  country  ;  and  am  not 
One  that  rejoices  in  the  common  wreck, 
As  common  bruit  doth  put  it. 

First  Senator. 

That's  well  spoke. 
Timon. 
Commend  me  to  my  loving  countrymen,— 

First  Senator. 
These  words  become  your  lips  as  they  pass 
through  them. 

Si'cotid  Senator. 
And  enter  in  our  ears,  like  great  triumphers 
In  their  applauding  gates. 

Timon. 

Commend  me  to  them ; 
And  tell  them,  that  to  ease  them  of  their  griefs, 
Their  fears  of  hostile  strokes,  their  aches,  losses, 
Their  pangs  of  love,  with  other  incident  throes 
That  nature's  fragile  vessel  doth  sustain 
In  life's  uncertain  voyage,  I  will  some  kindness 

do  them. 
I'll    teach    them    to   prevent  wild  Akibiades* 
wrath. 

r,d  Senator. 
I  like  this  well ;  he  will  return  again. 

Timon. 
I  have  a  tree,  which  grows  here  in  my  close, 
That  mine  own  use  invites  me  to  cut  down, 
And  shortly  must  I  fell  it :  tell  my  friends, 
Tell  Athens,  in  the  sequence  of  degree, 
From  high  to  low  throughout,  that  whoso  please 
To  stop  affliction,  let  him  take  his  haste, 
Come  hither,  ere  my  tree  hath  felt  the  axe, 
And  hang  himself.— I  pray  you,  do  my  greeting. 
Flavins. 
Trouble  him  no  farther ;  thus  you  still  shall 
find  him. 

Timon. 
Come  not  to  me  again  ;  but  say  to  Athens, 
Timon  hath  made  his  everlasting  mansion 
Upon  the  beached  verge  of  the  salt  flood  ; 
Whom  once  a  day  with  his  embossed  froth 
The  turbulent  surge  shall  cover:  thither  come, 

And  let  my  grave- stone  be  your  oracle 

Lips,  let  sour  words  go  by,  and  language  end: 
What  is  amiss,  plague  and  infection  mend  ! 
Graves  only  be  men's  works,  and  death  their  gain. 
Sun,  hide  thy  beams:    Timon  hath  done  his 
reign.  TExit  Timon. 

First  Senator. 
His  discontents  are  unremovably  coupled  to 
nature. 


Our  hope  in  him  is  dead.  Let  us  return, 
And  strain  what  other  means  is  left  unto  us 
Iu  our  dear  peril. 

First  Senator. 

It  requires  swift  foot. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  ill.    The  Walls  of  Athens. 

1  two  Senators,  and  a  Messenger. 

.tor. 
Thou  hast  painfully  discover'd  :  are  his  files 
As  full  as  thy  report? 

Messenger. 

I  have  spoke  the  least ; 
Besides,  his  expedition  promises 
Present  approach. 

Second  Senator. 
We  stand  much  hazard,  if  they  bring  not 
Timon. 

Messenger. 
I  met  a  courier,  one  mine  ancient  friend, 
Whom,  though  in  general  part  we  were  oppos'd, 
Yet  our  old  love  made  a  particular  force, 
And  made  us  speak  like  friends:  —  this   man 

was  riding 
From  Akibiades  to  Timon's  cave, 
With  letters  of  entreaty,  which  imported 
His  fellowship  i'  the  cause  against  your  city, 
In  part  for  his  sake  mov'd. 

Enter  Senators  from  Timon. 

First  Senator. 

Here  come  our  brothers. 

Third  Senator. 

No  talk  of  Timon;  nothing  of  him  expect 

The  enemies'  drum  is  heard,  and  fearful  scour- 
ing 
Doth  choke  the  air  with  dust.    In,  and  prepare : 
Ours  is  the  fall,  I  fear,  our  foes  the  snare. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  Woods.    Timon's  Cave,  and 
a  Tomb-stone  seen. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  seeking  Tinum. 

Soldier. 

By  all  description  this  should  be  the  place. 

Who's  here?  speak,  ho  1  — No  answer? — What 

is  this  ? 
Timon  is  dead,  who  hath  outstretch'd  his  span : 
Some  beast  rear'd  this ;    there  does  not  live  a 

man. 
Dead,  sure,  and  this  his  grave. — What's  on  this 

tomb 
I  cannot  read  ;  the  character  I'll  take  with  wax : 
Our  captain  hath  in  every  figure  skill ; 
An  ag'd  interpreter,  though  young  in  days. 
Before  proud  Athens  he's  set  down  by  this, 
Whose  fall  the  mark  of  his  ambition  is.     [Exit. 

SCENE  V.  Before  the  Walls  of  Athens. 
Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Akibiades,  and  Forces. 

Akibiades. 

Sound  to  this  coward  and  lascivious  town 

Our  terrible  approach.  [A  Parley  sounded. 

Enter  Senators  on  the  Walls. 

Till  now  you  have  gone  on,  and  ftll'd  the  time 
With  all  licentious  measure,  making  vour  wills 
The  scope  of  justice:  till  now,  myself,  and  such 
3  1  As 


850 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


As  slept  within  the  shadow  of  your  power, 
Have  wander'd  with  our  travers'd  arms,  and 

breath'd 
Our  sufferance  vainly.    Now  the  time  is  flush, 
When  crouching  marrow,  in  the  bearer  strong, 
Cries  of  itself,  "  No  more : "  now  breathless 

wrong 
Shall  sit  and  pant  in  your  great  chairs  of  ease  ; 
And  pursy  insolence  shall  break  his  wind 
With  fear,  and  horrid  flight. 

First  Senator. 

Noble,  and  young, 
When  thy  first  griefs  were  but  a  mere  conceit, 
Ere  thou  hadst  power,  or  we  had  cause  of  fear, 
We  sent  to  thee  ;  to  give  thy  rages  balm, 
To  wipe  out  our  ingratitude  with  loves 
Above  their  quantity. 

Second  Senator. 

So  did  we  woo 
Transformed  Timon  to  our  city's  love, 
By  humble  message,  and  by  promis'd  means : 
We  were  not  all  unkind,  nor  all  deserve 
The  common  stroke  of  war. 

First  Senator. 

These  walls  of  ours 
Were  not  erected  by  their  hands,  from  whom 
You  have  receiv'd  your  grief:  nor  are  they  such, 
That  these  great  towers,  trophies,  and  schools 
For  private  faults  in  them.  [should  fall 

Second  Senator. 

Nor  are  they  living, 
Who  were  the  motives  that  you  first  went  out ; 
Shame,  that  they  wanted  cunning,  in  excess 
Hath  broke  their  hearts.    March,  noble  lord, 
Into  our  city  with  thy  banners  spread : 
By  decimation,  and  a  tithed  death, 
( If  thy  revenges  hunger  for  that  food 
Which  nature  loaths)  take  thou  the  destin'd 
And  by  the  hazard  of  the  spotted  die,      [tenth  ; 
Let  die  the  spotted. 

First  Senator 

All  have  not  offended ; 
For  those  that  were,  it  is  not  square  to  take, 
On  those  that  are,  revenge:  crimes,  like  lands, 
Are  not  inherited.    Then,  dear  countryman, 
Bring  in  thy  ranks,  but  leave  without  thy  rage  : 
Spare  thy  Athenian  cradle,  and  those  kin, 
Which  in  the  bluster  of  thy  wrath  must  fall 
With  those  that  have  offended.   Like  a  shepherd, 
Approach  the  fold,  and  cull  th'  infected  forth, 
But  kill  not  all  together. 

Second  Senator. 

What  thou  wilt, 
Thou  rather  shalt  enforce  it  with  thy  smile, 
Than  hew  to't  with  thy  sword. 
First  Senator. 

Set  but  thy  foot 


Against  our  rampir'd  gates,  and  they  shall  ope, 
So  thou  wilt  send  thy  gentle  heart  before, 
To  say,  thou'lt  enter  friendly. 
Second  Senator. 

Throw  thy  glove, 
Or  any  token  of  thine  honour  else, 
That  thou  wilt  use  the  wars  as  thy  redress, 
And  not  as  our  confusion,  all  thy  powers 
Shall  make  their  harbour  in  our  town,  till  we 
Have  seal'd  thy  full  desire. 

Alcibiades. 

Then,  there's  my  glove: 
Descend,  and  open  your  uncharged  ports. 
Those  enemies  of  Timon's,  and  mine  own, 
Whom  you  yourselves  shall  set  out  for  reproof, 
Fall,  and  no  more  ;  and, — to  atone  your  fears 
With  my  more  noble  meaning,—  not  a  man 
Shall  pass  his  quarter,  or  offend  the  stream 
Of  regular  justice  in  your  city's  bounds, 
But  shall  be  remedied  to  your  public  laws 
At  heaviest  answer. 

Both. 

'Tis  most  nobly  spoken. 
Alcibiades. 
Descend,  and  keep  your  words. 
[The  Senators  descend,  and  open  the  Gates. 

Enter  a  Soldier. 
Soldier. 
My  noble  general,  Timon  is  dead  ; 
Eatomb'd  upon  the  very  hem  o'  the  sea : 
And  on  his  grave-stone  this  insculpture,  which 
With  wax  I  brought  away,  whose  soft  impression 
Interprets  for  my  poor  ignorance. 

Alcibiades.  [Reads. 

"  Here  lies  a  wretched   corse,  of  wretched 

soul  bereft : 
Seek  not  my  name.     A  plague  consume  you 

wickeil  caitiffs  left ! 
Here  lie  I  Timon  j  who,  alive,  all  living  men 

did  hate : 
Pass  by,  and  curse  thy  fill ;  but  pass,  and  stay 

not  here  thy  gait." 
These  well  express  in  thee  thy  latter  spirits  : 
Though  thou  abhorr'dst  in  us  our  human  griefs, 
Scorn'dst  our  brain's  flow,  and  those  our  droplets 

which 
From  niggard  nature  fall,  yet  rich  cenceit 
Taught  thee  to  make  vast  Neptune  weep  for  aye 
On  thy  low  grave  on  faults  forgiven.    Dead 
Is  noble  Timon;  of  whose  memory 

Hereafter  more Bring  me  into  your  city, 

And  I  will  use  the  olive  with  my  sword  : 
Make  war  breed  peace  ;  make  peace  stint  war  ; 

make  each 
Prescribe  to  other,  as  each  other's  leech — 
Let  our  drums  strike.  [Exeunt. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


JULIUS  OXSAR. 


8ci 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE. 


in. 

,     1  Tn'umi 

S..J  *Ju 


iumvirs,  after  the  Death 
lius  Caesar. 


JULIUS  CESAR 

Octavius  Caesar, 

Marcus  Antonius, 

M.  JEmll  Lepidus 

Cicero,  Publius,  Fopilius  Lena  ;  Senators 

Marcus  Brutus, 

Cas>ius, 

Casca, 

Trebonius, 

Ligarius, 

Decius  Brutus, 

Metellus  Ciraber. 

Cinna, 

Flavius  and  Marullus,  Tribunes, 


Conspirators  against  Julius 
Caesar. 


Artemidorus,  a  Sophist  o/Cnidos. 

A  Soothsayer. 

Cinna,  a  Poet.    Another  Poet. 

Lucilius,  Titinius,  Messala,  young  Cato,  and 

Volumnius ;  Friends  to  Brutus  and  Cassius. 
Varro,  Clitus,  Claudius,  Strato,  Lucius,  Dar- 

danius  ;  Servants  to  Brutus. 
Pindarus,  Servant  to  Cassius. 
Calphurnia,  Wife  to  Caesar. 
Portia,  Wife  to  Brutus. 

Senators,  Citizens,  Guards,  Attendants,  $c. 

SCENE,  during  a  great  part  of  the  Play,  at  Rome: 

afterwards  at  Sardis  ;  and  near  Philippi. 


«3  -  QXS3WE3  '£3  KQ ' 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Rome.    A  Street. 

Euter  Flavius,  Marullus,  and  a  body  of 
Citizens. 

Flavius. 

HENCE  1  home,  you  Idle  creatures,  get  yon 
home. 
Is  this  a  holiday?    What  !  know  you  not, 
Being  mechanical,  you  ought  not  walk 
Upon  a  labouring  day  without  the  sign 
Of  your  profession? — Speak,  what  trade  art 
thou? 

First  Ciliren. 
Why,  sir,  a  carpenter. 

Marullus. 
Where  Is  thy  leather  apron,  and  thy  rule  ? 
What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on  ?— 
You,  sir ;  what  trade  are  you  ? 

Second  Citizen. 
Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman,  I  am 
but,  as  you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 
Marullus. 
But  what  trade  art  thou?    Answer  me  di- 
rectly. 

Second  Citizen. 
A  trade,  sir,  that,  I  hope,  I  may  use  with  a 
safe  conscience ;  which  is,  indeed,  sir,  a  mender 
of  bad  soles. 

Flavius. 
What  trade,  thou  knave  ?  thou  naughty  knave, 
what  trade  ? 


second 


Se 
Nay,  I  beseecn  you7sir,"be  "not  out 
if  5 


Citizen.  ^       t     ft. 
sir,  be  not  out  with  me: 
yet,  if  you  be  out,  "sir,  I  can  mend  you. 

What  mean'st  thouby  that  ?  Mend  me,  thou 
saucy  fellow  ? 

.  Second  Citizen. 

Why,  sir,  cobble  you. 

Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou  ? 

Second  Citizen.        ... 

Truly,  sir,  all  that  I  live  by  Is,  with  the  awl : 
I  meddle  with  no  tradesman's  matters,  nor 
women's  matters,  but  with  all.  I  am,  indeed, 
sir,  a  surgeon  to  old  shoes  ;  when  they  are  in 
great  danger,  I  re-cover  them.  As  proper  men 
as  ever  trod  upon  neats-leather  have  gone  upon 
my  handywork. 

Flavius. 

But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  ? 
Why  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets  ? 

Second  Citizen. 
Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get 
myself  into  more  work.    But,  Indeed,  sir,  we 
make  holiday,  to  see  Casar,  and  to  rejoice  in 
his  triumph. 

Marullus. 
Wherefore  rejoice  ?    What  conquest  brings 
he  home  ? 
What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome 
To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot  wheels  ? 
You  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  sense- 
less things  1 

01  you 


852 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


O!  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Home, 
Knew  you  not  Pompey  ?    Many  a  time  and  oft 
Have  you  climb'd  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 
Your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 
The  live-long  day,  with  patient  expectation, 
To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome : 
And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  hut  appear, 
Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout. 
That  Tyber  trembled  underneath  her  banks, 
To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds 
Made  in  her  concave  shores  ? 
And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday  ? 
And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 
That  comes  in  triumph  ovei  Po?npey's  blood  ? 
Be  gone  ! 

Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees, 
Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 
That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude. 
Flavius. 

Go,  go,  good  countrymen;  and  for  this  fault 
Assemble  all  the  poor  men  of  your  sort : 
Draw  them  to  Tyber  banks,  and  weep  your  tears 
Into  the  channel,  till  the  lowest  stream 
Do  kiss  the  most  exalted  shores  of  all. 

i  Exeunt  Citizens. 
See,  whe'r  their  basest  metal  be  not  mov'd; 
They  vanish  tongue-tied  in  their  guiltiness. 
Go  you  down  that  way  towards  the  Capitol : 
This  way  will  I.  Disrobe  the  images, 
If  you  do  find  them  deck'd  with  ceremonies. 
Manillas. 

May  we  do  so? 
You  know,  it  is  the  feast  of  Lupercal. 
riavius. 

It  is  no  matter ;  let  no  images 
Be  hung  with  Cottar's  trophies.    I'll  about, 
And  drive  away  the  vulgar  from  the  streets : 
So  do  you  too,  where  you  perceive  them  thick. 
These  growing  feathers  pluck'd  from  Ctesar's 
Will  make  him  fly  an  ordinary  pitch,        [wing, 
Who  else  would  soar  above  the  view  of  men, 
And  keep  us  all  in  servile  Tearfulness. 

[  Exeunt ; 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  public  Place. 

Enter,  in  Procession,  with  Music,  Ccesar;  An- 
tony, for  the  course;  Calphurnia,  Portia, 
Decius,  Cicero,  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  Casca; 
a  great  Crowd  following,  among  them  a 
Soothsayer. 

Caesar. 
Calphurnia, — 

Casca. 
Peace,  ho  !  Ccesar  speaks. 

[Music  ceases. 
Caesar. 

Calphurnia, — 
Calphurnia. 
Here,  my  lord. 

Caesar. 
Stand  you  directly  in  Antonius'  way, 
When  he  doth  run  his  course.  —  Antonius. 
Antonius. 
Ccesar,  my  lord. 

Cesar. 
Forget  not,  in  your  speed,  Antonius, 
To  touch  Calphurnia  ;  for  our  elders  say, 
The  barren,  touched  in  this  holy  chase, 
Shake  off  their  sterile  curse. 
Antonius. 

I  shall  remember : 
When  Ccesar  says,  "  Do  this,"  it  is  perform'd. 


Caesar. 
Set  on  ;  and  leave  no  ceremony  out.    [Music. 

Soothsayer. 
Ccesar  I 

Caesar. 
Ha!    Who  calls? 

Casca. 
Bid  every  noise  be  still.  — Peace  jet  again  1 

Caesar. 


:ey 


lusic  ceases. 


Who  is  it  in  the  press  that  calls  on  me  ? 
I  hear  a  tongue,  shriller  than  all  the  music, 
Cry,  Ccesar!    Speak  :  Ccesar  is  turn'd  to  hear. 
Soothsayer. 
Beware  the  ides  of  March. 
Caesar. 

What  man  is  that  ? 
Brutus. 
A  soothsayer  bids  you   beware  the  ides  of 
March. 

Caesar. 
Set  him  before  me;  let  me  see  his  face. 

Cassias. 
Fellow,  come  from  the  throng:  look  upon 
Ccesar. 

Caesar. 
What  say'st  thou  to  me  now?    Speak  once 
again. 

Soothsayer. 
Beware  the  ides  of  March. 

Ca;sar. 
He  is  a  dreamer ;  let  us  leave  him :  —  pass. 
[Sennet.  Exeunt  all  but  Ilrutus  and  Cassius. 
Cassius. 
Will  you  go  see  the  order  of  the  course  ? 

lirutus. 
Not  I. 

Cassius 
I  pray  you,  do. 

Brutus. 
I  am  not  gamesome:  I  do  lack  some  part 
Of  that  quick  spirit  that  is  in  Antony. 
Let  me  not  hinder,  Cassius,  your  desires  ; 
I'll  leave  you. 

Cassius. 
Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late : 
I  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness, 
And  show  of  love,  as  1  was  wont  to  have: 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you. 
Brutus. 

Cassius, 
Be  not  deceiv'd:  if  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
I  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.     Vexed  I  am 
Of  late  with  passions  of  some  difference, 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself, 
Which  givesomesoil, perhaps,  tomybehaviours; 
But  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  begriev'd, 
(Among  which  number,  Cassius,  be  you  one) 
Nor  construe  any  farther  my  neglect, 
Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men. 
Cassius. 
Then,  Brutus,  I  have  much  mistook  your 
passion ;  [buried 

By  means  whereof,  this  breast  of  mine  hath 
Thoughts  of  great  value,  worthy  cogitations. 
Tell  me,  good  Brutus,  can  you  see  your  face  ? 
Brutus. 
No,  Cassius;  for  the  eye  sees  not  itself, 
But  by  reflection,  bv  some  other  things. 

Cassius. 


A<  i  i.  Sc.  n. 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


853 


Cauius. 
TtfJott; 

Ami  it  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus, 
That  you  have  no  such  mirrors,  as  will  turn 
Your 'hidden  worthiness  Into  your  eye, 
That  vou  might  see  your  shadow.  1  have  heard, 
Where  many  of  the  best  respect  In  Rome, 

t  immortal  Carsar)  speaking  of  Brutus, 
And  groaning  underneath  this  age's  yoke, 
■  Uh'd  that  noble  Brutus  had  Ids  eyea, 

Into  what  dangers  would  you  lead  me,  Cassius, 
That  rou  would  have  me  seek  into  myself 
For  that  which  is  not  in  me? 

Cassius. 
Therefore,  good  Brutus,  be  prepar'd  to  hear: 
And,  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 
So  well  as  by  reflection,  I,  your  glass, 
Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 
That  of  yourself,  which  you  yet  know  not  of. 
And  be  not  jealous  on  me,  gentle  Brutus : 
Where  I  a  common  laugher,  or  did  use 
To  stale  with  ordinary  oaths  my  love 
To  every  new  protester  ;  if  you  know 
That  1  do  fawn  on  men,  and  hug  them  hard, 
And  after  scandal  them  ;  or  if  you  know 
That  1  profess  myself,  in  banqueting. 
To  all  the  rout,  then  hold  me  dangerous. 

[Flourish,  and  Shout. 

What  means  this  shouting?     I  do  fear,  the 
Choose  Ccesar  for  their  king.  [people 

Cauius.  .  _ 

Ay,  do  you  fear  >t? 
Then,  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Brutus. 
I  would  not,  Cassius;  yet  I  love  him  well. 
But  wherefore  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long? 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good, 
Set  honour  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other, 
And  I  will  look  on  both  indifferently  ; 
For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me,  as  1  love 
The  name  of  honour  more  than  I  fear  death. 

Cassius, 
I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favour. 
Well,  honour  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — 
1  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life ;  but  for  my  single  self 
1  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Casar,  so  were  you ; 
WTe  both  have  fed  as  well,  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he: 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tyber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  me,  "  Dar'st  thou,  Cassius,  now 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 
And  swim  to  yonder  point?"  — Upon  the  word, 
Accoutred  as  I  was,  1  plunged  in, 
And  bade  him  follow:  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd,  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews,  throwing  it  aside, 
And  stemming  it,  with  hearts  of  controversy ; 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  propos'd, 
Ccesar  cried,  "  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  6ink." 
I,  as  JEneas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so  from  the  waves  of 
Did  I  the  tired  Ccesar.    And  this  man      [  Tyber 
Is  now  become  a  god;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Ccesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 


He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake:  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake: 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly: 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the 

world, 
Did  lose  his  lustre.     I  did  hear  him  groan ; 
A  v,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas  1  it  cried, "  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius," 
As  a  sick  girl.    Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 
And  bear  the  palm  alone.       [Shout.   Flourish. 

Another  general  shout  1 
I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honours  that  are  heap'd  on  Ctesar. 

Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 
Like  a  Colossus  ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Ccesar:   what  should  be  in  that 
Ccesar  f  [yours? 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name ; 
Sound  them,  ic  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Ccesar. 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Casar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great?    Age,  thou  art 

sham'd : 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods. 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  fam'd  with  more  than  with  one  man '; 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of 

Rotne, 
That  her  wide  walks  encompass'd  but  one  man? 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 

0  !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 
Th'  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 

As  easily  as  a  king. 

Brutus. 

That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous  ; 

What  you  would  work  me  to,  I  have  some  aim  ; 

How  1  have  thought  of  this,  and  of  these  times, 

1  shall  recount  hereafter  :  for  this  present, 

I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you, 
Be  any  farther  mov'd.     What  you  have  said, 
I  will  consider  ;  what  you  have  to  say, 
I  will  with  patience  hear,  and  find  a  time 
Both  meet  to  hear,  and  answer,  such  high  things. 
Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  chew  upon  this  : 
Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager, 
Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 
Under  these  hard  conditions,  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Cassius. 
I  am  glad,  that  my  weak  words 
Have  struck  but  thus  much  show  of  fire  from 
Brutus. 

Brutus. 
The  games  are  done,  and  Ccesar  is  returning. 

Re-enter  Ccesar,  and  his  Train. 

Sassius. 
uck  Casca  by  the  sleeve  ; 
And  he  will,  after  his  sour  fashion,  tell  you 
What  hath  proceeded  worthy  note  to-day. 

Brutui. 


854. 


JULIUS  CJESAK, 


Act  i.  St.  li. 


Brutus. 
I  will  do  so. —  But,  look  you,  Cassius; 
The  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Ceesar's  brow, 
And  all  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train. 
Calphurnia's  cheek  is  pale  ;  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
Being  cross'd  in  conference  by  some  senators. 
Cassius. 
Casca  will  tell  us  what  the  matter  is. 
Cesar. 

Antonius! 

Antonius. 

Ccesar.  _ 

Cassar. 

Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat ; 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights. 
Yond'  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look  ; 
He  thinks  too  much :  such  men  are  dangerous. 
Antonius. 
Fear  him  not,  Ceesar,  he's  not  dangerous : 
He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  given. 
Caesar. 
'Would  he  were  fatter  ;  but  1  fear  him  not : 
Yet  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 
I  do  not  know  the  man  1  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.     He  reads  much ; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  he  looks         [plays, 
Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men :  he  loves  no 
As  thou  dost,  Antony  ;  he  hears  no  music : 
Seldom  he  smiles,  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
As  if  he  mork'd  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spirit 
That  could  be  mov'd  to  smile  at  any  thing. 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease, 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves, 
And  therefore  are  they  very  dangerous. 
I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  fear'd, 
Than  what  1  fear,  for  always  I  am  Ccesar. 
Come  on  my  right  hand,  for  this  ear  is  deaf, 
And  tell  me  truly  what  thou  think'st  of  him. 
[Exeunt  Ccesar  and  his  Train.    Casca  stays 
behind. 

Casca. 
You  pull'd  me  by  the  cloak :  would  you  speak 
with  me? 

Brutus. 
Ay,  Casca;  tell  us  what  hath  chanc'd  to-day, 
That  C&sar  looks  so  sad. 
Casca. 
Why  you  were  with  him,  were  you  not  ? 

Brutus. 
I  should   not,   then,   ask   Casca  what  hath 
chanc'd. 

Casca. 

Why,  there  was  a  crown  offered  him :  and, 

being  offered  him,  he  put  it  by  with  the  back  of 

his  hand,  thus;    and  then   the  people  fell  a 

shouting. 

Brutus. 
What  was  the  second  noise  for  ? 

Casca. 
Why,  for  that  too. 

Cassius. 
They  shouted  thrice :  what  was  the  last  cry 
for? 

Casca. 
Why,  for  that  too. 

Brutus. 
Was  the  crown  oflfer'd  him  thrice  ? 

Casca. 
Ay,  marry,  was't,  and  he  put  it  by  thrice, 
every  time  gentler  than  other;  and  at  every 
putting  by  mine  honest  neighbours  shouted. 


Cassius. 
Who  offered  him  the  crown  ? 

Casca. 
Why,  Antony,        _ 

Brutus. 
Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca. 

Casca. 
I  can  as  well  be  hanged,  as  tell  the  manner  of 
it:  it  was  mere  foolery,  I  did  not  mark  it.  I 
saw  Mark  Antony  offer  him  a  crown :  —  yet  'twas 
not  a  crown  neither,  'twas  one  of  these  coronets ; 
—  and,  as  I  told  you,  he  put  it  by  once ;  but,  for 
all  that,  to  my  thinking,  he  would  fain  have  had 
it.     Then  he  offered  it  to  him  again ;  then  he 

Imt  it  by  again,  but,  to  my  thinking,  he  was  very 
oath  to  lay  his  ringers  off  it.  And  then  he 
offered  it  the  third  time:  he  put  it  the  third 
time  by ;  and  still  as  he  refused  it,  the  rabble- 
ment  hooted,  and  clapped  their  chapped  hands, 
and  threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered 
such  a  deal  of  stinking  breath,  because  Ccesar 
refused  the  crown,  that  it  had  almost  choked 
Ccesar ;  for  he  swooned,  and  fell  down  at  it. 
And  for  mine  own  part  I  durst  not  laugh,  for 
fear  of  opening  my  lips,  and  receiving  the  bad  air. 
Cassius. 
But,  soft,  I  pray  you.  What !  did  Ccesar  swoon? 

Casca. 
He  fell  down  in  the  market-place,  and  foamed 
at  mouth,  and  was  speechless. 
Brutus. 
'Tis  very  like  he  hath  the  falling-sickness. 

Cassius. 
No,  C&sar  hath  it  not ;  but  you,  and  I, 
And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  falling-sickness. 
Casca. 
I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  that;  but,  I  am 
sure,  Cwsar  fell  down.     If  the  tag-rag  people 
did  not  clap  him,  and  hiss  him,  according  as  he 
pleased,  and  displeased  them,  as  they  use  to  do 
the  players  in  the  theatre,  I  am  no  true  man. 
Brutus. 
What  said  he,  when  he  came  unto  himself? 

Casca. 
Marry,  before  he  fell  down,  when  he  perceiv'd 
the  common  herd  was  glad  he  refused  the  crown, 
he  plucked  me  ope  his  doublet,  and  offered  them 
his  throat  to  cut — An  I  had  been  a  man  of  any 
occupation,  if  I  would  not  have  taken  him  at  a 
word,  I  would  1  might  go  to  hell  among  the 
rogues: — and  so  he  fell.  When  he  came  to 
himself  again,  he  said,  if  he  had  done  or  said 
any  thing  amiss,  he  desired  their  worships  to 
think  it  was  his  infirmity.  Three  or  four 
wenches,  where  I  stood,  cried,  "  Alas,  good 
soul  1" — and  forgave  him  with  all  their  hearts. 
But  there's  no  heed  to  be  taken  of  them:  if 
C&sar  had  stabbed  their  mothers,  they  would 
have  done  no  less. 

Brutus. 
And  after  that,  he  came  thus  sad  away  ? 

Casca. 
Ay. 

Cassius. 
Did  Cicero  say  any  thing  ? 
Casca. 
Ay,  he  spoke  Greek. 

Cassius. 
To  what  effect  ? 

Casca. 
Nay,  an  1  tell  you  that,  I'll  ne'er  look  you  i' 
the  face  again  :  but  those,  that  understood  him, 
i  smiled 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


JULIUS  OESAR. 


*55 


•milcd  at  one  another,  and  shook  their  heads ; 
but,  for  mine  own  part,  it  was  Greek  to  me.  I 
DOOM  tell  you  more  news,  too:  Manillas  and 
Flarius,  for  nulling  scarfs  off  Carsar's  images, 
are  put  to  silence.  Fare  you  well :  there  was 
more  foolery  yet,  if  I  could  remember  It. 
Cassius. 
Will  you  sup  with  me  to-night,  Cascaf 

No,  !  am  promised  forth. 
Cassius. 
Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow  ? 

Case*. 
Ay,  if  I  be  alive,  and  your  mind  hold,  and 
vour  dinner  worth  the  eating. 
Cassius. 
Good  ;  I  will  expect  you. 
Casca. 
Do  so.    Farewell,  both.  [Exit  Casca. 

Brutus. 
What  a  blunt  fellow  is  this  grown  to  be. 
He  was  quick  mettle  when  he  went  to  school. 
Cassius. 
So  is  he  now,  in  execution 
Of  any  bold  or  noble  enterprize, 
However  he  puts  on  this  tardy  form. 
This  rudeness  is  a  sauce  to  his  good  wit, 
Which  gives  men  stomach  to  digest  his  words 
With  better  appetite. 

Brutus. 
And  so  it  is.    For  this  time  I  will  leave  you : 
To-morrow,  if  you  please  to  speak  with  me, 
1  will  come  home  to  you  ;  or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  to  me,  and  1  will  wait  for  you. 
Cassius. 
I  will  do  so :— till  then,  think  of  the  world. 

[Exit  Brutus. 
Well,  Brutus,  thou  art  noble ;  yet,  I  see, 
Thy  honourable  metal  may  be  wrought 
From  that  it  is  dispos'd  :  therefore,  'tis  meet 
That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes  ; 
For  who  so  firm  that  cannot  be  sedue'd? 
Ca*sar  doth  bear  me  hard,  but  he  loves  Brutus : 
If  I  were  Brutus  now,  and  he  were  Cassius, 
He  should  not  humour  me.     1  will  this  night, 
In  several  hands,  in  at  his  windows  throw, 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 
Writings,  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 
That  Home  holds  of  his  name;   wherein  ob- 
scurely 
Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at: 
And,  after  this,  let  Ccesar  seat  him  sure, 
For  we  will  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure.. 


mt. 


SCENE  \U.    The  same.    A  Street. 

Thunder  and  Lightning.     Enter,  from  opposite 

sides,  Casca,   with    his   Sword   drawn,  and 

Cicero. 

Cicero. 

Good    even,    Casca.      Brought    you    Casar 
home? 
Why  are  you  breathless,  and  why  stare  you  so  ? 
Casca. 

Are  not  you  mov'd,  when  all  the  sway  of  earth 
Shakes  like  a  thing  unfirm  ?     O,  Cicero  I 
I  have  seen  tempests,  when  the  scolding  winds 
Have  riv'd  the  knotty  oaks  ;  and  I  have  seen 
The  ambitious  ocean  swell,  and  rage,  and  foam, 
To  be  exalted  with  the  threatening  clouds  ; 
But  never  till  to-night,  never  till  now, 


Did  I  go  through  a  tempest  dropping  fire. 
Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven, 
Or  <-l*t-  the  world,  too  saucy  with  the  gods, 
Incenses  them  to  send  destruction. 

Why,  saw  you  any  thing  more  wonderful  ? 

Case** 
A  common  slave  (you  know  him  well  by  sight) 
Held  up  his  left  hand,  which  did  flame,  and  burn 
Like  twenty  torches  join'd  ;  and  yet  his  hand, 
Not  sensible  of  fire,  remain'd  unscorch'd. 
Besides,  (I  have  not  since  put  up  my  sword) 
Against  the  Capitol  I  met  a  lion, 
Who  glar'd  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by, 
Without  annoying  me  :  and  there  were  drawn 
Upon  a  heap  a  hundred  ghastly  women, 
Transformed  with  their  fear,  who  swore  they  saw 
Men,  all  in  fire,  walk  up  and  down  the  streets. 
And  yesterday  the  bird  of  night  did  sit, 
Even  at  noon-day,  upon  the  market-place, 
Hooting,  and  shrieking.    When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say, 
"  These  are  their  reasons, — they  are  natural ;  " 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things 
Unto  the  climate  that  they  point  upon. 
Cicero. 
Indeed,  it  is  a  strange-disposed  time : 
But  men  may  construe  things  after  their  fashion, 
Clean  from  the  purpose  of  the  things  them- 
selves. 
Comes  C&sar  to  the  Capitol  to  morrow  ? 
Casca. 
He  doth  ;  for  he  did  bid  Antonius 
Send  word   to   you,   he   would   be   there  to- 
morrow. 

Cicero. 
Good  night  then,  Casca :  this  disturbed  sky 
Is  not  to  walk  in. 

Casca. 
FareweU,C^&xltc.wo 

Enter  Cassius. 
Cassius. 
Who's  there  ? 

Casca. 

A  Roman. 
Cassius. 

Casca,  by  your  voice. 
Casca. 
Your  ear  is  good.     Cassius,  what  night  is 
this  ?  ■      . 

Cassius. 
A  very  pleasing  night  to  honest  men. 

Casca. 
Who  ever  knew  the  heavens  menace  so  ? 

Cassius. 
Those  that  have  known  the  earth  so  full  of 
faults. 
For  my  part,  I  have  walk'd  about  the  streets, 
Submitting  me  unto  the  perilous  night ; 
And,  thus  unbraced,  Casca,  as  you  see, 
l  Have  bar'd  my  bosom  to  the  thunder-stone : 
!  And,  when  the  cross  blue  lightning  seem'd  to 
open 
The  breast  of  heaven,  I  did  present  myself 
Even  in  the  aim  and  very  flash  of  it. 
Casca. 
But  wherefore  did  you  so  much  tempt  the 
heavens  ? 
It  is  the  part  of  men  to  fear  and  tremble, 
When  the  most  mighty  gods  by  tokens  send 

Cassius. 


Such  dreadful  heralds  to  astonish  us. 


?56 


JULIUS  CJESAR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


Cassius. 

You  are  dull,  Casca  ;  and  those  sparks  of  life, 
That  should  be  in  a  Roman,  you  do  want, 
Jr  else  you  use  not.    You  look  pale,  and  gaze, 
And  put  on  fear,  and  cast  yourself  in  wonder, 
To  see  the  6trange  impatience  of  the  heavens ; 
/3ut  if  you  would  consider  the  true  cause, 
Why  all  these  fires,  why  all  these  gliding  ghosts, 
Why  birds,  and  beasts,  from  quality  and  kind  ; 
Why  old  men,  fools,  and  children  calculate ; 
Why  all  these  things  change  from   their  or- 
dinance. 
Their  natures,  and  preformed  faculties, 
To  monstrous  quality;  why,  you  shall  find, 
That  heaven  hath  infus'd  them  with  these  spirits, 
To  make  them  instruments  of  Tear,  and  warning, 
Unto  some  monstrous  state. 
Now  could  I,  Casca,  name  to  thee  a  man 
Most  like  this  dreadful  night ; 
That  thunders,  lightens,  opens  graves,  and  roars 
As  doth  the  lion  in  the  Capitol  ; 
A  man  no  mightier  than  thyself,  or  me, 
In  personal  action  ;  yet  prodigious  grown, 
And  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are. 
Casca. 

'Tis  Ccesar  that  you  mean ;  is  it  not,  Cassius? 

Cassius. 
Let  it  he  who  it  is :  for  Romans  now 
Have  thewes  and  limbs  like  to  their  ancestors ; 
But,  woe  the  while  !  our  fathers'  minds  are  dead, 
And  we  are  govern'd  with  our  mothers'  spirits  ; 
Our  yoke  and  sufferance  show  us  womanish. 

Casca. 

Indeed,  they  say,  the  senators  to-morrow 
Mean  to  establish  Ccesar  as  a  king : 
And  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea,  and  land, 
In  every  place,  save  here  in  Italy. 
Cassius. 

I  know  where  I  will  wear  this  dagger,  then  ; 
Cassius  from  bondage  will  deliver  Cassius : 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  make  the  weak  most 

strong ; 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  tyrants  to  defeat. 
Nor  stony  tower,  nor  walls  of  beaten  brass, 
Nor  airless  dungeon,  nor  strong  links  of  iron, 
Can  be  retentive  to  the  strength  of  spirit ; 
But  lite,  being  weary  of  these  worldly  bars, 
Never  lacks  power  to  dismiss  itself. 
If  1  know  this,  know  all  the  world  besides, 
That  part  of  tyranny,  that  I  do  bear, 
I  can  shake  off  at  pleasure.  [Thunder  still. 

Casca. 

So  can  I : 
So  every  bondman  in  his  own  hand  bears 
The  power  to  cancel  his  captivity. 
Cassius. 

And  why  should  Ccesar  be  a  tyrant,  then? 
Poor  man"!  1  know,  he  would  not  be  a  wolf, 
But  that  he  sees  the  Romans  are  but  sheep  : 
He  were  no  lion,  were  not  Romans  hinds. 
Those  that  with  haste  will  make  a  mighty  fire, 
Begin  it  with  weak  straws :  what  trash  is  Rome, 
What  rubbish,  and  what  offal,  when  it  serves 
For  the  base  matter  to  illuminate 
So  vile  a  thing  as  Ccesar?    But,  O  grief ! 
Where  hast  thou  led  me?  I,  perhaps,  speak  this 
Before  a  willing  bondman  :  then  I  know 
My  answer  must  be  made;  but  I  am  arm'd, 
And  dangers  are  to  me  indifferent. 
Casca. 

You  speak  to  Casca;  and  to  such  a  man, 
That  is  no  fleering  tell-tale.     Hold,  my  hand: 
Be  factious  for  redress  of  all  these  griefs, 


And  I  will  set  this  foot  of  mine  as  far, 
As  who  goes  farthest. 

Cassius. 

There's  a  bargain  made 
Now  know  you,  Casca,  I  have  mov'd  already 
Some  certain  of  the  noblest-minded  Romans, 
To  undergo  with  me  an  enterprize 
Of  honourable-dangerous  consequence ; 
And  I  do  know,  by  this,  they  stay  for  me 
In  Pompey's  porch  :  for  now,  this  fearful  night 
There  is  no  stir,  or  walking  in  the  streets, 
And  the  complexion  of  the  element, 
In  favour's  like  the  work  we  have  in  hand, 
Most  bloody,  fiery,  and  most  terrible. 

Enter  Cinna. 
Casca. 
Stand  close  awhile,  for  here  comes  one  in 
haste. 

Cassius. 
'Tis  Cinna,  I  do  know  him  by  his  gait: 
He  is  a  friend.  —  Cinna,  where  haste  you  so  ? 
Cinna. 
To    find   out    you.    Who's    that?    Metellus 
Cimber  ? 

Cassius. 
No,  it  is  Casca  ;  one  incorporate 
To  our  attempts.    Am  1  not  stay'd  for,  Cinna? 
Cinna. 
I  am  glad  on't.    What  a  fearful  night  is  this  ! 
There's  two  or  three  of  us  have  seen  strange 
sights. 

.    Cassius. 
Am  I  not  stay'd  for  ?    Tell  me. 
Cinna. 

Yes,  you  are. 
O,  Cassius!   if  you  could  but  win  the  noble 
To  our  party—  [Brutus 

Cassius, 
Be  you  content.   Good  Cinna,  take  this  paper, 
And  look  you  lay  it  in  the  praetor's  chair, 
Where  Brutus  may  but  find  it;  and  throw  this 
In  at  his  window  ;  set  this  up  with  wax 
Upon  old  Brutus'  statue:  all  this  done, 
Repair  to  Pompey's  porch,  where  you  shall  find 
Is  Decius  Brutus  and  Trebonius  there?        [us. 
Cinna, 
All  but  Metellus  Cimber.,  and  he's  gone, 
To  seek  you  at  your  house.    Well,  I  will  hie, 
And  so  bestow  these  papers  as  you  bade  me. 
Cassius. 
That  done,  repair  to  Pompet/s  theatre. 

[Exit  Cinna. 
Come,  Casca,  you  and  I  will,  yet,  ere  day, 
See  Brutus  at  his  house :  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entire, 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 
Casca. 
O !  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts  ; 
And  that  which  would  appear  offence  in  us, 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchymy, 
Will  change  to  virtue,  and  to  worthiness. 
Cassius. 
Him,  and  his  worth,  and  our  great  need  of 
him, 
You  have  right  well  conceited.    Let  us  go, 
For  it  is  after  midnight ;  and,  ere  day, 
We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him. 

[Exeunt. 


■#•#-#••<§>•■ 


kct 


Act  ii.  Sc.  t 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


«57 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  l.    The  tame.    Brutus'*  Orchard. 


W 


Enter  Brutus. 
E-utu*. 
HAT,  Lucius!  ho!— 
1  cannot,  by  the  progress  oCthe  stars. 


Give  guess  how  near  to  day — Lucius,  1  say  !  — 

I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly 

When,  Lucius,  when?    Awake,   1   say:    what, 
Lucius! 

Enter  Lucius. 
Lucius. 
Call'd  you,  my  lord  ? 

Brutus. 
Get  me  a  taper  In  my  study,  Lucius : 
When  it  is  lighted,  come  and  call  me  here. 
Lucius. 
I  will,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Brutus. 
It  must  be  by  his  death  ;  and,  for  my  part, 
I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him. 
But  for  the  general.    He  would  be  crown'd  : 
How  that  might  change  his  nature,  there's  the 

question. 
It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder, 
And  that  craves  wary  walking.    Crown  him?  — 

that: 
And  then,  I  grant,  wo  put  a  sting  in  him, 
That  at  his  will  he  may  do  danger  with. 
Th'  abuse  of  greatness  is,  when  it  disjoins 
Remorse  from  power;  and,  to  speak  truth  of 

Ceesar, 
I  have  not  known  when  his  affections  sway'd 
;   More  than  his  reason.    But  'tis  a  common  proof, 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder. 
Whereto  the  climber-upward  turns  his  face; 
But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 
|   He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 
Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend.    So  Cissar  may : 
Then,  lest  he  may,  prevent:  and,  since  the 

quarrel 
Will  bear  no  colour  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fashion  it  thus ;  that  what  he  is,  augmented, 
Would  run  to  these,  and  these  extremities ; 
And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  egg, 
Which,  hatch'd,  would,  as  his  kind,  grow  mis- 
And  kill  him  in  the  shell.  [chievous, 

Re-enter  Lucius. 

Lucius. 
The  taper  burneth  in  your  closet,  sir. 
Searching  the  window  for  a  flint,  I  found 
This  paper,  thus  seal'd  up ;  and,  I  am  sure, 
It  did  not  lie  there  when  1  went  to  bed. 

[Giving  hira  the  Letter. 

Brutus. 
Get  you  to  bed  again ;  it  is  not  day. 
Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  ides  of  March? 

Lucius. 
I  know  not,  sir. 

Brutus. 
Ix>ok  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  me  word. 

Lucius. 
I  will,  sir.  [Exit. 

The  exhalations,  whizzing  in  the  air. 
Give  so  much  light  that  I  may  read  by  them. 

T  Opens  the  Letter,  and  reads. 
"  Brutus,  thou  sleep^t:  awake,  and  see  thysell. 
Shall  Rome,  &c.    Speak,  strike,  redress ! 


Brutus,  thou  sleep'st:  awake  !"  — 

Such  instigations  have  been  often  dropp'd 

W  li<  i     I  have  took  them  up. 

"  Shall  Hume.  Ac."    Thus  must  I  piece  it  out; 

Shall  //owe*  stand  under  one  man's  awe?  What! 

Homer 
My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. 
"  Speak,  strike,  redress  !"— Am  I  entreated 
To  speak,  and  strike?    Q  Rome!  1  make  thee 

promise, 
If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receiv'st 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus! 
Re-enter  Lucius. 
Lucius. 
Sir,  March  is  wasted  fourteen  days. 

[Knocking  within. 

Brutus. 
'Tis  good.    Go  to  the  gate ;  somebody  knocks. 
[Exit  Lucius. 
Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Casar, 
I  have  not  slept 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing, 
:  And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
|  Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream : 
!  The  Genius,  and  the  mortal  instruments, 
I  Are  then  in  council;  and  the  state  of  a  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

Re-enter  Lucius. 
Lucius. 
Sir,  'tis  your  brother  Cassius  at  the  door, 
Who  doth  desire  to  see  you. 
Brutus. 

Is  he  alone  ? 
Lucius. 
No,  sir;  there  are  more  with  him. 

Brutus. 

Do  you  know  them  ? 
Lucius. 
No,  sir,  their  hats  are  pluck'd  about  their  ears. 
And  half  their  faces  buried  in  their  cloaks, 
That  by  no  means  1  may  discover  them 
By  any  mark  of  favour. 

Brutus. 

Let  them  enter. 

[Exit  Lucius. 
They  are  the  faction.    O  conspiracy ! 
Sham'st  thou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by 

night, 
When  evils  are  most  free  ?    O  !  then,  by  day 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 
To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage?     Seek  none, 

conspiracy ; 
Hide  it  in  smiles,  and  affability: 
For  if  thou  path,  thy  native  semblance  on, 
Not  Erebus  itself  were  dim  enough 
To  hide  thee  from  prevention. 

Enter  Cassius,  Casca,  Drdus,  Cinna,  Mctcllus 
Cimber,  and  Trebonius. 

Cassius. 
I  think  we  are  too  bold  upon  your  rest: 
Good  morrow,  Brutus;  do  we  trouble  you? 

Brutus. 

I  have  been  up  this  hour ;  awake,  all  night. 

Know  I  these  men  that  come  along  with  you  ? 

Cassius. 
Yes,  every  man  of  them ;  and  no  man  here. 
But  honours  you:  and  every  one  doth  wish, 
You  had  but  that  opinion  of  yourself, 
Which  every  noble  Roman  bears  of  you. 
This  is  Treoonius. 

Brutus. 


85S 


JULIUS  CJESAR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


Brutus. 

He  is  welcome  hither. 
Cassius. 
This  Decius  Brutus. 

Brutus. 

He  is  welcome  too. 
Cassius. 
This  Casca;  this  Cinna; 
And  this  Metellus  Cimber. 
Brutus. 

They  are  all  welcome. 
What  watchful  cares  do  interpose  themselves 
Betwixt  your  eyes  and  night  f 
Cassius. 
Shall  I  entreat  a  word?  [They  whisper. 

Decius. 
Here  lies  the  east :  doth  not  the  day  break  here  ? 

Casca. 
No. 

Cinna. 
O !  pardon,  sir,  it  doth ;  and  yond'  grey  lines, 
That  fret  the  clouds,  are  messengers  of  day. 
Casca. 
You  shall  confess  that  you  are  both  deceiv'd. 
Here,  as  1  point  my  sword,  the  sun  arises ; 
Which  is  a  great  way  growing  on  the  south, 
Weighing  the  youthful  season  of  the  year. 
Some  two  months  hence,  up  higher  toward  the 

north 
He  first  presents  his  fire ;  and  the  high  east 
Stands,  as  the  Capitol,  directly  here. 
Brutus. 
Give  me  your  hands  all  over,  one  by  one. 

Cassius. 
And  let  us  swear  our  resolution. 

Brutus. 
No,  not  an  oath :  if  not  the  face  of  men, 
The  sufferance  of  our  souls,  the  time's  abuse, 
If  these  be  motives  weak,  break  off  betimes, 
And  every  man  hence  to  his  idle  bed; 
So  let  high-sighted  tyranny  range  on, 
Till  each  man  drop  by  lottery.    But  if  these, 
As  I  am  sure  they  do,  bear  fire  enough 
To  kindle  cowards,  and  to  steel  with  valour 
The  melting  spirits  of  women,  then,  country- 
men, 
What  need  we  any  spur,  but  our  own  cause, 
To  prick  us  to  redress?  what  other  bond, 
Than  secret  Romans,  that  have  spoke  the  word, 
And  will  not  palter  ?  and  what  other  oath, 
Than  honesty  to  honestv  engag'd, 
That  this  shall  be,  or  we  will  fall  for  it? 
Swear  priests,  and  cowards,  and  men  cautelous, 
Old  feeble  carrions,  and  such  suffering  souls 
That  welcome  wrongs :  unto  bad  causes  swear, 
Such  creatures  as  men  doubt ;  but  do  not  stain 
The  even  virtue  of  our  enterprize, 
Nor  th'  insuppressive  mettle  of  our  spirits, 
To  think  that,  or  our  cause,  or  our  performance, 
Did  need  an  oath,  when  every  drop  of  blood, 
That  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears, 
Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy, 
If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 
Of  any  promise  that  hath  pass'd  from  him. 
Cassius. 
But  what  of  Cicero f    Shall  we  sound  him? 
1  think  he  will  stand  very  strong  with  us. 
Casca. 
Let  us  not  leave  him  out. 
Cinna. 

No,  by  no  means. 
Metellus. 
O  !  let  us  have  him  ;  for  his  silver  hairs 


Will  purchase  us  a  good  opinion, 
And  buy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds : 
It  shall  be  said,  his  judgment  rul'd  our  hands ; 
Our  youths,  and  wildness,  shall  no  whit  appear, 
But  all  be  buried  in  his  gravity. 
Brutus. 
O !  name  him  not ;  let  us  not  break  with  him, 
For  he  will  never  follow  any  thing 
That  other  men  begin. 

Cassius. 

Then,  leave  him  out. 
Casca. 
Indeed  he  is  not  fit. 

Decius. 
Shall  no  man  else  be  touch'd,  but  only  Ccesar  f 

Cassius. 
Decius,  well  urg'd.— I  think  it  is  not  meet, 
Mark  Antony,  so  well  belov'd  of  Ccesar, 
Should  outlive  Ccesar:  we  shall  find  of  him 
A  shrewd  contriver ;  and,  you  know,  his  means, 
If  he  improve  them,  may  well  stretch  so  far, 
As  to  annoy  us  all ;  which  to  prevent, 
Let  Antony  and  Ccesar  fall  together. 
Brutus. 
Our   course  will   seem   too  bloody,    Caius 
Cassius, 
To  cut  the  head  off,  and  then  hack  the  limbs, 
Like  wrath  in  death,  and  envy  afterwards; 
For  Antony  is  but  a  limb  of  Caesar. 
Let  us  be  sacrificers,  but  not  butchers,  Caius. 
We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Ca>sar, 
And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood : 
O,  that  we  then  could  come  by  Ccesar's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Ccesar!     But,  alas  1 
Ca?sar  must  bleed  for  it.    And,  gentle  friends, 
Let's  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathfully; 
Let's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods, 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcass  fit  for  hounds  : 
And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do, 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  rage, 
And  after  seem  to  chide  'em.    This  shall  make 
Our  purpose  necessary,  and  not  envious  ; 
Which  so  appearing  to  the  common  eyes, 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murderers. 
And  for  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him, 
For  he  can  do  no  more  than  C&sar's  arm, 
When  C&sar's  head  is  off. 

Cassius. 

Yet  I  fear  him : 
For  in  the  ingrafted  love  he  bears  to  C&sar  — 
Brutus. 
Alas  1  good  Cassius,  do  not  think  of  him. 
If  he  love  Caesar,  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  himself;  take  thought,  and  die  for  C&sar : 
And  that  were  much  he  should ;  for  he  is  given 
To  sports,  to  wildness,  and  much  company. 
Trebonius. 
There  is  no  fear  in  him  ;  let  him  not  die, 
For  he  will  live,  and  laugh  at  this  hereafter. 

[Clock  strikes. 
Brutus. 
Peace  !  count  the  clock. 

Cassius. 
The  clock  hath  stricken  three. 
Trebonius. 
'Tis  time  to  part. 

Cassius. 

But  it  is  doubtful  yet, 
Whether  C&sar  will  come  forth  to-day,  or  no ; 
For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late, 
Quite  from  the  main  opinion  he  held  once 
Of  fantasy,  of  dreams,  and  ceremonies. 
It  may  be,  these  apparent  prodigies, 
The  unaccustom'd  terror  of  this  night, 

And 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


JULIUS  CJESAR. 


859 


And  the  persuasion  of  hit  augurerf, 
M.iv  bold  hiin  from  the  Capitol  to-day. 
Decius. 
Never  fear  that :  if  he  be  «o  resolv'd, 
I  can  o'ersway  iiim ;  for  he  loves  to  hear,  * 

Th.»t  unicorns  may  be  betrayed  with  tree*, 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  with  holes, 
Lions  with  toils,  and  men  with  flatterers; 
But,  when  1  tell  him,  he  hates  flatterers, 
He  says,  he  does,  being  then  most  flattered. 
Let  me  work  j 

For  I  can  give  his  humour  the  true  bent, 
And  I  will  bring  him  to  (he  Capitol. 
Cassius. 
Nay,  we  will  all  of  us  be  there  to  fetch  him. 

Brutus. 
By  the  eighth  hour :  is  that  the  uttermost  ? 

t'inna. 
Be  that  the  uttermost,  and  fail  not  then. 

Metellus. 
Cuius  Ligarius  doth  bear  Caesar  hard, 
Who  rated  him  for  speaking  well  of  Pompey : 
I  wonder,  none  of  you  have  thought  of  him. 
Brutus. 
Now,  good  Metellus,  go  along  by  him  : 
He  loves  me  well,  and  I  have  given  him  reasons; 
Send  him  but  hither,  and  I'll  fashion  him. 
Cassius. 
The  morning  comes  upon  's :  we'll  leave  you, 
Brutus. —  [member 

And,  friends,  disperse  yourselves  ;  but  all  re- 
What  you  have  said,  and  show  yourselves  true 
Romans. 

Brutus. 
Good  gentlemen,  look  fresh  and  merrily. 
Let  not  our  looks  put  on  our  purposes  ; 
But  bear  it  as  our  Roman  actors  do, 
With  untlr'd  spirits,  and  formal  constancy : 
And  so,  good-morrow  to  you  every  one. 

(Exeunt  all  but  Brutus. 
eep?  It  is  no  matter ; 
Enjoy  the  honey-heavy  dew  of  slumber : 
I  Thou  hast  no  figures,  nor  no  fantasies, 
Which  busy  care  draws  in  the  brains  of  men ; 
Therefore,  thou  sleep'st  so  sound. 

Enter  rortia. 
Portia. 

Brutus,  my  lord ! 
Brutus. 
Portia,  what  mean  you?    Wherefore  rise  you 
It  is  not  for  your  health  thus  to  commit    [now  ? 
Your  weak  condition  to  the  raw  cold  morning. 

Portia. 
Nor  for  yours  neither.    You  have  un gently, 
Brutus, 
Stole  from  my  bed :  and  yesternight,  at  supper, 
You  suddenly  arose,  and  walk'd  about, 
Musing  and  sighing,  with  your  arms  across ; 
And  when  1  asked  you  what  the  matter  was, 
You  star'd  upon  me  with  ungentle  looks,  [head, 
I  urg'd  you  farther;  then,  you  scratch'd  your 
And  too  impatiently  stamp'd  with  your  foot : 
Yet  I  insisted,  yet  you  answer'd  not ; 
But,  with  an  angry  walture  of  your  hand, 
Gave  sign  for  me  to  leave  you.    So  I  did, 
Fearing  to  strengthen  that  impatience, 
Which  seem'd  too  much  enkindled ;  and,  withal, 
Hoping  it  was  but  an  effect  of  humour, 
Which  sometime  hath  his  hour  with  every  man. 
It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep ; 
And,  could  it  work  so  much  upon  your  shape, 
As  it  hath  much  prevail'd  on  your  condition, 
1  should  not  know  you,  Brutus.    Dear  my  lord, 
Make  me  acquainted  with  your  cause  of  grief. 


Brutus. 

I  am  not  well  in  health,  and  that  is  all. 
Portia. 

Brutus  is  wise,  and  were  he  not  in  health, 
He  would  embrace  the  means  to  come  by  it 
Brutus. 

Why,  so  I  do.— Good  Portia,  go  to  bed. 
Tortta. 

Is  Brutus  sick,  and  is  It  physical 
To  walk  unbraced,  and  suck  up  the  humours 
Of  the  dank  morning  ?    What  1  is  Brutus  sick, 
And  will  he  steal  out  of  his  wholesome  bed, 
To  dare  the  vile  contagion  of  the  night, 
And  tempt  the  rheumy  and  unpurged  air 
To  add  unto  his  sickness  ?    No,  my  Brutus  ; 
You  have  some  sick  offence  within  your  mind, 
Which,  by  the  right  and  virtue  of  my  place, 
1  ought  to  know  of:  and  upon  my  knees 
I  charm  you,  by  my  once  commended  beauty, 
By  all  your  vows  of  love,  and  that  great  vow 
\N  hich  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one, 
That  you  unfold  to  me,  yourself,  your  half. 
Why  you  are  heavy,  and  what  men  to-night 
Have  had  resort  to  you ;  for  here  have  been 
Some  six  or  seven,  who  did  hide  their  faces 
Even  from  darkness. 

Brutus. 

Kneel  not,  gentle  Portia. 
Fortia. 

I  should  not  need,  if  you  were  gentle  Brutus. 
Within  the  bond  of  marriage,  tell  me,  Brutus, 
Is  it  excepted,  I  should  know  no  secrets 
That  appertain  to  you  ?    Am  I  yourself 
But,  as  it  were,  in  sort,  or  limitation  ; 
To  keep  with  you  at  meals,  comfort  your  bed, 
And  talk  to  you  sometimes  ?    Dwell  I  but  in 

the  suburbs 
Of  your  good  pleasure  ?    If  it  be  no  more, 
Portia  is  Brutus'  harlot,  not  his  wife. 
Brutus. 

You  are  my  true  and  honourable  wife ; 
As  dear  to  me,  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. 

Portia. 

If  this  were  true,  then  should  I  know  this 
I  grant,  I  am  a  woman  ;  but,  withal,        [secret. 
A  woman  that  lord  Brutus  took  to  wife : 
I  grant,  1  am  a  woman  ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  well-reputed,  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you,  I  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex, 
Being  so  father'd,  and  so  husbanded  ? 
Tell  me  your  counsels,  I  will  not  disclose  them. 
I  have  made  strong  proof  of  my  constancy, 
Giving  myself  a  voluntary  wound 
Here,  in  the  thigh :  can  I  bear  that  with  patience, 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets  ? 
Brutus. 

O  ye  gods ! 
Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wife. 

[Knocking  within. 
Hark,  hark  !  one  knocks.    Portia,  go  in  a  while ; 
And  by  and  by  thy  bosom  shall  partake 
The  secrets  of  my  heart. 
All  my  engagements  I  will  construe  to  thee, 
All  the  character)-  of  my  sad  brows. 
Leave  me  with  haste.  [Kxit  Portia. 

Enter  Lucius  and  Ligarius. 

Lucius,  who  is  that,  knocks  ? 
Lucius. 
Here  is  a  sick  man,  that  would  speak  with  you. 

Brutus. 
Caius  Ligarius,  that  Metellus  spake  of.— 
Boy,  stand  aside.— Caius  Ligarius!  how  ? 

Ligarius. 


86o 


JULIUS  CJESAR. 


Act  u.  Sc.  i. 


Ligarius. 
Vouchsafe  good  morrow  from  a  feeble  tongue. 
Brutus. 

0  !   what  a  time  have  you  chose  out,  brave 

Caizis, 
To  wear  a  kerchief!     Would  you  were  not  sick  ! 
Ligarius. 

1  am  not  sick,  if  Brutus  have  in  hand 
Any  exploit  worthy  the  name  of  honour. 

Brutus. 
Such  an  exploit  have  I  in  hand,  T.igarius, 
Had  you  a  healthful  ear  to  hear  of  it. 
Ligarius. 
By  all  the  gods  that  Romans  bow  before, 
I  here  discard  my  sickness.     Soul  of  Rome ! 
Brave  son,  deriv'd  from  honourable  loins, 
Thou,  like  an  exorcist,  hast  conjur'd  up 
My  mortified  spirit.    Now  bid  me  run, 
.And  I  will  strive  with  things  impossible; 
Yea,  get  the  better  of  them.    What's  to  do  ? 
Brutus. 
A  piece  of  work  that  will  make  sick  men 
whole. 

Ligarius. 
But  are  not  some  whole  that  we  must  make 
sick? 

Brutus. 
That  must  we  also.    What  it  is,  my  Caius, 
I  shall  unfold  to  thee,  as  we  are  going, 
To  whom  it  must  be  done. 
Ligarius. 

Set  on  your  foot, 
And  with  a  heart  new-fir'd  I  follow  you, 
To  do  I  know  not  what ;  but  it  sufhceth, 
That  Brutus  leads  me  on. 
Brutus. 

Follow  me,  then. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.     A  Room  in  Gesar's 
Palace. 

Thunder  and  Lightning.    Knter  Ctesar,  in  his 
Nightgown. 
Caesar. 
Nor  heaven,  nor  earth,  have  been  at  peace  to- 
night : 
Thrice  hath  Calphurnia  in  her  sleep  cried  out, 
"Help,  ho!    They  murder  Ctesar!  "  —  Who's 
within? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Servant. 
My  lord. 

Caesar. 
Go  bid  the  priests  do  present  sacrifice, 
And  bring  me  their  opinions  of  success. 

Servant. 
I  will,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Enter  Calphurnia. 

Calphurnia. 
What  mean  you,  Ctesar?    Thiuk  you  to  walk 
forth  ? 
You  shall  not  stir  out  of  your  house  to-day. 

Caesar. 

Ctesar  shall  forth :  the  things  that  threaten'd 

me, 

Ne'er  look'd  but  on  my  back  ;  when  they  shall 

The  face  of  Ctesar,  they  are  vanished.  [see 

_  Calphurnia. 

Ctesar,  I  never  stood  on  ceremonies, 
Yet  now  they  fright  me.    There  is  one  within, 


Besides  the  things  that  we  have  heard  and  seen 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch 
A  lioness  hath  whelped  in  the  streets ; ,    [dead  ; 
And  graves  have  yawn'd,  and  yielded  up  their 
•Fierce  fiery  warriors  fight  upon  the  clouds. 
In  ranks,  and  squadrons,  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  drizzled  blood  upon  the  Capitol: 
The  noise  of  battle  hurtled  in  the  air; 
Horses  did  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan  ; 
And  ghosts  did  shriek,  and  squeal  about  the 
streets. 

0  Ctesar!  these  things  are  beyond  all  use, 
And  I  do  fear  them. 

Caesar. 

What  can  be  avoided, 
Whose  end  is  purpos'd  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 
Yet  Ctesar  shall  go  forth  ;  for  these  predictions 
Are  to  the  world  In  general,  as  to  C&sar. 
Calphurnia. 
W7hen  beggars  die  there  are  no  comets  seen  ; 
The  heavens  themselves  blaze  forth  the  death  of 
princes. 

Caesar. 
Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths, 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  1  yet  have  heard, 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end,  [fear; 

Will  come,  when  it  will  come. 

Re-enter  a  Servant. 

What  say  the  augurers  ? 
Servant. 
They  would  not  have  you  to  stir  forth  to-day. 
Plucking  the  entrails  of  an  offering  forth, 
They  could  not  find  a  heart  within  the  beast. 
Ctesar  • 
The  gods  do  this  in  shame  of  cowardice  : 
Ctesar  should  be  a  beast  without  a  heart, 
If  he  should  stay  at  home  to-day  for  fear. 
No,  C&sar  shall  not :  danger  knows  full  well. 
That  Ctesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 
We  were  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible ; 
And  Ctesar  shall  go  forth. 

Calphurnia. 

Alas !  my  lord, 
Your  wisdom  is  consum'd  in  confidence. 
Do  not  go  forth  to-day :  call  it  my  fear, 
That  keeps  you  in  the  house,  and  not  your  own. 
We'll  send  Mark  Antony  to  the  senate- house, 
And  he  shall  say,  you  are  not  well  to-day: 
Let  me,  upon  my  knee,  prevail  in  this. 
Caesar. 
Mark  Antony  shall  say,  I  am  not  well ; 
And,  for  thy  humour,  I  will  stay  at  home. 

Enter  Decius. 
Here's  Decius  Brutus,  he  shall  tell  them  so. 
Decius. 
Ctesar,  all  hail !  Good  morrow,  worthy  Ca?sar : 

1  come  to  fetch  you  to  the  senate-house. 

Caesar. 
And  you  are  come  in  very  happy  time 
To  bear  my  greeting  to  the  senators, 
And  tell  them  that  I  will  not  come  to-day. 
Cannot  is  false ;  and  that  I  dare  not,  falser ; 
I  will  not  come  to-day.    Tell  them  so,  Decius. 

Calphurnia. 

Say,  he  is  sick. 

Caesar. 
Shall  Casar  send  a  lie  ? 
Have  I  in  conquest,  stretchd  mine  arm  so  far. 

To 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


.11  I. us  CLX8AB. 


861 


To  lie  ad-aid  to  tell  grey-beards  the  truth  ? 
Decius,  go  till  them,  L\csar  will  not  come. 
Dedn*. 
Most  mighty  Ccesar,  let  me  know  some  cause 
Lett  I  be  laugh'd  at  when  I  tell  them  »o. 
Cetar. 
The  cause  is  fn  my  will ;  I  will  not  come : 
That  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate ; 
But,  for  your  private  satisfaction. 
Because  I  love  you,  I  will  let  you  know. 
Calpf.umia  here,  my  wife,  stays  me  at  home: 
She  dream'd  to-night  she  saw  my  statue, 
Which,  like  a  fountain  with  a  hundred  spouts, 
Did  run  pure  blood;  and  many  lusty  Romans 
Came  smiling,  and  did  bathe  their  hands  in  it. 
And  these  noes  she  apply  for  warnings,  and 

portents, 
And  evils  imminent ;  and  on  her  knee 
Hath  begg'd,  that  I  will  stay  at  home  to-day. 
Decius. 
This  dream  is  all  amiss  interpreted: 
It  was  a  vision,  fair  and  fortunate. 
Your  statue  spouting  blood  in  many  pipes, 
In  which  so  many  smiling  Romans  bath' d. 
Signifies  that  from  you  great  Rome  shall  suck 
Reviving  blood  ;  and  that  great  men  shall  press 
For  tinctures,  stains,  relics,  and  cognizance. 
This  by  Calphurnia's  dream  is  signified. 
Caesar. 
And  this  way  have  you  well  expounded  it. 

Decius. 
I  have,  when  you  have  heard  what  I  can  say : 
And  know  it  now.    The  senate  have  concluded 
To  give  this  day  a  crown  to  mighty  Ccesar : 
If  you  shall  send  them  word,  you  will  not  come, 
Their  minds  may  change.    Besides,  it  were  a 
Apt  to  be  render'd.  for  some  one  to  say,    [mock 
"  Break  up  the  senate  till  another  time, 
When    C&sar's  wife   shall   meet  with   better 

dreams." 
If  Ccesar  hide  himself,  shall  they  not  whisper, 
"  Lo  1  Ccesar  is  afraid  ?  " 
Pardon  me,  Ccesar;  for  my  dear,  dear  love 
To  your  proceeding  bids  me  tell  you  this, 
And  reason  to  my  love  is  liable. 
Crcsar. 
How  foolish  do  your  fears  seem  now,  Cal- 
phurnia  t 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  to  them. — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go  :  — 

Enter  Pullius,  Brutus,  Ligarius,  Metellus, 
tinea,  Trebouius,  and  ('inn a 

And  look  where  Publius  Is  come  to  fetch  me. 
Publius. 
Good  morrow,  Ccesar. 

Cesar. 

Welcome,  Publius.— 
What,  Brutus,  are  you  stirr'd  so  early  too  ?— 
Good  morrow,  Casca. — Cuius  Ligarius, 
Ccesar  was  ne'er  so  much  your  enemy, 
As  that  same  ague  which  hath  made  you  lean.  — 
What  is't  o'clock? 

Brutus. 
Cafsar,  'tis  stricken  eight. 
Cesar. 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains  and  courtesy. 

Enter  Antony. 
See !  Antony,  that  revels  long  o'  nights, 
Is  notwithstanding  up — Good  morrow,  Antony. 
Antony. 
So  to  most  noble  Ccesar. 


Cesar. 

Bid  them  prepare  witlim  : 
I  am  to  blame  to  be  thus  waited  for — 
Now,  Cinna:—  Now,  Mctellus:  —  What,  Tre- 
I  have  an  hour's  talk  in  store  for  you.    [bonius  1 
Remember  that  you  call  on  me  to-day : 
Be  near  me,  that  I  may  remember  you. 
Trebonlus. 
Ccesar,  I  will  :_andso  near  will  I  be,  [Aside. 
That  your  best  friend  shall  wish  I  had  been 
farther. 

Crtar. 
Good  friends,  go  in,  and  taste  some  wine  with 
me, 
And  we,  like  friends,  will  straightway  go  to- 
gether. 

Brutus. 
That  every  like  is  not  the  same,  O  Ccesar ; 
The  heart  of  Brutus  yearns  to  think  upon. 

T  Exeunt. 

SCENIi  III.    The  tame.    A  Street  near  the 
Capitol. 

Enter'  Artemidorus,  reading  a  Paper. 

Artemidorus. 
"Ccesar,  beware  of  Brutus;  take  heed  of 
Cassius;  come  not  near  Casca;  have  an  eye  to 
Cinna;  trust  not  Trebonius ;  mark  well  Melt-llus 
Cimber ;  Decius  Brutus  loves  thee  not;  thou 
hast  wronged  Caius  Ligarius.  There  is  but  one 
mind  in  all  these  men,  and  it  is  bent  against 
C&sar.  If  thou  be'st  not  immortal,  look  about 
you:  security  gives  way  to  conspiracy.  The 
mighty  gods  defend  thee  !    Thy  lover, 

"  ARTEMIDOnCS." 

Here  will  I  stand  till  Ccesar  pass  along, 

And  as  a  suitor  will  I  give  him  this. 

My  heart  laments  that  virtue  cannot  live 

Out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation. 

If  thou  read  this,  O  C&sar!  thou  may'st  live; 

If  not,  the  fates  with  traitors  do  contrive.  [Exit 

SCENE  I V.    The  same.    Another  part  of  the 
same  Street,  before  the  House  of  Brutus. 

Enter  Portia  and  Lucius. 
Portia. 
I  pr'j  thee,  boy,  run  to  the  senate-house  : 
Stay  not  to  answer  me,  but  get  thee  gone, 
i  Why  dost  thou  stay  t 

Lucius. 

To  know  my  errand,  madam. 

I  Portia. 

I  would  have  had  thee  there,  and  here  again, 
,  Ere  I  can  tell  thee  what  thou  should'st  do  there — 

O  constancy,  be  strong  upon  my  side  1 
'  Set  a  huge    mountain  'tween    my  heart   and 

tongue ! 
j  I  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  might. 
1  How  hard  it  is  for  women  to  keep  counsel  !  — 
>  Art  thou  here  yet? 

Lucius. 

Madam,  what  should  I  do? 
I  Run  to  the  Capitol,  and  nothing  else, 
•  And  so  return  to  you,  and  nothing  else? 
Porta 
Yes,  bring  me  word,  boy,  if  thy  lord  look  well, 
I  For  he  went  sickly  forth :  and  take  good  note, 
j   What  Ccesar  doth,  what  suitors  press  to  him. 
,     Hark,  boy  !  what  noise  is  that  ? 
Lucius. 
I  hear  none,  madam. 

Portia. 


26i 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Portia. 

Pr'ythee,  listen  well : 
I  heard  a  bustling  rumour,  like  a  fray, 
And  the  wind  brings  it  from  the  Capitol. 
Lucius. 
Sooth,  madam,  I  hear  nothing. 

Enter  the  Soothsayer. 
Portia. 

Come  hither,  fellow. 
Which  way  hast  thou  been  ? 
Soothsayer. 

At  mine  own  house,  good  lady. 
Portia. 
What  is't  o'clock,? 

Soothsayer. 

About  the  ninth  hour,  lady. 
Portia. 
Is  Ccesar  yet  gone  to  the  Capitol? 

Soothsayer. 
Madam,  not  yet :  I  go  to  take  my  stand, 
To  see  him  pass  on  to  the  Capitol. 
Portia. 
Thou  hast  some  suit  to  C&sar,  hast  thou  not  ? 

Soothsayer. 
That  I  have,  lady:  if  it  will  please  Ccesar 
To  be  so  good  to  Casar,  as  to  hear  me, 
shall  beseech  him  to  befriend  himself. 

Portia. 
Why,  know'st  thou  any  harm's  intended  to- 
wards him  ? 

Soothsayer. 
None  that  I  know  will  be,  much  that  I  fear 
may  chance. 
Good  morrow  to  you.   Here  the  street  is  narrow : 
The  throng  that  follows  Casctr  at  the  heels, 
Of  senators,  of  praetors,  common  suitors, 
"Will  crowd  a  feeble  man  almost  to  death  : 
I'll  get  me  to  a  place  more  void,  and  there 
Speak  to  great  Ccesar  as  he  comes  along.  [Exit. 
Portia. 
I  must  go  in.— Ah  me !  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is.    O  Brutust 
The  heavens  speed  thee  in  thine  enterprize ! 
Sure,  the  boy  heard  me : — Brutus  hath  a  suit, 

That  Casar  will  not  grant — O  I  I  grow  faint 

Run,  Lucius,  and  commend  me  to  my  lord  ; 
Say,  1  am  merry :  come  to  me  again, 
And  bring  me  word  what  he  doth  say  to  thee. 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  l.    The  same.    The  Capitol;  the 
Senate  sitting. 

A  Crowd  of  People  in  the  Street  leading  to  the 
Capitol;  among  them  Artemidorus,  and  the 
Soothsayer.  Flourish.  Enter  Ccesar,  Brutus, 
Cassius,  Casca,  Decius,  Metellus,  Trrhonius, 
China,  Antony,  Lepidus,  Popilius,  Publius, 
and  others. 

Caesar. 
rpHE  ides  of  March  are  come. 
Soothsayer. 
Ay,  Catsar;  but  not  gone. 

Artemidorus. 
Hail,  Ctesar!     Read  this  schedule. 


Decius. 
Trebonius  doth  desire  yon  to  o'er-read, 
At  your  best  leisure,  this  his  humble  suit. 
Artemidorus. 
O,  Casarl  read  mine  first;  for  mine's  a  suit 
That  touches   Ctesar  nearer.     Read  it,  great 
Catsar. 

Caesar. 
What  touches  us  ourself  shall  be  last  serv'd. 

Artemidorus. 
Delay  not,  C&sar;  read  it  instantly. 

Caesar. 
What !  is  the  fellow  mad  ? 
Publius. 

Sirrah,  give  place. 
Cassius. 
What !  urge  you  your  petitions  in  the  street  ? 
Come  to  the  Capitol. 

Casar  enters  the  Capitol,  the  rest  following 

All  the  Senators  rise. 

Popilius. 

I  wish,  your  enterprize  to-day  may  thrive. 

Cassius. 
What  enterprize,  Popilius  ? 
Popilius. 

Fare  you  well. 
[Advances  to  Cusar. 
Brutus. 
What  said  Popilius  Lena? 
Cassius. 
He  wish'd,  to-day  our  enterprize  might  thrive. 
I  fear,  our  purpose  is  discovered. 
Brutus. 
Look,  how  he  makes  to  Casar :  mark  him. 

Cassius. 
Casca,  be  sudden,  for  we  fear  prevention. — 
Brutus,  what  shall  be  done  ?    If  this  be  known, 
Cassius  or  Casar  never  shall  turn  back, 
For  I  will  slay  myself. 

Brutus. 

Cassius,  be  constant : 
Popilius  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes  ; 
For,  look,  he  smiles,  and  C&sar  doth  not  change. 
Cassius. 
Trebonius  knows  his  time  ;    for,  look  you, 
He  draws  Mark  Antony  out  of  the  way.  [Brutus. 
[Exeunt  Antony  and  Trebonius.    Ccesar  and 
the  Senators  take  their  Seats. 
Decius. 
Where  is  Metellus  Cimber?    Let  him  go, 
And  presently  prefer  his  suit  to  Casar. 
Brutus. 
He  is  address'd :  press  near,  and  second  him. 

China, 
Casca,  you  are  the  first  that  rears  your  hand. 

Caesar. 
Are  we  all  ready  ?  what  is  now  amiss, 
That  Caesar  and  his  senate  must  redress  ? 
Metellus. 
Most  high,  most  mighty,  and  most  puissant 
Metellus  Cimber  throws  before  thy  seat  \Casar, 
An  humble  heart: —  [Kneelinp. 

Caesar. 
I  must  prevent  thee,  Cimber. 
These  couchings,  and  these  lowly  courtesies, 
Might  fire  the  blood  of  ordinary  men, 
And  turn  pre-ordinance,  and  first  decree, 
Into  the  law  of  children.    Be  not  fond, 
To  think  that  Caisar  bears  such  rebel  blood, 
That  will  be  thaw'd  from  the  true  quality 

With 


<yxrE.3riDrs!    <cai'*. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


863 


With  that  which  melteth  fools;  I  mean,  «weet 

words, 
Low-crooked  curtesies,  and  base  spaniel  fawning. 
Thy  brother  l>v  donee  is  banished  : 
If  thou  dost  bpnd,  and  pray,  and  fawn  for  him, 
I  spam  thee  like  a  cur  out  of  my  way. 
Know,   Gesar  doth  not  wrong;   nor  without 
Will  he  be  satisfied.  [cause 

Metellus. 
Is  there  no  voice  more  worthy  than  my  own, 
To  sound  more  sweetly  in  great  Ctesar's  ear, 
For  the  repealing  of  my  banish'd  brother  ? 
Brutus. 
I  kiss  thy  hand,  but  not  In  flattery,  Gesar  j 
Desiring  thee,  that  Publius  Cimber  may 
Have  an  immediate  freedom  of  repeal. 
Caesar. 
What,  Brutus! 

Cassius. 
Pardon,  Gesar;  Gesar,  pardon  : 
As  low  as  to  thy  foot  doth  Cassius  fall. 
To  beg  enfranchisement  for  Publius  Cimber. 
Caesar. 
I  could  be  well  mov'd,  if  I  were  as  you  ; 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me ; 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star, 
Of  whose  true,  fix'd,  and  resting  quality, 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 
The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumber'd  sparks, 
They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine  ; 
But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place : 
So,  in  the  world ;  'tis  furnish'd  well  with  men, 
And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehensive ; 
Yet  in  the  number  I  do  know  but  one 
That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 
Unshak'd  of  motion  :  and,  that  I  am  he, 
Let  me  a  little  show  it,  even  in  this, 
That  I  was  constant  Cimber  should  be  banish'd, 
And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so. 
CInna. 
O  Gesar!— 

Caesar. 
Hence  1    Wilt  thou  lift  up  Olympus? 
Decius. 
Great  Gesar,— 

Caesar. 
Doth  not  Brutus  bootless  kneel  ? 
Casca. 
Speak,  hands,  for  me. 
[Casca  stabs  Gesar  in  the  Neck.     Gesar 
catches  hold  of  his  Arm.      He  is  then 
stabbed   by  several   other    Conspirators, 
and  last  by  Marcus  Brutus. 
Caesar. 
Et  tu,  Brute?— Then  fall,  Gesar. 
[Dies.    The  Senators  and  People  retire  hi 
confusion. 

Cinna. 
Liberty  I  Freedom  !  Tyranny  is  dead  !  — 
Run  hence,  proclaim,  cry  it  about  the  streets. 
Casca. 
Some  to  the  common  pulpits,  and  cry  out, 
"  Liberty,  freedom,  and  enfranchisement !  " 
Brutus. 
People,  and  senators  !  be  not  affrighted. 
Fly  not ;  stand  still :  —  ambition's  debt  is  paid. 
Casca. 
Go  to  the  pulpit,  Brutus. 
Decius. 

And  Cassius  too. 
Brutus. 
Where's  Publius  ? 


Here,  quito  confounded  with  this  mutiny. 

Metellus. 
Stand  fast  together,  lest  some  friend  of  Catsar'u 
Should  chance  — 

Brutus. 
Talk  not  of  standing — Publius,  good  cheer : 
There  is  no  harm  intended  to  your  person, 
Nor  to  no  Roman  else  ;  so  tell  them,  Publius. 
Cassius. 
And  leave  us,  Publius  ;  lest  that  the  people. 
Rushing  on  us,  should  do  your  age  some  mis- 
chlef. 

Brutus. 
Do  so :  — and  let  no  man  abide  this  deed, 
But  we,  the  doers. 

Re-enter  Treboniui* 
Cassius. 
Where's  Antony  ? 

Trebonius. 
Fled  to  his  house  amai'd. 
Men,  wives,  and  children,  stare,  cry  out,  and 
As  it  were  doomsday.  [fun, 

Brutus. 
Fates,  we  will  know  your  pleasures.— 
That  we  shall  die,  we  know  ;  'tis  but  the  time, 
And  drawing  days  out,  that  men  stand  upon. 

Casca. 
Why,  he  that  cuts  off  twenty  years  of  life, 
Cuts  off  so  many  years  of  fearing  death. 

Brutus. 
Grant  that,  and  then  is  death  a  benefit : 
So  are  we  C&sar's  friends,  that  have  abridg'd 
His  time  of  fearing   death. — Stoop,  Romans, 

stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Cesar's  blood 
Up  to  the  elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords  ; 
Then  walk  we  forth,  even  to  the  market-place, 
And,  waving  our  red  weapons  o'er  our  heads, 
Let's  all  cry,  Peace  !  Freedom  !  and  Liberty  I 
Cassius. 
Stoop  then,  and  wash. — How  many  ages  hence, 
Shall  this  our  lofty  scene  be  acted  over. 
In  states  unborn,  and  accents  yet  unknown  ? 
Brutus. 
How  many  times  shall  Gesar  bleed  in  sport, 
That  now  on  Pompey's  basis  lies  along, 
No  worthier  than  the  dust  ? 
Cassius. 

So  oft  as  that  shall  be, 
So  often  shall  the  knot  of  us  be  call\l 
The  men  that  gave  their  country  liberty. 
Decius. 
What !  shall  we  forth  ? 

Cassius. 

Ay,  every  man  away : 
Brutus  shall  lead  ;  and  we  will  grace  his  heels 
With  the  most  boldest  and  best  hearts  of  Borne. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Brutus. 

Soft!  who  comes  here?  A  friend  ot  Antony's. 

Servant. 
Thus,  Brutus,  did  my  master  bid  me  kneel ; 
Thus  did  Mark  Antony  bid  me  fall  down, 
And,  being  prostrate,  thus  he  bade  me  say. 
Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest ; 
Gesar  was  mighty,  bold,  royal,  and  loving : 
Say,  I  love  Brutus,  and  I  honour  him  ; 
Say,  I  fear'd  Gesar,  honour'd  him,  and  lov'd 
If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe,  that  Antony         [him. 


May  safely  come  to  him,  and  be  resoiv'd 


How! 


86+ 


JULIUS  CiESAR. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  I. 


How  Ccesar  hath  deserv'd  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Ccesar  dead 
So  well  as  Brutus  living;  but  will  follow 
The  fortunes  and  affairs  of  noble  Brutus, 
Thorough  the  hazards  of  this  untrod  state, 
With  all  true  faith.    So  says  my  master  Antony. 
Brutus. 
Thy  master  is  a  wise  and  valiant  Roman  : 
I  never  thought  him  worse. 
Tell  him,  so  please  him  come  unto  this  place, 
He  shall  be  satisfied ;  and,  by  my  honour, 
Depart  untouch'd. 

Servant. 
I'll  fetch  him  presently. 

[Exit  Servant. 
Brutus. 
1  know,  that  we  shall  have  him  well  to  friend. 

Cassius. 
I  wish,  we  may  ;  but  yet  have  I  a  mind. 
That  fears  him  much,  and  my  misgiving  still 
Falls  shrewdly  to  the  purpose. 

Re-enter  Antony. 
Brutus. 

But  here  comes  Antony.  —  Welcome,   Mark 
Antony. 

Antony. 

O  mighty  Ccesar !  dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 
Are  all  thy  conquests,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 
Shrank  to  this  little  measure  ?  Fare  thee  well. —  > 
I  know  not,  gentlemen,  what  you  intend, 
Who  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank :     j 
If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit 
As  Ccesar's  death's  hour  ;  nor  no  instrument 
Of  half  that  worth,  as  those  your  swords,  made  | 

rich 
With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 
I  do  beseech  ye,  if  you  bear  me  hard,      [smoke, 
Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and 
Fulfil  your  pleasure.     Live  a  thousand  years, 
1  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die : 
No  place  will  please  me  so,  no  mean  of  death, 
As  here  by  Ccesar,  and  by  you  cut  off, 
The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  age. 
Brutus 

O  Antony!  beg  not  your  death  of  us. 
Though  now  we  must  appear  bloody  and  cruel, 
As,  by  our  hands,  and  this  our  present  act, 
You  see  we  do ;  yet  see  you  but  our  hands, 
And  this  the  bleeding  business  they  have  done,  j 
Our  hearts  you  see  not :  they  are  pitiful ; 
And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Borne 
(As  fire  drives  out  fire,  so  pity,  pity) 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Ccesar.    For  your  part, 
To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points,  Mark 

Antony  : 
Our  arms,  in  strength  of  malice,  and  our  hearts, 
Of  brothers'  temper,  do  receive  you  in 
With  all  kind  love,  good  thoughts,  and  reverence. 

Cassius. 
Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's, 
In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities. 
Brutus. 
Only  be  patient,  till  we  have  appeas'd 
The  multitude,  beside  themselves  with  fear, 
And  then  we  will  deliver  you  the  cause, 
Why  I,  that  did  love  Ccesar  when  I  struck  him, 
Have  thus  proceeded. 

Antony 

I  doubt  not  of  your  wisdom. 
Let  each  man  render  me  his  bloody  hand : 
First,  Marcus  Brutus,  will  I  shake  with  you; — 
Next,  Caius  Cassius,  do  I  take  your  hand  ;  — 


Now,  Deci'us  Brutus,  yours;  — now  yours,  Me- 

tillus  ; — 
Yours,  China;— and,  my  valiant  Casca,  yours  ;-. 
Though  last,  not  least  in  love,  yours,  good  Tre- 

bunius. 
Gentlemen  all, — alas  !  what  shall  I  say? 
My  credit  now  stands  on  such  slippery  groimd, 
That  one  of  two  bad  ways  you  must  conceit  me, 
Either  a  coward,  or  a  flatterer. — 
That  I  did  love  thee,  Ccesar,  O!  'tis  true: 
If,  then,  thy  spirit  look  upon  us  now, 
Shall  it  not  grieve  thee,  dearer  than  thy  death, 
To  see  thy  Antony  making  his  peace, 
Shaking  the  bloody  fingers  of  thy  foes, 
Most  noble  !  in  the  presence  of  thy  corse  ? 
Had  I  as  many  eyes  as  thou  hast  wounds, 
Weeping  as  fast  as  they  stream  forth  thy  blood, 
It  would  become  me  better,  than  to  close 
In  terms  of  friendship  with  thine  enemies. 
Pardon  me,  Julius!     Here  wast  thou  bay'd, 

brave  hart ; 
Here  didst  thou  fall;    and  here  thy  hunters 

stand, 
Sign'd  in  thy  spoil,  and  crimson'd  in  thy  lethe. 
O  world  1  thou  wast  the  forest  to  this  hart ; 
And  this,  indeed,  O  world  !  the  heart  of  thee.— 
How  like  a  deer,  stricken  by  many  princes, 
Dost  thou  here  lie  ? 

('a.sslus. 
Mark  Antony! 

Antony. 

Pardon  me,  Caius  Cassius  : 
The  enemies  of  Ccesar  shall  say  this  ; 
Then,  in  a  friend  it  is  cold  modesty. 

I  blame  you  not  for  praising  Ccesar  so, 
But  what  compact  mean  you  to  have  with  us  ?  ] 
Will  you  be  prick'd  in  number  of  our  friends, 
Or  shall  we  on,  and  not  depend  on  you  ? 
Antony. 

Therefore  I  took  your  hands ;  but  was,  indeed, 
Sway'd   from  the  point  by  looking  down  on 

Ccesar. 
Friends  am  I  with  you  all,  and  love  you  all, 
Upon  this  hope,  that  you  shall  g/ve  me  reasons, 
Why,  and  wherein,  Ccesar  was  dangerous. 
Brutus. 

Or  else  were  this  a  savage  spectacle. 
Our  reasons  are  so  full  of  good  regard, 
That  were  you,  Antony,  the  son  of  Ccesar, 
You  should  be  satisfied. 

Antony. 

That's  all  I  seek  : 
And  am  moreover  suitor,  that  I  may 
Produce  his  body  to  the  market-place ; 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
Speak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

Brutus. 
You  shall,  Mark  Antony. 

Cassius. 

Brutus,  a  word  with  you. — 
You  know  not  what  you  do  :  do  not  consent, 
That  Antony  speak  in  his  funeral. 
Know  you  how  much  the  people  may  be  mov'd 
By  that  which  he  will  utter  ? 

Brutus. 

By  your  pardon ; 
I  will  myself  into  the  pulpit  first, 
And  show  the  reason  of  our  Ccesar'a  death  : 
What  Antony  shall  speak,  I  will  protest 
He  speaks  by  leave  and  hy  permission  ; 
And  that  we  are  contented,  Ccesar  shall 
Have  all  true  rites,  and  lawful  ceremonies. 
It  shall  advantage  more,  than  do  us  wrong. 

Cassius. 


Act  in.  Sc.  n. 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


865 


I  know  not  what  may  fall  : 


I  like  it  not. 


Brutus. 
Mark  Antony,  here,  tike  you  Casar'%  body. 
You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us, 
But  speak  all  good  you  can  devise  of  Casar  ; 
And  say,  you  do't  by  our  permission, 
Else  shall  you  not  have  any  hand  at  all 
About  his  funeral :  and  you  shall  speak 
In  the  same  pulpit  whereto  I  am  going, 
After  my  speech  it  ended. 


Antony 


"Beiti 


I  do  desire  no  more. 

Brutus. 
Prepare  the  body,  then,  and  follow  us. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Antony. 

Antony. 
O,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers  ! 
Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man, 
That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 
Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood  ! 
Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy,  [lips, 

(Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  opo  their  ruby 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue) 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men  ; 
Domestic  fury,  and  fierce  civil  strife, 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy: 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar, 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile,  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quarter'd  with  the  hands  of  war, 
All  pity  chok'd  with  custom  of  fell  deeds ; 
And  Casar'*  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge, 
With  Ate  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 
Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry,  •'  Havock ! "  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war, 
That  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth 
With  carrion  men,  groaning  for  burial. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

You  serve  Octavius  Casar,  do  you  not  ? 

Servant. 
1  do,  Mark  Antony. 

Antony. 
Casar  did  write  for  him  to  come  to  Rome. 

Servant. 
He  did  receive  his  letters,  and  is  coming, 

And  bid  me  say  to  you  by  word  of  mouth, 

O  Casar  I  [Seeing  the  Body. 

Antony. 
Thy  heart  is  big,  get  thee  apart  and  weep. 
Passion,  I  see,  is  catching ;  for  mine  eyes, 
Seeing  those  beads  of  sorrow  stand  in  thine, 
Began  to  water.    Is  thy  master  coming  ? 

Servant. 
He  lies  to-night  within  seven  leagues  of  Rome. 

Antony. 
Post  back  with  speed,  and  tell  him  what  hath 
chanc'd. 
Here  is  a  mourning  Rome,  a  dangerous  Rome, 
No  Rome  of  safety  for  Octavius  yet : 
Hie  hence,  and  tell  him  so.     Yet,  stay  a  while; 
Thou  shalt  not  back,  till  I  have  borne  this  corse 
Into  the  market-place:  there  shall  I  try, 
In  my  oration,  how  the  people  take 
The  cruel  issue  of  these  bloody  men  ; 
According  to  the  which,  thou  shalt  discourse 
To  young  Octavius  of  the  state  of  things. 
Lend  me  your  hand. 

[Exeunt,  with  Casar'*  Body. 


W.  II.    The  same.    The  Forum. 

.  Biutus  and  Cassius,  and  a  Throng  of 

t'ltr-' 

We  will  be  satisfied  1  let  us  be  satisfied. 

Then    follow   me,   ana   give   me   audience, 
friends — 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street, 
And  part  the  numbers.  —  [here ; 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  them  stay 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him ; 
And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Casar' t  death- 

First  Citizen.  „ 
Twill  hear  Brutus  speak. 

Second  Citizen. 
I  will  hear  Cassius ;  and  compare  their  reasons, 
When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

[Exit  Cassius,  with  some  of  the  Citizens. 
Brutus  goes  into  the  Nostrum. 


™L        ..,     »    Third  Citizen. 
The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended. 


Silence ! 


Brutus. 

;  la! 


Be  patient  till  the  last 
Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers !  hear  me  for 
my  cause,  and  be  silent  that  you  may  hear  :  be- 
lieve me  for  mine  honour,  and  have  respect  to 
mine  honour,  that  you  may  believe :  censure  me 
in  your  wisdom,  and  awake  your  senses  that  you 
may  the  better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this 
assembly,  any  dear  friend  of  Casar'*,  to  him  I 
say,  that  Brutus'  love  to  Casar  was  no  less  than 
his.  If,  then,  that  friend  demand,  why  Brutus 
rose  against  Casar,  this  is  my  answer,— not  that 
I  loved  Casar  less,  but  that  I  loved  Rome  more. 
Had  you  rather  Casar  were  living,  and  die  all 
slaves,  than  that  Casar  were  dead,  to  live  all 
free  men  ?  As  Casar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ; 
as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he  was 
valiant,  1  honour  him ;  but,  as  he  was  ambitious, 
I  slew  him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love  ;  joy  for 
his  fortune ;  honour  for  his  valour ;  and  death 
for  his  ambition.  Who  is  here  so  base,  that 
would  be  a  bondman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him 
have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude,  that 
would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak ;  for  him 
have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  will 
not  love  his  country?  If  any,  speak;  for  him 
have  I  offended.    I  pause  for  a  reply. 

All. 
None,  Brutus,  none. 


Brutus. 
Io- 


Then,  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no 
more  to  Casar,  than  you  shall  do  to  Brutus. 
The  question  of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the 
Capitol:  his  glory  not  extenuated,  wherein  he 
was  worthy,  nor  his  offences  enforced,  for  which 
he  suffered  death. 

Enter  Antony  and  others,  with  Casar's  Body. 
Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony: 
who,  though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall 
receive  the  benefit  of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the 
commonwealth ;  as  which  of  you  shall  not  ? 
With  this  I  depart;  that,  as  I  slew  my  best 
lover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same 
dagger  for  myself,  when  it  shall  please  my 
country  to  need  my  death. 


Live,  Brutus!  live!  live  I 
3  K 


First 


866 


JULIUS  CJESAB. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  u. 


First  Citizen. 
Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto  his  house. 

Second  Citizen. 
Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

Third  Citizen. 
Let  him  be  Ccesar. 

Fourth  Citizen. 

Ccesar's  better  parts 
Shall  now  be  crown'd  in  Brutus. 
First  Citizen. 
We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts  and 
clamours. 

Brutus. 
My  countrymen,  — 

Second  Citizen. 

Peace !  silence !  Brutus  speaks. 
First  Citizen. 
Peace,  ho  I 

Brutus. 
Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone ; 
And,  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony : 
Do  grace  to  Ccesar's  corpse,  and  grace  his  speech 
Tending  to  Ccesar's  glories,  which  Mark  Antony, 
By  our  permission,  is  allow'd  to  make. 
I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart, 
Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke.        [Exit. 
First  Citizen. 
Stay,  ho  !  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 

Third  Citizen. 
Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair : 

We'll  hear  him Noble  Antony,  go  up. 

Antony. 
For  Brutus'  sake,  I  am  beholding  to  you. 

Fourth  Citizen. 

What  does  he  say  of  Brutus? 

Third  Citizen. 

He  says,  for  Brutus'  sake, 
He  finds  himself  beholding  to  us  all. 
Fourth  Citizen. 
'Twere  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus  here. 

First  Citizen. 
This  Ccesar  was  a  tyrant. 

Third  Citizen. 

Nay,  that's  certain : 
We  are  bless'd,  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 
Second  Citizen. 
Peace  !  let  us  hear  what  Antony  can  say. 

Antony. 
You  gentle  Romans, — 

Citizens. 

Peace,  ho  1  let  us  hear  him. 
Antony. 
Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your 
I  come  to  bury  Ccesar,  not  to  praise  him.  [ears : 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them, 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  ; 
So  let  it  be  with  Ccesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Ccesar  was  ambitious : 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Ccesar  answer'd  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus  and  the  rest, 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man, 
So  are  they  all,  all  honourable  men) 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Ccesar's  funeral. 
He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me : 
But  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man. 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 
Did  this  in  Ccesar  seem  ambitious  ? 


When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Ccesar  hath  wept ; 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 
Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious : 
And  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man. 
You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.    Was  this  ambition? 
Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 
And,  sure,  he  is  an  honourable  man. 
I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 
But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 
You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause : 
What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for 
him? 

0  judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason Bear  with  me ; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Ccesar, 
Aud  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

First  Citizen. 
Methinks,  there  is  much  reason  in  his  sayings. 

Second  Citizen. 
If  thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 
Ccesar  has  had  great  wrong. 

Third  Citizen. 

Has  he,  masters? 

1  fear,  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
Mark'd  ye  his  words  ?    He  would  not  take  the 
crown : 
Therefore,  'tis  certain,  he  was  not  ambitious. 
First  Citizen. 
If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

Second  Citizen. 
Poor  soul !  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with  weeping. 

Third  Citizen. 
There's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome  than  Antony. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
Now  mark  him  ;  he  begins  again  to  speak. 

Antony. 
But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Ccesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world :  now,  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters  !  if  I  were  dispos'd  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  aud  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honourable  men. 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong :  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honourable  men. 
But  here's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Ccesar  ; 
I  found  it  in  his  closet,  'tis  his  will : 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament, 
(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read) 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Ccesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood ; 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory, 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 
Unto  their  issue. 

Fourth  Citizen. 

We'll  hear  the  will.    Read  it,  Mark  Antony. 
All. 

The  will,  the  will !  we  will  hear  Ccesar's  will. 
Antony. 

Have  patience,  gentle  friends  ;   I  must  not 
read  it : 
It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Ccesar  lov'd  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men, 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Ccesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad. 
'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs ; 
For  if  you  should,  O  I  what  would  come  of  it? 

Fourth 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


JULIUS  CjESAH. 


867 


H«:ul  the  will !  we'll  hear  It,  Antony ; 
You  (hall  read  ui  the  will :  Ceesar' %  will  I 
Antoojr. 
Will  you  be  patient  ?    Will  you  stay  a  while  ? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear,  I  wrong  the  honourable  men,  [it. 

Whose  daggers  have  stabb'd  Catsar  :  I  do  fear 
Fourth  Citizen. 
They  were  traitors  :  honourable  men  1 

All. 
The  will !  the  testament ! 

Second  Citizen. 
They  were  villains,  murderers.    The  will  I 
read  the  will. 

Antony. 

You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will  ? 

Then,  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Ceesar, 

And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 

Shall  1  descend  ?  and  will  you  give  me  leave? 

All. 

Comedown.  _         ,  _.,. 

Second  Citizen. 

Descend.  CHe  comes  down- 

Third  Citizen. 

You  shall  have  leave. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
A  ring:  stand  round. 

First  Citizen. 
Stand  from  the  hearse  ;  stand  from  the  body. 

Second  Citizen. 
Room  for  Anion;/  ;  —  most  noble  Antony ! 

Antony. 

Nay,  press  not  so  upon  me ;  stand  far  off. 

All. 

Stand  back  I  room  !  bear  back  I 
Antony. 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Ctesar  put  it  on  ; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii.      [through  :  , 
Look  I    in    this    place,    ran     Cassius'    dagger 
See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd ;  \ 
And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Ceesar  follow 'd  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolv'd 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd,  or  no  ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Ceesar'1*  angel : 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Ceesar  lov'd  him  I 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 
For  when  the  noble  Ceesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquish'd  him  :  then  burst  his  mighty 
And  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face,  [heart ; 
Kven  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Ceesar  fell. 
O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  I 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  fiotirish'd  over  us. 
O  !  now  you  weep  ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls  !    what  1  weep  you,  when  you  but 

behold 
Our  Ceesar's  vesture  wounded  ?  Look  you  here, 
Here    is    himself,    marr'd,    as   you    see,   with 

traitors.     _.    .  _.  . 

First  Citizen. 

O  piteous  spectacle  ! 

Second  Citizen. 
O  noble  Ctesar  I 


O  woful  day  1 


Third  Citizen. 
Fourth  Citizen. 


O  traitors  I  villains  I 

First  Citizen. 

O  most  bloody  sight ! 

Second  Citizen. 
We   will   be  revenged :   revenge !  about,— 
seek,  —  burn,  —  fire,  —  kill,  —  slay  I  —  let  not  a 
traitor  live.  .    . 

Antony. 

Stay,  countrymen. 

First  Citizeu. 
Peace  there !  hear  the  noble  Antony. 

Second  Citizen. 
We'll  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  di 
with  him. 

Antony. 

Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny.  [you  up 

They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honourable : 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas  I  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  it ;  they  are  wise  and  ho- 
nourable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts : 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is  ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man, 
That  love  my  friend ;  and  that  they  know  full 

well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  writ,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood :  I  only  speak  right  on  ; 
I  tell  you  that,  which  you  yourselves  do  know, 
Show  you  sweet  Ceesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor 

dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me :  but  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Ceesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Borne  to  rise  and  mutiny. 
All. 
We'll  mutiny. 

First  Citizen. 

We'll  burn  the  house  of  Brutus. 
Third  Citizen. 

Away  then  1  come,  seek  the  conspirators. 
Antony. 

Yet  hear    me,    countrymen ;    yet    hear   me 


speak. 


All. 


Peace,  ho !    Hear  Antony  ;  most  noble  An- 

*'  Antony. 

Why,  friends,  you  go  to  do  you  know  not 
what. 
Wherein  hath  Ceesar  thus  deserv'd  your  loves  ? 
Alas  I  you  know  not: — I  must  tell  you,  then. 
You  have  forgot  the  will  I  told  you  of. 
All. 

Most  true:  — the  will:— let's  stay,  and  hear 
the  will. 

Antony. 

Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Ceesar 's  seal. 
To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives, 
To  every  several  man,  seventy-five  drachmas. 
Second  Citizen. 

Most  noble  Ceesar !  —  we'll  revenge  his  death. 
Third  Citizen. 

O  royal  Ceesar!   ^^ 

Hear  me  with  patience.  ... 


Tt68 


JULIUS  OZESAR. 


Act  in.  Sc.  ii. 


All. 
Peace,  ho  I 

Antony. 
Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks, 
His  private  arbours,  and  new-planted  orchards, 
On  this  side  Tyber  :  he  hath  left  them  you, 
And  to  your  heirs  for  ever  ;  common  pleasures, 
To  walk  abroad,  and  recreate  yourselves. 
Here  was  a  Caesar :  when  comes  such  another  ? 

First  Citizen. 
Never,  never  !  —  Come,  away,  away  ! 
We'll  burn  his  body  in  the  holy  place, 
And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 

Second  Citizen. 
Go,  fetch  fire. 

Third  Citizen. 
Pluck  down  benches. 

Fourth  Citizen 
Pluck  down  forms,  windows,  any  thing. 

(Exeunt  Citizens,  with  the  Body. 

Antony. 
Now  let  it  work.    Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt !  —  How  now, 
fellow  ! 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Servant. 
Sir,  Octavius  is  already  come  to  Rome. 

Antony. 
Where  is  he  ? 

Servant. 
He  and  Lepidus  are  at  C&sar's  house. 

Antony. 
And  thither  will  I  straight  to  visit  him. 
He  comes  upon  a  wish :  Fortune  is  merry, 
And  in  this  mood  will  give  us  any  thing. 

Servant. 
I  heard  him  say,  Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  rid  like  madmen  through  the  gates  of  Rome. 

Antony. 
Belike,  they  had  some  notice  of  the  people, 
How  I  had  mov'd  them.    Bring  me  to  Octavius. 
[Exeunt 

SCENE  III.   The  same.    A  Street. 
Enter  Cinna,  the  Poet. 

Cinna. 
I  dreamt  to-night,  that  I  did  feast  with  C<esar, 
And  things  unluckily  charge  my  fantasy. 
I  have  no  will  to  wander  forth  of  doors, 
Yet  something  leads  me  forth. 

Enter  Citizens. 
First  Citizen. 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Second  Citizen. 
Whither  are  you  going  ? 

Third  Citizen. 
Where  do  you  dwell  ? 

Fourth  Citizen. 
Are  you  a  married  man,  or  a  bachelor  ? 

Second  Citizen. 
Answer  every  man  directly. 

First  Citizen. 
Ay.  and  briefly. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
Ay,  and  wisely. 

Third  Citizen. 

Ay,  and  truly ;  you  were  best. 


Cinna. 

What  is  my  name?  Whither  am  I  going? 
Where  do  I  dwell  ?  Am  I  a  married  man,  or  a 
bachelor  ?  Then,  to  answer  every  man  directly, 
and  briefly,  wisely,  and  truly :  wisely  I  say,  I  am 
a  bachelor. 

Second  Citizen. 

That's  as  much  as  to  say,  they  are  fools  that 
marry : — you'll  bear  me  a  bang  for  that,  I  fear. 
Proceed ;  directly. 

Cinna. 
Directly,  I  am  going  to  C&sar's  funeral. 

First  Citizen. 
As  a  friend,  or  an  enemy  ? 

Cinna. 
Asa  friend. 

Second  Citizen. 
That  matter  is  answered  directly. 

Fourth  Citizen. 
For  your  dwelling,— briefly. 

Cinna. 
Briefly,  I  dwell  by  the  Capitol. 

Third  Citizen. 
Your  name,  sir,  truly. 

Cinna. 
Truly,  my  name  is  Cinna. 

First  Citizen. 
Tear  him  to  pieces  :  he's  a  conspirator. 

Cinna. 
I  am  Cinna  the  poet ;  I  am  Cinna  the  poet. 

Fourth  Citizen.         ,  ,     . 
Tear  him  for  his  bad  verses  ;  tear  him  for  his 
bad  verses. 

Cinna. 
I  am  not  Cinna  the  conspirator. 

Second  Citizen. 
It  is  no  matter ;  his  name's   Cinna :   pluck 
but  his  name  out  of  his  heart,  and  turn  him 
going. 

Third  Citizen. 
Tear  him,  tear  him  1    Come:  brands,  ho !  fire- 
brands !     To  Brutus,  to    Cassius ;     burn    all. 
Some  to  Decius'  house,  and  some  to  Casca's  ; 
some  to  Ligarius.    Away  1  go !  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    A  Room  in  Antony'* 
House. 

Antony,  Octavius,  and  Lepidus,  seated  at  a  Table. 
Antony. 

THESE  many,  then,  shall  die:   their  names 
are  prick'd. 

Octavius. 
Your  brother,  too,  must  die :   consent  you, 
Lepidus  ? 

Lepidus. 
I  do  consent. 

Octavius. 
Prick  him  down,  Antony. 

Lepidus." 
Upon  condition  Publius  shall  not  live, 
Who  is  your  sister's  son,  Mark  Antony. 
Antony. 
He  shall  not  live ;  look,  with  a  spot  I  damn 
him. 
But,  Lepidus,  go  you  to  Catsar's  house ; 

Fetch 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


JULIUS  C^SAIl. 


869 


lVtrh  the  will  hither,  and  we  will  determine 
How  to  cut  off  some  charge  in  legacies. 

Lcpidus. 
What,  shall  I  find  you  here  ? 

Octa  vhu. 
Or  here,  or  at  the  Capitol.       [Exit  Lepidus. 

Antony. 
This  is  a  slight  unmeritable  man, 
Meet  to  be  sent  on  errands :  is  it  fit. 
The  threefold  world  divided,  he  should  stand 
One  of  the  three  to  share  it  ? 

Octavius. 

So  you  thought  him ; 
And  took  his  voice  who  should  be  prick'd  to  die, 
In  our  black  sentence  and  proscription. 

Antony. 
Octavius,  I  have  seen  more  days  than  you : 
And  though  we  lay  these  honours  on  this  man, 
To  ease  ourselves  of  divers  slanderous  loads, 
He  shall  but  bear  them  as  the  ass  bears  gold, 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  the  business, 
Either  led  or  driven,  as  we  point  the  way ; 
And  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will, 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  off, 
Like  to  the  empty  ass,  to  shake  his  ears, 
And  graze  in  commons. 

Octavius. 

You  may  do  your  will ; 
But  he's  a  tried  and  valiant  soldier. 

Antony. 
So  is  my  horse,  Octavius ;  and  for  that 
I  do  appoint  him  store  of  provender. 
It  is  a  creature  that  I  teach  to  fight, 
To  wind,  to  stop,  to  run  directly  on, 
His  corporal  motion  govern 'd  by  my  spirit : 
And,  in  some  taste,  is  Lepidus  but  so ; 
He  must  be  taught,  and  train'd,  and  bid  go  forth . 
A  barren -spirited  fellow  ;  one  that  feeds 
On  objects,  arts,  and  imitations, 
Which,  out  of  use  and  stal'd  by  other  men, 
Begin  his  fashion :  do  not  talk  of  him, 
But  as  a  property.    And  now,  Octavius, 
Listen  great  things.    Brutus  and  Cassius, 
Are  levying  powers :    we  must  straight  make 
Therefore,  let  our  alliance  be  combin'd,  [head  ; 
Our  best  friends  made,  and  our  best  means 

stretch'd  out ; 
A  nd  let  us  presently  go  sit  in  council, 
How  covert  matters  may  be  best  disclos'd, 
And  open  perils  surest  answered. 

Octavius. 
Let  us  do  so,  for  we  are  at  the  stake, 
And  bay'd  about  with  many  enemies  ; 
And  some,  that  smile,  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear, 
Millions  of  mischiefs.  [Exeunt. 

SCESE  II.    Before  Brutus'  Tent,  in  the  Camp 
near  Sunt  is. 

Drum.     Enter  Brutus.  J.u  ilius.  Lucius,  and 
Soldiers:  Tilinius  and  Pindatus  meet  them. 

Brutus. 
Stand,  ho  I 

Lucilius. 
Give  the  word,  ho  !  and  stand. 

Brutus. 
What  now,  Lucilius  f  is  Cassius  near  ? 

Lucilius. 
He  is  at  hand  ;  and  Pindarus  is  come 
To  do  you  salutation  from  his  master, 

[Pindarus  gives  a  Letter  to  Brutus. 


Brutus. 
He  greet!  me  well.  —  Your  master,  Pindarus, 
In  his  own  change,  or  by  ill  ofllcers. 
Hath  given  me  some  worthy  cause  to  wish 
Things  done,  undone ;  but,  if  he  be  at  hand, 
I  shall  be  satisfied. 

Pindarus. 
I  do  not  doubt, 
But  that  my  noble  master  will  appear 
Such  as  he  is,  full  of  regard  and  honour. 
Brutus. 
He  is  not  doubted.— A  word,  Lucilius : 
How  he  receiv'd  you  let  me  be  resolv'd. 
Lucilius. 
With  courtesy,  and  with  respect  enough  ; 
But  not  with  such  familiar  instances, 
Nor  with  such  free  and  friendly  conference, 
As  he  hath  used  of  old. 

Brutus. 

Thou  hast  describ'd 
A  hot  friend  cooling.    Ever  note,  Lucilius, 
When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay, 
It  useth  an  enforced  ceremony. 
There  are  no  tricks  in  plain  and  simple  faith  ; 
But  hollow  men,  like  horses  hot  at  hand, 
Make  gallant  show  and  promise  of  their  mettle. 
But  when  they  should  endure  the  bloody  spur, 
They  fall  their  crests,  and,  like  deceitful  jades, 
Sink  in  the  trial.    Comes  his  army  on  ? 
Lucilius. 
They  mean  this  night  in  Sardis  to  be  quarter'd  : 
The  greater  part,  the  horse  in  general, 
Are  come  with  Cassius.  [March  within. 

Brutus. 

Hark!  he  is  arriv'd.— 
March  gently  on  to  meet  him. 

Enter  Cassius  and  Soldiers. 
Cassius. 
Stand,  ho ! 

Brutus. 
Stand,  ho !    Speak  the  word  along. 
[Within.l     Stand. 
[Within.]     Stand. 
[Within.]     Stand. 

Cassius. 
Most  noble  brother,  you  have  done  me  wrong. 

Brutus. 
Judge  me,  you  gods !   Wrong  I  mine  enemies  ? 
And,  if  not  so,  how  should  1  wrong  a  brother? 
Cassius. 
Brutus,  this  sober  form  of  yours  hides  wrongs : 
And  when  you  do  them  — 
Brutus. 

Cassius,  be  content, 
Speak  your  griefs  softly;  I  do  know  you  well. 
Before  the  eyes  of  both  our  armies  here, 
Which  should  perceive  nothing  but  love  from  us, 
Let  us  not  wrangle:  bid  them  move  away; 
Then  in  my  tent,  Cassius,  enlarge  your  griefs, 
And  I  will  give  you  audience. 
Cassius. 

Pindarus, 
Bid  our  commanders  lead  their  charges  off 
A  little  from  this  ground. 
Brutus. 
Lucilius,  do  you  the  like;  and  let  no  man 
Come  to  our  tent,  till  we  have  done  our  confer- 
ence. 
Let  Lucius  and  Titinius  guard  our  door. 

[Pxeunt. 
SCLXB 


8?o 


JULIUS  CJESAtt. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


SCENE  III.    Within  the  Tent  of  Brutus. 
Lucius  and  Titinius  at  some  distance  from  it. 
Enter  Brutus  and  Cassius. 
Cassius. 
That  you  have  wrong'd  me,  doth  appear  in 
this: 
You  have  condemn 'd  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 
Brutus. 
You  wrong'd  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 

Cassius. 
In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet     [ment. 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  his  com- 
Brutus. 
Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm 
To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cassius. 
I  an  itching  palm  ? 
You  know,  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 
Brutus. 
The  name  of  Cassius  honours  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  does  therefore  hide  his  head. 
Cassius. 
Chastisement ! 

Brutus. 
Remember  March,   the  ides  of   March   re- 
member. 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touch'd  his  body,  that  did  stab, 
And  not  for  justice  ?    What  1  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honours, 
For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cassius. 

Brutus,  bait  not  me, 
I'll  not  endure  it:  you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in.     1  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Brutus. 
Go  to;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cassius. 
I  am. 

Brutus. 
I  say,  you  are  not. 

"Cassius. 
Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself: 
Have  mind  upon  your  health;  tempt  me  no 
farther. 

Brutus. 
Away,  slight  man ! 

Cassius. 
Is't  possible? 

Brutus. 
Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 
Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  I  be  frighted,  when  a  madman  stares  ? 

Cassius. 
O  ye  gods !  ye  gods  1    Must  I  endure  all  this  ? 

Brutus. 
All  this?  ay,  more:    Fret,  till  your  proud 
heart  break : 


Go,  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make   your   bondmen  tremble.    Must   I 

budge? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?    Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humour  ?    By  the  gods, 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you ;  for  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cassius. 

Is  it  come  to  this  ? 
Brutus. 
You  say,  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own 

part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cassius. 
You  wrong  me  every  way;  you  wrong  me, 
Brutus  ; 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better : 
Did  I  say,  better  ? 

Brutus. 
If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cassius. 
When  C&sar  liv'd,  he  durst  not  thus  have 
mov'd  me. 

Brutus. 
Peace,  peace !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 
him. 

Cassius. 
I  durst  not  ? 

Brutus. 
No. 

Cassius. 
What !  durst  not  tempt  him? 

Brutus. 

For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cassius. 
Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Brutus. 
You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats, 
For  I  am  arm'd  so  strong  in  honesty, 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not.     1  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me ; 
For  1  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means: 
By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash, 
By  any  indirection.    I  did  send 
To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions,       [Cassius? 
Which  you  denied  me:    was    that  done  like 
Should  I  have  answer'd  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts 
Dash  him  to  pieces  1 

Cassius. 
I  denied  you  not. 

Brutus. 
You  did. 

Cassius. 
I  did  not :  he  was  but  a  fool, 
That  brought  my  answer  back — Brutus  hath 

riv'd  my  heart : 
A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Brutus. 
1  do  not,  till  you  practise  them  on  me. 

Cassius. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  m. 


JULIUS  CJESAR. 


«7i 


Casilus. 
You  love  me  not. 

lirutui. 
I  do  not  like  jour  faults. 

Cassius. 
A  friendly  eye  could  never  tee  such  faults. 

Brutus. 
A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cassius. 
Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world  : 
Hated  by  one  he  loves  ;  brav'd  by  his  brother  ; 
Check'd  like  a  bondman  ;  all  his  faults  observ'd, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learn'd,  and  conn'd  by  rote, 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.    O  I  1  could  weep 

My  spirit  from  mine  eyes There  is  my  dagger, 

And  here  my  naked  breast;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Flutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold : 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold  will  give  my  heart. 
Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Cccsar ;  for,  I  know, 
When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst 
Than  ever  thou  lov'dst  Cassius.         [him  better 

Brutus. 

Sheath  your  dagger. 
Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonour  shall  be  humour. 
O  Cassius!  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb, 
That  carries  anger,  as  the  flint  bears  fire, 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cassius. 

Hath  Cassius  liv'd 
To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-temper'd,  vexeth  him? 

Brutus. 
When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-temper'd  too. 

Cassius. 
Do  you  confess  so  much?     Give  me  your 
hand. 

Brutus. 
And  my  heart,  too. 

Cassius. 
O  Brutus  !  — 

Brutus. 

What's  the  matter  ? 

Cassius. 

Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 

When  that  rash  humour,  which  my  mother  gave 

Makes  me  forgetful  ?  [me, 

Brutus. 
Yes,  Cassius  ;  and,  from  henceforth, 
When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you 
so.  [Noise  within. 

Poet.  [Within. 

Let  me  go  in  to  see  the  generals.  [meet 

There  is  some  grudge  between  them;  'tis  not 
They  be  alone. 

Lucius.  [Within. 

You  shall  not  come  to  them. 

Poet.  [Within. 

Nothing  but  death  shall  stay  me. 

Enter  Poet. 
Cassius. 
How  now  !    What's  the  matter  ? 

Poet. 
For  shame,  you  generals  !      What   do    you 
mean  ? 


I  Love,  and  be  friends,  as  two  such  men  should  be ; 

!  For  I  have  seen  more  years,  I  am  sure,  than  ye. 

Cassius. 

Ha,  ha  I  how  vilely  doth  this  cynic  rhyme. 

Brutus, 
Get  you  hence,  sirrah :  saucy  fellow,  hence. 

Cassius. 
Bear  with  him,  Brutus  ;  'tis  his  fashion. 

Brutus. 
.  '11  know  his  humour,  when  he  knows  his 
time. 


What  should  the  wars  do  with   these  jigging 
Companion,  hence.  [fools? 

Cassius. 
Away,  away !  be  gone. 

[Exit  Poet. 

Enter  Lucilius  and  Titinius. 

Brutus. 
Lucilius  and  Titinius,  bid  the  commanders 
Prepare  to  lodge  their  companies  to-night. 
Cassiifs. 
And  come  yourselves,  and  bring  Messala  with 
Immediately  to  us.  [you, 

[Exeunt  Lucilius  and  Titinius. 
Brutus. 

Lucius,  a  bowl  of  wine, 
Cassius. 
I  did  not  think,  you  could  have  been  so  angry. 

Brutus. 
O  Cassius  I  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

Cassius. 
Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use, 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 
Brutus. 
No  man  bears  sorrow  better.— Portia  is  dead. 

Cassius. 
Ha!  Portia f 

Brutus. 
She  is  dead. 

Cassius. 
How  scap'd  I  killing,  when  I  cross'd  you  so?— 
O,  insupportable  and  touching  loss  1  — 
Upon  what  sickness  ? 

Brutus 

Impatient  of  my  absence, 
And  grief,  that  young  Ocfavius  with  Mark  Antony 
Have  made  themselves  so  strong;— for  with  her 

death 
That  tidings  came.— With  this  she  fell  distract, 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallow'd  fire. 

Cassius. 
And  died  so  ? 

Brutus. 
Even  so. 

Cassius. 
O,  ye  immortal  gods  ! 

Enter  Lucius,  with  Wine  and  Tapers. 

Brutus. 

Speak  no  more  of  her.— Give  me  a  bowl  of 

wine: 

In  this  I  bury  all  unkindness,  Cassius.   [Drinks. 

dot. 

My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge- 
Fill,  Lucius,  till  the  wine  o'erswell  the  cup  ; 
I  cannot  drink  too  much  of  Brutus'  love. 

[Drinlu. 
Re-enter  Titinius,  with  Messala. 
Brutus. 

Come  in,  Titinius — Welcome,  good  Messala 

Now 


87a 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Now  sit  we  close  about  this  taper  here, 
And  call  in  question  our  necessities. 
Cassius. 
Portia,  art  thou  gone  ? 

Brutus. 

No  more,  I  pray  you.— 
Messala,  I  have  here  received  letters, 
That  young  Octavius,  and  Mark  Antony, 
Come  down  upon  us  with  a  mighty  power, 
Bending  their  expedition  toward  Philippi. 
Messala. 
Myself  have  letters  of  the  self-same  tenour. 

Brutus. 
With  what  addition  ? 

Messala. 
That  by  proscription,  and  bills  of  outlawry, 
Octavius,  Antony,  and  Lepidus, 
Have  put  to  death  an  hundred  senators. 
Brutus. 
Therein  our  letters  do  not  well  agree : 
Mine  speak  of  seventy  senators,  that  died 
By  their  proscriptions,  Cicero  being  one. 
Cassius. 
Cicero  one? 

Messala. 
Cicero  is  dead, 
And  by  that  order  of  proscription. — 
Had  you  your  letters  from  your  wife,  my  lord  ? 
Brutus. 
No,  Messala. 

Messala. 
Nor  nothing  in  your  letters  writ  of  her  ? 

Brutus. 
Nothing,  Messala. 

Messala. 

That,  methinks,  is  strange. 
Brutus. 
Why  ask  you?    Hear  you  aught  of  her  in 

Messala. 
No,  my  lord.         „ 

Brutus. 
Now,  as  you  are  a  Roman,  tell  me  true. 

Messala. 
Then  like  a  Roman  bear  the  truth  I  tell : 
For  certain  she  is  dead,  and  by  strange  manner. 
Brutus. 

Why,  farewell,  Portia We  must  die,  Messala: 

With  meditating  that  she  must  die  once, 
1  have  the  patience  to  endure  it  now. 
Messala. 
Even  so  great  men  great  losses  should  endure. 

Cassius. 
I  have  as  much  of  this  in  art  as  you, 
But  yet  my  nature  could  not  bear  it  so. 
Brutus. 
Well,  to  our  work  alive. — What  do  you  think 
Of  marching  to  Philippi  presently  ? 
Cassius. 
I  do  not  think  it  good. 

Brutus. 

Your  reason  ? 
Cassius. 

This  it  is. 
'Tis  better,  that  the  enemy  seek  us : 
So  shall  he  waste  his  means,  weary  his  soldiers. 
Doing  himself  offence ;  whilst  we,  lying  still, 
Are  full  of  rest,  defence,  and  nimbleness. 
Brutus. 
Good  reasons  must,  of  force,  give  place  to 
better. 


The  people,  'twixt  Philippi  and  this  ground, 
Do  stand  but  in  a  fore'd  affection  ; 
For  they  have  grudg'd  us  contribution : 
The  enemy,  marching  along  by  them, 
By  them  shall  make  a  fuller  number  up, 
Come  on  refresh'd,  new-added,  and  encourag'd ; 
From  which  advantage  shall  we  cut  him  off, 
If  at  Philippi  we  do  face  him  there, 
These  people  at  our  back. 
Cassius. 

Hear  me,  good  brother. 
Brutus. 
Under  your  pardon — You  must  note  beside, 
That  we  have  tried  the  utmost  of  our  friends. 
Our  legions  are  brim-full,  our  cause  is  ripe : 
The  enemy  increaseth  every  day ; 
We,  at  the  height,  are  ready  to  decline. 
There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows,  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat ; 
And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves, 
Or  lose  our  ventures. 

Cassius. 

Then,  with  your  will,  go  on : 
We  will  along   ourselves,  and  meet  them  at 
Philippi.         ■ 

Brutus. 
The  deep  of  night  is  crept  upon  our  talk, 
And  nature  must  obey  necessity, 
Which  we  will  niggard  with  a  little  rest. 
There  is  no  more  to  say  ? 

Cassius. 

No  more.    Good  night : 
Early  to-morrow  will  we  rise,  and  hence. 
Brutus. 
Lucius,  my  gown.  [Exit  Lucius.']   Farewell, 
good  Messala: — 
Good  night,  Titinius — Noble,  noble  Cassius, 
Good  night,  and  good  repose. 
Cassius. 

O,  my  dear  brother .' 
This  was  an  ill  beginning  of  the  night. 
Never  come  such  division  'tween  our  souls  ! 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 

Brutus. 

Every  thing  is  well. 
Cassius. 
Good  night,  my  lord. 

Brutus. 
Good  night,  good  brother. 
Titinius  and  Messala. 
Good  night,  lord  Brutus. 
Brutus. 


,  T$&mVss0aTa: 


[Exeunt  Cassius 

Re-enter  Lucius,  with  the  Gown. 

Give  me  the  gown.    Where  is  thy  instrument  ? 
Lucius. 
Here  in  the  tent. 

Brutus. 
What !  thou  speak'st  drowsily  ? 
Poor  knave,  I  blame  thee  not;  thou  art  o'er. 

watch'd. 
Call  Claudius,  and  some  other  of  my  men ; 
I'll  have  them  sleep  on  cushions  in  my  tent. 
Lucius. 

Varro,  and  Claudius!  _  , 

Enter 


Act  v.  Sc.  l 


JULIUS  CJESAK. 


*7S 


l  arro  and  Claudius. 

Calli  my  lord? 

Brutus. 

I  pray  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  tent,  and  sleep : 
It  may  be,  I  shall  raise  you  by  and  by 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassias. 

So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch  your 
pleasure. 

Brutus. 
I  will  not  have  it  so ;  lie  down,  good  sirs : 
It  may  be,  1  shall  otherwise  bethink  me. 
Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  book  I  sought  for  so  ; 
I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown. 

{Si-wants  He  down 
Lucius. 
I  was  sure,  your  lordship  did  not  give  it  me. 

Brutus. 
Bear  with  me,  good  boy,  I  am  much  forgetful. 
Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two  ? 
Lucius. 
Ay,  my  lord,  an't  please  you. 
Brutus. 

It  does,  my  boy. 
I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  thou  art  willing. 
Lucius. 
It  is  my  duty,  sir. 

Brutus. 
1  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  might: 
I  know,  young  bloods  look  for  a  time  of  rest. 
Lucius. 
I  have  slept,  my  lord,  already. 

Brutus, 
it  was  well  done,  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 
I  will  not  hold  thee  long:  if  1  do  live, 
1  will  be  good  to  thee.  [Music,  and  a  Song. 

This  is  a  sleepy  tune.— O  murderous  slumber  1 
Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy, 
That  plays  thee  music?— Gentle  knave,  good 

night; 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument : 
I'll  take  it  from  thee;  and,  good  boy,  good 

night. — 
Let  me  see,  let  me  see ;  is  not  the  leaf  turn'd 

down, 
Where  I  left  reading?    Here  it  is,  I  think. 

[lie  sits  down. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  Catsar. 

How  ill  this  taper  burns Ha  1  who  comes  here  ? 

I  think,  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me.— Art  thou  any  thing  ? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  mak'st  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to 
Speak  to  me,  what  thou  art.  [stare  ? 

Ghost. 
Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 
Brutus. 

Why  cora'st  thou  ? 
Ghost. 
To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 

Brutus. 
Well ;  then  I  shall  see  thee  again  ? 

G:iOSt. 

Ay,  at  Philippi. 
[Ghost  vanishes. 
Brutus. 
Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi  then.— 


Now  I  have  taken  heart,  thou  vanishest : 
111  spirit,  1  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee — 
Boy!      Lucius!  — Varro  I      Claudius  /       Sirs, 
Claudius  I  [awake  1  — 

Lucius. 
The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 

Brutus. 
He  thinks,  he  still  is  at  his  instrument — 
Lucius,  awake ! 

Lucius. 
My  lord. 

Brutus. 
Didst  thou  dream,  Lucius,  that  thou  so  criedst 
out? 

Lucius. 
My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  cry. 

Brutus. 
Yes,  that  thou  didst.    Didst  thou  see  any 
thing? 

Lucius. 
Nothing,  my  lord. 

Brutus. 
Sleep  again,  Lucius.— Sirrah,  Claudius! 
Fellow  thou :  awake  ! 

Varro. 
My  lord. 

Claudius. 
My  lord. 

Brutus. 
Why  did  you  so  cry  out,  sirs,  in  your  sleep  ? 

Varro  and  Claudius. 
Did  we,  my  lord  ? 

Brutus. 
Ay  :  saw  you  any  thing  ? 
Varro. 
No,  my  lord,  I  saw  nothing. 
Claudius. 

Nor  I,  my  lord. 
Brutus. 
Go,  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius : 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before, 
And  we  will  follow. 

Varro  and  Claudius. 

It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 
[F.xcunt. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  Plains  of  Philippi. 

Enter  Vclavius,  Antony,  and  ilieir  Army 

Ortavius. 

NOW,  Antony,  our  hopes  are  answered. 
You  said,  the  enemy  would  not  come  down, 
But  keep  the  hills  and  upper  regions : 
It  proves  not  so  :  their  battles  are  at  hand ; 
They  mean  to  warn  us  at  Philippi  here, 
Answering  before  we  do  demand  of  them. 
Antony. 
Tut !  I  am  in  their  bosoms,  and  I  know 
Wherefore  they  do  it:  they  could  be  content 
To  visit  other  places ;  and  come  down 
I  With  fearful  bravery,  thinking  by  this  face 
To  fasten  in  our  thoughts  that  they  have  courage; 
But  'tis  not  so. 


Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Trepare  you,  generals ; 


The 


874- 


JULIUS  C2ESAR. 


Act  v.  Sc.  t 


The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  show : 
Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out, 
And  something  to  be  done  immediately. 
Antony. 
Octavius,  lead  your  battle  softly  on, 
Upon  the  left  hand  of  the  even  field. 
Octavius. 
Upon  the  right  hand  I ;  keep  thou  the  left. 

Antony. 
Why  do  you  cross  me  in  this  exigent  ? 

Octavius. 

I  do  not  cross  you ;  but  I  will  do  so.    [March. 

Drum.  Enter  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  their  Army ; 

Lucilius,  Titinius,  Messala,  and  others. 

Brutus. 

They  stand,  and  would  have  parley. 

Cassius. 
Stand  fast,  Titinius  :  we  must  out  and  talk. 

Octavius. 
Mark  Antony,  shall  we  give  sign  of  battle  ? 

Antony. 
No,  Catsar,  we  will  answer  on  their  charge. 
Make  forth  ;    the  generals  would  have  some 
words. 

Octavius. 
Stir  not  until  the  signal. 

Brutus. 
Words  before  blows ;  is  it  90,  countrymen  7 

Octavius. 
Not  that  we  love  words  better,  as  you  do. 

Brutus. 
Good  words  are  better  than  bad  strokes,  Oc- 
tavius. 

Antony. 
In  your  bad  strokes,  Brutus,  you  give  good 
words : 
Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Caesar's  heart, 
Crying,  "  Long  live !  hail,  Caesar!  " 
Cassius. 

Antony, 
The  posture  of  your  blows  are  yet  unknown  ; 
But  for  your  words,  they  rob  the  Hybla  bees, 
And  leave  them  honeyless. 
Antony. 

Not  stingless,  too. 
Brutus. 
O !  yes,  and  soundless  too  ; 
For  you  have  stol'n  their  buzzing,  Antony, 
And  very  wisely  threat  before  you  sting. 
Antony. 
Villains  !  you  did  not  so  when   your   vile 
daggers 
Hack'd  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Caesar: 
You  show'd  your  teeth  like  apes,  and  fawn'd 

like  hounds, 
And  bow'd  like  bondmen,  kissing  Ccesar's  feet ; 
Whilst  damned  Casca,  like  a  cur,  behind 
Struck  Caesar  on  the  neck.    O,  you  flatterers  1 
Cassius. 
Flatterers  ! — Now,  Brutus,  thank  yourself: 
This  tongue  had  not  offended  so  to-day, 
If  Cassius  might  have  rul'd. 
Octavius. 
Come,  come,  the  cause  :  if  arguing  make  us 
sweat, 
The  proof  of  it  will  turn  to  redder  drops. 
Look;  I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators; 
When  think  you  that  the  sword  goes  up  again  ? — 
Never,  till  Caesar's  three  and  thirty  wounds 
Be  well  aveng'd ;  or  till  another  Casar 
Have  added  slaughter  to  the  sword  of  traitors. 


Brutus. 
C<esar,  thou  canst  not  die  by  traitors'  hands, 
Unless  thou  bring'st  them  with  thee. 
Octavius. 

So  I  hope : 
I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus'  sword. 
Brutus. 
O!  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  strain, 
Young  man,  thou  could'st  not  die  more  honour, 
able. 

Cassius. 
A  peevish  schoolboy,  worthless  of  such  honour, 
Join'd  with  a  masker  and  a  reveller. 
Antony. 
Old  Cassius  still. 

Octavius. 
Come,  Antony;  awayl — 
Defiance,  traitors,  hurl  we  in  your  teeth. 
If  you  dare  fight  to-day,  come  to  the  field  ; 
If  not,  when  you  have  stomachs. 

[Exeunt  Octavius,  Antony,  and  their  Army. 

Cassius. 
Why  now,  blow  wind,  swell  billow,  and  swim 
bark  ! 
The  storm  is  up,  and  all  is  on  the  hazard. 
Brutus. 
Ho,  Lucilius ;  hark,  a  word  with  you. 
Lucilius. 


taflWSa* 


IBrutus  and  Lucilius  tallf  apart. 
Cassius. 
Messala,— 

Messala. 
What  says  my  general  ? 
Cassius. 

Messala, 
This  is  my  birth-day  ;  as  this  very  day 
Was  Cassiusbom.   Give  me  thy  hand,  Messala : 
Be  thou  my  witness,  that  against  my  will, 
As  Pompey  was,  am  I  compell'd  to  set 
Upon  one  battle  all  our  liberties. 
You  know,  that  I  held  Epicurus  strong, 
And  his  opinion  :  now,  I  change  my  mind, 
And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 
Coming  from  Sardis,  on  our  former  ensign 
Two  mighty  eagles  fell ;  and  there  they  perch'd, 
Gorging  and  feeding  from  our  soldiers'  hands ; 
Who  to  Philippi  here  consorted  us : 
This  morning  are  they  fled  away,  and  gone, 
And  in  their  steads  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites, 
Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  us, 
As  we  were  sickly  prey  :  their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 
Messala. 
Believe  not  so. 

Cassius. 

I  but  believe  it  partly, 
For  I  am  fresh  of  spirit,  and  resolv'd 
To  meet  all  perils  very  constantly. 
Brutus. 
Even  so,  Lucilius. 

Cassius. 
Now,  most  noble  Brutus, 
The  gods  to-day  stand  friendly,  that  we  may, 
Lovers  in  peace,  lead  on  our  days  to  age  ! 
But  since  the  affairs  of  men  rest  still  incertain, 
Let's  reason  with  the  worst  that  may  befal. 
If  we  do  lose  this  battle,  then  is  this 
The  very  last  time  we  shall  speak  together; 
What  are  you  then  determined  to  do  ? 
Brutus. 
Even  by  the  rule  of  that  philosophy, 


Act  v.  n<.  in. 


JULIUS  CASAR 


875 


By  which  I  did  hlame  Cato  for  the  death 

V  hich  he  did  K'ivc  himself.     I  know  not  how, 

But  I  do  find  it  cowardly  and  vile, 

For  fear  of  what  might  fall,  so  to  prevent 

The  time  of  life, — arming  myself  with  patience, 

To  stay  the  providence  of  some  high  powers, 

That  govern  us  below. 

Thenar  wo  lose  this  battle, 
You  are  contented  to  be  led  in  triumph 
Thorough  the  streets  of  Rome  f 

No,  Cassias,  no:  thins  not,  thou  noble  Ro- 
man, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome  ; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind  :  but  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work  the  ides  of  March  began, 
And  whether  we  shall  meet  again,  I  know  not. 
Therefore,  our  everlasting  farewell  take :  — 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Cassius. 
If  we  do  meet  again,  why  we  shall  smile  ; 
If  not,  why  then,  this  parting  was  well  made. 

For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Brutus. 
If  we  do  meet  again,  we'll  smile  indeed  ; 
If  not,  'tis  true,  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Why  then,  lead  on.— 0,  that  a  man  might 
know 
The  end  of  this  day's  business,  ere  it  come ! 
But  it  sufflceth,  that  the  day  will  end, 

And  then  the  end  is  known Come,  hoi  away! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  \l.    The  same.    The  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarum.    Enter  Brutus  and  Mcssalj. 

Ride,  ride,  Mcssala,  rYde/and  give  these  bills 
Unto  the  legions  on  the  other  side. 

-,   .  .,  -     .     [Loud  Alarum. 

I>et  them  set  on  at  once  ;  for  I  perceive 
But  cold  demeanour  In  Octavius'  wing. 
And  sudden  push  gives  them  the  overthrow. 
Ride,  ride,  Messala  :  let  them  all  come  down. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    Another  Part  of 
the  Field. 

Alarum.    Enter  Cassius  and  Tttinius. 

O,  look,  Tttinius,  look,  the  villains  fly  ! 
Myself  have  to  mine  own  tum'd  enemy  : 
This  ensign  here  of  mine  was  turning  hack  ; 
I  slew  the  coward,  and  did  take  it  from  him. 

O  Cassius  f  Brutus  gave  the  word  too  early  ; 
Who  having  some  advantage  on  Octavius, 
Took  it  too  eagerly  :  his  soldiers  fell  to  spoil, 
Whilst  we  by  Antony  are  all  enclos'd. 

Enter  Pindarus. 

Fly  farther  off,  my  lord.'fly'farther  off; 
Mark  Antony  is  in  jour  tents,  my  lord  : 
Fly,  therefore,  noble  Cassius,  fly  far  off. 

This  hill  is  far  enough.   Look,  look,  Titinius  ; 
Are  those  my  tents  where  I  perceive  the  fire  ? 

TO  Titinius. 

They  are,  my  lord. 


Mount  thou  my  horse,  and  hide  thy  spurs  in 

him. 
Till  he  have  brought  thee  up  to  yonder  troops, 
I  And  here  again ;  that  I  may  rest  assur'd, 
Whether  yond'  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 

Tin 
I  will  be  here  again,  even  with  a  thought. 

[Exit. 
Cassiua. 
Go,  Pindarus,  get  higher  on  that  hill : 
My  sight  was  ever  thick  ;  regard  Titinius, 
And  tell  me  what  thou  not'st  about  the  field— 
[Exit  Pindarus. 
This  day  I  breathed  first :  time  is  come  round, 
And  where  I  did  begin,  there  shall  I  end  ; 
My  life  is  run  his  compass — Sirrah,  what  news? 


O  my  lord  I 
What  news  ? 


Pindarus. 

Cassius. 


[Above. 


Casjius. 

Titinius,  if  thou  lov'st  me, 


Pindarus. 
Titinius  is  enclosed  round  about 

With  horsemen,  that  make  to  him  on  the  spur ; 

Yet  he  spurs  on :  — now  they  are  almost  on  him. 

Now,   Titinius !  —  now  some  'light :  —  O  !    he 

'lights  too:—  [joy. 

He's  ta'en :  and,  hark  I  [Shout.]  they  shout  for 

Cassius. 

Come  down  ;  behold  no  more 

O,  coward  that  I  am,  to  live  so  long, 

To  see  my  best  friend  ta'en  before  my  face  I 

Enter  Pindarus 
Come  hither,  sirrah. 
In  Parthia  did  I  take  thee  prisoner  ; 
And  then  I  swore  thee,  saving  of  thy  life, 

i'l'hat  whatsoever  I  did  bid  thee  do, 
Thou  should'st  attempt  it.    Come  now,  keep 
thine  oath ; 
,Now  be  a  freeman  ;  and  with  this  good  sword, 
jThat  ran  through  Casar's  bowels,  search  this 

bosom. 
Stand  not  to  answer  :  here,  take  thou  the  hilts  ; 
And  when  my  face  is  cover'd,  as  'tis  now, 
Guide  thou  the  sword.— Ctesar,  thou  art  re- 

veng'd, 
Even  with  the  sword  that  kill'd  thee.         [Dies. 

Pindarus. 
So,  I  am  free ;  yet  would  not  so  have  been, 
Durst  I  have  done  my  will.    O  Cassius  ! 
Far  from  this  country  Pindarus  shall  tfUL, 
Where  never  Roman  shall  take  note  of  him. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter  Titinius,  with  Mcssala. 
Messala. 
It  is  but  change,  Titinius  ;  for  Octavius 
Is  overthrown  by  noble  Brutus"  power, 
As  Cassius'  legions  are  by  Antony. 
Titinius. 
These  tidings  will  well  comfort  Cassius. 

Messala. 
Where  did  you  leave  him  ? 

Titinius. 

All  disconsolate 
With  Pindarus,  his  bondsman,  on  this  hill. 

Is  not  that  he,  that  lies  upon  the  ground  ? 

Titinius. 
He  lies  not  like  the  living.     O  my  heart  1 

Messala. 
Is  not  that  he  ? 

TItinlui. 


876 


JULIUS  CAESAR 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi.  i 


Titinius. 
No,  this  was  he,  Messala, 
But  Cassius  is  no  more — O  setting  sun  ! 
As  in  thy  red  rays  thou  dost  sink  to-night, 
So  in  his  red  blood  Cassius'  day  is  set: 
The  sun  of  Rome  is  set.     Our  day  is  gone  ; 
Clouds,  dews,  and  dangers  come ;  our  deeds  are 

done. 
Mistrust  of  my  success  hath  done  this  deed. 
Messala. 
Mistrust  of  good  success  hath  done  this  deed. 

0  hateful  error,  melancholy's  child ! 

Why  dost  thou  show  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 
The  things  that  are  not  ?    O  error !  soon  con- 
Thou  never  com'st  unto  a  happy  birth,    [ceiv'd, 
But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engender'd  thee. 
Titinius. 
What,  Pindarus!     Where   art   thou,   Pin- 
dar us? 

Messala. 
Seek  him,  Titinius,  whilst  I  go  to  meet 
The  noble  Brutus,  thrusting  this  report 
Into  his  ears  :  I  may  say  thrusting  it ; 
For  piercing  steel,  and  darts  envenomed, 
Shall  be  as  welcome  to  the  ears  of  Brutus, 
As  tidings  of  this  sight. 

Titinius. 

Hie  you,  Messala, 
And  I  will  seek  for  Pindarus  the  while. 

[Exit  Messala. 
Why  didst  thou  send  me  forth,  brave  Cassius  ? 
Did  I  not  meet  thy  friends  ?  and  did  not  they 
Put  on  my  brows  this  wreath  of  victory, 
And  bid  me  give  it  thee  ?    Didst  thou  not  hear 

their  shouts  ? 
Alas  !  thou  hast  misconstrued  every  thing. 
But  hold  thee ;  take  this  garland  on  thy  brow  : 
Thy  Brutus  bid  me  give  it  thee,  and  1 
Will  do  his  bidding— Brutus,  come  apace, 
And  see  how  I  regarded  Caius  Cassius.— 
By  your  leave,  gods : — this  is  a  Roman's  part : 
Come,  Cassius'  sword,  and  find  Titinius'  heart. 

[Dies. 

A  larum .    Re-enter  Messala,  w  i  th  Brutus,  you  n  g 

Cato,  Strata,  Volunmius,  and  Luciltus. 

Brutus. 

Where,  where,  Messala,  doth  his  body  lie  ? 

Messala. 
Lo  !  yonder ;  and  Titinius  mourning  it. 

Brutus. 

Titinius'  face  is  upward. 

Cato. 

He  is  slain. 

Brutus. 

O  Julius  Ca>sar!  thou  art  mighty  yet . 

Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 

In  our  own  proper  entrails.         [Low  Alarumt. 

Cato. 

Brave  Titinius! 
Look,  whe'r  he  have  not  crown'd  dead  Cassius  ! 
Brutus. 
Are  yet  two  Romans  living  such  as  these  ?— 
The  last  of  all  the  Romans,  fare  thee  well ! 
It  is  impossible  that  ever  Rome  [tears 

Should  breed  thy  fellow — Friends,  I  owe  more 
To  this  dead  man,  than  you  shall  see  me  pay.— 

1  shall  find  time,  Cassius,  I  shall  find  time.— 
Come,  therefore,  and  to  Thassos  send  his  body : 
His  funerals  shall  not  be  in  our  camp, 

Lest  it  discomfort  us — Lucilius,  come ;  — 
And  come,  young  Cato;  let  us  to  the  field.— 
Labeo, and  Flavius,  set  our  battles  on:  — 


'Tis  three  o'clock;  and,  Romans,  yet  ere, night 
We  shall  try  fortune  in  a  second  fight.   [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Alarum.  Enter,  fighting.  Soldiers  of  both 
Annies;  then  Brutus,  Cato,  Lucilius,  and 
others. 

Brutus. 
Yet,  countrymen,  O  !  yet  hold  up  your  heads. 

Cato. 
What  bastard  doth  not?    Who  will  go  with 
I  will  proclaim  my  name  about  the  field —  [me? 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  oh  1 
A  foe  to  tyrants,  and  my  country's  friend ; 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato.  oh  I 

[Charges  the  Enemy. 

Brutus. 

And  I  am  Brutus,  Marcus  Brutus,  I ;  [Brutus. 

Brutus,  my  country's   friend:   know   me   for 

[Exit,  charging  the  Enemy.    Cato  is  over- 

powered,  and  falls. 

Lucilius. 
O,  young  and  noble  Cato!  art  thou  down  ? 
Why,  now  thou  diest  as  bravely  as  Titinius, 
And  may'st  be  honour'd  being  Cato's  son. 
First  Soldier. 
Yield,  or  thou  diest. 

Lucilius. 

Only  I  yield  to  die : 
There  is  so  much  that  thou  wilt  kill  me  straight. 
[Offering  Money 
Kill  Brutus,  and  be  honour'd  in  his  death. 
First  Soldier. 

We  must  not A  noble  prisoner  ! 

Second  Soldier. 
Room,  ho  !  Tell  Antony,  Brutus  is  ta'en. 

First  Soldier. 
I'll  tell  the  news  :  —  Here  comes  the  general- 
Enter  Antony. 
Brutus  is  ta'en,  Brutus  is  ta'en,  my  lord. 
Antony. 
Where  is  he? 

Lucilius. 
Safe,  Antony  ;  Brutus  is  safe  enough. 
I  dare  assure  thee,  that  no  enemy 
Shall  ever  take  alive  the  noble  Brutus : 
The  gods  defend  him  from  so  great  a  shame  : 
When  you  do  find  him,  or  alive,  or  dead, 
He  will  be  found  like  Brutus,  like  himself. 
Antony. 
This  is  not  Brutus,  friend ;  but,  I  assure  you, 
A  prize  no  less  in  worth.    Keep  this  man  safe, 
Give  him  all  kindness  :  I  had  rather  have 
Such  men  my  friends,  than  enemies.    Go  on, 
And  see  whe'r  Brutus  be  alive,  or  dead  ; 
And  bring  us  word,  unto  Octavius'  tent, 
How  every  thing  is  chane'd. 

SCENE  V.    Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Enter  Brutus,  Dardaniux,  Cli/us,  Strato,  and 
Voiuinnius. 
Brutus. 
Come,  poor  remains  of  friends,  rest  on  this 
rock.  _. 

Chtus. 
Statilius  show'd  the  torch-light ;  but,  my  lord, 
He  came  not  back :  he  is  or  ta'en,  or  slain. 
Brutus. 
Sit  thee  down,  Clilus :  slaying  is  the  word ; 
It  is  a  deed  in  fashion.    Hark  thee,  CUtus.  — 

[Whispering. 
Clitus. 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


JULIUS  CAESAR. 


877 


clitus. 
What!  !,  my  lord?    No,  not  for  all  the  world. 

Brutus. 
Peace  then  !  no  words. 
Clltus. 

I'll  rather  kill  myself. 
Brutus. 
Hark  thee,  Dardaniusi  [Whispers  hlro. 

Dardanius. 

Shall  I  do  such  a  deed  ? 
Clitus. 
O,  Dardanius! 

Dardanius. 
O,  Clitus  t 

Clitus. 
What  111  request  did  Brutus  make  to  thee  ? 

Dardanius. 
To  kill  him,  Clitus.    Look,  he  meditates. 

Clitus. 
Now  is  that  noble  vessel  full  of  grief, 
That  it  runs  over  even  at  his  eyes. 
Brutus. 
Come  hither,  good  Volumnius:  list  a  word. 

Volumniui. 
What  says  my  lord  ? 

Brutus. 

Why,  this,  Volumnius. 
The  ghost  of  Casar  hath  appear'd  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night :  at  Sardis  once ; 
And,  thiB  last  night,  here  in  PhilippC  fields. 
I  know  my  hour  is  come. 

Volumnius. 

Not  so,  my  lord. 
Brutus. 
Nay,  I  am  sure  it  is,  Volumnius. 
Thou  seest  the  world,  Volumnius,  how  it  goes ; 
Our  enemies  have  beat  us  to  the  pit : 

[Low  Alarums. 
It  is  more  worthy  to  leap  in  ourselves, 
Than  tarry  till  they  push  us.    Good  Volumnius, 
Thou  know'st,  that  we  two  went  to  school  to- 
gether ; 
Even  for  that  our  love  of  old,  I  pray  thee, 
Hold  thou  my  sword-hilts  whilst  I  run  on  it. 
Volumnius. 
That's  not  an  office  for  a  friend,  my  lord. 

[Alarum  still. 
Clitus. 
Fly,  fly,  my  lord !  there  is  no  tarrying  here. 

Brutus. 
Farewell  to  you; — and  you; — and  you,  Vo- 
lumnius  

Strato,  thou  hast  been  all  this  while  asleep  ; 
Farewell  to  thee  too,  Strato — Countrymen, 
My  heart  doth  joy,  that  yet  in  all  my  life 
I  found  no  man,  but  he  was  true  to  me. 
I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day, 
More  than  Octavius,  and  Mark  Antony, 
By  this  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 
So,  fare  you  well  at  once ;  for  Brutus*  tongue 
Hath  almost  ended  his  life's  history. 
Night  hangs  upon  mine  eyes  ;  my  bones  would 
That  have  but  labour'd  to  attain  this  hour,  [rest, 
[Alarum.    Cry  within ;  Fly,  fly,  fly  ! 


Clitus. 
Fly,  my  lord,  fly  I 

Brutus. 

Hence!  1  will  follow. 
[Exeunt  Clitus,  Dardanius,  and  Volumnius. 
I  prsythee,  Strato,  stay  thou  by  thy  lord. 


Thou  art  a  fellow  of  a  good  respect  1 
Thy  life  hath  had  some  smatch  of  honour  In  it : 
Hold,  then,  my  sword,  and  turn  away  thy  face, 
While  I  do  run  upon  it.     Wilt  thou,  Strato t 
Strato. 
Give  me  your  hand  first :  fare  you  well,  my 
lord. 

Brutus. 
Farewell,  good  Strato —  Ccesar,  now  be  still : 
I  kill'd  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will. 

[He  runs  on  hl»  Sword,  and  dies. 

Alarum.    Betreat.    Enter  Octavius,  Antony, 

Mcssala,  Lucilius,  and  their  Army. 

Octavius. 

What  man  is  that  ? 

Messala. 
My  master's    man.  —  Strato,   where   is   thy 
master  ? 

Strato. 
Free  from  the  bondage  you  are  in,  Messala  : 
The  conquerors  can  but  make  a  fire  of  him  ; 
For  Brutus  only  overcame  himself, 
And  no  man  else  hath  honour  by  his  death. 
Lucilius. 
So  Brutus  should  be  found.  — I  thank  thep, 
Brutus, 
That  thou  hast  prov'd  Lucilius'  saying  true. 
Octavius. 
All  that  serv'd  Brutus,  I  will  entertain  them. 
Fellow,  wilt  thou  bestow  thy  time  with  me  ? 
Strato 
Ay,  if  Messala  will  prefer  me  to  you. 

Octavius. 
Do  so,  good  Messala. 

Messala. 
How  died  my  master,  Strato t 

Strato. 
1  held  the  sword,  and  he  did  run  on  it. 

Messala. 
Octavius,  then  take  him  to  follow  thee, 
That  did  the  latest  service  to  my  master. 

Antony. 
This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he, 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  C&sar  ; 
He,  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought 
And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle ;  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up, 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  "  This  was  a  man  ! " 

Octavius. 

According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  him, 
With  all  respect,  and  rites  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie, 
Most  like  a  soldier,  order'd  honourably — 
So,  call  the  field  to  rest ;  and  let's  away 
To  part  the  glories  of  this  happy  day.    [Exeunt. 


.0. 


.0. 


878 


MACBETH. 


Act  1.  Sc.  1. 


MACBETH. 


DUNCAN,  King  of  Scotland. 
Malcolm,     >  ,  .   „ 
Donalbain,  jAM  5oM*' 

Kut'  j  Generals  of  his  Army, 
Macduff,  1 
Lenox,      I 

SSSh,  \n*m*9**mi 

Angus,      I 
CathnessJ 

Fleance,  Son  to  Banquo. 
Siward,  Earl  of  Northumberland 
English  Forces. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Young  Siward,  his  Son. 
Seyton,  an  Officer  attending  Macbeth. 
Son  to  Macduff. 

An  English  Doctor.    A  Scotch  Doctor. 
A  Soldier.    A  Porter.    An  old  Man. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  Macduff. 

Gentlewoman  attending  Lady  Macbeth. 
Hecate,  and  Witches. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Murderers, 

Attendants,  and  Messengers. 

The  Ghost  of  Banquo,  and  other  Apparitions. 

General  of  the    SCENE,  in  the  end  of  the  fourth  Act,  in  England; 

through  the  rest  of  the  Play,  in  Scotland. 


#■•#•■#••#••#'•#••#■■#• 


ACT  L 


SCENE  I.    An  open  Place. 
Thunder  and  lightning.    Enter  three  Witches. 

First  Witch. 
TITHEN  shall  we  three  meet  again, 
"    In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ? 

Second  Witch. 
When  the  hurlyburly's  done, 
When  the  battle's  lost  and  won. 
Third  Witch. 
That  will  be  ere  the  set  of  sun. 

First  Witch. 
Where  the  place  ? 

Second  Witch. 

Upon  the  heath  : 
Third  Witch. 
There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 
First  Witch. 
I  come,  Graymalkin  I 

All. 
Paddock  calls  :  — Anon.— 
Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair : 
Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air. 

[Witches  vanish. 

SCENE  II.    A  Camp  near  Fores. 

Alarum  within.  Enter  King  Duncan,  Malcolm, 
Donalbain,  Lenox,  with  Attendants,  meeting 
a  bleeding  Soldier. 

Duncan. 
What  bloody  man  is  that  ?    He  can  report, 


As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 
The  newest  state. 

Malcolm. 
This  is  the  sergeant, 
Who,  like  a  good  and  hardy  soldier,  fought 

'Gainst  my  captivity Hail,  brave  friend  ! 

Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil, 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Soldier. 

Doubtful  it  stood ; 
As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together 
And  choke  their  art.    The  merciless  Macdonwald 
(Worthy  to  be  a  rebel,  for  to  that 
The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 
Do  swarm  upon  him)  from  the  western  isles 
Of  Kernes  and  Gallowglasses  is  supplied ; 
And  fortune,  on  his  damned  quarry  smiling, 
Show'd  like  a  rebel's  whore:  but  all's  too  weak 
For  brave  Macbeth  (well  he  deserves  that  name) 
Disdaining  fortune,  with  his  brandish'd  steel, 
Which  smok'd  with  bloody  execution, 
Like  valour's  minion,  carv'd  out  his  passage, 
Till  he  fae'd  the  slave ; 
Which  ne'er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to 

him, 
Till  he  unseam'd  him  from  the  nave  to  the 

chaps, 
And  fix'd  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 
Duncan. 
O,  valiant  cousin  !  worthy  gentleman  ! 

Soldier. 
As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  reflexion 
Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break, 

So 


Act  i.  Sc.  m. 


Macbeth. 


879 


So  from  that  spring,  whence  comfort  secmM  to 

rami', 

Discomfort   swells.    Mark,   king  of  Scotland, 

mark : 
No  sooner  justice  had,  with  valour  arm'd,  [heels, 
Corapell'd  these  skipping  Kernes  to  trust  their 
But  the  Norweyan  lord,  surveying  vantage, 
With  furbish'd  arms,  and  new  supplies  of  men, 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

Duncan. 

Dismay 'd  not  this 
Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquof 
Soldier. 

Yes; 
As  sparrows  eagles,  or  the  hare  the  lion. 
If  1  say  sooth,  1  must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharg'd  with  double  cracks  ; 
So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe : 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds, 
Or  memorise  another  Golgotha, 
I  canuot  tell — 
But  I  am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  help. 

Duncan. 
So  well  thy  words  become  thee,  as  thy  wounds: 
They  smack  of  honour  both — Go,  get  him  sur- 
geons. [Exit  Soldier,  attended. 

Bats*  Rosse  and  Jngu*. 

Who  comes  here  ? 

Malcolm. 

The  worthy  thane  of  Rosse. 

Lenox. 

What  a  haste  looks  through  his  eyes  1  [strange. 

So  should  he  look,  that  seems  to  speak  things 

Rosse. 

God  save  the  king ! 

Duncan. 
Whence  cam'st  thou,  worthy  thane? 
Rosse. 
From  Fife,  great  king  ; 
Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout  the  sky 
And  fan  our  people  cold. 
Norway  himself,  with  terrible  numbers, 
Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  traitor, 
The  thane  of  Cawdor,  began  a  dismal  conflict  ; 
Till  that  Be/lona's  bridegroom,  lapp'd  in  proof, 
Confronted  him  with  self-comparisons, 
Point  against  point,  rebellious  arm  'gainst  arm, 
Curbing  his  lavish  spirit :  and,  to  conclude, 
The  victory  fell  on  us  ; — 

Duncan. 

Great  happiness ! 
Rosse. 
That  now 
Sweno,  the  Norway*'  king,  craves  composition ; 
Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men, 
Till  he  disbursed  at  Saint  Colmes'  Inch 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 
Duncan. 
No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  bosom  interest.— Go,  pronounce  his  present 
And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth,  [death, 
Rosse. 
I'll  see  it  done. 

Duncan. 
What  he  hath  lost,  noble  Macbeth  hath  won. 
[Exeunt 

SCENE  III.    A  Heath. 
Thunder.    Enter  the  three  Witches. 
First  Witch. 
Where  hast  thou  been,  sister? 


Second  Witch. 
Killing  swine. 

Third  Witch. 
Sister,  where  thou  ? 

FlrU  Witch. 
A  sailor's  wife  had  chesnuts  in  her  lap, 
And  mounch'd,  and  mounch'd,  and  raounch'd : 

**  Give  me,"  quoth  1 :  — 
"Aroint  thee,  witch  1"  the  rump-fed  ronyon 

cries. 
Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o'  the 
But  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail,  [Tiger: 

And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 
I'll  do,  I'll  do,  and  I'U  do. 

Second  Witch. 
I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 

First  Witch. 
Thou  art  kind. 

Third  Witch. 
And  I  another. 

First  Witch. 
I  myself  have  all  the  other ; 
And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 
All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I'  the  shipman's  card. 
I'll  drain  him  dry  as  hay: 
Sleep  shall,  neither  night  nor  day, 
Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid ; 
He  shall  live  a  man  forbid. 
Weary  sev'n-nights,  nine  times  nine, 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine : 
Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 
Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-toss'd. 
Look  what  I  have. 

Second  Witch. 
Show  me,  show  me. 

First  Witch. 
Here  1  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wreck'd  as  homeward  he  did  come. 

[Drum  within. 
Third  Witch. 
A  drum  !  a  drum  ! 
Macbeth  doth  come. 

All. 
The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 
Thus  do  go  about,  about: 
Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine. 
And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine. 
Peace  1 — the  charm's  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquu. 
Macbeth. 
So  foul  and  fair  a  day  I  have  not  seen. 

Banquo. 
How  far  is't  call'd  to  Fores  f—  What  are  these, 
So  wither'd,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire, 
That  look  not  like  th'  inhabitants  o'  the  earth, 
And  yet  are  on't?    Live  you?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question  ?    You  seem  to  under- 
stand me, 
By  each  at  once  her  chappy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips:  —  You  should  be  women, 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

Macbeth. 

Speak,  if  you  can What  are  you  ? 

First  Witch. 
All    hail,   Macbeth!   hail  to  thee,  thane   of 
01  aim's  ! 

Second  Witch. 
All    hail,    Macbeth!   hail    to  thee,  thane  of 
Cawdor ! 

Third 


88o 


MACBETH. 


Act  i.  Sc.  at 


Third  Witch. 

All  hail,  Macbeth!  that  shalt  be  king  here- 
after. 

Banquo. 

Good  sir,  why  do  you  start,  and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair? — I'  the  name  of 
Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed  [truth, 

Which  outwardly  ye  show  ?  My  noble  partner 
You  greet  with  present  grace,  and  great  pre- 
Of  noble  having,  and  of  royal  hope,  [diction 
That  he  seems  rapt  withal:  to  me  you  speak  not. 
If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time,  [not, 
And  say  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will 
Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg,  nor  fear, 
Your  favours,  nor  your  hate. 

First  Witch. 
Hail! 

Second  Witch. 
Hail! 

Third  Witch. 
Hail! 

First  Witch. 
Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

Second  Witch. 
Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

Third  Witch. 
Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be  none : 
So,  all  hail,  Macbeth,  and  Banquo! 
First  Witch. 
Banquo,  and  Macbeth,  all  hail ! 

Macbeth. 
Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more. 
By  SinePs  death,  I  know,  I  am  thane  of  Glami's; 
But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 
A  prosperous  gentleman ;  and  to  be  king 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief, 
No   more   than    to   be    Cawdor.      Say,    from 

whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ?  or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With    such    prophetic    greeting  ?— Speak,    I 
charge  you.  [Witches  vanish. 

Banquo. 
The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  water  has, 
And  these  are  of  them.— Whither  are  they 
vanish'd  ? 

Macbeth. 
Into   the   air;   and  what   seem'd   corporal, 
melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind. — 'Would  they  had 
stay'd  ! 

Banquo. 
Were  such  things  here,  as  we  do  speak  about, 
Or  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root, 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner? 
Macbeth. 
Your  children  shall  be  kings. 
Banquo. 

You  shall  be  king. 
Macbeth. 
And  thane  of  Cawdor  too :  went  it  not  so  ? 

Banquo. 
To  the  self-same  tune,  and  words.    Who's 
here? 

Enter  Rosse  and  Angus. 


The  king  hath  happily  receiv'd,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success ;  and  when  he  reads 
Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight, 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend, 
Which  should  be  thine,  or  his.  Silenc'dwith  that, 
In  viewing  o'er  the  rest  o'  the  self-same  day, 


He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks, 
Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make, 
Strange  images  of  death.  As  thick  as  tale, 
Came  post  with  post ;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  defence, 
And  pour'd  them  down  before  him. 

Angus. 

We  are  sent, 
To  give  thee  from  our  royal  master  thanks  ; 
Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight, 
Not  pay  thee. 

Rosse. 
And,  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  honour, 
He  bade  me  from  him  call  thee  thane  of  Cawdor. 
In  which  addition,  hail,  most  worthy  thane, 
For  it  is  thine. 

Banquo. 
What !  can  the  devil  speak  true  ? 
Macbeth. 
The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives  :  why  do  you  dress 
In  borrow'd  robes  ?  [me 

Angus. 
Who  was  the  thane,  lives  yet ; 
But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life 
Which  he  deserves  to  lose.     Whether  he  was 

combin'd 
With  those  of  Norway,  or  did  line  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and  vantage,  or  that  with  both 
He  labour'd  in  his  country's  wreck,  I  know  not ; 
But  treasons  capital,  confess'd  and  prov'd, 
Have  overthrown  him. 

Macbeth. 
Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cawdor : 

The  greatest  is  behind Thanks  for  your  pains. — 

Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings. 
When  those  that  gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me, 
Promis'd  no  less  to  them  ? 
Banquo. 

That,  trusted  home, 
Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown, 
Besides  the  thane  of  Cawdor.    But  'tis  strange : 
And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths ; 
Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray  us 
In  deepest  consequence. — 
Cousins,  a  word,  I  pray  you. 

Macbeth. 

Two  truths  are  told, 
As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme.  —  I  thank  you,  gentle- 
This  supernatural  soliciting  [men.— 

Cannot  be  ill ;  cannot  be  good : — if  ill, 
Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 
Commencing  in  a  truth  ?  I  am  thane  of  Cawdor : 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair, 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ?    Present  fears, 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings. 
My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man,  that  function 
Is  smother'd  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is, 
But  what  is  not. 

Banquo. 
Look,  how  our  partner's  rapt. 

Macbeth. 

If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance  may 

Without  my  stir.  [crown  me, 

Banquo. 

New  honours  come  upon  him, 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave  not  to  their 

But  with  the  aid  of  use.  [mould, 

Macbeth. 


Act  t.  Sc.  v. 


MACBETH. 


S8i 


Macbeth. 
Come  what  corao  may,    [day. 
Time  and  the  hour  rum  through  the  roughest 

Banquo. 
Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Give  your  favour:  my  dull  brain  was  wrought 
With  things  forgotten — Kind  gentlemen,  your 
Are  reglster'd  where  every  day  I  turn  [pains 
The  leaf  to  read  them — Let  us  toward  the 

king.— 
Think  upon  what  hath  chanc'd ;  and  at  more 

time, 
The  interim  having  weigh'd  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 
Banquo. 

Very  gladly. 
Macbeth. 
Till  then,  enough.— Come,  friends.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Fores.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 
Lenox,  and  Attendant*. 
Duncan. 
Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  ;  are  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  return *d  ? 

Malcolm. 

My  liege, 
They  are  not  yet  come  back ;  but  I  have  spoke 
With  one  that  saw  him  die,  who  did  report, 
That  very  frankly  he  confcss'd  his  treasons, 
Implor'd  your  highness'  pardon,  and  set  forth 
A  deep  repentance.    Nothing  in  his  life 
Became  him  like  the  leaving  it:  he  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death. 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  ow'd, 
As  'twere  a  careless  trifle. 

Duncan. 

There's  no  art, 
To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face : 
He  was  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. — 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Rotse,  and  Angus. 

0  worthiest  cousin ! 

The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 

Was  heavy  on  me.     Thou  art  so  far  before, 

That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 

To  overtake  thee :  would  thou  hadst  less  deserv'd, 

That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 

Might  have  been  mine !  only  I  have  left  to  say, 

More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

Macbeth. 
The  service  and  the  loyalty  I  owe, 
In  doing  it,  pays  itself.     Your  highness'  part 
Is  to  receive  our  duties  :  and  our  duties 
Are  to  your  throne  and  state,  children,  and  ser- 
vants ; 
Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every 
Safe  toward  your  love  and  honour.  [thing 

Duncan. 

Welcome  hither: 

1  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 

To  make  thee  full  of  growing.— Noble  Banquo, 
That  hast  no  less  deserv'd,  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so ;  let  me  infold  thee, 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 
Banquo. 

There  If  I  grow, 
The  harvest  Is  your  own. 

Duncan. 

My  plenteous  joys, 


Wanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves 

In  drops  of  sorrow.  —  Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes, 

And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know, 

We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 

Our  eldest  Malcolm;  wiiom  we  name  hereafter. 

The  prince  of  Cumberland  :  which  honour  must 

Not,  unaccompanied,  invest  him  only, 

Hut  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine 

On  all  descrvers.  —  From  hence  to  Inverness, 

And  bind  us  farther  to  you. 

Macbeth. 
The  rest  is  labour,  which  Is  not  us'd  for  you : 
I'll  be  myself  the  harbinger,  and  make  joyful 
The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach  ; 
So,  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Duncan. 

My  worthy  Cawdor  I 
Macbeth. 
The  prince  of  Cumberland! —That  is  a  step, 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'er-leap, 

- 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.    Stars,  hide  your  fires  • 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires ; 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand ;  yet  let  that  be, 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see. 

[Exit. 
Duncan. 
True,  worthy  Banquo :  he  is  full  so  valiant, 
And  in  his  commendations  I  am  fed ; 
It  is  a  banquet  to  me.    Let  us  after  him, 
Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome : 
It  is  a  peerless  kinsman.      [Flourish.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Inverness.    A  Room  in  MacbetA'a 
Castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading  a  Letter. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
"  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success  ;  and  I 
have  learned  by  the  perfectest  report,  they  have 
more  in  them  than  mortal  knowledge.  When 
I  burned  in  desire  to  question  them  farther,  they 
made  themselves  air,  into  which  they  vanished. 
Whiles  I  stood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  it,  came 
missives  from  the  king,  who  all-hailed  me, 
'Thane  of  Cawdor;'  by  which  title,  before, 
these  weird  sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  me 
to  the  coming  on  of  time,  with  •  Hail,  king  that 
shalt  be!'  This  have  I  thought  good  to  deliver 
thee,  my  dearest  partner  of  greatness,  that  thou 
mightest  not  lose  the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by  being 
ignorant  of  what  greatness  is  promised  thee. 
Lay  it  to  thy  heart,  and  farewell." 
Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor  ;  and  shalt  be 

What  thou  art  promis'd Yet  do  1  fear  thy 

nature : 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
To  catch  the  nearest  way.    Thou  wouldst  be 
Art  not  without  ambition  ;  but  without  [great ; 
The  illness  should  attend  it :  what  thou  wouldst 

his'..;,, 

That  wouldst  thou  holily ;  wouldst  not  play  false, 
And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win:  thou'dst  have, 

great  Glamis, 
That  which  cries,  •«  Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou 

have  it ; 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do, 
Than  wishest  should  be  undone."     Hie  thee 

hither, 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear. 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crown'd  withal.— 

3  l  Enter 


88z 


MACBETH. 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


Enter  an  Attendant. 

What  is  your  tidings? 
Attendant. 
The  king  comes  here  to-night. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Thou'rt  mad  to  say  it. 
Is  not  thy  master  with  him  ?  who,  wer't  so, 
Would  have  inform'd  for  preparation. 
Attendant. 
So  please  you,  it  is  true :  our  thane  is  coming. 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him  ; 
Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Give  him  tending : 
He  brings  great  news.    [Exit  Attendant.']  The 

raven  himself  is  hoarse, 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.    Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here, 
And  fill  me,  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty  !  make  thick  my  blood, 
Stop  up  th'  access  and  passage  to  remorse  ; 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
Th'  effect  and  it !   Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 
And  tike  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  mi- 
nisters, 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances     [night, 
You  wait  on  nature's  mischief  1    Come,  thick 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell, 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the 
To  cry,  "  Hold,  hold  I "—  [dark, 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Great  Glamis!  worthy  Cawdor! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter  1 
Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macbeth. 

My  dearest  love, 
Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

And  when  goes  hence  ? 
Macbeth. 
To-morrow,  as  he  purposes. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

O  !  never 
Shall  sun  that  morrow  see. 
Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book,  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters  :  to  beguile  the  time, 
Look  like  the  time  ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 
Your  hand,  your  tongue :  look  like  the  innocent 

flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under  it.    He  that's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for  ;  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  into  my  despatch, 
Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 
Macbeth. 
We  will  speak  farther. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Only  look  up  clear : 
To  alter  favour  ever  is  to  fear. 
Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    The  same.    Before  the  Castle. 

Hautboys  and  Torches.  Enter  Duncan,  Mal- 
colm, Donalbain,  Banquo,  Lenox,  Macduff, 
Rosse,  Angus,  and  Attendants. 

Duncan. 
This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat :  the  air 


I  Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
;  Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Banouo. 

This  guest  of  summer, 
!  The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 
i  By  his  lov'd  mansionry,  that  the  heaven's  breath 
!  Smells  wooingly  here  :  no  jutty,  frieze, 
j  Buttress,  nor  coigne  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
I  Hath  made  his  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cra- 
dle: 
|  Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  ob- 
The  air  is  delicate.  [serv'd, 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Duncan. 
See,  see !  our  honour'd  hostess.— 
The  love  that  follows  us  sometime  is  our  trou- 
ble, 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love :  herein  I  teach  you, 
How  you  shall  bid  God  yield  us  for  your  pains, 
And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

All  our  service, 
In  every  point  twice  done,  and  then  done  double, 
Were  poor  and  single  business  to  contend 
Against  those  honours  deep  and  broad,  where- 
with 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house.   For  those  of  old, 
And  the  late  dignities  heap'd  up  to  them, 
We  rest  your  hermits. 

Duncan. 
Where's  the  thane  of  Cawdor  f 
We  cours'd  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor  ;  but  he  rides  well,  [him 
And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  his  spur,  hath  holp 
To  his  home  before  us.  Fair  and  noble  hostess, 
We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Your  servants  ever 
Have  theirs,  themselves,  and  what  is  theirs,  in 

compt, 
To  make  their  audit  at  your  highness'  pleasure, 
Still  to  return  your  own. 

Duncan. 

Give  me  your  hand ; 
Conduct  me  to  mine  host :  we  love  him  highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him. 
By  your  leave,  hostess.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.    The  same.    A  Room  in  the 

Castle. 

Hautboys  and  Torches.    Enter,  and  pass  over 

the  stage,  a  Sewer,  and  divers  Servants  with 

dishes  and  service.    Then,  enter  Macbeth. 

Macbeth. 
If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere 
well 
It  were  done  quickly :  if  the  assassination 
j  Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
j  With  his  surcease  success  ;  that  but  this  blow 
'  Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here, 
:  But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time. — 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come. — But  in  these  cases, 
'  We  still  have  judgment  here ;  that  we  but  teach 
I  Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  th'  inventor.     This  even-handed  jus- 
tice 
Commends  th'  ingredients'  of  our  poison  'd  chal  ice 
To  our  own  lips.    He's  here  in  double  trust : 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject ; 
Strong  both  against  the  deed :  then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.   Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 

So 


Act  ii.   Se,  i. 


MACBETH. 


883 


So  clear  In  hl»  great  office,  that  hit  virtues 
Will  plead  like angels, trura pet-ton gued, against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-ofT; 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubin,  hors'd 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air. 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye,     [spur 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. —  I  have  no 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'er-leaps  itself, 
And  falls  on  the  other.— 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

How  now  1  what  news  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 
He  has  almost  supp'd.    Why  have  you  left 
the  chamber  ? 

Macbeth. 
Hath  heask'd  forme? 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Know  you  not,  he  has  ? 
Macbeth. 
We  will  proceed  no  farther  in  this  business  : 
He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people. 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  Macbeth 

Was  the  hope  drunk, 
Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it  slept 

since, 
And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely?    From  this  time, 
Such  I  account  thy  love.    Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour. 
As  thou  art  in  desire  ?    Would'st  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 
letting  I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would, 
Like  the  poor  cat  i*  the  adage  ? 
Macbeth. 

Pr'ythee,  peace. 
I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

What  beast  was't,  then, 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprize  to  me? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man ; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.  Nor  time,  nor  place, 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and   that  their 

fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.  I  have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me: 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck 'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn  as  you 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macbeth. 

If  we  should  fail,— 
Lady  Macbeth. 

We  fail? 
But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place, 
And  we'll  not  fail.    When  Duncan  is  asleep, 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  jour- 
Soundly  invite  him)  his  two  chamberlains  [ney 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassel  so  convince, 
'1  hat  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain, 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only :  when  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie,  as  in  a  death, 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 


Th*  unguarded  Duncan  f  what  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell  ? 

:-;  .  tx  th. 
Bring  forth  men-children  only  ! 
For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.     Will  It  not  be  receiv'd, 
When  we  have  mark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy 

two 
Of  hi*  own  chamber,  and  us'd  their  very  daggers. 
That  they  have  done't  ? 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Who  dares  receive  it  other, 
As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamour  roar 
Upon  his  death  ? 
"^  Macbeth. 

I  am  settled  ;  and  bent  up 
Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show: 
False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth 
know.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    The  same.    Court  within  the 
Castle. 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance,  with  a  torch  before 
him. 

Banquo. 
TJ  OW  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 
■**•  Fleance. 

The  moon  is  down;   I  have  not  heard  the 
clock. 

Banquo. 
And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 
Fleance. 

I  take't,  'tis  later,  sir. 
Banquo. 
Hold,  take  my  sword.— There's  husbandry  in 
heaven ; 
Their  candles  are  all  out.  — Take  thee  that  too. 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 
And  yet  1  would  not  sleep  :  merciful  powers ! 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts,  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose  1— Give  me  my  sword 

Enter  Macbeth,  and  a  Servant  with  a  torch. 

Who's  there  ? 

Macbeth. 
A  friend. 

Banquo. 
What,  sir !  not  yet  at  rest  ?    The  king's  a-bed : 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  offices. 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess,  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macbeth. 

Being  unprepar'd, 
Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect, 
Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 
Banquo. 

All's  well. 
I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters : 
To  you  they  have  show'd  some  truth. 
Macbeth. 

I  think  not  of  them: 
Vet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 

We 


'884 


MACBETH. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


We  would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  j 

If  you  would  grant  the  time.  [business, 

Banquo. 

At  your  kind'st  leisure. 
Macbeth. 
If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,  when  'tis, 
It  shall  make  honour  for  you. 
Banquo. 

So  I  lose  none 
In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchis'd,  and  allegiance  clear, 
I  shall  be  counsell'd. 

Macbeth. 

Good  repose,  the  while  ! 
Banquo. 
Thanks,  sir :  thelike  to  you. 

[Exeunt  Tfanquo  and  Fleanee. 

Macbeth. 
Go ;  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready, 
She  strike  upon  the  bell.    Get  thee  to  bed — 

[Exit  Servant. 
Is  this  a  dagger,  which  I  see  before  me, 
The  handle  toward  my  hand?    Come,  let  me 

clutch  thee :  — 
1  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 
Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling,  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation, 
Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain  ? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  this  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going ; 

And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still ; 
And  on  thy  blade,  and  dudgeon,  gouts  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  before.— There's  no  such 

thing : 
It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs  [world 
Thus  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  half 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep :  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings  ;  and  wither'd  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf,  [pace, 

Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his 

design 
Moves  like  a  ghost.  —  Thou  sure  and  firm-set 

earth, 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  where-about,  [fear 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it.  —  Whiles  I  threat,  he 

lives : 
Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 
[A  bell  rings. 
I  go,  and  it  is  done :  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell, 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or  to  hell. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made 
me  bold: 
What  hath  quench'd  them  hath  given  me  fire- 
Hark!— Peace! 
It  was  the  owl  that  shriek'd,  the  fatal  bellman, 
Which  gives  the  stern'st  good-night.    He  is 

about  it. 
The  doors  are  open ;  and  the  surfeited  grooms 


Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores  :    I  have 

drugg'd  their  possets, 
That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 
Whether  they  live,  or  die. 

Macbeth.  [Within. 

Who's  there?— what,  ho  ! 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Alack !  I  am  afraid  they  have  awak'd, 
And  'tis  not  done:— the  attempt,  and  not  the 

deed, 
Confounds  us.— Hark!  — I  laid  their  daggers 

ready, 
He  could  not  miss  them Had  he  not  re- 
sembled 
My  father   as   he  slept,    I    had   done't.— My 
husband  ? 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Macbeth. 
I  have  done  the  deed.  —  Didst  thou  not  hear 
a  noise? 

Lady  Macbeth. 
I  heard  the  owl  scream,  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Macbeth. 

When? 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Now. 
Macbeth. 

As  I  descended  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Macbeth. 
Hark  ! 
Who  lies  i'  the  second  chamber  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Donalbain. 
Macbeth. 
This  is  a  sorry  sight.    [Looking  on  his  hands. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
A  foolish  thought  to  say  a  sorry  sight. 

Macbeth. 
There's  one  did  laugh  in's  sleep,  and  one  cried, 
"  murder ! " 
That  they  did  wake  each  other :   I  stood  and 

heard  them ; 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address'd 
Again  to  sleep.  [them 

Lady  Macbeth. 

There  are  two  lodg'd  together. 
Macbeth. 
One  cried,  "God  bless  us!"  and,  "Amen," 
the  other, 
As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman's 

hands. 
Listening  their  fear,  I  could  not  say  amen, 
When  they  did  say  God  bless  us. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Consider  it  not  so  deeply. 
Macbeth. 
But  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce  amen  ? 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  amen 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 
After  these  ways :  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 
Macbeth. 
Methought,  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  "  Sleep  no 
more! 
Macbeth   does  murder  sleep,"  — the  innocent 

sleep ; 
Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleave  of  care 
F  The 


KIACKIE  IT  IH. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


MACHKTH. 


885 


The  death  of  each  dav's  life,  sore  labour's  bath, 
Balm  of  bur  t  mind*,  great  nature's  second  course. 
Chief  nourishcr  in  life's  feast  ;  — 
Lady  Macbeth. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 
Macbeth. 
Still  it  cried,  "Sleep  no  morel"  to  all  the 
house : 
P  Glamis  hath  murder'd  sleep,  and  therefore 
Cawdor  [more  1 " 

Shall  sleep  no  more  ;    Macbeth  shall  sleep  no 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ?    Why,  worthy 
thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things.    Go,  get  some  water, 
And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand.  — 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from   the 

place  ? 
They  must  lie  there :  go,  carry  them,  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 
Macbeth. 

I'll  go  no  more ; 
am  afraid  to  think  what  1  have  done  j 
Look  on't  again,  I  dare  not. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Infirm  of  purpose  ! 
Give  me  the  daggers.    The  sleeping,  and  the 

dead, 
Are  but  as  pictures  :  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood, 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.     If  he  do  bleed, 
I'll  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal, 
For  It  must  seem  their  Ruilt. 

[Exit — Knocking  within. 

Macbeth. 

Whence  is  that  knocking  ?  — 
How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here?    Hal    they  pluck  out 

mine  eyes. 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?    No  ;  this  my  hand  will 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnardine,      [rather 
Making  the  green  one,  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

My  hands  are  of  your  colour  ;  but  I  shame 

To  wear  a  heart  so  white.     [Knock]    I  hear  a 

knocking 
At  the  south  entry :— retire  we  to  our  chamber. 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed : 
How  easy  i»  it,  then  ?    Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you  unattended.  —  [knock.]    Hark  ! 

more  knocking. 
Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us, 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers. —  fie  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 
Macbeth. 
To  know  my  deed,  'twere  best  not  know  my- 
self. ["Knock. 
Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking :     I  would 
thou  couldst  1                               [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same. 

Enter  a  Porter. 

[Knocking  within. 
Porter. 
Here's  a  knocking,  indeed  !  If  a  man  were 
porter  of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning 
the  key.  [Knocking.]  Knock,  knock,  knock. 
Who's  there,  i'  the  name  of  Beelzebub  f  — 
Here's  a  farmer,  that  hanged  himself  on  the 
expectation  of  plenty :    come  in  time  ;    have 


napkins  enough  about  you:  here  you'll  sweat 
for't.  [Knocking.]  Knock,  knock.  Who's 
Ithere,  In  the  other  devil's  name  ?  — 'Faith, 
here's  an  equivocator,  that  could  swear  in  both 
the  scales  against  either  scale  ;  who  committed 
treason  enough  for  God's  sake,  yet  could  not 
livocate  to  heaven  :  O  1  come  in,  equivocator. 
nocking.]  Knock,  knock,  knock.  Who's 
there?  — 'Faith,  here's  an  English  tailor  come 
hither  for  stealing  out  of  a  French  hose :  come 

n,  tailor ;    here  you  may  roast   your  goose. 

[Knocking.]  Knock,  knock.  Never  at  quiet  I 
What  are  you  ?  —  But  this  place  is  too  cold  for 
hell.  I'll  devil-porter  it  no  farther:  I  had 
thought  to  have  let  in  some  of  all  professions, 
that  go  the  jprimrose  way  to  the  everlasting 
bonfire.  [Knocking  J  Anon,  anon  ;  I  pray 
you,  remember  the  porter.         [Opens  the  gate. 

Enter  MacduffvcA  Lenox. 
Macduff. 
Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bed, 
That  you  do  lie  so  late  ? 

Porter. 
'Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the  second 
cock ;  and  drink,  sir,  is  a  great  provoker  of 
three  things.  M    a     • 

Macduff. 
What  three  things  does  drink  especially  pro- 
voke? 

Porter. 
Marry,  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine. 
Lechery,  sir,  it  provokes,  and  unprovokes :  it 
provokes  the  desire,  but  it  takes  away  the  per- 
formance.   Therefore,  much  drink  may  be  said 
to  be  an  equivocator  with  lechery :  it  makes 
him,  and  it  mars  him  ;  it  sets  him  on,  and  it 
takes  him  off;  it  persuades  him,  and  disheartens 
him  ;  makes  him  stand  to,  and  not  stand  to :  in 
conclusion,  equivocates  him  in  a  sleep,  and, 
giving  him  the  lie,  leaves  him. 
Macduff. 
I  believe,  drink  gave  thee  the  lie  last  night 

Porter. 
That  it  did,  sir,  i'  the  very  throat  on  me :  but 
I  requited  him  for  his  lie;  and,  I  think,  being 
too  strong  for  him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs 
sometime,  yet  1  made  a  shift  to  cast  him. 
Macduff. 
Is  thy  master  stirring  ?  — 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Our  knocking  has  awak'd  him  ;  here  he  comes. 

Lenox. 

Good-morrow,  noble  sir  1 

Macbeth. 

Good-morrow,  both  ! 
Macduff. 
Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane? 
Macbeth. 

Not  yet. 
Macduff. 
He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him  : 
I  have  almost  slipp'd  the  hour. 
Macbeth. 

I'll  bring  you  to  him. 

Macduff. 
I  know,  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you  ; 
But  yet,  'tis  one. 

Macbeth. 
The  labour  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 
This  is  the  door. 

Macduff. 


??6 


MACBETH. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  m 


Macduff. 
I'll  make  so  bold  to  call, 
For  'tis  mj'  limited  service.  [Exit  Macduff. 

Lenox. 
Goes  the  king  hence  to-day  ? 
Macbeth. 
He  does  :  —  he  did  appoint  so. 
Lenox. 
The  night  has  been  unruly :  where  we  lay, 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down  ;  and,  as  they 

say, 

Lamentings  heard  i'  the  air  ;  strange  screams  of 
And  prophesying  with  accents  terrible     [death, 
Of  dire  combustion,  and  confus'd  events, 
New  hatch'd  to  the  woeful  time.    The  obscure 

bird 

Clamour'd  the  livelong  night :   some  say,  the 

Was  feverous,  and  did  shake.  [earth 

Macbeth. 

'Twas  a  rough  night. 
Lenox. 
Mv  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

Re-enter  Macduff. 

Macduff. 

O  horror  !    horror  !    horror  !    Tongue,  nor 

Cannot  conceive,  nor  name  thee  !  [heart, 

Macbeth  and  Lenox. 

What's  the  matter  ? 
Macduff. 
Confusion  now  hath  made  his  master-piece. 
Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building. 

Macbeth. 
What  is't  you  say  ?  the  life  ? 

Lenox. 
Mean  you  his  majesty  ? 

Macduff. 
Approach  the   chamber,   and   destroy   your 
sight 

With  a  new  Gorgon Do  not  bid  me  speak : 

See,   and    then    speak    yourselves Awake ! 

awake  ! —     TExeunt  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
Ring  the  alarum-bell.— Murder,  and  treason! 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain!  Malcolm,  awake ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself! — up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image  \— Malcolm!  Banquo! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites 
To  countenance  this  horror  !  [Bell  rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
What's  the  business, 
That  such  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house  ?  speak,  speak  ! 
Macduff. 

O,  gentle  lady ! 
'Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak  : 
The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear, 

Enter  Banquo. 
Would  murder  as  it  fell,— O  Banquo!  Banquo! 
Our  royal  master's  murder'd  ! 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Woe,  alas  I 
What !  in  our  house  ? 

Banquo. 

Too  cruel,  anywhere. 
Deai  Duff,  I  pr'ythee,  contradict  thyself, 
And  say,  it  is  not  so. 


Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
Macbeth. 
Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
1  had  liv'd  a  blessed  time,  for  from  this  instant 
There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality  ; 
All  is  but  toys:  renown  and  grace,  is  dead ; 
The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 
Donalbain. 
What  is  amiss? 

Macbeth. 

You  are,  and  do  not  know't : 
The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopp'd ;  the  very  source  of  it  is  stopp'd. 
Macduff. 
Your  royal  father's  murder'd. 
Malcolm. 

O  !  by  whom  ? 
Lenox. 
Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had  done't. 
Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badg'd  with  blood ; 
So  were  their  daggers,  which,  unwip'd,  we  found 
Upon  their  pillows :  they  star'd,  and  were  dis- 
tracted. 
No  man's  life  was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 
Macbeth. 
O  !  yet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 
That  I  did  kill  them. 

Macduff. 

Wherefore  did  you  so  ? 
Macbeth. 
Who  can  be  wise,   amaz'd,   temperate  and 
furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment  ?    No  man : 
The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 
Out-ran  the  pauser  reason.  —  Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skin  lac'd  with  his  golden  blood  ; 
And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in 
nature,  [defers, 

For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance:  there,  the  mur- 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  theirdaggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore.    Who  could 

refrain, 
That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage,  to  make  '6  love  known  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 

Help  me  hence,  ho  1 
Macduff. 
Look  to  the  lady. 

Malcolm. 
Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues, 
That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours  ? 
Donalbain. 
What  should  be  spoken 
Here,  where  our  fate,  hid  in  an  auger-hole, 
May  rush,  and  seize  us  ?    Let's  away :  our  tears 
Are  not  yet  brew'd. 

Malcolm. 

Nor  our  strong  sorrow 
Upon  the  foot  of  motion. 

Banquo. 

Look  to  the  lady. — 
[Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out. 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 
That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet, 
And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work. 
To  know  it  farther.    Fears  and  scruples  shake 

us: 
In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stand ;  and,  thence, 
Against  the  undivulg'd  pretence  1  fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macduff. 


Act  hi.  8c.  i. 


MACBETH. 


887 


Macduff. 

And  to  do  1. 
All. 

So  all. 
Mac'. 
Let's  briefly  put  on  mnnljr  readiness, 
And  meet  i*  the  hall  together. 
All. 

Well  contented. 
[Exeunt  all  but  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Malcolm. 
What  will  you  do?     Let's  not  consort  with 
To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office       [them : 
Which  the  false  man  does  easy.    I'll  to  England. 
Donalbain. 
To  Ireland,  I :  our  separated  fortune 
Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer ;  where  we  are, 
There's  daggers  in  men's  smiles:  the  near  in 
The  nearer  bloody.  [blood, 

Malcolm. 
This  murderous  shaft  that's  shot 
Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way 
Is  to  avoid  the  aim  :  therefore,  to  horse  ; 
And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 
But  shift  away.    There's  warrant  in  that  theft 
Which  steals  "itself,  when  there's  no  mercy  left. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Without  the  Castle. 

Enter  Roue  and  an  Old  Man. 

Old  Man. 

Threescore  and  ten  I  can  remember  well ; 

Within  the  volume  of  which  time  I  have  seen 

Hours  dreadful,  and  things  strange,  but  this  sore 

Hath  trifled  former  knowings.  [night 

Rosse. 

Ah  !  good  father, 
Thou  seest,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's 

act, 
Threaten  his  bloody  stage  :  by  the  clock  'tis  day, 
And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp. 
Is't  night's  predominance,  or  the  day's  shame, 
That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  entomb, 
When  living  light  should  kiss  it  ? 
Old  Man. 

'Tis  unnatural, 
Even  like  the  deed  that's  done.   On  Tuesday  last, 
A  falcon,  towering  in  her  pride  of  place, 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawk'd  at,  and  kill'd. 
Kosse. 
And  Duncan's  horses  (a  thing  most  strange 
and  certain). 
Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race, 
Turn'd  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung 

out, 
Contending  'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would 
Make  war  with  mankind. 

Old  Man. 

'Tis  said,  they  ate  each  other. 

Rosse. 

They  did  so  ;  to  th'  amazement  of  mine  eyes. 

That    look'd    upon't.      Here   comes  the  good 

Macduff— 

Enter  Macduff. 
How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now? 
Macduff. 

Why,  see  you  not?  i 
Rosse. 
Is't  known,  who  did  this  more  than  bloody 
deed? 


Macduff. 
Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 
Rosse. 

Alas,  the  day ! 
What  good  could  they  pretend  ? 
Mac-duff. 

They  were  suborn'd. 
Malcolm,  and  Donalbain,  the  king's  two  sons, 
Are  stol'n  away  and  fled  ;  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

'Gainst  nature  still : 
Thriftless  ambition,  that  will  ravin  up 
Thine  own  life's  means  1  — Then,  'tis  most  like, 
The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth. 
Macduff. 
He  is  already  nam'd,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  be  invested.         _ 

Kosse. 

Where  is  Duncan's  body  ? 
Macduff. 
Carried  to  Colme-kill; 
The  sacred  store-house  of  his  predecessors, 
And  guardian  of  their  bones. 
Rosse. 

Will  you  to  Scone  f 
Macduff. 
No,  cousin ;  I'll  to  Fife. 
Rosse. 

Well,  I  will  thither. 
Macduff. 
Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  there  :  — 
adieu — 
Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new  1 
Rosse. 
Farewell,  father. 

Old  Man. 
God's  benison  go  with  you  ;  and  with  those, 
That  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  of 
foes  I  .Lxeunt. 


SCEXE 


ACT  III 

Fores.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Banqtio. 
Banquo. 
rrHOU  hast  It  now,  King,  Caudor,  Glatnis,  all 
1     As  the  weird  women  promis'd  ;  and,  I  fear. 
Thou  playd'st  most  foully  for't :  yet  it  was  said. 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity  ; 
But  that  myself  should  be  the  root,  and  father 
Of  many  kings.    If  there  come  truth  from  them, 
(As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine) 
Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good, 
May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well. 
And  set  me  up  in  hope  ?    But,  hush  ;  no  more. 
Senet  sounded.    Enter  Macbeth,  as  King  ;  Lady 
Macbeth,  as   Queen ;    Lenox,    Roste,  Lords, 
Ladies,  and  Attendants. 

Macbeth. 
Here's  our  chief  guest. 

:,■  Macbeth. 

If  he  had  been  forgotten, 
It  had  been  as  a  gap  in  our  great  feast, 
And  all  thing  unbecoming.  ^^ 


888 


MACBETH. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


Macbeth. 
To-night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  sir, 
And  I'll  request  your  presence. 
Banquo. 

Let  your  highness 
Command  upon  me,  to  the  which  my  duties 
Are  with  a  most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macbeth. 
Ride  you  this  afternoon  ? 
Banquo. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macbeth. 
We  should  have  else  desir'd  your  good  advice 
(Which  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  pros- 
perous) 
In  this  day's  council ;  but  we'll  take  to-morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride  ? 

Banquo. 

As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 

•Twixt  this  and  supper :  go  not  my  horse  the 

I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night    [better, 

For  a  dark  hour,  or  twain. 

Macbeth. 

Fail  not  our  feast. 
Banquo. 
My  lord,  I  will  not. 

Macbeth. 
We-faear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow'd 
In  England,  and  in  Ireland  ;  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention.  But  of  that  to-morrow ; 
When,  therewithal,  we  shall  have  cause  of  state 
Craving  us  jointly.    Hie  you  to  horse :  adieu, 
Till  you  return  at  night.    Goes  Fleance  with 
you? 

Banquo. 
Ay,  my  good  lord:  our  time  does  call  upon  us. 

Macbeth. 
I  wish  your  horses  swift,  and  sure  of  foot ; 
And  so  I  do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 
Farewell —  [Exit  Banquo. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time 
Till  seven  at  night.    To  make  society 
The  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 
Till  supper-time   alone:    while  then,   God  be 
with  you. 

t Exeunt  Lady  Macbeth,  Lords,  Ladies,  &c. 
i,  a  word  with  you.    Attend  those  men 
Our  pleasure  ? 

Attendant. 
They  are,  my  lord,  without  the  palace  gate. 

Macbeth. 
Bring  them  before  us.  —  [Exit  Attendant.]  To 
be  thus  is  nothing, 
But  to  be  safely  thus.  — Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep,  and  in  his  royalty  of  nature    [dares ; 
Reigns  that  which  would  befear'd:  'tis  much  he 
And  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.    There  is  none  but  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear,  and  under  him 
My  genius  is  rebuk'd,  as,  it  is  said,  [sisters, 

Mark  Antony's  was  by  Ccesar.    He  chid  the 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  King  upon  me, 
And  bade  them  speak  to  him ;  then,  prophet- 
like, 
They  hail'd  him  father  to  a  line  of  kings. 
Upon  my  head  they  plac'd  a  fruitless  crown, 
And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 
Thence  to  be  wrench'd  with  an  unlineal  hand, 
No  son  of  mine  succeeding.    If  t  be  so, 
For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  fil'd  my  mind, 
For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I  murder'd ; 


Put  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 
Only  for  them  ;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 
To  make  them  kings,  the  seeds  of  Banquo  k'ngs  ! 
Rather  than  so,  come,  fate,  into  the  list, 
And  champion  me  to  the  utterance !  — Who's 
there  ? 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  two  Murderers. 
Now,  go  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. 
[Exit  Attendant. 
Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together? 
First  Murderer. 
It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 
Macbeth. 

Well  then,  now 
Have  you  consider'd  of  my  speeches  ?    Know, 
That  it  was  he,  in  the  times  past,  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune;  which,  you  thought,  had  been 
Our  innocent  self.    This  I  made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference;  pass'd  in  probation  with 

you, 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand ;  how  cross'd ;  the 

instruments  ; 
Who  wrought  with  them  ;  and  all  things  else, 

that  might, 
To  half  a  soul,  and  to  a  notion  craz'd, 
Say,  "  Thus  did  Banquo." 

First  Murderer. 

You  made  it  known  to  us. 
Macbeth. 
I  did  so  ;  and  went  farther,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.    Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature, 
That  you  can  let  this  go  ?    Are  you  so  gospell'd 
To  pray  for  this  good  man,  and  for  his  issue, 
Whose  heavy  hand  hath  bow'd  you  to  the  grave, 
And  beggar 'd  yours  for  ever? 

First  Murderer. 

We  are  men,  nay  liege. 

Macbeth. 

Ay,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men,         [curs, 

As  hounds,  and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels, 

Shoughs,   water-rugs,    and   demi-wolves,    are 

cleped 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs  :  the  valued  file 
Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle, 
The  house-keeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 
Hath  in  him  clos'd,  whereby  he  does  receive 
Particular  addition,  from  the  bill 
That  writes  them  all  alike;  and  so  of  men. 
Now,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  file 
Not  i'tlie  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say  it, 
And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 
Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off, 
Grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us, 
Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life, 
Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 
Second  Murderer. 

I  am  one,  my  liege, 
Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incens'd,  that  1  am  reckless  what 
1  do  to  spite  the  world. 

First  Murderer. 

And  1  another, 
So  weary  with  disasters,  tugg'd  with  fortune, 
That  I  would  set  my  life  on  any  chance, 
To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on't. 
Macbeth. 

Both  of  yon 
Know  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 
Second  Murderer. 

True,  isy  lord. 
Macbeth. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


MACBETH. 


>eth. 

So  is  he  mine;  and  in  such  bloody  distance, 
That  every  minute  of  hit  being  thrusts 
Against  my  near'st  of  life:  and  though  I  could 
With  bare-fac'd  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight, 
i  And  bid  my  will  avouch  it,  yet  I  must  not, 
For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine, 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Whom  1  myself  struck  down  :  nnd  thence  it  is, 
That  I  to  your  assistance  do  make  love, 
i  Masking  the  business  from  the  common  eye 
For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

Second  Murderer. 

We  shall,  my  lord, 
Perform  what  you  command  us. 
First  Murderer. 

Though  our  lives— 
Macbeth. 
Your  spirits  shine  through  you.    Within  this 
hour,  at  most, 
I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves, 
Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spy  o'  the  time, 
The  moment  on't ;  for't  must  be  done  to-night. 
And  something  from  the  palace ;  always  thought, 
That  I  require  a  clearness  :  and  with  him, 
(To  leave  no  rubs,  nor  botches,  in  the  work) 
Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.     Resolve  yourselves  apart : 
I'll  come  to  you  anon. 

Second  Murderer. 

We  are  resolv'd,  my  lord. 
Macbeth. 
I'll  call  upon  you  straight :  abide  within. 

[Exeunt  Murderers. 
It  is  concluded  :  Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight, 
If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  U.    The  same.    Another  Room. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth  and  a  Servant. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Is  Banquo  gone  from  court  ? 

Servant. 
Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Say  to  the  king,  I  would  attend  his  leisure 
For  a  few  words. 

Servant. 
Madam,  I  will.  [Exit. 

Lady  Macbeth 

Nought's  had,  all's  spent, 
Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content : 
*TIs  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 
How  now,  my  lord  1  why  do  you  keep  alone, 
Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making, 
Using  those  thoughts,  which  should  indeed  have 

died 
With  them  they  think  on  ?    Things  without  all 

remedy. 
Should  be  without  regard:  what's  done,  is  done. 
Macbeth. 
We  have  scotch'd  the  snake,  not  kill'd  it : 
She'll  close,  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor 

malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 
But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint, 
Both  the  worlds  suffer, 


:  Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear,  and  sleep 

In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams. 
I  That  shake  us  nightly.   Better  be  with  the  dead, 

\\  horn  we  to  gain  our  peace  have  sent  to  peace, 

Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
1  In  restless  ecstasy.     Duncan  is  in  his  grave ; 
j  After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well ; 
'Treason  has  done  his  worst:  nor  steel,  nor 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing  [poison, 

Can  touch  him  farther  1 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Come  on: 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks  ; 

Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

Macbeth. 
So  shall  I,  love ;  and  so,  I  pray,  be  you. 
Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo  : 
Present  him  eminence, both  with  eye  and  tongue : 
Unsafe  the  while,  that  we  must  lave  our  honours 
In  these  flattering  streams,  and  make  our  faces 
Vizards  to  our  hearts,  disguising  what  they  are. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
You  must  leave  this. 

Macbeth. 
O!  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife. 
Thou  know'st  that  Banquo  and  his  Fleance  live. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
But  in  them  nature's  copy's  not  eterne. 

Macbeth. 
There's  comfort  yet;  they  are  assailable : 
Then,  be  thou  jocund.    Ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His    cloister'd   flight ;   ere    to   black  Hecate'* 

summons 

The  shard-borne  beetle,  with  his  drowsy  hums, 

Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be 

A  deed  of  dreadful  note.  [done 

Lady  Macbeth. 

What's  to  be  done? 
Macbeth. 
Be  Innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.     Come,   seeling 

night, 
Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day, 
And  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand, 
Cancel,  and  tear  to  pieces,  that  great  bond 
Which  keeps  me  pale  1  — Light  thickens;   and 

the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood : 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse. 
Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  preys  do 
rouse.  [still : 

Thou  marvell'st  at  my  words;  but  hold  thee 
Things,  bad  begun,  make  strong  themselves  by  ill. 
So,  pr'ythee,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Park,  with  a  Road 
leading  to  the  Palace. 

Enter  Three  Murderers. 
First  Murderer. 
But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us? 
Third  Murderer. 

Macbeth. 
Second  Murderer. 
He  needs  not  our  mistrust ;  since  he  deliyers 
Our  offices,  and  what  we  have  to  do, 
To  the  direction  just. 

First  Murderer. 

Then  stand  with  us. 
The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of 

day: 
Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace, 

To  ; 


890 


MACBETH. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


Let  it  come  don 
[Assaults  Ba 


To  gain  the  timely  inn  ;  and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 

Third  Murderer. 

Hark  !  I  hear  horses. 
Banquo.  LWithin. 

Give  us  a  light  there,  ho  1 

Second  Murderer. 

Then,  'tis  he:  the  rest 
That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation 
Already  are  i'  the  court. 

First  Murderer. 

His  horses  go  about. 
Third  Murderer. 
Almost  a  mile;  but  he  does  usually, 
So  all  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  with  a  torch. 
Second  Murderer. 

A  light,  a  light! 
Third  Murderer. 

»*_*«.     ;,  'TU  he. 

First  Murderer. 

Stand  to't.  „ 

Banquo. 

It  will  be  rain  to-night. 

First  Murderer. 

t  cor 

ssauits  Banquo. 

Banquo. 
O,  treachery !    Fly,  good  Fleance,  fly,  fly,  fly ! 
Thou  may'st  revenge.  —  _Q  slave ! 

[Dies.    Fleance  escapes. 

Third  Murderer. 
Who  did  strike  out  the  light? 

First  Murderer. 

Was't  not  the  way? 

Third  Murderer. 
There's  but  one  down:  the  son  is  fled. 

Second  Murderer. 
We  have  lost  best  half  of  our  affair. 

First  Murderer. 
Well,  let's  away,  and  say  how  much  i&,done.. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace. 

A  Banquet  prepared.  Enter  Macbeth,  Lady 
Macbeth,  Rosse,  Lenox,  Lords,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Macbeth. 
You  know  your  own  degrees ;   sit  down :   at 
And  last,  the  hearty  welcome.  [first 

Lords. 

Thanks  to  your  majesty. 
Macbeth. 
Ourself  will  mingle  with  society, 
And  play  the  humble  host. 
Our  hostess  keeps  her  state ;  but  in  best  time 
We  will  require  her  welcome. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our  friends ; 
For  my  heart  speaks,  they  are  welcome. 
Enter  First  Murderer,  to  the  door. 
Macbeth. 
See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  heart's 
thanks, 
Both  sides  are  even :  here  I'll  sit  i'  the  midst. 
Be  large  in  mirth ;  anon,  we'll  drink  a  measure 
The  table  round — There's  blood  upon  thy  face. 


Murderer. 
'Tis  Banquo's  then. 

Macbeth. 
'Tis  better  thee  without,  than  he  within. 
Is  he  despatch'd  ? 

Murderer. 
My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ;  that  I  did  for  him. 

Macbeth. 
Thou  art  the  best  o'  the  cut-throats  ; 
Yet  he  is  good,  that  did  the  like  for  Fleance: 
If  thou  didst  it,  thou  art  the  nonpareil. 
Murderer. 
Most  royal  sir,  Fleance  is  'scap'd. 

Macbeth 
Then  comes  my  fit  again:   I  had  else  been 
perfect ; 
Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock, 
As  broad,  and  general  as  the  casing  air  ;         [in 
But  now,  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confm'd,  bound 

To  saucy  doubts  and  fears But  Banquo's  safe? 

Murderer. 
Ay,  my  good  lord,  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bides, 
With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head ; 
The  least  a  death  to  nature. 
Macbeth. 

Thanks  for  that — 
There  the  grown  serpent  lies :  the  worm,  that's 

fled, 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed, 
No  teeth  for  the  present.— Get  thee  gone:  to- 
morrow '     uu      . 
We'll  hear  ourselves  again.       [kxit  Murderer. 
Lady  Macbeth. 

My  royal  lord, 
You  do  not  give  the  cheer :  the  feast  is  sold, 
That  is  not  often  vouch 'd  while  'tis  a  making, 
'Tis  given  with  welcome.    To  feed  were  best  at 

home ; 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony, 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 
Macbeth. 

Sweet  remembrancer !  — 
Now,  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  health  on  both  ! 

Lenox. 
m  Mayitplease  your  highness,  sit? 

[The  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters,  and  sits  in 
Macbeth'*  place. 

Macbeth. 

Here  had  we  now  our  country's  honour  roofd, 

Were  the  grae'd  person  of  our  Banquo  present ; 

Who  may  I  rather  challenge  for  unkindness, 

Than  pity  for  mischance ! 

Rosse. 

His  absence,  sir, 
Lays  blame  upon  his  promise.    Please  it  your 

highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company  ? 
Macbeth 

The  table's  full.    , 

Lenox. 
Here  is  a  place  reserv'd,  sir. 
Macbeth. 

Where? 
Lenox. 
Here,  my  good  lord.    What  is't  that  moves 
your  highness  ? 

Macbeth. 
Which  of  you  have  done  this  ? 
Lords. 

What,  my  good  lord  ? 
Macbeth. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ir. 


MACBETH. 


891 


Mac 
Thou  canst  not  My,  I  did  It :  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Gentlemen,  rise  ;  his  highness  Is  not  well. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Sit,  worthy  friends.    My  lord  is  often  thus, 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth  :  pray  yon,  keep 
The  fit  is  momentary  ;  upon  a  thought      [seat. 
He  will  again  be  well.     Ir  much  you  note  him, 
You  shall  offend  him,  and  extend  his  passion  ; 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not. — Are  you  a  man  ? 
Mac! 
Av,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 
Lady  Macbeth 

O,  proper  stuff  1 
This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which,  you  said, 
Led  you  to  Duncan.   O  !  these  flaws,  and  starts, 
( Impostors  to  true  fear)  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story  at  a  winter's  fire, 
Authorii'd  by  her  grandam.    Shame  itself  ! 
W  hy  do  you  make  such  faces  ?    When  all's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

Macbeth. 
IVythee,  see  there!  behold  1  look!  lo!  how 
•ay  you  ?—  [too.— 

Why,  what  care  I  ?     If  thou  canst  nod,  speak 
If  charnel-houses,  and  our  graves,  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.      [Ghost  disappears. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
What !  quite  unmann'd  In  folly  ? 
Macbeth. 
If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Fie !  for  shame  I 
Macbeth. 
Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i'  th'  olden 
time, 
Ere  human  statute  purg'd  the  gentle  weal ; 
Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  perform'd 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear  :  the  times  have  been, 
That  when  the  brains  were  out  the  man  would 

die, 
And  there  an  end  ;  but  now,  they  rise  again, 
With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 
And  push  us  from  our  stools.     This  is  more 
Than  such  a  murder  is.  [strange 

Lady  Macbeth. 

My  worthy  lord, 
Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 
Macbeth. 

I  do  forget 

Do  not  muse  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends  ; 
I  have  a  strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.    Come,  love  and  health 

to  all ; 
Then,  I'll  sit  down.  — Give  me  some  wine:  fill 
full- 
Re-enter  Ghost. 
I  drink  to  the  general  joy  of  the  whole  table, 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss; 
Would  he  were  here !  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst. 
And  all  to  all. 

Lords. 
Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 
Macbeth. 
Avaunt!  and  quit  my  sight.    Let  the  earth 
hide  thee! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 


Thou  hast  no  speculation  In  those  eyes, 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

*  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 
But  as  a  thing  of  custom  1  'tis  no  other  ; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 
Macbeth. 
What  man  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger  ; 
Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble :  or,  be  alive  again, 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword  ; 
If  trembling  I  inhabit,  then  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.    Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 

[Ghost  disappears. 

Unreal  mockery,  hence!— Why,    so;  — being 

I  am  a  man  again.— Pray  you,  sit  still,      [gone, 

Lady  Macbeth. 

You  have  displac'd  the  mirth,  broke  the  good 

With  most  admir'd  disorder.  [meeting, 

Macbeth. 

Can  such  things  be, 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud. 
Without  our  special  wonder  ?    You  make  me 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe,        [strange. 
When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights, 
And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks, 
When  mine  are  blanch'd  with  fear. 
Rosse. 

What  sights,  my  lord  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 
I  pray  you,  speak  not:  he  grows  worse  and 
worse  ; 
Question  enrages  him.    At  once,  good  night : 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 
But  go  at  once. 

Lenox. 
Good  night ;  and  better  health 
Attend  his  majesty. 

Lady  Macbeth. 

A  kind  good  night  to  all  1 
[Exeunt  Lords  ana  Attendants. 
Macbeth. 
It  will  have  blood,  they  say  ;  blood  will  have 
blood  : 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move,  and  trees  to 
Augurs,  and  understood  relations,  have  [speak ; 
By  magot-pies,  and  choughs,  and  rooks,  brought 

forth 
The  secret'st  man  of  blood.— What  is  the  night  ? 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 

Macbeth. 

How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his  per- 

At  our  great  bidding  ?  [son, 

Lady  Macbeth. 

Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 
Macbeth. 
I  hear  it  by  the  way  •,  but  I  will  send. 
There's  not  a  one  of  them,  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  fee'd.     I  will  to-morrow, 
(And  betimes  I  will)  to  the  weird  sisters: 
More  shall  they  speak ;  for  now  I  am  bent  to 

know, 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst.    For  mine  own 
All  causes  shall  give  way :  I  am  in  blood  [good, 
Stept  in  so  far,  that,  should  1  wade  no  more, 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er. 
Strange  things  1  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand, 
Which  must  be  acted,  ere  they  may  be  scann'd. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Macbeth. 


89* 


MACBETH. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


Macbeth. 
Come,  we'll  to  sleep.    My  strange  and  self- 


Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use : 

We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  V.    The  Heath. 

Thunder.    Enter  the  Three  Witches*  meeting 

Hecate. 

First  Witch. 

Why,  how  now,  Hecate !  you  look  angerly. 
Hecate. 

Have  I  not  reason,  beldams  as  you  are, 
Saucy,  and  overbold  ?    How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  traffic  with  Macbeth, 
In  riddles,  and  affairs  of  death  ; 
And  I,  the  mistress  of  your  charms, 
The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 
Was  never  calPd  to  bear  my  part, 
Or  show  the  glory  of  our  art  ? 
And,  which  is  worse,  all  you  have  done 
Hath  been  but  for  a  wayward  son, 
Spiteful,  and  wrathful ;  who,  as  others  do, 
Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 
But  make  amends  now :  get  you  gone, 
And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron 
Meet  me  i'  the  morning :  thither  he 
Will  come  to  know  his  destiny. 
Your  vessels,  and  your  spells,  provide, 
Your  charms,  and  every  thing  beside. 
I  am  for  the  air ;  this  night  I'll  spend 
Unto  a  dismal  and  a  fatal  end : 
Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon. 
Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 
There  hangs  a  vaporous  drop  profound ; 
I'll  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground : 
And  that,  distill'd  by  magic  sleights, 
Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprites, 
As  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion, 
Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion. 
He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear 
His  hopes  'bove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear  ; 
And,  you  all  know,  security 
Is  mortals'  chiefest  enemy. 

song.  [Within. 

Come  away,  come  away,  $c. 
Hark  !  I  am  call'd :  my  little  spirit,  see, 
Sits  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.       [Exit. 

First  Witch. 
Come,  let's  make  haste :  she'll  soon  be  back 
again.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Fores.    A  Room  m  the  Palace. 
Enter  Lenox  and  another  Lord. 
Lenox. 
My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts, 
Which  can  interpret  farther:  only,  I  say, 
Things  have  been  strangely  borne.    The  gra- 
cious Duncan 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth :  —marry,  he  was  dead  ; 
And  the  right- valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late ; 
Whom,  you  may  say,  if't  please  you,  Fleance 

kill'd, 
For  Fleance  fled.    Men  must  not  walk  too  late. 
Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  how  monstrous 
It  was  for  Malcolm,  and  for  Donalbain, 
To  kill  their  gracious  father  ?  damned  fact  I 
How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth  1  did  he  not  straight, 
In  pious  rage  the  two  delinquents  tear, 
That  were  theslavesof  drink,  and  thralls  of  sleep? 
Was  not  that  nobly  done  ?    Ay,  and  wisely,  too  ; 
For  'twould  have  anger'd  any  heart  alive, 
To  hear  the  men  deny  't.    So  that,  I  say, 


f  He  has  borne  all  things  well ;  and  I  do  think, 
•  That  had  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key, 
J  (As,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not)  they  should 
find 

What  'twere  to  kill  a  father ;  so  should  Fleance. 

But,  peace  1  —  for  from  broad  words,  and  'cause 
he  fail'd 

His  presence  at  the  tyrant's  feast,  I  hear, 

Macduff  lives  in  disgrace.     Sir,  can  you  tell 

Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord. 

The  son  of  Duncan, 
From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth, 
Lives  in  the  English  court;  and  is  receiv'd 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace, 
That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 
Takes  from  his  high  respect.    Thither  Macdvff 
Is  gone,  to  pray  the  holy  king  upon  his  aid 
To  wake  Northumberland,  and  warlike  Siward; 
That  by  the  help  of  these,  (with  Him  above 
To  ratify  the  work)  we  may  again 
Give  to  our  tables  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights, 
Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives, 
Do  faithful  homage,  and  receive  free  honours, 
All  which  we  pine  for  now.    And  this  report 
Hath  so  exasperate  the  king,  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  war. 

Lenox. 

Sent  he  to  Macduff? 

Lord. 

He  did:  and  with  an  absolute,  "  Sir,  not  I," 

The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back,  [time 

And  hums,  as  who  should  say,  "  You'll  rue  the 

That  clogs  me  with  this  answer." 

Lenox. 

And  that  well  might 
Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide.    Some  holy  angel 
Fly  to  the  court  of  England,  and  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  come,  that  a  swift  blessing 
May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 
Under  a  hand  accurs'd  1 

Lord. 
I'll  send  my  prayers  with  him  I 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    A  dark  Cave.    In  the  middle,  a 
Cauldron. 

Thunder.    Enter  the  Three  Witches. 

First  Witch. 

rTHRICE  the  brinded  cat  hath  mew'd. 

Second  Witch. 

Thrice ;  and  once  the  hedge-pig  whin'd. 

Third  Witch. 
Harper  cries,— 'Tis  time,  'tis  time. 

First  Witch. 
Round  about  the  cauldron  go  ; 
In  the  poison'd  entrails  throw.— 
Toad,  that  under  the  cold  stone, 
Days  and  nights  has  thirty-one 
Swelter'd  venom  sleeping  got, 
Boil  thou  first  i'  the  charmed  pot. 
All. 
Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 
Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Second 


Act  iv.  Sc  i. 


MACBETH. 


893 


Second  \S 
Fillet  of  a  fenny  tnake, 
In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake  : 
Eve  of  newt,  and  toe  of  frog, 
Wool  of  bat,  and  tongue  of  dog, 
Adder's  fork,  and  blind-worm'*  sting, 
Lizard's  leg,  and  owlet's  wing, 
For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble, 
Like  a  bell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

All 
Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 
Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Third  Witch. 
Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf; 
Witches'  mummy ;  maw,  and  gulf 
Of  the  ravin'd  salt-sea  shark  ; 
Root  of  hemlock,  diug'd  i'  the  dark  ; 
Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew  ; 
Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew, 
Sliver'd  in  the  moon's  eclipse ; 
Nose  of  Turk,  and  Tartar's  lips  ; 
Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe, 
Ditch-deliver'd  by  a  drab, 
Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab  : 
Add  thereto  a  tiger's  chaudron. 
For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

All. 
Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 
Fire  burn,  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Second  Witch. 

Cool  it  with  a  baboon's  blood ; 

Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good. 

Enter  Hecate,  and  other  Witches. 
Hecate. 
O,  well  done !  I  commend  your  pains. 
And  every  one  shall  share  i'  the  gains. 
And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing, 
Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring, 
Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 
[Music  and  a  Song.  "Black  spirits,"  Ac. 
Second  Witch. 
By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes.  — 

[Knocking. 
Open,  locks,  whoever  knocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macbeth. 
How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midnight 
hags! 
What  is't  you  do? 

All 
A  deed  without  a  name. 

Macbeth. 
1  conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess, 
(Howe'er  you  come  to  know  it)  answer  me : 
Though  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches  ;  though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up  ;    [down  ; 
Though  bladed  corn  be  lodg'd,  and  trees  blown 
Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders'  heads  ; 
Though  palaces,  and  pyramids,  do  slope 
Their  heads  to  their  foundations ;  though  the 

treasure 
Of  nature's  germins  tumble  all  together, 
Even  till  destruction  sicken,  answer  me 
To  what  I  ask  you. 

First  Witch. 
Speak. 

Second  Witch. 

Demand. 


Third  Witch. 


We'll  answer. 


First  Witch. 
Say,  if  thou'dit   rather    hear    it    from   our 
mouths, 
Or  from  our  masters'  ? 

Macbeth. 

Call  'em :  let  me  see  'em. 
First  Witch. 
Pour  in  sow's  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow  ;  grease,  that's  sweaten 
From  the  murderer's  gibbet,  throw 
Into  the  flame. 

All. 
Come  high,  or  low  ; 
Thyself,  and  oflice,  deftly  show. 

Thunder.    First  Apparition,  an  armed  Head. 
Macbeth. 
Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power, — 
Second  Witch. 

He  knows  thy  thought : 
Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought. 
First  Apparition. 
Macbeth!    Macbeth!  Macbeth!  beware  Mac- 
duff"; 
Beware  the  thane   of  Fife — Dismiss  me:  — 
enough.  [Descends. 

Macbeth. 
Whate'er   thou   art,   for   thy  good   caution 
thanks : 
Thou  hast  harp'd  my  fear  aright.  — But  one 
word  more: — 

First  Witch. 
He  will  not  be  commanded.    Here's  another, 
More  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder.    Second  Apparition,  a  bloody  Child. 
Apparition. 
Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  — 

Macbeth. 
Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee. 

Apparition. 
Be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute :  laugh  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  born 
Shall  harm  Macbeth.  [Desceuds. 

Macbeth. 
Then  live,  Macduff:  what  need  I  fear  of  thee? 
But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  double  sure. 
And  take  a  bond  of  fate :  thou  shalt  not  live ; 
That  1  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies, 
And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder.— What  is  this, 

Thunder.    Third  Apparition,  a  Child  crowned, 

with  a  Tree  in  his  Hand. 
That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king ; 
And  wears  upon  his  baby  brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty  ? 
All. 

Listen,  but  speak  not  to't. 
Apparition. 
Be  lion-mettled,  proud,  and  take  no  care 
Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are: 
Macbeth  shall  never  vanquish'd  be,  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him.  [Descendl. 

Macbeth. 

That  will  never  be : 
Who  can  impress  the  forest;  bid  the  tree 
Unfix  his  earth-bound  root  ?  sweet  bodements  I 

goodl 
Rebellious  head,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 
Of  Birnam  rise ;  and  our  high-plac'd  Macbeth 
Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 
To  time,  and  mortal  custom — Yet  my  heart 

Throbs 


894 


MACBETH. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  l 


J   Throbs  to  know  one  thing:  tell  me,  (if  your  art 
Can  tell  so  much)  shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 
Reign  in  this  kingdom  ? 

All. 

Seek  to  know  no  more. 
Macbeth. 

I  will  be  satisfied :  deny  me  this,        [know 

And  au  eternal  curse  fall  on   you !     Let  me 
Why  sinks  that  cauldron  ?   and  what  noise  is 
[Hautboys. 
First  Witch. 


this' 
Show! 


Show! 


Second  Witch. 
Third  Witch. 


All. 


Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart ; 
Come  like  shadows,  so  depart. 

A  show  of  eight  Kings,  and  Banquo  last,  with  a 

Glass  in  his  Hand. 

Macbeth. 

Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo  :  down  ! 

Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls:— and  thy 

hair,  J 

Thou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  first  :— 
A  third  is  like  the  former  :  — Filthy  hags  ! 
Why  do  you  show  me  this  ?— A  fourth  ?— Start, 

eyes! 
What !  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of 

doom  ? 
Another  yet?— A  seventh?— I'll  see  no  more:— 
And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a  glass, 
Which  shows  me  many  more;  and  some  I  see, 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry. 
Horrible  sight !  — Now,  I  see,  'tis  true; 
For  the  blood-bolter'd  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 
And  points  at  them  for  his What !  is  this  so  ? 

First  Witch. 
Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so:  but  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ?  — 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprites, 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights. 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound, 
While  you  perform  your  antic  round; 
That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say, 
Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay. 

[Music.    The  Witches  dance,  and  vanish. 
Macbeth. 
Where  are  they?  Gone?_Let  this  pernicious 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar ! —       [hour 
Come  in  !  without  there  ! 

Enter  Lenox. 
Lenox. 

What's  your  grace's  will  ? 
Macbeth . 
Saw  you  the  weird  sisters  ? 

Lenox. 

No,  my  lord. 

Macbeth. 
Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Lenox. 

No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Macbeth. 
Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride, 
Anddamn'd  all  those  that  trust  them  !— I  did 

hear 
The  galloping  of  horse :  who  was't  came  by  ? 

Lenox. 
'Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you 
Macduff"  is  fled  to  England.  [word, 


Macbeth. 


Fled  to  England? 


Lenox. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macbeth. 
Time,  thou  anticipat'st  my  dread  exploits : 
The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it.    From  this  moment, 
The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand.    And  even  now, 
To  crown  my  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought 

and  done : 
The  castle  of  Macduff  I  will  surprise ; 
Seize  upon  Fife;  give  to  the  edge  o'  the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  him  in  his  line.    No  boasting  like  a 

fool ; 
This  deed  I'll  do,  before  this  purpose  cool : 
But  no  more  sights.— Where  are  these  gentle- 
Come ;  bring  me  where  they  are.  [men  ? 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Fife.    A  Room  in  Macduff** 
Castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Rosse. 

Lady  Macduff. 
What  had  he  done  to  make  him  fly  the  land  ? 

Rosse. 
You  must  have  patience,  madam. 
Lady  Macduff. 

He  had  none : 
His  flight  was  madness.  When  our  actions  do 
Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors.  [not, 

Rosse. 

You  know  not, 
Whether  it  was  his  wisdom,  or  his  fear. 

Lady  Macduff. 
Wisdom  !  to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave  his  babes, 
His  mansion,  and  his  titles,  in  a  place         [not : 
From  whence  himself  does  fly?    He  loves  us 
He  wants  the  natural  touch ;  for  the  poor  wren, 
The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight, 
Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 
All  is  the  fear,  and  nothing  is  the  love : 
As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 
Rosse. 

My  dearest  coz',    [band, 
I  pray  you,  school  yourself:  but,  for  your  hus- 
He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 
The  fits  o'  the  season.    I  dare  not  speak  much 

farther : 
But  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors, 
And  do  not  know  ourselves;    when  we  hold 

rumour 
From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear, 
But  float  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea, 
Each  way  and  move. —  I  take  my  leave  of  you : 
Shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again. 
Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb 

upward 
To  what  they  were  before.  — My  pretty  cousin, 
Blessing  upon  you ! 

Lady  Macduff. 
Father'd  he  is,  and  yet  he's  fatherless. 

Rosse. 
I  am  so  much  a  fool,  should  I  stay  longer, 
It  would  be  my  disgrace,  and  your  discomfort. 
I  take  my  leave  at  once.  [Exit  Rosse. 

Lady  Macduff. 

'Sirrah,  your  father's  dead : 
And  what  will  you  do  now  ?  How  will  you  live? 

Son. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  hi. 


MACBETH. 


895 


Son. 
At  birdi  do,  mother. 

v  Macduff. 
What,  with  wormi  and  flics? 

Son. 
With  what  I  get,  I  mean ;  and  »o  do  they. 

Macduff 
Poor  bird !  thou'dit  never  fear  the  net,  nor 
The  pit-fall,  nor  the  gin.  [lime, 

s 
Why  should  I,  mother  ?    Poor  birds  they  are 
not  set  for. 
My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

Lady  Macduff. 
Yes,  he  is  dead :  how  wilt  thou  do  for  a  father  ? 

Son. 
Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a  husband  ? 

Lady  Macduff. 
Why,  I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any  market. 

Sou. 
Then  you'll  buy  'em  to  sell  again. 

Lady  Macduff. 
Thou  speak 'st  with  all  thy  wit; 
And  yet,  P  faith,  with  wit  euough  for  thee. 
Son. 
Was  my  father  a  traitor,  mother  ? 

Lady  Macduff. 
Ay,  that  he  was. 

Son. 
What  Is  a  traitor? 

Lady  Macduff. 
Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son. 
And  be  all  traitors  that  do  so? 
Lady  Macduff. 
Every  one  that  does  so  is  a  traitor,  and  must 
be  hanged. 

Son. 
And  must  they  all  be  hanged,  that  swear  and 
tie? 

Lady  Macduff. 
Every  one. 

Son. 
Who  must  hang  them  ? 

Lady  Macduff. 
Why,  the  honest  men. 

Son. 
Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools;  for 
there  are  liars  and  swearers  enow  to  beat  the 
honest  men,  and  hang  up  them. 

Lady  Macduff. 
Now  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey  1    But  how 
wilt  thou  do  for  a  father  ? 

Son. 
If  he  were  dead,  you'd  weep  for  him:  if  you 
would  not,  it  were  a  good  sign  that  I  should 
quickly  have  a  new  father. 

Lady  Macduff. 
Poor  prattler,  how  thou  talk'st ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 
Bless  you,  fair  dame.   I  am  not  to  you  known, 
I  Though  in  your  state  of  honour  I  am  perfect. 
j  I  doubt,  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly : 
'  If  you  will  take  a  homely  man's  advice, 
I  Be  not  found  here ;  hence,  with  your  little  ones. 
I  To  fright  you  thus,  methinks,  I  am  too  savage, 
;  To  do  worse  to  you  were  fell  cruelty, 


Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.    Heaven  pre- 
serve you ! 
I  dare  abide  no  longer.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Lady  Macduff. 

Whlthershouldlfly? 
1  have  done  no  harm  ;  but  I  remember  now 
I  am  in  this  earthly  world,  where,  to  do  harm 
Is  often  laudable ;  to  do  good  sometime 
Accounted  dangerous  folly:  why  then,  alas  1 
Do  I  put  up  that  womanly  defence,  [faces  ? 

To  say  I  have  done  no  harm  ?—  What  are  these 

Enter  Murderers. 
Murderer. 
Where  is  your  husband  ? 

Lady  Macduff. 
I  hope,  in  no  place  so  unsanctified, 
Where  such  as  thou  may'st  And  him. 
Murderer. 

He's  a  traitor. 
Son. 
Thou  liest,  thou  shag-ear'd  villain. 
Murderer. 
What,  you  egg,    [Stabbing  him. 
Young  fry  of  treachery  ? 
Son. 

He  has  killed  me,  mother : 
Run  away,  I  pray  you.  [Dies. 

[Exit  Lady  Macduff,  crying  murder,  and 
pursued  by  the  Murderers. 

SCENE  III.    England.    A  Room  in  the  King's 
Palace. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff 

Malcolm. 

Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and  there 

Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

Macduff. 

Let  us  rather 
Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword,  and  like  good  men 
Bestride  our  down-fall'n  birthdom.    Each  new 
morn,  [rows 

New  widows  howl,  new  orphans  cry;  new  sor- 
Strike  heaven  on  the  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland,  and  yell'd  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolour. 

Malcolm . 

What  I  believe,  I'll  wail ; 
What  know,  believe ;  and  what  I  can  redress, 
As  I  shall  find  the  time  to  friend,  I  will : 
What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so,  perchance. 
This    tyrant,   whose   sole   name    blisters    our 
tongues, 
1  Was  once  thought  honest :  you  have  lov'd  him 
well; 
He  hath  not  touch'd  you  yet.     I  am  young  ;  but 

something 
You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me,  and  wisdom 
To  offer  up  a  weak,  poor,  innocent  lamb 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

Macduff. 
I  am  not  treacherous. 

Malcolm. 

But  Macbeth  is. 
A  good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil, 
In  an  imperial  charge.    But  I  shall  crave  your 
pardon :  [pose ; 

That  which  you  are,  my  thoughts  cannot  trans- 
Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  fell  i 
Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  of 
Yet  grace  must  still  look  so.  [grace. 


Macduff 


have  lost  my  hopes. 

H    •■    1 


896 


MACBETH. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Malcolm. 
Perchance,  even  there,  where  I  did  find  my 
doubts. 
Why  in  that  rawness  left  you  wife,  and  child, 
Those  precious  motives,  those  strong  knots  of 
Without  leave-taking  ? —  I  pray  you,  [love, 

Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonours, 
But  mine  own  safeties:  you  may  be  rightly  just, 
Whatever  I  shall  think. 

Macduff. 

Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country ! 
Great  tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  basis  sure, 
For  goodness  dares  not  check  thee  !  wear  thou 

thy  wrongs ; 
The  title  is  afTeer'd  !— Fare  thee  well,  lord : 
I  would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think'st, 
For  the  whole  space  that's  in  the  tyrant's  grasp, 
And  the  rich  East  to  boot 

Malcolm. 

Be  not  offended : 
I  speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 
I  think  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke; 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds ;  and  each  new  day  a  gash 
Is  added  to  her  wounds :  I  think,  withal, 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  my  right ; 
And  here,  from  gracious  England,  have  I  offer 
Of  goodly  thousands ;  but,  for  all  this, 
When  I  shall  tread  upon  the  tyrant's  head, 
Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before, 
More  suffer,  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 
By  him  that  shall  succeed. 

Macduff. 

What  should  he  be  ? 

Malcolm. 
It  is  myself  I  mean ;  in  whom  I  know 
All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted, 
That,  when  they  shall  be  open'd,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow  ;  and  the  poor  state 
Esteem  him  as  a  lamb,  being  compar'd 
With  my  confineless  harms. 

Macduff. 

Not  in  the  legions 
Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a  devil  more  damn'd 
In  evils  to  top  Macbeth. 

Malcolm. 

I  grant  him  bloody, 
Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 
Sudden,  malicious,  smacking  of  every  sin 
That  has  a  name;  but  there's  no  bottom,  none, 
In  my  voluptuousness :  your  wives,  your  daugh- 
ters, 
Your  matrons,  and  your  maids,  could  not  fill  up 
The  cistern  of  ray  lust ;  and  my  desire 
All  continent  impediments  would  o'er-bear, 
That  did  oppose  my  will.    Better  Macbeth, 
Than  such  a  one  to  reign. 

Macduff. 

Boundless  intemperance 
In  nature  is  a  tyranny :  it  hath  been 
Th'  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 
And  fall  of  many  kings.    But  fear  not  yet 
To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours  :  you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a  spacious  plenty, 
And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hood- 
wink. 
We  have  willing  dames  enough ;  there  cannot  be 
That  vulture  in  you  to  devour  so  many 
As  will  to  greatness  dedicate  themselves, 
Finding  it  so  inclin'd. 

Malcolm. 

With  this,  there  grows 
In  my  most  ill-compos'd  affection  such 
A  stanchless  avarice,  that,  were  I  king, 


I  should  cut  off  the  nobles  for  their  lands ; 
Desire  his  jewels,  and  this  other's  house: 
And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a  sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more ;  that  I  should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  against  the  good  and  loyal, 
Destroying  them  for  wealth. 

Macduff. 

This  avarice 
Sticks  deeper,  grows  with  more  pernicious  root, 
Than  summer-seeming  lust ;  and  it  hath  been 
The  sword  of  our  slain  kings :  yet  do  not  fear ; 
Scotland  hath  foisons  to  fill  up  your  will, 
Of  your  mere  own.    All  these  are  portable 
With  other  graces  weigh'd. 

Malcolm. 
But  I  have  none.    The  king-becoming  graces, 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 
I  have  no  relish  of  them  ;  but  abound  ** 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime, 
Acting  it  many  ways.  Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 
Uproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macduff. 

O  Scotland,  Scotland! 
Malcolm. 
If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak  : 
I  am  as  I  have  spoken. 

Macduff. 

Fit  to  govern  ! 
No,  not  to  live.  —  O,  nation  miserable ! 
With  an  untitled  tyrant,  bloody-scepter'd, 
When  shalt  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again, 
Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accurs'd, 
And  does  blasphem  e  his  breed  ? — Thy  royal  father 
Was  a  most  sainted  king  :  the  queen,  that  bore 
Oft'ner  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet,    [thee, 
Died  everv  day  she  lived.    Fare  thee  well. 
These  evils  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself 
Have  banish'd  me  from  Scotland.— O,  my  breast  I 
Thy  hope  ends  here. 

Malcolm. 

Macduff,  this  noble  passion, 
Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 
Wip'd  the  black  scruples,  reconcil'd  my  thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.   Devilish  Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power,  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 
From  over-credulous  haste ;  but  God  above 
Deal  between  thee  and  me,  for  even  now 
I  put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and 
Unspeak  mine  own  detraction  ;  here  abjure 
The  taints  and  blames  1  laid  upon  myself, 
For  strangers  to  my  nature.     I  am  yet 
Unknown  to  woman  ;  never  was  forsworn  ; 
Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own  ; 
At  no  time  broke  my  faith  ;  would  not  betray 
The  devil  to  his  fellow,  and  delight 
No  less  in  truth,  than  life :  my  first  false  speaking 
Was  this  upon  myself.     What  I  am  truly 
Is  thine,  and  my  poor  country's,  to  command  : 
Whither,  indeed,  before  thy  here-approach. 
Old  Siicard,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men, 
Already  at  a  point,  was  setting  forth. 
Now,  we'll  together;  and  the  chance  of  goodness 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel.    Why  are  you 
silent  ? 

Macduff. 
Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once, 
'Tis  hard  to  reconcile. 

Enter 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


M.UliKTII. 


897 


Knt.r  a  Doctor. 


Well;  more  anon — Come*  the  king  forth,  I 
pray  you  ?      ^ 
v    '  '  Doctor. 

Ay.  lir :  there  are  a  crew  of  wretched  *ouls, 
That  stay  his  cure :  their  malady  convinces 
The  great  assay  of  art ;  but  at  his  touch. 
Such  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand, 
They  presently  amend. 

Malcolm. 


I  thank  you,  doctor 
'[Exit  D 


odor. 


Macduff. 
What's  the  disease  he  means  ? 
Malcolm. 

•Tls  call'd  the  evil : 
A  most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king, 
"Which  often,  since  my  here  remain  in  England, 
I  have  seen  him  do.    How  he  solicits  heaven, 
Himself  best  knows;  but  strangely-visited  people, 
All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitiful  to  the  eye, 
The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures  ; 
Hanging  a  golden  stamp  about  their  necks, 
Put  on  with  holy  prayers :  and  'tis  spoken, 
To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves 
The  healing  benediction.     With  this  strange 
He  hath  a  heavenly  gift  of  prophecy,       [virtue, 
And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne, 
That  speak  him  lull  of  grace. 

Enter  Roue. 
Macduff. 

See,  who  comes  here  ? 
Malcolm. 
My  countryman  ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not. 

Macduff. 
My  ever-gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Malcolm. 
1  know  him  now.    Good  God,  betimes  remove 
The  means  that  make  us  strangers  1 
Rosse. 

Sir,  amen. 
Macduff. 
Stands  Scotland  where  it  did  ? 
Rosse. 

Alas,  poor  country ! 
Almost  afraid  to  know  itself.     It  cannot  [thing, 
Be  call'd  our  mother,  but  our  grave ;  where  no. 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile : 
Where  sighs,  and  groans,  and  shrieks  that  rend 

the  air, 
Are  made,  not  mark'd ;  where  violent  sorrow 
A  modern  ecstasy :  the  dead  man's  knell  [seems 
Is  there  scarce  ask'd,  for  whom  ;  and  good  men's 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps,  [lives 
Dying  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macduff. 

O,  relation, 
Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true  I 
Malcolm. 

What  is  the  newest  grief? 


That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker. 
Each  minute  teems  a  new  one. 


Macduff. 


How  does  ray  wife  ? 


Why,  well. 


Macduff. 
And  all  my  children  ? 


Rosse. 

Well  too. 
Macduff. 
The  tyrant  has  not  batter'd  at  their  peace  ? 

Rosse. 
No ;  they  were  well  at  peace,  when  1  did  leave 
them. 

Macduff. 
Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  speech  :  how  goes  it? 

Rosse. 
When  I  came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings, 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumour 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out ; 
Which  was  to  my  belief  witness'd  the  rather, 
For  that  I  saw  the  tyrant's  power  a-foot. 
Now  is  the  time  of  help.     Your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight. 
To  doff  their  dire  distresses. 
Malcolm. 

Be  it  their  comfort. 
We  are  coming  thither.    Gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Situard,  and  ten  thousand  men  : 
An  older,  and  a  better  soldier,  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 
Rosse. 

Would  I  could  answer 
This  comfort  with  the  like  I    But  I  have  words, 
That  would  be  howl'd  out  in  the  desert  air, 
Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them. 
Macduff. 

What  concern  they  ? 
The  general  cause,  or  is  it  a  fee-grief, 
Due  to  some  single  breast  ? 
Rosse. 

No  mind  that's  honest 
But  in  it  shares  some  woe,  though  the  main 
Pertains  to  you  alone.  [part 

Macduff. 

If  it  be  mine, 
Keep  it  not  from  me  ;  quickly  let  me  have  it. 
Rosse. 
Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for  ever. 
Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest 
That  ever  yet  they  heard.  [sound, 

Macduff. 

Humph !  I  guess  at  it. 
Rosse. 
Your  castle  is  surpris'd;  your  wife,  and  babes, 
Savagely  slaughter'd :  to  relate  the  manner. 
Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murder'd  deer. 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Malcolm. 

Merciful  heaven  I  — 

What,  manl   ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your 

brows:  [speak, 

Give  sorrow  words  ;  the  grief,  that  does  not 

Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it 

break. 

Macduff. 
My  children  too  ? 

Rosse. 

Wife,  children,  servants,  all 
That  could  be  found. 

Macduff. 

And  I  must  be  from  thence ! 
My  wife  kill 'd  too? 

Rosse. 
I  have  said. 
Malcolm. 

Be  comforted : 
Let's  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge. 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

3  m  Macduff. 


898 


MACBETH. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Macduff. 
He  has  no  children. — All  my  pretty  ones  ? 
Did  you  say,  all  ?— O,  hell-kite  !  —  All  ? 
What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  and  their  dam, 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

Malcolm. 
Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macduff. 

I  shall  do  so  ; 
But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man : 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were. 
That  were  most  precious  to  me. — Did  heaven 

look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?  Sinful  Macduff! 
They  were  all  struck  for  thee.  Naught  that  I 
Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine,  [am, 
Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.  Heaven  rest  them 
now  I 

Malcolm. 

Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword :  let  grief 

Convert  to  anger ;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macduff. 

O I  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes, 

And  braggart  with  my  tongue. — But,  gentle 

Heavens, 
Cut  short  all  intermission  ;  front  to  front, 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland,  and  myself ; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he  'scape, 
Heaven  forgive  him  too ! 

Malcolm. 

This  tune  goes  manly. 
Come,  go  we  to  the  king :  our  power  is  ready ; 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave.    Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.    Receive  what  cheer 

you  may ; 
The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day. 

[Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  1.    Dunsinane.    A  Room  in  the 
Castle. 

Enter  a'  Doctor  of  Physic,  and  a  waiting 

Gentlewoman. 

Doctor. 

1HA VE  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but  can 
perceive  no  truth  in  your  report.    When  was 
it  she  last  walked  ? 

Gentlewoman. 
Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I  have 
Been  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  night- 
gown upon  her,  unlock  her  closet,  take  forth 
paper,  fold  it,  write  upon  it,  read  it,  afterwards 
seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed ;  yet  all  this 
while  in  a  most  fast  sleep. 

Doctor. 

A  great  perturbation  in  nature,  to  receive  at 

once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  effects  of 

watching.    In  this  slumbery  agitation,  besides 

her  walking   and   other  actual  performances, 

what  at  any  time  have  you  heard  her  say  ? 

Gentlewoman. 

That,  sir,  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 

Doctor. 
You  may,  to  me ;  and  'tis  most  meet  you 
should. 

Gentlewoman. 
Neither  to  you,  nor  any  one,  having  no  wit- 
ness to  confirm  my  speech. 


Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a  Taper. 

Lo  you  !  here  she  comes.  This  is  her  very  guise, 
and  upon  my  life  fast  asleep.  Observe  her : 
stand  close. 

Doctor. 
How  came  she  by  that  light? 
Gentlewoman. 
Why,  it  stood  by  her :  she  has  light  by  her 
continually  ;  'tis  her  command. 
Doctor. 
You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gentlewoman. 
Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 
Doctor. 
What  is  it  she  does  now  ?    Look,  how  she 
rubs  her  hands. 

Gentlewoman. 
It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her  to  seem 
thus  washing  her  hands:   I  have  known  her 
continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Yet  here's  a  spot.' 

Doctor. 
Hark !  she  speaks.   I  will  set  down  what  comes 
from  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the  more 
strongly. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Out,  damned  spot!  out,  I  say!  —  One;  two: 
why,  then  'tis  time  to  do't.  —  Hell  is  murky!  — 
Fie,  my  lord,  fie !  a  soldier,  and  afeard  ?  What 
need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call 
our  power  to  account  ? — Yet  who  would  have 
thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood 
in  him  ? 

Doctor. 
Do  you  mark  that  ? 

Lady  Macbeth. 
The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife :  where  is  she 
now  ?  —What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean  ? — 
No  more  o'  that,  my  lord  ;  no  more  o'  that :  you 
mar  all  with  this  starting. 
Doctor. 
Go  to,  go  to :   you  have  known  what  you 
should  not. 

Gentlewoman. 
She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I  am  sure 
of  that :  Heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still:  all  the 
perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 
hand.    Oh !  oh !  oh  ! 

Doctor. 
What  a  sigh  is  there !    The  heart  is  sorely 
charged. 

Gentlewoman. 
I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  my  bosom, 
for  the  dignity  of  the  whole  body. 
Doctor. 
Well,  well,  well,— 

Gentlewoman. 
Pray  God,  it  be,  sir. 

Doctor. 
This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice:  yet  I 
have  known  those  which  have  walked  in  their 
sleep  who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds. 
Lady  Macbeth. 
Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  night-gown ; 
look  not  so  pale.  —  I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banqtto'n 
buried :  he  cannot  come  out  on's  grave. 
Doctor. 
Even  so?  _    , 

Lady 


Act-v.  Sc.  IIL 


MACIJKTH. 


899 


Lady  Macbeth. 

To  bed,  to  bed :  there's  knocking  at  the  gate. 

Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand. 

What's  done,  cannot  be  undone  :  to  bed,  to  bed, 

to  bed.  [Exit  Lady  Macbeth. 

Doctor. 
Will  the  go  now  to  bed  ? 

Gentlewoman. 
Directly. 

Doctor. 
Foul  whisperings  are  abroad.  Unnatural  deeds, 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles  :  infected  minds 
To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets. 

More  needs  she  the  divine,  than  the  physician 

God,  God,  forgive  us  all  1    Look  after  her ; 
Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance, 

And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her So,  good  night : 

My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amax'd  my  sight. 
1  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gentlewoman. 

Good  night,  good  doctor. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  Country  near  Dunsinane. 

Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours,  Menteth,  Cath- 
ncts,  Angus,  Lenox,  and  Soldiers. 

Menteth. 
The  Englisn  power  is  near,  led  on  by  Mal- 
colm, 
His  uncle  Siward,  and  the  good  Macduff". 
Revenges  burn  in  them  ;  for  their  dear  causes 
Would,  to  the  bleeding  and  the  grim  alarm, 
Excite  the  mortified  man. 

Angus. 

Near  Birnam  wood 
Shall  we  well  meet  them :   that  way  are  they 
coming. 

Cathness. 
Who  knows,  if  Donalbain  be  with  his  brother  ? 

Lenox. 
For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not.    I  have  a  file 
Of  all  the  gentry:  there  is  Siward't  son, 
And  many  unrough  youths,  that  even  now 
Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 
Menteth. 

What  does  the  tyrant  ? 
Cathness. 
Great  Dunsinane  ne  strongly  fortifies,    [him, 
Some  say,  he's  mad:  others,  that  lesser  hate 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury;  but,  for  certain, 
He  cannot  buckle  his  distemper'd  cause 
Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Angus. 

Now  does  he  feel 
His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands  ; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach : 
Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love:  now  does  he  feel  his  title 
Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief. 

Menteth. 

Who,  then,  shall  blame 
His  pester'd  senses  to  recoil  and  start, 
When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself,  for  being  there  ? 

Cathness. 

Well ;  march  we  on, 
To  give  obedience  where  'tis  truly  ow'd  : 
Meet  we  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal ; 
And  with  him  pour  we,  in  our  country's  purge, 
Each  drop  of  us. 


Lenox. 
Or  so  much  as  ft  needs 
To  dew  the  sovereign  flower,  and  drown  the 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam.     [weeds. 
[Exeunt,  marching. 

SCENE  III.    Dunsinane.    A  Room  In  the 

Ch,i 

Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  Attendants. 

Macbeth. 
Bring  me  no  more  reports ;  let  them  fly  all : 
Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 
I  cannot  taint  with  fear.    What's  the  boy  Mal- 
colm T 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman  ?    The  spirits  that 

know 
All  mortal  consequences  have  pronoune'd  me 

thus : _ 
"Fear  not,  Macbeth;  no  man   that's  born  of 

woman 
Shall  e'er  have  power  upon  thee."— Then  fly, 

false  thanes, 
And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures  : 
The  mind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear. 
Shall  never  sag  with  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-fae'd 

loon  I 
Where  got'st  thou  that  goose  look  ? 

Servant. 
There  is  ten  thousand  — 

Macbeth. 

Geese,  villain  ? 
Servant. 

Soldiers,  sir. 
Macbeth. 
Go,  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear, 
Thou  lily-liver'd  boy.    What  soldiers,  patch  ? 
Death  of  thy  soul  1  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.    What  soldiers,  whey- 
face  ? 

Servant. 
The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

Macbeth. 
Take  thy  face  hence.— Seyton!  —  I  am  sick  at 
heart, 
When  I  behold— Seyton,  I  say  !— This  push 
Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 
I  have  liv'd  long  enough  :  my  way  of  life 
Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have  ;  but,  in  their  stead, 
Curses,  not  loud,  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare 
Seyton!—  [not. 

Enter  Seyton. 
Seyton. 
What  is  your  gracious  pleasure  ? 
Macbeth. 

What  news  more  ? 
Seyton. 
All  is  confirm'd,  my  lord,  which  was  reported. 

Macbeth. 
I'll  fight,  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be  hack'd. 
Give  me  my  armour. 

Seyton. 

Tis  not  needed  yet. 
Macbeth. 
I'll  put  it  on. 
Send  out  more  horses,  skirr  the  country  round  ; 

Hang 


900 


MACBETH. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear.    Give  me  mine 

How  does  your  patient,  doctor  ?        [armour.  — 

Doctor. 

Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 
As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 
Macbeth. 

Cure  her  of  that : 
Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseas'd, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 
And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuff'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff, 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 
Doctor. 

Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macbeth 

Throw  physic  to  the  dogs  ;  I'll  none  of  it.  — 

Come,  put  mine  armour  on ;  give  me  my  staff. — 

Set/ton,  send  out.  —  Doctor,  the  thanes  fly  from 

me 

Come,  sir,  despatch.—  If  thou  could'st,  doctor, 
The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease,      [cast 
And  purge  it  to  a  sound  and  pristine  health, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo, 

That  should  applaud  again.  _-  Pull't  off,  I  say 

What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug, 
Would  scour  these  English  hence  ?  —  Hear'st 
thou  of  them? 

Doctor. 
Ay,  my  good  lord :  your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  hear  something. 
Macbeth. 

Bring  it  after  me.  — 
I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane, 
Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane. 

[Exit. 
Doctor. 
Were  1  from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear, 
Profit  again  should  hardly  draw  me  here. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    Country  near  Dunsinane :  a 
Wood  in  view. 

Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours,  Malcolm,  old 
Siward,  and  his  Son,  Macduff",  Menteth,  Cath- 
ness,  Angus,  Lenox,  liosse,  and  Soldiers 
marching. 

Malcolm. 
Cousins,  I  hope,  the  days  are  near  at  hand, 

That  chambers  will  be  safe. 

Menteth. 

We  doubt  it  nothing. 
Siward. 
What  wood  is  this  before  us  ? 

Menteth. 

The  wood  of  Birnam. 
Malcolm. 
Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a  bough, 
And  bear't  before  him :  thereby  shall  we  sha- 
dow 
The  numbers  of  our  host,  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Soldiers. 
It  shall  be  done. 

Siward. 
We  learn  no  other  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Our  setting  down  before't. 

Malcolm. 

'Tis  his  main  hope  ; 


For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given, 
Both  more  and  less  have  given  him  the  revolt, 
And  none    serve    with    him    but    constrained 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too.  [things, 

Macduff. 

Let  our  just  censures 
Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on 
Industrious  soldiership.  ^_y 

Siward. 

The  time  approaches, 
That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have,  and  what  we  owe. 
Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hopes  relate, 
But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate ; 
Towards  which,  advance  the  war. 

[Exeunt,  marching. 

SCENE  V.    Dunsinane.    Within  the  Castle. 

Enter,  with  Drums  and  Colours,  Macbeth, 

Set/ton,  and  Soldiers. 

Macbeth. 

Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outward  walls  ; 

The  cry  is  still,  "  They  come  ! "    Our  castle's 

strength 
Will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn  :  here  let  them  lie, 
Till  famine  and  the  ague  eat  them  up. 
Were  they  not  forc'd  with  those  that  should  be 
ours,  [beard, 

We  might  have  met  them  dareful,  beard  to 
And  beat  them  backward  home.    What  is  that 
noise  ?  [A  cry  within,  of  Women. 

Seyton. 
It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord. 

Macbeth. 
I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears. 
The  time  has   been,  my  senses   would   have 

cool'd 
To  hear  a  night-shriek  ;  and  my  fell  of  hair 
Would  at  a  dismal  treatise  rouse,  and  stir, 
As  life  were  in't.    I  have  supp'd  full  with  hor- 
rors : 
Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaughterous  thoughts, 
Cannot  once  start  me — Wherefore  was  that 
cry? 

Seyton. 
The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Macbeth. 
She  should  have  died  hereafter : 
There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word. — 
To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle  ! 
Life's  but  a  walking  shadow  ;  a  poor  player, 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more:  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Thou  com'st  to  use   thy  tongue ;   thy  story, 
quickly. 

Messenger. 
Gracious  my  lord, 
I  should  report  that  which  I  say  I  saw, 
But  know  not  how  to  d»'t. 

Macbeth. 

Well,  say,  sir. 
Messenger. 
As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 
I  look'd  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 
The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macbeth. 


Act  v.  Sc  vii. 


MACBETH. 


901 


M.-u-h.-th. 

Liar,  and  slave  I 
Messenger. 
Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if't  be  not  so. 
Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming  ; 
I  say,  a  moving  grove. 

Macbeth 

If  thou  speak'st  false, 
Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive, 
Till  famine  cling  thee:  if  thy  speech  be  sooth, 
I  care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. — 
I  pull  in  resolution  ;  and  begin 
To  doubt  th'  equivocation  of  the  fiend. 
That  lies  like  truth :  "  Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 
Do  come  to  Dunsinane ; " — and  now  a  wood 
Comes   toward   Dunsinane.—  Arm,  arm,  and 

out  1  - 
If  this,  which  he  avouches,  does  appear, 
There  is  nor  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here. 

I  'gin  to  be  a-weary  of  the  sun,  [undone 

And  wish  th*  estate  o'  the  world  were  now 
Ring  the  alarum  belli  — Blow,  wind  I  come, 

wrack ! 
At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    The  same.    A  Plain  before  the 
Castle. 

Enter,  with  Drums  and  Colours,  Malcolm,  old 
Siward,  Macduff,  &c.,  and  their  Army  with 
Boughs. 

Malcolm. 
Now  near  enough :  your  leafy  screens  throw 
down, 
And  show  like  those  you  are. — You,  worthy 

uncle, 
Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son, 
Lead  our  first  battle :  worthy  Macduff,  and  we, 
Shall  take  upon's  what  else  remains  to  do, 
According  to  our  order. 

Siward. 

Fare  you  well — 
Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant's  power  to-night, 
Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 

Macduff. 
Make  all  our  trumpets  speak ;  give  them  all 
breath, 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death. 
[Exeunt.    Alarums  continued. 

SCENE  VII.    The  same.    Another  Part  of 
the  Plain. 

Enter  Macbeth. 
_*      ,  .  .    Macbeth. 

They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake :  I  cannot  fly. 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course— What's 

he, 
That  was  not  born  of  woman  ?    Such  a  one 
Am  I  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Siward. 
Young  Siward. 


xoune 
What  is  thy  name  f 


Macbeth. 
Thou'lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it. 
,      Young  Siward. 
No ;  though  thou  call'st  thyself  a  hotter  name, 
Than  any  is  in  hell. 

Macbeth. 
My  name's  Macbeth. 

Young  Siward. 
1'he  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce  a  title 


More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 


No,  nor  more  fearful. 
Young  Siward. 
Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant :  with  my  sword 
I'll  prove  the  lie  thou  speak'st. 

[They  fight,  and  young  Siward  is  slain. 
Macbeth. 

Thou  wast  born  of  woman :  — 
But  swords  I  smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 
Brandish'd  by  man  that's  of  a  woman  born. 

[Exit. 
Alarums.    Enter  Macduff 
Macduff. 
That  way  the  noise  is — Tyrant,  show  thy 
face  f 
If  thou  be'st  slain,  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine, 
My  wife  and  children's  ghosts  will  hauut  me 

still. 
I  cannot  strike  at  wretched  kernes,  whose  arms 
Are  hir'd   to  bear  their  staves;   either  thou, 

Macbeth, 
Or  else  my  sword,  with  an  unbatter'd  edge, 
I  sheathe  again  undeeded.    There  thou  should'st 
By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note    [be ; 
Seems  bruited.     Let  me  find  him,  fortune  1 
And  more  I  beg  not.  [Exit.    Alarum. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  old  Siward. 

Siward. 
This  way,  my  lord. — The  castle's  gently  ren- 
der'd : 
The  tyrant's  people  on  both  sides  do  fight ; 
The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war. 
The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours, 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Malcolm. 
We  have  met  with  foes 
That  strike  beside  us. 

Siward. 

Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 
[Exeunt.    Alarum. 

Re-enter  Macbeth. 

Macbeth. 

Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 

On  mine  own  sword?  whiles  I  see  lives,  the 

Do  better  upon  them.  [gashes 

Re-enter  Macduff. 
Macduff. 

Turn,  hell-hound,  turn. 

Macbeth. 
Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee: 
But  get  thee  back ;  my  soul  is  too  much  charg'd 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macduff. 

I  have  no  words  ; 
My  voice  is  in  my  sword :  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out !        [They  fight. 

Macbeth. 

Thou  losest  labour. 
As  easy  may'st  thou  the  intrenchant  air 
With   thy  keen  sword  impress,  as  make  me 
Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests  ;    [bleed : 
I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macduff. 

Despair  thy  charm ; 
And  let  the  angel,  whom  thou  still  hast  serv'd, 
Tell  thee,  Macduff 'was  from  his  mother's  womb 
Untimely  ripp'd. 

Macbeth. 
Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
For  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man : 

And 


902 


MACBETH. 


Act  v.  Sc.  vii. 


And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believ'd, 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense ; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope I'll  not  fight  with 

thee. 

Macduff. 
Then,  yield  thee,  coward, 
And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o'  the  time : 
We'll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are, 
Painted  upon  a  pole,  and  underwrit, 
"  Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant." 
Macbeth. 

I  will  not  yield, 
To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm's  feet, 
And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse. 
Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane, 
And  thou  oppos'd,  being  of  no  woman  born, 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last.    Before  my  body 
I  throw  my  warlike  shield :  lay  on,  Macduff; 
And  damn'd  be  him  that  first  cries,  "Hold, 
enough."  [Exeunt,  fighting. 

Retreat.  Flourish.  Re-enter,  with  Drum  and 
Colours,  Malcolm,  old  Siward,  Jiosse,  Thanes, 
and  Soldiers. 

Malcolm. 
I  would,  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  arriv'd. 

Siward. 
Some  must  go  off;  and  yet,  by  these  I  see, 
So  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 
Malcolm. 
Macduff  is  missing,  and  your  noble  son. 

Rosse 
Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a  soldier's  debt : 
He  only  liv'd  but  till  he  was  a  man, 
The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirm'd 
In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 
But  like  a  man  he  died. 

Siward. 

Then  he  is  dead  ? 
Rosse. 
Ay,  and  brought  off  the  field.    Your  cause  of 
sorrow 
Must  not  be  measur'd  by  his  worth,  for  then 
It  hath  no  end. 

Siward. 
Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 


Rosse. 
Ay,  on  the  front. 

Siward. 
Why  then,  God's  soldier  be  he  ! 
Had  I  as  many  sons  as  I  have  hairs, 
I  would  not  wish  them  to  a  fairer  death : 
And  so,  his  knell  is  knoll'd. 
Malcolm. 
.    ,  He's  worth  more  sorrow, 

And  that  I'll  spend  for  him. 
Siward. 

He's  worth  no  more : 
They  say,  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score, 
And  so,  God  be  with  him  .'—Here  comes  newer 
comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbeth'*  Head. 
Macduff. 
Hail,  king !  for  so  thou  art.    Behold,  where 
stands 
The  usurper's  cursed  head :  the  time  is  free. 
I  see  thee  compass'd  with  thy  kingdom's  pearl, 
That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds  ; 
Whose  voices  I  desire  aloud  with  mine, — 
Hail,  king  of  Scotland! 

All. 

Hail,  king  of  Scotland  I        [Flourish. 

Malcolm. 

We  shall  not  spend  a  large  expense  of  time, 

Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves, 

And  make  us  even  with  you.    My  thanes  and 

kinsmen, 
Henceforth  be  earls ;  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honour  nam'd.    What's  more  to  do, 
Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time,— 
As  calling  home  our  exil'd  friends  abroad, 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny ; 
Producing  forth  the  cruel  ministers 
Of  this  dead  butcher,  and  his  fiend-like  queen, 
Who,  as  'tis  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hands 
Took  off  her  life;— this,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace, 
We  will  perform  in  measure,  time,  and  place. 
So,  thanks  to  all  at  once,  and  to  each  one, 
Whom  we  invite  to  see  us  crown'd  at  Scone. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt. 


4-  " 


Act  x.  Sr,  i. 


SAMLET 


90.? 


HAMLET, 

PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


CLAUDIUS,  King  of  Denmark. 

Hamlet,  Son  to  the  former,  and  Nephew  to 

present  King. 
Horatio,  Friend  to  Hamlet. 
Polonius,  Lord  Chamberlain. 
Laertes,  his  Son. 
Voltimand,     "\ 

822a...  I*-*™- 

Guildenstern, ) 
Osrick,  a  Courtier. 
Another  Courtier. 
A  Priest. 
Marcellus, 
Bernardo, 


^Officers. 


Francisco,  a  Soldier. 

Reynaldo,  Servant  to  Polonius. 

A  Captain.    Ambassadors. 

Ghost  of  Hamlet'*  Father. 

Fortinbras,  Prince  of  Norway. 

Two  Clowns,  Grave-diggers. 

Gertrude,  Queen  of  Denmark,  and  Mother  to 

Hamlet. 
Ophelia,  Daughter  to  Polonius. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Players,  Sailors, 
Messengers,  and  Attendants. 

SCENE,  Elsinore. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Elsinore.    A  Platform  before  the 
Castle. 

Francisco  on  his  Post.    Enter  to  him  Bernardo. 

Bernardo. 
^yyHO'S  there? 

Francisco. 
Nay,  answer  me :  stand,  and  unfold 
Yourself. 

Bernardo. 
Long  live  the  king  ! 

Francisco. 

Bernardo f 
Bernardo. 

~        .  He- 

Francisco. 

You  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour. 

Bernardo. 
'TU  now  struck  twelve:   get  thee  to  bed, 
Francisco. 

Francisco. 
For  this  relief  much  thanks.    Tis  bitter  cold, 
And  I  am  sick  at  heart. 

Bernardo. 
Have  you  had  quiet  guard  ? 


Francisco. 

Not  a  mouse  stirring. 

Bernardo. 
Well,  good  night. 
If  you  do  meet  Horatio  and  Marcellus, 
The  rivals  of  my  watch,  bid  them  make  haste. 

Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

Francisco. 

I  think  I  hear  them Staud,  ho!    Who  it 

there  ? 

Horatio. 
Friends  to  this  ground. 

Marcellus. 

And  liegemen  to  the  Dane. 
Francisco. 
Give  you  good  night. 

Marcellus. 
O!  farewell,  honest  soldier : 
Who  hath  reliev'd  you  ? 

Francisco. 

Bernardo  has  my  place. 
Give  you  good  night.  [Exit  Francisco. 

Marcellus. 

Holla!  Bernardo! 

Bernardo. 


904 


HAMLET, 


Act  i.  Sc. 


Bernardo. 

Say. 
What !  is  Horatio  there  ? 

Horatio. 

A  piece  of  him. 
Bernardo. 
Welcome,  Horatio;  welcome,  good  Marcellus. 

Horatio. 
What,  has  this  thing  appear'd  again  to-night  ? 

Bernardo. 
I  have  seen  nothing. 

Marcellus. 
Horatio  says,  'tis  but  our  fantasy, 
And  will  not  let  belief  take  hold  of  him, 
Touching  this  dreaded  sight  twice  seen  of  us  : 
Therefore,  I  have  entreated  him  along 
With  us,  to  watch  the  minutes  of  this  night ; 
That,  if  again  this  apparition  come, 
He  may  approve  our  eyes,  and  speak  to  it. 
Horatio. 
Tush,  tush !  'twill  not  appear. 
Bernardo. 

Sit  down  awhile ; 
And  let  us  once  again  assail  your  ears, 
That  are  so  fortified  against  our  story, 
What  we  two  nights  have  seen. 
Horatio. 

Well,  sit  we  down, 

And  let  us  hear  Bernardo  speak  of  this. 

Bernardo. 

Last  night  of  all,  [the  pole, 

When  yond'  same  star,  that's  westward  from 

Had  made  his  course  t'  illume  that  part  of 

heaven 
Where  now  it  burns,  Marcellus,  and  myself, 
The  bell  then  beating  one,— 
Marcellus. 
Peace !  break  thee  off:  look,  where  it  comes 
again!  ^, 

Enter  Ghost. 

Bernardo. 
In  the  same  figure,  like  the  king  that's  dead. 

Marcellus. 
Thou  art  a  scholar  ;  speak  to  it,  Horatio. 

Bernardo. 
Looks  it  not  like  the  king?  mark  it,  Horatio. 

Horatio. 
Most  like: — it  harrows  me  with   fear,  and 
wonder.         • 

Bernardo. 
It  would  be  spoke  to. 

Marcellus. 

Question  it,  Horatio. 
Horatio. 
What  art  thou,  that  usurp'st  this  time  of  night, 
Together  with  that  fair  and  warlike  form, 
In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark 
Did  sometimes  march?   by  heaven   I  charge 
thee,  speak! 

Marcellus. 
It  is  offended.     _ 

Bernardo. 
See !  it  stalks  away. 
Horatio. 
Stay  !  speak,  speak !  I  charge  thee,  speak ! 

Marcellus. 
'Tis  gone,  and  will  not  answer. 

Bernardo. 
How  now,  Horatio!  you  tremble,  and  look 
pale. 


Is  not  this  something  more  than  fantasv? 
What  think  you  on't  ? 

Horatio. 
Before  my  God,  I  might  not  this  believe, 
Without  the  sensible  and  true  avouch 
Of  mine  own  eyes. 

Marcellus. 
Is  it  not  like  the  king? 
Horatio. 
As  thou  art  to  thyself. 
Such  was  the  very  armour  he  had  on, 
When  he  th*  ambitious  Norway  combated  : 
So  frown'd  he  once,  when,  in  an  angry  parle, 
He  smote  the  sledded  Polacks  on  the  ice. 
'Tis  strange. 

Marcellus. 
Thus,  twice  before,  and  jump  at  this  dead 
hour, 
With  martial  stalk  hath  he  gone  by  our  watch. 
Horatio. 
In  what  particular  thought  to  work,  I  know 
But  in  the  gross  andscopeofmineopinion,  [not; 
This  bodes  some  strange  eruption  to  our  state. 
Marcellus. 
Good  now,  sit  down ;  and  tell  me,  he  that 
knows, 
Why  this  same  strict  and  most  observant  watch 
So  nightly  toils  the  subject  of  the  land  ? 
And  why  such  daily  cast  of  brazen  cannon, 
And  foreign  mart  for  implements  of  war  ? 
Why  such  impress  of  shipwrights,  whose  sore 

task 
Does  not  divide  the  Sunday  from  the  week  ? 
What  might  be  toward,  that  this  sweaty  haste 
Doth  make  the  night  joint  labourer  with  the 
Who  is't,  that  can  inform  me  ?  [day  ? 

Horatio. 

That  can  I ; 
At  least,  the  whisper  goes  so.  Our  last  king, 
Whose  image  even  but  now  appear'd  to  us. 
Was,  as  you  know,  by  Fortinbras  of  Norway, 
Thereto  prick 'd  on  by  a  most  emulate  pride, 
Dar'd  to  the  combat;   in  which   our  valiant 

Hamlet 
(For  so  this  side  of  our  known  world  esteem'd 

him) 
Did   slay  this  Fortinbras;    who,  by  a  seal'd 
Well  ratified  by  law  and  heraldry,        [compact, 
Did  forfeit  with  his  life  all  those  his  lands, 
Which  he  stood  seiz'd  of,  to  the  conqueror : 
Against  the  which,  a  moiety  competent 
Was  gaged  by  our  king;  which  had  return'd 
To  the  inheritance  of  Fortinbras, 
Had  he  been  vanquisher ;  as,  by  the  same  co- 
And  carriage  of  the  article  design'd,  [mart, 

His  fell  to  Hamlet.  Now,  sir,  young  Fortinbras, 
Of  unimproved  mettle  hot  and  full, 
Hath  in  the  skirts  of  Norway,  here  and  there, 
Shark'd  up  a  list  of  lawless  resolutes, 
For  food  and  diet,  to  some  enterprize 
That  hath  a  stomach  in't :  which  is  no  other 
(As  it  doth  well  appear  unto  our  state) 
But  to  recover  of  us,  by  strong  hand 
And  terms  compulsative,  those  'foresaid  lands 
So  by  his  father  lost.    And  this,  I  take  it, 
Is  the  main  motive  of  our  preparations. 
The  source  of  this  our  watch,  and  the  chfef  head 
Of  this  post-haste  and  romage  in  the  land. 
Bernardo. 
I  think,  it  be  no  other,  but  e'en  so : 
Well  may  it  sort,  that  this  portentous  figure 
Comes  armed  through  our  watch ;  so  like  the 

That  was,  and  is,  the  question  of  these  w?rs. 

Horatio. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


905 


Horatio. 
A  mote  It  is  to  trouble  the  mind's  ere. 
In  the  most  high  and  palmy  state  of  Home, 
A  little  ere  the  mightiest  Julius  fell,  [dead 

The  graves  stood  tenantless,  and  the  sheeted 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets : 
As.  stirs  with  trains  of  fire  and  dews  of  blood. 
Disasters  in  the  sun ;  and  the  moist  star, 
Upon  whose  influence  Neptune's  empire  stands 
Was  sick  almost  to  dooms-day  with  eclipse : 
And  even  the  like  precurse  ol  fierce  events  — 
As  harbingers  preceding  still  the  fates. 
And  prologue  to  the  omen  coming  on  — 
Have  heaven  and  earth  together  demonstrated 
Unto  our  climatures  and  countrymen.— 

Re-enter  Ghost. 
But,  soft !  behold  t  lo,  where  it  comes  again  1 
I'll  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me.— Stay,  illusion  1 
If  thou  hast  any  sound,  or  use  of  voice. 
Speak  to  me : 

If  there  be  any  good  thing  to  be  done. 
That  may  to  thee  do  ease,  and  grace  to  me, 
Speak  to  me : 

If  thou  art  privy  to  thy  country's  fate, 
Which  happily  foreknowing  may  avoid, 
O, speak ! 

Or,  if  thou  hast  uphoarded  in  thy  life 
Extorted  treasure  in  the  womb  of  earth. 
For  which,  they  say,  you  spirits  oft  walk  in  death, 
TCock  crows. 
Speak  of  it: — stay,  and  speak! — Stop  it,  Mar- 
cellus. 

Marcellus. 
Shall  1  strike  at  it  with  my  partisan  ? 

Horatio. 
Do,  if  it  will  not  stand. 

Bernardo. 

'Tis  here ! 
Horatio. 

•Tis  here  I 
Marcellus. 
'Tis  gone.  [Exit  Ghost. 

We  do  it  wrong,  being  so  majesticaf, 
To  offer  it  the  show  of  violence ; 
For  it  is,  as  the  air,  invulnerable, 
And  our  vain  blows  malicious  mockery. 

Bernardo. 
It  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  cock  crew. 

Horatio. 
And  then  it  started,  like  a  guilty  thing 
Upon  a  fearful  summons.    I  nave  heard, 
The  cock,  that  is  the  trumpet  to  the  morn. 
Doth  with  his  lofty  and  shrill-sounding  throat 
Awake  the  god  of  day ;  and  at  his  warning, 
Whether  in  sea  or  fire,  in  earth  or  air, 
Th'  extravagant  and  erring  spirit  hies 
To  his  confine  ;  and  of  the  truth  herein 
This  present  object  made  probation. 

Marcellus. 

It  faded  on  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
Some  say,  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Sav  lour  s  birth  is  celebrated, 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long : 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad  ; 
The  nights  are  w  hoi  esome ;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm, 
So  hallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  that  time. 
Horatio. 

So  have  I  heard,  and  do  in  part  believe  it. 
But,  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad. 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yond'  high  eastern  hill. 
Break  we  our  watch  up  ;  and,  by  my  advice, 
Let  us  impart  what  we  have  seen  to-night 


Unto  young  Hamlet;  for,  upon  my  life. 
This  spirit,  dumb  to  us,  will  speak  to  him. 
1  Do  you  consent  we  shall  acquaint  him  with  It, 
At  needful  in  our  loves,  fitting  our  duty  ? 

MarcelluJ. 
Let's  do't,  I  pray ;  and  I  this  morning  know 
Where  we  shall  find  him  most  conveniently. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    A  Room  of  State. 

Enter  the  King,  Queen,  Hamlet,  Polonius,  La- 
ertes, Voltimand,  Cornelius,  Lords,  and  At- 
tendants. 

King. 
Though  yet  of  Hamlet  our  dear  brother's  death 
The  memory  be  green,  and  that  it  us  befitted 
To  bear  our  hearts  in  grief,  and  our  whole 

kingdom 
To  be  contracted  in  one  brow  of  woe  ; 
Yet  so  far  hath  discretion  fought  with  nature, 
That  we  with  wisest  sorrow  think  on  him, 
Together  with  remembrance  of  ourselves. 
Therefore,  our  sometime  sister,  now  our  queen, 
Th'  imperial  jointress  of  this  warlike  state, 

Have  we,  as  'twere,  with  a  defeated  joy, 

With  one  auspicious,  and  one  dropping  eye, 
With  mirth  in  funeral, and  with  dirge  in  marriage, 

In  equal  scale  weighing  delight  and  dole, 

Taken  to  wife :  nor  have  we  herein  barr'd 

;  Your  better  wisdoms,  which  have  freely  gone 
With  this  affair  along :  for  all,  our  thanks. 

!  Now  follows,  that  you  know,  young  Fortinbras, 
Holding  a  weak  supposal  of  our  worth, 
Or  thinking,  by  our  late  dear  brother's  death 
Our  state  to  be  disjoint  and  out  of  frame, 
Colleagued  with  the  dream  of  his  advantage. 
He  hath  not  fail'd  to  pester  us  with  message. 
Importing  the  surrender  of  those  lands 
Lost  by  his  father,  with  all  bands  of  law. 

To  our  most  valiant  brother So  much  for  him. 

Now  for  ourself,  and  for  this  time  of  meeting. 
Thus  much  the  business  is :  we  have  here  writ 
To  Norway,  uncle  of  young  Fortinbras,— 
Who,  impotent  and  bed-rid,  scarcely  hears 
Of  this  his  nephew's  purpose, — to  suppress 
His  farther  gait  herein,  in  that  the  levies, 
The  lists,  and  full  proportions,  are  all  made 
Out  of  his  subject :  and  we  here  despatch 
You,  good  Cornelius,  and  you,  Voltimand, 
For  bearers  of  this  greeting  to  old  Norway; 
Giving  to  you  no  farther  personal  power 
To  business  with  the  king,  more  than  the  scope 
Of  these  dilated  articles  allow. 
Farewell ;  and  let  your  haste  commend  your  duty. 

Cornelius  and  Voltimand. 
In  that,  and  all  things,  will  we  show  our  duty. 

We  doubt  it  nothing :  heartily  farewell. 

[Exeunt  Voltimand  and  Cqrneltus. 
And  now,  Laertes,  what's  the  news  with  you  ? 
You  told  us  of  some  suit ;  what  is't,  Laertes? 
You  cannot  speak  of  reason  to  the  Dane, 
And  lose  your  voice :  what  would'st  thou  beg, 

Laertes, 
That  shall  not  be  my  offer,  not  thy  asking? 
The  head  is  not  more  native  to  the  heart. 
The  hand  more  instrumental  to  the  mouth, 
Than  is  the  throne  of  Denmark  to  thy  father. 
What  would'st  thou  have,  Laertes  f 

Laertes. 

My  dread  lord, 
Your  leave  and  favour  to  return  to  France  ; 
From  whence  though  willingly  I  came  to  Dm- 
To  show  my  duty  in  your  coronation  ;      [mark. 
Yet  now,  I  must  confess,  that  duty  done, 

M  •/ 


906 


HAMLET, 


Act  i.  51c.  it.  I 


My  thoughts  and  wishes   bend   again  toward 

France, 
And  bow  them  to  your  gracious  leave  and  pardon. 
King. 
Have  you  your  father's  leave?    What  says 
Polonius  f 

Polonius. 
He  hath,  my  lord,  wrung  from  me  my  slow 
By  laboursome  petition  ;  and,  at  last,       [leave, 
Upon  his  will  I  seal'd  my  hard  consent : 
I  do  beseech  you,  give  him  leave  to  go. 
King. 
Take  thy  fair  hour,  Laertes;  time  be  thine, 

And  thy  best  graces :  spend  it  at  thy  will 

But  now,  my  cousin  Hamlet,  and  my  son,— 

Hamlet  [Aside. 

A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind. 

King. 
How  is  it  that  the  clouds  still  hang  on  you  ? 

Hamlet. 
Not  so,  my  lord ;  I  am  too  much  i'  the  sun. 

Queen. 
Good  Hamlet,  cast  thy  nighted  colour  off, 
And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a  friend  on  Den- 
Do  not,  for  ever,  with  thy  vailed  lids       [mark. 
Seek  for  thy  noble  father  in  the  dust : 
Thou  know'st,  'tis  common  ;  all  that  live  must 
Passing  through  nature  to  eternity.  [die, 

Hamlet. 
Ay,  madam,  it  is  common. 
Queen. 

If  it  be, 
Why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee  ? 
Hamlet. 
Seems,  madam  !  nay,  it  is ;  I  know  not  seems. 
Tis  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black, 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forc'd  breath, 
No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye, 
Nor  the  dejected  haviour  of  the  visage, 
Together  with  all  forms,  moods,  shows  of  grief, 
That  can  denote  me  truly :  these,  indeed,  seem, 
For  they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play ; 
But  I  have  that  within,  which  passeth  show, 
These  but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe. 
King. 
'Tis  sweet  and  commendable  in  your  nature, 
Hamlet, 
To  give  these  mourning  duties  to  your  father: 
But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  father  ; 
That  father  lost,  lost  his ;  and   the  survivor 

bound 
n  filial  obligation,  for  some  term, 
To  do  obsequious  sorrow  :  but  to  persevere 
In  obstinate  condolement  is  a  course 
Of  impious  stubbornness  ;  'tis  unmanly  grief: 
It  shows  a  will  most  incorrect  to  heaven  ; 
A  heart  unfortified,  a  mind  impatient, 
An  understanding  simple  and  unschool'd : 
For  what,  we  know,  must  be,  and  is  as  common 
As  any  the  most  vulgar  thing  to  sense, 
Why  should  we,  in  our  peevish  opposition, 
Take  it  to  heart  ?    Fie !  'tis  a  fault  to  heaven, 
A  fault  against  the  dead,  a  fault  to  nature, 
To  reason  most  absurd,  whose  common  theme 
Is  death  of  fathers,  and  who  still  hath  cried, 
From  the  first  corse  till  he  that  died  to-day, 
"  This  must  be  so."    We  pray  you,  throw  to 
This  unprevailing  woe,  and  think  of  us     [earth 
As  of  a  father  ;  for  let  the  world  take  note, 
You  are  the  most  immediate  to  our  throne  ; 
And,  with  no  less  nobility  of  love 
Than  that  which  dearest  father  bears  his  son, 


Do  I  impart  toward  you.    For  your  intent 
In  going  back  to  school  in  Wittenberg 
It  is  most  retrograde  to  our  desire  ; 
And,  we  beseech  you,  bend  you  to  remain 
Here,  in  the  cheer  and  comfort  of  our  eye, 
Our  chiefest  courtier,  cousin,  and  our  son. 
Queen. 
Let  not  thy  mother  lose  her  prayers,  Hamlet : 
I  pray  thee,  stay  with  us  ;  go  not  to  Wittenberg. 
Hamlet. 
I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey  you,  madam. 

King. 
Why,  'tis  a  loving  and  a  fair  reply: 
Be  as  ourself  in  Denmark.  —  Madam,  come  ; 
This  gentle  and  unforc'd  accord  of  Hamlet 
Sits  smiling  to  my  heart ;  in  grace  whereof, 
No  jocund  health  that  Denmark  drinks  to-day, 
But  the  great  cannon  to  the  clouds  shall  tell, 
And  the  king's  rouse  the  heaven  shall  bruit 

again, 
Re-speaking  earthjy  thunder.    Come  away. 
[Flourrsh.     Exeunt  King,    Queen,  Lords, 
&c.  Polonius,  and  Laertes. 

Hamlet. 
O  !  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ; 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fix'd 
His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter.    O  God  !  O 
How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable    [God  ! 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world  ! 
Fie  on't !  O  fie  !  'tis  an  unweeded  garden, 
That  grows  to  seed  ;  things  rank,  and  gross  in 

nature,  [this  I 

Possess  it  merely.  That  it  should  come  to 
But  two  months  dead  !  —  nay,  not  so  much,  not 
So  excellent  a  king  ;  that  was,  to  this,  [two : 
Hyperion  to  a  satyr :  so  loving  to  my  mother, 
That  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 
Visit  her  face  too  roughly.  Heaven  and  earth  ! 
Must  I  remember  ?  why,  she  would  hang  on 
As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown  [him, 

By  what  it  fed  on  ;  and  yet,  within  a  month,— 
Let  me  not  think  on't.  —  Frailty,  thy  name  is 

woman  !  — 
A  little  month  ;  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old, 
With  which  she  follow'd  my  poor  father's  body, 
Like  Niobe,  all  tears  ;  —  why  she,  even  she, 
(O  God  !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason, 
Would  have  mourn'd  longer)  —  married  with 

my  uncle, 
My  father's  brother,  but  no  more  like  my  father, 
Than  I  to  Hercules  ;  within  a  month  ; 
Ere  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 
Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes, 
She  married,  —  O,  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 
With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets  I 
It  is  not,  nor  it  cannot  come  to,  good ; 
But  break,  my  heart,  for  I  must  hold  my  tongue ! 

Enter  Horatio,  Bernardo,  and  Marcellus. 
Horatio. 
Hail  to  your  lordship  ! 

Hamlet. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  well : 
Horatio,  —  or  I  do  forget  myself. 
Horatio. 
The  same,  my  lord,  and  your  poor  servant 
ever. 

Hamlet. 
Sir,  my  good  friend;  I'll  change  that  name 
with  you. 
And  what  make  you  from  Wittenberg,  Hora- 
tio f  — 
Marcellus?  „       „ 

Marcel  lut. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


907 


Marcellus. 
My  good  lord,  — 

Hamlet. 

I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  ;  good  even,  sir.  — 

But  what,  in  faith,  make  you  from  Wittenberg? 

Horatio. 
A  truant  disposition,  good  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
I  would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  so  ; 
Nor  shall  you  do  mine  ear  that  violence, 
To  make  ft  truster  of  your  own  report 
Against  yourself:  I  know,  you  are  no  truant. 
But  what  is  your  affair  in  Elsinoret 
We'll  teach  you  to  drink  deep,  ere  you  depart. 

Horatio. 
My  lord,  I  came  to  see  your  father's  funeral. 

Hamlet. 
I  pray  thee,  do  not  mock  me,  fellow-student; 
I  think,  it  was  to  see  my  mother's  wedding. 
Horatio. 
Indeed,  my  lord,  it  follow'd  hard  upon. 

Hamlet. 
Thrift,  thrift, Horatio t  thefuneral  bak'dmeats 
Did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables. 
'Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven 
Ere  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio! — 
My  father,— methinks,  I  see  my  father. 
Horatio. 

0  I  where,  my  lord? 

Hamlet. 

In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 

Horatio. 

1  saw  him  once :  he  was  a  goodly  king. 

Hamlet. 
He  was  a  man,  take  him  for  all  in  all, 
I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

Horatio, 
My  lord,  I  think  I  saw  him  yesternight. 

Hamlet. 
Saw  !  who  ? 

Horatio. 
My  lord,  the  king  your  father, 
Hamlet. 

The  king  my  father  1 
Horatio. 
Season  your  admiration  for  a  while 
With  an  attent  ear,  till  I  may  deliver, 
Upon  the  witness  of  these  gentlemen, 
This  marvel  to  you. 

Hamlet. 

For  God's  love,  let  me  hear. 
Horatio. 
Two  nights  together,  had  these  gentlemen, 
Marcellus  and  Bernardo,  on  their  watch, 
In  the  dead  vast  and  middle  of  the  night, 
Been  thus  encounter'd.     A    figure    like  your 
father, 
I  Armed  at  point,  exactly,  cap  a-pie, 
j  Appears  before  them,  and  with  solemn  march 
Goes  slow  and  stately  by  them  :  thrice  he  walk'd, 
By  their  oppress'd  and  fear  .surprised  eyes, 
Within  his  truncheon's  length:    whilst  they, 

distill'd 
Almost  to  jelly  with  the  act  of  fear, 
Stand  dumb,  and  speak  not  to  him.     This  to  me 
In  dreadful  secrecy  impart  they  did, 
And  I  with  them  the  third  night  kept  the  watch ; 
Where,  as  they  had  deliver'd,  both  in  time, 
I  Form  of  the  thing,  each  word  made  true  and 
good, 

L___ 


The  apparition  comes.     I  knew  your  father ; 
These  handi  arc  not  more  like. 
Bamlct. 

But  where  was  this? 
Marcellus. 
My  lord,  upon  the  platform  where  we  watch'd. 

Hamlet. 
Did  you  not  speak  to  it? 
Horatio. 

My  lord,  I  did. 
But  answer  made  it  none ;  yet  once,  mcthought. 
It  lifted  up  its  head,  and  did  address 
Itself  to  motion,  like  as  it  would  speak  : 
But,  even  then,  the  morning  cock  crew  loud, 
And  at  the  sound  it  shrunk  in  haste  away, 
And  vanish 'd  from  our  sight. 
Hamlet. 

*Tis  very  strange. 
Horatio. 
As  I  do  live,  my  honour'd  lord,  'tis  true; 
And  we  did  think  it  writ  down  in  our  duty, 
To  let  you  know  of  it. 

Hamlet. 
Indeed,  indeed,  sirs,  but  this  troubles  me. 
Hold  you  the  watch  to-night  ? 
All. 

We  do,  my  lord? 
Hamlet. 
Arm'd,  say  you  ? 

All. 
Arm'd,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 

From  top  to  toe  ? 
All. 
My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

Hamlet. 
Then,  saw  you  not  his  face  ? 

Horatio. 
O  !  yes,  my  lord ;  he  wore  his  beaver  up. 

Hamlet. 
What !  look'd  he  frowningly  ? 
Horatio. 

A  countenance  more 
In  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

Hamlet. 

Pale,  or  red  ? 
Horatio. 
Nay,  very  pale. 

Hamlet. 
And  fix'd  his  eyes  upon  you  ? 
Horatio, 
Most  constantly. 

Hamlet. 

I  would  I  had  been  there. 
Horatio. 
It  would  have  much  amaz'd  you. 
Hamlet. 

Very  like, 
I  Very  like.    Stay'd  it  long  ? 

Horatio. 
I     While  one  with  moderate  haste  might  tell  a 
hundred. 

Marcellus  and  Bernardo. 
!     Longer,  longer. 

Horatio. 
Not  when  I  saw  it. 

Hamlet. 
His  beard  was  grizzled  ?  no  ? 
Horalio. 


908 


HAMLET, 


Act  i.  Sc  ii. 


Horatio. 
It  was,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  his  life, 
A  sable  silver'd. 

Hamlet. 
I  will  watch  to-night: 
Perchance,  'twill  walk  again. 

Horatio. 

I  warrant  it  will. 
Hamlet. 
If  it  assume  my  noble  father's  person, 
I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape, 
And  bid  me  hold  my  peace.    I  pray  you  all, 
If  you  have  hitherto  conceal'd  this  sight, 
Let  it  be  tenable  in  your  silence  still ; 
And  whatsoever  else  shall  hap  to-night, 
Give  it  an  understanding,  but  no  tongue: 
I  will  requite  your  loves.    So,  fare  you  well : 
Upon  the  platform,  'twixt  eleven  and  twelve, 
I'll  visit  you. 

All. 
Our  duty  to  your  honour. 

Hamlet. 
Your  loves,  as  mine  to  you.    Farewell. 
[Exeunt  Horatio,  Marcellus,  and  Bernardo. 
My  father's  spirit  in  arms  !  all  is  not  well  ;• 
I  doubt  some  foul  play :  would  the  night  were 

come! 
Till  then  sit  still,  my  soul.  Foul  deeds  will  rise, 
Though  all  the  earth  o'erwhelm  them,  to  men's 
eyes.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Polonius's  House. 
Enter  Laertes  and  Ophelia. 

Laertes. 
My  necessaries  are  embark'd  ;  farewell : 
And,  sister,  as  the  winds  give  benefit, 
And  convoy  is  assistant,  do  not  sleep, 
But  let  me  hear  from  you. 

Ophelia. 

Do  you  doubt  that  ? 

Laertes. 
For  Hamlet,  and  the  trifling  of  his  favour, 
Hold  it  a  fashion,  and  a  toy  in  blood ; 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature, 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting, 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute ; 
No  more. 

Ophelia. 
No  more  but  so  ? 

Laertes. 

Think  it  no  more : 
For  nature,  crescent,  does  not  grow  alone 
In  thews,  and  bulk  ;  but,  as  this  temple  waxes, 
The  inward  service  of  the  mind  and  soul 
Grows  wide  withal.   Perhaps,  he  loves  you  now ; 
And  now  no  soil,  nor  cautel,  doth  besmirch 
The  virtue  of  his  will :  but  you  must  fear, 
His  greatness  weigh'd,  his  will  is  not  his  own, 
For  he  himself  is  subject  to  his  birth: 
He  may  not,  as  unvalued  persons  do, 
Carve  for  himself;  for  on  his  choice  depends 
The  safety  and  health  of  this  whole  state  ; 
And  therefore  must  his  choice  be  circumscrib'd 
Unto  the  voice  and  yielding  of  that  body, 
Whereof  he  is  the  head.    Then,  if  he  says  he 

loves  you, 
It  fits  your  wisdom  so  far  to  believe  it, 
As  he  in  his  particular  act  and  place 
May  give  his  saying  deed ;  which  is  no  farther, 
Than  the  main  voice  of  Denmark  goes  withal. 
Then,  weigh  what  loss  your  honour  may  sustain, 
If  with  too  credent  ear  you  list  his  songs, 
Or  lose  your  heart,  or  your  chaste  treasure  open 


To  his  unmaster'd  importunity. 
Fear  it,  Ophelia,  fear  it,  my  dear  sister ; 
And  keep  you  in  the  rear  of  your  affection, 
Out  of  the  shot  and  danger  of  desire. 
The  chariest  maid  is  prodigal  enough. 
If  she  unmask  her  beauty  to  the  moon. 
Virtue  itself  scapes  not  calumnious  strokes : 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring, 
Too  oft  before  their  buttons  be  disclos'd  ; 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth 
Contagious  blastments  are  most  imminent. 
Be  wary,  then  ;  best  safety  lies  in  fear : 
Youth  to  itself  rebels,  though  none  else  near. 

Ophelia. 
I  shall  th'  effect  of  this  good  lesson  keep, 
As  watchman  to  my  heart.    But,  good  my  bro- 
Do  not,  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do,      [ther, 
Show  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  heaven, 
Whilst,  like  a  puffd  and  reckless  libertine. 
Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads, 
And  recks  not  his  own  read. 

Laertes. 

O  !  fear  me  not. 
I  stay  too  long ;  —but  here  my  father  comes. 

Enter  Polonius. 
A  double  blessing  is  a  double  grace ; 
Occasion  smiles  upon  a  second  leave. 

Polonius. 

Yet  here,  Laertes  t  aboard,  aboard,  for  shame ! 
The  wind  sits  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 
And  you  are  stay'd  for.    There,— my  blessing 
with  you ; 

iLaying  his  Hand  on  Laertes1  Head. 
And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 
Look  thou  character.    Give  thy  thoughts  no 

tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportional  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar : 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch'd,  unfledg'd  comrade.    Be- 
ware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel ;  but,  being  in, 
Bear't,  that  th'  opposed  may  beware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice  ; 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judg- 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy,      [ment. 
But  not  express'd  in  fancy  ;  rich,  not  gaudy : 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man  ; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station, 
Are  most  select  and  generous  chief  in  that. 
Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be ; 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend, 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all,— to  thine  ownself  be  true  ; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 
Farewell :  my  blessing  season  this  in  thee ! 
Laertes. 

Most  humbly  do  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 
Polonius. 

The  time  invites  you  :  go  ;  your  servants  tend. 

Laertes. 
Farewell,  Ophelia  ;  and  remember  well 
What  I  have  said  to  you. 

Ophelia. 
Tis  in  my  memory  lock'd, 
And  you  yourself  shall  keep  the  key  of  it. 
Laertes. 
Farewell.  [Exit  Laertes. 

Polonius. 
What  is't,  Ophelia,  he  hath  said  to  you  ? 

Ophelia. 


Act  i.  St.  tv. 


1'lilNCE  OF  DENMARK. 


909 


Ophelia. 
So  please  you,  something  touching  the  lord 
Hamlet. 

Poloniui. 
Marry,  well  bethought : 
TU  told  me,  he  hath  very  oft  of  late 
Given  private  time  to  you ;  and  you  yourself 
Have  of  your  audience  been  roost    free    and 

bounteous. 
If  it  be  so,  (at  so  'tis  put  on  me, 
And  that  In  way  of  caution)  1  must  tell  you, 
You  do  not  understand  yourself  so  clearly. 
As  it  behoves  my  daughter,  and  your  honour. 
What  is  between  you?  give  me  up  the  truth. 
Ophelia. 
He  hath,  my  lord,  of  late  made  many  tenders 
Of  his  affection  to  me. 

Polonlus. 
Affection  ?  pooh  !  you  speak  like  a  green  girl, 
Unsifted  in  such  perilous  circumstance. 
Do  you  believe  his  tenders,  as  you  call  them  ? 
Ophelia. 
1  do  not  know,  my  lord,  what  I  should  think. 

Polonlus. 
Marry,  I'll  teach  you :  think  yourself  a  baby ; 
That  you  have  ta'en  these  tenders  for  true  pay, 
Which  are  not  sterling.    Tender  yourself  more 

dearly ; 
Or,  not  to  crack  the  wind  of  the  poor  phrase, 
Wronging  it  thus,  you'll  tender  me  a  fool. 
Ophelia. 
My  lord,  he  hath  importun'd  me  with  love, 
In  honourable  fashion. 

Polonlus. 
Ay,  fashion  you  may  call  it ;  go  to,  go  to. 

Ophelia. 
And  hath  given  countenance  to  his  speech, 
my  lord, 
With  almost  all  the  holy  vows  of  heaven. 
Polonlus. 
Ay,  springes  to  catch  woodcocks.     I  do  know, 
When  the  blood  burns,  how  prodigal  the  soul 
Lends  the  tongue  vows:  these  blazes,  daughter, 
Giving  more  light  than  heat,— extinct  in  both, 
Even  in  their  promise,  as  it  is  a  making, — 
You  must  not  take  for  fire.    From  this  time. 
Be  somewhat  scanter  of  your  maiden  presence : 
Set  your  entreatments  at  a  higher  rate, 
Than  a  command  to  parley.    For  lord  Hamlet, 
Believe  so  much  in  him,  that  he  is  young ; 
And  with  a  larger  tether  may  he  walk, 
Than  may  be  given  you.     Iu  few,  Ophelia, 
Do  not  believe  his  vows,  for  they  are  brokers 
Not  of  that  die  which  their  investments  show, 
But  mere  implorators  of  unholy  suits, 
Breathing  like  sanctified  and  pious  bonds, 

The  better  to  beguile.     This  is  for  all 

I  would  not,  in  plain  terms,  from  this  time  forth, 
Have  you  so  slander  any  moment's  leisure, 
As  to  give  words  or  talk,  with  the  lord  Hamlet. 
Look  to't,  1  charge  you  ;  come  your  ways. 
Ophelia. 
I  shall  obey,  my  lord.  [F.xeunt. 

,     SCEKE1V.    The  Platform. 
Enter  Hamlet,  Horatio,  and  Mareellus. 

Hamlet. 
The  air  bites  shrewdly;  it  is  very  cold. 

Horatio. 
It  is  a  nipping,  and  an  eager  air. 

Hamlet. 
What  hour  now  ? 


Horatio. 

1  think,  it  lacks  of  twelve 
Marcellui. 
No,  it  is  struck. 

Horatio. 
Indeed  ?  I  heard  it  not :  it  then  draws  near 
the  season, 
Wherein  the  spirit  held  his  wont  to  walk. 

[A  Flourish  of  Trumpets,  and  Ordnance 
■hot  off,  within. 
What  does  this  mean,  my  lord? 
Hamlet. 
The  king  doth  wake  to-night,  and  takes  his 
rouse, 
Keeps  wassel,  and  the  swaggering    jp-spring 

reels ; 
And  as  he  drains  his  draughts  of  Rhenish  down, 
The  kettle-drum  and  trumpet  thus  bray  out 
The  triumph  of  his  pledge. 
Horatio. 

Is  it  a  custom  ? 
Hamlet. 
Ay,  marry,  is't : 
But  to  my  mind,— though  I  am  native  here, 
And  to  tiie  manner  born,— it  is  a  custom 
More  honour'd  in  the  breach,  than  the  obser- 
vance. 
This  heavy-headed  revel,  east  and  west 
Makes  us  tradue'd  and  tax'd  of  other  nations : 
They  clepe  us  drunkards,   and  with    swinish 

phrase 
Soil  our  addition  ;  and,  indeed,  it  takes 
From  our  achievements,  though  perform'd  at 
height, 
I  The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute. 
i   So,  oft  it  chances  in  particular  men, 
'  That  for  some  vicious  mole  of  nature  in  them, 
J  As,  in  their  birth,  (wherein  they  are  not  guilty, 
'  Since  nature  cannot  choose  his  origin) 
\  By  their  o'ergrowth  of  some  complexion, 
i  Oft  breaking  down  the  pales  and  forts  of  reason ; 
;  Or  by  some  habit,  that  too  much  o'er-leavens 
The  form  of  plausive   manners ;— that    these 
men, — 
1  Carrying,  I  say,  the  stamp  of  one  defect 
.  Being  nature's  livery,  or  fortune's  star, — 
1  Their  virtues  else,  be  they  as  pure  as  grace, 
1  As  infinite  as  man  may  undergo, 
1  Shall  in  the  general  censure  take  corruption 
From  that  particular  fault :  the  dram  of  ill 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  often  dout, 
To  his  own  scandal. 

Enter  Ghost. 
Horatio. 

Look,  my  lord,  it  comes. 
Hamlet. 
Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  ! 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health,  or  goblin  damn'd, 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from 
Be  thy  intents  wicked,  or  charitable,  [hell. 

Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape, 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee.   I'll  call  thee,  Hamlet, 
King,  Father,  Royal  Dane :  O  !  answer  me : 
Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance  ;  but  tell, 
Why  thy  canoniz'd  bones,  hearsed  in  death, 
Have  burst  their  cerements  ?  why  the  sepulchre, 
Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  in-urn'd, 
Hath  op'd  his  ponderous  and  marble  jaws. 
To  cast  thee  up  again  ?    What  may  this  mean. 
That  thou,  dead  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel, 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous  ;  and  we  fools  of  nature, 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition, 

With 


910 


HAMLET, 


Act  r.  Sc.  jx. 


With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this  ?  wherefore  ?  what  should  we  do? 
[The  Ghost  beckons  Hamlet. 
Horatio. 
It  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it, 
As  if  it  some  unpartment  did  desire 
To  you  alone. 

Marcellus. 
Look,  with  what  courteous  action 
It  waves  you  to  a  more  removed  ground  : 
But  do  not  go  with  it. 

Horatio. 

No,  by  no  means. 
Hamlet. 
It  will  not  speak ;  then,  will  I  follow  it. 

Horatio. 
Do  not,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Why,  what  should  be  the  fear? 
I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  ; 
And,  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 
Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself? 
It  waves  me  forth  again  :— I'll  follow  it. 
Horatio. 
What,  if  it  tempt  you  toward  the  flood,  my 
Or  to  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff,       [lord, 
That  beetles  o'er  his  base  into  the  sea, 
And  there  assume  some  other  horrible  form, 
Which  might  deprive  your  sovereignty  of  reason, 
And  draw  you  into  madness?  think  of  it: 
The  very  place  puts  toys  of  desperation, 
Without  more  motive,  into  every  brain 
That  looks  so  many  fathoms  to  the  sea, 
And  hears  it  roar  beneath. 
Hamlet. 

It  waves  me  still:  — 
Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee. 

Marcellus. 
You  shall  not  go,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 

Hold  off  your  hands. 
Horatio. 
Be  rul'd :  you  shall  not  go. 
Hamlet. 

My  fate  cries  out, 
And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve. 

[Ghost  beckons. 
Still  am  I  call'd.— Unhand  me,  gentlemen,— 

[Breaking  from  them. 

By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets 

I  say,  away !  —  Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee.         [me : 

[Exeunt  Ghost  and  Hamlet. 

Horatio. 

He  waxes  desperate  with  imagination. 

Marcellus. 
Let's  follow  ;  'tis  not  fit  thus  to  obey  him. 

Horatio. 
Have  after.  — To  what  issue  will  this  come? 

Marcellus. 
Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark. 

Horatio. 
Heaven  will  direct  it. 

Marcellus. 

Nay,  let's  follow  him. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  more  remote  Part  of  the 

Platform. 

Enter  Ghost  and  Hamlet. 

Hamlet. 

Whither  wilt  thou  lead  me?  speak,  I'll  go  no 

farther. 


Ghost. 
Mark  me. 

Hamlet. 
I  will. 

Ghost. 
My  hour  is  almost  come, 
When  I  to  sulphurous  and  tormenting  flames 
Must  render  up  myself. 

Hamlet. 

Alas,  poor  ghost ! 
Ghost. 
Pity  me  not ;  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
To  what  1  shall  unfold. 

Hamlet. 

Speak,  I  am  bound  to  hear. 
Ghost. 
So  art  thou  to  revenge  when  thou  shalt  hear. 

Hamlet. 
What? 

Ghost. 
I  am  thy  father's  spirit ; 
Doom'd  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night. 
And  for  the  day  confin'd  to  fast  in  fires, 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature. 
Are  burnt  and  purg'd  away.     But  that  I  am 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house,    [forbid 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul,  freeze  thy  young 

blood, 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their 

spheres, 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  an-end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine : 
But  this  eternal  blazon  must  not  be 
To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood —  List,  list,  O  list  !— 
If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love,— 
Hamlet. 
OGod! 

Ghost. 
Revenge  his  foul  and  most  unnatural  murder. 

Hamlet. 
Murder  ? 

Ghost. 
Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is ; 
But  this  most  foul,  strange,  and  unnatural. 
Hamlet. 
Haste  me  to  know't,  that  I,  with  wings  as  swift 
As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge. 

Ghost. 

1  find  thee  apt ; 
And  duller  should'st  thou  be,  than  the  fat  weed 
That  roots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe  wharf, 
Would'st  thou  not  stir  in  this :  now,  Hamlet, 

hear. 
'Tis  given  out,  that  sleeping  in  mine  orchard. 
A  serpent  stung  me:  so  the  whole  ear  of  Den- 
Is  by  a  forged  process  of  my  death  [mark 
Rankly  abus'd ;  but  know,  thou  noble  youth, 
The  serpent  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Hamlet. 
O,  my  prophetic  soul  1  my  uncle ! 

Ghost. 
Ay,  that  incestuous,  that  adulterate  beast, 
With  witchcraft  of  his  wit,  with  traitorous  gifts, 
( O  wicked  wit,  and  gifts,  that  have  the  power 
So  to  seduce  !)  won  to  his  shameful  lust 
The  will  of  my  most  seeming  virtuous  queen. 
O,  Hamlet,  what  a  falling-offwas  there  ! 
From  me,  whose  love  was  of  that  dignity, 
That  it  went  hand  in  band  even  with  the  vow 

I  made 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


911 


1  made  to  her  in  marriage ;  and  to  decline 

Upon  a  wretch,  whose  natural  gift!  were  poor 

To  those  of  mine  ! 

But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  be  mov'd. 

Though  lewdness  court  It  In  a  shape  of  heaven, 

So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  link'd, 

Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed, 

And  prey  on  garbage. 

But,  soft!  mothinks,  I  scent  the  morning  air: 

Brief  let  me  be Sleeping  within  mine  orchard. 

My  custom  always  in  the  afternoon. 
Upon  my  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole, 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  in  a  phial, 
And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment ;  whose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man, 
That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body ; 
And  with  a  sudden  vigour  it  doth  posset, 
And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk, 
The  thin  and  wholesome  blood :  so  did  it  mine ; 
And  a  most  instant  tetter  bark'd  about, 
Most  lazar-like,  with  vile  and  loathsome  crust 
All  my  smooth  body. 

Thus  was  I,  sleeping,  by  a  brother's  hand, 
Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  despatch'd : 
Cut  off  even  in  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 
Unhousel'd,  disappointed,  unanel  d  ; 
No  reckoning  made,  but  sent  to  my  account 
With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head : 
O,  horrible !  O,  horrible  !  most  horrible  ! 
If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not ; 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest. 
But,  howsoever  thou  pursuest  this  act, 
Taint  not  thy  mind,  nor  let  thy  soul  contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught:  leave  her  to  heaven, 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge, 
To  prick  and  sting  her.    Fare  thee  well  at  once. 
The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be  near, 
And  gins  to  pale  his  uneffectual  fire : 
Adieu,  adieu  1  Hamlet,  remember  me.      [Kxlt. 

Hamlet. 
O,  all  you  host  of  heaven  !  O  earth  !    What 

else? 
And  shall  1  couple  hell  ?— O  fie  !— Hold,  hold, 

my  heart ; 
And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old, 
But  bear  me  stiffly  up !  —  Remember  thee  ? 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost,  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe.     Remember  thee  ? 
Yea,  from  the  table  of  my  memory 
I'll  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  records, 
All  saws  of  books,  all  forms,  all  pressures  past, 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there, 
And  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain, 
Unmix'd  with  baser  matter :  yes,  by  heaven. 
<),  most  pernicious  woman  ! 

0  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damned  villain  ! 
My  tables,— meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down. 

That  one  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain ; 
At  least,  I  am  sure,  it  may  be  so  in  Denmark: 

[Writing. 
So,  uncle,  there  you  are.     Now  to  my  word ; 
It  is  "  Adieu,  adieu  1  remember  me." 

1  have  sworn 't. 

Horatio.  [Within. 

My  lord  !  my  lord  1 

Marcellus.  [Within. 

Lord  Hamlet! 

Horatio.  [Within. 

Heaven  secure  him  t 
Marcellus.  [Within. 

So  be  it ! 


Horatio.  [Within. 

Illo,  ho,  ho,  my  lord  1 
Ha: 
Hillo,  ho,  ho,  boy !  come,  bird,  come. 
Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 
Marcellus. 
How  is't,  my  noble  lord? 
Horatio. 

What  news,  my  lord  ? 
Hamlet. 
O,  wonderful ! 

Horatio. 

Good  my  lord,  tell  it. 
Hamlet. 

No; 
You'll  reveal  it. 

Horatio. 
Not  I,  my  lord,  by  heaven. 
Marcellus. 

Nor  I,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
How  say  you,  then  ;  would  heart  of  man  once 
But  you'll  be  secret  [think  it  ?— 

Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
There's  ne'er  a  villain  dwelling  in  all  Den- 
But  he's  an  arrant  knave.  [mark, 

Horatio. 
There  needs  no  ghost,  my  lord,  come  from  the 
To  tell  us  this.  [grave 

Hamlet. 
Why,  right ;  you  are  i'  the  right ; 
And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part : 
You,  as  your  business  and  desire  shall  point  you, 
For  every  man  hath  business  and  desire, 
Such  as  it  is ;  and,  for  mine  own  poor  part, 
Look  you,  I'll  go  pray. 

Horatio. 
These  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words,  my 
lord. 

Hamlet. 
I  am  sorry  they  offend  you,  heartily ;  yes, 
•Faith,  heartily. 

Horatio. 

There's  no  offence,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

Yes,  by  Saint  Patrick,  but  there  is,  Horatio, 

And  much  offence  too.    Touching  this  visiou 

here, 
It  is  an  honest  ghost,  that  let  me  tell  you : 
For  your  desire  to  know  what  is  between  us, 
O'er -master  *t  as  you  may.     And  now,  good 

friends, 
As  you  are  friends,  scholars,  and  soldiers, 
Give  me  one  poor  request. 
Horatio. 
What  is't,  my  lord?  we  will. 

Hamlet. 
Never  make  known  what  you  have  seen  to- 
night. 

Horatio  and  Marcellus. 
My  lord,  we  will  not. 

Hamlet. 

Nay,  but  swear't. 
Horatio. 

In  faith, 
My  lord,  not  I. 

Marcellus. 
Nor  I,  my  lord,  in  faith. 
Hamlet. 
Upon  my  sword. 

Marcellus. 


9-* 


HAMLET, 


Act  i.  Sc.  v„ 


Marcellus. 
We  have  sworn,  my  lord,  already. 
Hamlet. 
Indeed,  upon  my  sword,  indeed. 

Ghost.  t  Beneath. 

Swear"  Hamlet. 

Ha,  ha,  boy !  say'st  thou  so  ?  art  thou  there, 
true-penny  ? 
Come  on,— you  hear  this  fellow  in  the  cellarage,— 
Consent  to  swear. 

Horatio. 

Propose  the  oath,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  seen, 
Swear  by  my  sword. 

Ghost.  [Beneath. 

Swear.  ..      , 

Hamlet. 
Hie  et  ubiquc?  then,  we'll  shift  our  ground. — 
Come  hither,  gentlemen, 
And  lay  your  hands  again  upon  my  sword: 
Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  heard, 
Swear  by  my  sword. 

Ghost.  [Beneath. 

Swear. 

Hamlet. 
Well  said,  old  mole  1  can'st  work  i*  the  earth 
so  fast  ?  [friends. 

A  worthy  pioneer  1  —  Once  more  remove,  good 

Horatio. 
O  day  and  night,  but  this  is  wondrous  strange ! 

Hamlet. 
And  therefore  as  a  stranger  give  it  welcome. 
There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth, 
Horatio,  [come ;  — 

Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy.    But 
Here,  as  before,  never,  so  help  you  mercy, 
How  strange  or  odd  soe'er  I  bear  myself,— 
As  I,  perchance,  hereafter  shall  think  meet 
To  put  an  antic  disposition  on,— 
That  you,  at  such  times  seeing  me,  never  shall, 
With  arms  encumber'd  thus,  or  this  head-shake, 
Or  by  pronouncing  of  some  doubtful  phrase, 
As,  "  Well,  well,  we  know  ;  "—or,  "  We  could, 

an  if  we  would ;  " — 
Or,  "  If  we  list  to  speak  ;  "  —  or,  "  There  be,  an 

if  they  might;" — 
Or  such  ambiguous  giving  out,  to  note 
That  you  know  aught  of  me  :  —  this  not  to  do, 
So  grace  and  mercy  at  your  most  need  help  you, 
Swear. 

Ghost.  [Beneath. 

Swear. 

Hamlet. 
Rest,  rest,  perturbed  spirit!— So,  gentlemen, 
With  all  my  love  1  do  commend  me  to  you : 
And  what  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is 
May  do,  t'  express  his  love  and  friending  to  you, 
God  willing,  shall  not  lack.    Let  us  go  in  toge- 
ther ; 
And  still  your  fingers  on  your  lips,  1  pray. 
The  time  is  out  of  joint ;  —  O  cursed  spite ! 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right. 
Nay,  come ;  let's  go  together.  [Exeunt. 


If*"®- 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Room  in  Polonius't  House. 

Enter  Polonius  and  Reynaldo. 

Folonius. 

/^J.1VE  him  this  money,  and  these  notes,  Rey- 

**     naldo. 

Reynaldo. 
I  will,  my  lord. 

Polonius. 
You  shall  do  marvellous  wisely,  good  Rey- 
Before  you  visit  him,  to  make  inquiry      [naldo, 
Of  his  behaviour. 

Reynaldo. 

My  lord,  I  did  intend  it. 
Polonius. 
Marry,  well  said  :  very  well  said.    Look  you, 
sir, 
Inquire  me  first  what  Danskers  are  in  Paris  ; 
And  how,  and  who,  what  means,  and  where  they 

keep, 
What  company,  at  what  expense  ;  and  finding, 
By  this  encompassment  and  drift  of  question, 
That  they  do  know  my  son,  come  you  more 

nearer 
Than  your  particular  demands  will  touch  it. 
Take  you,  as  'twere,  some  distant  knowledge  of 

him ; 
As  thus, — "I  know  his  father,  and  his  friends, 
And,  in  part,  him  :  " — do  you  mark  this,  Rey- 
naldo? 

Reynaldo. 
Ay,  very  well,  my  lord. 

Polonius. 
"  And,  in  part,  him  ;  but,"  you  may  say,  "  not 
But,  ift  be  he  I  mean,  he's  very  wild,        [well : 
Addicted  so  and  so  ;  "—and  there  put  on  him 
What  forgeries  you  please ;  marry,  none  so  rank 
As  may  dishonour  him  :  take  heed  of  that ; 
But,  sir,  such  wanton,  wild,  and  usual  slips. 
As  are  companions  noted  and  most  known 
To  youth  and  liberty. 

Reynaldo. 

As  gaming,  my  lord. 

Polonius. 

Ay,  or  drinking,  fencing,  swearing,  quarrel- 

Drabbing  :  —  you  may  go  so  far.  [ling, 

Reynaldo. 

My  lord,  that  would  dishonour  him. 

Polonius. 
'Faith,  no ;  as  you  may  season  it  in  the  charge. 
You  must  not  put  another  scandal  on  him, 
That  he  is  open  to  incontinency : 
That's  not  my  meaning  ;  but  breathe  his  faults 

so  quaintly, 
That  they  may  seem  the  taints  of  liberty ; 
The  flash  and  out-break  of  a  fiery  mind  ; 
A  savageness  in  unreclaimed  blood, 
Of  general  assault 

Reynaldo. 

But,  my  good  lord,— 
Polonius. 
Wherefore  should  you  do  this  ? 
Reynaldo. 

Ay,  my  lord, 
I  would  know  that. 

Polonius. 
Marry,  sir,  here's  my  drift ; 
And,  I  believe,  it  is  a  fetch  of  warrant. 
You  laying  these  slight  sullies  on  my  so.i. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


211 


As  'twere  a  thing  a  little  soll'd  V  the  working, 
Mark  JOO, 

Your  party  in  converse,  him  you  would  sound, 
Having  ever  seen  in  the  prenominate  crimes 
The  youth  you  breathe  of  guilty,  be  assur'd, 
He  closes  with  you  in  this  consequence : 
"Good  sir,"  or  so;  or  "friend,"  or  "gentle- 
man,"— 
According  to  the  phrase,  or  the  addition, 
Of  man,  and  country. 

ueynaldo. 

Very  good,  my  lord. 
Folonlus. 
And  then,  sir,  does  he  this,  — he  does — 
What  was  I  about  to  say  ?— By  the  mass,  I  was 
About  to  say  something :  —  where  did  I  leave  ? 
Reynaldo. 
At  closes  in  the  consequence, 
As  *'  friend  or  so,"  and  ■  gentleman." 
Polonlus. 
At,  closes  in  the  consequence,— ay,  marry  ; 
He  closes  thus :  —  "I  know  the  gentleman  ; 
I  saw  him  yesterday,  or  t'other  day,      [you  say, 
Or  then,  or  then  ;  with  such,  or  such  ;  and,  as 
There  was  he  gaming ;  there  o'ertook  in's  rouse ; 
There  falling  out  at  tennis  :  or  perchance, 
I  saw  him  enter  such  a  house  of  sale, 
Videlicet,  a  brothel  "  or  so  forth. — 
See  you  now ; 

Your  bait  of  falsehood  takes  this  carp  of  truth  : 
And  thus  do  we  of  wisdom  and  of  reach, 
With  windlaces,  and  with  assays  of  bias, 
By  indirections  find  directions  out : 
So,  by  my  former  lecture  and  advice, 
Shall  you  my  son.   You  have  me,  have  you  not  ? 
Reynaldo. 
My  lord,  I  have. 

Folonlus. 
God  be  wi*  you  ;  fare  you  well. 
Reynaldo. 
Good  my  lord. 

Polonius. 
Observe  his  inclination  in  yourself. 

Reynaldo. 
I  shall,  my  lord. 

Polonius. 

And  let  him  ply  his  music. 

Reynaldo. 

Well,  my  ^ 

Enter  Ophelia. 
Polonius. 
Farewell  !  —  How  now,  Ophelia  f  what's  the 
matter  ? 

Ophelia. 
Alas,  my  lord  !  I  have  been  so  affrighted  ! 

Polonius. 
With  what,  in  the  name  of  God  ? 

Ophelia. 
My  lord,  as  I  was  sewing  in  my  chamber, 
Lord  Hamlet,  —  with  his  doublet  all  unbrae'd  ; 
No  hat  upon  his  head  ;  his  stockings  foul'd, 
Ungarter'd,  and  down-gyved  to  his  ancle ; 
Pale  as  his  shirt ;  his  knees    knocking    each 
And  with  a  look  so  piteous  in  purport,    [other  ; 
As  if  he  had  been  loosed  out  of  hell. 
To  speak  of  horrors,  —  he  comes  before  me. 
Polonius. 
Mad  for  thy  love  ? 

Ophelia. 

My  lord,  I  do  not  know  ; 
But,  truly,  I  do  fear  it. 


Folonlus. 

What  said  he  ? 
ophclla. 

He  took  me  by  the  wrist,  and  held  me  hard  ; 
Then  goes  he  to  the  length  of  all  his  arm, 
And,  with  his  other  hand  thus  o'er  his  brow, 
He  falls  to  such  perusal  of  my  face, 
As  he  would  draw  it.    Long  stay'd  he  so : 
At  last,  —  a  little  shaking  of  mine  arm, 
And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving  up  and  down, — 
He  rais'd  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound, 
That  it  did  seem  to  shatter  all  his  bulk, 
And  end  his  being.     That  done,  he  lets  me  go. 
And,  with  his  head  over  his  shoulder  turn'd, 
He  seem'd  to  find  his  way  without  his  eyes  ; 
For  out  o'  doors  he  went  without  their  help, 
And  to  the  last  bended  their  light  on  me. 
Polonius. 

Come,  go  with  me :  I  will  go  seek  the  king, 
This  is  the  very  ecstasy  of  love  ; 
Whose  violent  property  fordoes  itself, 
And  leads  the  will  to  desperate  undertakings, 
As  oft  as  any  passion  under  heaven, 

That  does  afflict  our  natures.     I  am  sorry, 

What  1  have  you  given  him  any  hard  words  of 

late? 

Ophelia. 

No,  my  good  lord  ;  but,  as  you  did  command, 
I  did  repel  his  letters,  and  denied 
His  access  to  me. 

Polonius. 

That  hath  made  him  mad. 
I  am  sorry  that  with  better  heed  and  judgment 
1  had  not  quoted  him:  I  fcar'd,  he  did  but 
trifle,  [jealou&y  ! 

And  meant  to  wreck  thee  ;  but,  beshrew  my 
By  heaven,  it  is  as  proper  to  our  age 
To  cast  beyond  ourselves  in  our  opinions, 
As  it  is  common  for  the  younger  sort 
To  lack  discretion.    Come,  go  we  to  the  king: 
This  must  be  known  ;  which,  being  kept  close, 

might  move 
More  grief  to  hide,  than  hate  to  utter  love. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Rotencrantx,  Guilden- 
stern,  and  Attendants. 
King. 
Welcome,  dear  Rosencrantx,  and   Guilden- 
stern  : 
Moreover,  that  we  much  did  long  to  see  you, 
The  need  we  have  to  use  you,  did  provoke 
Our  hasty  sending.    Something  have  you  heard 
Of  Hamlet's  transformation  ;  so  I  call  it, 
Sith  nor  th'  exterior  nor  the  inward  man 
Resembles  that  it  was.    What  it  should  be, 
More  than  his  father's  death,  that  thus  hath  put 

him 
So  much  from  the  understanding  of  himself, 
I  cannot  dream  of:  I  entreat  you  both, 
That,  being  of  so  young  days  brought  up  with 
him,  [mour, 

And  since  so  neighbour'd  to  his  youth  and  hu- 
That  you  vouchsafe  your  rest  here  in  our  court 
Some  little  time  ;  so  by  your  companies 
To  draw  him  on  to  pleasures,  and  to  gather, 
So  much  as  from  occasion  you  may  glean, 
Whether  aught,  to  us   unknown,  afflicts   him 
That,  open'd,  lies  within  our  remedy.        [thus, 
Queen. 
Good  gentlemen,  he  hath  much  talk'd  of  you  ; 
And,  sure  I  am,  two  men  there  are  not  living. 
To  whom  he  more  adheres.  If  it  will  please  you 
3  ■  'To 


9'+ 


HAMLET, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  u. 


To  show  us  so  much  gentry,  and  good  will, 
As  to  expend  your  time  with  us  a  while, 
For  the  supply  and  profit  of  our  hope, 
Your  visitation  shall  receive  such  thanks 
As  fits  a  king's  remembrance. 

Rosencrantz. 

Both  your  majesties 
Might,  by  the  sovereign  power  you  have  of  us, 
Put  your  dread  pleasures  more  into  command 
Than  to  entreaty 

Guildenstern. 

But  we  both  obey  ; 
And  here  give  up  ourselves,  in  the  full  bent 
To  lay  our  service  freely  at  your  feet, 
To  be  commanded. 

King. 
Thanks,  Rosencrantz,  and   gentle  Guilden- 
stern. 

Queen. 
Thanks,    Guildenstern,    and   gentle    Rosen- 
And  I  beseech  you  instantly  to  visit      [crantz  : 
My  too  much  changed  son.  —  Go,  some  of  you, 
And  bring  these  gentlemen  where  Hamlet  is. 
Guildenstern. 
Heavens  make  our  presence,  and  our  prac- 
Pleasaut  and  helpful  to  him !  [tices, 

Queen. 

Ay,  amen  ! 
[Exeunt   Rosencrantz,   Guildenstern,   and 
some  Attendants. 

Enter  Polonius. 
Polonius. 
Th*  ambassadors  from  Norway,  my  good  lord, 
Are  joyfully  return'd. 

King. 
Thou  still  hast  been  the  father  of  good  news. 

Polonius. 
Have  I,  my  lord?     Assure   you,  my  good 
I  hold  my  duty,  as  I  hold  my  soul,  [liege, 

Both  to  my  God,  and  to  my  gracious  king : 
And  I  do  think,  (or  else  this  brain  of  mine 
Hunts  not  the  trail  of  policy  so  sure 
As  it  hath  us'd  to  do)  that  I  have  found 
The  very  cause  of  Hamlet's  lunacy. 
King. 
O !  speak  of  that ;  that  do  I  long  to  hear. 

Polonius. 

Give  first  admittance  to  th'  ambassadors  ; 

My  news  shall  be  the  fruit  to  that  great  feast. 

King. 
Thyself  do  grace  to  them,  and  bring  them  in. 
[Exit  Polonrui. 
He  tells  me,  my  dear  Gertrude,  he  hath  found 
The  head  and  source  of  all  your  son's  distemper. 

Queen. 

I  doubt,  it  is  no  other  but  the  main  ; 
His  father's  death,  and  our  o'erhasty  marriage. 

Re-enter  Polonius,  with  Voltimand  and 
Cornelius. 

King. 
Well,  we  shall  sift  him — Welcome,  my  good 
friends. 
Say,  Voltimand,  what  from  our  brother  Norway  f 

Voltimand. 
Most  fair  return  of  greetings,  and  desires. 
Upon  our  first,  he  sent  out  to  suppress 
His  nephew's  levies;  which  to  him  appear'd 
To  be  a  preparation  'gainst  the  Polack, 
But,  better  look'd  into,  he  truly  found 
It  was  against  your  highness :  whereat  griev'd, — 
That  so  his  sickness,  age,  and  impotence, 


Was  falsely  borne  in  hand, — sends  out  arrest* 
On  Fortinbras  ;  which  he  in  brief  obeys, 
Receives  rebuke  from  Norway,  and,  in  fine, 
Makes  vow  before  his  uncle,  never  more 
To  give  th'  assay  of  arms  against  your  majesty. 
Whereon  old  Norway,  overcome  with  joy, 
Gives  him  three  thousand  crowns  in  annual  fee  ; 
And  his  commission  to  employ  those  soldiers, 

j  So  levied  as  before,  against  the  Polack  : 
With  an  entreaty,  herein  farther  shown, 

[Giving  a  Paper. 
That  it  might  please  you  to  give  quiet  pass 

I  Through  your  dominions  for  this  enterprize  ; 

I  On  such  regards  of  safety,  and  allowance, 
As  therein  are  set  down. 

King. 

It  likes  us  well ; 
And,  at  our  more  consider'd  time,  we'll  read, 
Answer,  and  think  upon  this  business  : 
Mean  time,  we  thank  you  for  your  well-took 

labour. 
Go  to  your  rest ;  at  night  we'll  feast  together 
Most  welcome  home. 

[Exeunt  Voltimand  and  Cornelius. 

Polonius. 

This  business  is  well  ended. 
My  liege,  and  madam  ;  to  expostulate 
What  majesty  should  be,  what  duty  is, 
Why  day  is  day,  night,  night,  and  time  is  time, 
Were  nothing  but  to  waste  night,  day,  and  time. 
Therefore,  since  brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit, 
And  tediousness  the  1  imbs  and  outward  flourishes, 
I  will  be  brief.    Your  noble  son  is  mad : 
Mad  call  1  it ;  for,  to  define  true  madness, 
What  is't,  but  to  be  nothing  else  but  mad : 
But  let  that  go. 

Queen. 
More  matter,  with  less  art. 

Polonius. 

Madam,  I  swear,  I  use  no  art  at  all. 
That  he  is  mad,  'tis  true:  'tis  true  'tis  pity, 
And  pity  'tis  'tis  true :  a  foolish  figure  ; 
But  farewell  it,  for  I  will  use  no  art. 
Mad  let  us  grant  him,  then ;  and  now  remains, 
That  we  find  out  the  cause  of  this  effect ; 
Or  rather  say,  the  cause  of  this  defect, 
For  this  effect  defective  comes  by  cause : 
Thus  it  remains,  and  the  remainder  thus. 
Perpend. 

I  have  a  daughter ;  have,  while  she  is  mine  ; 
Who,  in  her  duty  and  obedience,  mark, 
Hath  given  me  this.    Now  gather,  and  surmise. 
— "  To  the  celestial,  and  my  soul's  idol,  the 
most  beautified  Ophelia," — 
That's  an  ill  phrase,  a  vile  phrase;  "beautified" 
is  a  vile  phrase ;  but  you  shall  hear. —  Thus  : 

"  In  her  excellent  white  bosom,  these,"  Ac- 
Queen. 

Came  this  from  Hamlet  to  her  ? 

Polonius. 
Good  madam,  stay  awhile ;  I  will  be  faith- 
ful— 

"  Doubt  thou  the  stars  are  fire,         [Reads. 
Doubt,  that  the  sun  doth  move  ; 
Doubt  truth  to  be  a  liar, 
But  never  doubt  I  love. 
"  O  dear  Ophelia  !  I  am  ill  at  these  numbers : 
|  I  have  not  art  to  reckon  my  groans  ;  but  that  I 
I  love  thee  best,  O  most  best !  believe  it.    Adieu. 
Thine  evermore,  most  dear  lady,  whilst 
this  machine  is  to  him,  Hamlet." 
This  in  obedience  hath  my  daughter  shown  me ; 
And  more  above,  hath  his  solicitings, 

As 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


9'5 


As  they  fell  out  bv  time,  by  meant,  and  place, 
All  given  to  mine  ear. 

King. 

But  how  hath  she 
Receir'd  hli  lore  ? 

Polonius. 
What  do  you  think  of  me  ? 
King. 
At  of  a  man  faithful,  and  honourable. 

Polonlut. 
I  would  fain  prore  to.    But  what  might  you 
think, 
When  I  had  seen  this  hot  love  on  the  wing, 
(As  I  perceiv'd  it,  I  must  tell  you  that, 
Before  my  daughter  told  me)  what  might  you,  " 
Or  my  dear  majesty,  your  queen  here,  think, 
If  I  had  play'd  the  desk,  or  table-book  ; 
Or  given  my  heart  a  winking,  mute  and  dumb ; 
Or  look'd  upon  this  love  with  idle  tight ; 
What  might  you  think  ?  no,  I  went  round  to 

work. 
And  my  young  mistress  thus  I  did  bespeak : 
"  Lord  Hamlet  is  a  prince,  out  of  thy  star ; 
This  must  not  be : "  and  then  I  precepts  gave 

her, 
That  she  should  lock  herself  from  hit  retort, 
Admit  no  mestengert,  receive  no  tokens. 
Which  done,  she  took  the  fruits  of  my  advice  ; 
And  he,  repulsed,  a  short  tale  to  make, 
Fell  into  a  sadness  ;  then  into  a  fast ; 
Thence  to  a  watch  ;  thence  into  a  weakness ; 
Thence  to  a  lightness  ;  and  by  this  declension, 
Into  the  madness  wherein  now  he  raves, 
And  all  we  wail  for. 

King. 

Do  you  think  'tis  this  ? 
Queen. 
It  may  be,  very  likely. 

Polonius. 
Hath  there  been  such  a  time,  I'd  fain  know 
That  I  have  positively  said,  '♦  'Tis  so,"     [that, 
When  it  prov'd  otherwise  ? 
King. 

Not  that  I  know. 
Polonius. 

Take  this  from  .this,  if  thisbe  otherwise.  { 

[Pointing  to  his  Head  and  Shoulder. 
If  circumstances  lead  me,  I  will  find 
Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid  indeed 
Within  the  centre. 

King. 

How  may  we  try  it  farther  ? 
Polonius. 
You  know,  tometimet  he  walks  four  hourt 
Here  in  the  lobby.  [together, 

Queen. 

So  he  does,  indeed. 
Polonius. 
At  such  a  time  I'll  loose  my  daughter  to  him : 
Be  you  and  I  behind  an  arras,  then : 
Mark  the  encounter  ;  if  he  love  her  not. 
And  be  not  from  his  reason  fallen  thereon, 
Let  me  be  no  assistant  for  a  state, 
But  keep  a  farm,  and  carters. 
King. 

We  will  try  it. 
Enter  Hamlet,  reading. 
Queen. 
But,  look,  where  sadly  the  poor  wretch  comet 
reading. 


Polonius. 
Away  I  I  do  beteech  you,  both  away. 
I'll  board  him  presently :— 0 1  give  me  leave.  — 
[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  and  Attendants. 
How  does  my  good  lord  Hamlet  f 
Hamlet. 
Well,  god-'a-mercy. 

Poloniut. 
Do  you  know  me,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Excellent  well ;  you  are  a  fishmonger. 

Polonius. 
Not  1,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Then,  I  would  you  were  so  honest  a  man. 

Polonius. 
Honest,  my  lord? 

Hamlet. 
Ay,  sir :  to  be  honest,  as  this  world  goes,  is  to 
be  one  man  picked  out  of  ten  thousand. 
Polonius. 
That's  very  true,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
For  if  the  tun  breed  maggott  in  a  dead  dog, 
being  a  good   kissing  carrion,—  Have   you  a 
daughter? 

Polonius. 
I  have,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Let  her  not  walk  V  the  sun :  conception  it  a 
blessing:  but  not  as  your  daughter  may  con- 
ceive :  —friend,  look  to't. 

Polonius.  [Aside. 

How  say  you  by  that  ?  Still  harping  on  my 
daughter:  — yet  he  knew  me  not  at  first;  he 
said,  I  was  a  fishmonger.  He  is  far  gone,  far 
gone:  and  truly  in  my  youth  I  suffered  much 
extremity  for  love ;  very  near  this.  I'll  speak 
to  him  again.  —What  do  you  read,  my  lord  1 
Hamlet. 
Words,  words,  words. 

Poloniut. 
What  it  the  matter,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Between  whom  ? 

Polonlut. 
I  mean,  the  matter  that  you  read,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Slanders,  sir  :  for  the  satirical  rogue  says  here, 
that  old  men  have  grey  beards ;  that  their  facet 
are  wrinkled  ;  their  eyet  purging  thick  amber, 
and  plumtree  gum ;  and  that  they  have  a  plen- 
tiful lack  of  wit,  together  with  most  weak  hams : 
all  of  which,  sir,  though  I  most  powerfully  and 
potently  believe,  yet  I  hold  it  not  honesty  to 
have  it  thus  set  down  ;  for  you  yourself,  sir, 
should  be  old  at  I  am,  if  like  a  crab  you  could 
go  backward. 

Poloniut. 
Though  thit  be  madness,  yet  there  is  method 
in't.    LAsfde.]     Will  you  walk  out  of  the  air, 
my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Into  my  grave  ? 

Poloniut. 
Indeed,  that  is  out  o'  the  air.  —  How  pregnant 
sometimes  his  replies  are  1  a  happiness  that  often 
madness  hits  on,  which  reason  and  sanity  could 
not  so  prosperously  be  delivered  of.  I  will 
leave  him,  and  suddenly  contrive  the  means  of 
meeting  between  him  and  my  daughter.  — My 
honourable 


HAMLET, 


Act  it.  Sc.  ii. 


honourable  lord,  I  will  most  humbly  take  my 
leave  of  you. 

Hamlet. 
You  cannot,  sir,  take  from  me  any  thing  that 
I  will  more  willingly  part  withal;  except  my 
life,  except  my  life,  except  my  life. 
Polonius. 
Fare  you  well,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
These  tedious  old  fools ! 

Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 

Polonius. 
You  go  to  seek  the  lord  Hamlet;  there  he  Is. 

Rosencrantz. 
God  save  you,  sir  1  [To  Polonius. 

[Exit  Polonius. 
Guildenstern. 
Mine  honour'd  lord  1  — 

Rosencrantz. 
My  most  dear  lord  ! 

Hamlet. 
My  excellent  good  friends  1    How  dost  thou, 
Guildenstern?    Ah,  Rosencrantz!     Good  lads, 
how  do  ye  both  ? 

Rosencrantz. 
As  the  indifferent  children  of  the  earth. 

Guildenstern. 
Happy,  in  that  we  are  not  overhappy ; 
On  fortune's  cap  we  are  not  the  very  button. 
Hamlet. 
Nor  the  soles  of  her  shoe  ? 

Rosencrantz. 
Neither,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Then  you  live  about  her  waist,  or  in  the 
middle  ot  her  favours  ? 

Guildenstern. 
'Faith,  her  privates  we. 

Hamlet. 
In  the  secret  parts  of  fortune?  O !  most  true; 
she  is  a  strumpet.    What  news  ? 
Rosencrantz. 
None,  my  lord,  but  that  the  world's  grown 
honest. 

Hamlet. 
Then  is  dooms-day  near;  but  your  news  is 
not  true.  Let  me  question  more  in  particular : 
what  have  you,  my  good  friends,  deserved  at 
the  hands  of  fortune,  that  she  sends  you  to 
prison  hither  ? 

Guildenstern. 
Prison,  my  lord  I 

Hamlet. 
Denmark's  a  prison. 

Rosencrantz. 
Then,  is  the  world  one. 

Hamlet. 
A  goodly  one ;  in  which  there  are  many  con- 
fines, wards,  and  dungeons,  Denmark  being  one 
of  the  worst. 

Rosencrantz. 
We  think  not  so,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
Why,  then  'tis  none  to  you ;  for  there  is  no- 
thing either  good  or  bad,  but  thinking  makes  it 
so  :  to  me  it  is  a  prison. 

Rosencrantz. 
Why,  then  your  ambition  makes  it  one :  'tis 
too  narrow  for  your  mind. 


Hamlet. 

0  God !  I  could  be  bounded  in  a  nut-shell, 
and  count  myself  a  king  of  infinite  space,  were 
it  not  that  I  have  bad  dreams. 

Guildenstern. 
Which  dreams,  indeed,  are  ambition  ;  for  the 
very  substance  of  the  ambitious  is  merely  the 
shadow  of  a  dream. 

Hamlet. 
A  dream  itself  is  but  a  shadow. 

Rosencrantz. 
Truly,  and  I  hold  ambition  of  so  airy  and  light 
a  quality,  that  it  is  but  a  shadow's  shadow. 
Hamlet. 
Then  are  our  beggars  bodies,  and  our  mon 
archs,  and  outstretched  heroes,    the  beggars' 
shadows.    Shall  we  to  the  court  ?  for,  by  my  fay, 
I  cannot  reason. 

Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 
We'll  wait  upon  you. 

Hamlet.  - 
No  such  matter :  I  will  not  sort  you  with  the 
rest  of  my  servants  ;  for,  to  speak  to  you  like  an 
honest  man,  I  am  most  dreadfully  attended. 
But,  in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship,  what  make 
you  at  Elsinoref  _ 

Rosencrantz. 

To  visit  you,  my  lord ;  no  other  occasion. 

Hamlet. 
Beggar  that  I  am,  I  am  even  poor  in  thanks  ; 
but  1  thank  you :    and  sure,  dear  friends,  my 
thanks  are  too  dear,  a  halfpenny.    Were  you 
not  sent  for  ?    Is  it  your  own  inclining  ?    Is  it 
a  free  visitation  ?    Come,  come;  deal  justly  with 
me :  come,  come ;  nay,  speak. 
Guildenstern. 
What  should  we  say,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Why  any  thing,  but  to  the  purpose.     You 
were  sent  for ;  and  there  is  a  kind  of  confession 
in  your  looks,  which  your  modesties  have  not 
craft  enough  to  colour  :   I  know,  the  good  king 
and  queen  have  sent  for  you. 
Rosencrantz. 
To  what  end,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
That  you  must  teach  me.  But  let  me  conjure 
you,  by  the  rights  of  our  fellowship,  by  the  con- 
sonancy  of  our  youth,  by  the  obligation  of  our 
ever -preserved  love,  and  by  what  more  dear  a 
better  proposer  could  charge  you  withal,  be  even 
and  direct  with  me,  whether  you  were  sent  for, 
or  no? 

Rosencrantz. 
What  say  you  ?  [To  Guildenstern. 

Hamlet. 
Nay,  then  I  have  an  eye  of  you.  [Aside.]  _ 
If  you  love  me,  hold  not  off. 

Guildenstern. 
My  lord,  we  were  sent  for. 
Hamlet. 

1  will  tell  you  why ;  so  shall  my  anticipation 
prevent  your  discovery,  and  your  secresy  to  the 
king  and  queen  moult  no  feather.    I  have  of  late, 

fbut  wherefore  I  know  not)  lost  all  my  mirth, 
brgone  all  custom  of  exercises ;  and,  indeed,  it 
goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  that  this 
goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile 
promontory ;  this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air, 
look  you,  this  brave  o'erhanging  firmament,  this 
majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it 
appeareth  nothing  to  me,  but  a  foul  and  pestilent 
congregation 


Act  h.   Sc.  n. 


1'K1N<  i:  OF  DKNMAKK. 


V? 


congregation  of  vapours.  What  a  piece  of  work 
it  a  man  !  How  noble  In  reason  I  how  infinite 
in  faculties  1  in  form,  and  moving,  how  express 
and  admirable  !  in  action,  hnw  like  an  angel  !  in 
apprehension,  how  like  a  god  1  the  beauty  of  the 
world  !  the  paragon  of  animals  1  And  yet,  to 
me.  what  is  this  quintessence  of  dust?  man  de- 
lights not  me;  no,  nor  woman  neither,  though 
by  your  smiling  you  seem  to  say  to. 
Hosencrantz. 

My  lord,  there  was  no  such  stuff  in  my 
thou«ht8'  Hamlet. 

Why  did  you  laugh,  then,  when  1  said,  man 
delights  not  me? 

Rosencrantz. 

To  think,  my  lord,  if  you  delight  not  in  man, 

what  lenten  entertainment  the  players  shall 

receive  from  you :  we  coted  them  on  the  way, 

and  hither  are  they  coming  to  offer  you  service. 

Hamlet. 

He  that  plays  the  king,  shall  be  welcome ;  his 
majesty  shall  have  tribute  of  me:  the  adven- 
turous knight  shall  use  his  foil,  and  target :  the 
lover  shall  not  sigh  gratis  :  the  humorous  man 
shall  end  his  part  in  peace :  the  clown  shall  make 
those  laugh,  whose  lungs  are  tickled  o'  the  sere ; 
and  the  lady  shall  say  her  mind  freely,  or  the 
blank  verse  shall  halt  for't. — What  players  are 
they  ? 

Hosencrantz. 

Even  those  you  were  wont  to  take  such  delight 
in.  the  tragedians  of  the  city. 
Hamlet. 

How  chances  it,  they  travel  ?  their  residence, 
both  in  reputation  and  profit,  was  better  both 
ways. 

Rosencrantz. 

I  think,  their  inhibition  comes  by  the  means 
of  the  late  innovation. 

Hamkt. 

Do  they  hold  the  same  estimation  they  did 

when  I  was  in  the  city  ?    Are  they  so  followed  ? 

Rosencrantz. 

No,  indeed,  they  are  not. 
Hamlet. 

How  comes  it  ?    Do  they  grow  rusty  ? 
Rosencrantz. 

Nay,  their  endeavour  keeps  in  the  wonted 
pace :  but  there  is,  sir,  an  eyry  of  children,  little 
eyases,  that  cry  out  on  the  top  of  question,  and 
are  most  tyrannically  clapped  for't:  these  are 
now  the  fashion ;  and  so  berattle  the  common 
stages,  (so  they  call  them)  that  many,  wearing 
rapiers,  are  afraid  of  goose  quills,  and  dare  scarce 
come  thither. 

Hamlet. 

What !  are  they  children  ?  who  maintains 
them  ?  how  are  they  escoted  ?  Will  they  pursue 
the  quality  no  longer  than  they  can  sing?  will 
they  not  say  afterwards,  if  they  should  grow 
themselves  to  common  players,  (as  it  is  most 
like,  if  their  means  are  not  better)  their  writers 
do  them  wrong,  to  make  them  exclaim  against 
their  own  succession  ? 

Rosencrantz. 

"Faith,  there  has  been  much  to  do  on  both 
sides ;  and  the  nation  holds  it  no  sin,  to  tar  re 
them  to  controversy :  there  was,  for  a  while,  no 
money  bid  for  argument,  unless  the  poet  and  the 
piayer  went  to  cuffs  in  the  question. 
Hamlet. 

Is  It  possible  ? 


0  !  there  has  been  much  throwing  about  of 
.  brains. 

let. 
Do  the  boys  carry  it  away  t 

Rosencrantz. 
Av,  that  they  do,  my  lord ;  Hercules,  and  his 
loan  too. 

■.let. 
It  is  not  very  strange ;  for  my  uncle  is  king  of 
Denmark,  and  those,  that  would  make  raowes  at 
him  while  my  father  lived,  give  twenty,  forty, 
fifty,  an  hundred  ducats  a-piece,  for  his  picture 
in  little.  'Sblood,  there  is  something  in  this 
more  than  natural.  If  philosophy  could  find  it 
out.  [Flourish  orTrumpeU  within. 

Guilden»tern. 
There  are  the  players. 

Hamlet. 
Gentlemen,   you    are  welcome  to  Elsinore. 
Your  hands.    Come,  then  ;  the  appurtenance  of 
welcome  is  fashion  and  ceremony:  let  me  comply 
with  you  in  this  garb,  lest  my  extent  to  the 
players,  (which,  1  tell  you,  must  show  fairly 
outward)  should  more  appear  like  entertainment 
than  yours.     You  are  welcome;  but  my  uncle- 
father,  and  aunt-mother,  are  deceived. 
Guildenstcrn. 
In  what,  my  dear  lord? 

Hamlet. 

1  am  but  mad  north-north-west :  when  the 
wind  is  southerly,  1  know  a  hawk  from  a  hand- 
saw. 

Enter  Polonius. 

Polonius. 
Well  be  with  you,  gentlemen  I 

Hamlet. 

Hark  you,  Guildenstern ; — and  you  too;— at 

each  ear  a  hearer:  that  great  baby,  you  see 

there,  is  not  yet  out  of  his  swathing-clouts. 

Rosencrantz. 

Haply,  he's  the  second  time  come  to  them ;  for, 

they  say,  an  old  man  is  twice  a  child. 

Hamkt. 

I  will  prophesy,  he  comes  to  tell  me  of  the 

Slayers  ;    mark    it —  You    say  right,    sir :    o* 
tonday  morning ;  'twas  then,  indeed. 

Polonius. 
'  My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you. 
Hamlet. 
My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you.    When 
Roscius  was  an  actor  in  Rome, — 
Polonius. 
The  actors  are  come  hither,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Buz,  buz  1 

Polonius. 
Upon  my  honour, — 

Hamlet. 
Then  came  each  actor  on  his  ass,  — 

Poionhu. 
The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  for  tra- 
gedy, comedy,  history,  pastoral,  pastoral-comical, 
historical-pastoral,  tragical-historical,  tragical- 
comical-historical-pastoral,    scene    individable, 
or  poem  unlimited :  Seneca  cannot  be  too  heavy, 
nor  1'lautus  too  light.     For  the  law  of  writ,  and 
the  liberty,  these  are  the  only  men. 
Hamlet. 
O  Jephthah,  Judge  of  IsracL  what  a  treasure 
hadst  thou  ! 

Poloniuf. 


HAMLET, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Polonius. 
What  a  treasure  had  he,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet, 
Why— 
"  One  fair  daughter,  and  no  more, 
The  which  he  loved  passing  well." 
Polonius. 
Still  on  my  daughter.  CAsirte. 

Hamlet. 
Am  I  not  i'  the  right,  old  Jephthah  f 

Polonius. 
If  you  call  me  Jephthah,  my  lord,  I   have  a 
daughter  that  I  love  passing  well. 
Hamlet. 
Nay,  that  follows  not. 

Polonius. 
What  follows,  then,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Why, 

"  As  by  lot,  God  wot, 
And  then,  you  know, 

"  It  came  to  pass,  as  most  like  it  was,"— 
The  first  row  of  the  pious  chanson  will  show  you 
more  ;  for  look,  where  my  abridgment  comes. 
Enter  Four  or  Five  Players. 

You  are  welcome,  masters ;  welcome,  all.— I  am 
glad  to  see  thee  well :— welcome,  good  friends.— 
O,  old  friend  1  Why,  thy  face  is  valanced  since 
I  saw  thee  last:  com'st  thou  to  beard  me  in 
Denmark?— What  1  my  young  lady  and  mis- 
tress !  By-'r-lady,  your  ladyship  is  nearer  to 
heaven,  than  when  I  saw  you  last,  by  the  altitude 
of  a  chopine.  Pray  God,  your  voice,  like  a  piece 
of  uncurrent  gold,  be  not  cracked  within  the 
ring.— Masters,  you  are  all  welcome.  We'll  e'en 
to't  like  French  falconers,  fly  at  anything  we 
see:  we'll  have  a  speech  straight.  Come,  give 
us  a  taste  of  your  quality ;  come,  a  passionate 

Speech-  First  Flayer. 

What  speech,  my  good  lord  ? 
Hamlet. 

I  heard  thee  speak  me  a  speech  once, — but  it 
was  never  acted  ;  or,  if  it  was,  not  above  once, 
for  the  play,  I  remember,  pleased  not  the  mil- 
lion ;  'twas  caviare  to  the  general :  but  it  was 
(as  1  received  it,  and  others,  whose  judgments 
iu  such  matters  cried  in  the  top  of  mine)  an  ex- 
cellent play ;  well  digested  in  the  scenes,  set 
down  with  as  much  modesty  as  cunning.  I  re- 
member, one  said,  there  were  no  sallets  in  the 
lines  to  make  the  matter  savoury,  nor  no  matter 
in  the  phrase  that  might  indict  the  author  of 
affectation,  but  called  it  an  honest  method,  as 
wholesome  as  sweet,  and  by  very  much  more 
handsome  than  fine.  One  speech  in  it  I  chiefly 
loved :  'twas  Mneas'  tale  to  Dido  ;  and  there- 
about of  it  especially,  where  he  speaks  of  Priam's 
slaughter.  If  it  live  in  your  memory,  begin  at 
this  line :— let  me  see,  let  me  see  ;— 
♦'  The  rugged   Pyrrhus,   like   the    Hyrcanian 

beast," 
—'tis  not  so  ;  it  begins  with  Pyrrhus. 
"  The  nigged  Pyrrhus, — he,  whose  sable  arms, 
*•  Black  as  his  purpose,  did  the  night  resemble 
"  When  he  lay  couched  in  the  ominous  horse, 
"  Hath  now  this  dread  and  black  complexion 

smear'd 
**  With  heraldry  more  dismal ;  head  to  foot 
"  Now  is  he  total  gules  ;  horridly  trick'd 
**  With  blood  of  fathers,  mothers,  daughters, 

sons; 
"  Bak'd  and  impasted  with  the  parching  streets, 


"  That  lend  a  tyrannous  and  a  damned  light 
"  To  their  lord's  murder :  Roasted  in  wrath,  and 
'*  And  thus  o'er-sized  with  coagulate  gore,  [fire, 
u  With  eyes  like  carbuncles,  the  hellish  Pyrrhus 
u  Old  grandsire  Priam  seeks ; " — 
So  proceed  you.       _  , 

Polonius. 
'Fore  God,  my  lord,  well  spoken  ;  with  good 
accent,  and  good  discretion. 

First  Player. 
"  Anon  he  finds  him  [sword, 

"  Striking  too  short  at  Greeks :    his  antique 
"  Rebellious  to  his  arm,  lies  where  it  falls, 
"  Repugnant  to  command.    Unequal  match'd, 
M  Pyrrhus  at  Priam  drives ;    in  rage,  strikes 

wide ; 
"  But  with  the  whiff  and  wind  of  his  fell  sword 
"  The  unnerved  father  falls.    Then  senseless 

Ilium, 
"  Seeming  to  feel  this  blow,  with  flaming  top 
"  Stoops  to  his  base ;  and  with  a  hideous  crash 
••  Takes  prisoner  Pyrrhus'  ear :   for,  lo  !  his 

sword 
M  Which  was  declining  on  the  milky  head 
"  Of  reverend  Priam,  seem'd  i'  the  air  to  stick: 
"  So,  as  a  painted  tyrant,  Pyrrhus  stood ; 
"  And,  like  a  neutral  to  his  will  and  matter, 
"  Did  nothing. 

"  But,  as  we  often  see,  against  some  storm, 
••  A  silence  in  the  heavens,  the  rack  stand  still, 
"  The  bold  winds  speechless,  and  the  orb  below 
"  As  hush  as  death,  anon  the  dreadful  thunder 
*  Doth  rend   the  region ;    so,  after  Pyrrhus* 

pause, 
"  Aroused  vengeance  sets  him  new  a-work, 
"  And  never  did  the  Cyclops'  hammers  fall 
"  On  Mars's  armour,  forg'd  for  proof  eterne, 
"  With    less  remorse  than  Pyrrhus'  bleeding 
"  Now  falls  on  Priam. —  [sword 

"  Out,  out,  thou  strumpet,  Fortune!    All  you 

gods, 
"  In  general  synod,  take  away  her  power; 
*'  Break  all  the  spokes  and  fellies  from    her 

wheel, 
■  And  bowl  the  round  nave  down  the  hill  of 
"  As  low  as  to  the  fiends  1"  [heaven, 

Polonius. 
This  is  too  long.   „      . 

Hamlet. 

It  shall  to  the  barber's,  with  your  beard.— 

Pr'ythee,  say  on: — he's  for  a  jig,  or  a  tale  of 

bawdry,  or  he  sleeps. — Say  on :  come  to  Hecuba. 

First  Player. 

"  But  who,   0 1  who  had  seen  the  mobled 

queen  " — 

Hamlet. 
The  mobled  queen  ? 

Polonius. 
That's  good ;  mobled  queen  is  good. 

First  Player. 
M  Run  barefoot  up  and  down,  threat'ning  the 
flames 
"  With  bisson  rheum  ;  a  clout  upon  that  head, 
"  Where  late  the  diadem  stood ;  and,  for  a  robe, 
"  About  her  lank  and  all  o'erteemed  loins, 
"  A  blanket,  in  th'  alarm  of  fear  caught  up; 
**  Who  this  had  seen,  with  tongue  in  venom 

steep'd 
"  'Gainst   fortune's  state  would  treason  have 

pronounc'd : 
•'  But  if  the  gods  themselves  did  see  her  then, 
"  When  she  saw  Pyrrhus  make  malicious  sport 
"  In    mincing  with  his  sword  her  husband's 

limbs, 
•'  The  instant  burst  of  clamour  that  she  made, 
"  (Un'ess 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


ruiNCE  OF  DENMARK 


919 


"  ( (Inlets  things  mortal  more  thorn  not  at  all) 
••  WOttld  hare  ramie  milch  the  burning  eye*  of 
"  And  passion  in  the  gods."  [heaven, 

I'olonlu*. 
Look,  whether  he  has  not  turned  hit  colour, 
and  has  tears  in's  eyes  I —  IVy thee,  no  more. 

Hamlet. 
'Tls  well ;  I'll  have  thee  speak  out  the  rest  of 
this  soon.  — Good  my  lord,  will  you  see  the 
players  well  bestowed"?  Do  you  hear,  let  them 
be  well  used;  for  they  are  the  abstracts,  and 
brief  chronicles,  of  the  lime:  after  your  death 

?ou  were  better  have  a  bad  epitaph," than  their 
II  report  while  you  live. 

Folonius. 
My  lord,  I  will  use  them  according  to  their 
desert. 

Hamlet. 

God's  bodkin,  man,  much  better:  use  every 

man  after  his  desert,  and  who  should  'scape 

whipping?    Use  them  after  your  own  honour 

»nd  dignity:  the  less  they  deserve,  the  more 

nerit  is  in  your  bounty.    Take  them  in. 

Polonius. 

Come,  sirs. 

f  Exit  Polonius,  with  some  of  the  Play  en. 

Hamlet. 

Follow  him,  friends:   we'll  hear  a  play  to- 
morrow.—  Dost  thou  hear  me,  old  friend  ?  can 
you  play  the  murder  of  Gonzago? 
First  Player. 

Ay,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

We'll  have  it  to-morrow  night.  You  could, 
for  a  need,  study  a  speech  of  some  dozen  or 
sixteen  lines,  which  I  would  set  down  and  insert 
in't,  could  you  not  ? 

First  Player. 

Ay,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

Very  well.  — Follow  that  lord;  and  look  you 

mock  him  not.  [Exit  Player.]  My  good  friends, 

[To  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern.']   I'll  leave 

you  till  night :  you  are  welcome  to  Elsinore. 

Rosencrantz. 

Good  my  lord  1 

[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 
Hamlet. 

Ay,  so,  good  bye  you.— Now  I  am  alone. 
O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I ! 
Is  it  not  monstrous,  that  this  player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion, 
Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit, 
That,  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  wann'd; 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in  his  aspect, 
A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 
With  forms  to  his  conceit?  and  all  for  nothing! 
For  Hecuba? 

What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba,      [do, 
That  he  should  weep  for  her  ?    What  would  he 
Had  he  the  motive  and  the  cue  for  passion, 
That  I  have.    He  would  drown  the  stage  with 

tears, 
And  cleave  the  general  ear  with  horrid  speech ; 
Make  mad  the  guilty,  and  appal  the  free. 
Confound  the  ignorant ;  and  amaze,  indeed, 
The  very  faculties  of  eyes  and  ears.    Yet  I, 
A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak, 
Like  John  a-dreams,  unpregnant  of  my  cause, 
And  can  say  nothing;  no,  not  for  a  king. 
Upon  whose  property,  and  most  dear  life, 
A  damn'd  defeat  was  made.    Am  I  a  coward  ? 
Who  calls  me  villain  ?  breaks  my  pate  across  ? 


Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  It  in  my  face? 

1  Tweaks  me  by  the  nose?  gives  me  the  lie  i*  the 
throat, 

I  As  deep  as  to  the  lungs?    Who  does  me  this? 
Ha! 

!  'Swounds !  I  should  take  it ;  for  it  cannot  be, 
But  I  am  plgeon-liver'd,  and  lack  gall 

1  To  make  oppression  bitter,  or  ere  thl» 
I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 
With  this  slave's  offal.    Bloody,  bawdy  villain  ! 
Bemorseless,  treacherous,    lecherous,  kindles* 
O,  vengeance !  [villain  1 

!  Why,  what  an  ass  am  I !    This  is  most  brave  ; 

!  That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murder'd, 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell, 
Must,  like  a  whore,  unpack  my  heart  with  word*, 
And  fall  a  cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 
A  scullion  I 

Fie  upon't  1  foh !  About  my  brain !  I  have  heard, 
That  guilty  creatures,  sitting  at  a  play, 
Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 
Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 
They  have  proclaim'd  their  malefactions  ; 
For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will 
speak  [player* 

With  most  miraculous  organ.     I'll  have  tne»e 
Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father, 
Before  mine  uncle :  I'll  observe  his  looks  ; 
I'll  tent  him  to  the  quick  :  if  he  but  blench, 
I  know  my  course.    The  spirit,  that  I  have  seen, 
May  be  the  devil :  and  the  devil  hath  power 
T'  assume  a  pleasing  shape ;  yea,  and,  perhaps, 
Out  of  my  weakness,  and  my  melancholy, 
As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits, 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me.    I'll  have  ground* 
More  relative  than  this :  the  play'*  the  thing, 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  kini 


nag. 


xit. 


ACT  IIL 

SCENE  L    A  Room  In  the  Castle. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Polonius,  Ophelia, 
Rosencrantz,  and  Guildenstern. 

King. 
A  ND  can  you,  by  no  drift  of  conference, 
•**■  Get  from  him,  why  he  puts  on  this  confu- 
Grating  so  harshly  all  his  day*  of  quiet      [sion, 
With  turbulent  and  dangerous  lunacy  ? 
Rosencrantz. 
He  does  confess,  he  feels  himself  distracted  ; 
But  from  what  cause  he  will  by  no  means  speak. 
Guildenstern. 
Nor  do  we  find  him  forward  to  be  sounded, 
!  But  with  a  crafty  madness  keeps  aloof, 
,  When  we  would  bring  him  on  to  some  confes. 
!  Of  his  true  state.  [sion 

Queen. 
Did  he  receive  you  well  ? 
Rosencrantz. 
I     Most  like  a  gentleman. 

Guildenstern. 
I     But  with  much  forcing  of  his  disposition. 
Rosencrantz . 
Niggard  of  question  ;  but,  of  our  demands, 
Most  free  in  his  reply. 

Queen. 

Did  you  assay  him 
1  To  any  pastime  ?  _ 

Rosencrantx. 


920 


HAMLET, 


Act  in.  Sc.  I. 


Rosencrantz. 
Madam,  it  so  fell  out,  that  certain  players  | 

We  o'er-raught  on  the  way :   of  these  we  told 
And  there  did  seem  In  him  a  kind  of  joy    [him;  [ 
To  hear  of  it.     They  are  about  the  court ; 
And,  as  1  think,  they  have  already  order 
This  night  to  play  before  him. 
Polonius. 

'Tis  most  true : 
And  he  beseech'd  me  to  entreat  your  majesties, 
To  hear  and  see  the  matter. 
King. 
With  all  my  heart ;  and  it  doth  much  content 
To  hear  him  so  inclin'd.  [me 

Good  gentlemen,  give  him  a  farther  edge, 
And  drive  his  purpose  on  to  these  delights. 
Rosencrantz. 
We  shall,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstcrn. 

King. 
Sweet  Gertrude,  leave  us  too  ; 
For  we  have  closely  sent  for  Hamlet  hither, 
That  he,  as  'twere  by  accident,  may  here 
Affront  Ophelia  :  her  father,  and  myself  (lawful 

espials) 
Will  so  bestow  ourselves,  that,  seeing,  unseen, 
We  may  of  their  encounter  frankly  j  mlge  j 
And  gather  by  him,  as  he  is  behav'd, 
1ft  be  th'  affliction  of  his  love,  or  no, 
That  thus  he  suffers  for. 

Queen. 

I  shall  obey  you.— 
And,  for  your  part,  Ophelia,  I  do  wish, 
That  your  good  beauties  be  the  happy  cause 
Of  Hamlet's  wildness  ;  so  shall  I  hope,  your 

virtues 
Will  bring  him  to  his  wonted  way  again, 
To  both  your  honours. 

Ophelia. 

Madam,  I  wish  it  may. 
[Exit  Queen. 
Polonius. 
Ophelia,  walk  you  here.— -Gracious,  so  please 
you, 
We  will  bestow  ourselves — Read  on  this  book ; 
[To  Ophelia. 
That  show  of  such  an  exercise  may  colour 
Your  loneliness.— We  are  oft  to  blame  in  this,— 
'Tis  too  much  prov'd,— that,  with  devotion's 
And  pious  action,  we  do  sugar  o'er  [visage, 

The  devil  himself. 

King. 
O !  'tis  too  true :  [Aside]  how  smart 
A  lash  that  speech  doth  give  my  conscience ! 
The  harlot's  cheek,  beautied  with  plastering  j 

art, 
Is  not  more  ugly  to  the  thing  that  helps  it, 
Than  is  my  deed  to  my  most  painted  word. 
O  heavy  burden ! 

Polonius. 
I  hear  him  coming :  let's  withdraw  my  lord. 
[Exeunt  Ktng  and  Polonius. 

Enter  Hamlet. 
Hamlet. 
To  be,  or  not  to  be  ;  that  is  the  question  :  — 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing  end   them?  — To   die, — to 

sleep,— 
No  more ;  —  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to,— 'tis  a  consummation 


Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.    To  die  ;  —  to  sleep  :  — 
To  sleep!  perchance  to  dream:  —  ay,  there's 
the  rub ;  *      [come, 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause.    There's  the  respect 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life :  [time, 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of 
The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  con- 
tumely, 
The  pangs  of  despis'd  love,  the  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin?  who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 
The  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns, — puzzles  the  will, 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought, 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  regard  their  currents  turn  awry, 

And  lose  the  name  of  action Soft  you,  now  ! 

The  fair  Ophelia— Nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remember'd. 
Ophelia. 

Good  my  lord, 
How  does  your  honour  for  this  many  a  day  ? 

Hamlet. 
I  humbly  thank  you  ;  well,  well,  well. 

Ophelia. 
My  lord,  I  have  remembrances  of  yours, 
That  I  have  longed  long  to  re-deliver ; 
1  pray  you,  now  receive  them. 
Hamlet. 

No,  not  I ; 
I  never  gave  you  aught. 

Ophelia. 

My  honour'd  lord,  I  know  right  well  you  did ; 

And  with  them,  words  of  so  sweet  breath  com- 

pos'd, 
As  made  the  things  more  rich :  their  perfume 
Take  these  again ;  for  to  the  noble  mind,   [lost, 
Rich  gifts  wax  poor  when  givers  prove  unkind. 
There,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Ha,  ha !  are  you  honest  ? 

Ophelia. 
My  lord ! 

Hamlet. 
Are  you  fair  ? 

Ophelia. 
What  means  your  lordship  ? 

Hamlet. 
That  if  you  be  honest,  and  fair,  your  honesty 
should  admit  no  discourse  to  your  beauty. 
Ophelia. 
Could  beauty,  my  lord,  have  better  commerce 
than  with  honesty  ? 

Hamlet. 

Ay,  truly;  for  the  power  of  beauty  will  sooner 

transform  honesty  from  what  it  is  to  a  bawd, 

than  the  force  of  honesty  can  translate  beauty 

into  his  likeness:  this  was  some  timeaparadox, 

but  now  the  time  gives  it  proof.    I  did  love  you 

once.  ~  ,    ,- 

Ophelia. 

Indeed,  my  lord,  you  made  me  believe  so. 

Hamlet. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


9*1 


Hamlet. 
You  should  not  have  believed  mc;  for  virtue 
cannot  so  inoculate  our  old  stock,  but  we  shall 
reli-h  of  it.     I  loved  you  not. 

I  was  the  more  deceived. 

Bm 

Get  thee  to  a  nunnery :  why  would'st  thou  be 
a  breedet  of  sinners  P  I  am  myself  indifferent 
tMMH  >t :  hut  yet  I  could  accuse  me  of  such  things 
that  it  were  "better,  my  mother  had  not  borne 
me.  I  am  very  proud,  revengeful,  ambitious ; 
with  more  offences  at  my  beck,  than  I  have 
thoughts  to  put  them  In,  imagination  to  give 
them  shape,  or  time  to  act  them  In.  What 
should  such  fellows  as  I  do  crawling  between 
heaven  and  earth  ?  We  are  arrant  knaves,  all ; 
believe  none  of  us.  Go  thy  ways  to  a  nunnery. 
Where's  your  father? 

Ophelia. 

At  home,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

Let  the  doors  be  shut  upon  him,  that  he  may 
play  the  fool  no  where  but  in's  own  house. 
Farewell. 

Ophelia. 

0  !  help  him,  you  sweet  heavens  ! 

Hamlet. 

If  thou  dost  marry,  I'll  give  thee  this  plague 

for  thy  dowry :  be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure 

as  snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny.    Get 

thee  to  a  nunnery ;  farewell.    Or,  if  thou  wilt 

needs  marry,  marry  a  fool,  for  wise  men  know 

well  enough  what  monsters  you  make  of  them. 

To  a  nunnery,  go ;  and  quickly  too.     Farewell. 

Ophelia. 

Heavenly  powers,  restore  him  ! 

Hamlet. 

1  have  heard  of  your  paintings  too,  well 
enough  :  God  hath  given  you  one  face,  and  you 
make  yourselves  another :  you  jig,  you  amble, 
and  you  lisp,  and  nickname  God's  creatures,  and 
make  your  wantonness  your  ignorance.  Go  to  ; 
I'll  no  more  on^t :  it  hath  made  me  mad.  I  say, 
we  will  have  no  more  marriages  :  those  that  are 
married  already,  all  but  one,  shall  live  ;  the  rest 
shall  keep  as  they  are.    To  a  nunnery,  go. 

[ExitT/rtw/.f. 
Ophelia. 
O,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  ! 
The  courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's,  eye,  tongue, 

sword : 
Th'  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state, 
The  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form, 
Th'  observ'd  of  all  observers,  quite,  quite  down  ! 
And  I,  of  ladies  most  deject  and  wretched, 
That  suck'd  the  honey  of  his  music  vows, 
Now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason, 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh  ; 
That  unmatch'd  form  and  feature  of  blown  youth, 
Blasted  with  ecstasy.     O,  woe  is  me  I 
To  have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  see  what  I  see  1 

Re-enter  Kiue  and  Polonius. 

King. 

Love  !  his  affections  do  not  that  way  tend  ; 

Nor  what  he  spake,  though  it  lack'd  form  a  little, 

Was  not  like  madness.    There's  something  in 

his  soul, 
O'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood  ; 
And,  I  do  doubt,  the  hatch,  and  the  disclose, 
"Will  be  some  danger  :  which  for  to  prevent, 
I  have,  in  quick  determination,  [land, 

Thus  set  it  down.     He  shall  with  speed  to  Eng- 
For  the  demand  of  our  neglected  tribute : 


Haptj \  the  seas,  and  countries  different, 
With  variable  objects,  shall  expel 
This  something  settled  matter  in  his  heart ; 
u  hereon  his  brains  still  beating  puts  him  thus 
From  fashion  of  himself.  What  think  you  on't  t 
Polonius. 
It  shall  do  well :  but  yet  do  I  believe, 
The  origin  and  commencement  of  his  grief 
Sprung  from  neglected  love. — How  now,  Ophelia! 
You  need  not  tell  us  what  lord  Hamlet  said  ; 
We  heard  it  all.— My  lord,  do  as  you  please  ; 
But,  if  you  hold  it  lit,  after  the  play 
Let  his  queen  mother  all  alone  entreat  him 
To  show  his  griefs :  let  her  be  round  with  him  ; 
And  I'll  be  plac'd,  so  please  you,  in  the  ear 
Of  all  their  conference.     If  she  find  him  not, 
To  England  send  him  ;  or  confine  him  where 
Your  wisdom  best  shall  think. 

King. 

It  shall  be  so : 
Madness  in  great  ones  must  not  unwatch'd  go. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Hall  In  the  same. 

Enter  Hamlet,  and  certain  Players. 

Hamlet. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced 

it  to  you,  trippingly  on  the  tongue  ;  but  if  you 

mouth  it,  as  many  of  your  players  do,  I  had  as 

I  lief  the  town-crief  spoke  my  lines.    Nor  do  not 

saw  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand,  thus ;  but 

I  use  all  gently :  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest, 

!  and  (as  I  may  say)  whirlwind  of  passion,  you 

!  must  acquire  and  beget  a  temperance,  that  may 

!  give  it  smoothness.    O !  it  offends  me  to  the 

|  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious  periwig-pated  fellow 

I  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags,  to  split 

,  the  ears  of  the  groundlings  ;  who,  for  the  most 

{  part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable 

i  dumb  shows,  and  noise :  I  would  have  such  a 

I  fellow  whipped  for  o'er-doing  Termagant ;   it 

out-herods  Herod :  pray  you  avoid  it. 

First  Player. 

I  warrant  your  honour. 

Hamlet. 
Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your  own 
discretion  be  your  tutor :  suit  the  action  to  the 
word,  the  word  to  the  action,  with  this  special 
observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not  the  modesty 
of  nature  ;  for  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from  the 
purpose  of  playing,  whose  end,  both  at  the  first, 
and  now,  was,  and  is,  to  hold,  as  'twere,  the 
mirror  up  to  nature ;  to  show  virtue  her  own 
feature,  scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age 
and  body  of  the  time,  his  form  and  pressure. 
Now,  this  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though 
it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make 
the  judicious  grieve  ;  the  censure  of  which  one 
must,  in  your  allowance,  o'er-weigh  a  whole 
theatre  of  others.  O  !  there  be  players,  that  I 
have  seen  play, — and  heard  others  praise,  and 
that  highly,— not  to  speak  it  profanely,  that, 
neither  having  the  accent  of  Christians,  nor  the 
gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so 
strutted,  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some 
of  nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not 
made  them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so 
abominably. 

First  Player. 
I  hope,  we  have  reformed  that  indifferently 
with  us. 

Hamlet. 

O  !  reform  it  altogether.    And  let  those,  that 

play  your  clowns,  speak  no  more  than  is  set 

down 


93* 


HAMLET, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


down  for  them  :  for  there  be  of  them,  that  will 
themselves  laugh,  to  set  on  some  quantity  of 
barren  spectators  to  laugh  too ;  though  in  the 
mean  time  some  necessary  question  of  the  play 
be  then  to  be  considered:  that's  villainous,  and 
shows  a  most  pitiful  ambition  in  the  fool  that 
uses  it.    Go,  make  you  ready.--, 

[Exeunt  Players. 

Enter  Polonius,  Rosencrantz,  and  Guildenstcrn. 

How  now,  my  lord!  will  the  king  hear  this 
piece  of  work  ? 

Polomus. 
And  the  queen  too,  and  that  presently. 

Hamlet. 
Bid  the  players  make  haste—  „.,   .    „ 

[Exit  Polonius. 
Will  you  two  help  to  hasten  them  ? 
Both. 
We  will,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstcrn. 

Hamlet. 
What,  ho!  Horatio! 

Enter  Horatio. 
Horatio. 
Here,  sweet  lord,  at  your  service. 

Hamlet. 
Horatio,  thou  art  e'en  as  just  a  man 
As  e'er  my  conversation  cop'd  withal. 
Horatio. 
O !  my  dear  lord, — 

Hamlet. 

Nay,  do  not  think  I  flatter  ; 
For  what  advancement  may  I  hope  from  thee, 
That  no  revenue  hast,  but  thy  good  spirits, 
To  feed  and  clothe  thee  ?    Why  should  the  poor 

be  flatter'd  ? 
No  ;  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp, 
And  crook  the  pregnant  hinges  of  the  knee, 
Where  thrift  mav  follow  fawning.    Dost  thou 

hear? 
Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice, 
And  could  of  men  distinguish,  her  election 
Hath  seal'd  thee  for  herself:  for  thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing  ; 
A  man,  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 
Hast  ti'en  with  equal  thanks:  and  bless'd  are 

those, 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well   co- 
mingled, 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please.    Give  me  that 

man 
That  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 
In  my  heart's  core,  ay,  in  my  heart  of  heart, 
As  1  do  thee.  —  Something  too  much  of  this.— 
There  is  a  play  to-night  before  the  king  ; 
One  scene  of  it  comes  near  the  circumstance, 
Which  I  have  told  thee,  of  my  father's  death 
I  pr'ythee,  when  thou  seest  that  act  a-foot, 
Even  with  the  very  comment  of  thy  soul 
Observe  mine  uncle :  if  his  occulted  guilt 
Do  not  itself  unkennel  in  one  speech, 
It  is  a  damned  ghost  that  we  have  seen, 
And  my  imaginations  are  as  foul 
As  Vulcan's  stithy.     Give  him  heedful  note ; 
For  I  mine  eyes  will  rivet  to  his  face, 
And,  after,  we  will  both  our  judgments  join 
In  censure  of  his  seeming. 
Horatio. 

Well,  my  lord ; 
If  he  steal  aught  the  whilst  this  play  is  playing, 
And  'scape  detecting,  I  will  pay  the  theft. 


Hamlet. 
They  are  coming  to  the  play:  I  must  be  idle; 
Get  you  a  place. 

Danish  March.  A  Flourish.  Enter  King,  Queen, 
Polonius,  Ophelia,  Rosencrantx,  Guildenstern, 
and  others. 

King. 
How  fares  our  cousin  Hamlet? 

Hamlet. 
Excellent,  i'  faith ;  of  the  camelion's  dish :  I 
eat  the  air,  promise-crammed.  You  cannot  feed 
capons  so. 

King. 
I  have  nothing  with  this  answer,  Hamlet: 
these  words  are  not  mine. 

Hamlet. 

No.  nor  mine  now.  — My  lord,  you  played 

once  in  the  university,  you  say  ?    [To  Polonius. 

Polonius. 

That  did  I,  my  lord;  and  was  accounted  a 

good  actor. 

Hamlet. 
And  what  did  you  enact? 

Polonius. 
I  did  enact  Julius  Ccesar  :  I  was  killed  i'  the 
Capitol i  Brutus  killed  me. 
Hamlet. 
It  was  a  brute  part  of  him  to  kill  so  capital  a 
calf  there — Be  the  players  ready? 
Rosencrantz. 
Ay,  my  lord ;  they  stay  upon  your  patience. 

Queen. 
Come  hither,  my  dear  Hamlet,  sit  by  me. 

Hamlet. 
No,   good   mother,   here's  metal   more  at- 
tractive. 

Polonius. 

0  ho !  do  you  mark  that  ?  [To  the  King. 

Hamlet. 
Lady,  shall  I  lie  in  your  lap? 

[Lying  down  at  Ophelia  s  Feet. 

Ophelia. 
No,  my  lord. 

'  Hamlet. 

1  mean,  my  head  upon  your  lap  ? 

Ophelia. 
Ay,  my  lord. 

Hamlet, 
Do  you  think,  I  meant  country  matters  ? 

Ophelia. 
I  think  nothing,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
i     That's  a  fair  thought  to  lie  between  maids' 
,  legs. 

Ophelia. 
What  is,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
!     Nothing. 

Ophelia. 
You  are  merry,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Who,  I? 

Ophelia. 
Ay,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
O  God!  your  only  jig-maker.    What  should 
a  man  do,  but  be  merry  ?  for,  look  you,  how 
cheerfully  my  mother  looks,  and  my  father  died 
within  these  two  hours. 

Ophelia. 
Nay,  'tis  twice  two  months,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  n. 


PHlNCi:  OF  DKNMAKK. 


9*1 


So  long  ?  Nay  then,  let  the  devil  wear  black, 
for  I'll  have  a  suit  of  tables.  O  heavens  I  die 
two  months  ago,  and  not  forgotten  yet  ?  Then 
there's  hope,  a  great  man's  memory  may  outlive 
hislife  halfaycar;  but,  by'r-lady,  lie  must  build 
church^  then,  or  else  shall  tie  sutFer  not  thinking 
on,  with  the  hobbv-horse ;  whose  epitaph  Is, 
"  For,  O  I  for,  O !  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot." 

Trumpets  sound.    The  dumb  Show  enters. 

a  King  and  lovingly;  the 

"..'  kneels,  and  makes 
•how  of  protestation  unto  him.  lie  takes  her 
tip,  and  declines  his  head  upon  her  neck;  lays 
him  down  upon  a -batik  of  flowers:  she,  seeing 
him  ailr<p,  li'.nes  him.  Anon  comes  in  a 
Wtov  -  it,  and  pours 

The 
Queen  returns,  fin" I  '  i  makes 

poisoner,  with  some 
two  or  three  Mutes,  comes  in  again,  seeming 
to  lament  with  her.  The  dead  body  is  carried 
away.  The  poisoner  woos  the  Queen  with 
gifts:  she  seems  loath  and  unwilling  awhile; 
but  in  the  end  accepts  his  love.         [Exeunt. 

Ophelia. 
What  means  this,  ray  lord? 

Hamlet. 
Marry,  this  is  miching  mallecho;  it  means 
mischief. 

Ophelia. 
Belike,  this  show  imports  the  argument  of  the 
play. 

Enter  Prologue. 

Hamlet. 

We  shall  know  by  this  fellow:  the  players 

cannot  keep  counsel;  they'll  tell  all. 

Ophelia. 

Will  he  tell  us  what  this  show  meant  ? 

Hamlet. 
Ay,  or  any  show  that  you  will  show  him :  be 
not  you  ashamed  to  show,  he'll  not  shame  to  tell 
you  what  it  means. 

Ophelia. 
You  are  naught,  you  are  naught     I'll  mark 
the  play. 

Prologue. 

"  For  us,  and  for  our  tragedy, 

Here  stooping  to  your  clemency, 

We  beg  your  hearing  patiently." 

Hamlet. 

Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  poesy  of  a  ring? 

Ophelia. 
'Tis  brief,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
As  woman's  love. 

Enter  a  King  and  a  Quren. 
King. 

Full  thirty  times  hath  Phoebus'  cart  gone  round 
Neptune't  salt  wash,  and  Tellus*  orbed  ground; 
4nd  thirty  dozen  moons,  with  borrow'd  sheen, 
About  the  world  have  times  twelve  thirties  been ; 
Since  love  our  hearts,  and  Hymen  did  our  hands, 
Unite  commutual  in  most  sacred  bands. 
Flayer  Qu. 

So  many  journeys  may  the  sun  and  moon 
Make  us  again  count  o'er,  ere  love  be  done. 
But,  woe  is  me !  you  are  so  sick  of  late, 
So  far  from  cheer,  and  from  your  former  state, 
That  I  distrust  you.     Yet,  though  I  distrust, 
Discomfort  you,  my  lord,  it  nothing  must ; 


For  women's  fear  and  love  hold  quantity, 
In  neither  aught,  or  In  extremity. 
I  Now,  what  my  love  is,  proof  hath  made  you  know, 
i  And  as  my  love  Is  siz'd,  my  fear  is  so. 
Where  love  is  great,  the  littlest  doubts  are  fear  ! 
Where  little  fears  grow  great,  great  love  grows 
there. 

Flayer  King. 
'Faith,  I  must  leave  thee,  love,  and  shortly 
too ; 
My  operant  powers  their  functions  leave  to  do  : 
And  thou  shall  live  in  this  fair  world  behind, 
Honour'd,  belov'd  ;  and,  haply,  one  as  kind 
For  husband  shalt  thou  — 

Flayer  Queen. 

O,  confound  the  rest  1 
Such  love  must  needs  be  treason  in  my  breast : 
In  second  husband  let  me  be  accurst ; 
None  wed  the  second,  but  who  kill'd  the  first. 
Hamlet.  |  Aside. 

Wormwood,  wormwood. 

Flayer  Queen. 
The  instances,  that  second  marriage  move, 
Are  base  respects  of  thrift,  but  none  of  love : 
A  second  time  I  kill  my  husband  dead. 
When  second  husband  kisses  me  in  bed. 
Flayer  King. 
I  do  believe  you  think  what  now  you  speak, 
But  what  we  do  determine  oft  we  break. 
Purpose  is  but  the  slave  to  memory, 
Of  violent  birth,  but  poor  validity ; 
Which  now,  like  fruit  unripe,  sticks  on  the  tree, 
But  fall,  unshaken,  when  they  mellow  be. 
Most  necessary  'tis,  that  we  forget 
To  pay  ourselves  what  to  ourselves  Is  debt : 
What  to  ourselves  in  passion  we  propose. 
The  passion  ending,  doth  the  purpose  lose. 
The  violence  of  either  grief  or  joy 
Their  own  enactures  with  themselves  destroy  : 
Where  joy  most  revels,  grief  doth  most  lament  * 
Grief  joys,  joy  grieves,  on  slender  accident. 
This  world  is  not  for  aye  ;  nor  'tis  not  strange, 
That  even  our  loves  should  with  our  fortunes 

change ; 
For  'tis  a  question  left  us  yet  to  prove. 
Whether  love  lead  fortune,  or  else  fortune  love. 
The  great  man  down,  you  mark  his  favourite 

flies  ; 
The  poor  advane'd  makes  friends  of  enemies : 
And  hitherto  doth  love  on  fortune  tend, 
For  who  not  needs  shall  never  lack  a  friend  ; 
And  who  in  want  a  hollow  friend  doth  try, 
Directly  seasons  him  his  enemy. 
But,  orderly  to  end  where  I  begun, 
Our  wills  and  fates  do  so  contrary  run, 
That  our  devices  still  are  overthrown  ; 
Our  thoughts  are  ours,  their  ends  uone  of  our 

own  : 
So  think  thou  wilt  no  second  husband  wed, 
But  die  thy  thoughts,  when  thy  first  lord  is 
dead. 

Player  Queen. 
Nor  earth  to  me  give  food,  nor  heaven  light  ! 
Oport  and  repose  lock  from  me,  day  and  night ! 
;  To  desperation  turn  my  trust  and  hope  ! 
An  anchor's  cheer  in  prison  be  my  scope ! 
Each  opposite,  that  blanks  the  face  of  joy, 
,  Meet  what  I  would  have  well,  and  it  destroy  ! 
Both  here,  and  hence,  pursue  me  lasting  strife, 
If,  once  a  widow,  ever  1  be  wife  1 
Hamlet. 
If  she  should  break  it  now, — 
Player  Kin;,' 

I'Tis  deeply  sworn.    Sweet,  leave  me  here  a 
while: 
My 


9M 


HAMLET, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iz.  i 


My  spirits  grow  dull,  and  fain  I  would  beguile 
The  tedious  day  with  sleep.  [Sleeps. 

Player  Queen. 

Sleep  rock  thy  brain  : 
And  never  come  mischance  between  us  twain  I 

[Exit. 
Hamlet. 
Madam,  how  like  you  this  play  ? 

Queen. 

The  lady  doth  protest  too  much,  methinks. 

Hamlet. 

0  !  but  she'll  keep  her  word. 

King. 
Have  you  heard  the  argument  ?    Is  there  no 
offence  in't  ? 

Hamlet. 
No,  no ;  they  do  but  jest,  poison  in  jest :  no 
offence  i'  the  world. 

King. 
What  do  you  call  the  play  ? 
Hamlet. 
The  mouse-trap.    Marry,  how  ?    Tropically. 
This  play  is  the  image  of  a  murder  done  in 
Vienna :  Gonzago  is  the  duke's  name  ;  his  wife, 
Baptista.    You  shall  see  anon :  'tis  a  knavish 
piece  of  work  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  your  majesty, 
and  we  that  have  free  souls,  it  touches  us  not: 
let  the  galled  jade  wince,  our  withers  are  un- 
wrung. 

Enter  Lucianus. 
This  is  one  Lucianus,  nephew  to  the  king. 
Ophelia. 
You  are  as  good  as  a  chorus,  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 

1  could  interpret  between  you  and  your  love, 
if  I  could  see  the  puppets  dallying. 

Ophelia. 
You  are  keen,  my  lord,  you  are  keen. 

Hamlet. 
It  would  cost  you  a  groaning  to  take  off  my 
edge. 

Ophelia. 
Still  better,  and  worse. 

Hamlet. 

So  you  must  take  your  husbands — Begin, 

murderer :  leave  thy  damnable  faces,  and  begin. 

Come:  —  The  croaking  raven  doth  bellow  for 

revenge. 

Lucianus. 
Thoughts  black,  hands  apt,  drugs   fit,  and 
time  agreeing ; 
Confederate  season,  else  no  creature  seeing  ; 
Thou  mixture  rank,  of  midnight   weeds  col- 
lected, 
With  Hecate's  ban  thrice  blasted,  thrice  in- 
Thy  natural  magic  and  dire  property,     [fected, 
On  wholesome  life  usurp  immediately. 

[Pours  the  Poison  into  the  Sleeper  s  Ears. 
Hamlet. 
He  poisons  him  i'  the  garden  for  his  estate. 
His  name's  Gonzago  :  the  story  is  extant,  and 
writen  in  very  choice  Italian.  You  shall  see 
anon,  how  the  murderer  gets  the  love  of  Gon- 
awgo'swife. 

Ophelia. 
The  king  rises. 

Hamlet. 
What !  frighted  with  false  fire  ? 

Queen. 
How  fares  my  lord  ? 

Polonius. 
Give  o'er  the  play. 


King. 
Give  me  some  light !  — away  ! 

All. 
Lights,  lights,  lights ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Hamlet  and  Horatio. 

Hamlet. 
Why,  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  hart  ungalled  play ; 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  sleep : 
Thus  runs  the  world  away.  — 
Would  not  this,  sir,  and  a  forest  of  feathers,  (if 
the  rest  of  my  fortunes  turn  Turk  with  me)  with 
two  Provincial  roses  on  my  razed  shoes,  get  me 
a  fellowship  in  a  cry  of  players,  sir  ? 
Horatio. 
Haifa  share. 

Hamlet. 
A  whole  one,  I. 
For  thou  dost  know,  0  Damon  dear ! 

This  realm  dismantled  was 
Of  Jove  himself ;  and  now  reigns  here 
A  very,  very— peacock. 

Horatio. 
You  might  have  rhymed. 

Hamlet. 

0  good  Horatio!  I'll  take  the  ghost's  word 
for  a  thousand  pound.    Didst  perceive  ? 

Horatio. 
Very  well,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Upon  the  talk  of  the  poisoning,— 

Horatio. 

1  did  very  well  note  him. 

Hamlet. 
Ah,  ha!— Come;   some  music!   come;  the 
recorders  ! 
For  if  the  king  like  not  the  comedy, 
Why  then,  belike,— he  likes  it  not,  perdy — 

Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 
Come ;  some  music ! 

Guildenstern. 
Good  my  lord,  vouchsafe  me  a  word  with  you. 

Hamlet. 
Sir,  a  whole  history. 

Guildenstern. 
The  king,  sir,— 

Hamlet.' 
Ay,  sir,  what  of  him  ? 

Guildenstern. 
Is  in  his  retirement  marvellous  distempered. 

Hamlet. 
With  drink,  sir? 

Guildenstern. 

No,  my  lord,  with  choler. 

Hamlet. 

Your  wisdom  should  show  itself  more  richer, 

to  signify  this  to  his  doctor  ;  for,  for  me  to  put 

him  to  his  purgation  would,  perhaps,  plunge 

him  into  more  choler. 

Guildenstern. 
Good  my  lord,  put  your  discourse  into  some 
frame,  and.  start  not  so  wildly  from  my  affair. 
Hamlet. 
I  am  tame,  sir :— pronounce. 
Guildenstern. 
The  queen  your  mother,  in  most  great  afflic- 
tion of  spirit,  hath  sent  me  to  you. 
Hamlet. 
You  are  welcome. 

Guildenstern. 


Act  mi.  8c,  in. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


9*5 


Nay,  good  my  lord,  this  courtesy  it  not  of  the 
right  breed.  If  It  shall  please  y<iu  t<>  make  me 
a  wholesome  answer,  1  will  do  your  mother's 
commandment ;  if  not,  your  pardon  and  my 
return  shall  be  the  end  of  my  business. 
Hamlet. 
Sir,  I  cannot. 

Guildenstcrn. 

What,  my  lord  ? 

let. 

Make  you  a  wholesome  answer;  my  wit's 
diseased :  but,  sir,  such  answer  as  I  can  make, 
you  shall  command ;  or,  rather,  as  you  say,  my 
mother :  therefore  no  more,  but  to  the  matter. 
My  mother,  you  say, — 

Rosencrantz. 
Then,  thus  she  says.    Your  behaviour  hath 
struck  her  into  amazement  and  admiration. 
Hamlet. 

0  wonderful  son, thatcansoastonish  a  mother! 
—  But  is  there  no  sequel  at  the  heels  of  this 
mother's  admiration  ?  impart. 

■  rantx. 
She  desires  to  speak  with  you  in  her  closet,  i 
ere  you  go  to  bed. 

Hamlet. 
We  shall  obey,  were  she  ten  times  our  mother. 
Have  you  any  farther  trade  with  us  ? 
Rosencrantz. 
My  lord,  you  once  did  love  me. 

Hamlet. 
And  do  still,  by  these  pickers  and  stealers. 

Rosencrantz. 
Good  my  lord,  what  is  your  cause  of  distemper  ? 

fou  do,  surely,  but  bar  the  door  upon  your  own 
iberty,  if  you  deny  your  griefs  to  your  friend. 
Hamlet. 
Sir,  I  lack  advancement. 

Rosencrantx. 
How  can  that  be,  when  you  have  the  voice  of 
the  king  himself  for  your  succession  in  Denmark  ? 
Hamlet. 
Ay,  sir,  but  •'  while  the  grass  grows,"— the 
proverb  is  something  musty. 

Enter  the  Players,  with  Recorders. 
O !  the  recorders :  —  let  me  see  one.— To  with- 
draw with  you: — why  do  you  go  about  to  re- 
cover the  wind  of  me,  as  if  you  would  drive  me 
into  a  toil  ? 

Guildenstern. 
O,  my  lord  1  if  my  duty  be  too  bold,  my  love 
is  too  unmannerly. 

Hamlet. 

1  do  not  well  understand  that.  Will  you  play 
upon  this  pipe? 

Guildenstern. 
My  lord,  I  cannot. 

Hamlet. 
I  pray  you. 

Guildenstern. 
Believe  me,  I  cannot. 

Hamlet. 
I  do  beseech  you. 

Guildenstern. 
I  know  no  touch  of  it,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
It  is  as  easy  as  lying :  govern  these  ventages 
wi:h  your  finger  and  thumb,  give  it  breath  with 


your  mouth,  and  it  will  discourse  most  eloquent 
music     Look  you,  these  are  the  stops. 
n  stern. 

But  these  cannot  I  command  to  any  utterance 
of  harmony  :  1  have  not  the  skill. 
Hamlet. 

Why  look  you  now,  how  unworthy  a  thing 
you  make  of  me.  You  would  play  upon  me: 
you  would  seem  to  know  my  stops  ;  you  would 
pluck  out  the  heart  of  my  mystery  ;  you  would 
sound  me  from  my  lowest  note  to  the  top  of  my 
compass;  and  there  is  much  music,  excellent 
voice.  In  this  little  organ,  yet  cannot  you  make 
it  speak.  'Sblood  !  do  you  think  1  am  easier  to 
be  played  on  than  a  pipe?  Call  me  what  in- 
strument you  will,  though  you  can  fret  me,  you 
cannot  play  upon  me — 

Enter  Polonius. 
God  bless  you,  sir  1 

Polonius. 
My  lord,  the  queen  would  speak  with  you,  and 
presently. 

Hamlet. 
Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in 
shape  of  a  camel  ? 

Polonius. 
By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed. 

Hamlet. 
Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 

Polonius. 
It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 
Hamlet. 
Or,  like  a  whale  ? 

Polonius. 
Very  like  a  whale. 

Hamlet. 
Then,  will  I  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by — 
They  fool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent.— I  will 
come  by  and  by. 

Polonius. 
I  will  say  so.  [Exit  Polonius. 

Hamlet. 
By  and  by  is  easily  said — Leave  me,  friends. 
tExeunt    Rosencrantz,  Guildenstern,    Ho- 
ratio, ftc. 
•Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes 

out 
Contagion  to  this  world:    now  could  I  drink 

hot  blood, 
And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 
Would  quake  to  look  on.     Soft  1  now  to  my 

mother. — 
O,  heart !  lose  not  thy  nature ;  let  not  ever 
The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  firm  bosom  : 
Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural. 
I  will  speak  daggers  to  her,  but  use  none ; 
My  tongue  and  soul  in  this  be  hypocrites  : 
How  in  my  words  soever  she  be  shent. 
To  give  them  seals  never,  my  soul,  consent  I 

[Exit. 

SCENE  U\.    A  Room  In  the  same. 
Enter  King,  Rosencrantz,  and  Guildenstern. 

King. 

I  like  him  not ;  nor  stands  it  safe  with  us, 

To  let  his  madness  range.    Therefore,  prepare 

you: 
I  your  commission  will  forthwith  despatch, 
And  he  to  England  shall  along  with  you. 
The  terms  of  our  estate  may  not  endure 

Hazard 


926 


HAMLET, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  111. 1 


Hazard  so  dangerous,  as  doth  hourly  grow 
Out  of  his  lunacies. 

Guildenstern. 

We  will  ourselves  provide. 
Most  holy  and  religious  fear  it  is, 
To  keep  those  many  many  bodies  safe, 
That  live,  and  feed,  upon  your  majesty. 
Rosencrantz. 
The  single  and  peculiar  life  is  bound, 
With  all  the  strength  and  armour  of  the  mind, 
To  keep  itself  from  'noyance  ;  but  much  more 
That  spirit,  upon  whose  weal  depend  and  rest 
The  lives  of  many.    The  cease  of  majesty 
Dies  not  alone ;  but  like  a  gulf  doth  draw 
What's  near  it  with  it :  it  is  a  massy  wheel, 
Fix'd  on  the  summit  of  the  highest  mount, 
To  whose  huge  spokes  ten  thousand  lesser  things 
Are  mortis'd  and  adjoin'd ;  which,  when  it  falls, 
Each  small  annexment,  petty  consequence, 
Attends  the  boisterous  ruin.    Never  alone 
Did  the  king  sigh,  but  with  a  general  groan. 
King. 
Arm  you,  1  pray  you,  to  this  speedy  voyage ; 
For  we  will  fetters  put  upon  this  fear, 
Which  now  goes  too  free-footed. 

Rosencrantz  and  Guiklenstern. 

We  will  haste  us. 
[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 

Enter  Polonius. 

Polonius. 

My  lord,  he's  going  to  his  mother's  closet. 

Behind  the  arras  I'll  convey  myself, 

To  hear  the  process:    I'll  warrant,  she'll  tax 

him  home ; 
And,  as  you  said,  and  wisely  was  it  said, 
'Tis  meet  that  some  more    audience   than  a 

mother, 
Since  nature  makes  them  partial,  should  o'erhear 
The  speech,  of  vantage.    Fare  you  well,  my 
I'll  call  upon  you  ere  you  go  to  bed,         [liege : 
And  tell  you  what  I  know. 
King. 

Thanks,  dear  my  lord. 
[Exit  Polonius. 

0  !  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven  ; 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon't, 

A  brother '8  murder  ! — Pray  can  I  not, 
Though  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will: 
My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent ; 
And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 

1  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 
And  both  neglect.     What  if  this  cursed  hand 
Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood, 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens, 
To  wash  it  white  as  snow?    Whereto  serves 
But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence  ?     [mercy, 
And  what's  in  prayer,  but  this  two-fold  force, — 
To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 

Or  pardon'd,  being  down  ?  Then,  I'll  look  up  : 
My  fault  is  past.  But,  O  !  what  form  of  prayer 
Can  serve  my  turn  ?     Forgive   me   my  foul 

murder ! — 
That  cannot  be ;  since  I  am  still  possess'd 
Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder, 
My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 
May  one  be  pardon'd,  and  retain  th'  offence? 
In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world, 
Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice, 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law  ;  but  'tis  not  so  above : 
There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature ;  and  we  ourselves  compell'd, 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  give  in  evidence.    What  then  ?  what  rests  ? 


Try  what  repentance  can  :  what  can  it  not? 
Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  can  not  repent  ? 
O  wretched  state  !  O  bosom,  black  as  death  ! 
O  limed  soul,  that  struggling  to  be  free, 
Art  more  engaged  !    Help,  angels  !  make  assay: 
Bow,  stubborn  knees ;  and,  heart,  with  strings 

of  steel, 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe. 
All  may  be  well.  [Retires  and  kneels. 

Knter  Hamlet. 
Hamlet. 
Now  might  I  do  it,  pat,  now  he  is  praying ; 
And  now  I'll  do't:  — and  so  he  goes  to  heaven, 
And  so  am  1  reveng'd  ?   That  would  be  scann'd : 
A  villain  kills  my  father  ;  and  for  that, 
I,  his  sole  son,  do  this  same  villain  send 
To  heaven. 

Why,  this  is  hire  and  salary,  not  revenge. 
He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread ; 
With  all  his  crimes  broad  blown,  as  flush  as  May, 
And  how  his  audit  stands,  who  knows,  save 

heaven  ? 
But,  in  our  circumstance  and  course  of  thought, 
'Tis  heavy  with  him  ;  and  am  I  then  reveng'd, 
To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul, 
When  he  is  fit  and  season'd  for  his  passage  ? 
No. 

Up,  sword ;  and  know  thou  a  more  horrid  hent. 
When  he  is  drunk,  asleep,  or  in  his  rage  ; 
Or  in  th'  incestuous  pleasures  of  his  bed  ; 
At  gaming,  swearing  ;  or  about  some  act, 
That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in't ;      [heaven, 
Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels   may  kick   at 
And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd,  and  black, 
As  hell,  whereto  it  goes.    My  mother  stays : 
This  physic  but  prolongs  thy  sickly  days.  [Exit. 

The  King  rises  and  advances. 
King. 
My  words  fly  up,  my  thoughts  remain  below  : 
Words  without  thoughts  never  to  heaven  go. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Queen  and  Polonius. 

Polonius. 

He  will  come  straight.    Look,  you  lay  home 

to  him  ; 

Tell  him,  his  pranks  have  been  too  broad  to 

bear  with, 
And  that  your  grace  hath  screen'd  and  stood 

between 
Much  heat  and  him.    I'll  silence  me  e'en  here. 
Pray  you.be  round  with  him. 

Hamlet.  [Within. 

Mother,  mother,  mother  1 
Queen. 

I'll  warrant  you ; 
Fear  me  not :— withdraw,  I  hear  him  coming. 
[Polonius  hides  himself. 

Enter  Hamlet. 

Hamlet. 
Now,  mother  I  what's  the  matter  ? 

Queen. 
Hamlet,  thcu  hast  thy  father  much  offended. 

Hamlet. 
Mother,  you  have  my  father  much  offended. 

Queen. 
Come,  come;  you  answer  with  an  idle  tongue. 

Hamlet. 
Go,  go  ;  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 
Queen. 


I    Sr.  rr. 


PB1HCB  OF  DENMARK. 


9*7 


Queen. 

Why,  how  now,  Hamlet! 

What's  the  matter  now  ? 
QM 
Have  you  forgot  me? 

.let. 

No,  by  the  rood,  not  so : 
You  are  the  queen,  your  husband's  brother's 

wife; 
And,  — would  it  were  not  so!  — you  are  my 
mother. 

Queen. 
Nay  then,  I'll  set  those  to  you  that  can  speak. 

Hamlet. 
Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down  ;  you  shall  not 
You  go  not,  till  1  set  you  up  a  glass        [budge: 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost  part  of  you. 
Qu. 
What  wilt  thou  do  ?  thou  wilt  not  murder  me. 
Help,  help,  ho  1 

PuloniuL  [Behind. 

What,  ho!  help!  help!  help! 

Hamlet. 
How  now!  a  rat?  [Draws.]  Dead  for  a  ducat, 
dead,    f  Hamlet  makes  a  pass  through  the  Arras. 
Polonius.  [Behind. 

O!  I  am  slain.  [Falls  and  dies. 

Queen. 
O  me !  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Hamlet. 

Nay,  I  know  not: 
Is  it  the  king  ? 
[Lifts  up  the  Arras,  and  draws  forth  Polonius. 

Queen. 
O,  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this ! 

Hamlet 
A  bloody  deed ;  almost  as  bad,  good  mother. 
As  kill  a  king,  and  marry  with  his  brother. 
Queen. 
As  kill  a  king! 

Hamlet. 

Ay,  lady,  'twas  my  word. — 
Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell. 
[To  Polonhu. 
I  took  thee  for  thy  better ;  take  thy  fortune : 
Thou  fi nd's t  to  be  too  busy  is  some  danger. — 
Leave  wringing  of  your  hands.    Peace  1  sit  you 

down, 
And  let  me  wring  your  heart :  for  so  I  shall, 
If  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stuff; 
If  damned  custom  have  not  braz'd  it  so, 
That  it  is  proof  and  bulwark  against  sense. 
Queen. 
What  have  I  done,  that  thou  dar'st  wag  thy 
In  noise  so  rude  against  me?  [tongue 

Hamlet. 

Such  an  act, 
That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty ; 
Calls  virtue,  hypocrite ;  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the  fair  forehead  of  an  innocent  love, 
And  sets  a  blister  there ;  makes  marriage  vows 
As  false  as  dicers'  oaths:  O  !  such  a  deed, 
As  from  the  body  of  contraction  plucks 
The  very  soul;  and  sweet  religion  makes 
A  rhapsody  of  words:  Heaven's  face  doth  glow, 
Yea,  this  solidity  and  compound  mass, 
With  tristful  visage,  as  against  the  doom, 
Is  thought-sick  at  the  act. 
Queen. 

Ah  me !  what  act, 
That  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the  index? 


Hamlet. 
Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this : 
The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 
See,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 
Ht/ptiion'%  curls  ;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Man,  to  threaten  and  command  t 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill; 
A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed. 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man.  [follows. 
This  was  your  husband:  look  you  now,  what 
Here  Is  your  husband ;  like  a  mfldew'd  ear, 
Blasting  his  wholesome  brother.  Have  you  eyes? 
Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed, 
And  batten  on  this  moor?    Ha  1  have  you  eyes? 
You  cannot  call  it,  love ;  for,  at  your  age, 
The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble, 
And  waits  upon  the  judgment;  and  what  judg- 
ment [have, 
Would  step  from  this  to  this  ?  Sense,  sure,  you 
Else,  could  you  not  have  motion ;  but,  sure,  that 
Is  apoplex'd ;  for  madness  would  not  err,  [sense 
Nor  sense  to  ecstasy  was  ne'er  so  thrall'd, 
But  it  reserv'd  some  quantity  of  choice, 
To  serve  in  such  a  difference.  What  devil  was  f, 
That  thus  hath  cozen'd  you  at  hoodman-blind? 
Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight, 
Ears  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans  all, 
Or  but  a  sickly  part  of  one  true  sense 
Could  not  so  mope. 

O  shame  1  where  is  thy  blush  ?  Rebellious  hell, 
If  thou  canst  mutine  in  a  matron's  bones, 
To  flaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax, 
And  melt  in  her  own  fire:  proclaim  no  shame, 
When  the  compulsive  ardour  gives  the  charge, 
Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn, 
And  reason  panders  will. 

Queen. 

O  Harnlc t !  speak  no  more  I 
Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul ; 
And  there  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots, 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct. 

Hamlet. 

Nay,  but  to  live 
In  the  rank  sweat  of  an  enseamed  bed  ; 
Stew'd  in  corruption  ;   honeying,  and  making 
Over  the  nasty  stye ;—  [love 

Queen. 
O,  speak  to  me  no  more  ! 
These  words,  like  daggers  enter  iu  mine  ears : 
No  more,  sweet  Hamlet. 

Hamlet. 

A  murderer,  and  a  villain  • 
A  slave,  that  is  not  twentieth  part  the  tithe 
Of  your  precedent  lord :  — a  vice  of  kings  I 
A  cutpurse  of  the  empire  and  the  rule, 
That  from  a  shelf  the  precious  diadem  stole, 
And  put  it  in  his  pocket  1 

Queen. 

No  more ! 

Enter  Ghott. 
Hamiet. 

A  king  of  shreds  and  patches 

Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings, 
You  heavenly  guards  !  — What  would  you,  gra- 
cious tigure  ? 

Queen. 
Alas !  he's  mad. 

Hamlet. 
Do  you  not  come  your  tardv  son  to  chide, 
That,  laps'd  in  time  and  passion,  lets  go  by 
Th'  important  acting  of  your  dread  command  ? 
O, say  ! 

Ghost. 


9*8 


HAMLET, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv, 


Ghost. 
Do  not  forget.  This  visitation 
Is  but  to  whet  thy  almost  blunted  purpose. 
But,  look  !  amazement  on  thy  mother  sits : 
O  !  step  between  her  and  her  fighting  soul ; 
Conceit  in  weakest  bodies  strongest  works. 
Speak  to  her,  Hamlet. 

Hamlet. 

How  is  it  with  you,  lady  ? 
Queen. 
Alas  !  how  is't  with  you, 
That  you  do  bend  your  eye  on  vacancy, 
And  with  th'  incorporal  air  do  hold  discourse  ? 
Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep  ; 
And,  as  the  sleeping  soldiers  in  th'  alarm, 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements, 
Starts  up,  and  stands  on  end.    O  gentle  son  ! 
Upon  the  heat  and  flame  of  thy  distemper 
Sprinkle  cool  patience.    Whereon  do  you  look ': 
Hamlet. 
On  him,  on  him  !  — Look  you,  how  pale  he 
glares ! 

His   form   and  cause  conjoin'd,  preaching  to 
stones, 

Would  make   them   capable Do   not   look 

upon  me ; 
Lest  with  this  piteous  action  you  convert 
My  stern  effects :  then,  what  I  have  to  do 
Will  want  true  colour;   tears,  perchance,  for 
blood. 

Queen. 
To  whom  do  you  speak  this  ? 

Hamlet. 

Do  you  see  nothing  there  ? 
Queen. 
Nothing  at  all ;  yet  all,  that  is,  I  see. 

Hamlet. 
Nor  did  you  nothing  hear  ? 
Queen. 

No,  nothing  but  ourselves 
Hamlet. 
Why,  look  you  there !    look,  how  it  steals 
away  I 
My  father,  in  his  habit  as  he  liv'd  ! 
Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal ! 
[Exit  Ghost. 
Queen. 
This  Is  the  very  coinage  of  your  brain  : 
This  bodiless  creation  ecstasy 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

Hamlet. 
Ecstasy ! 
My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time, 
And  makes  as  healthful  music.  It  is  not  madness, 
That  1  have  utter'd:  bring  me  to  the  test, 
And  1  the  matter  will  re-word,  which  madness 
Would  gambol  from.    Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your  soul, 
That  not  your  trespass,  but  my  madness  speaks : 
It  will  but  skin  and  film  the  ulcerous  place, 
Whilst  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within, 
Infects  unseen.    Confess  yourself  to  heaven ; 
Repent  what's  past ;  avoid  what  is  to  come, 
And  do  not  spread  the  compost  on  the  weeds, 
To  make  them  ranker.     Forgive  me  this  my 

virtue ; 
For  in  the  fatness  of  these  pursy  times, 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg, 
Yea,  curb  and  woo,  for  leave  to  do  him  good. 
Queen. 
O  Hamlet!  thou  hast  cleft  my  heart  in  twain. 

Hamlet. 
O  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it, 


And  live  the  purer  with  the  other  half. 

Good  night ;  but  go  not  to  mine  uncle's  bed  t 

Assume  a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not. 

That  monster,  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat 

Of  habits,  devil,  is  angel  yet  in  this ; 

That  to  the  use  of  actions  fair  and  good 

He  likewise  gives  a  frock,  or  livery, 

That  aptly  is  put  on  :  refrain  to-night ; 

And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 

To  the  next  abstinence :  the  next  more  easy ; 

For  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature. 

And  master  the  devil,  or  throw  him  out 

With  wondrous  potency.      Once   more,  good 

night : 
And  when  you  are  desirous  to  be  bless'd, 
I'll  blessing  beg  of  you — For  l;his  same  lord, 

[Pointing  to  Polonius. 
I  do  repent :  but  heaven  hath  pleas'd  it  so,— 
To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  with  me, 
That  1  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  will  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.    So,  again,  good  night- 
1  must  be  cruel,  only  to  be  kind : 

Thus  bad  begins,  and  worse  remains  behind 

One  word  more,  good  lady. 

Queen. 

What  shall  I  do  ? 
Hamlet. 
Not  this,  by  no  means,  that  I  bid  you  do  : 
Let  the  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed  ; 
Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek ;    call  you  his 

mouse ; 
And  let  him,  for  a  pair  of  reechy  kisses, 
Or  paddling  in  your  neck  with  his  damn'd  fin- 
Make  you  to  ravel  all  this  matter  out,    ■    [gers, 
That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness, 
But  mad  in  craft.    'Twere  good,  you  let  him 

know ; 
For  who,  that's  but  a  queen,  fair,  sober,  wise, 
Would  from  a  paddock,  from  a  bat,  a  gib, 
Such  dear  concernings  hide?  who  would  do  so? 
No,  in  despite  of  sense,  and  secresy. 
Unpeg  the  basket  on  the  house's  top, 
Let  the  birds  fly,  and,  like  the  famous  ape, 
To  try  conclusions  in  the  basket  creep, 
And  break  your  own  neck  down. 

Queen. 
Be  thou  assur'd,  if  words  be  made  of  breath, 
And  breath  of  life,  I  have  no  life  to  breathe 
What  thou  hast  said  to  me. 

Hamlet. 
I  must  to  England  s  you  know  that. 
Queen. 

Alack  ! 
I  had  forgot :  'tis  so  concluded  on. 

Hamtet. 
There's  letters'  seal'd,  and  my  two  school- 
fellows, — 
Whom  1  will  trust,  as  I  will  adders  fang'd,  — 
They  bear  the  mandate ;  they  must  sweep  my 

way, 
And  marshal  me  to  knavery.    Let  it  work  ; 
For  'tis  the  sport,  to  have  the  enginer 
Hoist  with  his  own  petar,  and  it  shall  go  hard, 
But  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  their  mines, 
And  blow  them  at  the  moon.    O  !    'tis  most 

sweet, 
When  in  one  line  two  crafts  directly  meet.  — 
This  man  shall  set  me  packing  : 

I'll  lug  the  guts  into  the  neighbour  room ' 

Mother,  good  night Indeed,  this  counsellor 

Is  now  most  still,  most  secret,  and  most  grave, 
Who  was  in  life  a  foolish  prating  knave. 

Come, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


rillNCE  OF  DENMARK. 


9*9 


Come,  sir,  to  draw  toward  an  end  with  you. 
Good  night,  mother. 

[Exeunt    severally ;    Hamlet   dragging    In 
FoUmiut, 

\*  $  $  >y  $Mp  ®  £  0  v" 
ACT  IV. 

SCENE  l.    Theiame. 

Enter  A7u£,  Uurni,  Rosenerantz,  and  Guilden- 
stern. 

King. 
'FllERE'S  matter  In  these  sighs  :  these  pro- 
*■       found  heaves 

You  must  translate ;    'tis    fit    we    understand 
Where  is  your  ion  ?  [them. 

Queen. 
Bestow  this  place  on  us  a  little  while.  — 

fExeunt  Rosenerantz  and  Guitdenttern. 
Ah,  my  good  lord,  what  have  I  seen  to-night  I 

King. 
What,  Gertrude  t    How  does  Hamlet  ? 

3ueen. 
wind,  when  both  contend 
Which  is  the  mightier.     In  his  lawless  fit, 
Behind  the  arras  hearing  something  stir, 
He  whips  his  rapier  out,  and  cries, "  A  rat  !  a 
And  in  his  brainish  apprehension  kills     [rat  I " 
The  unseen  good  old  man. 

King. 

O  heavy  deed ! 
It  had  been  so  with  us,  had  we  been  there. 
His  liberty  is  full  of  threats  to  all ; 
To  you  yourself,  to  us,  to  every  one. 
Alas  1  how  shall  this  bloody  deed  be  answer'd  ? 
It  will  be  laid  to  us,  whose  providence 
Should  have  kept  short,  restraiu'd,  and  out  of 

haunt, 
This  mad  young  man ;  but  so  much  was  our  love, 
We  would  not  understand  what  was  most  fit, 
But,  like  the  owner  of  a  foul  disease, 
To  keep  it  from  divulging,  let  it  feed 
Even  on  the  pith  of  life.    Where  is  he  gone  ? 

To  draw  apart  the  Dody  he  hath  kill'd  ; 
O'er  whom  his  very  madness,  like  some  ore 
Among  a  mineral  of  metals  base, 
Shows  itself  pure :  he  weeps  for  what  is  done. 

O,  Gertrude!  come  away. 
The  sun  no  sooner  shall  the  mountains  touch, 
But  we  will  ship  him  hence  ;  and  this  vile  deed 
We  must,  with  all  our  majesty  and  skill, 
Both  countenance  and  excuse !  —  Ho !  Guilden- 
sternl 

Enter  Rosenerantz  and  Guildeuttem. 
Friends  both,  go  join  you  with  some  farther  aid. 
Hamlet  in  madness  hath  Polonius  slain, 
And  from  his  mother's  closet  hath  he  dragg'd 

him  : 
Go,  seek  him  out ;  speak  fair,  and  bring  the  body 
Into  the  chapel.     I  pray  you,  haste  in  this. 

_  fExeunt  Rosenerantz  and  Guildenstcrn. 

Come,  Gertrude,  we/H  call  up  our  wisest  friends ; 
And  let  them  know,  both  what  we  mean  to  do, 
And  what's  untimely  done :  so,  haply,  slander,— 
Whose  whisper  o'er  the  world's  diameter, 
As  level  as  the  cannon  to  his  blank,  [name, 

Transports  his  poison 'd  shot,  — may  miss  our 


Ami  hit  the  woundless  air.  —  O,  come  away  1 
My  soul  is  full  of  discord,  and  dUmay. 

TExeunU 

SCENE  II.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  llamlet. 

Hamlet. 

Safely  stowed.— [  Rosenerantz  &c.  within. 

Hamlet!  lord  Hamlet!]  But  soft! -what 
noise?  who  calls  on  Hamlet T  O!  here  they 
come. 

Enter  Rosenerantz  and  GufUtnstem. 

Rosenerantz. 
What  have  you  done,  my  lord,  with  the  dead 
body? 

Hamlet. 
Compounded  it  with  dust,  whereto  'tis  kin. 

Rosenerantz. 
Tell  us  where  'tis ;    that    we   may  take  it 
And  bear  it  to  the  chapel.  [thence, 

Hamlet. 
Do  not  believe  it. 

Rosenerantz. 
Believe  what  ? 

Hamlet. 
That  I  can  keep  your  counsel,  and  not  mine 
own.     Besides,  to  be  demanded  of  a  sponge, 
what  replication  should  be  made  by  the  son  of  a 
king  ? 

Rosenerantz. 
Take  you  me  for  a  sponge,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
Ay,  sir;  that  soaks  up  the  king's  countenance, 
his  rewards,  his  authorities.  But  such  officers 
do  the  king  best  service  in  the  end :  he  keeps 
them,  like  an  ape,  in  the  corner  of  his  jaw,  first 
mouthed,  to  be  last  swallowed  :  when  he  needs 
what  you  have  gleaned,  it  is  but  squeezing  you, 
and,  sponge,  you  shall  be  dry  again. 

Rosenerantz. 
I  understand  you  not,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
I  am  glad  of  it:  a  knavish  speech  sleeps  in  a 
foolish  ear. 

Rosenerantz. 
My  lord,  you  must  tell  us  where  the  body  is, 
and  go  with  us  to  the  king. 

_  Hamlet. 

The  body  is  with  the  king,  but  the  king  is  not 
with  the  body.     The  king  is  a  thing— 

Guildenstern. 
A  thing,  my  lord  I 

Hamlet. 
Of  nothing :  bring  me  to  him.    Hide  fox,  and 
all  after.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  I II.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  King,  attended. 


Air: 


I  have  sent  to  seek  him,  and  to  find  the  body 
How  dangerous  is  it,  that  this  man  goes  loose  1 
Yet  must  not  we  put  the  strong  law  on  him : 
He's  lov'd  of  the  distracted  multitude, 
Who  like  not  in  their  judgment,  but  their  eyes; 
And  where  'tis   so,  th'  offender's  scourge  is 

weigh'd, 
But  never  the  offence.    To  bear  all  smooth  and 

even. 
This  sudden  sending  him  away  must  seem 
Deliberate  pause :  diseases,  desperate  grown. 
By  desperate  appliance  are  reliev'd, 

3  o                           Enter 
*  ; 


930 


HAMLET, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


Enter  Rosencrantx. 

Or  not  at  all.  —  How  now  !  what  hath  befallen  ? 

Rosencrantz. 

Where  the  dead  body  is  bestow'd,  my  lord, 

We  cannot  get  from  him. 

King. 

But  where  is  he  ? 
Rosencrantz. 
Without,  my  lord ;  guarded,  to  know  your 
pleasure. 

King. 

Bring  him  before  us. 

Rosencrantz. 
Ho,  Guildenstern!  bring  in  my  lord. 
Enter  Hamlet  and  Guildenstern. 
"   King. 
Now,  Hamlet,  where's  Polonius? 
Hamlet. 


At  supper. 
At  supper ! 


King. 
Where  ? 

Hamlet. 

Not  where  he  eats,  but  where  he  is  eaten  :  a 
certain  convocation  of  politic  worms  are  e'en  at 
him.  Your  worm  is  your  only  emperor  for  diet : 
we  fat  all  creatures  else  to  fat  us,  and  we  fat 
ourselves  for  maggots  :  your  fat  king,  and  your 
lean  beggar,  is  but  variable  service ;  two  dishes, 
but  to  one  table :  that's  the  end. 
King. 

Alas,  alas  !  ,   t 

Hamlet. 
A  man  may  fish  with  the  worm  that  hath  eat 
of  a  king;  and  eat  of  the  fish  that  hath  fed  of 
that  worm. 

King. 

What  dost  thou  mean  by  this  ? 

Hamlet. 
Nothing,  but  to  show  you  how  a  king  may  go 
a  progress  through  the  guts  of  a  beggar. 
King. 
Where  is  Polonius  t 

Hamlet. 
In  heaven :  send  thither  to  see ;  if  your  mes- 
senger find  him  not  there,  seek  him  i'  the  other 
place  yourself.    But,  indeed,  if  you  find  him  not 
within  this  month,  you  shall  nose  him  as  you  go 
up  the  stairs  into  the  lobby. 
King. 
Go  seek  him  there.        [To  some  Attendants. 

Hamlet. 
He  will  stay  till  you  come. 

[Exeunt  Attendants. 
King. 
Hamlet,  this  deed,  for  thine  especial  safety,— 
Which  we  do  tender,  as  we  dearly  grieve 
For  that  which  thou  hast  done,  — must  send 

thee  hence 
With  fiery  quickness :  therefore,  prepare  thyself. 
The  bark  is  ready,  and  the  wind  at  help, 
Th'  associates  tend,  and  every  thing  is  bent 
For  England. 


Hamlet. 
For  England? 
King. 

Hamlet. 


Ay,  Hamlet. 


King. 
So  is  it,  if  thou  knew'st  our  purposes. 


Good 


Hamlet. 
I  see  a  cherub  that  sees  tnem. — But,  come; 
for  England!— Farewell,  dear  mother. 
King. 
Thy  loving  father,  Hamlet. 

Hamlet 
My  mother :  father  and  mother  is  man  and 
wife,  man  and  wife  is  one  flesh ;  and  so,  my 
mother.    Come,  for  England.  [Exit. 

King. 
Follow  him  at  foot ;  tempt  him  with  speed 
aboard : 
Delay  it  not,  I'll  have  him  hence  to-night. 
Away,  for  every  thing  is  seal'd  and  done, 
That  else  leans  on  th'  affair :  pray  you,  make 
haste. 
[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 
And,  England,  if  my  love  thou  hold'st  at  aught, 
(As  my  great  power  thereof  may  give  thee  sense, 
Since  yet  thy  cicatrice  looks  raw  and  red 
After  the  Danish  sword,  and  thy  free  awe 
Pays  homage  to  us)  thou  may'st  not  coldly  set 
Our  sovereign  process,  which  imports  at  full, 
By  letters  conjuring  to  that  effect, 
The  present  death  of  Hamlet.  Do  it,  England; 
For  like  the  hectic  in  my  blood  he  rages, 
And  thou  must  cure  me.    Till  I  know  'tis  done, 
Howe'er  my  haps,  my  joys  were  ne'er  begun. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.     A  Plain  in  Denmark. 
Enter  Fortinbras,  and  Forces,  marching. 
Fortinbras. 
Go,  captain ;  from  me  greet  the  Danish  king: 
Tell  him,  that  by  his  licence  Fortinbras 
Claims  the  conveyance  of  a  promis'd  march 
Over  his  kingdom.    You  know  the  rendezvous. 
If  that  his  majesty  would  aught  with  us, 
We  shall  express  our  duty  in  his  eye ; 
And  let  him  know  so. 

Captain. 

I  will  do't,  my  lord. 

Fortinbras. 
Go  softly  on. 

[Exeunt  Fortinbras  and  Forces. 

Enter  Hamlet,  Rosencrantz,  Guildenstern,  &c. 

Hamlet. 
Good  sir,  whose  powers  are  these  ? 

Captain. 
They  are  of  Norway,  sir. 

Hamlet. 

How  purpos'd  sir, 
I  pray  you  ? 

Captain. 
Against  some  part  of  Poland. 

Hamlet. 

Who 
Commands  them,  sir  ? 

Captain. 
The  nephew  to  old  Norway,  Fortinbras. 

Hamlet. 
Goes  it  against  the  main  of  Poland,  sir, 
Or  for  some  frontier  ? 

Captain. 
Truly  to  speak,  and  with  no  addition, 
We  go  to  gain  a  little  patch  of  ground, 
That  hath  in  it  no  profit  but  the  name. 
To  pay  five  ducats,  five,  I  would  not  farm  it ; 
Nor  will  it  yield  to  Norway,  or  the  Pole, 
A  ranker  rate,  should  it  be  sold  in  fee. 

Hamlet. 


Act  iv.  Se.  v. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


931 


Hamlet. 
Why,  then  the  Polack  never  will  defend  it. 

Yei,  'tis  already  garrison'd. 

llaml.-t. 
Two   thousand  souls,  and  twenty  thousand 
ducats. 
Will  not  debate  the  question  of  this  straw : 
Tins  is  th'  imposthurae  of  much  wealth  and 

peace. 
That  inward  breaks, and  shows  no  cause  without 
Why  the  man  dies.— I  humbly  thank  you,  sir. 

Captalu. 
God  be  wi'  you,  sir.  [Exit  Captain. 

Kosencrant;:. 
Will't  please  you  go,  my  lord  ? 

Hamlet. 
I'll  be  with  you  straight.    Go  a  little  before. 
fRxeu  iite  and  Guildenstcrn. 

How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me, 
And  spur  my  dull  revenge  !    What  is  a  man, 
If  his  chief  good,  and  market  of  his  time, 
Be  but  to  sleep,  and  feed  ?  a  beast,  no  more. 
Sure,  he,  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse, 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  godlike  reason, 
To  fust  in  us  unus'd.     Now,  whether  it  be 
Bestial  oblivion,  or  some  craven  scruple 
Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  th*  event,— 
A  thought,  which,  quarter'd,  hath  but  one  part 

wisdom, 
And  ever  three  parts  coward, — I  do  not  know 
Why  yetT  live  to  say,  "  This  thing's  to  do ;" 
Sith  I  have  cause,  and  will,  and  strength,  and 

means, 
To  do't.    Examples,  gross  as  earth,  exhort  me : 
Witness  this  army,  of  such  mass  and  charge, 
Led  by  a  delicate  and  tender  prince, 
Whose  spirit,  with  divine  ambition  pufFd, 
Makes  mouths  at  the  invisible  event; 
Exposing  what  is  mortal,  and  unsure, 
To  all  that  fortune,  death,  and  danger,  dare, 
Even  for  an  egg-shell.    Rightly  to  be  great, 
Is  not  to  stir  without  great  argument, 
But  greatly  to  find  quarrel  in  a  straw, 
When  honour's  at  the  stake.     How  stand  I,  then, 
That  have  a  father  kill'd,  a  mother  stain'd, 
Excitements  of  my  reason,  and  my  blood, 
And  let  all  sleep  ?  while,  to  my  shame,  I  see 
The  imminent  death  of  twenty  thousand  men, 
That  for  a  fantasy,  and  trick  of  fame, 
Go  to  their  graves  like  beds  ;  fight  for  a  plot 
Whereon  the  numbers  cannot  try  the  cause ; 
Which  is  not  tomb  enough,  and  continent, 
To  hide  the  slain  ?  —  0  !  from  this  time  forth, 
My  thought*  be  bloody,  or  be  nothing  worth  1 

[Exit. 

SCENE  V.    EUinore.    A  Room  In  the  Castle. 

Enter  Queen,  Horatio,  and  a  Gentleman. 

Queen. 
I  will  not  speak  with  her. 

Gentleman. 
She  is  Importunate ;  indeed,  distract : 
Her  mood  will  needs  be  pitied. 


Queer 


That  would  she  have  ? 


Gentleman. 
She  speaks  much  of  her  father;    says,  she 
hears, 
There's  tricks  i'  the  world ;  and  hems,  and  beaU 
her  heart ; 


Spurns  enviously  at  straws;   speaks  things  in 

doubt, 
That  carry  but  half  sense:  her  speech  is  nothing, 
Yet  the  uushaped  use  of  it  doth  move 
Tin-  hearers  to  collection  ;  they  aim  at  it, 
And  botch    the  words    up    fit    to    their    own 

thoughts ; 
Which,  as  her  winks,  and  nods,  and  gestures 

yield  them, 
Indeed  would  make  one  think,  there  might  be 

thought, 
Though  nothing  sure,  yet  much  unhappily. 
Hor 
'Twere  good  she  were  spoken  with,  for  she 

may  strew 
Dangerous  conjectures  in  ill-breeding  minds. 
Queen. 
Let  her  come  in.  [Exit  Horatio. 

To  my  sick  soul,  as  sin's  true  nature  is, 
Each  toy  seems  prologue  to  some  great  amiss : 
So  full  of  artless  jealousy  is  guilt, 
It  spills  itself  in  fearing  to  be  spilt. 

Re-enter  Horatio,  with  Ophelia. 
Ophelia. 
Where  is  the  beauteous  majesty  of  Denmark  ? 

Queen. 
How  now,  Ophelia  t 

Ophelia.  [Singing. 

How  should  I  your  true  love  knout 

From  another  one  f 
By  his  cockle  hat  and  staff. 
And  his  sandal  shoon. 
Queen. 
Alas,  sweet  lady  1  what  imports  this  song? 

Ophelia. 
Say  you  ?  nay,  pray  you,  mark. 

He  is  dead  and  gone,  lady,  [Singing. 

He  is  dead  and  gone; 
At  his  head  a  grass-green  turf, 
At  his  heels  a  stone. 
O,  hoi 

Queen. 
Nay,  but  Ophelia,— 

Ophelia. 

Pray  you,  mark. 
White  his  shroud  as  the  mountain  snow, 
[Singing. 
Enter  King. 
Queen. 
Alas  1  look  here,  my  lord. 
Ophelia. 
Larded  with  sweet  flowers  ; 
Which  bewept  to  the  grave  did  go, 
With  true-love  showers. 
King. 
How  do  you,  pretty  lady  ? 

Ophelia. 
Well,  God'ild  you !    They  say,  the  owl  was  a 
baker's  daughter.    Lord  1  we  know  what  we  are, 
but  know  not  what  we  may  be.    God  be  at  your 
table ! 

King. 
Conceit  upon  her  father. 

Ophelia. 
Pray  you,  let's  have  no  words  of  this;  but 
when  they  ask  you  what  it  means,  say  you  this  : 
To-morrow  is  Saint  Valentine'*  day, 

All  in  the  morning  betime, 
And  I  a  maid  at  your  window. 
To  be  your  Valentine : 

Thtn, 


■93* 


HAMLET, 


Act  iv.  Se.  v. 


Then,  up  he  rose,  and  don'd  his  clothes, 

And  dupp'd  the  chamber  door  ; 
Let  in  the  maid,  that  out  a  maid 
Never  departed  more. 
King. 
Pretty  Ophelia? 

Ophelia. 

Indeed,  la !  without  an  oath,  I'll  make  an  end 
on't: 
By  Gis,  and  by  Saint  Charity, 

Alack,  and  fie  for  shame! 
Young  men  will  do't,  if  they  come  to't; 

By  cock,  they  are  to  blame. 
Quoth  she,  before  you  tumbled  me. 
You  promised  me  to  wed: 
He  answers. 
So  would  I  ha?  done,  by  yonder  sun, 
An  thou  hadst  not  come  to  my  bed. 
King. 
How  long  hath  she  been  thus  ? 

Ophelia. 
I  hope,  all  will  be  well.  We  must  be  patient ; 
but  1  cannot  choose  but  weep,  to  think,  they 
would  lay  him  i'  the  cold  ground.  My  brother 
shall  know  of  it,  and  so  1  thank  you  for  your 
good  counsel.  Come,  my  coach  !  Good  night, 
ladies;  good  night,  sweet  ladies:  good  night, 
good  night.  [Exit. 

King. 
Follow  her  close ;  give  her  good  watch.  I  pray 
you.  [Exit  Horatio. 

O !  this  is  the  poison  of  deep  grief;  it  springs 
All  from  her  father's  death.    And  now,  behold, 
O  Gertrude,  Gertrude! 

When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  battalions.    First,  her  father  slain ; 
Next,  your  son  gone ;  and  he  most  violent  author 
Of  his  own  just  remove :  the  people  muddied, 
Thick  and  unwholesome  in  their  thoughts  and 

whispers, 
For  good  Polonius'  death  ;  and  we  have  done 

but  greenly, 
In  hugger-mugger  to  inter  him :  poor  Ophelia, 
Divided  from  herself,  and  her  fair  judgment, 
Without  the  which  we  are  pictures,  or  mere 

beasts : 
Last,  and  as  much  containing  as  all  these, 
Her  brother  is  in  secret  come  from  France, 
Feeds  on  his  wonder,  keeps  himself  in  clouds, 
And  wants  not  buzzers  to  infect  his  ear 
With  pestilent  speeches  of  his  father's  death  ; 
Wherein  necessity,  of  matter  beggar'd, 
Will  nothing  stick  our  persons  to  arraign 
In  ear  and  ear.    O,  my  dear  Gertrude!  this, 
Like  to  a  murdering  piece,  in  many  places 
Gives  me  superfluous  death.     LA  noise  within. 
Queen. 

Alack  I  what  noise  is  this  ? 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King. 

Attend ! 

Where  are  my  Switzers  ?    Let  them  guard  the 

What  is  the  matter  ?  [door. 

Gentleman. 

Save  yourself,  my  lord  ; 
The  ocean,  overpeering  of  his  list, 
Eats  not  the  flats  with  more  impetuous  haste, 
Than  young  Laertes,  in  a  riotous  head,     [lord; 
O'erbears  your  officers  1    The  rabble  call  him, 
And,  as  the  world  were  now  but  to  begin, 
Antiquity  forgot,  custom  not  known, 
The  ratifiers  and  props  of  every  word, 
They  cry,  '•  Choose  we,  Laertes  shall  be  king  1 " 


Caps,  hands,  and  tongues,  applaud  it  to  the 

"  Laertes  shall  be  king,  Laertes  king ! "  [clouds. 

Queen. 

How  cheerfully  on  the  false  trail  they  cry  I 

0  !  this  is  counter,  you  false  Danish  dogs. 

King. 
The  doors  are  broke.  [Noise  within. 

Enter  Laertett  armed ;  Danes  following. 

Laertes. 
Where   is  this   king?— Sirs,  stand  you  all 
without. 

Danes. 
No,  let's  come  in. 

Laertes. 

I  pray  you,  give  me  leave. 
Danes. 
We  will,  we  will. 

[They  retire  without  the  Door. 

Laertes. 
I  thank  you:  keep  the  door.  — O  thou  vile 
Give  me  my  father.  [king, 

Queen. 

Calmly,  good  Laertes. 
Laertes. 
That  drop  of  blood  that's  calm  proclaims  me 
bastard ; 
Cries,  cuckold,  to  my  father ;  brands  the  harlot 
Even  here,  between  the  chaste  unsmirched  brow 
Of  my  true  mother. 

King. 

What  is  the  cause,  Laertes, 
That  thy  rebellion  looks  so  giant-like?— 
Let  him  go,  Gertrude;  do  not  fear  our  person  : 
There's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king, 
That  treason  can  but  peep  to  what  it  would, 
Acts  little  of  his  will.— Tell  me,  Laertes, 
Why  thou   art   thus  incens'd.  —  Let  him  go, 

Speak,  man.  {Gertrude. 

Laertes. 
Where  is  my  father? 

King. 

Dead. 
Queen. 

...  But  not  by  him. 

King.  ' 

Let  him  demand  his  fill. 
Laertes. 

How  came  he  dead  ?  I'll  not  be  juggled  with. 
To  hell,  allegiance!  vows,  to  the  blackest  devil! 
Conscience,  and  grace,  to  the  profoundest  pit  J 

1  dare  damnation.    To  this  point  I  stand, 
That  both  the  worlds  I  give  to  negligence, 
Let  come  what  comes,  only  I'll  be  reveng'd 
Most  throughly  for  my  father. 

King. 

Who  shall  stay  you  ? 
Laertes. 
My  will,  not  all  the  world's: 
And,  for  my  means,  I'll  husband  them  so  well, 
They  shall  go  far  with  little. 
King. 

Good  Laertes, 
If  you  desire  to  know  the  certainty 
Of  your  dear  father's  death,  is't  writ  in  your 

revenge, 
That,  sweepstake,  you  will  draw  both  friend  and 
Winner  and  loser  ?  [ftie, 

Laertes. 

None  but  his  enemies. 

King. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


TKINCK  OF  DK.VMAKK. 


933 


King. 
Will  you  know  them,  then  ? 

Laertes. 
To  his  good  friends  thus  wide   I'll  ope  my 
arms ; 
And,  like  the  kind  life-rendering  pelican, 
Repast  them  with  my  blood. 
King. 

Why,  now  you  speak 
Like  a  good  child,  and  a  true  gentleman. 
That  I  am  guiltless  of  your  father's  death, 
And  am  most  sensibly  In  grief  for  it, 
It  shall  as  level  to  your  judgment  'pear, 
As  day  does  to  your  eye. 

Danes.  [Within. 

Let  her  come  in. 

Laertes. 
How  now  !  what  noise  is  that  ? 

Re-enter  Ophelia. 

O  heat,  dry  up  my  brains  !  tears  seven  times 

salt, 
Burn  out  the  sense  and  virtue  of  mine  eye  !  — 
By  heaven,  thy  madness  shall  be  paid  by  weight, 
Till  our  scale  turns  the  beam.     O  rose  of  May  I 
Dear  maid,  kind  sister,  sweet  Ophelia!  — 
O  heavens  !  is't  possible,  a  young  maid's  wits 
Should  be  as  mortal  as  an  old  man's  life  ? 
Nature  is  fine  in  love  ;  and,  where  'tis  fine, 
It  sends  some  precious  instance  of  itself 
After  the  thing  it  loves. 

Ophelia. 
They  bore  him  barefae'd  on  the  bier  ; 
Hey  non  nonny,  nonny,  hey  nonny  : 
And  in  his  grave  raind  many  a  tear  ;  — 
Fare  you  well,  my  dove  1 

Laertes. 
Hadst  thou  thy  wits,  and  didst  persuade  re- 
It  could  not  move  thus.  [venge, 
Ophelia. 
You  must  sing,  Down  a-down,  an  you  call 
him  a-down-a.    O,  how  the  wheel  becomes  it  I 
It  is  the  false  steward,  that  stole  his  master's 
daughter. 

Laertes. 
This  nothing's  more  than  matter. 

Ophelia. 
There's  rosemary,  that's  for  remembrance ; 
pray  you,  love,  remember  :  and  there  is  pansies, 
that's  for  thoughts. 

Laertes. 
A  document  in  madness  ;  thoughts  and  re- 
membrance fitted. 

Ophelia. 
There's  fennel  for  you,  and  columbines:  — 
there's  rue  for  you  ;  and  here's  some  for  me : 
we  may  call  it,  herb  of  grace  o' Sundays  :  — you 

may  wear  your  rue  with  a  difference There's 

a  daisy :  I  would  give  you  some  violets ;  but 
they  withered  all  when  my  father  died.  —  They 
say,  he  made  a  good  end,  — 
For  bonny  sweet  Robin  is  all  my  joy, — [Sings. 

Laertes. 
Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hell  itself, 
She  turns  to  favour,  and  to  prettiness. 
Ophelia. 
And  will  he  not  come  again  f       [Sings. 
And  will  he  not  come  again  t 
No,  no,  he  is  dead  ; 
Go  to  thy  death-bed, 
He  never  will  come  again. 


His  beard  was  as  white  as  snow. 
All  flaxen  was  his  poll  ; 
lie  is  gone,  he  is  gone. 
And  we  cast  away  moan  : 
God  ha'  mercy  on  his  soul ! 
And  of  all  Christian  souls  I  I  pray  God.    God 
be  wi'  you.  [Exit  Ophelia. 

Laertes. 
Do  you  see  this,  O  God  ? 

King. 
Laertes,  I  must  commune  with  your  grief. 
Or  you  deny  me  right.    Go  but  apart. 
Make  choice  of  whom  your  wisest  friends  you 

will, 
And  they  shall  hear  and  judge  "twlxt  you  and 
If  by  direct,  or  by  collateral  hand  [me. 

They  find  us  touch'd,  we  will  our  kingdom  give. 
Our  crown,  our  life,  and  all  that  we  call  ours, 
To  you  in  satisfaction  ;  but  if  not, 
Be  you  content  to  lend  your  patience  to  us. 
And  we  shall  jointly  labour  with  your  soul 
To  give  it  due  content. 

Laertes. 

Let  this  be  so : 
His  means  of  death,  his  obscure  funeral, 
No  trophy,  sword,   nor    hatchment,   o'er    his 
No  noble  rite,  nor  formal  ostentation,     [bones, 
Cry  to  be  heard,  as    'twere  from  heaven  to 
That  I  must  call't  in  question.  [earth, 

King. 

So  you  shall ; 
And,  where  th'  offence  is,  let  the  great  axe  fall. 
I  pray  you,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  VI.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Horatio,  and  a  Servant. 

Horatio. 

What  are  they,  that  would  speak  with  me  ? 

Servant. 
Sailors,  sir:    they  say,  they  have  letters  for 
you. 

Horatio. 
Let  them  come  in.  —  [Exit  Servant. 

I  do  not  know  from  what  part  of  the  world 
I  should  be  greeted,  if  not  from  lord  Hamlet. 

Enter  Sailors. 
first  Sailor. 
God  bless  you,  sir. 

Horatio. 
Let  him  bless  thee  too. 

First  Sailor. 
He  shall,  sir,  an't  please   him.    There's   a 
letter  for  you,  sir :  it  comes  from  the  ambas- 
sador that  was  bound  lor  England,  if  your  name 
be  Horatio,  as  I  am  let  to  know  it  is. 

Horatio.  [Reads 

"Horatio,  when  thou  shalt  have  overlooked 
this,  give  these  fellows  some  means  to  the  king: 
they  have  letters  for  him.  Ere  we  were  two 
days  old  at  sea,  a  pirate  of  very  warlike  appoint- 
ment gave  us  chase.  Finding  ourselves  too  slow 
of  sail,  we  put  on  a  compelled  valour ;  and  in 
the  grapple  I  boarded  them :  on  the  instant  they 
got  clear  of  our  ship,  so  I  alone  became  their 
prisoner.  They  have  dealt  with  me,  like  thieves 
of  mercy;  but  they  knew  what  they  did;  1  am 
to  do  a  good  turn  lor  them.  Let  the  king  have 
the  letters  1  have  sent ;  and  repair  thou  to  me 
with  as  much  haste  as  thou  would'st  fly  death. 
I  have  words  to  speak  in  thine  ear  will  make 
thee  dumb ;  yet  are  they  much  too  light  for  the 
bore  of  the  matter.  These  good  fellows  will 
bring  thee  where  I  am.  Rcscncrantz  and  Guil- 
denstern 


93+ 


HAMLET, 


Act  iv.  Sc  f< 


denstern  hold  their  course  for  England :  of  them 
I  have  much  to  tell  thee.    Farewell ; 

He  that  thou  knowest  thine,  Hamlet." 
Come,  1  will  give  you  way  for  these  your  letters ; 
And  do't  the  speedier,  that  you  may  direct  me 
To  him  from  whom  you  brought  them. 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  VII.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  King  and  Laertes. 


Kinc 


iseal, 


Now  must  your  conscience  my  acquittance  seal 
And  you  must  put  me  in  your  heart  for  friend,  • 
Sith  you  have  heard,  and  with  a  knowing  ear, 
That  he,  which  hath  your  noble  father  slain, 
Pursu'd  my  life. 

Laertes. 
It  well  appears :  but  tell  me, 
ou  proceeded  not  against  these  feats, 
So  crfminal  and  so  capital  in  nature, 
As  by  your  safety,  greatness,  wisdom,  all  things 
You  mainly  were  stirr'd  up.  [else, 

King. 

O!  for  two  special  reasons, 
Which  may  to  you,  perhaps,  seem  much  un- 

sinew'd, 
But  yet  to  me  they  are  strong.    The  queen,  his 

mother, 
Lives  almost  by  his  looks;  and  for  myself, 
(My  virtue,  or  my  plague,  be  it  either  which) 
She's  so  conjunctive  to  my  life  and  soul, 
That,  as  the  star  moves  not  but  in  his  sphere, 
I  could  not  but  by  her.    The  other  motive, 
Why  to  a  public  count  I  might  not  go, 
Is  the  great  love  the  general  gender  bear  him ; 
Who,  dipping  all  his  faults  in  their  affection, 
Work  like  the  spring  that  turneth  wood  to  stone, 
Convert  his  gyves  to  graces ;  so  that  my  arrows, 
Too  slightly  timber'd  for  so  loud  a  wind, 
Would  have  reverted  to  my  bow  again, 
And  not  where  I  had  aim'd  them. 
Laertes. 
And  so  have  I  a  noble  father  lost, 
A  sister  driven  into  desperate  terms ; 
Whose  worth,  if  praises  may  go  back  again, 
Stood  challenger  on  mount  of  all  the  age 
For  her  perfections.  But  my  revenge  will  come. 
King. 
Break  not  your  sleeps  for  that :  you  must  not 
think, 
That  we  are  made  of  stuff  so  flat  and  dull, 
That  we  can  let  our  beard  be  shook  with  danger, 
And  think  it  pastime.    You  shortly  shall  hear 

more: 
I  loved  your  father,  and  we  love  ourself ; 
And  that,  I  hope,  will  teach  you  to  imagine,- — 
How  now  !  what  news  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
Letters,  my  lord,  from  Hamlet. 
This  to  your  majesty  :  this  to  the  queen. 
King. 
From  Hamlet !  who  brought  them  ? 

Messenger. 
Sailors,  my  lord,  they  say ;  I  saw  them  not : 
They  were  given  me  by  Claudia,  he  receiv'd  them 
Of  him  that  brought  them. 
King. 
Laertes,  you  shall  hear  them.  — 
Leave  us.  [Exit  Messenger. 

[Reads.]  "  High  and  mighty,  you  shall  know, 
I  am  set  naked  on  your  kingdom.  To-morrow 
shall  I  beg  leave  to  see  your  kingly  eyes ;  when 
1  shall,  first  asking  your  pardon  thereunto,  re- 


count the  occasions  of  my  sudden  and  more 
strange  return.  Hamlet." 

What  should  this  mean  ?    Are  all  the  rest  come 
Or  is  it  some  abuse,  and  no  such  thing?  [back  ? 
Laertes. 
Know  you  the  hand  ? 

King. 
'Tis  Ha?nlet,s  character.    "Naked,"— 
And,  in  a  postscript  here,  he  says,  "  alone  : " 
Can  you  advise  me  ? 

Laertes. 
I'm  lost  in  it,  my  lord.    But  let  him  come : 
It  warms  the  very  sickness  in  my  heart, 
That  I  shall  live  and  tell  him  to  his  teeth, 
•'  Thus  diddest  thou." 

King. 

If  it  be  so,  Laertes, 
(As  how  should  it  be  so  ?  how  otherwise  ?) 
Will  you  be  ruled  by  me  ? 

Laertes. 

Ay,  my  lord  ; 
So  you  will  not  o'er-rule  me  to  a  peace. 
King. 
To  thine  own  peace.   If  he  be  now  return'd,— 
As  liking  not  his  voyage,  and  that  he  means 
No  more  to  undertake  it, —  I  will  work  him 
To  an  exploit,  now  ripe  in  my  device, 
j  Under  the  which  he  shall  not  choose  but  fall ; 
i  And  for  his  death  no  wind  of  blame  shall  breathe, 
j  But  even  his  mother  shall  uncharge  the  practice, 
( And  call  it,  accident. 

Laertes. 

My  lord,  I  will  be  rul'd  ; 
The  rather,  if  you  could  devise  it  so, 
That  I  might  be  the  organ. 
King. 

It  falls  right. 
You  have  been  talk'd  of  since  your  travel  much, 
And  that  in  Hamlet's  hearing,  for  a  quality 
Wherein,  they  say, you  shine:  your  sum  ot  parts 
Did  not  together  pluck  such  envy  from  him, 
i  As  did  that  one;  and  that,  in  my  regard, 
Of  the  unworthiest  siege. 

Laertes 

What  part  is  that,  my  lord  ? 
King. 
|     A  very  riband  in  the  cap  of  youth, 
I  Yet  needful  too  ;  for  youth  no  less  becomes 
1  The  light  and  careless  livery  that  it  wears, 
■■  Than  settled  age  his  sables,  and  his  weeds, 
!  Importing  health  and  graveness.  — Two  months 

since, 
:  Here  was  a  gentleman  ot  Normandy,— 
;  I  have  seen  myself,  and  ser  v'd  against  the  French , 
:  And  they  can  well  on  horseback ;  but  this  gallant 
i  Had  witchcraft  in't ;  he  grew  unto  his  seat ; 
'  And  to  such  wond'rous  doing  brought  his  horse, 
•  As  he  had  been  incorps'd  and  demi-natur'd 
'  With  the  brave  beast :   so  far  he  topp'd  my 

thought, 
That  I,  in  forgery  of  shapes  and  tricks, 
Come  short  of  what  he  did. 
Laertes. 

A  Norman,  was't  ? 
King. 
j     A  Norman. 

Laertes. 
I     Upon  my  life,  Lamord. 
!  King. 

The  very  same. 
Laertes. 
!     I  know  him  well :  he  is  the  brooch,  indeed, 
<  And  gem  of  all  the  nation, 
j  K:ng. 


IMbrtaau.  Aug  7a 

TOTAliffTL.Tg'IP. 


V 


Act  iv.  £<-.  mi. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


935 


King. 
He  made  confession  of  you ; 
And  gave  you  Mich  a  masterly  report, 
:  .\nd  exercise  in  your  defence, 
And  for  your  rapier  most  especially. 
Thai  ho  cried  out,  'twould  be  a  sight  indeed, 
If  one  could  match  you :  the  scrlmcrs  of  their 

nation, 
He  swore,  had  neither  motion,  guard,  nor  eye, 
If  vou  oppos'd  then.    Sir,  this  report  of  his 
Did  Hmmttt  so  envenom  with  his  envy, 
That  he  could  nothing  do,  but  wish  and  beg 
Your  sudden  coming  o'er,  to  play  with  you. 
Now,  out  of  this, — 

Laertes. 

What  out  of  this,  my  lord  ? 
King. 
Laertes,  was  your  father  dear  to  you  ? 
Or  are  you  like  the  painting  of  a  sorrow, 
A  face  without  a  heart  ? 

Laertes. 

Why  ask  you  this  ? 
King. 
Not  that  I  think  you  did  not  love  your  father, 
But  that  I  know  love  is  begun  by  time ; 
And  that  I  see,  in  passages  of  proof, 
Time  qualifies  the  spark  and  fire  of  it. 
There  lives  within  the  very  flame  of  love 
A  kind  of  wick,  or  snuff,  that  will  abate  it, 
And  nothing  is  at  a  like  goodness  still ; 
For  goodness,  growing  to  a  plurisy, 
Dies  in  his  own  too-much.     That  we  would  do, 
We  should  do  when  we  would ;  for  this  '*  would  " 

changes, 
And  hath  abatements  and  delays  as  many. 
As  there  are  tongues,  are  hands,  are  accidents  ; 
And  then  this  "should"  is  like  a  spendthrift's 

sigh, 
That  hurts  by  easing.    But,  to  the  quick  o'  the 

ulcer. 
Hamlet  comes  back :  what  would  you  undertake, 
To  show  yourself  your  father's  son  in  deed, 
More  than  in  words  ? 

Laertes. 

To  cut  his  throat  i'  the  church. 

King. 

No  place,  indeed,  should  murder  sanctuarize; 

Revenge  should  have  no  bounds.     But,  good 

Laertes, 
Will  you  do  this,  keep  close  within  your  chamber. 
HamUt,   return'd,    shall  know  you  are  come 

home: 
We'll  put  on  those  shall  praise  your  excellence. 
And  set  a  double  varnish  on  the  fame 
The  Frenchman  gave  you ;  bring  you  in  fine 

together, 
And  wager  on  your  heads  :  he,  being  remiss, 
Most  generous,  and  free  from  all  contriving, 
Will  not  peruse  the  foils  ;  so  that  with  ease, 
Or  with  a  little  shuffling,  you  may  choose 
A  sword  unbated,  and  in  a  pass  of  practice 
Requite  him  for  your  father. 
lies. 

I  will  do't ; 
And,  for  that  purpose,  I'll  anoint  my  sword. 
I  bought  an  unction  of  a  mountebank, 
So  mortal,  that  but  dip  a  knife  in  it, 
Where  it  draws  blood  no  cataplasm  so  rare, 
Collected  from  all  simples  that  have  virtue 
Under  the  moon,  can  save  the  thing  from  death, 
That   is  but  scratch'd  withal:    I'll   touch   my 

point 
With  this  contagion,  that  if  I  gall  him  slightly, 
If  may  be  death. 


King. 
Let's  farther  think  of  this; 
Weigh,  what  convenience,  both  of  time  and 

means, 
May  fit  us  to  our  shape.     If  this  should  fail, 
And  that  our  drift  look  through  our  bad  per- 
formance, 
'Twere  better  not  assay'd :  therefore,  this  project 
Should  have  a  hack,  or  second,  that  might  hold, 
If  this  should  blast  in  proof.     Soft! — let  me 

see:  — 
We'll  make  a  solemn  wager  on  your  cunnings, — 
I  ha't : 

When  in  your  motion  you  are  hot  and  dry, 
(As  make  your  bouts  more  violent  to  that  end) 
And  that  he  calls  for  drink,  I'll  have  preferr'd 

him 
A  chalice  for  the  nonce;  whereon  but  sipping, 
If  he  by  chance  escape  your  venom'd  stuck, 
Our  purpose  may  hold  there.    But  stay !  what 
noise  ? 

Enter  Queen. 
How,  sweet  queen ! 

Queen. 
One  woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heel, 
So  fast  they  follow — Your  sister's  drown'd, 
Laertes. 

Laertes. 
Drown'd !  O,  where  ? 

Queen. 
There  is  a  willow  grows  ascaunt  the  brook, 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream  j 
Therewith  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  pur- 
ples, 
That  liberal  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name, 
But  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call 

them: 
There,  on  the  pendent  boughs  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke, 
When  down  her  weedy  trophies,  and  herself, 
Fell  in  the  weeping  brook.     Her  clothes  spread 

wide, 
And,  mermaid-like,  a  while  they  bore  her  up ; 
Which  time,  she  chanted  snatches  of  old  lauds  ; 
As  one  incapable  of  her  own  distress, 
Or  like  a  creature  native  and  indu'd 
Unto  that  element :  but  long  it  could  not  be, 
Till  that  her  garments,  heavy  with  their  drink, 
Pull'd  the  poor  wretch  from  her  melodious  lay 
To  muddy  death. 

Laertes. 
Alas !  then,  is  she  drown'd  ? 
Queen. 
Drown'd,  drown'd. 

Laertes. 
Too  much  of  water  hast  thou,  poor  Ophelia, 
And  therefore  I  forbid  my  tears :  but  yet 
It  is  our  trick  ;  nature  her  custom  holds, 
Let  shame  say  what  it  will:  when  these  are 

gone, 
The  woman  will  be  out— Adieu,  my  lord ! 
I  have  a  speech  of  fire,  that  fain  would  blaze, 
But  that  this  folly  drowns  it. 

'  Exit 

King. 

Let's  follow,  Gertrude. 
How  much  I  had  to  do  to  calm  his  rage  1 
Now  fear  I,  this  will  give  it  start  again: 
Iherefore,  let's  follow.  Exeunt 


ACT 


936 


HAMLET, 


Act  v.  Sj,  i. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    A  Church  Yard. 
Enter  Two  Clowns,  with  Spades,  &c. 

First  Clown. 

IS  she  to  be  buried  in  Christian  burial,  that 
wilfully  seeks  her  own  salvation? 

Second  Clown. 
I  tell  thee,  she  is ;  and  therefore  make  her 
grave  straight :  the  crowner  hath  set  on  her,  and 
finds  it  Christian  burial. 

First  Clown. 
How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned  herself 
in  her  own  defence  ? 

Second  Clown. 
Why,  'tis  found  so. 

First  Clown. 
It  must  be  se  offendsndo;  it  cannot  be  else. 
For  here  lies  the  point:    if   I    drown  myself 
wittingly,  it  argues  an  act,  and  an  act  hath 
three  branches ;  it  is,  to  act,  to  do,  and  to  per- 
form :  argal,  she  drowned  herself  wittingly. 
Second  Clown. 
Nay,  but  hear  you,  goodman  delver 

First  Clown. 
Give  me  leave.    Here  lies  the  water ;  good  : 
here  stands  the  man ;  good :  if  the  man  go  to 
this  water,  and  drown  himself,  it  is,  will  he, 
nill  he,  he  goes,  mark  you  that ;  but  if  the  water 
come  to  him,  and  drown  him,  he  drowns  not 
himself:  argal,  he  that  is  not  guilty  of  his  own 
death  shortens  not  his  own  life. 
Second  Clown. 
But  is  this  law? 

First  Clown. 
Ay,  marry,  is't ;  crowner's  quest-law. 

Second  Clown. 
Will  you  ha'  the  truth  on't  ?    If  this  had  not 
been  a  gentlewoman,    she  should   have   been 
buried  out  of  Christian  burial. 
First  Clown. 
Why,  there  thon  say'st ;  and  the  more  pity, 
that  great  folk  shall  have  countenance  in  this 
world  to  drown  or  hang  themselves,  more  than 
their  even  Christian.    Come,  my  spade.    There 
is  no  ancient  gentlemen  but  gardeners,  ditchers, 
and  grave-makers;  they  hold  up  Adam's  pro- 
fession. _         ,  _, 

Second  Clown. 

Was  he  a  gentleman  ? 

First  Clown. 
He  was  the  first  that  ever  bore  arms. 

Second  Clown. 
Why,  he  had  none. 

First  Clown. 
What,  art  a  heathen  ?    How  dost  thou  under- 
stand the  Scripture  ?  The  Scripture  says,  Adam 
digged:  could  he  dig  without  arms?    I'll  put 
another  question  to  thee :  if  thou  answerest  me 

not  to  the  purpose,  confess  thyself. 

Second  Clown. 

Go  to.  _.    .  „, 

First  Clown. 

What  is  he,  that  builds  stronger  than  either 
the  mason,  the  shipwright,  or  the  carpenter,? 
Second  Clown. 

The  gallows-maker;  for  that  frame  outlives 
9  thousand  tenants. 


First  Clown. 
I  like  thy  wit  well,  in  good  faith  :  the  gallows 
does  well;  but  how  does  it  well?  it  does  well  to 
those  that  do  ill :  now,  thou  dost  ill  to  say  the 
gallows  is  built  stronger  than  the  church :  argal, 
the  gallows  may  do  well  to  thee.  To't  again ; 
come. 

Second  Clown. 
Who  builds  stronger  than  a  mason,  a  ship- 
wright, or  a  carpenter? 

First  Clown. 
Ay,  tell  me  that,  and  unyoke. 
Second  Clown. 
Marry,  now  I  can  tell. 

First  Clown. 
To't. 

Second  Clown. 
Mass,  I  cannot  tell. 
Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio,  at  a  distance. 
First  Clown. 
Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it,  for  your 
dull  ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  with  beating ; 
and,  when  you  are  asked  this  question  next,  say, 
a  grave-maker :  the  houses  that  he  makes,  last 
till   doomsday.     Go,    get   thee   to    Yaughan; 
fetch  me  a  stoop  of  liquor. ,.,   .   „         .  „, 

[Exit  Second  Clown. 

First  Clown  digs  and  sings. 

In  youth,  when  J  did  love,  did  love, 

Methought  it  was  very  sweet, 
To  contract,  Ol  the  lime,  for,  ah!  my  behove, 
0,  methought,  there  was  nothing  meet. 
Hamlet. 
Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business,  that 
he  sings  at  grave-making  ? 
Horatio. 
Custom  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of 
easiness.  ,,      ,  ^ 

Hamlet. 

'Tis  e'en  so :  the  hand  of  little  employment 
hath  the  daintier  sense. 

First  Clown. 
But  age,  with  his  stealing  steps. 
Hath  claw'd  me  in  his  clutch, 
And  hath  shipped  me  intill  the  land, 
As  if  I  had  never  beefLsuch.  ., 

[Throws  up  a  scull. 

Hamlet. 
That  scull  had  a  tongue  in  it,  and  could  sing 
once:  how  the  knave  jowls  it  to  the  ground,  as 
if  it  were  Cam's  jaw-bone,  that  did  the  first 
murder  !    This  might  be  the  pate  of  a  politician, 
which  this  ass  now  o'er-reaches,  one  that  would 
circumvent  God,  might  it  not? 
Horatio. 
It  might,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Or  of  a  courtier,  which  could  say,  "  Good- 
morrow,  sweet  lord  I     How  dost  thou,   good 
lord?  "  This  might  be  my  lord  such-a-one,  that 
praised  my  lord  such-a-one's  horse,  when  he 
meant  to  beg  it,  might  it  not  ? 
Horatio. 
Ay,  my  lord.         HamJet 

Why,  e'en  so,  and  now  my  lady  Worm's; 
chapless,  and  knocked  about  the  mazzard  with  a 
sexton's  spade.  Here's  fine  revolution,  an  we 
had  the  trick  to  see't.  Did  these  bones  cost  no 
more  the  breeding,  but  to  play  at  loggats  with 
them  ?  mine  ache  to  think  on't.  _..    . 


Act  ▼.  Sc.  i. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


937 


First  Clown. 
A  pick-axe,  and  a  spade,  a  spade,  [Slngi . 

tor  — and  a  shrouding  sheet : 
01  a  pit  aj  clay  for  to  be  made 
For  such  a  guest  is  meet. 

T7 Throw*  up  another  icull. 

H.  unlet. 
There**  another:  why  may  not  that  be  the 
scull  of  l  lawyer  ?  Where  be  his  qulddits  now, 
his  quillets,  his  cases,  his  tenures,  and  his  tricks? 
why  doe*  he  suffer  this  rude  knave  now  to  knock 
him  about  the  sconce  with  a  dirty  shovel,  and 
will  not  tell  him  of  his  action  of  battery? 
Humph  !  This  fellow  might  be  in's  time  a  great 
buyer  of  land,  with  his  statutes,  his  recog- 
nizances, his  tines,  his  double  vouchers,  his  re- 
coveries :  is  this  the  fine  of  his  fines,  and  the  re- 
covery of  his  recoveries,  to  have  his  fine  pate 
full  of  fine  dirt  ?  will  his  vouchers  vouch  him  no 
more  of  his  purchases,  and  double  ones  too,  than 
the  length  and  breadth  of  a  pair  of  indentures  ? 
The  very  conveyances  of  his  lands  will  hardly  lie 
in  this  box,  and  must  the  inheritor  himself  have 
no  more  ?  ha  ? 

Horatio. 
Not  a  jot  more,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Is  not  parchment  made  of  sheep-skins  ? 

Horatio. 
Ay,  my  lord,  and  of  calf-skins  too. 

Hamlet. 
They  are  sheep,  and  calves,  which  seek  out 
assurance  in  that.    1  will  speak  to  this  fellow. — 
Whose  grave's  this,  sir? 

First  Clown. 
Mine,  sir — 

01  a  pit  of clay  for  to  be  made     [Sings. 
For  such  a  guest  is  meet. 
Hamlet. 
I  think  it  be  thine,  Indeed ;  for  thou  Iiest  in't. 

First  Clown. 
You  lie  out  on't,  sir,  and  therefore  it  is  not 
yours :  for  my  part,  I  do  not  lie  in't,  and  yet  it 
is  mine. 

Hamlet. 
Thou  dost  lie  in't,  to  be  in't,  and  say  it  is 
thine :    'tis  for  the  dead,   not  for  the  quick ; 
therefore,  thou  liest. 

First  Clown. 
'Tis  a  quick  lie,  sir;  'twill  away  again,  from 
roe  to  you. 

Hamlet. 
What  man  dost  thou  dig  it  for  ? 

First  Clown. 
For  no  man,  sir. 

Hamlet. 
What  woman,  then  ? 

First  Clown. 
For  none,  neither. 

Hamlet. 
Who  is  to  be  buried  in't  ? 

First  Clown. 
One,  that  was  a  woman,  sir  ;   but,  rest  her 
•oul,  she's  dead. 

Hamlet. 
How  absolute  the  knave  is  !  we  must  speak  by 
the  card,  or  equivocation  will  undo  us.  By  the 
lord,  Horatio,  these  three  years  I  have  taken 
note  of  it ;  the  age  is  grown  so  picked,  that  the 
toe  of  the  peasant  comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the 
courtier,  he  galls  his  kibe.  —  How  long  hast  thou 
been  a  grave-maker? 


First  Clown. 
Of  all  the  days  1'  the  year,  I  came  to't  that  day 
that  our  last  king  Uamtet  overcame  Fortmbras. 
let. 
How  long  is  that  since  ? 

First  Clown. 

Cannot  you  tell  that?  every  fool  can  tell  that. 

It  was  the  very  day  that  young  Hamlet  was  born ; 

he  that  is  mad,  and  sent  into  England. 

namlet. 

Ay,  marry ;  why  was  he  sent  Into  Engl  and  T 

First  Clown. 
Why,  because  he  was  road :  he  shall  recover 
his  wits  there ;  or,  if  he  do  not,  'tis  no  great 
matter  there. 

Hamlet. 
Why? 

First  Clown. 
Twill  not  be  seen  in  him  there ;  there,  the 
men  are  as  mad  as  he. 

Hamlet. 
How  came  he  mad  ? 

First  Clown. 
Very  strangely,  they  say. 
Ham  let. 
How  strangely  ? 

First  Clown. 
'Faith,  e'en  with  losing  his  wits. 

Hamlet. 
Upon  what  ground  ? 

First  Clown. 
Why,  here  in  Denmark :  I  have  been  sexton 
here,  man,  and  boy,  thirty  years. 
Hamiel. 
How  long  will  a  man  lie  i'the  earth  ere  he  rot  ? 

First  Clown. 
'Faith,  if  he  be  not  rotten  before  he  die,  (as  we 
have  many  pocky  corses  now-a-days,  that  will 
scarce  hold  the  laying  in)  he  will  last  you  some 
eight  year,  or  nine  year :  a  tanner  will  last  you 
nine  year. 

Hamlet. 
Why  he  more  than  another  ? 
1-irst  Clown. 
Why,  sir,  his  hide  is  so  tanned  with  his  trade, 
that  he  will  keep  out  water  a  great  while,  and 
your  water  is  a  6ore  decayer  of  your  whoreson 
dead  body.     Here's  a  scull  now  ;  this  scull  hath 
lain  you  i'the  earth  three-and-twenty  years. 
Hamlet. 
Whose  was  It  ? 

First  Clown. 
A  whoreson  mad  fellow's  it  was:  whose  do 
you  think  it  was  ? 

Hamlet. 
Nay,  I  know  not. 

First  Clown. 
A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  rogue !  a* 
poured  a  flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my  head  once. 
This  same  scull,  sir,  this  same  scull,  sir,  was 
Yorick'a  scull,  the  king's  jester. 
Hamlet. 
This?  [Takes  the  Scull. 

First  Clown. 
E'en  that. 

Hamlet. 
Let  me  see.  Alas,  poor  Yorick!  —  I  knew 
him,  Horatio:  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most 
excellent  fancy:  he  hath  borne  me  on  his  back  a 
thousand  times  ;  and  now,  how  abhorred  in  my 
imagination  it  is  !  my  gorge  rises  at  it.     Here 

hung 


938 


HAMLET, 


Act  v.  Se.  t. 


hung  those  lips,  that  I  have  kissed  I  know  not 
how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now  ?  your 
gambols?  your  songs?  your  flashes  of  merri- 
ment, that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar? 
Not  one  now,  to  mock  your  own  grinning  ?  quite 
chapfallen  ?  Now,  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber, 
and  tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this 
favour  she  must  come ;  make  her  laugh  at  that. 
—  Pr'ythee,  Horatio,  tell  me  one  thing. 
Horatio. 
What's  that,  my  lord? 

Hamlet. 
Dost  thou  think,  Alexander   looked   o'this 
fashion  i'  the  earth  ? 

Horatio. 
E'en  so. 

Hamlet. 
And  smelt  so  ?  pah  !      [Puts  down  the  Scull. 

Horatio. 
E'en  so,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

To  what  base  uses  we  may  return,  Horatio ! 

Why  may  not  imagination  trace  the  noble  dust 

of  Alexander,  till  he  find  it  stopping  abung-hole  ? 

Horatio. 

'Twere  to  consider  too  curiously,  to  consider 

so. 

Hamlet. 
No,  faith,  not  a  jot ;  but  to  follow  him  thither 
with  modesty  enough,  and  likelihood  to  lead  it: 
as  thus ;  Alexander  died,  Alexander  was  buried, 
Alexander  returneth    into   dust;    the   dust  is 
earth  ;  of  earth  we  make  loam,  and  why  of  that 
loam,  whereto  he  was  converted,  might  they  not 
stop  a  beer-barrel  ? 
Imperial  Casar,  dead,  and  turn'd  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away : 
O !  that  that  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in 

awe, 
Should  patch  a  wall  t'  expel  the  winter's  flaw  I 
But  soft!   but  softl   aside:  — here  comes  the 
king, 

Enter  Priests,  &c.  in  Procession ;  the  Corpse 
of  Ophelia,  Laertes  and  Mourners  following  ; 
King,  Queen,  their  Trains,  &c. 

The  queen,  the  courtiers.    Who  is  that  they 
follow, 

And  with  such  maimed  rites  ?    This  doth  be- 
token, 

The  corse  they  follow  did  with  desperate  hand 

Fordo  its  own  life :  'twas  of  some  estate. 

Couch  we  a  while,  and  mark..  . 

[Retiring  with  Horatio. 

Laertes. 
What  ceremony  else  ? 

Hamlet. 

That  is  Laertes, 
A  very  noble  youth  :  mark. 
Laertes. 
What  ceremony  else  ? 

First  Priest. 
Her  obsequies  have  been  as  far  enlarg'd 
As  we  have  warranty:  her  death  was  doubtful ; 
And  but  that  great    command  o'ersways  the 

order, 
She  should  in  ground  unsanctified  have  lodg'd, 
Till  the  last  trumpet ;  for  charitable  prayers, 
Shards,  flints,  and  pebbles,  should  be  thrown  on 
Yet  here  she  is  allow'd  her  virgin  crants,  [her ; 
Her  maiden  strewments,  and  the  bringing  home 
Of  bell  and  burial. 


Laertes, 
Must  there  no  more  be  done  ? 
First  Priest. 

No  more  be  done 
We  should  profane  the  service  of  the  dead, 
To  sing  a  requiem,  and  such  rest  to  her 
As  to  peace-parted  souls. 

Laertes. 

Lay  her  i'  the  earth  ; 
And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh, 
May  violets  spring!— I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  ministering  angel  shall  my  sister  be, 
When  thou  liest  howling. 

Hamlet. 

What !  the  fair  Ophelia  ? 
Queen. 
Sweets  to  the  sweet :  farewell. 

I  Scattering  flowers. 
I  hop'd  thou  should'st  have  been  my  Harnlet's, 

wife: 
I  thought  thy  bride-bed  to  have  deck'd,  swert 
And  not  to  have  strew'd  thy  grave.  [maid, 

Laertes. 

O  !  treble  woe 
Fall  ten  times  treble  on  that  cursed  head, 
Whose  wicked  deed  thy  most  ingenious  sense 
Depriv'd  thee  of!  —  Hold  off  the  earth  awhile, 
Till  I  have  caught  her  once  more  in  mine  arms. 
[Leaping  into  the  Grave. 
Now  pile  your  dust  upon  the  quick  and  dead, 
Till  of  this  flat  a  mountain  you  have  made, 
To  o'er-top  old  Pclion,  or  the  skyish  head 
Otb\ue  Olympus. 

Hamlet  [Advancing. 

What  is  he,  whose  grief 
Bears  such  an  emphasis  ?  whose  phrase  of  sorrow 
Conjures  the  wandering  stars,  and  makes  them 

stand, 
Like  wonder-wounded  hearers  ?  this  is  I, 
Hamlet  the  Dane.        [Leaping  into  the  Grave. 
Laertes. 
The  devil  take  thy  soul ! 
[Grappling  with  him. 
Hamlet. 
Thou  pray'st  not  well. 
I  pr'ythee,  take  thy  fingers  from  my  throat ; 
For  though  I  am  not  splenetive  and  rash, 
Yet  have  I  in  me  something  dangerous, 
Which  let  thy  wisdom  fear.    Hold  off  thy  hand. 
King. 
Pluck  them  asunder. 

Queen. 

Hamlet!  Hamlet! 
All. 
Gentlemen,— 

Horatio. 

Good  my  lord,  be  quiet. 
[The  Attendants  part  them,  and  they  come 
out  of  the  Grave. 

Hamlet. 
Why,  I  will  fight  with  him  upon  this  theme, 
Until  my  eyelids  will  no  longer  wag. 
Queen. 

0  my  son  !  what  theme  ? 

Hamlet. 

1  lov'd  Ophelia :  forty  thousand  brothers 
Could  not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love, 
Make  up  my  sum What  wilt  thou  do  for  her  ? 

King. 
O  !  he  is  mad,  Laertes. 
Queen. 

For  love  of  God,  forbear  him. 

Hamlet. 


Ac  i  v.  Sc.  ii. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMAKK. 


939 


Ha 

•Swounds !  ihow  me  what  thou'lt  do : 
Woul't  weep  ?  wouPt  fight  ?  wouPt  fast  ?  wouPt 

tear  thyself? 
"WouPt  drink  up  EsUlf  cat  a  crocodile  ? 
I'll  do't.  —  Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine? 
To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave  ? 
lie  buried  quick  with  her,  and  «o  will  I : 
And,  if  thou  prate  of  mountains  let  them  throw 
Millions  of  acres  on  us ;  till  our  ground, 
Singeing  his  pate  against  the  burning  zone, 
Make  Ossa  like  a  wart !    Nay,  an  thou'lt  mouth, 
I'll  rant  as  well  as  thou. 
Qu. 

This  is  mere  madness : 
And  thus  a  while  the  fit  will  work  on  him  ; 
Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove. 
When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclos'd, 
His  silence  will  sit  drooping. 
Hamlet. 

Hear  you,  sir : 
What  is  the  reason  that  you  use  me  thus? 
I  lov'd  you  ever  ;  but  it  is  no  matter ; 
Let  Hercules  himself  do  what  he  may, 
The  cat  will  mew,  and  dog  will  have  his  day. 

Hffcxit. 
King. 
I  pray  you,  good  Horatio,  wait  upon  him.— 

[To  Laertes.)   Strengthen  your  patience  in  our 

last  night's  speech ; 
We'll  put  the  matter  to  the  present  push. — 

Good  Gertrude,  set  some  watch  over  your  son 

This  grave  shall  have  a  living  monument ; 
An  hour  of  quiet  thereby  shall  we  see  ; 
Till  then,  in  patience  our  proceeding  be. 

SCEKE  II.     A  Hall  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio. 
Hamlet. 
So  much  for  this,  sir :  now  shall  you  see  the 
other.  — 
You  do  remember  all  the  circumstance. 
Horatio. 
Remember  it,  my  lord ! 

Hamlet. 

Sir,  in  my  heart  there  was  a  kind  of  fighting, 

That  would  not  let  me  sleep  :  im  thought.  1  lay 

Worse    than    the    mutines    in    the     bilboes. 

Rashly,— 
And  prais'd  be  rashness  for  it,—  let  us  know, 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well, 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall ;  and  that  should 

teach  us, 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 
Horatio. 

That  is  most  certain. 
Hamlrt. 
Up  from  my  cabin, 
My  sea-gown  scarfd  about  me,  in  the  dark 
Grop'd  1  to  find  out  them  ;  had  my  desire  ; 
Finger'd  their  packet ;  and,  in  fine,  withdrew 
To  mine  own  room  again  :  making  so  bold, 
My  fears  forgetting  manners,  to  unfold 
Their  grand  commission ;  where  I  found,  Ho- 
ratio, 
O  royal  knavery  !  an  exact  command,  — 
Larded  with  many  several  sorts  of  reasons, 
Importing   Denmark's  health,  and    England"! 

too, 
With,  ho  !  such  bugs  and  goblins  in  my  life,— 


That  on  the  supervise,  no  leisure  bated, 
No,  not  to  stay  the  grinding  of  the  axe, 
My  head  should  be  struck  off. 
Horatio. 

Is't  possible  ? 
Hamlet. 
Here's   the   commission:    read    it   at  more 
leisure. 
But  wilt  thou  hear  me  how  I  did  proceed  ? 
Horatio. 
I  beseech  you. 

Hamlet 
Being  thtis  benetted  round  with  villains,  _ 
Ere  I  could  make  a  prologue  to  my  brains, 
They  had  begun  the  play,  —  I  sat  me  down, 
Devis'd  a  new  commission  ;  wrote  it  fair. 
I  once  did  hold  it,  as  our  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fair,  and  labour'd  much 
How  to  forget  that  learning  ;  but,  sir,  now 
It  did  me  yeoman's  service.    Wilt  thou  know 
The  effect  of  what  I  wrote  ? 
Horatio. 

Ay,  good  my  lord. 
Hamlet. 
An  earnest  conjuration  from  the  king, — 
As  England  was  his  faithful  tributary. 
As  love  between  them  like  the   palm  might 

flourish, 
As  peace  should  still  her  wheaten  garland  wear, 
And  stand  a  comma  'tween  their  amities, 
And  many  such  like  as's  of  great  charge,— 
That  on  the  view  and  know  of  these  contents, 
Without  debatement  farther,  more  or  less, 
He  should  the  bearers  put  to  sudden  death, 
Not  shriving-time  allow'd. 
Horatio. 

How  was  this  seal'd  ? 
Hamlet. 
Why,  even  In  that  was  heaven  ordinant. 
I  had  my  father's  signet  in  my  purse, 
Which  was  the  model  of  that  Danish  seal ; 
Folded  the  writ  up  in  form  of  the  other  ; 
Subscrib'd  it ;  gave't  th'  impression  ;  plac'd  it 
safely,  [day 

The  changeling  never  known.  Now,  the  next 
Was  our  sea-fight,  and  what  to  this  was  sequent 
Thou  know'st  already. 

Horatio. 
So  Guildenstern  and  Rosencrantz,  go  to't, 

Hamlet 
Why,  man,  they  did  make  love  to  this  em- 
ployment : 
They  are  not  near  my  conscience  :  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuation  grow. 
'Tis  dangerous,  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 

Horatio. 

Wrhy,  what  a  king  is  this! 
Hamlet. 
Does  it  not,  think  thee,  stand  me  now  upon — 
He  that  hath  kill'd  my  king,  and  whor'd  my 

mother ; 
Popp'd  in  between  th*  election  and  my  hopes  ; 
Thrown  out  his  angle  for  my  proper  life, 
And    with    such    cozenage  —  is't    not    perfect 

conscience, 
To  quit  him  with  this  arm  ?  and  is't  not  to  be 
To  let  this  canker  of  our  nature  come  [damn'd, 
In  farther  evil  ? 

Horatio. 

It  must  be  shortly  known  to  him  from  Eng- 

What  is  the  issue  of  the  business  there,      [laud, 

Hamlet. 


94© 


HAMLET, 


Act  v.  Sc.  n. 


Hamlet. 
It  will  be  short :  the  interim  is  mine ; 
And  a  man's  life  no  more  than  to  say,  one. 
But  I  am  very  sorry,  good  Horatio, 
That  to  Laertes  I  forgot  myself, 
For  by  the  image  of  my  cause  I  see 
The  portraiture  of  his :  I'll  count  his  favours  : 
But,  sure,  the  bravery  of  his  grief  did  put  me 
Into  a  towering  passion. 

Horatio. 

Peace  !  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Osrick. 
Osrick. 

Your  lordship  is  right  welcome  back  te  Den- 
mark. _      . 

Hamlet. 
I  humbly  thank  you,  sir.  —  Dost  know  this 
water-fly  ? 

Horatio. 
No,  my  good  lord. 

Hamlet. 
Thy  state  is  the  more  gracious,  for  'tis  a  vice 
to  know  him.  He  hath  much  land,  and  fertile: 
let  a  beast  be  lord  of  beasts,  and  his  crib  shall 
stand  at  the  king's  mess  :  'tis  a  chough  ;  but,  as 
I  say,  spacious  in  the  possession  of  dirt. 

Osrick. 
Sweet  lord,  if  your  lordship  were  at  leisure,  I 
should  impart  a  thing  to  you  from  his  majesty. 

Hamlet. 
I  will  receive  it,  sir,  with  all  diligence  of 
spirit.    Your  bonnet  to  his  right  use ;  'tis  for 
the  head. 

Osrick. 
I  thank  your  lordship,  'tis  very  hot. 

Hamlet. 
No,  believe  me,  'tis  very  cold :  the  wind  is 
northerly. 

Osrick. 
It  is  indifferent  cold,  my  lord,  indeed. 

Hamlet. 
But  yet,  methinks,  it  is  very  sultry,  and  hot 
for  my  complexion. 

Osrick. 
Exceedingly,  my  lord;  it  is  very  sultry,— as 
'twere, — I  cannot  tell  how.— But,  my  lord,  his 
majesty  bade  me  signify  to  you,  that  he  has  laid 
a  great  wager  on  your  head.  Sir,  this  is  the 
matter,— 

Hamlet. 
I  beseech  you,  remember — 

[Hamlet  moves  him  to  put  on  his  Hat. 

Osrick. 

Nay,  in  good  faith;  for  mine  ease,  in  good 

faith.      Sir,    here    is    newly   come    to   court, 

Laertes ;  believe  me,  an  absolute  gentleman, 

full  of  most  excellent  differences,  of  very  soft 

society,  and  great  showing:  indeed,  to  speak 

feelingly  of  him,  he  is  the  card  or  calendar  of 

gentry,  for  you  shall  find  in  him  the  continent 

of  what  part  a  gentleman  would  see. 

Hamlet. 

Sir,  his  definement     uflfers  no  perdition  in 

you ;  though,  I  know,  to  divide  him  inventorially, 

would  dizzy  the  arithmetic  of  memory ;  and  yet 

but  yaw  neither,  in  respect  of  his  quick  sail. 

But,  in  the  verity  of  extolment,  I  take  him  to  be 

a  soul  of  great  article  ;  and  his  infusion  of  such 

dearth  and  rareness,  as,  to  make  true  diction  of 

him,  his  semblable  is  his  mirror ;  and  who  else 

would  trace  him,  his  umbrage,  nothing  more. 


Osrick. 
Your  lordship  speaks  most  infallibly  of  him. 

Hamlet. 
The  concernancy,  sir?  why  do  we  wrap  the 
gentleman  in  our  more  rawer  breath  ? 
Osrick. 
Sir? 

Horatio. 
Is't  not   possible  to  understand  in  another 
tongue  ?    You  will  do't,  sir,  really. 
Hamlet. 
What  imports  the  nomination  of  this  gentle- 
man? 

Osrick. 
Of  Laertes  ? 

Horatio. 
His  purse  is  empty  already;  all  his  golden 
words  are  spent. 

Hamlet. 
Of  him,  sir. 

Osrick. 
I  know,  you  are  not  ignorant  — 

Hamlet. 
I  would,  you  did,  sir ;  yet,  in  faith,  if  you  did, 
it  would  not  much  approve  me. — Well,  sir. 
Osrick. 
You   are   not   ignorant  of  what  excellence 
Laertes  is— - 

Hamlet. 
[  dare  not  confess  that,  lest  I  should  compare 
with  him  in  excellence ;  but  to  know  a  man  well 
were  to  know  himself. 

Osrick. 
I  mean,  sir,  for  his  weapon  ;  but  in  the  impu- 
tation laid  on  him  by  them,  in  his  meed  he'» 
unfellowed. 

Hamlet. 
What's  his  weapon  ? 

Osrick. 
Rapier  and  dagger. 

Hamlet. 
That's  two  of  his  weapons :  but,  well. 

Osrick. 
The  king,  sir,  hath  wagered  with  him  six 
Barbary  horses :  against  the  which  he  has  im- 
poned,  as  1  take  it,  six  French  rapiers  and 
poniards,  with  their  assigns,  as  girdle,  hangers, 
and  so.  Three  of  the  carriages,  in  faith,  are 
very  dear  to  fancy,  very  responsive  to  the  hilts, 
most  delicate  carriages,  and  of  very  liberal 
conceit. 

Hamlet. 
What  call  you  the  carriages  ? 

Horatio. 
I  knew,  you  must  be  edified  by  the  margin, 
ere  you  had  done. 

Osrick. 
The  carriages,  sir,  are  the  hangers. 

Hamlet. 
The  phrase  would  be  more  german  to  the 
matter,  if  we  could  carry  a  cannon  by  our  sides : 
I  would,  it  might  be  hangers  till  then.  But,  on : 
6ix  Barbary  horses  against  six  French  swords, 
their  assigns,  and  three  liberal-conceited  car- 
riages ;  that's  the  French  bet  against  the  Danish. 
Why  is  this  imponed,  as  you  call  it? 

Osrick. 

The  king,  sir,  hath  laid,  sir,  that  In  a  dozen 
passes  between  yourself  and  him,  he  shall  not 
exceed  you  three  hits :  he  hath  laid,  on  twelve 
for  nine;  and  that  would  come  to  immediate 
trial,  if  your  lordship  would  vouchsafe  the 
answer. 

Hamlet. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


9+' 


Ha 

How,  If  I  answer,  no  ? 

Otrick. 

I  mean,  my  lord,  the  opposition  of  your  person 
In  trial. 

Hamlet. 

Sir,  I  will  walk  here  In  the  hall:  if  It  please 
his  majesty,  it  is  the  breathing  time  of  day  with 
me,  let  the  foils  be  brought,  the  gentleman 
willing,  and  the  king  bold  his  purpose,  1  will 
win  for  him,  if  I  can  ;  if  not,  I  will  gain  nothing 
but  my  shame,  and  the  odd  hits. 

Osrick. 

Shall  I  deliver  yon  to  ? 

Hamlet. 

To  this  effect,  sir;  after  what  flourish  your 
nature  will. 

Osrick. 
I  commend  my  duty  to  your  lordship.   [Exit. 

Hamlet. 
Yours,  yours.  —  He  does  well  to  commend  it 
himself;  there  are  no  tongues  else  for's  turn. 

Horatio. 

This  lapwing  runs  away  with  the  shell  on  his 
head. 

Hamlet. 

He  did  comply  with  his  dug  before  he  sucked 
It.  Thus  has  he  (and  many  more  of  the  same 
breed,  that,  I  know,  the  drossy  age  dotes  on) 
only  got  the  tune  of  the  time,  and  outward  habit 
of  encounter,  a  kind  of  yesty  collection,  which 
carries  them  through  and  through  the  most  fond 
and  winnowed  opinions  ;  and  do  but  blow  them 
to  their  trial,  the  bubbles  are  out. 

Enter  a  Lord. 
Lord. 
My  lord,  his  majesty  commended  him  to  you 
by  young  Osrick,  who  brings  back  to  him,  that 
you  attend  him  in  the  hall :  he  sends  to  know, 
if  your  pleasure  hold  to  play  with  Laertes,  or 
that  you  will  take  longer  time. 
Hamlet . 
I  am  constant  to  my  purposes;  they  follow 
the  king's  pleasure:  if  his  fitness  speaks,  mine 
is  ready ;  now,  or  whensoever,  provided  I  be  so 
able  as  now. 

Lord. 
The  king,  and  queen,  and  all  are  coming 
down. 

Hamlet. 
In  happy  time. 

Lord. 
The  queen  desires  you  to  use  some  gentle 
entertainment  to  Laertes,  before  you  fall    to 
play. 

Hamlet. 
She  well  Instructs  me.  [Exit  Lord. 

Horatio. 
You  will  lose  this  wager,  my  lord. 

Hamlet. 

I  do  not  think  so :  since  he  went  into  France, 

I  have  been  in  continual  practice ;  I  shall  win 

at  the  odds.     Thou  would'st  not  think,  how 

ill  all's  here  about  my  heart ;  but  it  is  no  matter. 

Horatio. 

Nay,  good  my  lord,— 

Hamlet. 
It  is  but  foolery ;  but  it  Is  such  a  kind  of  gain- 
giving,  as  would,  perhaps,  trouble  a  woman. 

Horatio. 
If  your  mind  dislike  any  thing,  obey  it :    I 


will  forestall  their  repair  hither,  and  say  you  are 
not  fit.  „      , 

11. unlet. 
Not  a  whit,  we  defy  augury :  there  is  a  special 
providence  in  the  fill  of  a  sparrow.  If  ft  be 
now,  'tis  not  to  come ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it 
will  be  now  ;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come : 
the  readiness  it  all.  Since  no  man,  of  aught 
he  leaves,  knows,  what  is't  to  leave  betimes? 
Let  be. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Laertes,  Lords,  Osrick,  and 
Attendants  with  Foils,  Ac. 
King. 
Come,  Hamlet,  come,  and  take  this  hand  from 
me. 
[The  King  puts  the  Hand  of  Laertes  Into 
that  of  Hnmlet. 

Hamlet. 
Give  me  your  pardon,  sir:    I've  done  you 
wrong ; 
But  pardonvt,  as  you  are  a  gentleman. 
This  presence  knows,  [punish *d 

And  you  must  needs  have  heard,  how  I  am 
With  sore  distraction.    What  I  have  done, 
That  might  your  nature,  honour,  and  exception, 
Roughly  awake,  I  here  proclaim  was  madness. 
Was't  Hamlet  wrong'd  Laertes  t  N ever,  Hamlet : 
l(  Hamlet  from  himself  be  ta'en  away, 
And  when  he's  not  himself  does  wrong  Laertes, 
Then  Hamlet  does  it  not ;  Hamlet  denies  it. 
Who  does  it  then  ?    His  madness.     IPt  be  so, 
Hamlet  is  of  the  faction  that  is  wrong'd  ; 
His  madness  is  poor  Hamlet's  enemy. 
Sir,  in  this  audience, 
Let  my  disclaiming  from  a  purpos'd  evil 
Free  me  so  far  in  your  most  generous  thoughts, 
That  I  have  shot  mine  arrow  o'er  the  house, 
And  hurt  my  brother. 

Laertes. 

I  am  satisfied  in  nature, 
Whose  motive,  in  this  case,  should  stir  me  most 
To  my  revenge :  but  in  my  terms  of  honour, 
I  stand  aloof,  and  will  no  reconcilement, 
Till  by  some  elder  masters,  of  known  honour, 
I  have  a  voice  and  precedent  of  peace, 
To  keep  my  name  ungor'd.    But  till  that  time, 
I  do  receive  your  offer 'd  love  like  love, 
And  will  not  wrong  it. 

Hamlet. 

I  embrace  it  freely ; 

And  will  this  brother's  wager  frankly  play 

Give  us  the  foils  ;  come  on. 
Laertes. 

Come ;  one  for  me. 
Hamlet. 
I'll  be  your  foil,  Laertes  :  in  mine  ignorance 
Your  skill  shall,  like  a  star  i'  the  darkest  night. 
Stick  fiery  off  indeed. 

Laertes. 

You  mock  me,  sir. 
Hamlet. 
No,  by  this  hand. 

King. 
Give  them  the  foils,  young  Osrick.  —  Cousin 
Hamlet, 
You  know  the  wager  ? 

Hamlet. 

Very  well,  my  lord; 
Your  grace  hath  laid  the  odds  o'  the  weaker 
side. 

King. 
I  do  not  fear  it :  I  have  seen  you  both  ; 
But  since  he  is  better'd,  we  have  therefore  odds. 
Laertes. 


94* 


HAMLET, 


Act  v.  Sct  it. 


Laertes. 
This  is  too  heavy ;  let  me  see  another. 

Hamlet. 
This  likes  me  well.     These  foils  have  all  a 
length  ?  [They  prepare  to  play. 

Osrick. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King. 
Set  me  the  stoops  of  wine  upon  that  table.—    j 
If  Hamlet  give  the  first  or  second  hit. 
Or  quit  in  answer  of  the  third  exchange, 
Let  all  the  battlements  their  ordnance  fire ; 
The  king  shall  drink  to  Hamlet's  better  breath : 
And  in  the  cup  an  union  shall  he  throw, 
Richer  than  that  which  four  successive  kings 
In  Denmark's  crown  have  worn.    Give  me  the 
And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak,  [cups  ; 
The  trumpet  to  the  cannoneer  without, 
The  cannons  to  the  heavens,  the  heavens  to 

earth, 
"Now  the  king  drinks  to  Hamlet!" —Coxae, 

begin ; — 
And  you,  the  judges,  bear  a  wary  eye. 
Hamlet. 
Come  on,  sir. 

Laertes. 
Come,  my  lord.  [They  play. 

Hamlet. 

t       .  0ne- 

Laertes. 

Hamlet. 

_    .  ,  Judgment 

Osrick. 

A  hit,  a  very  palpable  hit. 
Laertes. 

Well:  — again. 
King. 
Stay ;  give  me  drink.    Hamlet,  this  pearl  is 
thine; 
Here's  to  thy  health.  — Give,  him  the  cup. 

[Trumpets  sound ;    and   Cannon  shot  off 
within. 

Hamlet. 
I'll  play  this  bout  first ;  set  it  by  awhile. 
Come.  —  Another  hit :  what  say  you? 

[They  play. 
Laertes. 
A  touch ;  a  touch,  I  do  confess. 

King. 
Our  son  shall  win. 

Queen. 
He's  fat,  and  scant  of  breath — 
Here,  Hamlet,  take  my  napkin,  rub  thy  brows : 
The  queen  carouses  to  thy  fortune,  Hamlet. 
Hamlet. 
Good  madam,— 

.  King. 

Gertrude,  do  not  drink. 
Queen. 
I  will,  my  lord :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me. 

King. 
It  is  the  poison'd  cup  !  it  is  too  late.    [Aside. 

Hamlet. 
1  dare  not  drink  yet,  madam  ;  by  and  by. 

Queen. 
Come,  let  me  wipe  thy  face. 

Laertes. 
My  lord,  I'll  hit  him  now. 
King. 

I  do  not  think  it. 


Laertes. 
And  yet  it  is  almost  against  my  conscience. 

[Aside. 
Hamlet. 
Come,  for  the  third,  Laertes.    You  but  dally : 
I  pray  you,  pass  with  your  best  violence. 
I  am  afeard,  you  make  a  wanton  of  me. 
Laertes. 
Say  you  so  ?  come  on.  [They  play. 

Osrick. 
Nothing,  neither  way. 

Laertes. 
Have  at  you  now.    ,„ 
[Laertes  wounds  Hamlet ;  then,  in  scuffling 
they  change  Rapiers,  and  Hamlet  wounds 
Laertes. 

King. 
Part  them  !  they  are  incens'd. 
Hamlet. 
Nay,  come  again.  P'he  Queen  falls. 

Osrick. 
Look  to  the  queen  there,  ho  ! 
Horatio. 
They  bleed  on  both  sides.  —  How  is  it,  my 

lord?  ~    •  . 

Osrick. 

How  is't,  Laertes  ? 

Laertes. 
Why,  as  a  woodcock  to  mine  own  springe, 
Osrick  ; 
I  am  justly  kill'd  with  mine  own  treachery. 
Hamlet. 
How  does  the  queen  ? 

King. 
She  swoons  to  see  them  bleed. 
Queen. 
No,  no,  the  drink,  the  drink,  —  O  my  dear 
Hamlet!  — 
The  drink,  the  drink :  I  am  poison'd.       L  Dies. 
Hamlet. 
O  villainy  !  —  How  ?  let  the  door  be  lock'd : 
Treachery  1  seek  it  out.  \Laertes  falls. 

Laertes. 
It  is  here,  Hamlet.    Hamlet,  thou  art  slain  ; 
No  medicine  in  the  world  can  do  thee  good : 
In  thee  there  is  not  half  an  hour  of  life  ; 
The  treacherous  instrument  is  in  thy  hand, 
Unbated,  and  envenom'd.    The  foul  practice 
Hath  turn'd  itself  on  me:  lo  !  here  I  lie. 
Never  to  rise  again.    Thy  mother's  poison'd  ; 
I  can  no  more.    The  king,  the  king's  to  blame. 
Hamlet. 
The  point 
Envenom'd  too  !  —  Then,  venom,  to  thy  work. 

All.  a  *     G      "g' 

Treason  1  treason ! 

King. 
O  !  yet  defend  me,  friends  ;  I  am  but  hurt. 

Hamlet. 
Here,  thou  incestuous,  murderous,   damned 
Dane, 
Drink  off  this  potion :  —  is  thy  union  here  ? 
Follow  my  mother.  {King  dies. 

Laertes. 
He  is  justly  serv'd; 
It  is  a  poison  temper'd  by  himself. 
Exchange  forgiveness  with  me,  noble  Hamlet : 
Mine  and  my  father's  death  come  not  upon 

thee ; 
Nor  thine  on  me  1  _  [Die* . 

Hamlet. 


Act  v.  Sc  n. 


ntlNCE  OF  DENMAKK. 


941 


Han 
Heaven  make  thee  Tree  of  it !     I  follow  thee. 
I  urn  dead,  Horatio. — W 'retched  queen,  adieu  1 — 
You  that  look  pale  and  tremble  at  this  chance, 
That  are  hut  mutes  or  audience  to  this  act. 
Hid  I  but  time,  (as  this  fell  sergeant,  death, 
Is  strict  in  his  arrest)  O  1  I  could  tell  you,  — 

But  let  it  be Horatio,  I  am  dead  ; 

Thou  liv'st :  report  me  and  my  cause  aright 
To  the  unsatisfied. 

itlo. 
Never  believe  it : 
I  am  more  an  antique  Roman  than  a  Dane : 
Here's  yet  some  liquor  left. 
Hamlet. 

As  thourt  a  man, 
Give  me  the  cup:  let  go;  by  heaven  I'll  have 
it.— 

0  God  !  —  Horatio,  what  a  wounded  name. 
Things  standing  thus  unknown,  shall  live  be- 
hind me  ? 

If  thou  didst  ever  hold  me  in  thy  heart, 
Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile, 
And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in 
To  tell  my  story,—  [pain, 

[March  afar  off,  and  Shot  within. 
What  warlike  noise  is  this  ? 
Osrlck. 
Young  Fortinbras,  with  conquest  come  from 
To  the  ambassadors  of  England  gives  [Poland, 
This  warlike  volley. 

Hamlet. 
O  !  I  die,  Horatio  ; 
The  potent  poison  quite  o'er-crows  my  spirit : 

1  cannot  live  to  hear  the  news  from  England; 
But  I  do  prophesy  the  election  lights 

On  Fortinbras  :  he  has  my  dying  voice  ; 

So  tell  him,  with  the  occur  rents,  more  and  less, 

Which  have  solicited  —  The  rest  is  silence. 

[Dies. 
Horatio. 
Now  cracks   a   noble   heart.— Good  night, 
sweet  prince ; 
And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest ! 
Why  does  the  drum  come  hither  ? 

[March  within. 

Enter  Fortinbras,  the  Fnglish  Ambassadors, 
and  others. 
Fortinbras. 
Where  u  this  sight  ? 

Horatio. 

What  is  it  ye  would  see  ? 
If  aught  of  woe,  or  wonder,  cease  your  search. 


Fortinbras. 
This    quarry    cries    on    havock.  — O   proud 
death  1 
What  feast  is  toward  in  thine  eternal  cell, 
That  thou  so  many  princes  at  a  shot 
So  bloodily  hast  struck  ? 

First  Ambassador. 

The  sight  is  dismal, 
And  our  affairs  from  England  come  too  late : 
The  ears  are  senseless  that  should  give  us  hear- 
To  tell  him  his  commandment  is  fultill'd,    [ing, 
That  Rosencrantx  and  (Juildenstern  are  dead. 
Where  should  we  have  our  thanks  ? 
Hor. 

Not  from  his  mouth, 
Had  it  th'  ability  of  life  to  thank  you : 
He  never  gave  commandment  for  their  death. 
But  since,  so  jump  upon  this  bloody  question, 
You  from  the  Polack  wars,  and  you  from  Eng- 
land, 
Are  here  arriv'd,  give  order  that  these  bodies 
High  on  a  stage  be  placed  to  the  view  ; 
And  let  me  speak  to  the  yet  unknowing  world, 
How  these  things  came  about:  so  shall  you 
Of  carnal,  bloody,  and  unnatural  acts,         [hear 
Of  accidental  judgments,  casual  slaughters, 
Of  deaths  put  on  by  cunning,  and  fore'd  cause, 
And,  in  this  upshot,  purposes  mistook 
Fall'n  on  the  inventors'  heads :  all  this  can  I 
Truly  deliver. 

Fortinbras. 
Let  us  haste  to  hear  it, 
And  call  the  noblest  to  the  audience. 
For  me,  with  sorrow  I  embrace  my  fortune  : 
I  have  some  rights  of  memory  in  this  kingdom, 
Which  now  to  claim  my  vantage  doth  invite  me. 
Horatio. 
Of  that  I  shall  have  also  cause  to  speak, 
And  from  his  mouth  whose  voice  will  draw  on 

more: 
But  let  this  same  be  presently  perform'd, 
Even  while  men's  minds  are  wild,  lest  more 
On  plots  and  errors,  happen.  [mischance, 

Fortinbras. 

Let  four  captains 
Bear  Hamlet,  like  a  soldier,  to  the  stage  -, 
For  he  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on,       [sage, 
To  have  prov'd  most  royally:  and  for  his  pas- 
The  soldiers'  music,  and  the  rites  of  war, 

Speak  loudly  for  him 

Take  up  the  body.  —  Such  a  sight  as  thia 
Becomes  the  field,  but  here  shows  much  amiss. 
Go,  bid  the  soldiers  shoot.  [A  dead  March. 

[Exeunt,  marching  ;  after  which,  a  Peal  of 
Ordnance  is  shot  off. 


r 


5+4 


KING  LEAR. 


ACT  I.    Sc.  I. 


KING  LEAK. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


LEAR,  King  of  Britain. 
King  of  France. 
Duke  of  Burgundy. 
Duke  of  Cornwall. 
Duke  of  Albany. 
Earl  of  Kent. 
Earl  of  Gloster. 
Edgar,  Son  to  Gloster. 
Edmund,  Bastard  Son  to  Gloster. 
Curan,  a  Courtier. 
Oswald,  Steward  to  Goneril. 
Old  Man,  Tenant  to  Gloster. 


Physician. 
Fool. 

An  Officer,  employed  by  Edmund. 
Gentleman,  Attendant  on  Cordelia. 
A  Herald. 

Servants  to  Cornwall. 
Goneril,  ~| 

Regan,     >  Daughters  to  Lear. 
CordeliaJ 
Knights  of  Lear's  train,  Officers,  Messengers, 
Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 
SCENE,  Britain. 


S^3K£3><£3>ie3>^3>^3> 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  1.    A  Room  of  Stat*  In  King  Lear's 
Palace. 

Enter  Kent,  Gloster,  and  Edmund. 
Kent. 

I  THOUGHT,  the  king  had  more  affected  the 
duke  of  Albany,  than  Cornwall. 

Gloster. 
It  did  always  seem  so  to  us :  but  now,  in  the 
divison  of  the  kingdoms,  it  appears  not  which 
of  the  dukes  he  values  most;  for  equalities  are 
so  weighed,  that  curiosity  in  neither  can  make 
choice  of  either's  moiety. 
Kent. 
Is  not  this  your  son,  my  lord  ? 

Gloster. 
His  breeding,  sir,  hath  been  at  my  charge :  I 
have  so  often  blushed  to  acknowledge  him,  that 
now  I  am  brazed  to  it. 

Kent. 
I  cannot  conceive  you. 

Gloster. 
Sir,  this  young  fellow's  mother  could  ;  where- 
upon she  grew  round-wombed,  and  had,  indeed, 
sir,  a  son  for  her  cradle  ere  she  had  a  husband 
for  her  bed.    Do  you  smell  a  fault  ? 
Kent. 
I  cannot  wish  the  fault  undone,  the  issue  of  it 
being  so  proper. 

Gloster. 
But  I  have  a  son,  sir,  by  order  of  law,  some 
year  elder  than  this,  who  yet  is  no  dearer  in  my 


account :  though  this  knave  came  somewhat 
saucily  into  the  world,  before  he  was  sent  for, 
yet  was  his  mother  fair,  there  was  good  sport  at 
his  making,  and  the  whoreson  must  be  acknow- 
ledged.—  Do  you  know  this  noble  gentleman, 
Edmund? 

Edmund. 
No,  my  lord. 

Gloster. 
My  lord  of  Kent :  remember  him  hereafter  as 
my  honourable  friend. 

Edmund. 
My  services  to  your  lordship. 

Kent. 
I  must  love  you,  and  sue  to  know  you  better. 

Edmund. 
Sir,  I  shall  study  deserving. 

Gloster. 
He  hath  been  out  nine  years,  and  away  he 
shall  again. — The  king  is  coming. 

f  Sennet  within. 

Enter  Lear,  Cornwall,  Albany,  Goneril,  Regan, 

Cordelia,  and  Attendants. 

Lear. 

Attend  the  lords  of  France  and  Burgundy, 

Gloster. 

Gloster. 
I  shall,  my  liege. 

(Exeunt  Gloster  and  Edmund. 
Lear. 
Mean-time  we  shall  express  our  darker  pur- 
pose. 
Give  me  the  map  there — Know,  that  we  have 
divided, 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


KING  LEAR. 


945 


In  three,  our  kingdom  ;  and  'tl«  our  fast  intent 
To  shake  all  cares  and  business  from  our  age, 

i  mg  them  on  younger  strengths,  while  we 
L'uburden'd  crawl  toward  death.  —  Our  sua  of 

On  nwall. 
And  you,  our  no  less  loving  son  of  Albany, 
We  have  this  hour  a  constant  will  to  publish 
Our  daughters'  several  dowers,  that  future  strife 
May  be  prevented  now.     The  princes,  France 

and  Burgundy, 
Great  rivals  in  our  youngest  daughter's  love, 
Long  in  our  court  have  made  their  amorous 

sojourn, 
And  here  are  to  be  answer'd.  —  Tell  me,  my 

daughters, 
(Since  now  we  will  divest  us,  both  of  rule, 
interest  of  territory,  cares  of  state) 
Which  of  you,  shall  we  say,  doth  love  us  most? 
That  we  our  largest  bounty  may  extend 
Where  nature  doth   with    merit   challenge. — 
Our  eldest- born,  speak  first.  [Goner il, 

Uonerll 
Sir,  I  love  you  more  than  words  can  wield  the 

matter ; 
Dearer  than  eye-sight,  space,  and  liberty  ; 
Beyond  what  can  be  valued,  rich  or  rare ; 
No  less  than  life,  with  grace,  health,  beauty, 

honour : 
As  much  as  child  e'er  lov'd,  or  father  found ; 
A  love  that  makes  breath   poor,  and  speech 

unable ; 
Beyond  all  manner  of  so  much  I  love  you. 

Cordelia. 
What  shall  Cordelia  speak?     Love,  and  be 
silent.  [Aside. 

Lear 
Of  all  these  bounds,  even  from  this  line  to 
this, 
With  shadowy  forests,  and  with  champains  rich'd, 
With  plenteous  rivers  and  wide-skirted  meads, 
We  make  thee  lady :  to  thine  and  Albany's  issue 
Be  this    perpetual.  —  What    says    our    second 

daughter, 
Our  dearest  Regan,  wife  of  Cornwall  f    Speak. 
Regan. 
I  am  made  of  that  self  metal  as  my  sister, 
And  prize  me  at  her  worth.     In  my  true  heart 
I  find,  she  names  my  very  deed  of  love  ; 
Only  she  comes  too  short,  that  I  profess 
Myself  an  enemy  to  all  other  joys, 
Which  the  most  precious  square  of  sense  pos- 
And  find,  I  am  alone  felicitate  [sesses, 

In  your  dear  highness*  love. 
Cordelia 
Then,  poor  Cordelia!     [Aside. 
And  yet  not  so  ;  since,  I  am  sure,  my  love's 
More  richer  than  my  tongue. 
Lear. 
To  thee,  and  thine,  hereditary  ever, 
Remain  this  ample  third  of  our  fair  kingdom; 
No  less  in  space,  validity,  and  pleasure, 
Than  that  conferr'd  on  Goneril — Now,  our  joy, 
Although  our  last,  and  least ;  to  whose  young 

love 
The  vines  of  France,  and  milk  of  Burgundy, 
Strive  to  be  intercss'd;  what  can  you  say,  to 

draw 
A  third  more  opulent  than  your  sisters  ?    Speak. 
Cordelia. 
Nothing,  my  lord. 

Lear. 
Nothing  ? 

Cordelia. 
Nothing. 


of  not 


Nothing  will  come  of  nothing:  speak  again. 

Cor 
Unhappy  that  I  am,  I  cannot  heave 
My  heart  into  my  mouth  :  I  love  your  majesty 
According  to  my  bond ;  nor  more,  nor  less. 

Lear. 
How?  how,  Cordelia?  mend  your  speech  a 
Lest  you  may  mar  your  fortunes.  [little, 

Cordelia. 

Good  my  lord, 
You  have  begot  me,  bred  me,  lov'd  me :  I 
Return  those  duties  back  as  are  right  fit. 
Obey  you,  love  you,  and  most  honour  you. 
Why  have  my  sisters  husbands,  if  they  say, 
They  love  you  all  ?     Haply,  when  I  snail  wed, 
That  lord,  whose  hand  must  take  my  plight, 

shall  carry 
Half  my  love  with  him,  half  my  care,  and  duty : 
Sure,  I  shall  never  marry  like  my  sisters, 
To  love  my  father  all. 

Lear. 

But  goes  this  with  thy  heart  ? 
Cordelia. 

Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Lear. 
So  young,  and  so  untender  ? 

Cordelia. 
So  young,  my  lord,  and  true. 

Lear. 
Let  it  be  so :  thy  truth,  then,  be  thy  dower  ; 
For,  by  the  sacred  radiance  of  the  sun, 
The  mysteries  of  Hecate,  and  the  night. 
By  all  the  operation  of  the  orbs, 
From  whom  we  do  exist,  and  cease  to  be, 
Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care, 
Propinquity  and  property  of  blood, 
And  as  a  stranger  to  my  heart  and  me,  [Scythian, 
Hold  thee  from  this  for  ever.    The  barbarous 
Or  he  that  makes  his  generation  messes 
To  gorge  his  appetite,  shall  to  my  bosom 
Be  as  well  neighbour'd,  pitied,  and  reliev'd, 
As  thou  my  sometime  daughter. 
Kent 

Good  my  liege,  — 
I. ear. 
Peace,  Kent! 
Come  not  between  the  dragon  and  his  wrath. 
I  lov'd  her  most,  and  thought  to  set  my  rest 
On  her  kind  nursery. — Hence,  and  avoid  my 

sight!—  f  lv 

So  be  my  grave  my  peace,  as  here  I  give 
Her  father's  heart  from  her!— Call  France.— 

Who  stirs? 
Call  Burgundy.  — Cornwall,  and  Albany, 
With  my  two  daughters'  dowers  digest  the  third: 
Let  pride,  which  she  calls  plainness,  marry  her. 
1  do  invest  you  jointly  with  my  power, 
Pre-eminence,  and  all  the  large  effects 
That  troop  with  majesty — Ourself.  by  monthly 
With  reservation  of  an  hundred  knights,  [course, 

Sr  you  to  be  sustain'd,  shall  our  abode 
ake  with  you  by  due  turns.    Only,  we  still 
retain 
The  name,  and  all  th'  additions  to  a  king; 
The  sway,  revenue,  execution  of  the  rest, 
Beloved  sons,  be  yours  :  which  to  confirm, 
This  coronet  part  between  you. 

[Giving  the  Crown. 
Kent. 

Royal  Lear, 
Whom  I  have  ever  honour'd  as  my  king, 
Lov'd  as  my  father,  as  my  master  follow'd, 
A*  my  great  patron  thought  on  in  my  prayers, — 
3  p  Lear,  j 


9+6 


KING  LEAR 


Act  l  Sc.  i. 


The  bow  is  bent  and  drawn,  make  from  the 
shall. 

Kt'tit 
Let  it  fall  rather,  though  the  fork  invade 
The  region  of  my  heart :  be  Kent  unmannerly, 
When  Lear  is  mad.— What  would'st  thou  do, 

old  man  ? 
Think'st  thou,  that  duty  shall  have  dread  to  speak, 
When  power  to  flattery  bows?    To  plainness 

honour's  bound, 
When  majesty  stoops  to  folly.  Reverse  thy  doom; 
And  in  thy  best  consideration  check 
This    hideous  rashness :    answer   my  life   my 

judgment. 
Thy  youngest  daughter  does  not  love  thee  least ; 
Nor  are  those  empty-hearted,  whose  low  sound 
Reverbs  no  hollowness. 

Lear. 

Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more. 

Kent. 
My  life  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn 
To  wage  against  thine  enemies ;  nor  fear  to  lose 
Thy  safety  being  the  motive.  [it, 

Lear. 

Out  of  my  sight ! 
Kent. 
See  better,  Lear ;  and  let  me  still  remain 
The  true  blank  of  thine  eye. 

Lear. 
Now,  by  Apollo,— 

Kent. 
Now,  by  Apollo,  king, 
Tbou  swear'st  thy  gods  in  vain. 

Lear. 

O,  vassal !  recreant ! 
[Laying  his  hand  upon  his  Sword. 
Albany  and  Cornwall. 
Dear  sir,  forbear.* 

Kent. 
Do; 
Kill  thy  physician,  and  the  fee  bestow 
Upon  the  foul  disease.    Revoke  thy  gift ; 
Or,  whilst  I  can  vent  clamour  from  my  throat, 
I'll  tell  thee,  thou  dost  evil. 

I. ear. 

Hear  me,  recreant ! 
On  thine  allegiance  hear  me. 
Since  thou  hast  sought  to  make  us  break  our  vow, 
(Which  we  durst  never  yet)  and,  with  strain'd 

pride, 
To  come  betwixt  our  sentence  and  our  power, 
(Which  nor  our  nature  nor  our  place  can  bear) 
Our  potency  made  good,  take  thy  reward. 
Five  days  we  do  allot  thee  for  provision 
To  shield  thee  from  diseases  of  the  world, 
And  on  the  sixth  to  turn  thy  hated  back 
Upon  our  kingdom:  if  on  the  tenth  day  following, 
Thy  banish'd  trunk  be  found  in  our  dominions, 
The  moment  is  thy  death.    Away  I    By  Jupiter, 
This  shall  not  be  revok'd. 
Kent. 
Fare  thee  well,  king:  since  thus  thou  wilt 
appear, 
Freedom  lives  hence,  and  banishment  is  here — 
The  gods  to  their  dear  shelter  take  thee,  maid, 

[To  Cordelia. 

That  justly  think'st,  and  hast  most  rightly  said  !— 

And  your  large  speeches  may  your  deeds  approve, 

[To  ttegan  and  Gonertt. 

That  good  effects  may  spring  from  words  of  love 

Thus  Kent,  O  princes  !  bids  you  all  adieu ; 
He'll  shape  his  old  course  in  a  country  new. 

[Exit. 

I 


I      Flourish.    Re-enter  Gloster ;  with  France, 
Burgundy,  and  Attendants. 
Gloster. 
Here's  France  and  Burgundy,  my  noble  lord. 

Lear. 
My  lord  of  Burgundy, 
We  first  address  toward  you,  who  with  this  king, 
Hath  rivall'd  for  our  daughter :  what,  in  the 

least, 
Will  you  require  in  present  dower  with  her. 
Or  cease  your  quest  of  love? 

Burgundv. 

Most  royal  majesty, 
;  I  crave  no  more  than  hath  your  highness  offer'd, 
,  Nor  will  you  tender  less. 

Lear 

Right  noble  Burgundy, 
'  When  she  was  dear  to  us,  we  did  hold  her  so ; 
i  But  now  her  price  is  fall'n.     Sir,  there  she 

stands : 
;  If  aught  within  that  little  seeming  substance, 
Or  all  of  it,  with  our  displeasure  piec'd, 
And  nothing  more,  may  fitly  like  your  grace, 
She's  there,  and  she  is  yours. 


Burguudy 
Lear. 


know  no  answer. 


Will  you,  with  those  infirmities  she  owes, 
;  Unfriended,  new-adopted  to  our  hate, 
i  Dower'd  with  our  curse,  and  stranger'd  with 
!  Take  her,  or  leave  her  ?  [our  oath, 

Burgundy. 

Pardon  me,  royal  sir; 
Election  makes  not  up  on  such  conditions. 

Lear. 

Then  leave  her,  sir;  for,  by  the  power  that 

made  me, 
I  tell  you  all  her  wealth — For  you,  great  king, 

[To  France. 
I  would  not  from  your  love  make  such  a  stray, 
To  match  you  where  I  hate :  therefore,  beseech 

you, 
T'  avert  your  liking  a  more  worthier  way, 
Than  on  a  wretch  whom  nature  is  asham'd 
Almost  t'  acknowledge  hers. 

France. 

This  is  most  strange. 
That  she,  that  even  but  now  was  your  best 

object, 
The  argument  of  your  praise,  balm  of  your  age, 
Most  best,  most  dearest,  should  in  this  trice  of 

time 
Commit  a  thing  so  monstrous,  to  dismantle 
So  many  folds  of  favour.     Sure,  her  offence, 
Must  be  of  such  unnatural  degree, 
That  monsters  it,  or  your  fore-vouch 'd  affection 
Fall'n  into  taint:  which  to  believe  of  her, 
Must  be  a  faith  that  reason,  without  miracle, 
Could  never  plant  in  me. 

Cordelia. 

I  yet  beseech  your  majesty, 
(If  for  I  want  that  glib  and  oily  art. 
To  speak  and  purpose  not,  since  what  I  well 

intend, 
j  I'll  do't  before  I  speak)  that  you  make  known 
j  It  is  uo  vicious  blot,  murder,  or  foulness, 
I  No  unchaste  action,  or  dishonour'd  step, 
'  That  hath  depri  v'd  me  of  your  grace  and  favour ; 
I  But  even  for  want  of  that  for  which  I  am  richer, 
I  A  still -soliciting  eye,  and  such  a  tongue 
That  I  am  glad  I  have  not,  though  not  to  have  it, 
Hath  lost  me  in  your  liking. 

Lear. 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


KING  LEAR. 


9*7 


Lear. 

Better  thou 
Hadit  not  been  born,  than  not  to  have  plea»*d 
me  better. 

It  It  but  this  ?  a  tardiness  in  nature, 
Which  often  leaves  the  history  unspoke. 
That  it  intends  to  do?  — My  lord  or  Burgundy, 
What  say  you  to  the  lady?    Love  is  not  love. 
When  it  is  mingled  with  respects,  that  stand 
Aloof  from  the  entire  point.  Will  you  have  her  ? 
She  is  herself  a  dowry. 

Burgundy. 

Royal  Lear, 
Give  but  that  portion  which  yourself  propos'd, 
And  here  1  take  Cordelia  by  the  hand, 
Duchess  of  Burgundy. 

Lear. 
Nothing:  I  have  sworn;  I  am  firm. 

Burgundy. 
I  am  sorry,  then,  you  have  so  lost  a  father, 
That  you  must  lose  a  husband. 
Cord 
Peace  be  with  Burgundy : 
Since  that  respects  of  fortune  are  his  love, 
I  shall  not  be  his  wife. 

Trance. 
Fairest  Cordelia,  that  art  most  rich,  being 
poor. 
Most  choice,  forsaken,  and  most  lov'd,  despis'd, 
Thee  and  thy  virtues  here  I  seize  upon : 
Be  it  lawful,  1  take  up  what's  cast  away. 
,  Gods,  gods !  'tis  strange,  that  from  their  cold'st 
neglect 
My  love  should  kindle  to  infiam'd  respect.— 
i  Thy  dowerless  daughter,  king,  thrown  to  my 
chance, 
Is  queen  of  us,  of  ours,  and  our  fair  France : 
,  Not  all  the  dukes  of  waterish  Burgundy 
Shall  buy  this  unpriz'd  precious  maid  of  me — 
Bid  them  farewell,  Cordelia,  though  unkind : 
Thou  losest  here,  a  better  where  to  find. 
Lear. 
!     Thou  hast  her,  France:  let  her  be  thine,  for 

we 
Have  no  such  daughter,  nor  shall  ever  see 
That  face  of  hers  again :  —  therefore,  be  gone 
Without  our  grace,  our  love,  our  beuisou.— 
Come,  noble  Burgundy. 

[Flourish.     Exeunt  Lear,  Burgundy,  Corn- 
wall, Albany,  Gloster,  and  Attendants. 
France. 
Bid  farewell  to  your  sisters. 

Cordelia. 

The  jewels  of  our  father,  with  wash'd  eyes 

Cordelia  leaves  you:  1  know  you  what  you  are ; 

And,  like  a  sister,  am  most  loath  to  call 

Your  faults  as  they  are  nam'd.    Love  well  our 

father : 
To  your  professed  bosoms  I  commit  him  ; 
But  yet,  alas  1  stood  I  within  his  grace, 
I  would  prefer  him  to  a  better  place. 
So,  furewell  to  you  both. 

uoueril. 

Prescribe  not  us  our  duty. 

Kegau. 

Let  your  study 
Be  to  content  your  lord,  who  hath  receiv'd  you 
At  fortune's  alms:  you  have  obedience  scanted, 
And  well  are  worth  the  want  that  you  have 
wanted. 

Corddu 
Time  shall  unfold  what  plighted  cunning  hides; 


Who  cover  faults,  at  last  shame  them  derides. 
Well  may  you  prosper  I 

iCC. 

Come,  my  fair 
[Kxeunt  Tiance  and  Con 
Goneril. 
Sister,  it  U  not  little  I  have  to  say  of  what 
most  nearly  appertains  to  us  both.     I  think, 
our  father  will  hence  to-night. 

That's  most  certain,  and  with  you;  next 
month  with  us. 

Goneril. 

You  see  how  full  of  changes  his  age  is  ;  the 
observation  we  have  made  of  it  hath  not  been 
little :  he  always  loved  our  sister  most,  and  with 
what  poor  judgment  he  hath  now  cast  her  off, 
appears  too  grossly. 

'Tis  the  infirmity  of  his  age  ;  yet  he  hath  ever 
but  slenderly  known  himself. 
Goneril. 

The  best  and  soundest  of  his  time  hath  been 
but  rash ;  then,  must  we  look  to  receive  from 
his  age,  not  alone  the  imperfections  of  long-en- 
grafted condition,  but,  therewithal,  the  unruly 
waywardness  that  infirm  and  choleric  years  bring 
with  them. 

Such  unconstant  starts  are  we  like  to  have 
from  him,  as  this  of  Kent's  banishment. 
Goneril. 
There  is  farther  compliment  of  leave-taking 
between  France  and  him.  Pray  you,  let  us  hit 
together :  if  our  father  carry  authority  with  such 
dispositions  as  he  bears,  this  last  surrender  of  his 
will  but  offend  us. 

liegan. 
I     We  shall  farther  think  of  it. 
Goneril. 
We  must  do  something,  and  i'  the  heat. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Hall  in  the  Earl  of  Glotter't 
Castle. 

Enter  Edmund,  with  a  letter. 
Edmund. 
Thou,  nature,  art  my  goddess  ;  to  thy  law 
My  services  are  bound.     Wherefore  should  I 
Stand  in  the  plague  of  custom,  and  permit 
The  curiosity  of  nations  to  deprive  me,    [shines 
For  that  I  am  some  twelve  or  fourteen  moon- 
Lag  of  a  brother?    Why  bastard?  wherefore 

base, 
When  my  dimensions  are  as  well  compact, 
My  mind  as  generous,  and  my  shape  as  true, 
As  honest  madam's  issue  ?    Why  brand  they  us 
With  base?   with  baseness?   bastardy?   base. 
Who  in  the  lusty  stealth  of  nature  take    [base  ? 
More  composition  and  fierce  quality. 
Than  doth  within  a  dull,  stale,  tired  bed, 
Go  to  the  creating  a  whole  tribe  of  fops, 
Got  'tween  asleep  and  wake? — Well  then, 
Legitimate  Edgar,  I  must  have  your  land  : 
Our  father's  love  is  to  the  bastard  Edmund, 
As  to  the  legitimate.    Fine  word,— legitimate  1 
Well,  my  legitimate,  if  this  letter  speed, 
And  my  invention  thrive,  Edmund  the  base 
Shall  top  the  legitimate.     1  grow ;  I  prosper :  — 
Now,  gods,  stand  up  for  bastards  1 
Enter  Gloster. 
Gloster. 
Kent  banish'd  thus  !     And  France  in  choler 
parted  I 

\nd 


948 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  u. 


And  the  king  gone  to-night !    subscrib'd  his 
Confin'd  to  exhibition  !  All  this  done    [power  ! 
Upon  the  gad! — Edmund,  How  now  1    what 
news  ? 

So  please  your  lordship,  none. 

[Putting  up  the  Letter. 

Gloster. 
Why  so  earnestly  seek  you  to  put  up  that 
letter  ? 

1  know  no  news,  my  lord 

Gloster. 
What  paper  were  you  reading  ? 

. .  .     Jtdmund. 

Nothing,  my  lord. 

Gloster. 

No !  What  needed,  then,  that  terrible  de- 
spatch of  it  into  your  pocket?  the  quality  of 
nothing  hath  not  such  need  to  hide  itself. 
Let's  see :  come ;  if  it  be  nothing,  I  shall  not 
need  spectacles. 

Kdiiuind 

I  beseech  you,  sir,  pardon  me :  it  is  a  letter 
from  my  brother,  that  I  have  not  all  o'er- 
read ;  and  for  so  much  as  I  have  perused,  1  find 
it  not  fit  for  your  o'erlooking. 

„.  .        Gioiter. 

Give  me  the  letter,  sir. 

Edmund. 
I  shall  offend,  either  to  detain  or  give  it. 
The  contents,  as  in  part  I  understand  them, 
Are  to  blame. 

i     .  .  Gloster. 

Let's  see,  let  s  see. 

I  hope,  for  my  brother's  justification,  he  wrote 
this  but  as  an  essay  or  taste  of  my  virtue. 

ml  .        ,.  Gloster.  [Heads. 

"  This  policy,  and  reverence  of  age,  makes  the 
world  bitter  to  the  best  of  our  times  ;  keeps  our 
fortunes  from  us,  till  our  oldness  cannot  relish 
them.  I  begin  to  find  an  idle  and  fond  bondage 
in  the  oppression  of  aged  tyranny,  who  sways, 
not  as  it  hath  power,  but  as  it  is  suffered.  Come 
to  me,  that  of  this  I  may  speak  more.  If  our 
father  would  sleep  till  I  waked  him,  you  should 
enjoy  half  his  revenue  for  ever,  and  live  the 
beloved  of  your  brother,  Edgar."  —  Humph  !  — 
Conspiracy!  —  "Sleep  till  I  waked  him,— you 
should  enjoy  half  his  revenue." — My  son  Edgar! 
Had  he  a  hand  to  write  this  ?  a  heart  and  brain 
to  breed  it  in  ?— When  came  this  to  you  ?  Who 
brought  it  ? 

It  was  not  brought  me,  my  lord;  there's  the 
cunning  of  it :  I  found  it  thrown  in  at  the  case- 
ment of  my  closet. 

You  know  the  character  to  be  your  brother's? 

If  the  matter  were  good,  my  lord,  I  durst  swear 
it  were  his ;  but  in  respect  of  that,  1  would  fain 
think  it  were  not. 

....   . .  Gloster. 

It  is  his. 

It  is  his  hand,  my  lord ;  but,  I  hope,  his  heart 
is  not  in  the  contents. 

Hath  he  never  heretofore'sounded  you  in  this 
business  ? 


Edmund. 
Never,  my  lord :  but  I  have  often  heard  him 
maintain  it  to  be  fit,  that  sons  at  perfect  age,  and 
fathers  declined,  the  father  should  be  as  ward  to 
the  son,  and  the  son  manage  his  revenue. 

Gloster. 

0  villain,  villain  1— His  very  opinion  in  the 
letter  [—Abhorred  villain !  Unnatural,  detested, 
brutish  villain  !  worse  than  brutish !—  Go,  sirrah, 
seek  him ;  I'll  apprehend  him.  Abominable 
villain!— Where  is  he? 

Edmund. 

1  do  not  well  know,  my  lord.  If  it  shall  please 
you  to  suspend  your  indignation  against  my 
brother,  till  you  can  derive  from  him  better 
testimony  of  his  intent,  you  shall  run  a  certain 
course ;  where,  if  you  violently  proceed  against 
him,  mistaking  his  purpose,  it  would  make  a 
great  gap  in  your  own  honour,  and  shake  in 
pieces  the  heart  of  his  obedience.  I  dare  pawn 
down  my  life  for  him,  that  he  hath  writ  this  to 
feel  my  affection  to  your  honour,  and  to  no  other 
pretence  of  danger. 

Gloster. 
Think  you  so  ? 

Edmund. 
If  your  honour  judge  it  meet,  I  will  place  you 
where  you  shall  hear  us  confer  of  this,  and  by  an 
auricular  assurance  have  your  satisfaction;  and 
that  without  any  farther  delay  than  this  very 
evening. 

Gloster. 
He  cannot  be  such  a  monster. 

Edmund. 
Nor  is  not,  sure. 

Gloster. 
To  his  father,  that  so  tenderly  and  entirely 
loves  him. — Heaven  and  earth  ! — Edmund,  seek 
him  out ;  wind  me  into  him,  I  pray  you  :  frame 
the  business  after  your  own  wisdom.  I  would 
unstate  myself  to  be  hi  a  due  resolution. 

Edmund. 

I  will  seek  him,  sir,  presently,  convey  the 
business  as  I  shall  find  means,  and  acquaint  you 
withal. 

Gloster. 

These  late  eclipses  in  the  sun  and  moon  por- 
tend  no  good  to  us :  though  the  wisdom  of 
nature  can  reason  it  thus  and  thus,  yet  nature 
finds  itself  scourged  by  the  sequent  effects. 
Love  cools,  friendship  falls  off,  brothers  divide: 
in  cities,  mutinies  ;  in  countries,  discord ;  in 
palaces,  treason,  and  the  bond  cracked  between 
son  and  father.  This  villain  of  mine  comes 
under  the  prediction ;  there's  son  against  father : 
the  king  falls  from  bias  of  nature;  there's  father 
against  child.  We  have  seen  the  best  of  our 
time:  machinations,  hollowness,  treachery,  and 
all  ruinous  disorders,  follow  us  disquietly  to  our 
graves!  —  Find  out  this  villain,  Edmund;  it 
shall  lose  thee  nothing:  do  it  carefully. — And 
the  noble  and  true-hearted  Kent  banished  !  his 
offence,  honesty! — 'Tis  strange.  [Exit. 

Edmund 
This  is  the  excellent  foppery  of  the  world, 
that,  when  we  are  sick  in  fortune,  (often  the 
surfeit  of  our  own  behaviour)  we  make  guilty 
of  our  disasters,  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the 
stars :  as  if  we  were  villains  by  necessity;  fools, 
by  heavenly  compulsion  ;  knaves,  thieves,  and 
treachers.by  spherical  predominance;drunkards, 
liars,  and  adulterers,  by  an  enforced  obedience 
of  planetary  influence,  and  all  that  we  are  evil 
in,  by  a  divine  thrusting  on.     An  admirable 

evasion 


Act  i.  Sc.  it. 


KING  LEAR 


9*9 


evasion  of  whore-master  man,  to  lay  his  goatish 
disposition  to  the  charge  of  stars  !  My  father 
compounded  with  my  mother  under  the  dragon's 
tail,  and  mv  nativity  was  under  ursa  major  {  so 
that,  it  follows,  1  am  rough  and  lecherous. — 
Tut !  I  should  have  been  that  I  am,  had  the 
raaidenliest  star  in  the  firmament  twinkled  on 
my  bastardizing.    Edgar — 

Fnter  Edgar. 

and  pat  he  comes,  like  the  catastrophe  of  the 
old  comedy:  my  cue  is  villainous  melancholy, 
with  a  sigh  like  Tom  o'Bedlam.  —  Ol  these 
eclipses  do  portend  these  divisions.  Fa,  sol, 
la,  mi. 

How  now,  brother  Edmund!     What  serious 
contemplation  are  you  in  ? 
Edmund 

I  am  thinking,  brother,  of  a  prediction  I  read    of  h 
this  other  day,  what  should  follow  these  eclipses. 


W|Mr. 

Shall  1  hear  from  you  anon  ? 

F.dmund. 
I  do  serve  you  in  this  business.-. 

A  credulous  father,  and  a  brother  noble, 
Whose  nature  is  so  far  from  doing  harms. 
That  he  suspects  none,  on  whose  foolish  honesty 
My  practices  ride  easy! — 1  see  the  business. — 
Let  me,  if  not  by  birth,  have  lands  by  w  it : 
All  with  me's  meet,  that  1  can  fashion  fit. 

[Exit. 


SCESE  III. 


Do  you  busy  yourself  with  that  ? 

Edmund 
I  promise  you,  the  effects  he  writes  or,  succeed 
unhappily  ;  as  of  unnaturalness  between  the 
child  and  the  parent;  death,  dearth,  dissolution 
of  ancient  amities  ;  divisions  in  state  ;  menaces 
and  maledictions  against  king  and  nobles ;  need- 
less diffidences,  banishment  of  friends,  dissipa- 
tion of  cohorts,  nuptial  breaches,  and  I  know 
not  what. 

Edgar. 
How  long  have  you  been  a  sectary  astrono- 
mical? 

Edmund. 
Come,  come;  when  saw  you  my  father  last  ? 

Edgar. 
The  night  gone  by. 

Edmund. 
Spake  you  with  him  ? 

Edgar. 
Ay,  two  hours  together. 

Edmund. 
Parted  you  in  good  terms  ?    Found  you  no 
displeasure  in  him,  by  word,  or  countenance  ? 
Edgar. 
None/at  all. 

Edmund. 
Bethink  yourself,  wherein  you  may  have  of- 
fended him :   and  at  my  entreaty  forbear  his 
presence,  till  some  little  time  hath' qualified  the 
heat  of  his  displeasure,  which  at  this  instant  so 
rageth  in  him,  that  with  the  mischief  of  your 
person  it  would  scarcely  allay. 
Edgar. 
Some  villain  hath  done  me  wrong. 

Edmund. 
That's  my  fear.     I  pray  you,  have  a  continent 
forbearance,  till  the  speed  of  his   rage    goes 
slower;  and,  as  I  say,  retire  with  me  to  my 
lodging,  from  whence  I  will  fitly  bring  you  to 
hear  my  lord  speak.    Pray  you,  go :  there's  my 
key.  —  If  you  do  stir  abroad,  go  armed. 
Edgar. 
Armed,  brother  ? 

F.dmund. 
Brother,  I  advise  you  to  the  best ;  1  am  no 
honest  men,  if  there  be  any  good  meaning  to- 
wards you :  I  have  told  you  what  I  have  seen 
and  heard,  but  faintly;  nothing  like  the  image 
and  horror  of  it.    Tray  you,  away. 


A  Room  In  the  Duke  of  Albany'i 
Pal... 
Enter  Goneril,  and  Oswald  her  Steward. 
Goneril. 
Did  my  father  strike  my  gentleman  for  chiding 

Oswald. 
Ay,  madam. 


Goneril. 

By  day  and  night  he  wrongs  me :  every  hour 
He  flashes  into  one  gross  crime  or  other, 
That  sets  us  all  at  odds  :  I'll  not  endure  it.    [us 
His  knights  grow  riotous,  and  himself  upbraids 

On  every  trifle When  he  returns  from  hunting, 

,  I  will  not  speak  with  him  ;  say,  I  am  sick  : 
If  you  come  slack  of  former  services. 
You  shall  do  well;  the  fault  of  it  I'll  answer. 
Oswald. 
He's  coming,  madam ;  I  hear  him. 

[Moms  within. 
Goneril. 
Put  on  what  weary  negligence  you  please, 
You  and  your  fellows;    I'd  have  it  come  to 
If  he  distaste  it,  let  him  to  my  sister,  [question : 
Whose  mind  and  mine,  I  know,  in  that  are  one, 
Not  to  be  over-ruled.     Idle  old  man, 
That  still  would  manage  those  authorities. 
That  he  hath  given  away !  — Now,  by  my  life. 
Old  fools  are  babes  again  ;  and  must  be  us'd 
With  checks  ;  as  flatteries,  when  they  are  seen, 
Remember  what  1  have  said.  [abus'd. 

Oswald 

Well,  madam. 

('Oiteiil. 

And  let  his  knights  have  colder  looks  among 

you.  [so : 

i  What  grows  of  it,  no  matter ;  advise  your  fellows 

I  would  breed  from  hence  occasions,  and  I  shall, 

That  I  may  speak :  — I'll  write  straight  to  my 

sister, 
To  hold  my  course — Prepare  for  dinner. 

[Exeunt. 

SCESE  IV.    A  Hall  in  the  same. 
Enter  Kent  disguised. 
Kent. 
If  but  as  well  I  other  accents  borrow, 
That  can  my  speech  diffuse,  my  good  intent 
May  carry  through  itself  to  that  full  issue 
For  which  1  raz'd  my  likeness.  — Now,  banhh'd 
Kent,  [demn'd. 

If  thou  canst  serve  where  thou  dost  stand  con- 
( So  may  it  come  !)  thy  master,  whom  thou  lov'st, 
Shall  find  thee  full  of  labours. 

Horns  within.    Enter  Lear,  Knights,  and 

Attendants. 

Lear. 

Let  mc  not  stay  a  jot  for  dinner :  go,  get  it 

ready.    [Exit  an  Attendant.]   How  now  1  what 

art  thou? 

Kent. 


95o 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  i.  Sc  lv. 


A  man,  sir. 


Kent. 
Lear. 


What  dost  thou  profess?  What  wouldest 
thou  with  us  ? 

Kent. 

I  do  profess  to  be  no  less  than  I  seem;  to 
serve  him  truly  that  will  put  me  in  trust ;  to  lore 
him  that  is  honest ;  to  converse  with  him  that  is 
wise,  and  says  little ;  to  fear  judgment ;  to  fight 
when  I  cannot  choose,  and  to  eat  no  fish. 

Lear. 
What  art  thou  ? 

Kent. 
A  very  honest-hearted  fellow,  and  as  poor  as 
the  king. 

Lear. 
If  thou  be  as  poor  for  a  subject,  as  he  is  for  a 
king,  thou  art  poor  enough.    What  wouldest 
thou? 

Kent. 
Service. 

Lear. 
Whom  wouldest  thou  serve? 

Kent. 
You. 

Lear. 
Dost  thou  know  me,  fellow  ? 

Kent. 
No,  sir ;  but  you  have  that  In  your  counte- 
nance, which  I  would  fain  call  master. 


Lear. 
Kent. 


What's  that  ? 

Authority. 

Lear. 
What  services  canst  thou  do  ? 

Kent. 
I  can  keep  honest  counsel,  ride,  run,  mar  a 
curious  tale  in  telling  it,  and  deliver  a  plain 
message  bluntly :  that  which  ordinary  men  are 
fit  for,  I  am  qualified  in ;  and  the  best  of  me  is 
diligence. 

Lear. 
How  old  art  thou  ? 

Kent. 
Not  so  young,  sir,  to  love  a  woman  for  sing- 
ing; nor  so  old,  to  dote  on  her  for  any  thing :  I 
have  years  on  my  back  forty-eight. 

Lear. 

Follow  me;  thou  shalt  serve  me:   if  I  like 

thee  no  worse  after  dinner,  I  will  not  part  from 

thee  yet Dinner,  ho  !  dinner! — Where's  my 

knave?   my  fool?   Go  you,  and  call  my  fool 
hither. 

Knter  Oswald. 
You,  you,  sirrah,  where's  my  daughter  ? 

Oswald. 
So  please  you,  —  [  Exit . 

Lear. 
What  says  the  fellow  there  ?    Call  the  clod- 
pole  back Where's  my  fool,  ho  ?—  I  think  the 

world's  asleep.  — How  now  !  where's  that  mon- 
grel? 

He  says,  my  lord,  your  daughter  is  not  well. 

Lear. 
Why  came  not  the  slave  back  to  me,  when  I 
called  him  ? 

Knight. 
Sir,  he  answered  me  in  the  roundest  manner, 
he  would  not. 


He  would  not  1 

Knight. 
My  lord,  I  know  not  what  the  matter  is  ;  but, 
to  my  judgment,  your  highness  is  not  entertained 
with  that  ceremonious  affection  as  you  were 
wont:   there's  a  great  abatement  of  kindness 
appears,  as  well  in  the  general  dependants,  as  in 
the  duke  himself  also,  and  your  daughter. 
Lear. 
Ha !  sayest  thou  so  ? 

Knight. 
I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  if  I  be 
mistaken  ;  for  my  duty  cannot  be  silent,  when  I 
think  your  highness  wronged. 
Lear. 
Thou  but  rememberest  me  of  mine  own  con- 
ception.   I  have  perceived  a  most  faint  neglect 
of  late;  which  I  have  rather  blamed  as  mine  own 
[jealous  curiosity,  than  as  a  very  pretence  and 
purpose  of  unkindness :  I  will  look  farther  into't. 
—  But  where's  my  fool  ?    I  have  not  seen  him 
this  two  days. 

Knight. 
Since  my  young  lady's  going  into  France,  sir, 
the  fool  hath  much  pined  away. 
Lear. 
No  more  of  that;  I  have  noted  it  well — Go 
you,  and  tell  my  daughter  I  would  speak  with 
her.— Go  you,  call  hither  my  fool.— 

Re-enter  Oswald. 
O  !  you  sir,  you  sir,  come  you  hither.    Who  am 
1,  sir  ? 

Oswald. 
My  lady's  father. 

Lear. 

My  lady's   father!   my   lord's    knave:   you 

whoreson  dog !  you  slave  I  you  cur ! 

Oswald. 

I  am  none  of  these,  my  lord ;  I  beseech  your 

pardon. 

Lear. 
Do  you  bandy  looks  with  me,  you  rascal  ? 

[Striking  him. 
Oswald. 
I'll  not  be  struck,  my  lord. 

Kent. 
Nor  tripped  neither,  you  base  foot-ball  player. 
[Tripping  up  his  heels. 
Lear. 
!     I  thank  thee,  fellow;  thou  servest  me,  and 
I'll  love  thee. 

Kent. 
Come  sir,  arise,  awayl    I'll  teach  you  dif- 
-  ferences :    away,  away  1    If  you  will  measure 
your  lubber's  length  again,  tarry ;  but  away  I 
Go  to :  have  you  wisdom  ?  so. 

[Pushes  Oswald  out. 

Lear. 

Now,  my  friendly  knave,  I  thank  thee:  there's 

earnest  of  thy  service.         [Giving  Kent  Money. 

Knter  Fool. 

Fool. 

Let  me  hire  him  too :— here's  my  coxcomb. 

[Giving  Kent  his  cap. 
Lear. 
How  now,  my  pretty  knave!  how  dost  thou? 

Fool. 
Sirrah,  you  were  best  take  my  coxcomb. 

Lear. 
Why,  my  boy  ? 

Fool. 


Act  i.   5c.  it. 


KING  LEAR. 


95» 


Fool. 
Why?  For  taking  one's  part  that's  out  of 
favour — Nay,  an  thou  canst  not  smile  as  the 
wind  sits,  thou'lt  catch  cold  shortly:  there,  take 
my  coxcomb.  Why,  this  fellow  has  banished 
two  on's  daughters,  and  did  the  thlid  a  blessing 
•gainst  his  will:  if  thou  follow  him,  thou  tmi-t 

needs  wear  my  coxcomb How  now,  nuncle  I 

Would  I  had  two  coxcombs,  and  two  daugh- 
ters I 

I. ear. 
Why.myboy?        ^ 

If  I  gave  them  all  my  liring,  I'd  keep  my  cox- 
combs myself.  There's  mine;  beg  another  of 
thy  daughters. 

Lear. 
Take  heed,  sirrah ;  the  whip. 

Fool. 
Truth's  a  dog  must  to  kennel:  he  must  be 
whipped  out,  when  the  lady  brach  may  stand  by 
the  fire  and  stink. 

Lear. 
A  pestilent  gall  to  me. 

Fool. 
Sirrah,  I'll  teach  thee  a  speech. 

Lear. 
Do. 

Fool. 
Mark  it,  nuncle.— 

Have  more  than  thou  showest, 
Speak  less  than  thou  knowest, 
Lend  less  than  thou  owest, 
Ride  more  than  thou  goest. 
Learn  more  than  thou  trowest, 
Set  less  than  thou  throwest; 
Leave  thy  drink  and  thy  whore, 
And  keep  in-a-door, 
And  thou  shall  have  more 
Than  two  teas  to  a  score. 
Lear. 
This  is  nothing,  fool. 

Fool. 
Then,  'tis  like   the   breath    of  an    unfee'd 
lawyer ;  you  gave  me  nothing  for't.    Can  you 
make  no  use  of  nothing,  nuncle? 
Lear. 
Why,  no,  boy;  nothing  can  be  made  out  of 
nothing. 

Fool. 
Pr'ythee,  tell  him,  so  much  the  rent  of  his 
land  comes  to:  he  will  not  believe  a  fool. 


A  bitter  fool  I 


Lear. 
Fool. 


Dost  thou  know  the  difference,  my  boy,  be- 
tween a  bitter  fool  and  a  sweet  one  ? 
Lear. 
No,  lad ;  teach  me. 

Fool. 
That  lord,  that  counsell'd  thee 

To  give  away  thy  land, 
Come  place  him  here  by  me ; 

Do  thou  for  him  stand: 
The  sweet  and  bitter  fool 
Will  presently  appear ; 
The  one  in  motley  here, 
The  other  found  out  there. 
Lear. 
Dost  thou  call  me  fool,  boy  ? 

Fool. 
All  thy  other  titles  thou  hast  given  away,  that 
thou  wast  born  with. 


Kent. 

This  is  not  altogether  fool,  my  lord. 

No,  'faith  ;  lords  and  great  men  will  not  let 
me  :  if  I  had  a  monopoly  out,  they  would  have 

Eart  on't,  and  loads  too :  they  will  not  let  me 
ave  all  fool  to  myself;  they'll  be  snatching. — 
Give  me  an  egg,  nuncle,  and  I'll  give  thee  two  j 
crowns. 

Lear. 

What  two  crowns  shall  they  be  ? 

Fool. 
Why,  after  I  have  cut  the  egg  i*  the  middle, 
and  eat  up  the  meat,  the  two  crowns  of  the  egg. 
When  thou  clovest  thy  crown  1*  the  middle,  and 
gavest  away  both  parts,  thou  borest  thine  ass  on 
thy  back  o'er  the  dirt :  thou  hadst  little  wit  in 
thy  bald  crown,  when  thou  gavest  thy  golden 
one  away.  If  I  speak  like  mvself  in  this,  let  him 
be  whipped  that  first  finds  it  so. 

Fools  had  ne'er  lets  grace  in  a  year  /  [Singing. 

For  wise  men  are  grown  foppish  ; 
And  know  not  how  their  wits  to  wear, 
Their  manners  are  so  apish. 
Lear. 
When  were  you  wont  to  be  so  full  of  songs, 
•irrah?  m    , 

Fool. 
I  have  used  it,  nuncle,  ever  since  thou  madest 
thy  daughters    thy  mothers:    for,  when  thou 
gavest  them  the  rod  and  putt'st  down  thine  own 
breeches, 

Then  they  for  sudden  joy  did  weept     [Singing. 

And  J  for  sorrow  sung, 
That  such  a  king  should  play  bo-peep, 
And  go  the  fools  among. 
Pr'ythee,  nuncle,  keep  a  school-master  that  can 
teach  thy  fool  to  lie :  I  would  fain  learn  to  lie. 
Lear. 
An  you  lie,  sirrah,  we'll  have  you  whipped. 

Fool. 
I  marvel,  what  kin  thou  and  thy  daughters 
are:  they'll  have  me  whipped  for  speaking  true, 
thou'lt  have  me  whipped  for  lying ;  and  some- 
times 1  am  whipped  for  holding  my  peace.  I 
had  rather  be  any  kind  o'  thing  than  a  fool ;  and 
yet  I  would  not  be  thee,  nuncle:  thou  hast 
pared  thy  wit  o'  both  sides,  and  left  nothing  i' 
the  middle.     Here  comes  one  o'  the  parings. 

Knter  Guneril. 
Lear. 
How  now,  daughter  I  what  makes  that  front- 
let on  ? 
Methinks,  you  are  too  much  of  late  i'  the  frown. 
Fool. 
Thou  wast  a  pretty  fellow,  when  thou  hadst 
no  need  to  care  for  her  frowning  ;  now  thou  art 
an  O  without  a  figure.     I  am  better  than  thou 
art  now  :  lama  fool ;  thou  art  nothing. — Yes, 
forsooth,  I  will  hold  my  tongue  1  so  your  face 

4 To  Gonertt]  bids  me,  though  you  say  nothing. 
turn,  mum : 

He  that  keeps  nor  crust  nor  crum, 
Weary  of  all,  shall  want  some.— 
That's  a  shealed  peascod. 

Goueril. 
Not  only,  sir,  this  your  all-licens'd  fool, 
But  other  of  your  insolent  retinue 
Do  hourly  carp  and  quarrel ;  breaking  forth 
In  rank,  and  not-to-be-endured,  riots.    Sir, 
I  had  thought,  by  making  this  well  known  onto 

To 


95* 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  i.  Sc.  iv. 


To  have  found  a  safe  redress,  but  now  grow 

fearful, 
By  what  yourself  too  late  have  spoke  and  done, 
That  yon  protect  this  course,  and  put  it  on, 
By  your  allowance;  which  if  you  should,  the 

fault 
Would  not  'scape  censure,  nor  the  redresses 

sleep. 
Which,  in  the  tender  of  a  wholesome  weal, 
Might  in  their  working  do  you  that  offence, 
Which  else  were  shame,  that  then  necessity 
Will  call  discreet  proceeding. 
Fool. 
For  you  trow,  nuncle, 
The  hedge-sparrow  fed  the  cuckoo  so  long, 
That  it  had  its  head  bit  off  by  its  young. 
So,  out  went  the  candle,  and  we  were  left  dark- 
ling. 

Lear. 
Are  you  our  daughter  ? 

Goneril. 
I  would,  you  would  make  use  of  your  good 
wisdom, 
Whereof  I  know  you  are  fraught,  and  put  away 
These  dispositions,  which  of  late  transform  you 
From  what  you  rightly  are. 
Fool. 
May  not  an  ass  know  when  the  cart  draws  the 
horse  ?— Whoop,  Jug!  I  love  thee. 
L?ar. 
Does  any  here  know  me?—  Why  this  is  not 
Lear:    does   Lear    walk   thus?   speak    thus? 
Where  are  his  eyes  ?  Either  his  notion  weakens, 
or  his  discernings  are  lethargied.  —  Sleeping  or 

waking? — Ha  !  sure  'tis  not  so Who  is  it  that 

can  tell  me  who  I  am? — Lear's  shadow?    I 
would  learn  that ;  for  by  the  marks  of  sove- 
reignty, knowledge,  and   reason,  I  should  be 
false  persuaded  I  had  daughters. 
Fool. 
Which  they  will  make  an  obedient  father. 

Lear. 
Your  name,  fair  gentlewoman  ? 

Gonaril. 
This  admiration,  sir,  is  much  o*  the  favour 
Of  other  your  new  pranks.     1  do  beseech  you 
To  understand  my  purposes  aright, 
As  you  are  old  and  reverend,  should  be  wise. 
Here  do  you  keep  a  hundred  knights  and  squires ; 
Men  so  disorder 'd,  so  debauch 'd  and  bold, 
That  this  our  court,  infected  with  their  manners, 
Shows  like  a  riotous  inn  :  epicurism  and  lust 
Make  it  more  like  a  tavern,  or  a  brothel, 
Than  a  grac'd  palace.    The  shame  itself  doth 
For  instant  remedy :  be,  then,  desir'd       [speak 
By  her,  that  else  will  take  the  thing  she  begs, 
A  little  to  disquantity  your  train ; 
And  the  remainder,  that  shall  still  depend, 
To  be  such  men  as  may  besort  your  age, 
Which  know  themselves  and  you. 
Lear. 

Darkness  and  devils  !  — 

Saddle  my  horses  ;  call  my  train  together 

Degenerate  bastard  !  I'll  not  trouble  thee : 
Yet  have  I  left  a  daughter. 
Goneril. 
You  strike  my  people ;  and  your  disorder'd 
Make  servants  of  their  betters.  [rabble 

Enter  Albany. 
Lear. 
Woe,  that  too  late  repents,— O,  sir!    [To 
Albany  ^  are  you  come  ? 


Is  It  your  will  ?  Speak,  sir.— Prepare  my  horses. 
Ingratitude,  thou  marble- hearted  fiend, 
More  hideous,  when  thou  show'st  thee  in  a  child, 
Than  the  sea-monster ! 

Albany. 

Pray,  sir,  be  patient. 
Lear. 
Detested  kite !  thou  liest :  [To  Goneril. 

My  train  are  men  of  choice  and  rarest  parts, 
That  all  particulars  of  duty  know, 
And  in  the  most  exact  regard  support 
The  worships  of  their  name.  — O,  most  small 
How  ugly  didst  thou  in  Cordelia  show,     [fault ! 
Which,  like  an  engine,  wrench'd  my  frame  of 

nature 
I  From  the  fix'd  place,  drew  from  my  heart  all 
love. 
And  added  to  the  gall.     O  Lear,  Lear,  Lear! 

Beat  at  this  gate,  that  let  thy  folly  ip 

[Striking  his  head. 
And  thy  dear  judgment  out ! — Go,  go,  my  people. 
Albany. 
My  lord,  I  am  guiltless,  as  I  am  ignorant 
Of  what  hath  mov'd  you. 
Lear. 
It  may  be  so,  my  lord. — 
Hear,  nature,  hear  !  dear  goddess,  hear  ! 
Suspend  thy  purpose,  if  thou  didst  intend 
To  make  this  creature  fruitful ! 
Into  her  womb  convey  sterility  1 
Dry  up  in  her  the  organs  of  increase; 
And  from  her  derogate  body  never  spring 
A  babe  to  honour  her  !    If  she  must  teem, 
Create  her  child  of  spleen ;  that  it  may  live. 
And  be  a  thwart  disnatur'd  torment  to  her  ! 
Let  it  stamp  wrinkles  in  her  brow  of  youth  ; 
With  cadent  tears  fret  channels  in  her  cheeks  ; 
Turn  all  her  mother's  pains,  and  benefits, 
To  laughter  and  contempt ;  that  she  may  feel 
How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is 
To  have  a  thankless  child  1 — Away  !  away  ! 

Albany. 
Now,  gods  that  we  adore,  whereof  comes  this? 

Goneril. 
Never  afflict  yourself  to  know  the  cause  ; 
But  let  his  disposition  have  that  scope 
That  dotage  gives  it. 

Re-enter  Ltar. 
Lear. 
What !  fifty  of  my  followers,  at  a  clap, 
Within  a  fortnight  ? 

Albany. 

What's  the  matter,  sir  ? 
Lear. 
I'll  tell  thee._Life  and  death  I  [To  Goneril.] 
I  am  ashamed, 
That  thou  hast  power  to  shake  my  manhood 

thus : 
That  these  hot  tears,  which  break  from  me 

perforce, 
Should  make  thee  worth  them.    Blasts  and  fogs 

upon  thee ! 
Th'  untented  woundings  of  a  father's  curse 
Pierce  every  sense  about  thee !  —  Old  fond  eyes, 
Beweep  this  cause  again,  I'll  pluck  you  out, 
And  cast  you,  with  the  waters  that  you  lose, 

To  temper  clay Ha ! 

Let  it  be  so :  —  I  have  another  daughter, 
Who,  I  am  sure,  is  kind  and  comfortable: 
When  she  shall  hear  this  of  thee,  with  her  nails 
She'll  flay  thy  wolfish  visage.     Thou  shalt  find, 

That 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


KING  LEAR 


95? 


That  I'll  rMume  the  shape,  wh  ch  thou  dost 

I  have  cist  off  lor  .  \  it.  [think 

[Exeunt  I. tar,  Kent,  and  AHendanti. 

Goneril. 
Do  700  mark  that,  my  lord  ? 

Albany. 
I  cannot  be  so  partial,  Goneril, 
To  the  great  lore  I  bear  you,  — 
Goneril. 
Pray  you,  content.  —  What,  Oswald,  ho ! 
You,  ttr,  more  knave   than    fool,  after   your 
master.  'To  the  Fool. 

Fool. 
Nuncle  Lear,  nuncle  Lear!  tarry,  and  take 
the  fool  with  thee. 

A  fox,  when  one  has  caught  her, 

And  such  a  daughter, 

Should  sure  to  the  slaughter, 

If  my  cap  would  buv  a  halter  ; 

So  the  fool  follows  after.  [Exit. 

Goneril. 
This  man  hath  had  good  counsel — A  hundred 
Tis  politic,  and  safe,  to  let  him  keep    [knights ! 
At  point  a  hundred  knights  :  yes,  that  on  every 

dream, 

Kach  buz,  each  fancy,  each  complaint,  dislike, 

He  may  enguard  his  dotage  with  their  powers, 

And  hold  our  lives  in  mercy.— Oswald,  1  say  !— 

Albany. 

Well,  you  may  fear  too  far. 

Ooneril 

Safer  than  trust  too  far. 
Let  me  still  take  away  the  harms  I  fear, 
Not  fear  still  to  be  taken  :  1  know  his  heart. 
What  he  hath  utter'd  I  have  writ  my  sister: 
If  she  sustain  him  and  his  hundred  knights, 
When  I  have  show'd  th'  unfitness,  —  how  now, 
Oswald! 

Re-enter  Oswald. 

What,  have  you  writ  that  letter  to  my  sister  ? 
Oswald. 
Ay,  madam. 

Goner  1 1 
Take  you  some  company,  and  away  to  horse : 
Inform  her  full  of  my  particular  fear  ; 
And  thereto  add  such  reasons  of  your  own, 
As  may  compact  it  more.     Get  you  gone, 
And  hasten  your  return.    ' F.xit  Osuatd]    No, 

no,  my  lord. 
This  milky  gentleness,  and  course  of  yours, 
Though  I  condemn  not,  yet,  under  pardon. 
You  are  much  more  attask'd  for  want  of  wis- 
Than  prais'd  for  harmful  mildness.  [dom, 

Albany. 

How  far  your  eyes  may  pierce,  I  cannot  tell  •, 
Striving  to  better,  oft  we  mar  what's  well. 

Goneril. 
Nay,  then  — 

Albany. 
Well,  well ;  the  event.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V.    Court  before  the  same. 

Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Lear. 

Go  you  before  to  Gloster  with  these  letters. 
Acquaint  ray  daughter  no  farther  with  any 
tSing  you  kuo»\  than  comes  from  her  demand 
out  of  the  letter.  If  your  diligence  be  not 
speedy,  1  shall  be  there  before  you. 


K-nt. 


I  will  not  sleep,  my  lord,  till  I  have  delivered 

ur  letter. 


your 


Peel. 


LeSJT. 

Fool. 


If  a  man's  brains  were  in's  heels,  were't  not 
in  danger  of  kibes  ? 

Lear. 
Ay,  boy. 

Fool. 
Then,  I  pr'ythee,  be  merry;   thy  wit  shall 
not  go  slip-shod. 

Ha,  ha,  ha  I 

Shalt  see,  thy  other  daughter  will  use  thee 
kindly ;  for  though  she's  as  like  this,  as  a  crab 
is  like  an  apple,  yet  I  can  tell  what  1  can  tell. 
Lear. 
What  canst  tell,  boy? 

Fool. 
She  will  taste  as  like  this,  as  a  crab  does  to  a 
crab.     Thou  canst  tell  why  one's  nose  stands  i' 
the  middle  on's  face. 

Lear. 
No. 

Foo«. 
Why,  to  keep  one's  eyes  of  either  side's  nose  ; 
that  what  a  man  cannot  smell  out,  he  may  spy 
into. 

Lear. 
I  did  her  wrong.— 

Fool. 
Canst  tell  how  an  oyster  makes  his  shell  ? 

Lear. 
No. 

Fool. 
Nor  I  neither ;  but  I  can  tell  why  a  snail  has 
a  house. 

Lear. 
Why? 

Fool. 
Why,  to  put  his  head  in  ;  not  to  give  it  away 
to  his  daughters,  and  leave  his  horns  without  a 
case. 

Lear. 
I  will  forget  my  nature —  So  kind  a  father  ! — 
Be  my  horses  ready. 

Fool 
Thy  asses  are  gone  about  'em.    The  reason 
why  the  seven  stars  are  no  more  than  seven  is  a 
pretty  reason. 

Lear. 
Because  they  are  not  eight  ? 

Fool. 
Yes,  indeed.      Thou  wouldest  make  a  good 
fool. 

Lear. 
To  take  it  again  perforce  1  —  Monster  ingra- 
titude ! 

Fool. 
If  thou  wert  my  fool,  nuncle,   I'd  have  thee 
beaten  for  being  old  before  thy  time. 
Lear. 
How's  that? 

Fool. 
Thou  shouldst  not  have  been  old  before  thou 
hadst  been  wise. 

Lear. 
O,  let  me  not  be  mad,  not  mad,  sweet  heaven  I 
Keep  me  in  temper  :  1  would  not  be  mad  I  — 

Enter  Gentleman. 

How  now  1  Are  the  horses  ready  • 

Gentleman. 


SrA 


KING  LEAR 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


Gentleman. 


Fool. 


Ready,  my  lord. 
Come,  boy. 


She  that's  a  maid  now,  and  laughs  at  my  de- 
parture, 
Shall  not  be  a  maid  long,  unless  things  be  cut 
shorter.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Court  within  the  Castle  of  the 
Earl  of  Gloster. 

Enter  Edmund  and  Curan,  meeting. 
Edmund. 
CAVE  thee,  Curan. 

Curan. 
And  you,  sir.    I  have  been  with  your  father, 
and  given  him  notice,  that  the  duke  of  Cornwall, 
and  Regan  his  duchess,  will  be  here  with  him 
to-night 

Edmund. 
How  comes  that  ? 

Curan. 

Nay,  I  know  not.    You  have  heard  of  the 

news  abroad  ?  I  mean,  the  whispered  ones,  for 

they  are  yet  but  ear-bussing  arguments. 

Edmund. 

Not  I :  pray  you,  what  are  they  ? 

Curan. 
Have  you  heard  of  no  likely  wars  toward, 
'twixt  the  dukes  of  Cornwall  and  Albany? 
Edmund. 
Not  a  word. 

Curan. 
You  may  do,  then,  in  time.    Fare  you  well, 
sir.  [Exit 

Edmund. 
The  duke  be  here  to-night?    The  better  I 
Best! 
This  weaves  Itself  perforce  into  my  business. 
My  father  hath  set  guard  to  take  my  brother  ; 
And  I  have  one  thing,  of  a  queazy  question, 
Which   I  must  act.  — Briefness,  and   fortune, 

work ! — 
Brother,  a  word  ;— descend :— brother,  I  say; 

F.nter  Edgar 
My  father  watches.— O  sir  1  fly  this  place  ; 
Intelligence  is  given  where  you  are  hid : 
You  have   now  the   good   advantage   of  the 

night.— 
Have  you  not  spoken  'gainst  the  duke  of  Corn- 
wall? 
He's  coming  hither ;  now,  i'  the  night,  i*  the 

haste, 
And  Regan  with  him  :  have  you  nothing  said 
Upon  his  party  'gainst  the  duke  of  Albany  ? 
Advise  yourself. 

Edgar. 
I  am  sure  on't,  not  a  word. 
Edmund. 
I  hear  my  father  coming — Pardon  me  ; 
In  cunning,  1  must  draw  my  sword  upon  you : 
Draw:  seem  to  defend  yourself.      Now  'quit 

you  well. 
Yield:  — come  before  my  father ;— Light,  hoi 
here  I— 


Fly,   brother;— Torches!  torches!— So,  fare- 
well.— [Exit  Edgar. 

Some  blood  drawn  on  me  would  beget  opinion 
[Wounds  hisarm. 

Of  my  more  fierce   endeavour:    I  have   seen 
drunkards 

Do  more  than  this  in  sport — Father  I  father  I 

Stop,  stop  1    No  help  ? 

Enter  Gloster,  and  Servants  with  Torches. 

Gloster. 
Now,  Edmund,  where's  the  villain  ? 

Edmund. 
Here  stood  he  in  the  dark,  his  sharp  sword 
out, 
Mumbling  of  wicked  charms,  conjuring  the  moon 
To  stand  auspicious  mistress 

f;loster. 

But  where  is  he  ? 
Edmund. 
Look,  sir,  I  bleed. 

Gloster. 
Where  is  the  villain,  Edmund? 
Edmund. 
Fled  this  way,  sir.    When  by  no  means  he 
could— 

Gloster. 
Pursue  him,  ho !— Go  after.— [Exit  Scrrants.') 
By  no  means,— what? 
Edmund. 
Pursuade  me  to  the  murder  of  your  lordship ; 
But  that  I  told  him,  the  revenging  gods 
'Gainst  parricides  did  all  their  thunders  bend  ; 
Spoke,  with  how  manifold  and  strong  a  bond 
The  child  was  bound  to  the  father ; — sir,  in  fine. 
Seeing  how  loathly  opposite  I  stood 
To  his  unnatural  purpose,  in  fell  motion, 
With  his  prepared  sword  he  charges  home 
My  unprovided  body,  lanc'd  mine  arm: 
But  when  he  saw  my  best  alarum 'd  spirits, 
Bold  in  the  quarrel's  right,  rous'd  to  th'  en- 
counter, 
Or  whether  gasted  by  the  noise  I  made, 
Full  suddenly  he  fled. 

Gloster 

Let  him  fly  far : 
Not  In  this  land  shall  he  remain  uncaught ; 
And  found— dispatch.  —  The  noble   duke  my 

master, 
My  worthy  arch  and  patron,  comes  to-night : 
By  his  authority  I  will  proclaim  It,         [thanks, 
That  he,  which  finds  him,  shall  deserve  our 
Bringing  the  murderous  coward  to  the  stake ; 
He,  that  conceals  him,  death. 
Edmund. 
When  I  dissuaded  him  from  his  intent, 
And  found  him  pight  to  do  it,  with  curst  speech 
I  threaten'd  to  discover  him  :  he  replied, 
"  Thou  unpossessing  bastard  I  dost  thou  think, 
If  I  would  stand  against  thee,  would  the  reposal 
Of  any  trust,  virtue,  or  worth,  in  thee       [deny, 
Make  thy  words  faith'd  ?    No :  what  I  should 
(As  this  I  would;  ay,  though  thou  didst  produce 
My  very  character)  I'd  turn  it  all 
To  thy  suggestion,  plot,  and  damned  practice : 
And  thou  must  make  a  dullard  of  the  world, 
If  they  not  thought  the  profits  of  my  death 
Were  very  pregnant  and  potential  spurs 
To  make  thee  seek  it." 

Gloster. 

Strong  and  fasten'd  villain  ! 
Would  he  deny  his  letter  ?—  I  never  got  him. 

Hark  ! 


Ac  i  ii.  Sc.  n. 


KING  LEAR 


955 


Hark  !  the  duke's  trumpets.  I  know  not  why 
he  come* — 

All  porti  I'll  bar  ;  the  villain  shall  not  '•cape  ; 

The  duke  must  grant  me  that :  besides,  his  pic- 
ture 

I  will  send  far  and  near,  that  all  the  kingdom 

May  have  due  note  of  htm  ;  and  of  my  land, 

Loyal  and  natural  boy,  I'll  work  the  means 

To  make  thee  capable. 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  and  Attendants. 

Cornwall. 
How  now,  my  noble  friend !   since  I  came 
hither, 
(Which  1  can  call  but  now)  I  have  heard  strange 
news. 

Kegan. 
If  It  be  true,  all  vengeance  comes  too  short. 
Which  can  pursue  thr  offender.    How  dost,  my 
lord? 

r.loster. 
O,  nvtdam  I   my  old  heart   is   crack'd,   It's 
crack 'd. 

Regan. 
What  !  did  my  father  s  godson  seek  your  life  ? 
Ha  whom  my  father  nam'd  ?  your  Edgar  T 
Gloster. 
O,  lady,  lady  !  shame  would  have  it  hid. 

Kegan. 

Was   he   not    companion   with    the   riotous 

That  tend  upon  my  father  ?  [knights 

Gloster. 

I  know  not,  madam  :  'tis  too  bad,  too  bad 

Edmund. 
Yes,  madam,  he  was  of  that  consort. 

Iicgan. 
No  marvel,  then,  though  he  were  ill  affected : 
'Tis  they  have  put  him  on  the  old  man's  death, 
To  have  th'  expense  and  waste  of  his  revenues. 
I  have  this  present  evening  from  my  sister 
Been  well  inform'd  of  them  ;  and  with  such 

cautions. 
That  if  they  come  to  sojourn  at  my  house, 
I'll  not  be  there. 

Cornwall. 

Nor  I,  assure  thee,  Regan.  — 
Edmund,  I  hear  that  you  have  shown  your  father 
A  child-like  office. 

Edmund. 

•Twas  my  duty,  sir. 
Gloster. 
He  did  bewray  his  practice ;  and  receiv'd 
This  hurt  you  st-e,  striving  to  apprehend  him. 
Cornwall. 
Is  he  pursued  ? 

Gloster. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Cornwall. 
If  he  be  taken,  he  shall  never  more        [pose, 
Be  fear'd  of  doing  harm :  make  your  own  pur- 
How  in  my  strength  you  please For  you, 

Edmund, 
Whose  virtue  and  obedience  doth  this  instant 
So  much  commend  itself,  you  shall  be  ours: 
Natures  of  such  deep  trust  we  shall  much  need ; 
You  we  first  seize  on. 

Edmund. 

I  shall  serve  you,  sir, 
Truly,  however  else. 

Gloater. 

For  him  I  thank  your  grace. 
Cornwall. 
You  know  not  why  we  came  to  visit  you. 


Thus  out  or  season,  threading  dark -ey'd  night. 
Occasions,  noble  Gloster,  of  some  poize, 
Wherein  we  must  have  use  of  your  advice. 
Our  father  he  hath  writ,  so  hath  our  sister, 
Of  differences,  which  I  best  thought  it  fit 
To  answer  from  our  home:  the  several  mes- 
sengers [friend. 
From  hence  attend  despatch.     Our  good  old 
Lay  comforts  to  your  bosom,  and  bestow 
Your  needful  counsel  to  our  business. 
Which  craves  the  instant  use. 
QlpKi 

I  serve  you  madam. 
Your  graces  are  right  welcome.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.     Before  (Hotter' s  Castle. 
Enter  Kent  and  Oswald,  severally 
Oswald. 
Good  dawning  to  thee,  friend:  art  of  this 
house  ? 

Kent. 
Ay. 

Oswald. 
W:here  may  we  set  our  horses  ? 

Kent. 
I'  the  mire. 

Oswald. 
Pr'ythee,  If  thou  love  me,  tell  me. 

Kent. 
I  love  thee  not. 

Oswald. 
Why,  then  I  care  not  for  thee. 

Kent. 
If  I  had  thee  in  Lipsbury  pinfold,  I  would 
make  thee  care  for  me. 

Oswald. 
Why  dost  thou  use  me  thus  ?  I  know  thee  not. 

Kent. 
Fellow,  I  know  thee. 

Oswald. 
What  dost  thou  know  me  for  ? 

Kent. 

A  knave,  a  rascal,  an  eater  of  broken  meats ; 

a  base,  proud,  shallow,  beggarly,  three-suited, 

hundred-pound,  filthy,  worsted-stocking  knave; 

a  lily-liver'd,  action-taking  knave,  a  whoreson 

glass-gazing,    superserviceable,    finical  rogue ; 

one-trunk-inheriting  slave;  one  that  wouldest 

!  be  a  bawd,  in  way  of  good  service,  and  art 

j  nothing  but  the  composition  of  a  knave,  beggar, 

I  coward,  pandar,  and  the  son  and  heir  of  a  mongrel 

j  bitch:   one  whom  I  will  beat  into  clamorous 

•  whining,  if  thou  deniest  the  least  syllable  of  thy 

addition. 

Oswald. 
Why,  what  a  monstrous  fellow  art  thou,  thus 
to  rail  on  one,  that  is  neither  known  of  thee,  nor 
I  knows  thee. 

Kent. 
■     What  a  brazen-faced  varlet  art  thou,  to  deny 
thou  knowest  me.    Is  it  two  days  since  I  tripped 
j  up  thy  heels,  and  beat  thee,  before  the  king? 
I  Draw,  you  rogue ;  for,  though  it  be  night,  yet 
the  moon  shines :  I'll  make  a  sop  o'  the  moon- 
shine of  you:    ^  Drawing  his  Sword.]  Draw,  you 
whoreson  cullionly  barber-monger,  draw. 
Oswald 
Away !  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  thee. 

Kent. 

Draw,  you   rascal:    you  come  with    letters 

against  the  king,  and  take  Vanity,  the  puppet's, 

part, 


r>56 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


part,  against  the  royalty  of  her  father.    Draw, 
you  rogue,  or  I'll  so" carbonado  your  shanks:  — 
draw,  you  rascal ;  come  your  ways. 
Oswald. 
Help,  ho  !  murder  I  help  ! 

Kent. 
Strike,  you  slave:  stand,  rogue   stand;  you 
neat  slave,  strike.  [Beating  Mm. 

Oswald. 
Help,  ho  !  murder  1  murder ! 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  Gloster,  Edmund,  and 
Servants. 
Edmund. 
How  now  !    What's  the  matter  ? 

Kent. 
With  you,  goodman  boy,  if  you  please:  come, 
I'll  flesh  you ;  come  on,  young  master. 
Gloster. 
Weapons !  arms !    What's  the  matter  here  ? 

Cornwall. 
Keep  peace,  upon  your  lives : 
He  dies,  that  strikes  again.  What  is  the  matter  ? 
Regan. 
The  messengers  from  our  sister  and  the  king. 

Cornwall. 
What  is  your  difference  ?  speak. 

Oswald. 
I  am  scarce  In  breath,  my  lord. 

Kent. 
No  marvel,  you  have  so  bestirred  your  valour. 
You  cowardly  rascal,  nature  disclaims  In  thee: 
a  tailor  made  thee. 

Cornwall . 
Thou  art  a  strange  fellow:  a  tailor  make  a 
man? 

Kent. 
Ay,  a  tailor,  sir :  a  stone-cutter,  or  a  painter, 
could  not  have  made  him  so  ill,  though  they  had 
been  but  two  hours  at  the  trade. 
Cornwall. 
Speak  yet,  how  grew  your  quarrel  ? 

Oswald. 
This  ancient  ruffian,  sir,  whose  life  I  have 
At  suit  of  his  grey  beard,—  fspar'd, 

Kent. 
Thou  whoreson  zed  !  thou  unnecessary  letter  ! 
— My  lord,  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  I  will  tread 
this  unbolted  villain  into  mortar,  and  daub  the 
wall  of  a  jakes  with  him — Spare  my  grey  beard, 
you  wagtail  ? 

Cornwall. 
Peace,  sirrah ! 
You  beastly  knave,  know  you  no  reverence  ? 
Kent. 
Yes,  sir ;  but  anger  hath  a  privilege. 

Cornwall. 
Why  art  thou  angry? 

Kent. 

That  such  a  slave  as  this  should  wear  a  sword. 

Who  wears  no  honesty.  Such  smiling  rogues  as 

Like  rats,  oft  bite  the  holy  cords  atwain  [these, 

Which  are  too  intrinse  t'unloose ;  smooth  every 

passion 
That  in  the  natures  of  their  lords  rebels ; 
Bring  oil  to  fire,  snow  to  their  colder  moods ; 
Renege,  affirm,  and  turn  their  halcyon  beaks 
With  every  gale  and  vary  of  their  masters, 
Knowing  nought,  like  dogs,  but  following. — 
A  plague  upon  your  epileptic  visage  ! 
Smile  you  my  speeches,  as  I  were  a  fool  ? 


Goose,  if  I  had  you  upon  Sarum  plain, 
I'd  drive  ye  cackling  home  to  Camelot. 
Cornwall. 
What !  art  thou  mad,  old  fellow  ? 

Gloster. 
How  fell  you  out  ?  say  that. 

Kent. 
No  contraries  hold  more  antipathy, 
Than  1  and  such  a  knave. 

Cornwall, 
Why  dost  thou  call  him  knave  ?    What's  his 
offence  ? 

Kent. 
His  countenance  likes  me  not. 

Cornwall. 
No  more,  perchance,  does  mine,  nor  his,  nor 
hers. 

Kent. 
Sir,  'tis  my  occupation  to  be  plain : 
I  have  seen  better  faces  in  my  time, 
Than  stands  on  any  shoulder  that  1  see 
Before  me  at  this  instant 

Cornwall. 

This  is  some  fellow. 
Who,  having  been  prais'd  for  bluntness,  doth 

affect 
A  saucy  roughness,  and  constrains  the  garb. 
Quite  from  his  nature:  he  cannot  flatter,  he ; 
An   honest  mind  and  plain, —  he  must  speak 

truth : 
An  they  will  take  it,  so;  if  not,  he's  plain,  [ness 
These  kind  of  knaves  I  know,  which  in  this  plain- 
Harbour  more  craft,  and  more  corrupter  ends, 
Than  twenty  silly  ducking  observants, 
That  stretch  their  duties  nicely. 
Kent. 
Sir,  in  good  sooth,  in  sincere  verity, 
Under  th'  allowance  of  your  grand  aspect, 
Whose  influence,  like  the  wreath  of  radiant  fire 
On  flickering  Photons'  front, — 
Cornwall. 

What  mean'st  by  this  ? 
Kent. 
To  go  out  of  my  dialect,  which  you  discom- 
mend so  much.    I  know,  sir,  1  am  no  flatterer : 
he  that  beguiled  you  in  a  plain  accent  was  a  plain 
knave ;  which,  for  my  part,  I  will  not  be,  though 
I  should  win  your  displeasure  to  entreat  me  to*t. 
Cornwall. 
What  was  the  offence  you  gave  him  ? 

Oswald. 
I  never  gave  him  any : 
It  pleas'd  the  king,  his  master,  very  late. 
To  strike  at  me,  upon  his  misconstruction  ; 
When  he,  compact,  and  flattering  his  displeasure, 
Tripp'd  me  behind  ;  being  down,  insulted,  rail'd. 
And  put  upon  him  such  a  deal  of  man, 
That  worthied  him,  got  praises  of  the  king 
For  him  attempting  who  was  self-subdu'd; 
And,  in  the  fleshment  of  this  dread  exploit, 
Drew  on  me  here  again. 
Kent. 
None  of  these  rogues,  and  cowards, 
But  AJax  is  their  fool. 

Cornwall. 

Fetch  forth  the  stocks  ! 
You  stubborn  ancient  knave,  you  reverend 
We'll  teach  you—  [braggart, 

Kent. 

Sir,  I  am  too  old  to  learn. 
Call  not  your  stocks  for  me ;  I  serve  the  king. 
On  whose  employment  I  was  sent  to  you : 

You 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  LEAR 


957 


You  .-hall  do  small  respect,  show  too  bold  malice 
Against  the  grace  and  person  of  my  master, 
Stocking  hit  messenger. 

Cornwall.     . 

Fetch  forth  the  stocks  ! 
At  I  have  life  and  honour,  there  shall  he  sit  till 
noon. 


ft 

;ht, 


Till  nooul  till  night,  my  lord;  and  all  night 
too. 

Knit 
Why,  madam,  if  I  were  your  father's  dog, 
You  should  not  use  me  so. 
:  tfjf 

Sir/being  his  knave,  1  will. 
[Stocks  brought  out. 
Cornwall. 
This  is  a  fellow  of  the  self-same  colour  [stocks. 
Our  sister  speaks  of.— Come,  bring  away  the 
G  loiter 
Let  me  beseech  your  grace  not  to-do  to. 
His  fault  is  much,  and  the  good  king  his  master 
Will  check  him  for't:  your  purpos'd  low  cor- 
rection 
Is  such,  as  basest  and  contemned'st  wretches, 
For  pilferings  and  most  common  trespasses, 
Are  punish'd  with.    The  king  must  take  it  ill, 
That  he,  so  slightly  valued  in  his  messenger, 
Should  have  him  thus  restrain'd. 

Cornwall. 

I'll  answer  that. 

My  sister  may  receive  It  much  more  worse, 
To  have  her  gentleman  abus'd,  assaulted, 
For  following  her  affairt.  — Put  in  his  legs.— 

[Kent  Is  put  in  the  Stocks. 
Come,  my  lord,  away. 

[Exeunt  Regan  and  Cornwall. 
Gloster. 
I  am  sorry  for  thee,  friend;  'tis  the  duke't 
pleasure, 
Whose  disposition,  all  the  world  well  knows, 
Will  not  be  rubb'd,  nor  stopp'd :  I'll  entreat  for 
thee. 

Kent. 
Pray,  do  not,  sir.   I  have  watch 'd,  and  travell'd 
hard ; 
Some  time  I  shall  sleep  out,  the  rest  I'll  whistle. 
A  good  man's  fortune  may  grow  out  at  heels : 
Give  you  good  morrow  ! 

OtMfeM 

The  duke's  to  blame  in  this :  'twill  be  ill  taken. 
[Exit. 
Kent 

Good  king,  that  must  approve  the  common 
Thou  out  of  heaven's  benediction  com'st  [saw : — 
To  the  warm  sun. 

Approach,  thou  beacon  to  this  under  globe, 
That  by  thy  comfortable  beams  I  may      [racles, 
Peruse  this  letter.  — Nothing  almost  sees  mi- 
Hut  misery :  —  I  know,  'tis  from  Cordelia  ; 
Who  hath' most  fortunately  been  inform 'd 
Of  my  obscured  course ;  and  shall  find  time 
From  this  enormous  state,  — seeking  to  give 
Losses  their  remedies.  —  All   weary  and  o'er. 

watch'd, 
Take  vantage,  heavy  eyes,  not  to  behold 
This  shameful  lodging.    Fortune,  good  night ; 
Smile  once  more ;  turn  thy  wheel  I    [He  sleeps. 

S  CR  SK  1 1 1 .    A  Part  of  the  Heath . 
Enter  Edgar. 
Edgar. 
I  heard  myself  proclalm'd; 
And  by  the  nappy  hollow  of  a  tree 


Kscap'd  the  hunt.  No  port  it  free ;  no . 
That  guard,  and  most  unusual  vigilance", 
Does   not  attend    my  taking.      While   I    may 

'scape, 
I  will  preterve  mytclf ;  and  am  bethought 
To  take  the  basest  and  most  poorest  shape, 
That  ever  penury,  in  contempt  of  man,      [tilth, 
Brought  near  to  beast:  my  face  I'll  grime  with 
Blanket  my  loins,  elf  all  my  hair  in  knots, 
And  with  presented  nakedness  out-face 
The  winds,  and  persecutions  of  the  sky. 
The  country  gives  me  proof  and  precedent 
Of  Bedlam  beggars,  who,  with  roaring  voices, 
Strike  iu  their  numb'd  and  mortified  bare  arms 
Pins,  wooden  pricks,  nails,  tprigt  of  rotemary ; 
And  with  this  horrible  object,  from  low  farmt, 
Poor  pelting  villages,  theep-cotet  and  mills, 
Sometime  with  lunatic    bant,  sometime  with 

prayers, 
Enforce  their  charity.  —  Poor  Turlygood!  poor 

Tom  I 
That's  something  yet:  —  Edgar  I  nothing  am. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    Before  Gloster'*  Cattle. 
Enter  Lear,  Fool%  and  a  Gentleman. 

'Tis  strange  that  they  should  so  depart  from 
And  not  send  back  my  messenger.  [home, 

Gentleman.  

As  I  learn  d, 
The  night  before  there  was  no  purpose  in  them 
Of  this  remove. 

Hail  to  thee,  noble  master  ? 

Hal  ^ 

Mak'st  thou  this  shame  thy  pastime  ? 

Kent. 


Fool. 


No,  my  lord. 


Ha,  ha  !  look  ;  he  wears  cruel  garters.  Horses 
are  tied  by  the  head  ;  dogs,  and  bears,  by  the 
neck;  monkeys  by  the  loins,  and  men  by  the 
legs :  when  a  man  is  over-lusty  at  legs,  then  he 
wears  wooden  nether-stocks. 

What's    he,   that   hath  so  much    thy  place 
j  To  set  thee  here?  [mistook, 

It  is  both  he  and  she; 
Your  son  and  daughter. 

i    vt  Lear- 

No. 

Kent. 
Yes. 

Le*r. 
No,  I  say. 

Kent. 

I  say,  yea. 

Lear. 
No,  no;  they  would  not. 

Kent- 
Yes,  they  have. 

«     -     ,        .  Lear. 

By  Jupiter,  I  swear  no. 

„       r  ,  KeIlt- 

By  Juno,  1  swear,  ay. 

Lear. 

They  durst  not  do't; 
They  could  not,  would  not  do't :  'tis  worse  than 
murder, 

To 


I  95« 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  it. 


i  To  do  upon  respect  such  violent  outrage. 

Resolve  me  with  all  modest  haste  which  way 
I  Thou  might'st   deserve,  or  they  impose,  this 

Coming  from  us.  [usage, 

Kent. 
My  lord,  when  at  their  home 

I  did  commend  your  highness'  letters  to  them, 

Ere  I  was  risen  from  the  place  that  show'd 
i  My  duty  kneeling,  came  there  a  reeking  post, 
!  Stew'd  in  his  haste,  half  breathless,  panting 
|  From  Goneril,  his  mistress,  salutations;  [forth 

Deliver'd  letters,  spite  of  intermission, 
!  Which  presently  they  read :  on  whose  contents, 
i  They  summon'd  up  their  meiny,  straight  took 
'  Commanded  me  to  follow,  and  attend      [horse ; 

The  leisure  of  their  answer;   gave  me  cold 
looks : 

And  meeting  here  the  other  messenger, 

Whose  welcome,  I  perceiv'd,  had  poison'd  mine, 

i Being  the  very  fellow  which  of  late 
)isplay'd  so  saucily  against  your  highness) 
Having  more  man  than  wit  about  me,  drew : 
He  rais'd  the  house  with  loud  and  coward  cries. 
Your  son  and   daughter   found   this   trespass 
The  shame  which  here  it  suffers.  [worth 

tool. 
Winter's  not  gone  yet,  if  the  wild  geese  fly 
that  way. 
Fathers,  that  wear  rags, 

Do  make  their  children  blind ; 
But  fathers,  that  bear  bags. 

Shall  see  their  children  kind. 

Fortune,  that  arrant  whore. 

Ne'er  turns  the  key  to  the  poor.  — 

But,   for  all   this,  thou  shalt    have  as  many 

dolours  for  thy  daughters,  as  thou  canst  tell  in 

a  year. 

Lear. 
O,  how  this  mother   swells  up  toward  my 
heart  1 
Hysterica  passiol  down,  thou  climbing  sorrow  1 
Thy  element's  below. — Where  is  this  daughter  ? 
Kent. 
With  the  earl,  sir;  here,  within. 
Lear. 

Follow  me  not : 
Stay  here.  „      ,  [Kxit. 

Gentleman. 
Made  you  no  more  offence  than  what  you 
speak  of? 

Kent. 
None. 
How  chance  the  king  comes  with  so  small  a 
train  ?  ,     . 

r  oo. . 
An  thou  hadst  been  set  i'  the  stocks  for  that 
question,  thou  hadst  well  deserved  it. 
Kent. 

Why,  fool? 

Foot. 

We'll  set  thee  to  school  to  an  ant,  to  teach 
thee  there's  no  labouring  i'  the  winter.  All 
that  follow  their  noses  are  led  by  their  eyes,  but 
blind  men;  and  there's  not  a  nose  among 
twenty  but  can  smell  him  that's  stinking.  Let 
go  thy  hold,  when  a  great  wheel  runs  down  a 
hill,  lest  it  break  thy  neck  with  following  it; 
but  the  great  one  that  goes  up  the  hill,  let  him 
draw  thee  after.  When  a  wise  man  gives  thee 
better  counsel,  give  me  mine  again:  I  would 
have  none  but  knaves  follow  it,  since  a  fool 
gives  it. 

That  sir,  which  serves  and  seeks  for  gain, 
And  follows  but  for  form, 


Will  pack  when  it  begins  to  rain, 

And  leave  thee  in  the  storm. 
But  I  will  tarry  ;  the  fool  will  stay, 

And  let  the  wise  man  fly : 
The  knave  turns  fool  that  runs  away. 
The  fool  no  knave,  perdy. 
Kent. 
l'     Where  learn'd  you  this,  fool? 
Fool. 
Not  i'  the  stocks,  fool. 

tte-enter  Lear,  with  Gloster. 

Lear. 

!     Deny  to  speak  with  me?  They  are  sick?  they 

are  weary  ? 
]  They  have  travell'd  hard  to-night?  Mere  fetches, 
j  The  images  of  revolt  and  flying  off. 
Fetch  me  a  better  answer. 
Gloster. 

My  dear  lord, 
:  You  know  the  fiery  quality  of  the  duke ; 
!  How  unremovable  and  fix'd  he  is 
|  In  his  own  course. 

Lear. 
Vengeance  !  plague  !  death  !  confusion  ! — 
,  Fiery?  what  quality?    Why,  Gloster,  Glosler, 
I'd  speak  with  the  duke  of  Cornwall  and  his 
wife. 

Gloster. 
Well,  my  good  lord,  I  have  inform'd  them  so. 

Lear. 
Inform'd  them !    Dost  thou  understand  me, 
man? 

Gloster. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Lear. 
The  king  would  speak  with  Cornwall;   the 
dear  father 
Would  with  his  daughter  speak,  commands  her 

service : 
Are  they  inform'd  of  this  ?     My  breath  and 

blood!— 
Fiery?   the  fiery  duke?— Tell  the  hot  duke, 

that— 
No,  but  not  yet ; — may  be,  he  is  not  well : 
Infirmity  doth  still  neglect  all  office, 
Whereto  our  health  is  bound  ;    we   are   not 

ourselves, 
When  nature,  being  oppress'd,  commands  the 
To  suffer  with  the  body.    I'll  forbear ;      [mind 
And  am  fallen  out  with  my  more  headier  will, 
To  take  the  indispos'd  and  sickly  fit 

For. the   sound   man Death   on   my  state! 

wherefore  {Looking  on  Kent. 

Should  he  sit  here  ?    This  act  persuades  me, 
That  this  remotion  of  the  duke  and  her 
Is  practice  only.    Give  me  my  servant  forth. 
Go,  tell  the  duke  and  's  wife,  I'd  speak  with 

them, 
Now,  presently :  bid  them  come  forth  and  hear 

me, 
Or  at  their  chamber  door  I'll  beat  the  drum, 
Till  it  cry—"  Sleep  to  death." 
Gloster. 
I  would  have  all  well  betwixt  you  [Lxit. 

Lear. 
O   me!   my  heart,  my  rising  heart  1  — but, 
down. 

Fool. 
Cry  to  it,  nuncle,  as  the  cockney  did  to  the 
eels,  when  she  put  them  i'  the  paste  alive;  she 
rapp'd  'em  o'  the  coxcombs  with  a  stick,  and 
cried,  "  Down,  wantons,  down :  "  'twas  her 
brother,  that  in  pure  kindness  to  his  horse  but- 
tered his  hay. 

Enter 


Act  ii.  8c.  iv. 


KING  LEAR. 


959 


Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  G  loiter,  and  Servant*. 
Lear. 
Good  morrow  to  you  both, 
wall. 

Hail  to  your  grace ! 


Hall  to  your  grace: 
»  set  at  lib.-rtj  . 


I  am  glad  to  see  your  highness. 


Regan,  I  think  you  are ;  I  know  what  reason 
I  have  to  think  to :  if  thou  shouldst  not  be  glad, 
I  would  divorce  me  from  thy  mother's  tomb, 
Sepulchring  an  adult'ress.—  O  I  are  you  free ? 

[To  kcui. 
Some  other  time  for  that.  —  Beloved  Regan, 
Thy  sister's  naught :  O  Regan !  she  hath  tied 
Sharp-tooth'd  unkindness,  like  ayulture,  here.— 
[I'oinUtO  his  heart. 
I  can  scarce  speak  to  thee :  thou'lt  not  believe, 
With  how  deprav'd  a  quality— O  Regan! 
Regan. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  take  patience.     I  have  hope, 
You  less  know  how  to  value  her  desert. 
Than  she  to  scant  her  duty. 
Lear. 

Say,  how  is  that  ? 
Regan. 
I  cannot  think,  my  sister  in  the  least 
Would  fail  her  obligation  :  if,  sir,  perchance, 
She  have  restrain'd  the  riots  of  your  followers, 
'Tis  on  such  ground,  and  to  such  wholesome 
As  clears  her  from  all  blame.  [end, 

Lear. 
My  curses  on  her! 

Kegan. 
O.  sir !  you  are  old ; 
Nature  in  you  stands  on  the  very  verge 
Of  her  confine :  you  should  be  rul'd,  and  led 
By  some  discretion,  that  discerns  your  state 
Better  than  you  yourself.     Therefore,  I  pray 
That  to  our  sister  you  do  make  return  :      [you, 
Say,  you  have  wrong'd  her,  sir. 
Lear. 

Ask  her  forgiveness  ? 
Do  you  but  mark  how  this  becomes  the  house : 
"  Dear  daughter,  I  confess  that  I  am  old ; 
Age  is  unnecessary :  on  my  knees  I  beg, 

[Kneeling. 
That  you'll  vouchsafe  me  raiment,  bed,  and 


j  . ... 
No,  Regan  ;  thou  shalt  never  have  my  curse : 
Thy  tender-hefted  nature  shall  not  give 
Thee  o'er  to  harshness :  her  eyes  are  fierce;  but 

thine 
Do  comfort,  and  not  burn.    'Tis  not  In  thee 
,  To  grudge  my  pleasures,  to  cut  off  my  train, 
To  bandy  hasty  words,  to  scant  my  sizes, 
And,  in  conclusion,  to  oppose  the  bolt 
Against  my  coming  in  :  thou  better  know'st 
The  offices  of  nature,  bond  of  childhood, 
Effects  of  courtesy,  dues  of  gratitude; 
Thy  half  o'  the  kingdom  hast  thou  not  forgot, 
Wherein  I  thee  eudow'd. 


food. 


Kegai 


Good  sir,  no  more :  these  are  unsightly  tricks. 
Return  you  to  my  sister. 

Lear. 

Never,  Regan. 
She  hath  abated  me  of  half  my  train  ;    ['tongue. 
Look'd  black  upon  me;    struck  me  with  her 
Most  serpent-like,  upon  the  very  heart. — 
All  the  stor'd  vengeances  of  heaven  fall 
On  her  ungrateful  top  1    Strike  her  young  bones, 
You  taking  airs,  with  lameness  1 
Cornwall 

Fie,  sir,  fie ! 
Lear. 
You  nimble  lightnings,  dart  your  blinding 
flames 
Into  her  scornful  eyes  !     Infect  her  beauty. 
You  fen-suck 'd  fogs,  drawn  by  the  powerful  sun, 
To  fall  and  blast  her  pride  1 
Kegah. 

O  the  blest  gods  ! 
So  will  you  wish  on  me,  when  the  rash  mood 
is  cm. 


Good  sir,  to  the  purpose. 
Lear. 

Who  put  my  man  I'  the  stocks  ? 

[Tucket  within. 
Cornwall. 

What  trumpet's  that  ? 

Enter  Oswald. 
Regan. 
I  know't,  my  sister's:  this  approves  her  letter, 
That  she  would  soon  be  here.  — Is  your  lady 
come? 

Lear. 
This  is  a  slave,  whose  easy-borrow'd  pride 
Dwells  in  the  fickle  grace  of  her  he  follows.—* 
Out,  varlet,  from  my  sight  1 
Cornwall. 

What  means  your  grace  ? 
Lear. 
Who  stock'd  my  servant?     Regan,  I  have 
good  hope 
Thou  didst  not  know  on't— Who  comes  here  ? 
O  heavens  I 

Enter  Goneril. 
If  you  do  love  old  men,  if  your  sweet  sway 
Allow  obedience,  if  yourselves  are  old,  [part  !— 
Make  it  your  cause;  send  down,  and  take  my 
Art  not  asham'd  to  look  upon  this  beard  ? — 

[To  Goneril. 

0  Regan !  wilt  thou  take  her  by  the  hand  ? 

Goneril. 
Why  not  by  the  hand,  sir?     How  have  I 
offended  ? 
All's  not  offence,  that  indiscretion  finds, 
And  dotage  terms  so. 

Lear. 
O  sides  !  you  are  too  tough  : 
Will  you  yet  hold? — How  came  my  man  i'  the 
stocks  ? 

Cornwall. 
I  set  him  there,  sir ;  but  his  own  disorders 
Deserv'd  much  less  advancement. 
L«tf. 

You !  did  you  ? 
Kegan 
I  pray  you,  father,  being  weak,  seem  so. 
If,  till  the  expiration  of  your  m<>nth, 
You  will  return  and  sojourn  with  my  sister, 
:  Dismissing  half  your  train,  come  then  to  me : 

1  am  now  from  home,  and  out  of  that  provision 
Which  shall  be  needful  for  your  entertainment. 

1  .ear . 
,     Return  to  her?  and  fifty  men  dismiss'd  ? 
I  No,  rather  I  abjure  all  roofs,  and  choose 
To  wage  against  the  enmity  o*  the  air ; 
To  be  a  comrade  with  the  wolf  and  owl. — 
Necessity's  sharp  pinch  !  —  Return  with  her? 
Why,  the  hot-blooded  France,  that  dowerlc*s 
took 

Our 


960 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  11.  Sc.  iv 


Our  youngest  born,  I  could  as  well  be  brought 
To  knee  his  throne,  and,  squire-like,  pension 
To  keep  base  life  afoot.— Return  with  her  ?   [beg 
Persuade  me  rather  to  be  slave  and  sumpter 
To  this  detested  groom.       [Looking  at  Oswald. 

Gonerll. 

At  your  choice,  sir. 

Lear. 

I  pr'ythee,  daughter,  do  not  make  me  mad : 
I  will  not  trouble  thee,  my  child  ;  farewell. 
We'll  no  more  meet,  no  more  see  one  another ; 
But   yet   thou   art   my  flesh,   my  blood,   my 

daughter ; 
Or,  rather,  a  disease  that's  in  my  flesh, 
Which  I  must  needs  call  mine :  thou  art  a  boil, 
A  plague-sore,  an  embossed  carbuncle, 
In  my  corrupted  blood.  But  I'll  not  chide  thee ; 
Let  shame  come  when  it  will,  I  do  not  call  it : 
I  do  not  bid  the  thunder-bearer  shoot, 
Nor  tell  tales  of  thee  to  high -judging  Jove. 
Mend,  when  thou  canst ;  be  better,  at  thy  leisure: 
I  can  be  patient ;  I  can  stay  with  Regan, 
I,  and  my  hundred  knights. 

Regau 

Not  altogether  so : 
I  look'd  not  for  you  yet,  nor  am  provided 
For  your  fit  welcome.     Give  ear,  sir,  to  my 

sister; 
For  those  that  mingle  reason  with  your  passion, 
Must  be  content  to  think  you  old,  and  so — 
But  she  knows  what  she  does. 


Lear 


Is  this  well  spoken  ? 


I  dare  avouch  it,  sir.  g^vTiat  !  fifty  followers  ? 
Is  it  not  well  ?  What  should  you  need  of  more  ? 
Yea,  or  so  many,  sith  that  both  charge  and 

danger 
Speak  'gainst  so  great  a  number?    How,  in  one 

house, 
Should  many  people,  under  two  commands, 
Hold  amity?    'Tis  hard;  almost  impossible. 

Why  might  not  you,  my  lord,  receive   at- 
tendance 
From  those  that  she  calls  servants,  or  from  mine? 

Why  not,  my  lord  ?   If  then  they  chanc'd  to 
slack  you, 
We  could  control  them.   If  you  will  come  to  me, 
( For  now  I  spy  a  danger)  1  entreat  you 
To  bring  but  five  and  twenty :  to  no  more 
Will  I  give  place,  or  notice. 

„  Lear. 

I  gave  you  all— 

And  In  good  time  you  gave  it. 

Made  you  my  guardians,  my  depositaries, 
But  kept  a  reservation  to  be  follow'd  [you 

With  such  a  number.     What !  must  I  come  to 
With  five  and  twenty?    Regan,  said  you  so  ? 

And  speak't  again,  my  lord;  no  more  with  me. 

Lear. 

Those  wicked   creatures  yet  do  look  well- 

favour'd, 
When  others  are  more  wicked  ;  not  being  the 

worst, 
Stands  in  some  rank  of  praise — I'll  go  with 

thee:  [To  Goneril. 

Thy  fifty  yet  doth  double  five  and  twenty, 
And  thou  art  twice  her  love. 


Gonerll. 

Hear  me,  my  lord. 
What  need  you  five  and  twenty,  ten,  or  five, 
To  follow  in  a  house,  where  twice  so  many 
Have  a  command  to  tend  you  ? 


Kegan. 
Lear 


What  need  one ' 


O !  reason  not  the  need ;  our  basest  beggars 
Are  in  the  poorest  thing  superfluous : 
Allow  not  nature  more  than  nature  needs, 
Man's  life  is  cheap  as  beast's.    Thou  art  a  lady ; 
If  only  to  go  warm  were  gorgeous,        [wear'st, 
Why,  nature   needs  not  what  thou  gorgeous 
Which  scarcely  keeps  thee  warm.  But,  for  true 

need,  — 
You  heavens,  give  me  that  patience,  patience 

I  need ! 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age ;  wretched  in  both : 
If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts 
Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 
To  bear  it  tamely;  touch  me  with  noble  anger. 
O!  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops, 

Stain  my  man's  cheeks No,  you  unnatural 

I  will  have  such  revenges  on  you  both,  [hags, 
That  all  the  world  shall — I  will  do  such  things, — 
What  they  are,  yet  I  know  not ;  but  they  shall 

be 
The  terrors  of  the  earth.    You  think,  I'll  weep ; 
No,  I'll  not  weep: — 
I  have  full  cause  of  weeping;  but  this  heart 

_  _ .       ,  .  ,    L  Storm  .heard  at  a  distance. 

Shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws, 
Or  ere  I'll  weep.— O  fool !  I  shall  go  mad. 

[Exeunt  Lear,  Gloster,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Let  us  withdraw,  twill  be  a  storm. 

Regan. 

This  house  is  little:  the  old  man  and's  people 
Cannot  be  well  bestow'd. 

•Tis  his  own  blame^iatn  put  himself  from  rest, 
And  must  needs  taste  his  folly. 

For  his  particular,  rlr receive  him  gladly, 
But  not  one  follower. 

Gonerll.     . 

So  am  I  purpos  a. 
Where  is  my  lord  of  Gloster? 

Re- enter  Gloster. 

Follow'd  the  old  man  forth.— He  is  retum'd. 

Gloster. 

The  king  is  in  high  rage. 

CornWWhitherishegoing? 

He  calls  to  horse ;  but  will"  I  know  not  whither. 

Cornwall. .     .... 

•Tis  best  to  give  him  way ;  he  leads  himself. 

Goneril . 

My  lord,  entreat  him  by  no  means  to  stay. 

Alack!   the  night  comes' on,  and  the  bleak 
winds 
Do  sorely  ruffle  ;  for  many  miles  about 
There's  scarce  a  bush. 

Re^'»irl  to  wilful  men, 
The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure 


Aci  j 1 1.  Sc.  ii. 


KING  LEAR. 


961 


Must  be  their  schoolmasters.     Shut  up  your 
He  it  attended  with  a  desperato  train,      [doori  I 
And  what  they  may  incense  him  to,  being  apt 
To  have  hit  ear  abus'd,  wisdom  bids  tVar. 
Cornwall. 
Shut  up  your  doors,  my  lord;  'tis  a  wild 
night: 
My  Rigan  counsels  well.     Come  out  o'  the 
storm.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  l.    A  Heath. 

A  Stortn.  with  Thunder  and  Lightning.    Enter 

Kent,  And  a  Gentleman,  meeting. 

Kent. 

WHO'S  here,  beside  foul  weather? 

Gentleman. 

One  minded,  like  the  weather,  most  unquietly. 

Kent. 
I  know  you.    Where's  the  king  ? 

Gentleman. 
Contending  with  the  fretful  elements  ; 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea, 
Or  swell  the  curled  waters  *bove  the  main, 
That  things  might  change  or  cease:  tears  his 

white  hair, 
Which  the  impetuous  blasts,  with  eyeless  rage, 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of: 
Strives  in  his  little  world  of  man  to  out-scorn 
The  to-and-fro-conflicting  wind  and  rain. 
This  night,  wherein  the  cub-drawn  bear  would 
The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf        [couch 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  runs, 
And  bids  what  will  take  all. 
Kent. 

But  who  is  with  him  ? 
Gentleman. 
None  but  the  fool,  who  labours  to  outjest 
His  heart-struck  injuries. 
Kent. 

Sir,  1  do  know  you, 
And  dare,  upon  the  warrant  of  my  note, 
Commend  a  dear  thing  to  you.   There  is  division, 
Although  as  yet  the  face  of  it  be  cover'd 
With  mutual  cunning,  'twixt  Albany  and  Corn- 
wall; 
Who  have  (as  who  have  not,  that  their  great 

stars 
Thron'd  and  set  high  ?)  servants,  who  seem  no 

less, 

Which  are  to  France  the  spies  and  speculations 
Intelligent  of  our  state  ;  what  hath  been  seen, 
Either  in  snuffs  and  packings  of  the  dukes, 
Or  the  hard  rein  which  both  of  them  have  borne 
Against  the  old  kind  king ;  or  something  deeper, 
Whereof,  perchance,  these  are  but  furnishings; — 
But,  true  it  is,  from  France  there  comes  a  power 
Into  this  scatter'd  kingdom  ;  who  already, 
Wise  in  our  negligence,  have  secret  feet 
In  some  of  our  best  ports,  and  are  at  point 
To  show  their  open  banner — Now  to  you : 
If  on  my  credit  you  dare  build  so  far 
To  make  your  speed  to  Dover,  you  shall  find 
Some  that  will  thank  you,  making  just  report 
Of  how  unnatural  and  bemadding  sorrow 
The  king  hath  cause  to  plain. 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  blood  and  breeding, 
And  from  some  knowledge  and  assurauce  offer 
This  ofllce  to  you. 


(i-ntleman. 
I  will  talk  farther  with  you. 
Kent. 

No,  do  iiot. 
For  confirmation  that  I  am  much  more 
Than  my  out  wall,  open  this  purse,  and  take 
What  it  contains.     If  you  shall  see  Cordelia, 
(As  fear  not  but  you  shall)  show  her  this  ring. 
And  she  will  tell  you  who  that  fellow  is 
That  yet  you  do  not  know.  [Thunder.]    Fie  on 
I  will  go  seek  the  king.  [this  storm  ! 

Gentleman. 
Give  me  your  hand.    Have  you  no  more  to 
say? 

Kent. 

Few  words,  but,  to  effect,  more  than  all  yet ; 

That,  when  we  have  found  the  king,  in  which 

your  pain 
That  way,  I'll 
Holloa  the  other. 


this,  he  that  first  lights  on  him, 
[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  If.    Another  Part  of  the  Heat* . 

Storm  continue*.    Enter  Lear  and  Fool. 

Lear. 

Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks  1  rage  1 

You  cataracts  and  hurricanoes  spout,        [blow  ! 

Till  you  have  drench'd  our  steeples,  drown'd 

the  cocks  I 
You  sulphurous  and  thought-executing  fires. 
Vaunt-couriers  to  oak-cleaving  thunder-bolts, 
Singe  my  white  head  1    And  thou,  all-shaking 

thunder, 
Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world  I 
Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germius  spill  at  once, 
That  make  ingrateful  man  1 

Fool. 
O  nuncle,  court  holy-water  in  a  dry  house  is 
better  than  this  rain-water  out  o'  door.     Good 
nuncle,  in,  and  ask  thy  daughter's  blessing: 
here's  a  night  pities  neither  wise  men  nor  fools. 
Lear. 
Rumble  thy  bellyfull !  Spit,  fire !  spout,  rain  I 
Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters: 
I  tax  not  you,  you  elements,  with  unkindness  ; 
I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  call'd  you  children, 
You  owe  me  no  subscription :  then,  let  fall 
Your  horrible  pleasure;  here  I  stand,  your  slave, 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despis'd  old  man. 
But  yet  1  call  you  servile  ministers, 
That  will  with  two  pernicious  daughters  join 
Your  high-engender'd  battles  'gainst  a  head 
So  old  and  white  as  this.    O  1  O  1  'tis  foul  I 
Pool. 
He  that  has  a  house  to  put 's  head  in  has  a 
good  head-piece. 

The  cod-piece  that  will  house, 

Before  the  head  has  any, 
The  head  and  he  shall  louse; — 

So  beggars  marry  many. 
The  man  that  makes' his  toe 

What  he  his  heart  should  make, 
Shall  of  a  corn  cry  woe, 
And  turn  his  sleep  to  wake. 
—  for  there  was  never  yet  fair  woman,  but  she 
made  mouths  in  a  glass. 

Enter  Kent. 
Lear. 
No,  I  will  be  the  pattern  of  all  patience ;  I 
will  say  nothing. 

Kent. 
Who's  there  ? 

3  *  Fool. 


t)6z 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  hi.  z>c.  n. 


Marry,  here's  grace,  and  a  cod-piece  ;  that's  a 
wise  man,  and  a  fool. 

Alas,  sir  !   are  you  here  ?  things  that  love 

night, 
Love  not  such  nights  as  these;  the  wrathful 

skies 
Gallow  the  very  wanderers  of  the  dark,  [man, 
And  make  them  keep  their  caves.  Since  I  was 
Such  sheets  of  fire,  such  bursts  of  horrid  thunder, 
Such  groans  of  roaring  wind  and  rain,  I  never 
Remember  to  have  heard  :  man's  nature  cannot 
Th'  affliction,  nor  the  fear.  [carry 

Lear. 

Let  the  great  gods, 
That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads, 
Find  out  their  enemies  now.    Tremble,  thou 

wretch, 
That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes, 
Unwhipp'd  of  justice:  hide  thee,  thou  bloody 

hand ; 
Thou  perjur'd,  and  thou  siraular  of  virtue 
That  art  incestuous :  caitiff,  to  pieces  shake, 
That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming 
Hast  practis'd  on  man's  life:  close  pent-up  guilts 
Rive  your  concealing  continents,  and  cry 
These  dreadful  summoners  grace — I  am  a  man. 
More  sinn'd  against,  than  sinning. 

Kent. 

Alack,  bare-headed ! 
Gracious  my  lord,  hard  by  here  is  a  hovel ; 
Some  friendship  will  it  lend  you  'gainst  the 

tempest : 
Repose  you  there,  while  I  to  this  hard  house, 
(More  hard  than  is  the  stone  whereof  'tis  rais'd, 
Which  even  but  now,  demanding  after  you, 
Denied  me  to  come  in)  return,  and  force 
Their  scanted  courtesy. 

Lear. 
My  wits  begin  to  turn.— 
Come  on,  my  boy.  How  dost,  my  boy  ?  Art  cold? 
I  am  cold  myself.  —  Where  is  this  straw,  my 
The  art  of  our  necessities  is  strange,  [fellow  ? 
That  can  make  vile  things  precious.    Come, 

your  hovel. 
Poor  fool  and  knave,  I  have  one  part  in  my 
That's  sorry  yet  for  thee.  [heart 

Fool. 
He  that  has  a  little  tiny  wit, —  [Sings. 

With  heigh,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, — 
Must  make  content  with  his  fortunes  Jit ; 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 
Lear. 
True,  my  good  boy.— -Come,  bring  us  to  this 
hovel.  [Exeunt  Lear  and  Kent. 

Fool. 
This  is  a  brave  night  to  cool  a  courtezan. — I'll 
■peak  a  prophecy  ere  I  go : 
When  priests  are  more  in  word  than  matter ; 
When  brewers  mar  their  malt  with  water ; 
When  nobles  are  their  tailors'  tutors  ; 
No  heretics  burn'd,  but  wenches  suitors : 
When  every  case  in  law  is  right ; 
No  squire  in  debt,  nor  no  poor  knight ; 
When  slanders  do  not  live  in  tongues, 
Nor  cutpurses  come  not  to  throngs  ; 
When  usurers  tell  their  gold  i'  the  field, 
And  bawds  and  whores  do  churches  build ; 
Then  shall  the  realm  of  Albion 
Come  to  great  confusion : 
Then  comes  the  time,  who  lives  to  see't, 
That  going  shall  be  us'd  with  feet. 
This  prophecy  Merlin  shall  make;  for  I  live 
before  his  time.  fExil. 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Gloster's  Castle. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Edmund. 

Gloster. 
Alack,  alack  !  Edmund,  Hike  not  this  unna- 
tural dealing.  When  I  desired  their  leave  that 
I  might  pity  him,  they  took  from  me  the  use  of 
mine  own  house ;  charged  me,  on  pain  of  their 
perpetual  displeasure,  neither  to  speak  of  him, 
entreat  for  him,  nor  any  way  sustain  him. 

Edmund. 
Most  savage,  and  unnatural  1 

Gloster. 
Go  to ;  say  you  nothing.  There  is  division 
between  the  dukes,  and  a  worse  matter  than  that. 
I  have  received  a  letter  this  night ;  —  'tis  dan- 
gerous to  be  spoken  ;  —  I  have  locked  the  letter 
in  my  closet.  These  injuries  the  king  now  bears 
will  be  revenged  home  ;  there  is  part  of  apower 
already  footed :  we  must  incline  to  the  king.  I 
will  seek  him,  and  privily  relieve  him  :  go  you, 
and  maintain  talk  with  the  duke,  that  my  charity 
be  not  of  him  perceived.  If  he  ask  for  me,  I  am 
ill,  and  gone  to  bed.  If  I  die  for  it,  as  no  less  is 
threatened  me,  the  king,  my  old  master,  must 
be  relieved.  There  is  some  strange  thing  to- 
ward, Edmund;  pray  you,  be  careful.       (Exit. 

Edmund. 
This  courtesy,  forbid  thee,  shall  the  duke 
Instantly  know  ;  and  of  that  letter  too. 
This  seems  a  fair  deserving,  and  must  draw  me 
That  which  my  father  loses  ;  no  less  than  all : 
The  younger  rises,  when  the  old  doth  fall. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.    A  Part  of  the  Heath,  with  a 
Hovel. 

Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Kent. 
Here  is  the  place,  my  lord ;  good  my  lord, 
enter : 
The  tyranny  of  the  open  night's  too  rough 
For  nature  to  endure.  [Storm  still. 

Lear. 
Let  me  alone. 

Kent. 
Good  my  lord,  enter  here, 

Lear. 

Wilt  break  my  heart  ? 

Kent. 
I'd  rather  break  mine  own.    Good  my  lord, 
enter. 

Lear 
Thou  think'st  'tis  much,  that  this  contentious 
storm 
Invades  us  to  the  skin :  so  'tis  to  thee  ; 
But  where  the  greater  malady  is  fix'd, 
The  lesser  is  scarce  felt.    Thou'dst  shun  a  bear ; 
But  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  roaring  sea, 
Thou'dst  meet  the  bear  i'  the  mouth.    When 

the  mind's  free, 
The  body's  delicate :  the  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else, 
Save  what  beats  there.  —  Filial  ingratitude  I 
Is  it  not  as  this  mouth  should  tear  this  hand, 
For   lifting    food   to't?— But    1   will   punish 

home.  — 
No,  I  will  weep  no  more — In  such  a  night 
To  shut  me  out !  —  Pour  on  ;  I  will  endure :  — 
In  such  a  night  as  this  !    O  Regan,  GoneriU  — 
Your  old  kind  father,  whose  frank  heart  gave 
all,— 

O  !  that 


»    e  •        4 


•  *    J  *  «■ "     •  V«       » 


I  Mothard  K..'_ 


IKIUfTG      3CJS. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


KING  LEAR. 


V6S 


[Within, 
half!    Poor 


O  !  that  way  madness  11m  ;  let  me  shun  that ; 
No  more  of  that. 

Kent. 

Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Pr'ythee,  go  In  thyself;  seek  thine  own  eaae: 
ThU  tempest  will  not  give  me  leave  to  ponder 
On  things  would  hurt  me  more.— But  I'll  go 

in: 
In.  boy  ;  go  first.  —  [  To  the  Fool.]    You  house- 
less poTerty, — 
Nay,  get   thee   in.    I'll   pray,   and   then    I'll 
sleep—  [/bo/ goes  on. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are, 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm. 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides. 
Your  loop'd  and  window'd  raggedness,  defend 

you 
From  mm  bds  such  as  these  ?    O  1  I  bare  ta'en 
Too  little  care  of  this.    Take  physic,  pomp ; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  reel. 
That  thou  may'st  shake  the  superflux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just. 
k  la  ir. 
Fathom  and  half,  fathom  and 
Tom  I 

[The  Fool  runs  out  from  the  Hovel. 
Fool. 
Come  not  In  here,  nuncle ;  here's  a  spirit. 
Help  me  !  help  me  1 
Kent. 
Give  me  thy  hand. —  Who's  there  ? 

Fool. 
A  spirit,  a  spirit :  he  says  bis  name's  poor 

Kent. 

What  art  thou  that  dost  grumble  there  i'  the 

Come  forth.  [straw  ? 

r  f'dgar,  dlagnlaed  m  a  Madman. 

Away  !  the  foul  fiend  follows  me  !— 
Through  the  sharp  hawthorn  blows  the  cold 

wind. — 
Humph  1  go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee. 
Lear. 
Hast  thou  given  all  to  thy  two  daughters  ? 
And  art  thou  come  to  this  ? 
Edgar. 
Who  givM  any  thing  to  poor  TomT  whom  the 
foul  fiend  hath  led  through  fire  and  through 
flame,  through  ford  and  whirlpool,  over  bog  and 
quagmire ;  that  hath  laid  knives  under  his  pil- 
low, and  halters  in  his  pew  ;  set  ratsbane  by  his 
porridge  ;  made  him  proud  of  heart,  to  ride  on 
a  bay  trotting-horse  over  four-inched  bridges,  to 

course  his  own  shadow  for  a  traitor Bless  thy 

five  wits  1  Tom't  a-cold,  —  O  1  do  de,  do  de.do 
de.  —  Bless  thee  from  whirlwinds,  star-blast- 
ing, and  taking.  Do  poor  Tom  some  charity, 
whom  the  foul  fiend  vexes.  — There  could  1 

have  him  now,  —  and  there,  —  and  there, and 

there  again,  and  there.  [Storm  continues. 

Lear. 
What  1  have  his  daughters  brought  hfm  to 
thispaas?—  [them  all  ? 

Could'st  thou  save  nothing  ?    Didst  thou  give 
Fool. 
Nay,  he  reserved  a  blanket,  else  we  had  been 
all  shamed. 

I  m 
Now,  all  the  plagues,  that  in  the  pendulous  air 
Hang    fated   o'er   men's  faults,  light   on    thy 
daughters  1 


Kent. 
He  hath  no  daughters,  sir. 
Lear. 

Death,  traitor  1  nothing  could  have 
nature 
To  such  a  lowness,  but  his  unkind  daughters. 
Is  it  the  fashion,  that  discarded  fathers 
Should  have  thus  little  mercy  on  their  flesh  ? 
Judicious  punishment !  'twas  this  flesh  ! 
Those  pelican  daughters. 

IktfK. 

i     FiUicock  sat  on  Pillicock-hi\l  I  — 
!  Halloo,  halloo,  loo,  loo  1 

Fool. 
This  cold  night  will  turn  us  all  to  fools 


1   ••   I 

Take  heed  o'  the  foul  fiend.     Obey  thy  pa- 
rents; keep  thy  word  justly;  swear  not ;  com- 
mit not  with  man's  sworn  spouse:  set  not  thy 
sweet  heart  on  proud  array.    Toss's  a-cold. 
Lear. 

What  hast  thou  been  ? 

Edgar. 

A  serving-man,  proud  in  heart  and  mind; 
that  curled  my  hair,  wore  gloves  in  my  cap, 
served  the  lust  of  my  mistress's  heart,  and  did 
the  act  of  darkness  with  her;  swore  as  many 
oaths  as  I  spake  words,  and  broke  them  in  the 
sweet  face  of  heaven  :  one,  that  slept  in  the  con- 
triving of  lust,  and  waked  to  do  it.  Wine  loved 
I  deeply;  dice  dearly;  and  in  woman,  out- 
paramoured  the  Turk :  false  of  heart,  light  of 
ear,  bloody  of  hand ;  hog  in  sloth,  fox  in  stealth, 
wolf  in  greediness,  dog  in  madness,  lion  in  prey. 
Let  not  the  creaking  of  shoes,  nor  the  rustling 
of  silks,  betray  thy  poor  heart  to  woman  :  keep 
thy  foot  out  of  brothels,  thy  hand  out  of  plackets, 
thy  pen  from  lenders'  books,  and  defy  the  foul 
fiend — -Still  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the 
cold  wind;  says  suum,  mun,  ha  no  nonny. 
Dolphin  my  boy,  my  boy ;  sessa !  let  him  trot 
by.  [Storm  still  continues. 

Lear. 

Why,  thou  wert  better  in  thy  grave,  than  to 
answer  with  thy  uncovered  body  this  extremity 
of  the  skies.  —  Is  man  no  more  than  this  ?  Con- 
sider him  well.  Thou  owest  the  worm  no  silk, 
the  beast  no  hide,  the  sheep  no  wool,  the  cat  no 
perfume. — Ha!  here's  three  on's  are  sophis- 
ticated: thou  art  the  thing  itself:  unaccom- 
modated man  is  no  more  but  such  a  poor,  bare, 
forked  animal  as  thou  art Off*,  off,  you  tend- 
ings. —  Come  ;  unbutton  here 

[Tearing  off  his  clothM. 
FooL 

Pr'ythee,  nuncle,  be  contented ;  'tis  a  naughty 
night  to  swim  in.— Now,  a  little  fire  in  a  wild 
field  were  like  an  old  lecher's  heart;  a  small 
spark,  all  the  rest  on's  body  cold. — Look  1  here 
comes  a  walking  fire. 

i  -  • 
This  is  the  foul  fiend  Flibbertigibbet:  he  be- 
gins at  curfew,  and  walks  till  the  first  cock  ;  he 
gives  the  web  and  the  pin,  squints  the  eye,  and 
makes  the  hare-lip;  mildews  the  white  wheat, 
and  hurts  the  poor  creature  of  earth. 

Saint  Withold/cxrfc-d  thrice  the  wold; 
He  met  the  night-mare,  and  her  nine-fold  ; 
Bid  her  alight. 
And  her  troth  plight. 
And,  aroint  thee,  witch,  aroint  thee  I 
K:.: 
How  fares  your  grace  ? 


2^L 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv 


Enter  Gloster,  with  a  Torch. 
Lear. 
What's  he?  Kent. 

Who's  there  ?    What  is't  you  seek  ' 
Gloster. 

What  are  you  there?    Your  names ° 
Edgar. 

Poor  Tom;  that  eats  the  swimming  frog,  the 
toad,  the  tadpole,  the  wall-newt,  and  the  water ; 
that  in  the  fury  of  his  heart,  when  the  foul  fiend 
rages,  eats  cow-dung  for  sallets ;  swallows  the 
old  rat,  and  the  ditch-dog ;  drinks  the  green 
mantle  of  the  standing  pool :  who  is  whipped 
from  tything  to  tything,  and  stocked,  punished, 
and  imprisoned ;  who  hath  had  three  suits  to 
his  back,  six  shirts  to  his  body,  horse  to  ride, 
and  weapon  to  wear,— 

But  mice,  and  rats,  and  such  small  deer, 

Have  been  Tom's  food  for  seven  long  pear. 
Beware  my  follower.  — Peace,  Smulkinl  peace, 
thou  fiend !     _,,    . 

Gloster. 

What !  hath  your  grace  no  better  company  ? 

Edgar. 
The  prince  of  darkness  is  a  gentleman  ; 
Modo  he's  call'd,  and  Mahu. 
Gloster. 
Our  flesh  and  blood,  my  lord,  is  grown  so  vile, 
That  it  doth  hate  what  gets  it. 
Edgar. 
Poor  Tom's  a-cold. 

Gloster. 
Go  in  with  me.     My  duty  cannot  suffer 
To  obey  in  all  your  daughters'  hard  commands : 
Though  their  injunction  be  to  bar  my  doors, 
And  let  this  tyrannous  night  take  hold  upon  you, 
Yet  have  I  ventur'd  to  come  seek  you  out, 
And  bring  you  where  both  fire  and  food  is  ready. 
Lear. 
First  let  me  talk  with  this  philosopher — 
What  is  the  cause  of  thunder  ? 
Kent. 
Good  my  lord,  take  his  offer :  go  into  the  house. 

Lear. 

I'll  talk  a  word  with  this  same  learned  The- 

What  is  your  study  ?  [ban — 

Edgar. 

How  to  prevent  the  fiend,  and  to  kill  vermin. 

Lear. 

Let  me  ask  you  one  word  in  private. 

Kent. 
Importune  him  once  more  to  go,  my  lord, 
His  wits  begin  t'  unsettle. 
Glcster. 

Canst  thou  blame  him  ? 
His  daughters  seek  his  death.— Ah,  that  good 

Kent  I 
He  said  it  would  be  thus,  poor  banish'd  man  !  — 
Thou  say'st,  the  king  grows  mad  :  I'll  tell  thee, 

friend, 
1  am  almost  mad  myself.    I  had  a  son, 
Now  outlaw'd  from  my  blood;  he  sought  my 
But  lately,  very  late :  I  lov'd  him,  friend,    [life, 
No  father  his  son  dearer  :  true  to  tell  thee, 
The  grief  hath  craz'd  my  wits.    What  a  night's 
this!  [Storm  continues. 

I  do  beseech  your  grace,  — 
Lear. 
O  I  cry  you  mercy,  sir.— 
Noble  philosopher,  your  company. 


Edgar. 


Tom's  a-cold. 


Gloster. 

In,  fellow,  there,  into  the  hovel:  keep  thee 
warm. 

Lear. 

Come,  let's  in  all. 

Kent. 

This  way,  my  lord. 
Lear. 

With  him : 
I  will  keep  still  with  my  philosopher. 
Kent. 
Good  my  lord,  soothe  him  ;  let  him  take  the 
fellow.  „, 

Gloster. 

Take  him  you  on. 

Kent. 
Sirrah,  come  on  ;  go  along  with  us. 

Lear. 
Come,  good  Athenian. 

Gloster. 

No  words,  no  words : 
Hush.  PJ 

Edgar. 

Child  Rowland  to  the  dark  tower  came, 
His  word  was  still, — Fie,  f oh,  andfunu 
I  smell  the  blood  of  a  British  man.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  in  Gloster's  Castle. 

Enter  Cornwall  and  Edmund. 

Cornwall. 

1  will  have  my  revenge,  ere  I  depart  his  house. 

Edmund. 

How,  my  lord,  I  may  be  censured,  that  nature 

thus  gives  way  to  loyalty,  something  fears  me  to 

Cornwall. 
I  now  perceive,  it  was  not  altogether  your 
brother's  evil  disposition  made  him  seek  his 
death ;  but  a  provoking  merit,  set  a-work  by  a 
reproveable  badness  in  himself. 
Edmund. 
How  malicious  is  my  fortune,  that  I  must 
repent  to  be  just  1    This  is  the  letter  which  he 
spoke  of,  which  approves  him  an  intelligent 
party  to  the  advantages  of  France.     O  heavens  ! 
that  this  treason  were  not,  or  not  I  the  detector  I 
Cornwall. 
Go  with  me  to  the  duchess. 
Edmund. 
If  the  matter  of  this  paper  be  certain,  you  have 
mighty  business  in  hand. 

Cornwall. 
True,  or  false,  it  hath  made  thee  earl  of  Glos- 
ter.   Seek  out  where  thy  father  is,  that  he  may 
be  ready  for  our  apprehension. 

Edmund.  [Aside. 

If  I  find  him  comforting  the  king,  it  will  «tuff 
his  suspicion  more  fully.  —  [To  Tiim.]  I  will 
persevere  in  my  course  of  loyalty,  though  the 
conflict  be  sore  between  that  and  my  blood. 
Cornwall. 
I  will  lay  trust  upon  thee  ;  and  thou  shalt  find 
a  dearer  father  in  my  love. 

SCENE  VI.    A  Chamber  in  a  Farm-House, 
adjoining  the  Castle. 

Enter  Gloster,  Lear,  Kent,  Fool,  and  Edgar. 

Gloster. 
Here  is  better  than  the  open  air;   take  it 
thankfully. 


Ac  i  in.  Sc.  vl 


KING  LEAK 


9'  5 


thankfully.  I  will  piece  out  the  comfort  with 
what  addition  I  can :  1  will  not  be  long  from 
you. 

All  the  power  of  hit  wits'  ha»  glveu  way  to  hl» 

Impatience.  —  The  god»  reward  your  kindness  1 

[Exit  Gloster. 

Frateretto  calls  me,  and' tells  me,  Nero  is  an 
angler  in  the  lake  of  darkness.  Fray,  innocent, 
and  beware  the  foul  fiend. 

Pry'ythee,  nuncle,  tell  me,  whether  a  madman 
be  a  gentleman,  or  a  yeoman  ? 

Lear. 
A  king,  a  king  1 

Fool. 
No :  he's  a  yeoman,  that  has  a  gentleman  to 
his  son  ;  for  he's  a  mad  yeoman,  that  sees  his 
son  a  gentleman  before  him. 

To  have  a  thousand  with  red  burning  spits 
Come  whizzing  in  upon  them  :  — 

or. 

The  foul  fiend  bites  my  back. 

Fool. 
He's  mad,  that  trusts  in  the  lameness  of  a 
wolf,  a  horse's  health,  a  boy's  love,  or  a  whore's 
oath. 

Lear. 
It   shall   be   done ;     I   will   arraign   them 
straight.— 
Come,  sit  thou  here,  most  learned  justicer ;  — 

[To  Edgar. 
Thou,  sapient  sir,  sit   here.     Now,  you  she 
foxes  1  — 

Edgar. 
Look,  where  he  stands  and  glares  ! — 
Wantest  thou  eyes  at  trial,  madam  ? 

Come  o'er  the  bourn,  Bessy,  to  me :  — 

Fool. 
Her  boat  hath  a  leak, 
And  she  must  not  speak, 
Why  she  dares  not  come  over  to  thee. 
Edgar. 
The  foul  fiend  haunts  poor  Tom  in  the  voice 
of  a  nightingale.    Hopdance  cries  in  Tom's  belly 
for  two  white  herring.    Croak  not,  black  angel ; 
1  have  no  food  for  thee. 

Kent 
How  do  you,  sir  ?    Stand  you  not  so  amaz'd  : 
Will  you  lie  down  and  rest  upon  the  cushions? 
Lear. 
I'll  see  their  trial  first.— Bring  in  the  evi- 
dence— 
Thou  robed  man  of  justice,  take  thy  place  ;— 
[To  Edgar. 
And  thou,  his  yoke-fellow  of  equity, 

[To  the  Fool. 

Bench  by  his  side You  are  o'  the  commission, 

Sit  you  too.  [To  Kent. 

Edgxr. 
Let  us  deal  justly. 
Steepest,  or  wakest  thou,  jolly  shepherd  T 

Thy  sheep  be  in  the  corn  ; 
And  for  one  blast  of  thy  minikin  mouth, 
Thy  sheep  shall  take  no  harm. 
Pur  1  the  cat  Is  grey. 

Lear. 
Arraign  her  first ;  'tis  Goneril.    I  here  take 
my  oath  before  this  honourable  assembly,  she 
kicked  the  poor  king  her  father. 


,  mistress."    Is  your  name  Go- 


Come  hither 
nerilt 


She  cannot  deny  it. 

Cry  you  mercy,  1  tdok'y'ou  for  a  joint-stool. 

And  here**  another,  wribsc  warp'd  looks  pro- 
claim 

What  store  her  heart  is  made  on.  —  Stop  her 
there  1 

Arms,  arms,  sword,  fire !  — Corruption  in  the 

fdacel 
usticer,  why  hast  thou  let  her  'scape  ? 

Bless  thy  five  wit»Fdgar" 

O  pity  1  —  Sir,  where  Is  the  patience  now, 
That  you  so  oft  have  boasted  to  retain  ? 

My  tears  begin  to  fekfe  tifs  part  so  much?Md 
They'll  mar  my  counterfeiting. 

The  little  dogs  anda!^'  [me. 

Tray,Blanch,stnd  Sweet-heart,  see,  they  bark  at 

Tom  will  throw  hislfe¥d  at  them.  — A  vaunt, 

you  curs  ! 

Be  thy  mouth  or  black  or  white, 
Tooth  that  poisons  if  it  bite ; 
Mastiff,  greyhound,  mongrel,  grim, 
Hound,  or  spaniel,  brach,  or  lym; 
Or  bobtail  tike,  or  trundle-tail, 
Tom  will  make  them  weep  and  wail : 
For  with  throwing  thus  my  head, 
Dogs  leap  the  hatch,  and  all  are  fled. 

Do,  de,  de,  de.    See,  see  1    Come,  march  to 

wakes  and  fairs,  and  market  towns. — Poor  Tom, 

thy  horn  is  dry. 

Then,  let  them  anatomize  Regan,  see  what 
breeds  about  her  heart.  Is  there  any  cause  in 
nature,  that  makes  these  hard  hearts?— You, 
»ir»  [To  Edgar  1 '  entertain  you  for  one  of  my 
hundred;  onTy.'l  do  not  like  the  fashion  of  your 
garments :  you  will  say,  they  are  Persian  attire ; 
but  let  them  be  changed. 


Now,  good  my  lor 


(Che  here, 


and  rest  awhile. 


Make  no  noise,  make  i 
tains.     So,  so,  so :   we'll  go  to  supper  i'  the 
morning:  so,  so,  so. 

And  I'll  go  to  bed  at  noon. 

Re-enter  Gloster. 

Gloster, 
Come  hither,  friend :  where  is  the  king  my 
master  9 

Here,  sir;  but  trouble  him  not,  his  wits  are 


gone. 


Gloster. 
sr'ythe 


Good  friend,  I  pr'ythee  take  him  in  thy  arms ; 
I  have  o'er-heard  a  plot  of  death  upon  him. 
There  is  a  litter  ready ;  lay  him  in  t, 
And  drive  toward  Hover,  friend,  where  thou 

shalt  meet 
Both  welcome  and  protection.     Take  up  thy 

master : 
If  thou  should'st  dallv  half  an  hour,  his  life. 

With 


966 


KING  LEAK. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vi. 


With  thine,  and  all  that  offer  to  defend  him, 
Stand  in  assured  loss.    Take  up,  take  up; 
And  follow  me,  that  will  to  some  provision 
Give  thee  quick  conduct. 

Kent. 

Oppress'd  nature  sleeps  :  — 
This  rest  might  yet  have  balm'd  thy  broken 
Which,  if  convenience  will  not  allow,  [senses, 
Stand  in  hard  cure.— Come,  help  to  bear  thy 

master ; 
Thou  must  not  stay  behind.  [To  the  Fool. 

Gloster. 

Come,  come,  away. 
[Exeunt  Kent,  Gloster,  and  the  Fool,  bear- 
ing off  the  King. 

Edgar. 
When  we  our  betters  see  bearing  our  woes, 

We  scarcely  think  our  miseries  our  foes. 

Who  alone  suffers,  suffers  most  i'  the  mind, 

Leaving  free  things,  and  happy  shows  behind ; 

But  then  the  mind  much  sufferance  doth  o'er- 
skip, 

When  grief  hath  mates,  and  bearing  fellowship. 

How  light  and  portable  my  pain  seems  now, 

When  that  which  makes  me  bend,  makes  the 
king  bow : 

He  childed,  as  I  father'd !— Tom,  away ! 

Mark  the  high  noises;  and  thyself  bewray, 

When  false  opinion,  whose  wrong  thought  de- 
files thee, 

In  thy  just  proof,  repeals  and  reconciles  thee. 

What  will  hap  more  to-night,  safe  'scape  the 
king! 
k. 


Lurk,  lurk 


[Exit. 


SCENE  VII.    A  Room  in  Gloster'i  Castle. 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  Goneril,  Edmund,  and 
Servants. 

Cornwall. 
Post  speedily  to  my  lord  your  husband ;  show 
him  this  letter :— the  army  of  France  is  landed. 
—Seek  out  the  traitor  Gloster. 

[Exeunt  some  of  the  Servants. 

Regan. 
Hang  him  instantly. 

Goneril. 
Pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Cornwall. 
Leave  him  to  my  displeasure — Edmund,  keep 
you  our  sister  company:  the  re\<mges  we  are 
bound  to  take  upon  your  traitorous  father  are 
not  fit  for  your  beholding.  Advise  the  duke, 
where  you  are  going,  to  a  most  festinate  pre- 
paration :  we  are  bound  to  the  like.  Our  posts 
shall  be  swift  and  intelligent  betwixt  us.  Fare- 
well, dear  sister: — farewell,  my  lord  of  Gloster. 

Enter  Oswald. 
How  now  1    Where's  the  king  ? 
Oswald. 
My  lord  of  Gloster  hath  convey'd  him  hence : 
Some  five  or  six  and  thirty  of  his  knights, 
Hot  questrists  after  him,  met  him  at  gate ; 
Who,  with  some  other  of  the  lord's  dependants, 
Are  gone  with  him  towards  Dover,  where  they 
To  have  well-armed  friends.  [boast 

Cornwall . 

Get  horses  for  your  mistress. 
Goneril. 
Farewell,  sweet  lord,  and  sister. 

[Exeunt  Goneril,  Edmund,  and  Oswald. 


Cornwall. 

Edmund,   farewell Go,  seek   the   traitor 

Gloster, 
Pinion  him  like  a  thief,  bring  him  before  us. 

[Exeunt  other  Servants. 
Though  well  we  may  not  pass  upon  his  life 
Without  the  form  of  justice,  yet  our  power 
Shall  do  a  courtesy  to  our  wrath,  which  men 
May  blame,  but  not  control.     Who's  there? 
The  traitor? 

Re-enter  Servants,  with  Gloster. 
Regan. 
Ingrateful  fox  !  'tis  he. 

Cornwall. 
Bind  fast  his  corky  arms. 
Gloster. 
What  mean  your  graces?— Good  my  friends, 
consider 
You  are  my  guests :  do  me  no  foul  play,  friends. 
Cornwall. 
Bind  him,  I  say.  [Servants  bind  him. 

Regan. 
Hard,  hard — O  filthy  traitor ! 
Gloster. 
Unmerciful  lady  as  you  are,  I  am  none. 
Cornwall. 

To  this  chair  bind  him Villain,  thou  shalt 

find—  [Regan  plucks  his  Beard. 

Gloster. 
By  the  kind  gods,  'tis  most  ignobly  done 
To  pluck  me  by  the  beard. 
Kegan. 
So  white,  and  such  a  traitor ! 
Gloster. 

Naughty  lady, 
These  hairs.whichthoudostravish  from  my  chin, 
Will  quicken,  and  accuse  thee.   I  am  your  host : 
With  robbers'  hands  my  hospitable  favours 
You  should  not  ruflie  thus.    What  will  you  do  ? 
Cornwall. 
Come,  sir,  what  letters  had  you  late  from 
France?  „ 

Regan. 
Be  simple-answer'd,  for  we  know  the  truth. 

Cornwall. 

And  what  confederacy  have   you  with    the 

Late  footed  in  the  kingdom  ?  [traitors 

Regan. 

To  whose  hands 
Have  you  sent  the  lunatic  king  ?    Speak. 
Gloster. 
I  have  a  letter  guessingly  set  down, 
Which  came  from  one  that's  of  a  neutral  heart, 
And  not  from  one  oppos'd. 

Cornwall. 

Cunning. 


Regan. 

Cornwall. 
Where  hast  thou  sent  the  king? 


And  false. 


Gloster. 
Regan. 


To  Dover. 


Wherefore 
To  Dover  T    Wast  thou  not  charg'd  at  peril  — 
Cornwall. 

Wherefore  to  Dover  T    Let  him  answer  that 
Gloster. 

I  am  tied  to  the  stake,  and  I  must  stand  the 

cour8e'  Regan. 


Act  it.  Sc.  i. 


KING  LEAR 


967 


Regan. 

Wherefore  to  Dover? 

Gloster. 
Because  I  would  not  tee  thy  cruel  nails 
Pluck  out  his  poor  old  eve* ;  nor  thy  fierce  sister 
in  his  anointed  flesh  rash  boarish  fangs. 
The  sea,  with  such  a  storm  as  his  hare  head 
In  hell-black  night  endured,  would  have  buoy'd 
And  quench'd  the  stelled  fires  ;  [up, 

Yet,  poor  old  heart,  he  holp  the  heavens  to  rain. 
If  wolves  had  at  thy  gate  howl'd  that  stern  time. 
Thou  should'st  have  said,  "  Good  porter,  turn 

the  key," 
All  cruets  else  subscrib'd:  but  I  shall  see 
The  winged  vengeance  overtake  such  children. 
Cornwall. 

See  it  shalt  thou  never Fellows,  hold  the 

chair — 
Upon  these  eyes  of  thine  I'll  set  my  foot. 
Gloster. 
He,  that  will  think  to  live  till  he  be  old, 
Give  me  some  help  1—  O  cruel  I  O  ye  gods  I 

Regan. 
One  side  will  mock  another ;  the  other  too. 

Cornwall. 
If  you  see,  vengeance,— 

Servant. 
Hold  your  hand,  my  lord. 
I  have  serv'd  you  ever  since  I  was  a  child, 
But  better  service  have  I  never  done  yon, 
Than  now  to  bid  you  hold. 
Regan. 

How  now,  you  dog  !  | 

Servant. 

If  you  did  wear  a  beard  upon  your  chin, 

I'd  shake  it  on  this  quarrel.    What  do  you  mean  ? 

Cornwall. 

My  villain  !  [Draws  and  runs  at  him. 

Servant. 

Nay  then,  come  on,  and  take  the  chance  of 

anger.       [Draws.     Cornwall  is  wounded. 

Regan. 

Give  me  thy  sword.  A  peasant  stand  up  thus  1 

Servant. 


Upon  the  dunghill.—  Regan,  I  bleed  apace  : 
Untimely  comes  this  hurt.    Give  me  your  arn„ 
mrall,  led  by  Regan  ,  —  Servantt 
unbind  Glotter,  and  lead  him  out 

:>t. 

I'll  never  care  what  wickedness  I  do 
If  this  man  comes  to  good. 

Second  Servant. 

If  she  livelong, 
And  in  the  end  meet  the  old  course  of  death. 
Women  will  all  turn  monsters. 
First  Servant. 
Let's  follow  the  old  earl,  and  get  the  Bedlam 
To  lead  him  where  he  would :  his  roguish  mad- 
Allows  itself  to  any  thing.  [nest 

Second  Servant. 
Go  thou:  I'll  fetch  some  flax,  and  whites  of 


ana. 

pply  t 
help  him  I 


To  apply  to  his  bleeding  face.    Now,  heaven 
[Exeunt  severally. 


O,  I  am  slain! — My  lord,  you  have  one  eve  left 
To  see  some  mischief  on  him. — O  I  (Dies. 

Cornwall. 
Lest  it  see  more,  prevent  it.—  Out,  vile  jelly! 
Where  is  thy  lustre  now? 
Gloster. 
All  dark  and  comfortless.— Where's  my  son 
Edmund T 
Edmund,  enkindle  all  the  sparks  of  nature, 
To  quit  this  horrid  act. 


Out,  treacherous  villain  ! 
Thou  call'st  on  him  that  hates  thee:  it  was  he 
That  made  the  overture  ol  thy  treasons  to  us, 
Who  is  too  good  to  pity  thee. 

Gins' 

0  my  follies  !    Then  Edgar  was  abused 

Kind  gods,  forgive  me  that,  and  prosper  him  ! 

Regan. 
Go,  thrust  him  out  at  gates,  and  let  him  smell 
His  way  to  Dover — How  is't,  my  lord  ?    How 
look  you  ? 

Cornwall. 

1  have  receiv'd  a  hurt — Follow  me,  lady. 
Turn  out  that  eyeless  villain  : —throw  this  slave 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Heath. 

Enter  Edgar. 

Edgar. 

YET  better  thus,  and  known  to  be  contemn'd. 
Than  still  contemn'd  and  llatter'd.    To  be 
worst, 
The  lowest  and  most  dejected  thing  of  fortune, 
Stands  still  in  esperance,  lives  not  in  fear : 
The  lamentable  change  Is  from  the  best ; 
The  worst  returns  to  laughter.  Welcome,  then, 
Thou  unsubstantial  air,  that  I  embrace:  [worst, 
The  wretch,  that  thou  hast  blown  unto  the 
Owes  nothing  to  thy  blasts.  — But  who  comes 
here  ?— 

Enter  Gloster,  led  by  an  eld  Man. 

My  father,  poorly  led?— World,  world,  O  world ! 

But  that  thy  strange  mutations  make  us  hate 

Life  would  not  yield  to  age.  [thee, 

Old  Man. 

0  my  good  lord !  I  have  been  your  tenant,  and 
your  father's  tenant,  these  fourscore  years. 

Gloster. 
Away,  get  thee  away  ;  good  friend,  be  gone  : 
Thy  comforts  can  do  me  no  good  at  all ; 
Thee  they  may  hurt. 

Old  Man. 
Alack,  sir  !  you  cannot  see  your  way. 
Gloster. 

1  have  no  way,  and  therefore  want  no  eyes: 
I  stumbled  when  I  saw.    Full  oft  'tis  seen, 
Our  mean  secures  us  ;  and  our  mere  defects 

Trove  our  commodities Ah  !  dear  son  Edgar, 

The  food  of  thy  abused  father's  wrath, 

Might  I  but  live  to  see  thee  in  my  touch, 
I'd  say  1  had  eyes  again  ! 

Old  Man. 

How  now  !  Who's  there  ? 

Edgar.  [Asidi. 

O  gods !    Who  Is't  can  say,  "  I  am  at  the 

I  am  worse  than  e'er  I  was.  [worst  ?" 

Old  Man. 


'Tis  poor  mad  Tom. 


968 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Edgar.  [Aside. 

And  worse  I  may  be  yet  .  the  worst  is  not 
So  long  as  we  can  say,  "  This  is  the  worst." 
Old  Man. 
Fellow,  where  goest  ? 

Gloster. 

Is  it  a  beggar-man  ? 
Old  Man. 
Madman,  and  beggar  too. 
Gloster. 
He  has  some  reason,  else  he  could  not  beg. 
I*  the  last  night's  storm  I  such  a  fellow  saw, 
Which  made  me  think  a  man  a  worm :  my  son 
Came  then  into  my  mind ;  and  yet  my  mind 
Was  then  scarce  friends  with  him:  I  have  heard 

more  since. 
As  flies  to  wanton  boys,  are  we  to  the  gods  ; 
They  kill  us  for  their  sport. 

'     Edgar.  TAside. 

How  should  this  be  ?— 
Bad  is  the  trade  that  must  play  fool  to  sorrow, 
Angering  itself  and  others.  ITo  him.]  Bless 
thee,  master ! 

Gloster. 
Is  that  the  naked  fellow  ? 
Old  Man. 

Ay,  my  lord. 
Gloster. 
Then,  pr'ythee,  get  thee  gone.  If,  for  my  sake, 
Thou  wilt  o'ertake  us,  hence  a  mile  or  twain, 
T  the  way  toward  Dover,  do  it  for  ancient  love ; 
And  bring  some  covering  for  this  naked  soul, 
Whom  I'll  entreat  to  lead  me. 
Old  Man 

Alack,  sir  !  he  is  mad. 
Gloster. 
•Tis  the  times'  plague,  when  madmen  lead  the 
blind. 
Do  as  I  bid  thee,  or  rather  do  thy  pleasure ; 
Above  the  rest,  be  gone. 

Old  Man. 
I'll  bring  him  the  best  'parel  that  I  have, 
Come  on't  what  will.  [Exit 

Gloster. 
Sirrah ;  naked  fellow. 

Edgar. 
Poor  Tom's  a-cold.— LAside.J  I  cannot  daub  it 
farther.  _•     4 

Gloster. 
Come  hither,  fellow. 

Edgar.  f  Aside. 

And  yet  I  must [To  hira.J  Bless  thy  sweet 

eyes,  they  bleed. 

Gloster. 
Know'st  thou  the  way  to  Dover  ? 

Edgar. 
Both  stile  and  gate,  horse-way  and  foot-path. 
Poor  Tom  hath  been  scared  out  of  his  good  wits : 
bless  thee,  good  man's  son,  from  the  foul  fiend  I 
Five  fiends  have  been  in  poor  Tom  at  once  ;  of 
lust,  as  Obidicut ;  Hobbididance,  prince  of  dumb- 
ness ;  Mahu,  of  stealing;  Modo,  of  murder ;  and 
Flibbertigibbet,  of  mopping  and  mowing,  who 
since   possesses   chamber-maids   and  waiting- 
women.    So,  bless  thee,  master  1 
Gloster. 
Here,  take  this  purse,  thou  whom  the  heaven's 
plagues 
Have  humbled  to  all  strokes :  that  I  am  wretched, 
Makes  thee  the  happier :  —  Heavens,  deal  so  still ! 
Let  the  superfluous,  and  lust-dieted  man, 
That  slaves  your  ordinance,  that  will  not  see 


Because  he  doth  not  feel,  feel  your  power  quickly; 

So  distribution  should  undo  excess,       [Dover  f 

And  each  man  have  enough.— Dost  thou  know 

Edgar. 

Ay,  master. 

Gloster. 
There  is  a  cliff,  whose  high  and  bending  head 
Looks  fearfully  in  the  confined  deep : 
Bring  me  but  to  the  very  brim  of  it, 
And  I'll  repair  the  misery  thou  dost  bear, 
With  something  rich  about  me :  from  that  place 
I  shall  no  leading  need. 

Edgar. 

Give  me  thy  arm : 
Poor  Tom  shall  lead  thee.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Before  the  Duke  of  Albany's 
Palace. 

Enter  Goneril  and  Edmund;  Oswald  meeting 
them. 
Goneril. 
Welcome,  my  lord:  I  marvel,  our  mild  hus- 
band 
Not  met  us  on  the  way.  — Now,  where's  your 
master  ? 

Oswald. 
Madam,  within  ;  but  never  man  so  chang'd. 
I  told  him  of  the  army  that  was  landed ; 
He  8mil'd  at  it:  I  told  him,  you  were  coming ; 
His  answer  was,  "The  worse:"  of  Gloster'a 
And  of  the  loyal  service  of  his  son,    [treachery, 
When  I  inform'd  him,  then  he  call'd  me  sot, 
And  told  me  I  had  turn'd  the  wrong  side  out. 
What  most  he  should  dislike,  seems  pleasant  to 
What  like,  offensive.  [him  ; 

Goneril. 
Then,  shall  you  go  no  farther. 
[To  Edmund. 
It  is  the  cowish  terror  of  his  spirit, 
That  dares  not  undertake :  he'll  not  feel  wrongs, 
Which  tie  him  to  an  answer.   Our  wishes  on  the 
way  [ther ; 

May  prove  effects.    Back,  Edmund,  to  my  bro- 
Hasten  his  musters,  and  conduct  his  powers  : 
I  must  change  names  at  home,  and  give  the  dis- 
taff 
Into  my  husband's  hands.    This  trusty  servant 
Shall  pass  between  us  :  ere  long  you  are  like  to 

hear, 
If  you  dare  venture  in  your  own  behalf, 
A   mistress's   command.      Wear   this;    spare 
speech  ;  [Giving  a  Favour. 

Decline  your  head :  this  kiss,  if  it  durst  speak, 
Would  stretch  thy  spirits  up  into  the  air. — 
Conceive,  and  fare  thee  well. 
Edmund. 
Yours  in  the  ranks  of  death. 
Goneril. 

My  most  dear  Gloster. 
[Exit  Edmund. 
O,  the  difference  of  man,  and  man ! 
To  thee  a  woman's  services  are  due : 
My  fool  usurps  my  body. 

Oswald. 

Madam,  here  comes  my  lord. 
TExit  Oswald. 
Enter  Albany. 
Goneril. 
I  have  been  worth  the  whistle. 

Albany. 

O  Goneril! 
You  are  not  worth  the  dust  which  the  rude  wind 

Blows 


A<  i  iv.   8e.  in. 


KING  LEAR. 


969 


Blows  in  your  face.—  I  fear  your  disposition: 
That  nature,  which  contemns  its  origin, 
Cannot  he  border'd  certain  in  itself ; 
She  that  herself  will  sliver  and  disbranch 
From  her  material  sap,  perforce  must  wither, 
And  come  to  deadly  use. 

Goncril. 
No  more :  the  text  is  foolish. 

Albany. 

Wisdom  and  goodness  to  the  Tile  seem  vile ; 

Filths  savour  but  themselves.    What  have  you 

done? 
Tigers,  not  daughters,  what  have  you  perform 'd? 
A  father,  and  a  gracious  aged  man,  [lick. 

Whose  reverence  the  head-lugg'd  bear  would 
Most  barbarous,  most  degenerate  !    have  you 

madded. 
Could  my  good  brother  suffer  you  to  do  it  ? 
A  man,  a  prince,  by  him  so  benefited  ? 
If  that  the  heavens  do  not  their  visible  spirits 
Send  quickly  down  to  tame  these  vile  offences, 
It  will  come, 

Humanity  must  perforce  prey  on  itself, 
Like  monsters  of  the  deep. 
Goneril. 

Milk-liver'd  man ! 
That  bear'stacheek  for  blows,  ahead  for  wrongs; 
Who  hast  not  in  thy  brows  an  eye  discerning 
Thine   honour   from  thy  suffering;    that  not 

know'st, 
Fools  do  those  villains  pity,  who  are  punish'd 
Ere  they  have  done  their  mischief.    Where's 

thy  drum  ? 
France  spreads  his  banners  in  our  noiseless  land; 
With  plumed  helm  thy  slayer  begins  threats  ; 
Whilst  thou,  a  moral  fool,  sitt'st  still,  and  criest, 
"  Alack  !  why  does  he  so  ?  " 
Albany. 

See  thyself,  devil! 
Proper  deformity  seems  not  in  the  fiend 
So  horrid,  as  in  woman. 

Goneril. 

O  vain  fool  t 
Albany. 
Thou   changed   and  self-cover'd   thing,  for 
shame, 
Be-monster  not  thy  feature.    Were  it  my  fitness 
To  let  these  hands  obey  my  blood, 
They  are  apt  enough  to  dislocate  and  tear 
Thy  flesh  and  bones :  howe'er  thou  art  a  fiend, 
A  woman's  shape  doth  shield  thee. 

Goncril. 
Marry,  your  manhood  now  !— 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Albany. 
What  news  ? 

Messenger. 
O,  my  good  lord!  the  duke  of  Cornwall's 
Slain  bv  his  servant,  going  to  put  out        [dead; 
The  other  eye  of  Gloster. 

Albany. 

Gloster'%  eyes ! 

Messenger. 
A  servant  that  he  bred,  thrill'd  with  remorse, 
Oppos'd  against  the  act,  bending  his  sword 
To  his  great  master  ;  who,  thereat  enragM, 
Flew  on  him,  and  amongst  them  fell'd  him  dead, 
But  not  without  that  harmful  stroke,  which  since 
Hath  pluck'd  him  after. 

Albany. 
This  shows  you  are  above. 
You  justicers,  that  these  our  nether  crimes 


So  speedily  can  venge  1— But,  O  poor  Gloster  f 
Lost  he  his  other  eye  ? 

Messenger. 

Both,  both,  my  lord.— 
This  letter,  madam,  craves  a  speedy  answer ; 
'Tis  from  your  sister. 

Goncril.  [Aside. 

One  way  I  like  this  well ; 


But  being  widow,  and  my  Gloster  with  her, 
the 

ateful  life.    Another  way. 
The  news  is  not  so  tart.  [To  him]  I'll  read, « 


May  all  the  building  in  my  fancy  pluck 

"  "ife, 


Upon  my  hateful  life.    Another  wsi 

"I'll  1 

[Exit. 


Albany. 

Where  was  his  son,  when  they  did  take  bis 
eyes  ? 

Messenger. 
Come  with  my  lady  hither. 
Albany.    ■ 

He  is  not  here. 
Messenger. 
No,  my  good  lord  ;  1  met  him  back  again. 

Albany. 

Knows  he  the  wickedness  ? 

Messenger. 

Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  'twas  he  inform 'd  against 

him, 

And  quit  the  house,  on  purpose  that  their  punish. 

Might  have  the  freer  course.  [ment 

Albany. 

Gloster,  I  live 
To  thank  thee  for  the  love  thou  show'dst  the 

king, 
And    to    revenge   thine   eyes.  — Come   hither, 

friend : 
Tell  me  what  more  thou  knowest.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  French  Camp  near  Dover. 
Enter  Kent  and  a  Gentleman. 
Kent. 
Why  the  king  of  France  is  so  suddenly  gone 
back,  know  you  the  reason  ? 

Gentleman, 
Something  he  left  imperfect  in  the  state. 
Which  since  his  coming  forth  is  thought  of; 

which 
Imports  to  the  kingdom  so  much  fear  and  danger. 
That  his  personal  return  was  most  requir'd, 
And  necessary. 

Kent, 
Whom  hath  he  left  behind  him  general  ? 

Gentleman. 
The  Mareschal  of  France,  Monsieur  le  Fer. 

Did  your  letters  pierce  the  queen  to  any  de- 
monstration of  grief? 

Gentleman. 
Ay,  sir;   she  took  them,  read  them  In  my 
presence ; 
And  now  and  then  an  ample  tear  trill'd  down 
Her  delicate  cheek :  it  seem'd,  she  was  a  queen, 
Over  her  passion,  who,  most  rebel-like, 
Sought  to  be  king  o'er  her. 

Kent. 

O!  then  it  mov'd  her. 

.,  .  .  Gentleman. 

Not  to  a  rage:  patience  and  sorrow  strove 
Who  should  express  her  goodliest.     You  have 

seen 
Sunshine  and  rain  at  once :  her  smiles  and  tears 
Were  like  a  better  Man:  those  happy  smilets. 

That 


97° 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


That  play'd  on  her  ripe  lip,  seem'd  not  to  know 
What  guests  were  in  her  eyes ;  which  parted 

thence, 
As  pearls  from   diamonds   dropp'd. —  In  brief, 
Would  be  a  rarity  most  belov'd,  if  all     [sorrow 
Could  so  become  it. 

Kent. 
Made  she  no  verbal  question  ? 
Gentleman. 
'Faith,  once,  or  twice,  she  heav'd  the  name  of 
"father" 
Pantingly  forth,  as  if  it  press'd  her  heart; 
Cried,    "  Sisters !    sisters!— Shame  of  ladies! 

sisters ' 
Kent!  father!  sisters  !    What  ?  i'  the  storm  ?  i' 

the  night? 
Let  pity  not  be  believed ! " — There  she  shook 
The  holy  water  from  her  heavenly  eyes, 
And  clamour  moisten'd :  then,  away  she  started 
To  deal  with  grief  alone. 
Kent. 

It  is  the  stars, 
The  stars  above  us,  govern  our  conditions ; 
Else  one  self  mate  and  mate  could  not  beget 
Such  different  issues.    You  spoke  not  with  her 
since  ?  „    „ 

Gentleman. 
No. 

Kent. 
Was  this  before  the  king  return 'd? 
Gentleman. 

No,  since. 
Kent. 
Well,  sir,  the  poor  distress'd  Lear's  i'  the 
town, 
Who  sometime,  in  his  better  tune,  remembers 
What  we  are  come  about,  and  by  no  means 
Will  yield  to  see  his  daughter. 
Gentleman. 

Why,  good  sir  ? 
Kent. 
A  sovereign  shame  so  elbows  him ;  his  own 
unkindness,  [her 

That  stripp'd  her  from  his  benediction,  turn'd 
To  foreign  casualties,  gave  her  dear  rights 
j  To  his  dog-hearted  daughters:    these   things 
•ting 
His  mind  so  venomously,  that  burning  shame 
Detains  him  from  Cordelia. 
Gentleman. 

Alack,  poor  gentleman ! 
Kent. 
Of  Albany's  and  CornwalVs  powers  you  heard 
not  ?  „      , 

Gentleman. 
'Tis  so  they  are  afoot. 

Kent. 
Well,  sir,  I'll  bring  you  to  our  master  Lear, 
And  leave  you  to  attend  him.     Some  dear  cause 
Will  in  concealment  wrap  me  up  awhile : 
When  I  am  known  aright,  you  shall  not  grieve 
Lending  me  this  acquaintance.    I  pray  you,  go 
Along  with  me.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV.     The  same.    A  Tent. 
Enter  Cordelia,  Physician,,  and  Soldiers. 
Cordelia. 
Alack !  'tis  he :  why,  he  was  met  even  now 
As  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea:  singing  aloud; 
Crown'd  with  rank  fumiter,  and  furrow  weeds, 
With    hoar-docks,    hemlock,   nettles,   cuckoo- 
flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 


In  our  sustaining  corn.— A  century  send  forth  ; 
Search  every  acre  in  the  high-grown  field, 
And  bring  him  to  our  eye.     [Exit  an  Officer."]— 

What  can  man's  wisdom, 
In  the  restoring  his  bereaved  sense  f 
He,  that  helps  him,  take  all  my  outward  worth. 
Physician. 
There  is  means,  madam : 
Our  foster-nurse  of  nature  is  repose, 
The  which  he  lacks ;  that  to  provoke  in  him, 
Are  many  simples  operative,  whose  power 
Will  close  the  eye  of  anguish. 
Cordelia. 

All  bless'd  secrets, 
All  you  unpublish'd  virtues  of  the  earth, 
Spring  with  my  tears  1  be  aidant,  and  remediate, 
In  the  good  man's  distress ! — Seek,  seek  for  him ; 
Lest  his  ungovern'd  rage  dissolve  the  life 
That  wants  the  means  to  lead  it. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 

News,  madam: 
The  British  powers  are  marching  hitherward. 
Cordelia. 
'Tis  known  before  ;  our  preparation  stands 

In  expectation  of  them O  dear  father  I 

It  is  thy  business  that  I  go  about, 
Therefore  great  France 

My  mourning,  and  important  tears,  hath  pitied. 
No  blown  ambition  doth  our  arms  incite, 
But  love,  dear  love,  and  our  ag'd  father's  right. 
[Exeunt. 


Soon  may  I  hear,  and  see  I 


SCENE  V.    A  Itoom  in  Gloster's  Castle. 
Enter  Regan  and  Oswald. 
Regan. 
But  are  my  brother's  powers  set  forth  ? 

Oswald. 
Ay,  madam. 

"  Regan. 

Himself  in  person  there  ? 

Oswald. 

Madam,  with  much  ado  i 
Your  sister  is  the  better  soldier. 
Regan. 
Lord  Edmund  spake  not  with  your  lord  at 
home? 

Oswald. 
No,  madam. 

Regan. 
What  might  import  my  sister's  letter  to  him  ? 

Oswald. 
I  know  not,  lady. 

Regan. 
'Faith,  he  is  posted  hence  on  serious  matter. 
|  It  was  great  ignorance,  Glosler's  eyes  being  out, 
j  To  let  him  live :  where  he  arrives  he  moves 
•  All  hearts  against  us.    Edmund,  I  think,  is  gone, 
I  In  pity  of  his  misery,  to  despatch 
His  nighted  life ;  moreover,  to  descry 
The  strength  o*  the  enemy. 
Oswald. 
I  must  needs  after  him,  madam,  with  my 
letter. 

Regan. 
Our  troops  set  forth  to-morrow :  stay  with  us ; 
The  ways  are  dangerous. 

Oswald. 

I  may  not,  madam  ; 
My  lady  charg'd  my  duty  in  this  business. 


AST  1Y.   Sc.  VI. 


KING  LEAR. 


971 


Regan. 

Why  should  (he  write  to  Edmund?    Might 
nut  you 
Transport  her  purpose*  by  word  ?    Belike, 
Something—  I  Vnow  not  what. — I'll  love  thee 
Let  me  unseal  the  letter.  [much  ; 

Oswald. 

Madam,  I  had  rather— 
Regan. 
I  know  your  lady  docs  not  love  her  husband, 
T  am  sure  or  that ;  and,  at  her  late  being  here, 
She  gave  strange  ceiliads,  and  most  speaking 

looks 
To  noble  Edmund.     I  know,  you  are  of  her 
bosom.  ~       ,. 

Oswald. 

I,  madam  ?  „ 

Regan. 

I  speak  in  understanding  :  y'  are,  I  know  it ; 
Therefore,  I  do  advise  you,  take  this  note : 
My  lord  is  dead ;  Edmund  and  I  have  talk'd, 
And  more  convenient  is  he  for  my  hand, 
Than  for  your  lady's.  —  You  may  gather  more. 
If  you  do  find  him,  pray  you,  give  him  this  ; 
And  when  your  mistress  hears  thus  much  from 

you, 
I  pray,  desire  her  call  her  wisdom  to  her : 
So,  fare  you  well. 

If  you  do  chance  to  hear  of  that  blind  traitor, 

Preferment  falls  on  him  that  cuts  him  off. 

Oswald. 

Would  I  could  meet  him,  madam :    I  would 

What  party  I  do  follow.  [show 

Regan. 

Fare  thee  well 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  V '1.    The  Country  near  Dover. 

Enter  Gloster,  and  Edgar  dressed  like  a  Peasant. 

Gloster. 

When  shall  I  come  to  the  top  of  that  same 

hill? 

Edgar. 
You  do  climb  up  it  now :  look,  how  we  labour. 

Gloster. 
Methinks,  the  ground  is  even. 
Edgar. 

Horrible  steep : 
Hark  !  do  you  hear  the  sea  ? 
Gloster. 

No,  truly. 
Edgar. 
Why,  then  your  other  senses  grow  imperfect 
By  your  eyes'  anguish. 

Gloster. 

So  may  it  be,  Indeed. 
Methinks,  thy  voice  is  alter'd  ;  and  thou  sneak 'st 
In  better  phrase,  and  matter,  than  thou  didst. 
Edgar. 
Y'  are  much   deceiv'd :    In  nothing   am   I 
But  in  my  garments.  [chang'd 

Gloster. 
Methinks,  y'  are  better  spoken. 
Edgar. 
Come  on,  sir ;  here's  the  place :  stand  still . — 
How  fearful, 
And  dizzy  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low  I       [air, 
The  crows,  and  choughs,  that  wing  the  midway 
Show  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles  :  half  way  down 
Hangs    one  that  gathers  samphire ;    dreadful 
trade  1 


Methinks,  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head. 
The  fishermen,  that  walk  upon  the  beach, 
Appear  like  mice ;  and  yond'  tall  anchoring  bark, 
Diminish'd  to  her  cock  ;  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight.     The  murmuring 

surge, 
That  on  tV  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafes, 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high.— I'll  look  no  more; 
Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  deficient  sight 
Topple  down  headlong. 

Gloster. 

Set  me  where  you  stand. 
Edgar. 
Give  me  your  hand ;  you  are  now  within  a 
foot 
Of  th'  extreme  verge :  for  all  beneath  the  moon 
Would  1  not  leap  upright. 

Gloster. 

Let  go  my  hand. 
Here,  friend,  Is  another  purse  ;  in  it,  a  jewel 
Well  worth  a  poor  man's  taking:  fairies,  and 

gods,. 
Prosper  it  with  thee  I     Go  thou  farther  off; 
Bid  me  farewell,  and  let  me  hear  thee  going. 
Edgar. 
Now  fare  you  well,  good  sir. 
Gloster. 

With  all  my  heart. 
Edgar. 
Why  I  do  trifle  thus  with  hie  despair, 
Is  done  to  cure  it. 

Gloster. 

O,  you  mighty  gods ! 
This  world  I  do  renounce,  and  in  your  sights 
Shake  patiently  my  great  affliction  off: 
If  I  could  bear  it  longer,  and  not  fall 
To  quarrel  with  your  great  opposeless  wills, 
My  snuff,  and  loathed  part  of  nature,  should 
Burn  itself  out.    If  Edgar  live,  O,  bless  him  I— 
Now,  fellow,  fare  thee  well. 

[He  leaps,  and  falls  along. 

Edgar. 

Gone,  sir:  farewell 

And  yet  I  know  not  how  conceit  may  rob 
The  treasury  of  life,  when  life  itself  [thought, 
Yields  to  the  theft:  had  he  been  where  he 
By  this  had  thought  been  past — Alive,  or  dead? 
Ho,  you  sir  1  friend  !  —  Hear  you,  sir  ?  —  speak  I 
Thus  might  he  pass  indeed ; — yet  he  revives. 
What  are  you,  sir? 

Gloster. 

Away,  and  let  me  die. 

Edgar. 

Hadst  thou  been  aught  but  gossamer,  feathers, 

So  many  fathom  down  precipitating,  [air, 

Thou'dst  shlver'd  like  an  egg:   but  thou  dost 

breathe ; 
Hast  heavy  substance ;  bleed'st  not ;  speak 'st ; 

art  sound. 
Ten  masts  at  each  make  not  the  altitude, 
Which  thou  hast  perpendicularly  fell : 
Thy  life's  a  miracle.    Speak  yet  again. 
Gloster. 
But  have  I  fallen,  or  no  ? 
Edgar. 
From  the  dread  summit  of  this  chalky  bourn. 
Look  up  a  height ;  the  sbrlll-gorg'd  lark  so  far 
Cannot  be  seen  or  heard  :  do  but  look  up. 
Gloster. 
Alack  1  I  have  no  eyes.— 
Is  wretchedness  depriv'd  that  benefit,  [fort, 

To  end  itself  by  death  ?    'Twas  yet  some  com- 

When   'J 


1  97* 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


!  When  misery  could  beguile  the  tyrant's  rage, 
And  frustrate  his  proud  will. 

Edgar. 

Give  me  your  arm :    [stand. 
Up:— so;— howis't?  Feel  you  your  legs ?  You 

Gloster. 
Too  well,  too  well. 

Edgar. 
This  is  above  all  strangeness. 
Upon  the  crown  o'  the  cliff,  what  thing  was  that 
Which  parted  from  you  ? 

Gloster. 
A  poor  unfortunate  beggar. 

Edgar. 
As  I  stood  here  below,  methought,  his  eyes 
Were  two  full  moons;  he  had  a  thousand  noses. 
Horns  whelk'd,  and  wav'd  like  the  enridged  sea : 
It  was  some  fiend ;  therefore,  thou  happy  father, 
Think  that  the  clearest  gods,  who  make  them 

honours 
Of  men's  impossibilities,  have  preserv'd  thee. 

Gloster. 
I  do  remember  now :  henceforth  I'll  bear 
Affliction,  till  it  do  cry  out  itself  [speak  of, 

"  Enough,  enough  !"  and  die.    That  thing  you 
I  took  it  for  a  man ;  often  'twould  say, 
*•  The  fiend,  the  fiend:"  he  led  me  to  that  place. 
Edgar. 
Bear  free  and  patient  thoughts.— But  who 
comes  here  ? 

Enter  Lear,  fantastically  dressed  with  wild 
Flowers. 
The  safer  sense  will  ne'er  accommodate 
His  master  thus. 

Lear. 
No,  they  cannot  touch  me  for  coining ;  1  am 
the  king  himself. 

Edgar. 
O,  thou  side-piercing  sight  1 

Lear. 
Nature's  above  art  in  that  respect.  —  There's 
vour  press-money.  That  fellow  handles  his 
bow  like  a  crow-keeper:  draw  me  a  clothier's 
yard.  —  Look,  look  !  a  mouse.  Peace,  peace  ! — 
this  piece  of  toasted  cheese  will  do't.  —  There's 
my  gauntlet;  I'll  prove  it  on  a  giant — Bring 
up  the  brown  bills.— O,  well  flown,  bird !— i'  the 
clout,  i'  the  clout :  hewgh !— Give  the  word. 

Edgar. 
Sweet  marjoram. 

Lear. 
Pass. 

Gloster. 
I  know  that  voice. 

Lear. 

Ha!  GoneriU— with  a  white  beard  !— They 
flatter'd  me  like  a  dog;  and  told  me,  I  had 
white  hairs  in  my  beard,  ere  the  black  ones 
were  there.  To  say  "  ay,"  and  "  no,"  to  every 
thing  I  said ! — "  Ay  "and  "  no"  too  was  no  good 
divinity.  When  the  rain  came  to  wet  me  once, 
and  the  wind  to  make  me  chatter,  when  the 
thunder  would  not  peace  at  my  bidding,  there  I 
found  'em,  there  I  smelt  'em  out.  Go  to,  they 
are  not  men  o'  their  words  :  they  told  me  1  was 
every  thing ;  'tis  a  lie,  I  am  not  ague-proof. 

Gloster. 
The  trick  of  that  voice  I  do  well  remember  ; 
Is't  not  the  king  ? 

Ay,  every  inch  a  king : 


When  1  do  stare,  see,  how  the  subject  quakes. 
I  pardon  that  man's  life:  what  was  thy  cause?— 
Adultery. — 

Thou  shalt  not  die :  die  for  adultery?  No : 
The  wren  goes  to't,  and  the  small  gilded  fly 
Does  lecher  in  my  sight. 

Let  copulation  thrive ;  for  Gloster's  bastard  son 
Was  kinder  to  his  father,  than  my  daughters 
Got  'tween  the  lawful  sheets. 
To't,  luxury,  pell-mell,  for  I  lack  soldiers.— 
Behold  yond'  simpering  dame, 
Whose  lace  between  her  forks  presageth  snow ; 
That  minces  virtue,  and  does  shake  the  head 
To  hear  of  pleasure's  name; 
The  fitchew,  nor  the  soiled  horse,  goes  to't 
With  a  more  riotous  appetite. 
Down  from  the  waist  they  are  centaurs, 
Though  women  all  above : 
But  to  the  girdle  do  the  gods  inherit, 
Beneath  is  all  the  fiends :  there's  hell,  there's 
darkness,  there  is  the  sulphurous  pit,  burning, 
scalding,  stench,  consumption ;— fie,  fie,  fie !  pah; 
pah !    Give  me  an  ounce  of  civet,  good  apothe- 
cary, to  sweeten  my  imagination :  there's  money 
for  thee. 

Gloster. 
O,  let  me  kiss  that  hand ! 

Lear. 
Let  me  wipe  it  first ;  it  smells  of  mortality. 

Gloster. 

0  ruin'd  piece  of  nature  !    This  great  world 
Shall  so  wear  out  to  nought —  Dost  thou  know 

me? 

Lear. 

1  remember  thine  eyes  well  enough.  Dost 
thou  squiny  at  me  ?  No,  do  thy  worst,  blind 
Cupid;  I'll  not  love.— Read  thou  this  challenge: 
mark  but  the  penning  of  it. 

Gloster. 
Were  all  the  letters  suns,  I  could  not  see  one. 

Edgar. 
I  would  not  take  this  from  report;  it  is, 
And  my  heart  breaks  at  it. 

L«ar. 
Read. 

Gloster. 
What !  with  the  case  of  eyes  ? 

Lear. 

O,  ho  1  are  you  there  with  me  ?  No  eyes  in 
your  head,  nor  no  money  in  your  purse  ?  Your 
eyes  are  in  a  heavy  case,  your  purse  in  a  light : 
yet  you  see  how  this  world  goes. 


I  see  it  feelingly. 


Gloster. 
Lear. 


What,  art  mad  ?  A  man  may  see  how  this 
world  goes,  with  no  eyes.  Look  with  thine  ears : 
see  how  yond'  justice  rails  upon  yond'  simple 
thief.  Hark,  in  thine  ear:  change  places ;  and, 
handy-dandy,  which  is  the  justice,  which  is  the 
thief  ?— Thou  hast  seen  a  farmer's  dog  bark  at 
a  beggar  ? 

Gloster. 

Ay,  sir. 

And  the  creature  run  from  the  cur  ?    There 
thou  might'st  behold  the  great  image  of  autho- 
rity :  a  dog's  obey'd  in  office. — 
Thou  rascal  beadle,  hold  thy  bloody  hand ! 
Why  dost  thou  lash  that  whore  ?    Strip  thine 

own  back ; 
Thou  hotly  lust'st  to  use  her  in  that  kind 
For  which  thou  whipp'st  her.   The  usurer  hangs 

the  cozener. 

Through 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


KING  LEAR. 


9M 


Through  tatter'd  clothe*  small  vice*  do  appear; 
Robes,  and  furr'd  gowns,  hide  all.     Piute  sin 

with  gold. 
And  the  strong  lance  of  justice  hurtless  breaks : 
Arm  it  in  rags,  a  pigmy's  straw  doth  pierce  it. 
None  does  offend,  none,  I  say,  none;  I'll  able 

'em: 
Take  that  of  me,  my  friend,  who  have  the  power 
To  seal  th'  accuser  s  lips.    Get  thee  glass  eyes  ; 
And,  like  a  scurvy  politician,  seem 
To  see  the  things  thou  dost  not.  — Now,  now, 

now,  now : 
Full  olf  my  boots  :  harder,  harder ;  so. 
Bifa£ 
O,  matter  and  impertinency  mlx'd ! 
Reason  in  madness  I 

Lear. 

If  thou  wilt  weep  my  fortunes,  take  my  eyes. 

I  know  thee  well  enough ;  thy  name  is  (Jloster : 

Thou  must  be  patient.  We  came  crying  hither : 

Thou  know'st,  the  first  time  that  we    smell 

the  air 
We  wawl,  and  cry.    I  will   preach  to  thee: 

mark  me.        „.    . 

Gloster. 

Alack  !  alack  the  day  ! 

Lear. 
When  we  are  born,  we  cry  that  we  are  come 
To  this  great  stage  of  fools —  This  a  good 
It  were  a  delicate  stratagem,  to  shoe  [block  ? — 
A  troop  of  horse  with  felt :  I'll  put  it  in  proof; 
And  when  I  have  stolen  upon  these  sons-in-law. 
Then,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill. 

Enter  a  Gentleman  with  Attendants. 
Gentleman. 

0  !  here  he  is :  lay  hand  upon  him.  —  Sir, 
Your  most  dear  daughter  — 

Lear. 

No  rescue  ?    What !  a  prisoner  ?    I  am  even 

The  natural  fool  of  fortune.  —  Use  me  well ; 

You  shall  have  ransom.    Let  me  have  a  sur- 

I  am  cut  to  the  brains.  [geon, 

Gentleman. 

You  shall  have  any  thing. 
Lear. 
No  seconds?    All  myself? 
Why,  this  would  make  a  man,  a  man  of  salt, 
To  use  his  eyes  for  garden  water-pots, 
Ay,  and  for  laying  autumn's  dust. 
Gentleman. 

.  Good  sir,  _ 

Lear. 

1  will  die  bravely,  [jovial. 
Like  a  smug  bridegroom.  What !  I  will  be 
Come,  come;  I  am  a  king,  my  masters,  know 

you  that  ? 

Gentleman. 
You  are  a  royal  one,  and  we  obey  you. 

Lear. 

Then  there's  life  In  it.    Nay,  an  you  get  it, 

you  shall  get  it  by  runnjn^ ;  fc^iV»W  . 

Gentleman. 

A  sight  most  pitiful  in  the  meanest  wretch, 

Past  speaking  of  in  a  king!  — Thou  hast  one 

daughter, 
Who  redeems  nature  from  the  general  curse 
Which  twain  have  brought  her  to. 
Edgar. 
Hail,  gentle  sir  I 

Gentleman. 
Sir,  speed  you  :  what's  your  will  ? 


Ngv, 

Do  you  hear  aught,  sir,  of  a  battle  toward  ? 

Gentleman. 
Most  sure,  and  vulgar  :  every  one  hears  that, 
\\  inch  can  distinguish  sound. 
!    If* 

But,  by  your  favour, 
How  near's  the  other  army  ? 
Gentleman. 
Near,  and  on  speedy  foot ;  the  main  descry 
Stands  on  the  hourly  thought. 
)      .-.r 

I  thank  you,  sir  :  that's  all. 

Gentleman. 

Though  that  the  queen  on  special  cause  is 

Her  army  is  mov'd  on.  [here, 

i  i   r. 

Ithank^,^^^ 

Gloster. 
You  ever-gentle  gods,  take  my  breath  from 
Let  not  my  worser  spirit  tempt  me  again    [me : 
To  die  before  you  please  I 
Edgar. 

Well  pray  you,  father. 
Gloster. 
Now,  good  sir,  what  are  you  ? 

Edgar. 
A  most  poor  man,  made  tame  to  fortune's 
blows ; 
Who,  by  the  art  of  known  and  feeling  sorrows, 
Am  pregnant  to  good  pity.    Give  me  your  hand, 
I'll  lead  you  to  some  biding. 
Gloster. 

Hearty  thanks ; 
The  bounty  and  the  benison  of  heaven 
To  boot,  and  boot  1 

Enter  Oswald. 

Oswald. 

A  proclaim'd  prize  !    Most  happy  1 

That  eyeless  head  of  thine  was  first  fram'd  flesh 

To  raise   my  fortunes.  —  Thou   old   unhappy 

traitor. 
Briefly  thyself  remember :  —  the  sword  is  out 
That  must  destroy  thee. 

Gloster. 


Put  strength  enough 


Now  let  thy  friendly  hand 
to  it.      lEifgar  mferposes. 


Oswald. 

Wherefore,  bold  peasant, 
Dar'st  thou  support apublish'd  traitor?  Hence; 
Lest  that  th'  infection  of  his  fortune  take 
\  Like  hold  on  thee.    Let  go  his  arm. 
Edgar. 

Chill  not  let  go,  zlr,  without  varther  'casion. 

Oswald. 
Let  go,  slave,  or  thou  diest 

Edgar. 
Good  gentleman,  go  your  gait,  and  let  poor 
volk  pass.  And  ch'ud  ha'  been  zwagger'd  out 
of  my  life,  'twould  not  ha'  been  zo  long  as  'tis  by 
a  vortnight.  Nay,  come  not  near  the  old  man  ; 
keep  out,  che  vor'ye,  or  Ise  try  whether  your 
costard  or  my  ballow  be  the  harder.  Ch'ill  be 
plain  with  you.        _ 

•  Oswald. 

Out,  dunghill  1 

Edgar. 

Ch'ill  pick  your  teeth,  zir.    Come  ;  no  mattei 

TThey  fight ;  and  Edgar  knock*  him  down. 
Oswald. 


97+ 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Oswald. 
Slave,  thou  hast  slain  me.  —  Villain,  take  my 
If  ever  thou  wilt  thrive,  bury  my  body  ;  [purse. 
And  give  the  letters,  which  thou  find'st  about 
To  Edmund  earl  of  Gloster  :  seek  him  out  [me 
Upon  the  British  party :  —  O,  untimely  death ! 

[Dies 
Edgar. 
I  know  thee  well :  a  serviceable  villain ; 
As  duteous  to  the  vices  of  thy  mistress, 
As  badness  would  desire. 

Gloster. 

What !  is  he  dead  ? 

Edgar. 

Sit  you  down,  father  ;  rest  you.  — 
Let's  see  his  pockets :  these  letters,  that  he 
speaks  of,  [sorry 

May  be  my  friends —  He's  dead ;  I  am  only 
He  had  no  other  death's-man.  —  Let  us  see :  — 
Leave,  gentle  wax  ;  and,  manners,  blame  us  not: 
To  know  our  enemies' minds,  we  rip  their  hearts, 
Their  papers  is  more  lawful. 

[Reads.!  "  Let  our  reciprocal  vows  be  re- 
membered. You  have  many  opportunities  to 
cut  him  off:  if  your  will  want  not,  time  and 
place  will  be  fruitfully  offered.  There  is  no- 
thing done,  if  he  return  the  conqueror ;  then, 
am  I  the  prisoner,  and  his  bed  my  gaol,  from  the 
loathed  warmth  whereof  deliver  me,  and  supply 
the  place  for  your  labour. 

"  Your  (wife,  so  I  would  say) 

"  affectionate  servant, 

"  Goner  it." 
O,  undistinguish'd  space  of  woman's  will  1 
A  plot  upon  her  virtuous  husband's  life  ; 
And  the  exchange,  my  brother!  —  Here,  in  the 
Thee  I'll  rake  up,  the  post  unsanctified    [sands, 
Of  murderous  lechers  ;  and  in  the  mature  time, 
With  this  ungracious  paper  strike  the  sight 
Of  the  death-practis'd  duke.    For  him  'tis  well, 
That  of  thy  death  and  business  I  can  tell. 

Gloster. 
The  king  is  mad:  how  stiff  is  my  vile  sense, 
That  I  stand  up,  and  have  ingenious  feeling 
Of  my  huge  sorrows  !  Better  I  were  distract ; 
So  should  my  thoughts  be  sever'd  from  my  griefs, 
And  woes,  by  wrong  imaginations,  lose 
The  knowledge  of  themselves.    [Drum  afar  off. 

Edgar. 

Give  me  your  hand: 
Far  off,  methinks,  I  hear  the  beaten  drum. 
Come,  father ;  I'll  bestow  you  with  a  friend. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIL 
A  Tent  in  the  French  Camp.    Lear  on  a  Bed, 
asleep;  Doctor,  Gentleman,  and  others,  at- 
tending :  Enter  Cordelia  and  Kent. 

Cordelia. 

O  thou  good  Kent!  how  shall  I  live,  and  work, 

To  match  thy  goodness  ?    My  life  will  be  too 

And  every  measure  fail  me.  [short, 

Kent. 
To  be  acknowledg'd,  madam,  is  o'er-paid. 
All  my  reports  go  with  the  modest  truth  ; 
Nor  more,  nor  clipp'd,  but  so. 

Cordelia. 

Be  better  suited : 
These  weeds  are  memories  of  those  worser 
1  pr'ythee,  put  them  off.  [hours. 

Kent. 
Pardon  me,  dear  madam ; 


Yet  to  be  known  shortens  my  made  intent : 
My  boon  I  make  it,  that  you  know  me  not, 
Till  time  and  1  think  meet. 
Cordelia. 
Then  be  't  so,  my  good  lord.— How  does  the 
king  ?  [To  the  Physician. 

Doctor. 
Madam,  sleeps  still. 

Cordelia. 
O,  you  kind  gods, 
Cure  this  great  breach  in  his  abused  nature  ! 
Th'  untun'd  and  jarring  senses,  O,  wind  up 
Of  this  child-changed  father  ! 

Doctor. 

So  please  your  majesty, 
That  we  may  wake  the  king  ?  he  hath  slept  long. 
Cordelia. 
Be  govern'd  by  your  knowledge,  and  proceed 
I'  the  sway  of  your  own  will.    Is  he  array'd? 
Doctor. 
Ay,  madam  ;  in  the  heaviness  of  his  sleep, 
We  put  fresh  garments  on  him. 

Kent. 
Good  madam,  be  by  when  we  do  awake  him ; 
I  doubt  not  of  his  temperance. 
Cordelia. 

Very  well.         [Music. 
Doctor. 
Please  you,  draw  near.— Louder  the  music 
there. 

Cordelia. 
O  my  dear  father !  Restoration,  hang 
Thy  medicine  on  my  lips ;  and  let  this  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms,  that  my  two  sisters 
Have  in  thy  reverence  made  ! 
Kent. 

Kind  and  dear  princess ! 
Cordelia. 
Had  you  not  been  their  father,  these  white 
flakes 
Had  challeng'd  pity  of  them.    "Was  this  a  face 
To  be  expos'd  against  the  warring  winds  ? 
To  stand  against  the  deep  dread-bolted  thunder  ? 
In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke       [du  !) 
Of  quick,  cross  lightning?  to  watch  (poor  per- 
With  this  thin  helm  ?    Mine  enemy's  dog, 
Though  he  had  bit  me,  should  have  stood  that 

night 
Against  my  fire;  and  wast  thou  fain,  poor  father, 
To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn, 
In  short  and  musty  straw  ?    Alack,  alack  ! 
'Tis  wonder,  that  thy  life  and  wits  at  once  [him. 
Had  not  concluded  all. — He  wakes;  speak  to 
Doctor. 
Madam,  do  you ;  'tis  fittest. 
Cordelia. 
How  does  my  royal  lord?    How  fares  your 
majesty  ? 

Lear. 
You  do  me  wrong,  to  take  me  out  o'  the 
grave.  — 
Thou  art  a  soul  in  bliss,  but  I  am  bound 
Upon  a  wheel  of  fire,  that  mine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 

Cordelia. 

Sir,  do  you  know  me  ? 
Lear. 
You  are  a  spirit,  I  know.    When  did  you  die  ? 

Cordelia. 
Still,  still,  far  wide. 

Doctor. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


KING  KEAR. 


975 


He's  scarce  awake:  let  Mm  alone  awhile. 

Where  hare  I  been?    Where  am  I  ?— Fair 
day-light  ?— 
I  am  mightily  abus'd —  I  should  even  die  with  pity 

To  tee  another  thus 1  know  not  what  to  say. — 

1  will  not  swear,  these  are  my  hands :— let's  see ; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.    Would  I  were  assur'd 
Of  my  condition  1 

Conl 

O  !  look  upon  me,  sir, 
And  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  o'er  me.— 
No,  air,  you  must  not  kneel. 

Lear. 

Pray,  do  not  mock  me : 
I  am  a  Tery  foolish  fond  old  man, 
Fourscore  and  upward,  not  an  hour  more  nor 
And,  to  deal  plainly,  [less ; 

!  fear,  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind. 
Methinks,  1  should  know  you,  and  know  this  man ; 
Yet  I  am  doubtful,  for  I  am  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is ;  and  all  the  skill  f  have  [not 
Remembers  not  these  garments;  nor  I  know 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night.  Do  not  laugh  at 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady  [me, 

To  be  my  child  Cordelia. 


Cordel 


And 


so  I  am,  I  am. 


Be  your  tears  wet  ?    Yes,  'faith.    I  pray,  weep 
If  you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it.  [not : 
1  know,  you  do  not  love  me ;  for  your  sisters 
Have,  as  I  do  remember,  done  me  wrong: 
You  have  some  cause,  they  have  not. 

Cordelia. 

No  cause,  no  cause. 
Lear. 
Am  I  in  France? 

Kent. 

In  your  own  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear. 
Do  not  abuse  me. 

Doctor. 
Be  comforted,  good  madam :  the  great  rage, 
You  see,  is  cur'd  in  him  ;  and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  make  him  even  o'er  the  time  he  has  lost. 
Desire  him  to  go  in  :  trouble  him  no  more, 
Till  farther  settling. 

Cordelia. 
Will't  please  your  highness  walk  ? 

Lear. 
You  must  bear  with  me: 
Pray  you  now  forget  and  forgive:  I  am  old,  and 
foolish. 
[Exeunt  Lear,  Cordelia,  Doctor,  and  At- 
tendants. 

Gentleman. 
Holds  it  true,  sir,  that  the  duke  of  Cornwall 
was  so  slain  ? 

Kent. 
Most  certain,  sir. 

(•entleman. 
Who  is  conductor  of  his  people  ? 

Kent. 
As  'tis  said,  the  bastard  son  of  Gloster. 

Gentleman. 
They  say,  Edgar,  his  banished  son,  is  with' 
the  earl  of  Kent  in  Germany. 
Kent. 
Report    is  changeable.      'Ti«   time    to  look 


■boat  ;  the  powers  o'  the  kingdom  approach 
apace. 

The  arbltreraent'isllke'Yo  be  bloody.    Fare 
you  well,  sir.  (Exit. 

My   point    and    period    will    be    throughly 
wrought, 
Or  well  or  ill,  as  this  day's  battle's  fought. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    The  Camp  of  the  British  Forces, 
near  Dover. 

Enter,  with  Drums  and  Colours,  Edmund, 
llegan,  Officers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 

KNOW  of  the  duke^Ifhli  last  purpose  hold  ; 
Or  whether  since  he  is  advis'd  by  aught 
To  change  the  course.     He's  full  of  alteration, 
And  self-reproving:  — bring  his  constant  plea- 
sure. [To  an  Officer,  who  goes  out. 

Our  sister's  man  is  cenamly  miscarried. 

•Tis  to  be  doubted,1  madam. 

Regan.      VT  L ,     , 

Now,  sweet  lord, 
You  know  the  goodness  I  intend  upon  you : 
Tell  me,  but  truly,  but  then  speak  the  truth, 
Do  you  not  love  my  sister  ? 

Edmund..    .  ... 

In  honour  d  love. 

But  have  vou  never  found  my  brother's  way 
To  the  forefended  place  ? 


Edmund.. 


thought  abuses  you. 


ReL'ar 


negan. 
I  am  doubtful  that  you  have  been  conjunct, 
And  bosom'd  with  her,  as  far  as  we  call  hers. 

Edmund. 
No,  by  mine  honour,  madam. 

I  never  shall  endure  fier.    Dear  my  lord, 
Be  not  familiar  with  her. 

Edmund. 

Fear  me  not. — 
She,  and  the  duke  her  husband,— 

Enter  Albany,  Goneril,  and  Soldiers. 

Goneril. 

I  had  rather  lose  the  battle,  than  that  sister 

Should  loosen  him  and  me.  [Aside. 

Albany. 
Our  very  loving  sister,  well  be-met. — 
Sir,  this  1  hear,  —the  king  is  come  to  his  daugh- 
With  others,  whom  the  rigour  of  our  state  [ter, 
Forc'd  to  cry  out.   Where  I  could  not  be  honest, 
1  never  yet  was  valiant :  for  this  business, 
It  toucheth  us,  as  France  invades  our  land, 
Not  bolds  the  king,  with  others,  whom,  I  fear, 
Most  just  and  heavy  causes  make  oppose. 

Edmund. 
Sir,  you  speak  nobly. 

Why  is  this  reason'd  ? 
Goneril. 


97* 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  v.  Se  t, 


Goneril. 
Combine  together  'gainst  the  enemy ; 
For  these  domestic  and  particular  broils 
Are  not  the  question  here. 

Albany. 

Let  us,  then,  determine 
With  the  ancient  of  war  on  our  proceedings. 

Edmund. 
I  shall  attend  you  presently  at  your  tent. 

Regan. 
Sister,  you'll  go  with  us  ? 

Goneril. 
No. 

Regan. 
*Tis  most  convenient ;  pray  you,  go  with  us. 

Goneril. 
O,  ho  !  I  know  the  riddle.  [Aside.]  I  wiU  go. 

Enter  Edgar,  disguised. 

Edgar. 
If  e'er  your  grace  had  speech  with  man  so  poor, 
Hear  me  one  word. 

Albany. 

I'll  overtake  you.— Sneak. 
[Exeunt  Edmund,  Regan,  Gonsnl,  Officers, 
Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 

Edgar, 
Before  you  fight  the  battle,  ope  this  letter. 
If  you  have  victory,  let  the  trumpet  sound 
For  him  that  brought  it :  wretched  though  I  seem, 
I  can  produce  a  champion,  that  will  prove 
What  is  avouched  there.     If  you  miscarry. 
Your  business  of  the  world  hath  so  an  end, 
And  machination  ceases.    Fortune  love  you  ! 
Albany. 
Stay  till  I  have  read  the  letter. 
Edgar. 

I  was  forbid  it. 
When  time  shall  serve,  let  but  the  herald  ,cxy> 
And  I'll  appear  again.  LKxit. 

Albany. 
Why,  fare  thee  well :  I  will  o'erlookthy  paper. 
Re-enter  Edmund. 
Edmund. 
The  enemy's  in  view  ;  draw  up  your  powers. 
Here  is  the  guess  of  their  true  strength  and  forces 
By  diligent  discovery  ;  but  your  haste 
Is  now  urg'd  on  you. 

Albany. 
We  will  greet  the  time.  f. Exit- 
Edmund. 
To  both  these  sisters  have  I  sworn  my  love ; 
Each  jealous  of  the  other,  as  the  stung 
Are  of  the  adder.    Which  of  them  shall  I  take  ? 
Both  ?  one?  or  neither  ?  Neither  can  be  enjoy'd, 
If  both  remain  alive:  to  take  the  widow, 
Exasperates,  makes  mad,  her  sister  Goneril; 
And  hardly  shall  I  carry  out  my  side, 
Her  huHband  being  alive.    Now  then,  we'll  use 
His  countenance  for  thebattle:  which  being  done, 
Let  her  who  would  be  rid  of  him  devise 
His  speedy  taking  off.    As  for  the  mercy 
Which  he  intends  to  Lear,  and  to  Cordelia, 
The  battle  done,  and  they  within  our  power, 
Shall  never  see  his  pardon  ;  for  my  state  rr   . 
Stands  on  me  to  defend,  not  to  debate.      Lkxlt- 


SCENE  II.    A  Field  between  the  two  Camps. 

Alarum  within.    Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colours, 
Lear,  Cordelia,  and  their  Forces  ;  and  exeunt. 

Enter  Edgar  and  Gloster. 

Edgar. 

Here,  father,  take  the  shadow  of  this  tree 

For  your  good  host ;   pray  that  the  right  may 

If  ever  I  return  to  you  again,  [thrive. 

I'll  bring  you  comfort. 

Gloster. 

Grace  go  ^h.y^ir.1 

Alarum  ;  afterwards  a  Retreat.    Re-enter 
Edgar. 

Edgar. 

Away,  old  man  !  give  me  thy  hand:  away  ! 

King  tear  hath  lost,  he  and  his  daughter  ta'en 

Give  me  thy  hand  ;  come  on. 

Gloster. 

No  farther,  sir :  a  man  may  rot  even  here. 

Edgar. 
What!   in  ill  thoughts  again?     Men   must 
endure 
Their  going  hence,  even  as  their  coming  hither: 
Ripeness  is  all.    Come  on. 
Gloster. 

And  that'sJtrue  too. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI.    Th«  British  Camp  near  Dover. 

Enter,  in  Conquest,  with  Drum  and  Colours, 
Edmund;  Lear  and  Cordelia,  as  Prisoners ; 
Captain,  Officers,  Soldiers,  &c. 

Edmund. 
Some  officers  take  them  away  :  good  guard, 
Until  their  greater  pleasures  first  be  known, 
That  are  to  censure  them. 
Cordelia. 

We  are  not  the  first. 
Who,  with  best  meaning,  have   incurr'd  the 

worst. 
For  thee,  oppressed  king,  am  I  cast  down ; 
Myself  could  else  out-frown  false  fortune's  frown. 
Shall  we  not  see  these  daughters,  and  these 
sisters  ?  , 

Lear. 

No,  no,  no,  no  1    Come,  let's  away  to  prison  : 
We  two  alone  will  sing  like  birds  i'  the  cage : 
When  thou  dost  ask  me  blessing,  I'll  kneel 

down. 
And  ask  of  thee  forgiveness.    So  we'll  live, 
And  pray,  and  sing,  and  tell  old  tales,  and  laugh 
At  gilded  butterflies,  and  hear  poor  rogues 
Talk  of  court  news;  and  we'll  talk  with  them 

too, 
Who  loses,  and  who  wins  ;  who's  in,  who's  out; 
And  take  upon's  the  mystery  of  things, 
As  if  we  were  God's  spies :  and  we'll  wear  out. 
In  a  wall'd  prison,  packs  and  sects  of  great  ones, 
That  ebb  and  flow  by  the  moon. 
Edmund. 
_  Take  them  away. 

Upon  such  sacrifices,  my  Cordelia, 
The  gods  themselves  throw  incense.     Have  I 

caught  thee  ? 
He  that  parts  us  shall  bring  a  brand  from  heaven , 
And  fire  us  hence  like  foxes.    Wipe  thine  eyes ; 

The 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  LEAR 


977 


The  gonjeen  ihall  devour  them,  flesh  and  fell, 
Ere  they  shall  make  u«  weep :  we'll  tee  them 

starve  first. 
Come.        [Exeunt  Lear  and  Cordelia,  guarded. 


Come  hither,  captain  ;  hark. 
Take  thou  this  note ;   [Civlnf  »  Paper]   go, 

follow  them  to  prison. 
One  step  I  have  advanc'd  thee ;  if  thou  dost 
As  this  instructs  thee,  thou  dost  make  thy  way 
To  noble  fortunes.    Know  thou  this,  that  men 
Are  as  the  time  is :  to  be  tender- minded    [merit 
Does  not  become  a  sword.     Thy  great  employ- 
Will  not  bear  question  ;  either  say,  thou'lt  do  t, 
Or  thrive  by  other  means. 
Captain. 

I'll  do't,  my  lord. 
Edmund. 
About  It ;  and  write  happy,  when  thou  hast 
done. 
Mark,—  I  say,  Instantly ;  and  carry  It  so, 
As  I  have  set  it  down. 

Captain. 
I  cannot  draw  a  cart,  nor  eat  dried  oats  ; 
If  it  be  man's  work,  I  will  do  it.  [Exit  Captain. 

Flourish.    Enter  Albany,  Goneril,  Regan, 
Officers,  and  Attendants. 

Albany. 
Sir,  you  have  shown  to-day  your  valiant  strain, 
And  fortune  led  you  welL    You  have  the  captives 
Who  were  the  opposites  of  this  day's  strife : 
We  do  require  them  of  you,  so  to  use  them, 
At  we  shall  find  their  merits,  and  our  safety, 
Hay  equally  determine. 

Edmund. 

Sir,  I  thought  it  fit 
To  send  the  old  and  miserable  king 
To  some  retention,  and  appointed  guard  ; 
Whose  age  has  charms  in  it,  whose  title  more, 
To  pluck  the  common  bosom  on  his  side, 
And  turn  our  impress'd  lances  in  our  eyes, 
Which  do  command  them.     With  him  I  sent 

the  queen : 
My  reason  all  the  same ;  and  they  are  ready 
To-morrow,  or  at  farther  space,  t'  appear 
Where  you  shall  hold  your  session.     At  this 

time, 
We  sweat,  and  bleed :  the  friend  hath  lost  his 

friend ; 
And  the  best  quarrels,  in  the  heat,  are  curs'd 
By  those  that  feel  their  sharpness — 
The  question  of  Cordelia,  and  her  father, 
Requires  a  fitter  place. 

Albany 

Sir,  by  your  patience, 
I  hold  you  but  a  subject  of  this  war, 
Not  as  a  brother. 

Regan 
That's  as  we  list  to  grace  him  : 
Methinks,  our  pleasure  might  have  been  de- 
manded, 
Ere  you  had  spoke  so  far.    He  led  our  powers, 
Bore  the  commission  of  my  place  and  person  ;     | 
The  which  immediacy  may  well  stand  up, 
And  call  itself  your  brother. 
Goneril 

Not  so  hot : 
In  his  own  grace  he  doth  exalt  himself, 
More  than  in  your  addition. 
Regan. 

In  my  rights, 
By  me  invested,  he  compeers  the  best. 


Goneril. 
That  were  the  most,  if  he  should  husband  you. 

Regan. 
Jesters  do  oft  prove  prophett. 
Goneril. 

Holla,  holla ! 
That  eye  that  told  you  to  look'd  but  a-squint. 

I    ■■ 
Lady,  I  am  not  well ;  else  I  thould  antwer 
From  a  full-flowing  stomach —  General, 
Take  thou  my  soldiers,  prisoners,  patrimony : 
Dispose  of  them,  of  me;  the  walls  are  thine. 
Witness  the  world,  that  I  create  thee  here 
My  lord  and  master. 

Goneril. 

Mean  you  to  enjoy  him  ? 
Albany. 
The  let-alone  lies  not  In  your  good  will. 

Edmund. 
Nor  in  thine,  lord. 

Albany. 

Half-blooded  fellow,  yet. 
Regan. 
Let  the  drum  strike,  and  prove  my  title  thine. 
[To  Edmund. 
Albany. 
Stay  yet ;  hear  reason. — Edmund,  I  arrest  thee 
On  capital  treason ;  and,  in  thy  arrest, 
This  gilded  serpent.    {Pointing  to  Goneril.]— 

For  your  claim,  fair  sister, 
I  bar  it  in  the  interest  of  my  wife; 
'Tis  she  is  tub-contracted  to  this  lord, 
And  I,  her  husband,  contradict  your  bant. 
If  you  will  marry,  make  your  love  to  me, 
My  lady  is  bespoke. 

Goneril. 

An  interlude  1 
Albany. 
Thou  art  arm'd,  Gloster.— Let  the  trumpet 
sound : 
If  none  appear  to  prove  upon  thy  person, 
Thy  heinous,  manifest,  and  many  treasons, 
There  is  my  pledge.  [Throwing  down  a  Glove.] 

I'll  prove  it  on  thy  heart, 
Ere  I  taste  bread,  thou  art  in  nothing  less 
Than  I  have  here  proclaim'd  thee. 
Regan. 

Sick  1  O,  sick ! 
Goneril.  [Aside. 

If  not,  I'll  ne'er  trust  poison. 

Edmund. 
There's  my  exchange:  [Throwing  down  a 
Glove]  what  in  the  world  he  it 
That  names  me  traitor,  villain-like  he  lies. 
Call  by  thy  trumpet :  he  that  dares  approach, 
On  him,  on  you,  who  not  ?  I  will  maintain 
My  truth  and  honour  firmly. 
Albany. 
A  herald,  ho ! 

Edmund. 
A  herald,  ho  1  a  herald  ! 
Albany. 
Trust  to  thy  single  virtue ;  for  thy  soldiert, 
All  levied  in  my  name,  have  in  my  name 
Took  their  discharge. 

llegan. 
My  sicknett  growt  upon  me. 
Albany. 
She  is  not  well ;  convey  her  to  my  tent. 

[Exit  Regan,  led. 
3  r  Enter 


978 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Enter  a  Herald. 
Come  hither,  herald.— Let  the  trumpet  sound, 
And  read  out  this. 

Captain. 
Sound,  trumpet.  [A  trumpet  sounds. 

Herald  reads. 

*•  If  any  man  of  quality,  or  degree,  within  the 

lists  of  the  army,  will  maintain  upon  Edmund, 

supposed  earl  of  Gloster,  that  he  is  a  manifold 

traitor,  let  him  appear  at  the  third  sound  of  the 

trumpet.    He  is  bold  in  his  defence." 

Edmund. 

Sound !  [First  Trumpet. 

Herald. 
Again.  [Second  Trumpet. 

Herald. 
Again.  [Third  Trumpet. 

[Trumpet  answers  within. 

Enter  Edgar,  armed,  preceded  by  a  Trumpet. 

Albany. 
Ask  him  his  purposes,  why  he  appears 
Upon  this  call  o'  the  trumpet. 
Herald. 

What  are  you  ? 
Your  name  ?  your  quality?  and  why  you  answer 
This  present  summons  ? 

Edgar. 

Know,  my  name  is  lost ; 
By  treason's  tooth  bare-gnawn,  and  canker -bit : 
Yet  am  I  noble,  as  the  adversary 
1  come  to  cope  withal. 

Albany.  . 
Which  is  that  adversary? 

Edgar. 

What's  he,  that  speaks  for  Edmund  earl  of 
Gloster? 

Edmund. 
Himself:  what  say'st  thou  to  him? 
Edgar. 

Draw  thy  sword, 
That  if  my  speech  offend  a  noble  heart, 
Thy  arm  may  do  thee  justice ;  here  is  mine : 
Behold,  it  is  my  privilege,  the  privilege  of  mine 

honours, 
My  oath,  and  my  profession.     I  protest, 
Maugre  thy  strength,  youth,  place,  and  emi- 
nence, 
Despite  thy  victor  sword,  and  fire-new  fortune, 
Thy  valour,  and  thy  heart,  thou  art  a  traitor : 
False  to  thy  gods,  thy  brother,  and  thy  father ; 
Conspirant  'gainst  this  high  illustrious  prince; 
And,  from  th*  extremest  upward  of  thy  head, 
To  the  descent  and  dust  below  thy  foot, 
A  most  toad-spotted  traitor.     Say  thou,  "  No," 
This  sword,  this  arm,  and  my  best  spirits,  are 

bent 
To  prove  upon  thy  heart,  whereto  I  speak, 
Thou  liest. 

Edmund. 
In  wisdom,  I  should  ask  thy  name; 
But  since  thy  outside  looks  so  fair  and  warlike, 
And  that  thy  tongue   some   say  of  breeding 

breathes, 
What  safe  and  nicely  I  might  well  delay 
By  rule  of  knighthood,  I  disdain  and  spurn. 
Back  do  I  toss  these  treasons  to  thy  head ; 
With  the  hell-hated  lie  o'erwhelm  thy  heart 
Which,  for  they  yet  glance  by,  and  scarcely 

bruise, 
This  sword  of  mine  shall  give  them  instant  way, 
Where  they  shall  rest  for  ever. — Trumpets, 
speak. 
[Alarums.    They  fight.    Edmund  falls. 


Albany. 
O,  save  him  !  save  him  ! 
Goneril. 
This  is  mere  practice,  Gloster. 
By  the  law  of  arms,  thou  wast  not  bound  to 

answer 
An  unknown  opposite;  thou  art  not  vanquish 'd, 
But  cozen'd  and  beguil'd. 
Albany. 

Shut  your  mouth,  dame ; 
Or  with  this  paper  shall  I  stop  it?— Hold,  sir!— 
Thou  worse  than  any  name,  read  thine  own  evil : 
No  tearing,  lady ;  1  perceive,  you  know  it. 

[Gives  the  Letter  to  Edmund. 

Goneril. 
Say,  if  I  do,  the  laws  are  mine,  not  thine : 
Who  can  arraign  me  for't  ? 
Albany. 

Most  monstrous  1 
Know'st  thou  this  paper  ? 

Goneril. 

Ask  me  not  what  I  know. 
[Exit  Goneril. 
Albany. 
Go  after  her  :  she's  desperate  ;  govern  her. 
[Exit  an  Officer. 
Edmund. 
What  you  have  charg'd  me  with,  that  have  I 
done,  [out : 

And  more,  much  more  ;  the  time  will  bring  it 
'Tis  past,  and  so  am  I.    But  what  art  thou, 
That  hast  this  fortune  on  me  ?   If  thou'rt  noble, 
I  do  forgive  thee. 

Edgar. 
Let's  exchange  charity. 
I  am  no  less  in  blood  than  thou  art,  Edmund  ; 
If  more,  the  more  thou  hast  wrong'd  me. 
My  name  is  Edgar,  and  thy  father's  son. 
The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  plague  us  ; 
The  dark  and  vicious  place  where  thee  he  got, 
Cost  him  his  eyes. 

Edmund. 
Thou  hast  spoken  right,  tis  true ; 
The  wheel  is  come  full  circle :  I  am  here. 
Albany. 
Mcthought,  thy  very  gait  did  prophesy 
A  royal  nobleness.     I  must  embrace  thee : 
Let  sorrow  split  my  heart,  if  ever  I 
Did  hate  thee,  or  thy  father. 
Edgar. 

Worthy  prince,  I  know't. 

Albany. 

Where  have  you  hid  yourself?  [father  ? 

How  have  you  known  the  miseries  of  your 

Edgar. 

By  nursing  them,  my  lord — List  a  brief  tale  ; 

And,  when  'tis  told,  O,  that  my  heart  would 

burst !  — 
The  bloody  proclamation  to  escape,  [ness  ! 

That  follow'd  me  so  near,  (O,  our  lives'  sweet- 
That  with  the  pain  of  death  we'd  hourly  die, 
Rather  than  die  at  once  !)  taught  me  to  shift 
Into  a  madman's  rags,  t'  assume  a  semblance 
That  very  dogs  disdain'd  ;  and  in  this  habit 
Met  I  my  father  with  his  bleeding  rings, 
Their  precious  stones  new  lost  ;   became  his 
guide,  [spair ; 

Led  him,  begg'd  for  him,  sav'd  him  from  de- 
Never  (O  fault !)  reveal'd  myself  unto  him. 
Until  some  half  hour  past,  when  I  was  arm'd, 
Not  sure,  though  hoping,  of  this  good  success, 
I  ask'd  his  blessing,  and  from  first  to  last 
Told  him  my  pilgrimage  :  but  his  flaw'd  heart, 
(Alack  ! 


Act  t.  Sc.  hi. 


KING  LEAR. 


979 


(Alack  1  too  weak  the  conflict  to  support) 
'Twtxt  two  extreme*  of  passion,  joy  ami  grief, 
Bunt  smilingly. 

Edmund. 

This  speech  of  yours  hath  mov'd  me. 
And  shall,  perchance,  do  good  ;  but  speak  you 

on  : 
You  look  as  you  had  something  more  to  say. 
Albany. 
If  there  be  more  more  woful,  hold  it  in, 
For  I  am  almost  ready  to  dissolve, 
Hearing  of  this.         _  . 

Edgar. 
This  would  have  seem'd  a  period 
To  such  as  love  not  sorrow  ;  but  another, 
To  amplify  too  much,  would  make  much  more, 
And  top  extremity. 

Whilst  1  was  big  In  clamour, came  there  a  man, 
Who,  having  seen  me  in  my  worst  estate, 
Shunn'd  myabhorr'd  society  ;  but  then,  rinding 
Who  'twas  that  so  eudurd,  with  his  strong 

arms 
He  fasten'd  on  my  neck,  and  bellow'd  out 
As  he'd  burst  heaven  ;  threw  me  on  my  father  ; 
Told  the  most  piteous  tale  of  Lear  and  him, 
That  ever  ear  receiv'd  ;  which  in  recounting, 
His  grief  grew  puissant,  and  the  strings  of  life 
Began    to    crack:    twice,    then,  the   trumpets 
And  there  I  left  him  trane'd.  [sounded 

Albany. 

But  who  was  this  ? 
Edgar. 
Kent,  sir,  the  banish'd  Kent  t    who  in  dis- 
guise 
Follow'd  his  enemy  king,  and  did  him  service 
Improper  for  a  slave. 

Enter  a  Gentleman  hastily,  with  a  bloody 
Knife. 
Gentleman. 
Help,  help  !  O  help  ! 

Edgar. 

What  kind  of  help? 
Albany. 

Speak,  man. 
Edgar. 
What  means  that  bloody  knife  ? 
Gentleman. 

'Tis  hot,  it  smokes ; 
It  came  even  from  the  heart  of—  O  1  she's  dead: 
Albany. 
Who  dead  ?  speak,  man. 

Gentleman. 
Your  lady,  sir,  your  lady :  and  her  sister 
By  her  is  poison'd ;  she  hath  confess'd  it. 
Edmund. 
I  was  contracted  to  them  both :  all  three 
Now  marry  in  an  instant. 
Albany. 
Produce  the  bodies,  be  they  alive  or  dead  !  — 
This  judgment  of  the  heavens,  that  makes  us 

tremble,  _ 

Touches  us  not  with  pity.       [Exit  Gentleman. 

Enter  Kent. 
Edgar. 

Here  comes  Kent. 
Albany. 
O  1  it  Is  he. 
The  time  will  not  allow  the  compliment, 
Which  very  manners  urges. 
Kent. 

I  &m  come 


To  bid  my  king  and  master  aye  good  night: 
Is  he  not  here  ? 

Albany. 
Great  thing  of  us  forgot  I  — 
Speak,  Edmund,  where's  the  king  ?  and  where's 
Scest  thou  this  object,  Kent  t  [Cordelia  /— 

[The  Bodies  or  Goneril  ana  Rfgan   are 
brought  in. 

Kent. 
Alack !  why  thus  ? 

Ldmund. 
Yet  Edmund  was  belov'dt 
The  one  the  other  poison'd  for  my  sake, 
And  after  slew  herself. 

Albany. 
Even  so.  —  Cover  their  faces. 

Edmund. 
I  pant  for  life:— some  good  I  mean  to  do. 
Despite  of  mine  own  nature.    Quickly  send,  — 
Be  brief  in  it,  —  to  the  castle  ;  for  my  writ 
Is  on  the  life  of  Lear,  and  on  Cordelia.  — 
Nay,  send  in  time. 

Albany. 

Run,  run  I  O,  run  I 
Edgar. 
To  whom,  my  lord?  — Who  has  the  ofHce? 
Thy  token  of  reprieve.  [send 

Edmund. 
Well  thought  on :  take  my  sword, 
Give  it  the  captain. 

A lbany. 
Haste  thee,  for  thy  life.     [Exit  Edgar. 
Edmund. 
He  hath  commission  from  thy  wife  and  me 
To  hang  Cordelia  in  the  prison,  and 
To  lay  the  blame  upon  her  own  despair, 
That  she  fordid  herself. 

Albany. 
The  gods  defend  her !  Bear  him  hence  awhile. 
[Edmund  is  borne  off. 

Enter  Lear,  with  Cordelia  dead  in  his  Arms ; 

Edgar,  Officer,  and  others. 

Lear. 

Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl !— O  !  you  are  men 

of  stones ; 

Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I'd  use  them  so 

That  heaven's  vault  should  crack.— She's  gone 

for  ever.  — 
I  know  when  one  is  dead,  and  when  one  lives  ; 
She's  dead  as  earth— Lend  me  a  looking-glass  ; 
If  that  her  breath  will  mist  or  stain  the  stone, 
Why,  then  she  lives. 

Kent. 

Is  this  the  promis'd  end? 
Edgar. 
Or  image  of  that  horror  ? 
Albany. 

Fall,  and  cease  I 
Lear. 
This  feather  stirs  ;  she  lives  1  if  it  be  so, 
It  is  a  chance  which  does  redeem  all  sorrows 
That  ever  I  have  felt. 

Kent. 
O,  my  good  master  I    [Kneeling 
Lear. 
Pr'ythee,  away. 

Edgar. 

•Tis  noble  Kent,  your  friend. 

Lear. 

A  plague  upon  you,  murderers,  traitors  all  I 

I  might  have  sav'd  her;  now,  she's  gone  for 

ever  J — 

Cordelia, 


9«o 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  v.  Sc.  in. 


Cordelia,  Cordelia !  stay  a  little.    Ha ! 
What  is't  thou  say'st  ?— Her  voice  was  ever  soft, 
Gentle,  andlow — an  excellent  thing  in  woman. — 
I  kill'd  the  slave  that  was  a  hanging  thee. 
Officer. 
•Tis  true,  my  lords,  he  did. 
Lear. 

Did  I  not,  fellow  ? 
I  have  seen  the  day,  with  my  good  biting  faul- 

chion 
I  would  have  made  them  skip :  I  am  old  now, 
And  these  same  crosses  spoil  me. — Who  are  you  ? 
Mine  eyes  are  not  o'  the  best :  —  I'll  tell  you 
straight. 

,  Kent. 
If  fortune  brag  of  two  she  luv'd  and  hated, 
One  of  them  we  behold. 

Lear. 

This  is  a  dull  sight Are  you  not  Kent  f 

Kent. 

The  same, 
Your  servant  Kent.     Where  is  your  servant 
Caius  ? 

Lear. 
He's  a  good  fellow,  I  can  tell  you  that ; 
He'll  strike,  and  quickly  too.  —  He's  dead  and 
rotten. 

Kent. 
No,  my  good  lord ;  I  am  the  very  man— 

Lear. 
I'll  see  that  straight. 

Kent. 
That  from  your  first  of  difference  and  decay, 
Have  follow  'd  your  sad  steps. 
Lear. 

You  are  welcome  hither. 
Kent. 
Nor  no  man  else.    All's  cheerless,  dark,  and 
deadly: 
Your  eldest  daughters  have  fordone  themselves, 
And  desperately  are  dead. 
Lear. 

Ay,  so  I  think. 
Albany. 
He  knows  not  what  he  says ;  and  vain  is  it, 
That  we  present  us  to  him. 
Edgar. 

Very  bootless. 

Enter  an  Officer. 
Officer. 
Edmund  is  dead,  my  lord. 


Albany. 
That's  but  a  trifle  here — 
You  lords,  and  noble  friends,  know  our  intent. 
What  comfort  to  this  great  decay  may  come, 
Shall  be  applied :  for  us,  we  will  resign, 
During  the  life  of  this  old  majesty. 
To  him  our  absolute  power. —  You,  to  your 
rights,  [To  Edgar  and  Kent. 

With  boot,  and  such  addition,  as  your  honours 
Have  more  than  merited.— All  friends  shall  taste 
The  wages  of  their  virtue,  and  all  foes 
The  cup  of  their  deservings. — O  !  see,  see ! 
Lear. 
And  my  poor  fool  is  hang'd  !    No,  no,  no  life: 
Why  should  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  rat,  have  life, 
And  thou  no  breath  at  all  ?    Thou'lt  come  no 
Never,  never,  never,  never,  never  !  —      [more, 
Pray  you,  undo  this  button :  thank  you,  sir. — 
Do  you  see  this  ?    Look  on  her  —look,— her 

lips,— 
Look  there,  look  there  !—  £Hedle«. 

Edgar. 
He  faints  ! — My  lord,  my  lord !  — 
Kent. 
Break,  heart ;  I  pr'ythee,  break  I 
Edgar. 

Look  up,  my  lord. 
Kent. 
Vex  not  his  ghost :  O !  let  him  pass :  he  hates 
him, 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer. 

Edgar . 

He  is  gone,  indeed. 
Kent. 
The  wonder  is,  he  hath  endur'd  so  long : 
He  but  usurp'd  his  life. 

Albany. 
Bear  them  from  hence.    Our  present  business 
Is  general  woe. — Friends  of  my  soul,  you  twain 
[To  Kent  and  Edgar. 
Rule  in  this  realm,  and  the  gor'd  state  sustain. 
Kent. 
I  have  a  journey,  sir,  shortly  to  go : 
My  master  calls  me ;  I  must  not  say,  no. 
Albany. 
The  weight  of  this  sad  time  we  must  obey ; 
Speak  what  we  feel,  not  what  we  ought  to  say. 
The  oldest  hath  borne  most :  we,  that  are  young, 
Shall  never  see  so  much,  nor  live  so  long. 

[Exeunt,  with  a  deaa  March. 


•#-#4-#-#  0'^ 


Act  i.  8c.  i. 


OTHELLO. 


981 


OTHELLO, 

THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONJE. 


Duke  1/ VENICE. 

Brabantio,  a  Senator. 

Two  other  Senators. 

Gratiano,  Brother  to  Brabantio. 

Lodovico,  Kinsman  to  Brabantio. 

Othello,  the  Moor. 

Cassio,  his  Lieutenant. 

Iago,  his  Ancient. 

Roderigo,  a  Venetian  Gentleman. 

Montano,  Governor  0/  Cyprus. 


Clown,  Servant  to  Othello. 

Herald. 

Desdemona,  Daughter  to  Brabantio, and  Wife  to 

Othello. 
Emilia,  Wife  to  Iago. 
Bianca,  Mistress  to  Cassio. 

Officers,  Gentlemen,  Messengers,  Musicians, 

Sailors,  Attendants,  8fC. 

SCESE,  for  the  first  Act,  in  Venice  ;  during  the 

rest  of  the  Play,  at  a  Sea- Port  in  Cyprus. 


-$--6--&-&-&-$--&-& 


ACT  I. 


SCESE  I.     Venice.    A  Street. 

Enter  Rodcrigo  and  Iago. 

Roderigo. 

TTJ  SH  1  never  tell  me,  I  take  it  much  unkindly, 
That  thou,  Iago,  who  hast  had  my  purse, 
As  if  the  strings  were  thine,  should'st  know 
of  this. 

Iago. 
'Sblood.  but  you  will  not  hear  me  : 
If  ever  I  did  dream  of  such  a  matter,  abhor  me. 
Roderigo. 
Thou  told'st  me  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy 
hate. 

Iago. 
Despise  me,  if  I  do  not.    Three  great  ones  of 
the  city, 
In  personal  suit  to  make  me  his  lieutenant, 
Oft  capp'd  to  him ;  and,  by  the  faith  of  man, 
I  know  my  price :  I  am  worth  no  worse  a  place ; 
But  he,  as  loving  his  own  pride  and  purposes, 
Evades  them,  with  a  bombast  circumstance, 
Horribly  stuflTd  with  epithets  of  war ; 
And,  in  conclusion, 

Nonsuits  my  mediators  ;  "  For  certes,"  says  he, 
"  I  have  already  chose  my  officer."  And  what 
Forsooth,  a  great  arithmetician,  [was  he  ? 

One  Michael  Cassio,  a  Florentine, 
A  fellow  almost  daran'd  in  a  fair  wife ; 
That  never  set  a  squadron  in  the  field, 
Nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knows 
More  than  a  spinster ;  unless  the  bookish  theoric, 


Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 

As  masterly  as  he :  mere  prattle,  without  practice, 

Is  all  his  soldiership.     But  he,  sir,  had  th' 

election ; 
And  I, — of  whom  his  eyes  had  seen  the  proof. 
At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus,  and  on  other  grounds, 
Christian  and  heathen,— must  be  be-lee'd  and 

calm'd 
By  debitor  and  creditor,  this  counter-caster : 
He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 
And  I,  (God  bless  the  mark !)  his  Moor-ship's 
ancient. 

Roderigo. 
By  heaven,  I  rather  would  have  been   his 
hangman. 

Iagc. 
But  there's  no  remedy :  'tis  the  curse  of  ser- 
vice, 
Preferment  goes  by  letter,  and  affection, 
Not  by  the  old  gradation,  where  each  second 
Stood  heir  t*   the  first.     Now,  sir,  be  judge 

yourself, 
Whether  I  in  any  just  term  am  affin'd 
To  love  the  Moor. 

Roderigo. 
1  would  not  follow  him,  then. 

Iago- 
O,  sir  I  content  you  ; 
I  follow  him  to  serve  my  turn  upon  him  : 
We  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  follow'd.    You  shall  mark 
Many  a  duteous  and  knee-crooking  knave. 
That,  doting  on  his  own  obsequious  bondage, 

Wears 


982 


OTHELLO. 


Act  1.  Sc.  1. 1 


Wears  out  his  time,  much  like  his  master's  ass,  J 
For  nought  but  provender ;  and  when  he's  old, 

cashier'd : 
Whip  me  such  honest  knaves.    Others  there  are, 
Who,  trimm'd  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty, 
Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves, 
And,  throwing  but  shows  of  service  on  their 

lords, 
Do  well  thrive  by  them ;  and  when  they  have 

lin'd  their  coats, 
Do  themselves  homage:    these  fellows   have 

some  soul ; 
And  such  a  one  do  I  profess  myself. 
For,  sir, 

It  is  as  sure  as  you  are  Roderigo, 
Were  I  the  Moor,  I  would  not  be  Iago : 
In  following  him,  I  follow  but  myself; 
Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I  for  love  and  duty, 
But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end : 
For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  compliment  extern,  'tis  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at :  I  am  not  what  I  am. 
Roderigo. 
What  a  full  fortune  does  the  thick-lips  owe, 
If  he  can  carry't  thus  ! 

Iago. 

Call  up  her  father ; 
Rouse  him :  make  after  him,  poison  his  delight, 
Proclaim  him  in  the  streets :  incense  her  kins- 
And  though  he  in  a  fertile  climate  dwell,  [men ; 
Plague  him  with  flies:  though  that  his  joy  be  joy. 
Yet  throw  such  changes  of  vexation  on't, 
As  it  may  lose  some  colour. 
Roderigo. 
Here  is  her  father's  house :  I'll  call  aloud. 

Iago. 

Do ;  with  like  timorous  accent,  and  dire  yell, 

As  when,  by  night  and  negligence,  the  fire 

Is  spied  in  populous  cities. 

Roderigo. 

What  ho !  Brabantio!  slgnior  Brabantio,  ho ! 

Iago. 
Awake  1    what,   ho  !    Brabantio  /    thieves  ! 
thieves  1  thieves  1 
Look  to  your  house,  your  daughter,  and  your 
Thieves  !  thieves  I  [bags  1 

Enter  Brabantio,  above,  at  a  Window 
Brabantio. 
What  is  the  reason  of  this  terrible  summons  ? 
What  is  the  matter  there? 
Roderigo. 
Signior,  is  all  your  family  within  ? 

Iago. 
Are  your  doors  lock'd? 

Brabantio. 
Why  ?  wherefore  ask  you  this  ? 
Iago 
'Zounds,  sir  !  you  are  robb'd ;  for  shame,  put 
on  your  gown ; 
Your  heart  is  burst,  youhave  lost  half  your  soul : 
Even  now,  now,  very  now,  an  old  black  ram 
Is  tupping  your  white  ewe.    Arise,  arise  ! 
Awake  the  snorting  citizens  with  the  bell, 
Or  else  the  devil  will  make  a  grandsire  of  you. 
Arise,  I  say.  _    .      ., 

Brabantio. 

What !  have  you  lost  your  wits  ? 
Roderigo. 
Most  reverend  signior,  do  you  know  my  voice? 


Brabantio. 
Not  I :  what  are  you  » 

Roderigo. 
My  name  is  Roderigo. 

Brabantio 

The  worse  welcome : 
I  have  charg'd  thee  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors. 
In  honest  plainness  thou  hast  heard  me  say, 
My  daughter  is  not  for  thee  ;  and  now,  in  mad- 
ness, 
Being  full  of  supper  and  distempering  draughts, 
Upon  malicious  bravery  dost  thou  come 
To  start  my  quiet. 

Roderigo. 
Sir,  sir,  sir,— 

Brabantio. 

But  thou  must  needs  be  sure 
My  spirit,  and  my  place,  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  bitter  to  thee. 
Roderigo. 

Patience,  good  sir. 
Brabantio. 
What  tell'st  thou  me  of  robbing?   this  is 
My  house  is  not  a  grange.  [  Venice  ; 

Roderigo. 

Most  grave  Brabantio, 
In  simple  and  pure  soul  I  come  to  you. 
Iago. 
'Zounds,  sir !  you  are  one  of  those,  that  will 
not  serve  God,  if  the  devil  bid  you.  Because 
we  come  to  do  you  service,  and  you  think  we 
are  ruffians,  you'll  have  your  daughter  covered 
with  a  Barbary  horse:  you'll  have  your  nephews 
neigh  to  you ;  you'll  have  coursers  for  cousins, 
and  gennets  for  germans. 

Brabantio. 
What  profane  wretch  art  thou? 

Iago. 
I  am  one,  sir,  that  comes  to  tell  you,  your 
daughter  and  the  Moor  are  now  making  the 
beast  with  two  backs. 

Brabantio. 
Thou  art  a  villain. 

Iago. 
You  are— a  senator. 
Brabantio. 
This  thou  shalt  answer:  I  know  thee,  Ro~ 
deiigo. 

Roderigo. 
Sir,  I  will  answer  any  thing.    But  I  beseech 
you, 
If 't  be  your  pleasure,  and  most  wise  consent, 
(As  partly,  I  find,  it  is)  that  your  fair  daughter. 
At  this  odd-even  and  dull  watch  o'  the  night, 
Transported  with  no  worse  nor  better  guard, 
But  with  a  knave  of  common  hire,  a  gondolier, 
To  the  gross  clasps  of  a  lascivious  Moor, 
If  this  be  known  to  you,  and  your  allowance, 
We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs; 
But  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  me, 
We  have  your  wrong  rebuke.    Do  not  believe, 
That  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 
1  thus  would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence : 
Your  daughter,  if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, 
I  say  again,  hath  made  a  gross  revolt, 
Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit,  and  fortunes, 
In  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger, 
Of  here  and   every  where.     Straight   satisfy 

yourself : 
If  she  be  in  her  chamber,  or  your  house, 
Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state 
For  thus  deluding  you.  Brabantio. 


An  i.   Sc.  11. 


II IF.  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


9«3 


Brabantio. 

Strike  on  the  tinder,  ho  ! 
Giro  mo  a  taper! — call  up  all  my  people!  — 
This  accident  is  not  unlike  my  dream  ; 
Belief  of  it  oppresses  me  already. — 
Light,  I  say  i  light  i  [Kxlt  from  above, 

lago. 
Farewell,  for  I  must  leave  you: 
It  seems  not  meet,  nor  wholesome  to  my  place, 
To  be  produc'd  (as  if  I  stay  I  shall) 
Against  the  Moor :  for,  1  do  know,  the  state, — 
However  this  may  gall  him  with  some  cheek. — 
Cannot  with  safety  cast  him ;  for  he's  embark'd 
With  such  loud  reason  to  the  Cyprus  wars, 
(Which  even  now  stand  in  act)  that,  for  their 
Another  of  his  fathom  they  have  none,     [souls, 
To  lead  their  business :  in  which  regard, 
Though  1  do  hate  him  as  I  do  hell  pains, 
Yet  hr  necessity  or  present  life, 
I  must  show  out  a  flag  and  sign  of  love, 
Which  is  indeed  but  sign.     That  you    shall 

surely  find  him, 
Lead  to  the  Sagittary  the  raised  search ; 
And  there  will  I  be  with  him.    So,  farewell. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Brabantio,  and  Servants  with  Torches. 

Brabantlo. 
It  is  too  true  an  evil :  gone  she  is  ; 
And  what's  to  come  of  my  despised  time. 

Is  nought  but  bitterness Now,  Roderigo, 

Where  didst  thou  see  her?— O,  unhappy  girl  !— 
With  the  Moor,  say'st  thou?— Who  would  be  a 
father? —  [ceiv'st  me 

How  didst  thou  know  'twas  she  ?—  O  1  thou  de- 
Past  thought — What  said  she  to  you?— Get 

more  tapers ! 
Raise  all  my  kindred  !— Are  they  married,  think 
you? 

Roderigo. 
Truly,  I  think,  they  are. 

Brabantio 

0  heaven  !  — How  got  she  out  ?— O,  treason 

of  the  blood  !  — 
Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters* 

minds 
By  what  you  see  them  act.  —  Are  there  not 

charms. 
By  which  the  property  of  youth  and  maidhood 
May  be  abus'd  ?    Have  you  not  read,  Roderigo, 
Of  some  such  thing  ? 

Roderigo. 

Yes,  sir;  I  have,  indeed. 
Brabantio. 
Call  up  my  brother.  — O,  that  you  had  had 
her!— 

Some  one  way,  some  another Do  you  know 

Where  we  may  apprehend  her  and  the  Moor? 
Roderigo. 

1  think,  I  can  discover  him.  if  you  please 
To  get  good  guard,  and  go  along  with  me. 

Brabantio. 
Pray  you,  lead  on.    At  every  house  I'll  call ; 
I  may  command  at  most.  —  Get  weapons,  ho  I 

And  raise  some  special  officers  of  night 

On,  good  Roderigo  y — I'll  deserve  your  nains. 

[Exeunt.. 

SCENE  II.    The  same.    Another  Street. 

Enter  Othello,  logo,  and  Attendants,  with 

Torches. 

lago. 

Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I  have  slain  men, 


Yet  do  I  hold  it  very  stuff  o'  the  conscience 
To  do  no  contrlv'd  murder  :  I  lack  iniquity 
sometimes,  to  do  me  service.    Nine  or  ten  timet 
I  had  thought  to  have  yerk'd  him  here,  wider 

the  ribs. 

Othello. 
'Tis  better  as  It  U. 

lago. 

Nay,  but  he  prated, 
And  spoke  such  scurvy  and  provoking  terms 
Against  your  honour, 
That,  with  the  little  godliness  I  have, 
I  did  full  hard  forbear  him.    But,  1  pray,  sir, 
Are  you  fast  married  ?  for,  be  sure  of  this, 
That  the  magniflco  is  much  beloved ; 
And  hath.  In  his  effect,  a  voice  potential 
As  double  as  the  duke's :  he  will  divorce  you ; 
Or  put  upon  vou  what  restraint,  or  grievance, 
The  law  (with  all  his  might  to  enforce  it  on) 
Will  give  him  cable. 

Othello. 

Let  him  do  his  spite: 
My  services,  which  I  have  done  the  signiory, 
Shall  out-tongue  his  complaints.    'Tis  yet  to 

know, 
Which,  when  I  know  that  boasting  is  an  honour, 
I  shall  promulgate,  I  fetch  my  life  and  being 
From  men  of  royal  siege ;  and  my  demerits 
May  speak,  unbonneted,  to  as  proud  a  fortune 
As  this  that  I  have  reach'd:  for  know,  lago, 
But  that  I  love  the  gentle  Desdemona, 
I  would  not  my  unhoused  free  condition 
Put  into  circumscription  and  confine 
For  the  sea's  worth.    But,  look  1  what  lights 

come  yonder  ? 

lago. 
These  are  the  raised  father,  and  his  friends : 
You  were  best  go  in. 

Othello. 

Not  I ;  I  must  be  found : 
My  parts,  my  title,  and  my  perfect  soul. 
Shall  manifest  me  rightly.     Is  it  they  ? 
lago. 
By  Janus,  I  think  no. 
Enter  Cassia,  and  certain  Officers  with  Torches. 
Othello. 
The  servants  of  the  duke,  and  my  lieutenant. 
The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you,  friends. 
What  is  the  news? 

Cassio. 
The  duke  does  greet  you,  general  j 
And  he  requires    your  haste,    post-haste   ap- 
Even  on  the  instant.  [pearance, 

Othello. 
What  is  the  matter,  think  you  r 
Cassio. 
Something  from  Cyprus,  as  I  may  divine. 
It  is  a  business  of  some  heat :  the  galleys 
Have  sent  a  dozen  sequent  messengers 
This  very  night  at  one  another's  heels  ; 
And  many  of  the  consuls,  rais'd  and  met, 
A  re  at  the  duke's  already.    You  have  been  hotly 

call'd  for ; 
When,  being  not  at  your  lodging  to  be  found, 
The  senate  hath  sent  about  three  several  quests, 
To  search  you  out. 

Othello. 
'Tis  well  I  am  found  by  you. 
I  will  but  spend  a  word  here  in  the  house. 
And  go  with  you.  [Exit. 

Cassio. 
Ancient,  what  makes  he  here  ? 
lago. 


9*4 


OTHELLO, 


Act  i.  Sc.  n. 


I  ago. 
'Faith,  he  to-night  hath  boarded  a  land  carack : 
If  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he's  made  for  ever. 
Cassio. 
I  do  not  understand. 

Iago. 

He's  married. 
Cassio. 

To  whom  ? 
Re-enter  Othello. 

Iago. 
Marry,  to— Come,  captain,  will  you  go? 
Othello. 

Have  with  you. 
Cassio. 
Here  comes  another  troop  to  seek  for  you. 
Iago. 

It  is  Brabantio General,  be  advis'd: 

He  comes  to  bad  intent. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Roderipo,  and  Officers,  with 
Torches  and  Weapons. 

Othello. 

Holla !  stand  there  1 
Roderigo. 
Signior,  it  is  the  Moor. 

Brabantio. 

Down  with  him,  thief! 
[They  draw  on  both  sides. 

Iago. 
You,  Roderigo !  come,  sir,  I  am  for  you. 

Othello. 
Keep  up  vour  bright  swords,  for  the  dew  will 
rust  them. — 
Good  signior,  you  shall  more  command  with 
Than  with  your  weapons.  [years, 

Brabantio. 
O,  thou  foul  thief !  where  hast  thou  stow'd  my 
daughter  ? 
Damn'd  as  thou  art,  thou  hast  enchanted  her; 
For  I'll  refer  me  to  all  things  of  sense, 
If  she  in  chains  of  magic  were  not  bound, 
Whether  a  maid  so  tender,  fair,  and  happy, 
So  opposite  to  marriage,  that  she  shunn'd 
The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation, 
Would  ever  have,  to  incur  a  general  mock, 
Run  from  her  guardage  to  the  sooty  bosom 
Of  such  a  thing  as  thou ;  to  fear,  not  to  delight. 
Judge  me  the  world,  if  'tis  not  gross  in  sense, 
That  thou  hast  practis'd  on  her  with  foul  charms ; 
Abus'd    her    delicate    youth   with    drugs,    or 

minerals, 
That  weaken  motion.  —  I'll  have 't  disputed  on ; 
'Tis  probable,  and  palpable  to  thinking. 
I,  therefore,  apprehend,  and  do  attach  thee, 
For  an  abuser  of  the  world,  a  practiser 
Of  arts  inhibited,  and  out  of  warrant. — 
Lay  hold  upon  him  !  if  he  do  resist, 
Subdue  him  at  his  peril. 

Othello. 

Hold  your  hands  ! 
Both  you  of  my  inclining,  and  the  rest : 
Were  it  my  cue  to  fight,  I  should  have  known  it 

Without  a  prompter Where  will  you  that  1  go 

To  answer  this  your  charge  ? 
Brabantio. 

To  prison ;  till  fit  time 
Of  law,  and  course  of  direct  session, 
Call  thee  to  answer. 

Othello. 

What  if  1  do  obey  ? 


How  may  the  duke  be  therewith  satisfied, 
Whose  messengers  are  here  about  my  side, 
Upon  some  present  business  of  the  state, 
To  bear  me  to  him  ? 

Officer. 
'Tis  true,  most  worthy  signior : 
The  duke's  in  council,  and  your  noble  self, 
1  am  sure,  is  sent  for. 

Brabantio. 
How  !  the  duke  in  council ! 
In  this  time  of  the  night !  —  Bring  him  away. 
Mine's  not  an  idle  cause :  the  duke  himself, 
Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  state, 
Cannot  but  feel  this  wrong,  as  'twere  their  own; 
For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 
Bond-slaves  and  pagans  shall  our  statesmen  be. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Council- Chamber. 

The  Duke,  and  Senators,  sitting  at  a  Table; 
Officers  attending. 
Duke. 
There  is  no  composition  in  these  news, 
That  gives  them  credit. 

First  Senator. 
Indeed,  they  are  disproportion 'd : 
My  letters  say,  a  hundred  and  seven  galleys. 
Duke. 
And  mine,  a  hundred  and  forty. 
Second  Senator. 

And  mine,  two  hundred  : 
But  though  they  jump  not  on  a  just  account, 
(As  in  these  cases,  where  they  aim  reports, 
'Tis  oft  with  difference)  yet  do  they  all  confirm 
A  Turkish  fleet,  and  bearing  up  to  Cyprus. 
Duke. 
Nay,  it  is  possible  enough  to  judgment. 
I  do  not  so  secure  me  in  the  error, 
But  the  main  article  I  do  approve 
In  fearful  sense.  ..  __,  ,  . 

Sailor.  [Within. 

What  ho  !  what  ho  I  what  ho  1 

Enter  an  Officer,  with  a  Sailor. 
Officer. 
A  messenger  from  the  galleys. 
Duke. 

Now,  the  business  ? 
Sailor. 
The  Turkish  preparation  makes  for  Rhodes: 
So  was  I  bid  report  here  to  the  state, 
By  signior  Angela. 

Duke. 
How  say  you  by  this  change  ? 
First  Senator. 

This  cannot  be, 
By  no  assay  of  reason :  'tis  a  pageant, 
To  keep  us  in  false  gaze.    When  we  consider 
The  importancy  of  Cyprus  to  the  Turk ; 
And  let  ourselves  again  but  understand, 
That,  as  it  more  concerns  the  Turk  than  Rhodes, 
So  may  he  with  more  facile  question  bear  it, 
For  that  it  stands  not  in  such  warlike  brace, 
But  altogether  lacks  th'  abilities 
That  Rhodes  is  dress'd  in :  —  if  we  make  thought 

of  this, 
We  must  not  think  the  Turk  is  so  unskilful, 
To  leave  that  latest  which  concerns  him  first. 
Neglecting  an  attempt  of  ease  and  gain, 
To  wake,  and  wage,  a  danger  profitless. 
Duke. 
Nay,  in  all  confidence,  he's  not  for  Rhodes. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


Tin:  modi;  of  vkmck. 


985 


Offlcer. 
Here  is  more  news. 

Enter  a  Messengtr. 
Messcngn . 
The  Ottomltcs,  reverend  and  gracious, 
Skeedng  with  due  course  toward  the  isle  of 

Rhodes, 
Have  there  injointed  them  with  an  after  fleet. 
First  Senator. 
Ay,  so  I  thought — How  many,  as  you  guess  ? 

Messenger. 
Of  thirty  sail ;  and  now  do  they  re-stem 
Their  backward  course,  bearing  with  frank  ap- 
pearance 

Their  purposes  toward  Cyprus Signior  Mun- 

tano. 
Your  trusty  and  most  valiant  servitor, 
With  his  free  duty  recommends  you  thus, 
And  prays  you  to  believe  him. 
Duke. 
Tis  certain  then  for  Cyprus. — 
Marcus  Luccicos,  is  not  he  in  town  ? 
First  Senator. 
He's  now  in  Florence. 

Duke. 
Write  from  us  to  him ;  post,  post-haste  dis- 
patch. 

First  Senator. 
Here  comes  Brabantio,  and  the  valiant  Moor. 

Enter  Brabantio,  Othello,  lago,  Roderigo,  and 
Officers. 
Duke. 

Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. — 
I  did  not  see  you ;  welcome,  gentle  signior  ; 

[To  Brabantio. 

We  lack'd  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Brabantio. 

So  did  1  yours.    Good  your  grace,  pardon  me ; 

Neither  my  place,  nor  aught  I  heard  of  business, 

Hath  raised  me  from  my  bed;  nor  doth  the 

general  care 
Take  hold  of  me,  for  my  particular  grief 
Is  of  so  flood-gate  and  o'er-bearing  nature, 
That  it  engluts  and  swallows  other  sorrows, 
And  it  is  still  itself. 

Duke. 
Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Brabantio. 
My  daughter  I  O,  my  daughter  I 
Senators. 

Dead? 
Brabantio. 

Ay,  tome; 
She  is  abus'd,  stol'n  from  me,  and  corrupted 
By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks; 
For  nature  so  preposterously  to  err, 
(Being  not  deficient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense) 
Sans  witchcraft  could  not. 
Duke. 
Whoe'er  he  be  that,  in  this  foul  proceeding, 
Hath  thus  beguil'd  your  daughter  of  herself, 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter, 
After  your  own  sense ;  yea,  though  our  proper 
Stood  in  your  action.  [son 

Brabantio. 
Humbly  I  thank  your  grace. 
Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor ;  whom  now,  it  seems, 
Your  special  mandate,  for  the  state  affairs, 
Hath  hither  brought. 


Duke  and  Senators. 

We  are  very  sorry  for  it. 
Duke. 
What,  in  your  own  part,  can  you  say  to  thi»  ? 
{to  Othello. 
Brabantio. 
Nothing,  but  this  is  so. 

Othello. 
Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiori, 
My  very  noble  and  approv'd  good  masters. 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter. 
It  is  most  true;  true,  1  have  married  her: 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent,  no  more.    Rude  am  I  in  my 

speech, 
And  little  bless 'd  with  the  set  phrase  of  peace ; 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years' 

pith, 
Till  now,  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have 

us'd 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field  ; 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  1  speak, 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle ; 
And,  therefore,  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause, 
In  speaking  for  myself.    Yet,  by  your  gracious 

patience, 
I  will  a  round  unvarnish'd  tale  deliver 
Of  my  whole  course  of  love ;  what  drugs,  what 

charm  8, 
What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic, 
(For  such  proceeding  I  am  charg'd  withal) 
I  won  his  daughter. 

Brabantio. 
A  maiden  never  bold  ; 
Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blush'd  at  herself;  and  she, —  in  spite  of  nature, 
Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing, — 
To  fall  in  love  with  what  she  fear'd  to  look  on  ? 
It  is  a  judgment  maim'd,  and  most  imperfect, 
That  will  confess  perfection  so  could  err 
Against  all  rules  of  nature ;  and  must  be  driven 
To  find  out  practices  of  cunning  hell, 
Why  this  should  be.    I,  therefore,  vouch  again. 
That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o'er  the 

blood, 
Or  with  some  dram  conjur'd  to  this  effect, 
He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke. 

To  vouch  this  is  no  proof: 
Without  more  certain  and  more  overt  test, 
These  are  thin  habits,  and  poor  likelihoods 
Of  moderu  seeming,  you  prefer  against  him. 

First  Senator. 
But,  Othello,  speak : 
Did  you  by  indirect  and  forced  courses 
Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid's  affections ; 
Or  came  it  by  request,  and  such  fair  que.-tion 
As  soul  to  soul  affordeth  ? 
Othello. 

I  do  beseech  you, 
Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary, 
And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father : 
If  you  do  find  me  foul  in  her  report. 
The  trust,  the  office,  I  do  hold  of  you, 
Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

Duke. 

Fetch  Desdemona  hither. 
Othello. 
Ancient,  conduct  them ;  you  best  know  th« 

place [Exeunt  lago  and  Attendants. 

And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 

I  do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood, 

So  justly  to  your  grave  cars  I'll  p-esent 

How 


986 


OTHELLO, 


Act  j.  Sc.  in. 


How  1  did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady's  love, 
And  she  in  mine. 

Duke. 
Say  it,  Othello. 

Othello. 
Her  father  lov'd  me ;  oft  invited  me  ; 
Still  question'd  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year ;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I  have  pass'd. 

1  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 
To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it : 
Wherein  I  spake  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood,  and  field  ; 
Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i'  th'  imminent  deadly 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe,        [breach  ; 
And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence, 
And  portance  in  my  travel's  history : 
Wherein  of  antres  vast,  and  deserts  idle, 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads 

touch  heaven, 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  such  was  the  process  ; 
And  of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.   This  to  hear, 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline:     [thence  ; 
But    still    the    house  affairs  would  draw  her 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse.    Which  1  observing, 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour ;  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 
Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 
But  not  intentively:  1  did  consent ; 
And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 
When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke, 
That  my  youth  suffer'd.     My  story  being  done, 
She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs : 
She  swore,  —  in  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing 

strange ; 
'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 
She  wish'd  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  wish'd 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man :  she 

thank'd  me  ; 
And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  lov'd  her, 
I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 
And  that  would  woo  her.    Upon  this  hint  I 

spake  : 
She  lov'd  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd, 
And  I  lov'd  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 
This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  us'd : 
Here  comes  the  lady  ;  let  her  witness  it. 

Enter  Desdemona,  lago,  and  Attendants. 
Duke. 

I  think,  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter  too. 
Good  Brabantio, 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best : 
Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use, 
Than  their  bare  hands. 

Brabantio. 
I  pray  you,  hear  her  speak : 
If  she  confess  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 
Destruction  on  my  head,  if  my  bad  blame 
Light  on  the  man Come  hither,  gentle  mis- 
tress : 
Do  you  perceive  in  all  this  noble  company, 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience  ? 
Desdemona. 

My  noble  father, 
I  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty. 
To  you,  I  am  bound  for  life,  and  education  : 
My  life,  and  education,  both  do  learn  me 
How  to  respect  you ;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty  ; 
I  am  hitherto  your  daughter:  but  here's  my 
husband ; 


And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  show'd 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father, 
So  much  I  challenge  that  I  may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor,  my  lord. 

Brabantio. 

God  be  with  you  !  —  I  have  done 

Please  it  your  grace,  on  to  the  state  affairs : 

I  had  rather  to  adopt  a  child,  than  get  it 

Come  hither,  Moor : 

I  here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart, 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
I  would  keep  from  thee.  — For  your  sake,  jewel, 
I  am  glad  at  soul  I  have  no  other  child, 
For  thy  escape  would  teach  me  tyranny, 
To  hang  clogs  on  them. — I  have  done,  my  lord. 
Duke. 
Let  me  speak  like  yourself;  and  lay  a  sen- 
tence, 
Which,  as  a  grise,  or  step,  may  help  these  lovers 
Into  your  favour. 

When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended 
By  seeing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  de- 
pended. 
To  mourn  a  mischief  that  is  past  and  gone 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  more  mischief  on. 
What  cannot  be  prcserv'd  when  fortune  takes, 
Patience  her  injury  a  mockery  makes,  [the  thief : 
The  robb'd,  that  smiles,  steals  something  from 
He  robs  himself,  that  spends  a  bootless  grief. 
Brabantio. 
So  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile : 
We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we  can  smile. 
He  bears  the  sentence  well,  that  nothing  bears 
But  the  free  comfort  which   from  thence  he 

hears  ; 
Rut  he  bears  both  the  sentence  and  the  sorrow, 
That,  to  pay  grief,  must  of  poor  patience  bor- 
These  sentences,  to  sugar,  or  to  gall,         [row. 
Being  strong  on  both  sides,  are  equivocal : 
But  words  are  words  ;  I  never  yet  did  hear, 
That  the  bruis'd  heart  was  pierced  through  the 
Beseech  you,  now  to  the  affairs  of  state.      [ear. 
Duke. 
The  Turk  with  a  most  mighty  preparation 
makes  for  Cyprus.  —  Othello,  the  fortitude  of  the 
place  is  best  known  to  you ;  and  though  we 
have  there  a  substitute  of  most  allowed  suffi- 
ciency, yet  opinion,  a  sovereign    mistress   of 
effects,  throws  a  more  safer  voice  on  you  :  you 
must,  therefore,  be  content  to  slubber  the  gloss 
of  your  new  fortunes  with  this  more  stubborn 
and  boisterous  expedition. 
Othello. 
The  tyrant  custom,  most  grave  senators, 
Hath  made  the  flinty  and  steel  couch  of  war 
My  thrice-driven  bed  of  down :  I  do  agnize 
A  natural  and  prompt  alacrity, 
I  find  in  hardness  ;  and  do  undertake 
These  present  wars  against  the  Ottomites. 
Most  humbly,  therefore,  bending  to  your  state, 
I  crave  fit  disposition  for  my  wife  ; 
Due  reference  of  place,  and  exhibition, 
With  such  accommodation,  and  besort, 
As  levels  with  her  breeding. 
Duke. 

If  you  please, 
Be't  at  her  father's. 

Brabantio. 
I'll  not  have  it  so. 
Othello. 
Nor  I.  „     , 

Desdemona. 
Nor  I  ;  I  would  not  there  reside, 
To  put  my  father  in  impatient  thoughts, 

Br 


Act  i.  5c.  in. 


1  III-:  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


9*7 


By  being  in  his  eye.    Moit  gracious  duke. 
To  my  unfolding  lend  your  prosperous  ear: 
And  let  me  tind  a  charter  in  your  voice, 
T*  assist  my  simpleness. 

Duke. 

What  would  you,  Desdemona  t 
Desdemona. 

That  I  did  lore  the  Moor  to  live  with  him. 
My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortunes 
May  trumpet  to  the  world  :  my  heart's  subdued 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord  : 
1  saw  Othello'*  visage  in  his  mind  ; 
And  to  his  honours,  and  his  valiant  parts, 
Did  I  my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate. 
So  that,  dear  lords,  if  I  be  left  behind, 
A  m<th  of  peace,  nnd  he  go  to  the  war, 
The  rites  for  which  I  love  him  are  bereft  me, 
And  I  a  heavy  interim  shall  support 
By  his  dear  absence.    Let  me  go  with  him. 

Othello. 

Your  voices,  lords :  'beseech  you,  let  her  will 
Have  a  free  way. 

Vouch  with  me,  heaven,  I  therefore  beg  it  not, 
To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite  ; 
Nor  to  comply  with  heat  (the  young  affects, 
In  me  defunct)  and  proper  satisfaction  ; 
But  to  be  free  and  bounteous  to  her  mind  : 
And  heaven  defend  your  good  souls,  that  you 

think 
I  will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant, 
For  she  is  with  me.    No,  when  light-wing'd  toys 
Of  feather'd  Cupid  foil  with  wanton  dulness 
My  speculative  and  active  instruments, 
That  my  disports  corrupt  and  taint  my  business, 
Let  housewives  make  a  skillet  of  my  helm, 
And  all  indign  and  base  adversities 
Make  head  against  ray  reputation  1 
Duke. 
Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine, 
Either  for  her  stay,  or  going.     Th'  affair  cries 

haste, 
And  speed  must  answer  it :  you  must  hence  to- 
night 

Desdemona. 
To-night,  my  lord  ? 

Duke. 
This  night. 
Othello. 

With  all  my  heart. 
Duk«. 
At  nine  i'  the  morning  here  we'll  meet  again. 
Othello,  leave  some  officer  behind. 
And  he  shall  our  commission  bring  to  you; 
With  such  things  else  of  quality  and  respect, 
As  doth  import  you. 

Othello. 
Please  your  grace,  my  ancient ; 
A  man  he  is  of  honesty,  and  trust : 
To  his  conveyance  I  assign  my  wife, 
With  what  else  needful  your  good  grace  shall 
To  be  sent  after  me.  [think 

Duke. 

Let  it  be  so 

Good  night  to  every  one.  — And,  noble  signior, 
[To  Brabantio. 
If  virtue  no  delighted  beauty  lack, 
Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black. 
First  Senator. 
Adieu,  brave  Moorl  use  Desdemona  well. 

Brabantio. 
Ixx>k  to  her.  Moor,  if  thou  hast  eyes  to  see: 
She  has  deceiv'd  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

[Kxeunt  Duke,  Senators,  Officers,  Ac. 


Othello. 

My  life  upon  her  faith.  —  Honest  Iago, 
My  ))es(temona  must  I  leave  to  thee : 
I  pr'ythee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her. 
And  bring  her  after  in  the  best  advantage. — 
Come,  Desdemona  ;  I  have  but  an  hour 
Of  love,  of  worldly  matters  and  direction, 
To  spend  with  thee :  we  must  obey  the  time. 

[Exeunt  Othello  ana  Desdemona. 
Boderigo. 

logo. 

Iago. 

What  say'st  thou,  noble  heart  ? 
Boderigo. 

What  will  I  do,  thinkest  thou? 
Iago. 

Why,  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 
Boderigo. 

I  will  incontinently  drown  myself. 
Iago. 

Well,  if  thou  dost,  I  shall  never  love  thee 
after  it.    Why,  thou  silly  gentleman  ! 
Boderigo. 

It  is  silliness  to  live,  when  to  live  is  a  torment ; 
and  then  have  we  a  prescription  to  die,  when 
death  is  our  physician. 

Iago. 

O  villainous  !  I  have  looked  upon  the  world 
for  four  times  seven  years,  and  since  I  could 
distinguish  betwixt  a  benefit  and  an  injury,  I 
never  found  a  man  that  knew  how  to  love  him- 
self. Ere  I  would  say,  1  would  drown  myself 
for  the  love  of  a  Guinea-hen,  I  would  change 
my  humanity  with  a  baboon. 
Boderigo. 

What  should  I  do  ?  I  confess,  it  is  my  shame 
to  be  so  fond ;  but  it  is  not  in  my  virtue  to 
amend  it. 

Iago. 

Virtue  ?  a  fig !  'tis  in  ourselves  that  we  are 
thus,  or  thus.  Our  bodies  are  gardens,  to  the 
wiiich,  our  wills  are  gardeners;  so  that  if  we 
will  plant  nettles,  or  sow  lettuce;  set  hyssop, 
and  weed  up  thyme  ;  supply  it  with  one  gender 
of  herbs,  or  distract  it  with  many ;  either  to  have 
it  steril  with  idleness,  or  manured  with  industry; 
why,  the  power  and  corrigible  authority  of  this 
lies  in  our  wills.  If  the  balance  of  our  lives  had 
not  one  scale  of  reason  to  poise  another  of 
sensuality,  the  blood  and  baseness  of  our  natures 
would  conduct  us  to  most  preposterous  con- 
clusions :  but  we  have  reason  to  cool  our  raging 
motions,  our  carnal  stings,  our  unbitted  lusts, 
whereof  I  take  this,  that  you  call  —  love,  to  be  a 
sect,  or  scion. 

Boderigo. 

It  cannot  be. 

Iago. 

It  is  merely  a  lust  of  the  blood,  and  a  per- 
mission of  the  will.  Come,  be  a  man :  drown 
thyself?  drown  cats,  and  blind  puppies.  I  pro- 
fess me  thy  friend,  and  I  confess  me  knit  to  thy 
deserving  with  cables  of  perdurable  toughness ; 
1  could  never  better  stead  thee  than  now.  Put 
money  in  thy  purse  ;  follow  these  wars  ;  defeat 
thy  favour  with  an  usurped  beard  ;  I  say,  put 
money  in  thy  purse.  It  cannot  be,  that  Desde- 
mono  should  long  continue  her  love  to  the  Moor, 
—  put  money  in  thy  purse ;  — nor  he  his  to  her: 
it  was  a  violent  commencement,  and  thou  shalt 
see  an  answerable  sequestration ; — put  but  money 
in  thy  purse.— These  Moors  are  changeable  in 
their  wills;— fill  thy  purse  with  money:  the 
food  that  to  him  now  is  as  luscious  as  locusts. 

shall 


9*8 


OTHELLO, 


Act  i.  Sc.  ut 


shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as  coloquintida.  | 
She  must  change  for  youth  :  when  she  is  sated  : 
with  his  body,  she  will  find  the  error  of  her  j 
choice.— She  must  have  change,  shemust:  there- 

fore,  put  money  in  thy  purse If  thou  wilt  needs  i 

damn  thyself,  do  it  a  more  delicate  way  than  | 
drowning.  Make  all  the  money  thou  canst.  If 
sanctimony  and  a  frail  vow,  betwixt  an  erring 
barbarian  and  a  supersubtle  Venetian,  be  not 
too  hard  for  my  wits,  and  all  the  tribe  of  hell, 
thou  shalt  enjoy  her ;  therefore  make  money. 
A  pox  of  drowning  thyself  I  it  is  clean  out  of 
the  way :  seek  thou  rather  to  be  hanged  in  com- 
passing thy  joy,  than  to  be  drowned  and  go 
without  her. 

Roderigo. 
Wilt  thou  be  fast  to  my  hopes,  if  I  depend  on 
the  issue  ? 

Iago. 
Thou  art  sure  of  me.  —  Go,  make  money.  —  I 
have  told  thee  often,  and  I  re-tell  thee  again  and 
again,  I  hate  the  Moor :  my  cause  is  hearted  ; 
thine  hath  no  less  reason.  Let  us  be  conjunctive 
in  our  revenge  against  him  :  if  thou  canst 
cuckold  him,  thou  dost  thyself  a  pleasure,  me 
a  sport.  There  are  many  events  in  the  womb  of 
time,  which  will  be  delivered.  Traverse  ;  go ; 
provide  thy  money.  We  will  have  more  of  this 
to-morrow.    Adieu. 

Roderigo. 
Where  shall  we  meet  i'  the  morning  ? 

Iago. 
At  my  lodging. 

Roderigo. 
I'll  be  with  thee  betimes. 
Iago. 
Goto;  farewell.    Do  you  hear,  Roderigo  T 

Roderigo. 
What  say  you? 

Iago. 
No  more  of  drowning,  do  you  hear. 

Roderigo. 
I  am  changed.    I'll  sell  all  my  land. 

Iago. 
Go  to  :  farewell :  put  money  enough  in  your 

?urse.  lExif  liodehgo. 

'hus  do  I  ever  make  my  fool  my  purse ; 
For  I  mine  own  gain'd  knowledge  should  profane, 
If  I  would  time  expend  with  such  a  snipe, 
But  for  my  sport  and  profit.     I  hate  the  Moor ; 
And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  'twixt  my  sheets 
He  has  done  my  office.    I  know  not  if 't  be  true ; 
Yet  I,  for  mere  suspicion  in  that  kind, 
Will  do  as  if  for  surety.    He  holds  me  well ; 
The  better  shall  my  purpose  work  on  him. 
Cassia's  a  proper  man :  let  me  see  now  ; 
To  get  his  place,  and  to  plume  up  my  will ; 
In  double  knavery, — How,  how  ? — Let's  see:  — 
After  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello1*  ear, 
That  he  is  too  familiar  with  his  wife : 
He  hath  a  person,  and  a  smooth  dispose, 
To  be  suspected ;  fram'd  to  make  women  false. 
The  Moor  is  of  a  free  and  open  nature, 
That  thinks  men  honest,  that  but  seem  to  be  so, 
And  will  as  tenderly  be  led  by  the  nose, 
As  asses  are — 

I  have't; — it  is  engender'd : — hell  and  night 
Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world's 
light.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    A  Sea-port  Town  iu  Cyprus.    A 

Platform. 

Enter  Montano  and  Two  Gentlemen. 
Montano. 
'VX/'HAT  from  the  cape  cau  you  discern  at  sea  ? 
TT  First  Gentleman. 

Nothing  at  all :  it  is  a  high-wrought  flood  ; 
I  cannot,  'twixt  the  heaven  and  the  main, 
Descry  a  sail. 

Montano. 
Methinlss,  the  wind  hath  spoke  aloud  at  land  ; 
A  fuller  blast  ne'er  shook  our  battlements  : 
If  it  hath  ruffian 'd  so  upon  the  sea, 
What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them, 
Can  hold  the  mortise  ?  what  shall  we  hear  of 
this? 

Second  Gentleman. 
A  segregation  of  the  Turkish  fleet : 
For  do  but  stand  upon  the  foaming  shore, 
The  chidden  billow  seems  to  pelt  the  clouds, 
The  wind-shak'd  surge,  with  high  and  mon- 
strous mane, 
Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  bear, 
And  quench  the  guards  of  th'  ever-fixed  pole: 
I  never  did  like  molestation  view 
On  the  enchafed  flood. 

Montano. 

If  that  the  Turkish  fleet 
Be  not  inshelter'd  and embay'd, they  aredrown'd; 
It  is  impossible  to  bear  it  out. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

Third  Gentleman. 

News,  lads !  our  wars  are  done. 

The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  bang'd  the  Turks, 

That  their  designment  halts :  a  noble  ship  of 

Venice 
Hath  seen  a  grievous  wreck  and  sufferance 
On  most  part  of  their  fleet. 
Montana. 
How !  is  this  true  ? 

Third  Gentleman. 

The  ship  is  here  put  in  : 
A  Veronese,  Michael  Cassio, 
Lieutenant  to  the  warlike  Moor,  Othello, 
Is  come  on  shore :  the  Moor  himself's  at  sea, 
And  is  in  full  commission  here  for  Cyprus. 
Montano. 
I  am  glad  on't ;  'tis  a  worthy  governor. 

Third  Gentleman. 
But  this  same  Cassio,  though  he  speak    5f 
comfort, 
Touching  the  Turkish  loss,  yet  he  looks  sadly, 
And  prays  the  Moor  be  safe ;  tor  they  were  parted 
With  foul  and  violent  tempest. 
Montano. 

Pray  heaven  he  be ; 
For  I  have  serv'd  him,  and  the  man  commands 
Like  a  full  soldier.    Let's  to  the  sea-side,  ho  I 
As  well  to  see  the  vessel  that's  come  in, 
As  to  throw  out  our  eyes  for  brave  Othello, 
Even  till  we  make  the  main,  and  th'  aerial  blu* 
An  indistinct  regard. 

Third  Gentleman. 

Come,  let's  do  so 
For  every  minute  is  expectancy 
Of  more  arrivance. 

Enter  Cassio 

Cassio. 

Thanks  you,  the  valiant  of  the  warlike  isle. 

That 


*  'TIEIElLEd  0>. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  L 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


9*9 


That  to  approve  the  Moor —  O  !  let  the  heavens 
Give  him  defence  against  the  element*. 
For  1  hare  lost  him  on  a  dangerous  sea. 
MonUno. 

Ii  he  well  shlpp'd  ? 

Casslo. 

His  bark  Is  stoutly  timber'd.  and  his  pilot 
Of  very  expert  and  approv'd  allowance; 
Therefore  my  hopes,  not  surfeited  to  death, 
Stand  in  bold  cure. 

[Within.]  A  sail,  a  sail, a  saill 


Enter  a  Messenger. 
Casslo. 


What  noise? 


Messenger. 


The  town  is  empty ;  on  the  brow  o'  the  sea 
Stand  ranks  of  people,  and  they  cry,  •'  a  sail." 
Casslo. 
My  hopes  do  shape  him  for  the  governor. 

[Guns  heard. 

Second  Gentleman. 
They  do  discharge  their  shot  of  courtesy: 
Our  friends,  at  least. 

Cassio. 

I  pray  vou,  sir,  go  forth, 
And  give  us  truth  who  'tis  that  is  arriv'd. 
Second  Gentleman. 

1  shall.  [R*l»- 

Montano. 
But,  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wiv'd? 

Casslo. 
Most  fortunately :  he  hath  achiev'd  a  maid, 
That  paragons  description,  and  wild  fame ; 
One  that  excels  the  quirks  of  blazoning  pens, 
And  in  th'  essential  vesture  of  creation, 
Does  bear  all  excellency.— How  now?  who  has 
put  in? 

H.'-enter  Second  Gentleman, 
Seoaad  Gentleman. 
'Tis  one  logo,  ancient  to  the  general. 

Casslo. 
He  has  had  most  favourable  and  happy  speed: 
Tempests  themselves,  high  seas,  and  howling 

winds. 
The  gutter'd  rocks,  and  congregated  sands, 
Traitors  ensteep'd  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel, 
As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 
Their  mortal  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdemona. 

Mont.ia... 

What  is  she? 
Osjsjsj. 
She  that  I  spake  of,  our  great  captain's  captain. 
Left  in  the  conduct  of  the  bold  Iago  ; 
Whose  footing  here  anticipates  our  thoughts, 
A  se'nnight's  speed.— Great  Juve !  Othello  guard. 
And  swell  his  sail  with  thine  own  powerful 

breath, 
That  he  may  bless  this  bay  with  his  tall  ship, 
Make  love's  quick  pants  in  Desdemona't  arms, 
Give  renew 'd  fire  to  our  extincted  spirits, 
And  bring  all  Cyprus  comfort— O,  behold  ! 

Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  logo,  Roderigo, 
and  Attendants. 
The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore. 
Ye  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees — 
Hail  to  thee,  lady  1  and  the  grace  of  heaven, 
Before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 
En  wheel  thee  round ! 


I  thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 
What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord  ? 
Casslo. 
He  Is  not  yet  arriv'd:  nor  know  1  aught 
But  that  he's  well,  and  will  be  shortly  here. 

Desdemona. 
I     O I  but  I  fear.— How  lost  you  company  ? 
Cassio. 
The  great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies 
Parted  our  fellowship. 

[Within.]   A  sail,  a  sail! 
But,  hark !  a  sail.  [Guns  heard. 

Second  Gentleman. 
They  give  their  greeting  to  the  citadel : 
This  likewise  is  a  friend. 

Cassio. 

See  for  the  news.— 
[Exit  Gentleman. 
Good  ancient,    you  are  welcome — Welcome, 
mistress —  [To  Emilia. 

Let  it  not  gall  your  patience,  good  Togo, 
That  I  extend  my  manners :  'tis  my  breeding 
That  gives  me  this  bold  show  of  courtesy. 

[Kissing  her. 
Ugo. 
Sir,  would  she  give  you  so  much  of  her  lips, 
As  of  her  tongue  she  oft  bestows  on  me, 
You'd  have  enough. 

Desdemona. 

Alas  !  she  has  no  speech. 

Ugo. 
In  faith,  too  much  ; 
I  find  it  still,  when  I  have  leave  to  sleep : 
Marry,  before  your  ladyship,  1  grant, 
She  puts  her  tongue  a  little  in  her  heart, 
And  chides  with  thinking. 
Emilia. 
You  have  little  cause  to  say  so. 

Iago. 
Come  on,  come  on ;  you  are  pictures  out  of 
doors, 
Bells  in  your  parlours,  wild  cats  in  your  kitchens, 
;  Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  offended, 
i  Players  in  your  housewifery,  and  housewives  In 
your  beds. 

Desdemona. 
|      O,  fie  upon  thee,  slanderer  I 
Iago. 
Nay,  It  is  true,  or  else  I  am  a  Turk : 
You  rise  to  play,  and  go  to  bed  to  work. 
Emilia. 
You  shall  not  write  my  praise. 
Ugo. 

No,  let  me  not. 
Desdemona. 
What  would'st  thou  write  of  me,  If  thou 
should'st  praise  me  ? 
Ugo. 
O,  gentle  lady,  do  not  put  me  to't, 
For  1  am  nothing,  if  not  critical. 
Desdemona. 
Come  on  ;  assay.  —  There's  one  gone  to  the 
harbour  ? 

Iago. 
Ay,  madam. 

Desdemona. 
I  am  not  merry ;  but  I  do  beguile 
The  thing  I  am,  by  seeming  otherwise.—. 
Come ;  how  would'st  thou  praise  me  ? 


99° 


OTHELLO, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


lago. 

I  am  about  it,  but,  indeed,  my  invention 
Comes  from  my  pate,  as  birdlime  does  from  frize, 
It  plucks  out  brains  and  all ;   but  my  muse 
And  thus  she  is  deliver'd.  [labours, 

If  she  be  fair  and  wise,— fairness,  and  wit, 
The  one's  for  use,  the  other  useth  it. 
Desdemona. 
Well  prais'd  !  How,  if  she  be  black  and  witty  ? 

Iago. 
If  she  be  black,  and  thereto  have  a  wit, 
She'll  find  a  white  that  shall  her  blackness  lit. 
Desdemona. 
Worse  and  worse. 

Emilia. 
How,  if  fair  and  foolish  ? 
Iago. 
She  never  yet  was  foolish  that  was  fair  ; 
For  even  her  folly  help'd  her  to  an  heir. 
Desdemona. 
These  are  old  fond  paradoxes,  to  make  fools 
laugh  i'  the  alehouse.     What  miserable  praise 
hast  thou  for  her  that's  foul  and  foolish  ? 
Iago. 
There's  none  so  foul,  and  foolish  thereunto, 
But  does  foul  pranks  which  fair  and  wise  ones  do. 
Desdemona. 
O  heavy  ignorance  !  thou  praisest  the  worst 
best.     But  what  praise  could'st  thou  bestow  on 
a  deserving  woman  indeed?  one  that,  in  the 
authority  of  her  merit,  did  justly  put  on  the 
vouch  of  very  malice  itself  ? 
Iago. 
She  that  was  ever  fair,  and  never  proud  ; 
Had  tongue  at  will,  and  yet  was  never  loud ; 
Never  lack'd  gold,  and  yet  went  never  gay ; 
Fled  from  her  wish,  and  yet  said,— "now  I  may ; " 
She  that,  being  anger'd,  her  revenge  being  nigh, 
Bade  her  wrong  stay,  and  her  displeasure  fly ; 
She  that  in  wisdom  never  was  so  frail, 
To  change  the  cod's  head  for  the  salmon's  tail ; 
She  that  could  think,  and  ne'er  disclose  her  mind, 
See  suitors  following,  and  not  look  behind  ; 
She  was  a  wight,— if  ever  such  wight  were,— 
Desdemona. 
To  do  what? 

Iago. 
To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small  beer. 

Desdemona. 
O,  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  ! — Do 
not  learn  of  him,  Emilia,  though  he  be  thy  hus- 
band.—How  say  you,  Cassio  f  is  he  not  a  most 
profane  and  liberal  counsellor  ? 
Cassio. 
He  speaks  home,  madam :  you  may  relish  him 
more  in  the  soldier,  than  in  the  scholar. 

Iago.  [Aside. 

He  takes  her  by  the  palm:  ay,  well  said, 
whisper:  with  as  little  a  web  as  this,  will  I 
ensnare  as  great  a  fly  as  Cassio.  Ay,  smile  upon 
her,  do  ;  I  will  gyve  thee  in  thine  own  courtship. 
You  say  true ;  'tis  so,  indeed :  if  such  tricks  as 
these  strip  you  out  of  your  lieutenantry,  it  had 
been  better  you  had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers 
so  oft,  which  now  again  you  are  most  apt  to 
play  the  sir  in.  Very  good  ;  well  kissed !  an 
excellent  courtesy  1  'tis  so  indeed.  Yet  again 
your  fingers  to  your  lips?  would,  they  were 
clyster-pipes  for  your  sake.— [A  trumpet  heard .] 
The  Moor  !  I  know  his  trumpet. 
Cassio. 
'Tis  truly  so. 


Desdemona. 
Let's  meet  him.  and  receive  him- 

Cassio. 
Lo,  where  he  comes  ! 

Enter  Othello,  and  Attendants. 
Othello. 
O,  my  fair  warrior  ! 

Desdemona. 

My  dear  Othello! 
Othello. 
It  gives  me  wonder  great  as  my  content, 
To  see  you  here  before  me.     O,  my  soul's  joy  ! 
If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms,  [death  ; 
May  the  winds  blow,  till  they  have  waken'd 
And  let  the  labouring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas, 
Olt/mpus.h\gh,  and  duck  again  as  low 
As  hell's  from  heaven  !     If  it  were  now  to  die, 
'Twere  now  to  be  most  happy ;  for,  1  fear, 
My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute. 
That  not  another  comfort  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 

Desdemona. 

The  heavens  forbid, 
But  that  our  loves  and  comforts  should  increase, 
Even  as  our  days  do  grow  ! 
Othello. 
Amen  to  that,  sweet  powers  ! — 
I  cannot  speak  enough  of  this  content ; 
It  stops  me  here ;  it  is  too  much  of  joy : 
And  this,  and  this,  the  greatest  discords  be, 

[Kissing  her. 
That  e'er  our  hearts  shall  make  I 

Iago.  [Aside. 

O  !  you  are  well  tun'd  now  ; 
But  I'll  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music, 
As  honest  as  I  am. 

Othello. 

Come,  let  us  to  the  castle. — 
News,  friends;  our  wars  are  done,  the  Turks 

are  drown'd. 
How  does  my  old  acquaintance  of  this  isle  ?— 
Honey,  you  shall  be  well  desir'd  in  Cyprus, 
I  have  found  great  love  amongst  them.     O  my 
I  prattle  out  of  fashion,  and  I  dote  [sweet, 

In  mine  own  comforts.  —  I  pr'ythee,  good  Iago, 
Go  to  the  bay,  and  disembark  my  coffers. 
Bring  thou  the  master  to  the  citadel : 
He  is  a  good  one,  and  his  worthiness 
Does  challenge  much  respect.  —  Come,  Desdc- 
Once  more  well  met  at  Cyprus.  [niona, 

[Exeunt  Othello,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 

Iago. 
Do  thou  meet  me  presently  at  the  harbour. — 
Come  hither.— If  thou  be'st  valiant— as  they 
say  base  men,  being  in  love,  have  then  a  nobility 
in  their  natures  more  than  is  native  to  them,— 
list  me.  The  lieutenant  to-night  watches  on 
the  court  of  guard.  —  First,  I  must  tell  thee  this 
—Desdemona  is  directly  in  love  with  him. 

Roderigo. 
With  him  !  why,  'tis  not  possible. 

Iago. 
Lay  thy  finger— thus,  and  let  thy  soul  be  in- 
structed. Mark  me  with  what  violence  she  first 
loved  the  Moor,  but  for  bragging,  and  telling 
her  fantastical  lies  ;  and  will  she  love  him  still 
for  prating?  let  not  thy  discreet  heart  think  it. 
Her  eye  must  be  fed;  and  what  delight  shall 
she  have  to  look  on  the  devil  ?  When  the  blood 
is  made  dull  with  the  act  of  sport,  there  should 
be,— again  to  inflame  it,  and  to  give  satiety  a 
fresh  appetite,— loveliness  in  favour,  sympathy 

in 


Act  ii.   Sc.  in. 


Till:  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


99* 


la  years,  manners,  and  beauties  ;  all  which  the 
Moor  is  defective  in.  Now,  for  want  of  these 
required  conveniences,  her  delicate  tenderness 
will  find  itself  abused,  begin  to  heave  the  gorge, 
disrelish  and  abhor  the  Moor;  very  nature  will 
instruct  her  in  it,  and  compel  her  to  some  second 
choice.  Nor,  sir,  this  granted,  (as  it  is  a  most 
pregnant  and  unforced  position)  who  stands  so 
eminently  in  the  degree  of  this  fortune,  as  Cassio 
does?  a  knave  very  voluble;  no  farther  con- 
scionable,  than  in  putting  on  the  mere  form  of 
civil  and  humane  seemiug,  for  the  belter  coin- 
passing  of  his  salt  and  most  hidden  loose  affec- 
tion ?  why,  none  ;  why,  none :  a  subtle  slippery 
knave ;  a  finder  out  of  occasions  ;  that  has  an 
eye  can  stamp  and  counterfeit  advantages,  though 
true  advantage  never  present  itself:  a  devilish 
knave  !  besides,  the  knave  is  handsome,  young, 
and  hath  all  those  requisites  in  him,  that  folly 
and  green  minds  look  after ;  a  pestilent  complete 
knave,  and  the  woman  hath  found  him  already. 
Roderlgo. 

I  cannot  believe  that  in  her:  she  is  full  of 
most  blessed  condition. 

lago. 

Blessed  fig's  end  1  the  wine  she  drinks  is  made 
of  grapes :  if  she  had  been  blessed,  she  would 
never  nave  loved  the  Moor :  bless'd  pudding  ! 
Didst  thou  not  see  her  paddle  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand  ?  didst  not  mark  that  ? 
Roderlgo. 

Yes,  that  I  did ;  but  that  was  but  courtesy, 
lago. 

Lechery,  by  this  hand ;  an  index,  and  obscure 
prologue  to  the  history  of  lust  and  foul  thoughts. 
They  met  so  near  with  their  lips,  that  their 
breaths  embraced  together.  Villainous  thoughts, 
Roderigo!  when  these  mutualities  so  marshal 
the  way,  hard  at  hand  comes  the  master  and 
main  exercise,  the  incorporate  conclusion.  Pish  ! 
— But,  sir,  be  you  ruled  by  me :  I  have  brought 
you  from  Venice.  Watch  you  to-night ;  for  the 
command,  I'll  lay't  upon  you :  Cassio  knows  you 
not:— I'll  not  be  far  from  you:  do  you  find  some 
occasion  to  anger  Cassio,  either  by  speaking  too 
loud,  or  tainting  his  discipline ;  or  from  what 
other  course  you  please,  which  the  time  shall 
more  favourably  minister. 

Roderlgo, 

Well. 

Iago. 

Sir,  he  is  rash,  and  very  sudden  in  choler.and, 
haply,  with  his  truncheon  may  strike  at  you : 
provoke  him,  that  he  may ;  for  even  out  of  that 
will  I  cause  these  of  Cyprus  to  mutiny,  whose 
qualification  shall  come  into  no  true  taste  again, 
but  by  the  displanting  of  Cassio.  So  shall  you 
have  a  shorter  journey  to  your  desires,  by  the 
means  I  shall  then  have  to  prefer  them  ;  and  the 
impediment  most  profitably  removed,  without 
the  which  there  were  no  expectation  of  our 
prosperity. 

Roderigo. 

I  will  do  this,  if  you  can  bring  it  to  any  oppor- 

Iago. 

I  warrant  thee.  Meet  me  by  and  by  at  the 
citadel:  I  must  fetch  his  necessaries  ashore. 
Farewell. 

Roderigo. 
Adieu.  [Exit. 

Iago. 

That  Cassio  loves  her,  I  do  well  believe  it : 

That  she  loves  him,  'tis  apt,  and  of  great  credit : 

The  Moor  — howbeit  that  I  endure  him  not,— 


Is  of  a  constant,  loving,  noble  nature; 
And,  I  dare  think,  he'll  prove  to  Desdemona 
A  most  dear  husband.     Now,  I  do  love  her  too ; 
Not  out  of  absolute  lust,  (though,  neradventure, 
I  stand  accountant  for  as  great  a  sin) 
But  partly  led  to  diet  my  revenge, 
For  that  1  do  suspect  the  lustful  Moor 
Hath  leap'd  into  my  seat ;  the  thought  whereof 
Doth  like  a  poisonous  mineral  gnaw  my  inwards, 
And  nothing  can,  or  shall,  content  my  soul, 
Till  I  am  even'd  with  him,  wife  for  wife; 
Or,  failing  so,  yet  that  I  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong  [do, — 

That  judgment  cannot  cure.    Which  thing  to 
If  this  poor  trash  of  Venice,  whom  I  trace 
For  his  quick  hunting,  stand  the  putting  on, — 
I'll  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip  ; 
Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  rank  garb, — 
For  1  fear  Cassio  with  my  night-cap  too ; — 
Make  the  Moor  thank  me,  love  me,  and  reward 
For  making  him  egregiously  an  ass,  [me, 

And  practising  upon  his  peace  and  quiet. 
Even  to  madness.    'Tis  here,  but  yet  confus'd  : 
Knavery's  plain  face  is  never  seen,  till  us'd. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    A  Street. 

Enter  a  Herald,  with  a  Proclamation  ;  PeopU 
following. 

Herald. 
It  is  Othello's  pleasure,  our  noble  and  valiant 
general,  that  upon  certain  tidings  now  arrived, 
importing  the  mere  perdition  of  the  Turkish 
fleet,  every  man  put  himself  into  triumph ;  some 
to  dance,  some  to  make  bonfires,  each  man  to 
what  sport  and  revels  his  addiction  leads  him  ; 
for,  besides  these  beneficial  news,  it  is  the 
celebration  of  his  nuptials.  So  much  was  his 
pleasure  should  be  proclaimed.  All  offices  are 
open ;  and  there  is  full  liberty  of  feasting,  from 
this  present  hour  of  five,  till  the  bell  hath  told 
eleven.  Heaven  bless  the  isle  of  Cyprus,  and 
our  noble  general,  Othello!  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Hall  in  the  Castle, 

Enter  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Othello. 
Good  Michael  look  yon  to  the  guard  to-night: 
Let's  teach  ourselves  that  honourable  stop, 
Not  to  out-sport  discretion. 
Cassio. 
Iago  hath  direction  what  to  do  ; 
But,  notwithstanding,  with  my  personal  eye 
Will  I  look  to't. 

Othello. 
Iago  is  most  honest,    [earliest, 
Michael,    good-night ;    to-morrow,    with    your 
Let  me  have  speech  with  you.  —  Come,  my  "dear 

love: 
The  purchase  made,  the  fruits  are  to  ensue ; 

LTo  Desdemona. 

That  profit's  yet  to  come  'twixt  me  and  you 

Good  night. 

[Exeunt  Othello,  Desdemona    and  Attend- 
ants. 

Enter  lago. 
Cassio. 
Welcome,  Iago :  we  must  to  the  watch. 

Iago. 
Not  this  hour,  lieutenant;   'tis  not  yet  ten 
o'clock.     Our  general  cast  us  thus  early  for  the 
love  of  his  Desdemona,  whom  let  us  not  there 

re- 


99* 


OTHELLO, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


j  fore  blame:  he  hath  not  yet  made  wanton  the 
night  with  her,  and  she  is  sport  for  Jove. 
Gusto. 
She's  a  most  exquisite  lady. 

lago. 
And,  I'll  warrant  her,  full  of  game. 

Cassio. 
Indeed,  she  is  a  most  fresh  and  delicate  crea- 
ture. 

Iago. 
What  an  eye  she  has !  methinks  it  sounds  a 
parley  to  provocation. 

Cassio. 
An  inviting  eye;   and   yet   methinks    right 
modest. 

Iago. 
And,  when  she  speaks,  is  it  not  an  alarum  to 
love? 

Cassio. 
She  is,  indeed,  perfection. 
Iago. 
Well,  happiness  to  their  sheets  !    Come,  lieu- 
tenant, I  have  a  stoop  of  wine ;  and  here  without 
are  a  brace  of  Cyprus  gallants,  that  would  fain 
have  a  measure   to   the   health  of  the  black 
Othello. 

Cassio. 

Not  to-night,  good  Iago.    I  have  very  poor 

and  unhappy  brains  for  drinking :  I  could  well 

wish  courtesy  would  invent  some  other  custom 

of  entertainment. 

Iago. 
O !  they  are  our  friends  ;  but  one  cup :   I'll 
drink  for  you. 

Cassio. 
I  have  drunk  but  one  cup  to-night,  and  that 
was  craftily  qualified  too,  and,  behold,  what  in- 
novation it  makes  here.  I  am  unfortunate  in 
the  infirmity,  and  dare  not  task  my  weakness 
with  any  more. 

Iago. 
What,  man !  'tis  anight  of  revels:  the  gallants 


•       Montano. 

Good  faith,  a  little  one  ;  not  past  a  pint,  as  I 
am  a  soldier. 


Some  wine,  ho  I 


Iago. 


desire  it. 
Where  are  they  ? 


Cassio. 
Iago. 


Here  at  the  door ;  I  pray  you,  call  them  in. 

Cassio. 
I'll  do't,  but  it  dislikes  me.  [Exit  Catsio. 

Iago. 
If  I  can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him, 
With  that  which  he  hath  drunk  to-night  already,  j 
He'll  be  as  full  of  quarrel  and  offence 
As  my  young  mistress'  dog.  Now,  my  sick  fool,  j 

Roderigo, 
Whom  love  has  turn'd  almost  the  wrong  side  > 

outward, 
To  Desdemona  hath  to-night  carous'd 
Potations  pottle  deep  ;  and  he's  to  watch. 
Three  lads  of  Cyprus, — noble,  swelling  spirits, 
That  hold  their  honours  in  a  wary  distance, 
The  very  elements  of  this  warlike  isle, — 
Have  I  to-night  fluster'd  with  flowing  cups, 
And  they  watch  too.    Now,  'mongst  this  flock 

of  drunkards, 
Am  I  to  put  our  Cassio  in  some  action 
That  may  offend  the  isle.  —  But  here  they  come. 
If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream, 
My  boat  sails  freely,  both  with  wind  and  stream. 

Re-enter  Cassio,  with  him  Montano,  and 
Gentlemen. 

Cassio. 
Fore  heaven,  they  have  given  me  a  rouse 
already. 


And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink;  [Singf. 
And  let  me  the  canakin  clink  : 
A  soldier's  a  man  ; 
A  life's  but  a  span  ; 
Why  then  let  a  soldier  drink. 
Some  wine,  boys  !  [Wine  brought  in. 

Cassio. 
'Fore  heaven,  an  excellent  song. 

Iago. 

I  learned  it  in  England,  where  (indeed)  they 
are  most  potent  in  potting ;  your  Dane,  your 
German,  and  your  s wag-bellied  Hollander, — 
Drink,  ho ! — are  nothing  to  your  English. 

Cassio. 

Is  your  Englishman  so  exquisite  in  his  drink- 
ing? 

Iago. 

Why,  he  drinks  you,  with  facility,  your  Dane 
dead  drunk  ;  he  sweats  not  to  overthrow  your 
Almain  ;  he  gives  your  Hollander  a  vomit,  ere 
the  next  pottle  can  be  filled. 

Cassio. 

To  the  health  of  our  general. 

Montano. 
I  am  for  it,  lieutenant ;  and  I'll  do  you  jus- 
tice. 

Iago. 
O  sweet  England! 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer. 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown  ; 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 

With  that  he  call'd  the  tailor — town. 
He  was  a  wight  of  high  renown, 

And  thou  art  but  of  low  degree  : 
"Pis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down, 
Then  take  thine  auld  cloak  about  thee. 
Some  wine,  ho  ! 

Cassio. 
Why,  this  is  a  more  exquisite  song  than  the 
other. 

Iago. 
Will  you  hear  it  again  ? 

Cassio. 

No ;  for  I  hold  him  to  be  unworthy  of  his 

place,  that  does  those  things.— Well,  heaven's 

above  all ;  and  there  be  souls  must  be  saved, 

and  there  be  souls  must  not  be  saved. 

Iago. 
It  is  true,  good  lieutenant. 

Cassio. 
For  mine  own  part,— no  offence  to  the  general, 
nor  any  man  of  quality, —  I  hope  to  be  saved. 

Iago. 
And  so  do  I  too,  lieutenant. 

Cassio. 

Ay ;  but,  by  your  leave,  not  before  me :  the 
lieutenant  is  to  be  saved  before  the  ancient. 
Let's  have  no  more  of  this  ;  let's  to  our  affairs. 
—  Forgive  us  our  sins  ! — Gentlemen,  let's  look 
to  our  business.  Do  not  think,  gentlemen,  1  am 
drunk :  this  is  my  ancient ;— this  is  my  right 
hand,  and  this  is  my  left  hand.— I  am  not  drunk 
now  ;  I  can  stand  well  enough,  and  speak  well 
enough. 

Ait. 

Excellent  well. 

Cassio. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


993 


Why,  very  well,  then  ;  you  mutt  not  think, 
then,  that  1  am  drunk.  [Exit. 

Montano. 
To  the  platform,  matters :  come,  left  tet  the 
watch. 

I  ago. 
You  tee  thit  fellow,  that  it  gone  before : 
He  it  a  toldier,  fit  to  stand  by  Casar 
And  give  direction  ;  and  do  but  tee  hit  vice. 
'Tit  to  hit  virtue  a  just  equinox. 
The  one  at  long  as  th'  other  :  'tit  pity  of  him. 
I  fear,  the  trust  Othello  puts  him  in, 
On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 
Will  shake  thit  island. 

Montano. 

But  is  he  often  thus  ? 

lagp. 
'Tis  evermore  the  prologue  to  his  sleep  : 
He'll  watch  the  horologe  a  double  set, 
If  drink  rock  not  his  cradle. 

Montano. 

It  were  well, 
The  general  were  put  In  mind  of  it. 
Perhaps,  he  sees  it  not ;  or  his  good  nature 
Prizes  the  virtue  that  appears  in  Cassia, 
And  looks  not  on  his  evils.    Is  not  this  true  ? 

Enter  Roderigo, 
I  ago. 
How  now,  Roderfgo  f  [Atlde  to  him. 

I  pray  you,  after  the  lieutenant ;  go. 

[Exit  Roderigo. 
Montano. 
And  'tit  great  pity,  that  the  noble  Moor 
Should  hazard  such  a  place  as  his  own  second, 
With  one  of  an  ingraft  infirmity : 
It  were  an  honest  action  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor. 

Not^or  this  fair  island : 
I  do  love  Cassio  well,  and  would  do  much 
To  cure  him  of  this  evil.   But  hark  !  what  noise  ? 

[Cry  within,— Help!  Help! 

Re  enter  Castio,  driving  in  Roderigo. 

You  rogue  !  you  rascal  1 ' 


W 


Montano. 
hat's  the  i 


e  matter,  lieutenant  ? 


.  ,  Cassio. 

A  knave ! — teach  me  my  duty  ? 
I'll  beat  the  knave  into  a  wicker  bottle. 

_     ,        ,  Roderigo. 

Beat  me  1 

_         Cassio. 

Dost  thou  prate,  rogue  ? 

[Striking  Roderigo. 
Montano. 

Nay,  good  lieutenant ; 

•  ....  .  [Staving  him. 

I  pray  you,  sir,  hold  your  hand. 

Cassio. 

^ Let  me  go,  sir, 

Or  I'll  knock  you  o'er  the  mazzard. 

Montano. 

Come,  come  ;  you're  drunk. 

Cassio. 

[They  fight. 
Iago. 


Drunk ! 


Away,   I  say!  [Aside  to  Roderigo,!  go  out, 
and  cry  _  aWlny.  r  v  r\  ^ndgriga. 

Nay,  good  lieutenant,  —  alas,  gentlemen  !  — 


'Zounds ! 
death. 


Help,     hot—  Lieutenant,—  sir,—  Montano, — 

sir;  — 
Help,  masters  I— Here's  a  goodly  watch,  Indeed  ! 
r  Bell  ringt. 
Who't  that  that  ringt  the  bell  ?  —  Diablo,  ho ! 
The  town  will  rise :  God't   will  1    lieutenant, 
You  will  be  tham'd  for  ever.  [hold .' 

Enter  Othello,  ar>d  Attendants. 

Othello. 

What  is  the  matter  here  ? 

Montano. 
bleed  still:  I  am  hurt  to  the 
[He  faints. 
Othello. 
Hold,  for  your  lives  ! 

Iago. 
Hold,   hold,   lieutenant  1  —  sir,    Montano,  — 

gentlemen  I  — 
Have  you  forgot  all  sense  of  place  and  duty  ? 
Hold,  hold  I  the  general  speaks  to  you :  hold,  for 

shame  1 

Othello. 
Why,  how  now,  ho !   from  whence  ariseth 

this? 
Are  we  turn'd  Turks,  and  to  ourselves  do  that, 
Which  heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites  ? 
For  Christian  shame,  put  by  this   barbarous 

brawl : 
He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage, 

Holds  his  soul  light ;  he  dies  upon  his  motion. 

Silence  that  dreadful  bell  !  it  frights  the  isle 
From  her   propriety.  —  What   is   the   matter, 

masters?— 
Honest  logo,  that  look'st  dead  with  grieving, 
Speak,  who  began  this  ?  on  thy  love,  1  charge 

thee. 

I  do  not  know :  —  friends  all  but  now,  even 
now 
In  quarter,  and  in  terms  like  bride  and  groom 
Divesting  them  for  bed  ;  and  then,  but  now, 
(As  if  some  planet  had  unwitted  men) 
Swords  out,  and  tilting  one  at  other's  breast, 
In  opposition  bloody.     I  cannot  speak 
Any  beginning  to  this  peevish  odds  ; 
And  would  in  action  glorious  I  had  lost 
Those  legs,  that  brought  me  to  a  part  of  it. 

Othello. 
How  came  it,  Michael,  you  were  thus  forgot  ? 

Cassio. 

I  pray  you,  pardon  me ;  I  cannot  speak. 

Othello. 
Worthy  Montano,  you  were  wont  be  civil ; 
The  gravity  and  stillness  of  your  youth 
The  world  hath  noted,  and  your  name  is  great 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure:  what's  the  matter, 
That  you  unlace  your  reputation  thus, 
And  spend  your  rich  opinion,  for  the  name 
Of  a  night-brawler  ?  give  me  answer  to  it. 

Montano. 
Worthy  Othello,  I  am  hurt  to  danger : 
Your  officer,  logo,  can  inform  you,     [fends  me. 
While  1  spare  speech,  which  something  now  of- 
Of  all  that  1  do  know  ;  nor  know  I  aught 
By  me  that's  said  or  done  amiss  this  night, 
Unless  self-charity  be  sometime  a  vice, 
And  to  defend  ourselves  it  be  a  sin, 
When  violence  assails  us. 

Othello. 

Now,  by  heaven, 
My  blood  begins  my  safer  guides  to  rule  ; 
And  passion,  having  my  best  judgment  col  lied, 
Assays  to  lead  the  way.     If  I  once  stir, 

3  s  Or 


99+ 


OTHELLO, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


Or  do  but  lift  this  arm,  the  best  of  you 
Shall  sink  in  my  rebuke.    Give  me  to  know 
How  this  foul  rout  began,  who  set  it  on  ; 
And  he  that  is  approv'd  in  this  offence, 
Though  he  hadtwinn'd  with  me,  both  at  a  birth, 
Shall  lose  me.  —  What !  in  a  town  of  war, 
Yet  wild,  the  people's  hearts  brimful  of  fear, 
To  manage  private  and  domestic  quarrel, 
In  night,  and  on  the  court  and  guard  of  safety  ! 
'Tis  monstrous.  —  Iago,  who  began  it  ? 

Montano. 
If  partially  affin'd,  or  leagu'd  in  office, 
Thou  dost  deliver  more  or  less  than  truth, 
Thou  art  no  soldier. 

Iago. 

Touch  me  not  so  near. 
I  had  rather  have  this  tongue  cut  from  my 

mouth 
Than  it  should  do  offence  to  Michael  Cass  to  ; 
Yet,  I  persuade  myself,  to  speak  the  truth 
Shall  nothing  wrong  him.— Thus  it  is,  general 
Montano  and  myself  being  in  speech, 
There  comes  a  fellow,  crying  out  for  help, 
And  Cassio  following  him  with  determin'd  sword 
To  execute  upon  him.    Sir,  this  gentleman 
Steps  in  to  Cassio,  and  entreats  his  pause : 
Myself  the  crying  fellow  did  pursue, 
Lest  by  his  clamour  (as  it  so  fell  out) 
The  town  might  fall  in  fright :  he,  swift  Of  foot, 
Outran  my  purpose  ;  and  I  return'd,  the  rather 
For  that  I  heard  the  clink  and  fall  of  swords, 
And  Cassio  high  in  oath,  which  till  to-night 
I  ne'er  might  sav  before.    When  1  came  back, 
(For  this  was  brief)   I  found  them  close  to- 
gether, 
At  blow  and  thrust,  even  as  again  they  were, 
When  you  yourself  did  part  them. 
More  of  this  matter  can  I  not  report :  — 
But  men  are  men  ;  the  best  sometimes  forget  :— 
Though  Cassio-  did  some  little  wrong  to  him, 
As  men  in  rage  strike  those  that  wish  them  best, 
Yet,  surely,  Cassio,  I  believe,  received 
From  him  that  fled  some  strange  indignity, 
Which  patience  could  not  pass. 

Othello. 

I  know,  Iago, 
Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter, 
Making  it  light  to  Cassio. —  Cassio,  I  love  thee ; 
But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine 

Enter  Desdemona,  attended. 
Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  rais'd  up  !  — 
I'll  make  thee  an  example. 

Desdemona. 

What's  the  matter  ? 
Othello. 

All's  well  now,  sweeting;  come  away  to  bed 

Sir,  for  your  hurts,  myself  will  be  your  surgeon 

Lead  him  off.  —  [  Montano  is  Ted  off. 

Iago,  look  with  care  about  the  town,  [tracted.— 
And  silence  those  whom  this  vile  brawl  dis- 
Come,  Desdemona;  'tis  the  soldiers'  life, 
To  have  their  balmy  slumbers  wak'd  with  strife. 
[Exeunt  all  but  Iago  and  Cassio. 
Iago. 
What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant  ? 

Cassio. 
Ay,  past  all  surgery. 

Iago. 
Marry,  heaven  forbid ! 

Cassio. 
Reputation,    reputation,    reputation !    O  !    I 
have  lost  my  reputation.     I  have  lost  the  im- 
mortal part  of  myself,  and  what  remains  is  bes- 
tial. —  My  reputation,  Iago,  my  reputation  ! 


Iago. 


As  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  thought  you  had 
received  some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more 
offence  in  that,  than  in  reputation.  Reputation 
is  an  idle  and  most  false  imposition  ;  oft  got 
without  merit,  and  lost  without  deserving  :  you 
have  lost  no  reputation  at  all,  unless  you  repute 
yourself  such  a  loser.  What,  man !  there  are 
ways  to  recover  the  general  again  :  you  are  but 
now  cast  in  his  mood,  a  punishment  more 
policy  than  in  malice ;  even  so  as  one  would 
beat  his  offenceless  dog,  to  affright  an  imperious 
lion.  Sue  to  him  again,  and  he's  yours. 
Cassio. 

I  will  rather  sue  to  be  despised,  than  to  deceive 
so  good  a  commander,  with  so  light,  so  drunken, 
and  so  indiscreet  an  officer.  Drunk  ?  and  speak 
parrot?  and  squabble?  swagger?  swear?  and 
discourse  fustian  with  one's  own  shadow? — O 
thou  invisible  spirit  of  wine !  if  thou  hast  no 
name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee— devil 
Iago. 

What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your 
sword  ?    What  had  he  done  to  you  ? 
Cassio. 

Iago. 


I  know  not. 
Is't  possible  ? 


Cassio. 

I  remember  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing  dis- 
tinctly ;  a  quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefore.  — O 
God !  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in  their 
mouths,  to  steal  away  their  brains  !  that  we 
should,  with  joy,  revel,  pleasure,  and  applause, 
transform  ourselves  into  beasts  ! 
Iago. 

Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough:  how 
came  you  thus  recovered  ? 
Cassio. 

It  hath  pleased  the  devil,  drunkenness,  to  give 
place  to  the  devil,  wrath :  one  unperfectness 
shows  me  another,  to  make  me  frankly  despise 
myself. 

Iago. 

Come,  you  are  too  severe  a  moraler.  As  the 
time,  the  place,  and  the  condition  of  this  country 
stands,  I  could  heartily  wish  this  had  not  be- 
fallen ;  but,  since  it  is  as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your 
own  good. 

Cassia 

I  will  ask  him  for  my  place  again :  he  shall 
tell  me,  1  am  a  drunkard.  Had  1  as  many 
mouths  as  Hydra,  such  an  answer  would  stop 
them  all.  To  be  now  a  sensible  man,  by  and 
by  a  fool,  and  presently  a  beast !  O  strange  ! — 
Every  inordinate  cup  is  unblessed,  and  the  in- 
gredient is  a  devil. 

Iago. 

Come,  come ;  good  wine  is  a  good  familiar 
creature,  if  it  be  well  used :  exclaim  no  more 
against  it.  And,  good  lieutenant,  I  think,  you 
think  1  love  you. 

Cassio. 

I  have  well  approved  it,  sir.  —  I  drunk  I 
Iago. 

You,  or  any  man  living,  may  be  drunk  at  some 
time,  man.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  Our 
general's  wife  is  now  the  general:  —  I  may  say 
so  in  this  respect,  for  that  he  hath  devoted  and 
given  up  himself  to  the  contemplation,  mark, 
and  denotement  of  her  parts  and  graces :  —  con- 
fess yourself  freely  to  her ;  importune  her ;  she'll 
help  to  put  you  in  your  place  again.  She  is  of 
so  free,  so  kind,  so  apt,  so  blessed  a  disposition, 
that  she  holds  it  a  vice  in  her  goodness,  not  t;> 

do 


Act  hi.  Sc.  l 


Tin:  MOOU  (>F  VENICE. 


995 


do  more  than  she  if  requested.  This  broken 
joint  between  you  and  her  hiuband  entreat  her 
to  splintrr,  ami  my  fortune*  against  any  lay 
worth  naming,  this  crack  of  your  love  shall  grow 
stronger  than  it  was  before. 
<!o. 
You  advise  me  well. 

lago. 
I  protest,  in  the  sincerity  of  love,  and  honest 


■P 

kind. 


<  »uli 


I  think  it  freely;  and,  betimes  in  the  morning, 
I  will  beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  under, 
take  for  me.  I  am  desperate  of  my  fortunes,  if 
they  check  me  here. 

lago. 
You  are  in  the  right.    Good  night,  lieutenant 
I  must  to  the  watch. 

Good  night,  honest  lago.  [Kxit  Cassio. 

And  what's  he,  then,  that  says   I  play  the 
villain  ? 
When  this  advice  is  free  I  give,  and  honest, 
Probal  to  thinking,  and,  indeed,  the  course 
To  win  the  Moor  again  ?    For  'tis  most  easy 
The  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 
In  any  honest  suit :  she's  fram'd  as  fruitful 
As  the  free  elements.    And,  then,  for  her 
To  win  the  Moor, — were't  to  renounce  his  bap- 
All  seals  and  symbols  of  redeemed  sin, —  [tism, 
His  soul  is  so  enfetter'd  to  her  love, 
That  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list, 
Even  as  her  appetite  shall  play  the  god 
With  his  weak  function.    How  am  I,  then,  a  vil- 
To  counsel  Cassia  to  this  parallel  course,  [lain, 
Directly  to  his  good  ?    Divinity  of  hell ! 
When  devils  will  their  blackest  sins  put  on, 
They  do  suggest  at  first  with  heavenly  shows, 
As  1  do  now  ;  for  whiles  this  honest  fool 
Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  his  fortunes, 
And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 
I'll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, — 
That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body's  lust ; 
And,  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  good, 
She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor  • 
So  will  I  turn  her  virtue  into  pitch, 
And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net, 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. — How  now,  Ro- 
derigo! 

Enter  Itoderigo. 

Roderigp, 
I  do  follow  here  in  the  chase,  not  like  a  hound 
that  hunts,  but  one  that  fills  up  the  cry.  My 
money  is  almost  spent:  I  have  been  to-night 
exceedingly  well  cudgelled ;  and,  I  think,  the 
issue  will  be— I  shall  have  so  much  experience 
for  my  pains,  and  so,  with  no  money  at  all,  and 
a  little  more  wit,  return  again  to  Venice. 

lago. 
How  poor  are  they,  that  have  not  patience ! 
What  wound  did  ever  heal,  but  by  degrees  ? 
Thou  know'st,  we  work  by  wit,  and  not  by 

witchcraft; 
And  wit  depends  on  dilatory  time. 
Does't  not  go  well  ?    Cassio  hath  beaten  thee, 
And  thou    by  that  small  hurt  hast  cashier'd 

Cassio. 
Though  other  things  grow  fair  against  the  sun, 
Yet  fruits  that  blossom  first  will  first  be  ripe : 
Content  thyself  a  while.  —  By  the  mass,   'tis 

morning; 
Pleasure,  and  action,  make  the  hours  seem  short. 
Retire  thee ;  go  where  thou  art  billeted; 


Away,  I  say;  thou  shalt  know  more  hereafter: 
get  thee  gone.   M.x 
things  are  to  be  done, 


Nay,  get  thee  gone,  r  I'xit  Hudeiijio.]     Two 
•     dV 


My  wife  must  move  for  Castio  to  her  mistress; 
I'll  set  her  on: 

Myself,  the  while,  to  draw  the  Moor  apart, 
And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife — Ay,  that's  the  way : 
Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay.     [Exit. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  Cassio,  and  some  Musicians. 

Cassio. 

"JVJ  ASTERS,  play  here,  I  will  content  your 

iTi     pains : 

Something  that's  brief;  and  bid  good-morrow, 
general.  [Music. 

Enter  Clown. 
Clown. 
Why,  masters,  have  your  instruments  been  in 
Naples,  that  they  speak  i'  the  nose  thus  ? 

First  Musician. 
How,  sir,  how  ? 

Clown. 
Are  these,  I  pray  you,  called  wind  instru- 
ments ? 

First  Musician. 
Ay,  marry,  are  they,  sir. 
Clown. 
O !  thereby  hangs  a  tail. 

First  Musician. 
Whereby  hangs  a  tale,  sir  ? 

Clown. 
Marry,  sir,  by  many  a  wind  instrument  that  I 
know.  But,  masters,  here's  money  for  you ; 
and  the  general  so  likes  your  music,  that  he 
desires  you,  for  love's  sake,  to  make  no  more 
noise  with  it. 

First  Musician. 
Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 

Clown. 
If  you  have  any  music  that  may  not  be  heard, 
to't  again ;  but,  as  they  say,  to  hear  music  the 
general  does  not  greatly  care. 
First  Musician. 
We  have  none  such,  sir. 

Clown. 
Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  I'll 
away.    Go;  vanish  into  air ;  away  1 

[Exeunt  Musicians. 
Cassio. 
Dost  thou  hear,  mine  honest  friend  ? 

Clown. 
No,  I  hear  not  your  honest  friend ;  1  hear  you. 

Cassio. 
Pr'ythee,  keep  up  thy  quillets.  There's  a 
poor  piece  of  gold  for  thee.  If  the  gentle- 
woman that  attends  the  general's  wife  be  stir- 
ring, tell  her  there's  one  Cassia  entreats  her  a 
little  favour  of  speech :  wilt  thou  do  this? 

Clown. 
She  is  stirring,  sir:  if  she  will  stir  hither,  I 
shall  seem  to  notify  unto  her.  [Exit. 

Enter  lago. 

Cassio. 

Do,  good  my  friend.— In  happy  time,  lago. 

lago. 


996 


OTHELLO, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  1, 


latto. 
You  have  not  been  a-bed,  then? 

Cassio. 
Why,  no ;  the  day  had  broke 
Before  we  parted.    I  have  made  bold,  logo, 
To  send  in  to  your  wife :  my  suit  to  her 
Is,  that  she  will  to  virtuous  Desdemona 
Procure  me  some  access, 
lago. 
I'll  send  her  to  you  presently ; 
And  I'll  devise  a  mean  to  draw  the  Moor 
Out  of  the  way,  that  your  converse  and  business 
May  be  more  free.  [Exit. 

Ca«sio. 
I  humbly  thank  you  for't.    I  never  knew 
A  Florentine  more  kind  and  honest. 
Enter  Emilia. 
Emilia. 
Good  morrow,  good  lieutenant :  I  am  sorry 
For  your  displeasure;  but  all  will  soon  be  well. 
The  general,  and  his  wife,  are  talking  of  it, 
And  she  speaks  for  you  stoutly :  the  Moor  re- 
plies, 
That  he  you  hurt  Is  of  great  fame  in  Cyprus, 
And   great    affinity,    and    that   in   wholesome 

wisdom 
He  might  not  but  refuse  you ;  but,  he  protests, 

he  loves  you, 
And  needs  no  other  suitor  but  his  likings, 
To  take  the  safest  occasion  by  the  front, 
To  bring  you  in  again. 

Casslo. 

Yet,  I  beseech  you, — 
If  you  think  fit,  or  that  it  may  be  done,— 
Give  me  advantage  of  some  brief  discourse 
With  Desdemona  alone. 

Emilia. 

Pray  you,  come  in : 
1  will  bestow  you  where  you  shall  have  time 
To  speak  your  bosom  freely. 
Cassio. 

I  am  much  bound  to  you. 
[Exeftnt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  In  the  Castle. 
Enter  Othello.  Iago,  and  Gentlemen. 
Othello. 
These  letters  give,  lago,  to  the  pilot, 
And  by  him  do  my  duties  to  the  state: 
That  done,  I  will  be  walking  on  the  works ; 
Repair  there  to  me. 

lago. 
Well,  my  good  lord;  1*11  do't. 
Othello. 
This  fortification,  gentlemen,— shall  we  see't  ? 

Gentlemen. 
We  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  111.    Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Emilia. 
Desdemona. 
Be  thou  assur'd,  good  Cassio,  I  will  do 
All  my  abilities  in  thy  behalf. 
Emilia. 
Good  madam,  do:  I  know  it  grieves  my  hus- 
As  if  the  case  were  his.  [band, 

Desdemona. 
OI  that's  an  honest  fellow.— Do  not  doubt,! 
But  I  will  have  my  lord  and  you  again    [Cassio, 
As  friendly  as  you  were. 


Cassio. 

Bounteous  madam, 
Whatever  shall  become  of  Michael  Cassio, 
He's  never  any  thing  but  your  true  servant. 
Desdemona. 
O,  sir  I  1  thank  you.    You  do  love  my  lord ; 
You  have  known  him  long,  and  be  you  well 

assur'd, 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  farther  off 
Than  in  a  politic  distance. 
Cassio. 

Ay,  but,  lady, 
That  policy  may  either  last  so  long, 
Or  feed  upon  such  nice  and  waterish  diet, 
Or  breed  itself  so  out  of  circumstance, 
That,  I  being  absent,  and  my  place  supplied, 
My  general  will  forget  my  love  and  service. 
Desdemona. 
Do  not  doubt  that :  before  Emilia  here, 
I  give  thee  warrant  of  thy  place.    Assure  thee, 
If  I  do  vow  a  friendship,  I'll  perform  it 
To  the  last  article :  my  lord  shall  never  rest ; 
I'll  watch  him  tame,  and  talk  him  out  of  patience ; 
His  bed  shall  seem  a  school,  his  board  a  shrift ; 
I'll  intermingle  every  tiling  he  does 
With  Cassioys  suit.  Therefore,  be  merry,  Cassio  ; 
For  thy  solicitor  shall  rather  die, 
Than  give  thy  cause  away. 

Enter  Othello  and  lago,  at  a  distance. 
Emilia. 
Madam,  here  comes  my  lord. 

Cassio. 
Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave. 
Desdemona. 
Why,  stay,  and  hear  me  speak. 

Cassio. 
Madam,  not  now  :  I  am  very  ill  at  ease, 
Unfit  for  mine  own  purpose. 
Desdemona. 
Well,  do  your  discretion.  tKxlt  Cassio. 

lago. 
Ha!  I  like  not  that. 

Othello. 

What  dost  thou  say  ? 
lago. 
Nothing,  my  lord  :  or  if—  I  know  not  what. 

Othello. 
Was  not  that  Cassio,  parted  from  my  wife  ? 

lago. 
Cassio,  my  lord?   No,  sure;  I  cannot  think  it, 
That  be  would  steal  away  so  guilty-like, 
Seeing  you  coming. 

Othello. 
I  do  believe  'twas  he. 
Desdemona 
How,  now,  my  lord ! 
I  have  been  talking  with  a  suitor  here, 
A  man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 
Othello. 
Who  is't  you  mean  ? 

Desdemona. 
Why,  your  lieutenant  Cassio.    Good,  my  lord, 
If  I  have  any  grace,  or  power  to  move  you, 
His  present  reconciliation  take ; 
For  if  he  be  not  one  that  truly  loves  you, 
That  errs  in  ignorance,  and  not  in  cunning, 
I  have  no  judgment  in  an  honest  face. 
I  pr'ythee,  call  him  back. 

Othello. 

Went  hejience  now  ? 
Desdemona. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


997 


Desdemona. 
Ay,  sooth  ;  so  humbled. 
That  he  hath  l<ft  part  of  his  grief  with  mo, 
To  suffer  with  him.    Good  love,  call  him  back. 

Not  now,  tweet  Desdemona  ;  some  other  time. 

Ortdemona. 
But  shaH't  be  shortly? 

Othello. 

The  sooner,  sweet,  for  you. 
Desdemona. 
Shall't  be  to-night  at  supper  ? 
Othello. 

No,  not  to-night. 
Desdemona. 
To-morrow  dinner  then  ? 
OtheJ'o. 

I  shall  not  dine  at  home : 
I  meet  the  captains  at  the  citadel. 
Desdemona. 
Why  then,  to-morrow    night ;    or    Tuesday 
morn; 
On    Tuesday  noon,  or  night;    on    Wednesday 
1  pr'ythee,  name  the  time,  but  let  it  not    [morn : 
Exceed  three  days :  in  faith,  he's  penitent ; 
And  yet  his  trespass,  in  our  common  reason, 
(Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars  must  make  ex- 
Out  of  their  best)  is  not  almost  a  fault    [amples 
T'  incur  a  private  check.  When  shall  he  come? 
Tell  me,  Othello:  I  wonder  in  my  soul, 
What  you  could  ask  me  that  I  should  deny, 
Or  stand  so  mammering  on.    What!  Michael 

Cassio, 
That  came  a  wooing  with  vou,  and  so  many  a 
When  I  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly,  [time, 
Hath  ta'en  your  part,  to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  bring  him  in  1    Trust  me,  I  could  do  much, — 
Othello. 
Pr'ythee,  no  more :  let  him  come  when  he  will ; 
I  wilt  deny  thee  nothing. 

Desdemona. 

Why,  this  is  not  a  boon ; 
'Tis  as  I  should  entreat  you  wear  your  gloves, 
Or  feed  on  nourishing  dishes,  or  keep  you  warm, 
Or  sue  to  you  to  do  a  peculiar  profit 
To  your  own  person :  nay,  when  I  have  a  suit 
Wherein  I  mean  to  touch  your  love  indeed, 
It  shall  be  full  of  poize  and  difficult  weight, 
And  fearful  to  be  granted. 
Othello. 

I  will  deny  thee  nothing : 
Whereon,  1  do  beseech  thee,  grant  me  this, 
To  leave  me  but  a  little  to  myself. 
Desdemona. 
Shall  I  deny  you  ?  no.    Farewell,  my  lord. 
Othello. 
Farewell,  my  Desdemona:    I'll  come  to  thee 
straight.       ^     , 

Desdemona. 
Emilia,  come — Be  it  as  your  fancies  teach 
Whate'er  you  be,  I  am  obedient.  [you ; 

1  fExit,  with  Emilia\ 

Othello. 
Excellent  wretch  I    Perdition  catch  my  soul, 
But  I  do  love  thee,  and  when  I  love  thee  not, 
Chaos  is  come  again. 

Iago. 
My  noble  lord,— 

Otheilo. 
What  dost  thou  say,  Iago  t 


Iago. 
Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo'd  my  lady, 
Know  of  your  love? 

Othello. 
He  did,  from  first  to  last:  why  dost  thou  ask? 

Iago. 
But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought ; 
No  farther  harm. 

Othello. 

Why  of  thy  thought,  lagoT 
Iago. 
I  did  not  think,  he  had  been  acquainted  with 

her*  Othello. 

O,  yes ;  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 

Iago. 
Indeed  ? 

Othello. 

Indeed  I  ay,  indeed  :  — discern'st  thou  aught  in 

Is  he  not  honest  ?       .  [that  ? 

Iago. 

Honest,  my  lord  ? 

Othello. 

Honest  ?  ay,  honest. 
Iago. 
My  lord,  for  aught  I  know. 
Othello. 
What  dost  thou  think  ? 
Iago. 

Think,  my  lord  ? 
Othello. 

Think,  my  lord ! 
By  heaven,  he  echoes  me, 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown.  —  Thou  dost  mean 

something. 
I  heard  thee  say  but  now, —  thou  lik'dst  not  that, 
When  Cassio  left  my  wife:  what  didst  not  like  ? 
And,  when  1  told  thee,  he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  criedst, 

" Indeed  2 " 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  if  thou  then  hadst  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit.     If  thou  dost  love  me, 
Show  me  thy  thought. 

Iago. 
My  lord,  you  know  I  love  you. 
Othello. 

I  think,  thou  dost ; 
And,— for  I  know  thou  art  full  of  love  and 

honesty, 
And  weigh'st  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  them 

breath, — 
Therefore,  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the 

more; 
For  such  things,  in  a  false  disloyal  knave, 
Are  tricks  of  custom  ;  but  in  a  man  that's  just, 
They  are  close  delations,  working  from  the  heart, 
That  passion  cannot  rule. 
Iago. 

For  Michael  Cassio, 
I  dare  be  sworn,  I  think  that  he  is  honest. 
Othello. 
I  think  so  too. 

Iago. 


Men  should  be  what  they  seem  ; 
ot,  woi 

Othellc 


Or,  those  that  be  not,  would  they  might 
none  1 


n  h 

^'it- 


Certain,  men  should  be  what  they  seem. 
Why,  then,  I  think  Cassio's  an  honest 


<5th?ilo.  J 


998 


OTHELLO, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


Othello. 

Nay,  yet  there's  more  in  this. 

I  pray  thee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings. 

As  thou  dost  ruminate ;  and  give  thy  worst  of 

The  worst  of  words.  [thoughts 

lago. 

Good  my  lord,  pardon  me : 
Though  I  am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 
I  am  not  bound  to  that  all  slaves  are  free  to. 
Utter  my  thoughts  ?    Why,  say,  they  are  vile 

and  false, — 
As  where's  that  palace,  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not?  who  has  a  breast  so 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions  [pure, 

Keep  leets,  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful  ? 

Othello. 

Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  lago, 

If  thou  but  think'st  him  wrong'd,  and  mak'st 

A  stranger  to  thy  thoughts.  [his  ear 

lago. 

I  do  beseech  you,— 
Though  I,  perchance,  am  vicious  in  my  guess, 
(As,  I  confess,  it  is  my  nature's  plague 
To  spy  into  abuses,  and  oft  my  jealousy       [yet, 
Shapes  faults  that  are  not)  —  that  your  wisdom 
,  From  one  that  so  imperfectly  conceits, 
Would  take  no  notice;  nor  build  yourself  a 

trouble 
Out  of  his  scattering  and  unsure  observance. 
It  were  not  for  your  quiet,  nor  your  good, 
Nor  for  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  wisdom, 
To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 
Othello. 

What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

l*go. 
Good  name,  in  man,  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls : 
Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash  ;  'tis  some- 
thing, nothing ; 
'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thou- 
sands ; 
But  he,  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that,  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 
Othello. 
By  heaven,  I'll  know  thy  thoughts. 

lago. 
You  cannot,  if  my  heart  were  in  your  hand  ; 
Nor  shall  not,  whilst  'tis  in  my  custody. 
Othello. 
Ha! 

1.1KO. 

O  !  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy  ; 
It  is  the  green-ey'd  monster,  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  feeds  on:   that  cuckold  lives  in 

bliss, 
Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger ; 
But,  O  !  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er, 
Who  dotes,  yet  doubts  ;  suspects,  yet  strongly 
loves ! 

Othello. 
O  misery ! 

lago. 
Poor,  and  content,  is  rich,  and  rich  enough  ; 
But  riches,  tineless,  is  as  poor  as  winter, 

To  him  that  ever  fears  he  shall  be  poor 

Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy ! 

Othello. 
Why  ?  why  is  this  ? 
Think'st  thou,  I'd  make  a  life  of  jealousy, 
To  follow  still  the  changes  of  the  moon  [doubt, 
With  fresh  suspicions?     No:    to  be  once  in 


'Is  once  to  be  resolv'd.    Exchange  me  for  a  goat, 
iWhen  I  shall  turn  the  business  of  my  soul 
1  To  such  exsufHicate  and  blown  surmises, 
IMatching  thy  inference.    'Tis  not  to  make  me 
jealous,  [pany, 

To  say — my  wife  is  fair,  feeds  well,  loves  corn- 
Is  free  of  speech,  sings,  plays,  and  dances  well ; 
Where  virtue  is,  these  are  more  virtuous  : 
Nor  from  mine  own  weak  merits  will  I  draw 
The  smallest  fear,  or  doubt  of  her  revolt ; 
For  she  had  eyes,  and  chose  me:  no,  lago; 
I'll  see,  before  I  doubt ;  when  1  doubt,  prove ; 
And,  on  the  proof,  there  is  no  more  but  this, 
Away  at  once  with  love,  or  jealousy. 

lago. 
I  am  glad  of  it ;  for  now  I  shall  have  reason 
To  show  the  love  and  duty  that  I  bear  you 
With  franker  spirit:  therefore,  as  I  am  bound, 
Receive  it  from  me.    I  speak  not  yet  of  proof. 
Look  to  your  wife ;  observe  her  well  with  Cassio : 
Wear  your  eye— thus,  not  jealous,  nor  secure: 
1  would  not  have  your  free  and  noble  nature, 
Out  of  self-bounty,  be  abus'd;  look  to't 
I  know  our  country  disposition  well : 
In  Venice  they  do  let  heaven  see  the  pranks 
They  dare  not  show  their  husbands ;  their  best 

conscience 
Is,  not  to  leave't  undone,  but  keep't  unknown. 


Dost  thou  say  so  ? 

lilKO. 

She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you ; 
And,  when  she  seem'd  to  shake,  and  fear  your 
She  lov'd  them  most.  [looks, 

Othello. 

And  so  she  did. 

lago. 

Why,  go  to,  then ; 
She  that, so  3'oung,  could  give  outsuch  aseeming, 
To  seal  her  father's  eyes  up,  close  as  oak, — 
He  thought,  'twas  witchcraft.  — But  I  am  much 

to  blame ; 
I  humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardon, 
For  too  much  loving  you. 

Othello. 

I  am  bound  to  thee  for  ever. 

lago. 
I  see,  this  hath  a  little  dash'd  your  spirits. 

Othello. 
Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot. 

Trust  me,  I  fear  it  has. 
I  hope,  you  will  consider  what  is  spoke 
Comes  from  my  love. — But,  1  do  see  you  are 

mov'd :  — 
I  am  to  pray  you,  not  to  strain  my  speech 
To  grosser  issues,  nor  to  larger  reach, 
Than  to  suspicion. 

Othello. 
I  will  not. 

lago. 
Should  you  do  so,  my  lord, 
My  speech  should  fall  into  such  vile  success 
As  my  thoughts  aim  not  at.  Cassia's  my  worthy 

friend. 
My  lord,  I  see  you  are  mov'd. 
Othello. 

No,  not  much  mov'd.  — 
I  do  not  think  but  Desdemona's  honest, 
lago. 
Long  live  she  so;  and  long  live  you  to  think  so  ! 
Othello. 


Act  hi.  St:  in. 


Tin:  moor  or  vr.xici:. 


999 


Othello. 
And  yet,  how  nature  erring  from  itself,— 

Iago. 
Ay,  there's  the  point :  —  as,  —  to  be  bold  with 
Not  to  affect  many  proposed  matches,     [you, — 
Of  her  own  clime,  complexion,  and  degree, 
Wlu-reto,  we  see,  in  all  things  nature  tends. 
Fohi  en.-  ni.iy  vtu.ll  in  such  a  will  most  rank, 
Foul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural.  — 
But  pardon  me ;  I  do  not  in  position 
Distinctly  speak  of  her,  though  I  may  fear, 
Her  \%  ill,  recoiling  to  her  bettor  judgment, 
Mar  fall  to  match  you  with  her  country  forms, 
And  happily  repent. 

Othello. 
Farewell,  farewell. 
If  more  thou  dost  perceive,  let  me  know  more  j 
Set  on  thy  wife  to  observe.    Leave  me,  Iago. 

Iago. 
My  lord,  I  take  my  leave.  fJGoIng. 

Othello. 
Why  did  I  marry?— -This  honest  creature, 
doubtless, 
Sees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  he  un- 
folds. 

Iago. 
My  lord,  I  would,  I  might  entreat  your  honour 
{Returning. 
To  scan  this  thing  no  farther;  leave  it  to  time. 
Although  'tis  fit  that  Cassto  have  his  place, 
(For,  sure,  he  fills  it  up  with  great  ability) 
Yet  if  you  please  to  hold  him  off  a  while, 
You  shall  by  that  perceive  him  and  his  means : 
Note,  if  your  lady  strain  his  entertainment 
With  any  strong  or  vehement  importunity; 
Much  will  be  seen  in  that.    In  the  mean  time, 
Let  me  be  thought  too  busy  in  my  fears, 
(As  worthy  cause  I  have  to  fear  I  am) 
And  hold  her  free,  I  do  beseech  your  honour. 

Othello. 
Fear  not  my  government. 

Iago. 
I  once  more  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 

Othello. 
This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty, 
And  knows  all  qualities  with  a  learned  spirit 
Of  human  dealings :  if  I  do  prove  her  haggard, 
Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart- 
strings, 
I'd  whistle  her  off,  and  let  her  down  the  wind, 
To.prey  at  fortune.    Haply,  for  I  am  black, 
And  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
That  chamberers  have;  or,  for  I  am  declin'd 
Into  the  vale  of  years;— yet  that's  not  much:  — 
She's  gone;  I  am  abus'd;  and  my  relief 
Must  be  to  loath  her.     O  curse  of  marriage ! 
That  we  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours, 
And  not  their  appetites.   I  had  rather  be  a  toad, 
And  live  upon4he  vapour  of  a  dungeon, 
Than  keep  a  corner  In  the  thing  I  love,    [ones; 
For  others'  uses.    Yet,  'tis  the  plague  of  great 
Frerogativ'd  are  they  less  than  the  base; 
'Tis  destiny  unshunnable,  like  death : 
Even  then  this  forked  plague  is  fated  to  us, 
•  When  we  do  quicken.    Dcsdemona  comes. 

I  Knter  Detdcmima  and  Emilia. 

If  she  be  false,  O !  then  heaven  mocks  itself.— 
I'll  not  believe  it. . 

Desdemona. 
How  now,  my  dear  Othello! 
i  Your  dinner  and  the  generous  islanders, 
By  you  invited,  do  attend  your  presence. 


1  am  to  blame. 


Othello. 


Desdemona. 
Why  is  your  speech  so  faint  ?  are  you  not  well  ? 

Othello. 
I  have  a  pain  upon  my  forehead  here. 

moo*. 
Faith,  that's  with  watching ;  'twill  away  again: 
Let  me  but  bind  it  hard,  within  this  hour 
It  will  be  well. 

Othello. 
Your  napkin  is  too  little ; 

[Lets  fall  her  Napkin. 
Let  it  alone.    Come,  I'll  go  in  with  you. 
Desdemona. 
1  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  not  well. 

[Exeunt  Othello  and  Detdem  ona. 
Emilia. 
I  am  glad  I  have  found  this  napkin. 
This  was  her  first  remembrance  from  the  Moor: 
My  wayward  husband  hath  a  hundred  times 
Woo'd  me  to  steal  it ;  but  she  so  loves  the  token, 
(For  he  conjur'd  her  she  should  ever  keep  it) 
That  she  reserves  it  evermore  about  her, 
To  kiss,  and  talk  to.   I'll  have  the  work  ta'en  out. 
And  give't  Iago:  what  he  will  do  with  it, 
Heaven  knows,  not  I ; 
I  nothing,  but  to  please  his  fantasy. 
Enter  Iago. 
Iago. 
How  now  !  what  do  you  here  alone  ? 

Emilia. 
Do  not  you  chide,  I  have  a  thing  for  you. 

Iago. 
A  thing  for  me?— it  is  a  common  thing. 

Emilia. 
Ha? 

Iago. 
To  have  a  foolish  wife. 

Emilia. 
O  !  is  that  all  ?    What  will  you  give  me  now 
For  that  same  handkerchief  ? 
Iago. 

What  handkerchief? 
Emilia. 
What  handkerchief ! 
Why,  that  the  Moor  first  gave  to  Desdemona  ; 
That  which  so  often  you  did  bid  me  steal. 
Iago. 
Hast  stolen  it  from  her  ? 

Emilia. 
No,  'faith :  she  let  it  drop  by  negligence ; 
And,  to  th'  advantage,  I,  being  here,  took't  up. 
Look,  here  it  is. 

Iago. 
A  good  wench  ;  give  it  me. 
Emilia. 
What  will  you  do  with't,  that  you  have  been 
so  earnest 
To  have  me  filch  it  ? 

Iago. 

Why,  what's  that  to  you  ? 
[Snatching  it. 
Emilia. 
If  it  be  not  for  some  purpose  of  import, 
Give't  me  again :  poor  lady  1  she'll  run  mad, 
When  she  shall  lack  it. 
'  Iago. 

Be  not  acknown  on't ;  I  have  use  for  it 
Go;  leave  me.  [Exit  Emilia. 

I  will  in  Cassio's  lodging  lose  this  napkin, 

And 


IOOO 


OTHELLO, 


Act  hi.  Sc.  m. 


And  let  him  find  it:  trifles,  light  as  air, 

Are  to  the  jealous  confirmations  strong 

As  proofs  of  holy  writ.    This  may  do  something. 

The  Moor  already  changes  with  my  poison: 

Dangerous  conceits  are  in  their  natures  poisons, 

Which  at  the  first  are  scarce  found  to  distaste ; 

But  with  a  little  act  upon  the  blood, 

Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur.  — I  did  say 

80 :~        Enter  Othelio. 

Look,  where  he  comes  !    Not  poppy,  nor  man- 

dragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ow'dst  yesterday. 
Othdto. 
Ha !  ha  I  false  to  me  ?  to  me  ? 
Iago. 

Why,  how  now,  general !  no  more  of  that. 
Othello. 

Avaunt !  be  gone !  thou  hast  set  me  on  the 
1  swear,  'tis  better  to  be  much  abus'd,    [rack. — 
Than  but  to  know't  a  little. 
Iago. 

How  now,  my  lord  ! 
Othello. 
What  sense  had  I  of  her  stolen  hours  of  lust  ? 
1  saw  it  not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm'd  not  me : 
1  slept  the  next  night  well,  was  free  and  merry ; 
I  found  not  Cassio's  kisses  on  her  lips : 
He  that  is  robbed,  not  wanting  what  is  stolen, 
Let  him  not  know't,  and  he's  not  robb'd  at  all. 
Iago. 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  this. 

Othello. 
I  had  been  happy,  if  the  general  camp, 
Pioneers  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sweet  body, 
So  I  had  nothing  known.    O !  now,  for  ever, 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind ;  farewell  content ; 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars, 
That  make  ambition  virtue:  O,  farewell ! 
Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife, 
The  royal  banner,  and  all  quality, 
Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  1 
And  O  !  you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 
Th'  immortal  Jove's  dread  clamours  counterfeit, 
Farewell !  Othello's  occupation's  gone  1 
Iago. 
Is  it  possible?  — My  lord,— 

Othello. 
Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a  whore; 
Be  sure  of  it :  give  me  the  ocular  proof,  _ 

[Seizing  him  by  the  Throat. 

Or,  by  the  worth  of  mine  eternal  soul, 
Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog, 
Than  answer  my  wak'd  wrath. 
Iago. 

Is  it  come  to  this  ? 
Othello. 
Make  me  to  see't ;  or,  at  the  least,  so  prove  it, 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge,  nor  loop, 
To  hang  a  doubt  on,  or  woe  upon  thy  life  1 
Iago. 
My  noble  lord,— 

Othello. 
If  thou  dost  slander  her,  and  torture  me, 
Never  pray  more :  abandon  all  remorse; 
On  horror's  head  horrors  accumulate ; 
Do  deeds   to  make  heaven  weep,  all   earth 

amaz'd, 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add, 
Greater  than  that. 


Iago. 
O  grace !  O  heaven  defend  me  ! 

Are  you  a  man  ?  have  you  a  soul,  or  sense  ? 

God  be  wi'  you;  take  mine  office O  wretched 

fool, 
That  liv'st  to  make  thine  honesty  a  vice  !— 

0  monstrous  world  !    Take  note,  take  note,  O 
To  be  direct  and  honest,  is  not  safe [world  1 

1  thank  you  for  this  profit;  and,  from  hence, 
I'll  love  no  friend,  since  love  breeds  such  offence. 

Othello. 
Nay,  stay.—  Thou  shouldst  be  honest. 

Iago. 
I  should  be  wise;  for  honesty's  a  fool, 
And  loses  that  it  works  for. 
Othello. 

By  the  world, 
I  think  my  wife  be  honest,  and  think  she  is  not ; 
1  think  that  thou  art  just,  and  think  thou  art  not. 
I'll  have  some  proof:  her  name,  that  was  as  fresh 
As  Dian's  visage,  is  now  begrim'd  and  black 
As  mine  own  face.    If  there  be  cords,  or  knives, 
Poison,  or  fire,  or  suffocating  streams, 
I'll  not  endure  it.  — Would  I  were  satisfied  I 
Iago. 
I  see,  sir,  you  are  eaten  up  with  passion : 
I  do  repent  me  that  I  put  it  to  you. 
You  would  be  satisfied  ? 

Othello. 

Would !  nay,  I  will. 
Iago. 
And  may;  but  how  ?  how  satisfied,  my  lord  ? 
Would  you  the  supervision  grossly  gape  on  ? 
Behold  her  topp'd  ? 

Othello. 

Death  and  damnation !  O  ! 
Iago 
It  were  a  tedious  difficulty,  I  think, 
To  bring  them  to  that  prospect.    Damn  them 
If  ever  mortal  eyes  do  see  them  bolster,    [then, 
More  than  their  own  !    What  then  ?  how  then  ? 
What  shall  I  say?    Where's  satisfaction  ? 
It  is  impossible  you  should  see  this, 
Were  they  as  prime  as  goats,  as  hot  as  monkeys, 
As  salt  as  wolves  in  pride,  and  fools  as  gross 
As  ignorance  made  drunk  :  but  yet,  I  say, 
If  imputation,  and  strong  circumstances, 
Which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  truth, 
Will  give  you  satisfaction,  you  may  have  it. 
Othello. 
Give  me  a  living  reason  she's  disloyal. 

Iago. 
I  do  not  like  the  office; 
But,  sith  I  am  enter'd  in  this  cause  so  far, 
Prick 'd  to't  by  foolish  honesty  and  love, 
I  will  go  on.    I  lay  with  Cassio  lately, 
And  being  troubled  with  a  raging  tooth, 
I  could  not  sleep. 

There  are  a  kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul, 
That  in  their  sleeps  will  mutter  their  affairs : 
One  of  this  kind  is  Cassio. 
In  sleep  I  heard  him  say, — "  Sweet  Desdemona, 
Let  us  be  wary,  let  us  hide  our  loves  l" 
And  then,  sir,  would  he  gripe,  and  wring  my  hand, 
Cry, — "  O,  sweet  creature!"  and  then  kiss  me 
As  if  he  pluck'd  up  kisses  by  the  roots,      [hard, 
That  grew  upon  my  lips  :  then,  laid  his  leg 
Over  my  thigh,  and  sigh'd,  and  kiss'd ;  and  then 
Cried,  — "Cursed  fate,  that  gave  thee  to  the 
Moor  I" 

Othello. 


O  monstrous !  monstrous ! 


Iago. 


A.  i  in.  Sc.  iv. 


Till]  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


iooi 


Nay,  this  was  but  hit  dream. 
Othello. 
But  this  denoted  a  foregone  conclusion : 
'Tis  a  shrewd  doubt,  though  it  be  but  a  dream. 
Iago. 
And  this  may  help  to  thicken  other  proofs, 
That  do  demonstrate  thinly. 

Othello. 

I'll  tear  her  all  to  pieces. 
Iago. 
Nay,  but  be  wise :  yet  we  see  nothing  done; 
She  may  be  honest  yet.    Tell  me  but  this  : 
Have  you  not  sometimes  seen  a  handkerchief, 
Spotted  with  strawberries,  in  your  wife's  hand? 

Othello. 
I  gave  her  such  a  one :  'twas  my  first  gift. 

Iago. 
I  know  not  that ;  but  such  a  handkerchief, 
(I  am  sure  it  was  your  wife's)  did  I  to-day 
See  Cassio  wipe  his  beard  with. 

Othello. 

If  it  be  that,— 
Iago. 
If  it  be  that,  or  any  that  was  hers, 
It  speaks  against  her  with  the  other  proofs. 
Othello. 
O,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives  I 
One  is  too  poor,  too  weak  for  my  revenge. 
Now  do  I  see  'tis  true — Look  here,  Iago; 
All  my  fond  love  thus  do  1  blow  to  heaven  :  'tis 

gone — 
Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell  ! 
Yield  up,   O  Love  I  thy  crown,  and  hearted 

throne, 
To  tyrannous    hate  !    swell,  bosom,  with  thy 
For  'tis  of  aspics'  tongues  !  [fraught, 

Iago. 
Pray,  be  content. 

Othello. 

O,  blood,  Iago,  blood  ! 
Iago. 
Patience,  I  say ;  your  miud,  perhaps,  may 
change. 

Othello. 
Never,  Iago.    Like  to  the  Pontick  sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Proponliclc,  and  the  Hellespont : 
Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  love, 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up. — Now,  by  yond'marble  heaven, 
In  the  due  reverence  of  a  sacred  vow  [Kneeling. 
1  here  engage  my  words. 
Iago. 
Do  not  rise  yet  —    [.Kneeling. 
Witness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above  I 
You  elements  that  clip  us  round  about  1 
Witness,  that  here  Iago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart, 
To  wrong'd  Othello'*  service.     Let  him  com. 
And  to  obey  shall  be  in  me  remorse,         [mand, 
What  bloody  work  soe'er. 

Othello. 

I  greet  thy  love, 
Not  with  vain   thanks,   but   with   acceptance 

bounteous, 
Ar<l  will  upon  the  instant  put  thee  to't. 
Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say, 
That  Cassia's  not  alive. 


Iago. 
My  friend  is  dead :  'tis  done  at  your  request ; 
But  let  her  live. 

Othello. 
Damn  her,  lewd  minx  !    O.  damn  her  1 
Come,  go  with  me  apart ;  I  will  withdraw. 
To  furnish  me  with  some  swift  means  of  death 
For  the  fair  devil.  Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant. 
Iago. 
I  am  your  own  for  ever.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same. 
Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  Clown. 
Desdemona. 
Do  you  know,  sirrah,  where  the  lieutenant 
CaMiblies? 

Clown. 
I  dare  not  say,  he  lies  any  where. 

Desdemona. 
Why,  man  ? 

Clown. 
He  is  a  soldier  ;  and  for  one  to  say  a  soldier 
lies,  is  stabbing. 

Desdemona. 
Go  to.    Where  lodges  he  ? 

Clown. 
To  tell  you  where  he  lodges,  is  to  tell  you 
where  1  lie. 

Desdemona. 
Can  any  thing  be  made  of  this  ? 

Clown. 
I  know  not  where  he  lodges  ;  and  for  me  to 
devise  a  lodging,  and  say,  he  lies  here,  or  he  lies 
there,  were  to  lie  in  mine  own  throat. 
Desdemona. 
Can  you  inquire  him  out,  and  be  edified  by 
report  ? 

Clown. 
I  will  catechize  the  world  for  him  ;  that  is, 
make  questions,  and  by  them  answer. 
Desdemona. 
Seek  him ;  bid  him  come  hither :  tell  him,  I 
have  moved  my  lord  in  his  behalf,  and  hope,  ail 
will  be  well. 

Clown. 
To  do  this  is  within  the  compass  of  man's 
wit ;  and  therefore  I  will  attempt  the  doing  it. 

[Exit. 
Desdemona. 
Where    should    I    lose    that   handkerchief, 
Emilia  ? 

Emilia. 
I  know  not,  madam. 

Desdemona. 
Believe  me,  I  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  cruzadoes  ;  and  but  my  noble  Mom- 
Is  true  of  mind,  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 
Emilia. 

Is  he  not  jealous  ? 
Desdemona. 
Who  ?   he  !    I  think  the  sun,  where  he  was 
Drew  all  such  humours  from  him.  [born, 

Emilia. 

Look,  where  he  comes 

Enter  Othello. 
Desdemona. 
I  will  not  leave  him  now,  till  Cassio 
Be  call'd  to  him.— How  is't  with  you,  my  lord  ?  I 
Othello,  ' 


IOOZ 


OTHELLO, 


Act  hi.  Sc  iv. 


Othello. 

Well,  my  good  lady.—  [Aside.]   O,  hardness 

How  do  you,  Desdemona  ?       [to  dissemble  !  — 

Desdemona. 

Well,  my  good  lord. 
Othello. 
Give  me  your  hand.    This  hand  is  moist,  my 
lady. 

Desdemona. 
It  yet  has  felt  no  age,  nor  known  no  sorrow. 

Othello. 
This  argues  fruitfulness,  and  liberal  heart. 
Hot,  hot  and  moist :  this  hand  of  yours  requires 
A  sequester  from  liberty,  fasting  and  praying, 
Much  castigation,  exercise  devout ; 
For  here's  a  young  and  sweating  devil  here, 
That  commonly  rebels.    'Tis  a  good  hand ; 
A  frank  one.  „     , 

Desdemona. 
You  may,  indeed,  say  so  ; 
For  'twas  that  hand  that  gave  away  my  heart. 
Othello. 
A  liberal  hand :  the  hearts  of  old  gave  hands, 
But  our  new  heraldry  is  —  hands,  not  hearts. 
Desdemona. 
I  cannot  speak    of  this.    Come  now,  your 
promise. 

v  Othello. 

What  promise,  chuck  ? 

Desdemona. 
I  have  sent  to  bid  Cassio  come  speak  with 

y0U"  Othello: 

I  have  a  salt  and  sullen  rheum  offends  me. 
Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

Desdemona. 

Here,  my  lord. 
Othello. 
That  which  I  gave  you. 

Desdemona. 

I  have  it  not  about  me. 
Othello. 

Not? 

Desdemona. 

No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Othello, 

That  is  a  fault. 

That  handkerchief 

Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give ; 

She  was  a  charmer,  and  could  almost  read 

The  thoughts  of  people:  she  told  her,  while  she 

kept  it, 
'Twould  make  her   amiable,  and   subdue  my 
Entirely  to  her  love  ;  but  if  she  lost  it,     [father 
Or  made  a  gift  of  it,  my  father's  eye 
Should  hold  her  loathed,  and  his  spirits  should 

hunt 
After  new  fancies.    She,  dying,  gave  it  me ; 
And  bid  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  wive, 
To  give  it  her.     I  did  so ;  and  take  heed  on't : 
Make  it  a  darling  like  your  precious  eye ; 
To  lose  or  give't  away,  were  such  perdition, 
As  nothing  else  could  match. 
Desdemona. 

_  ,    ,,         Is't  possible? 
Othello. 

'Tis  true :  there's  magic  in  the  web  of  it. 
A  sibyl,  that  had  number'd  in  the  world 
The  sun  to  course  two  hundred  compasses, 
In  her  prophetic  fury  sew'd  the  work  ; 
The  worms  were  hallow'd  that  did  breed  the  silk, 
And  it  was  died  in  mummy,  which  the  skilful 
Conserv'd  of  maidens'  hearts. 


Di-sdemona. 

Indeed  !  is't  true  ? 
Othello. 
Most  veritable ;  therefore  look  to't  well. 

Desdemona. 
Then,  would  to  heaven  that  I  had  never  seen 
itl 

Othello. 
Ha !  wherefore  ? 

Desdemona. 
Why  do  you  speak  so  startingly  and  rash  ? 

Othello. 
Is't  lost  ?  is't  gone  ?  speak,  is  it  out  o'  the 
way  ? 

Desdemona. 
Heaven  bless  us ! 

Othello. 
Say  you  ? 
Desdemona. 
It  is  not  lost ;  but  what  an  if  it  were  ? 

Othello. 
How? 

Desdemona. 
I  say,  it  is  not  lost. 

Othello. 

Fetch't,  let  me  see't. 
Desdemona. 
Why,  so  I  can,  sir  ;  but  I  will  not  now. 
This  is  a  trick,  to  put  me  from  my  suit : 
I  pray,  let  Cassio  be  receiv'd  again. 
Othello. 
Fetch  me  that  handkerchief:  my  mind  mis- 
gives. 

Desdemona. 
Come,  come , 
You'll  never  meet  a  more  sufficient  man. 
Othello. 
The  handkerchief,— 

Desdemona. 

I  pray,  talk  me  of  Cassio. 
Othello. 
The  handkerchief,  - 

Desdemona. 

A  man  that,  all  his  time, 
Hath  founded  his  good  fortunes  on  your  love ; 
Shar'd  dangers  with  you;— 
Othello. 
The  handkerchief,— 

Desdemona. 
In  sooth,  you  are  to  blame. 
Othello. 
Awav !  [Kxit  Othello. 

J  Emilia. 

Is  not  this  man  jealous  ? 

Desdemona. 
I  ne'er  saw  this  before. 
Sure,  there's  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief: 
I  am  most  unhappy  in  the  loss  of  it. 
Emilia. 
'Tis  not  a  year  or  two  shows  us  a  man  : 
They  are  all  but  stomachs,  and  we  all  hut  food ; 
!  They  eat  us  hungerly,  and  when  they  are  full, 
They  belch  us. 

Enter  Jago  and  Cassio. 

Look  you  !    Cassio,  and  my  husband. 

Jago. 

There  is  no  other  way ;  'tis  she  must  do't : 

And,  lo,  the  happiness  !  go,  and  importune  her. 

T)esdemona. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  iv. 


I  Hi:  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


1003 


Desdemona. 

How  now,  good  Cassia!  what's  the  news  with 
youP 

Cass 

Madam,  my  former  suit.     I  do  beseech  you, 
That  by  your  virtuous  means  I  may  again 
Kxist,  and  be  a  member  of  his  love, 
Whom  I,  with  all  the  office  of  my  heart, 
Entirely  honour  :  I  would  not  be  delay 'd. 
If  my  offence  be  of  such  mortal  kind, 
That  nor  my  service  past,  nor  present  sorrows, 
Nor  purposed  merit  in  futurity, 
Can  ransom  me  into  his  love  again, 
But  to  know  so  must  be  my  benefit ; 
So  shall  I  clothe  me  in  a  forc'd  content, 
And  shut  myself  up  in  some  other  course, 
To  fortune's  alms. 

Desdemoua. 

Alas!  thrice-gentle  Cassio. 
My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune; 
My  lord  is  not  my  lord ;  nor  should  I  know  him, 
Were  he  in  favour,  as  in  humour,  alter'd. 
So  help  me  every  spirit  sanctified, 
As  I  have  spoken  for  you  all  my  best, 
And  stood  within  the  blank  of  his  displeasure, 
For  my  free  speech.     You  must  a  while  be 

patient : 
What  I  can  do,  I  will  ;  and  more  I  will, 
Than  for  myself  1  dare:  let  that  suffice  you. 

I  ago. 

Is  my  lord  angry  ? 

Emilia. 

He  went  hence  but  now ; 
And,  certainly,  in  strange  unquietness. 

Can  he  be  angry  ?    I  have  seen  the  cannon, 
When  it  hath  blown  his  ranks  into  the  air, 
And,  like  the  devil,  from  his  very  arm 
Puff'd  his  own  brother ;—  and  can  he  be  angry? 
Something  of  moment,  then :  I  will  go  meet  him. 
There's  matter  in't,  indeed,  if  he  be  angry. 
Desdemoua. 
I  pr'ythee,  do  so.  [Exit  Ingo.]— Something, 
sure,  of  state, — 
Either  from  Venice,  or  some  unhatch'd  practice, 
Made  demonstrable  here  in  Cyprus  to  him, — 
Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit;    and,  in  such 

cases, 
Men's  natures  wrangle  with  inferior  things, 
Though  great  ones  are  their  object.    'Tis  even 
For  let  our  finger  ache,  and  it  indues  [so ; 

Our  other  healthful  members  ev'n  to  that  sense 
Of  pain :  nay,  we  must  think,  men  are  not  gods ; 
Nor  of  them  look  for  such  observances 
As  fit  the  bridal. — Beshrew  me  much,  Emilia, 
1  was  (unhandsome  warrior  as  I  am) 
Arraigning  his  unkindness  with  my  soul; 
But  now  I  find,  I  had  suborn'd  the  witness, 
And  he's  indicted  falsely. 

Emilia. 
Pray  heaven,  it  be  state  matters,  as  you  think, 
And  no  conception,  nor  no  jealous  toy, 
Concerning  you. 

Desdemoua. 
Alas,  the  day  !    I  never  gave  him  cause. 

ilia. 
But  jealous  souls  will  not  be  answer'd  so; 
They  are  not  ever  jealous  for  the  cause, 
But  jealous  for  they  are  jealous:  'tis  a  monster, 
Begot  upon  itself,  born  on  itself. 
Desdemona. 
Heaven    keep   that   monster   from  Othello's 
mind  ! 


life. 

Lady,  amen. 

Desdemoua. 
I  will  go  seek  him — Cassio,  walk  hereabout: 
J  If  I  do  find  him  fit,  I'll  move  your  suit, 
j  And  seek  to  effect  it  to  my  uttermost. 
0. 
I  humbly  thank  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Bianca. 
Bianca. 
Save  you,  friend  Cassio! 

Cassio. 

What  make  you  from  home : 
How  is  it  with  you,  my  most  fair  Bianca  f 
V  faith,  sweet  love,  I  was  coming  to  your  house- 
Bianca. 
And  I  was  going  to  your  lodging,  Cassio. 
What  I    keep  a  week  away?    seven  days  and 

nights? 
Eight  score  eight  hours?  and  lovers'  absent 

hours, 
More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times  ? 

0  weary  reckoning  1 

Cassio. 
Pardon  me,  Bianca  ; 

1  have  this  while  with  leaden  thoughts  been 

press'd ; 
But  I  shall,  in  a  more  continuate  time, 
Strike  off  this  score  of  absence.    Sweet  Bianca, 
[Hiving  her  Desdetnona's  Handkerchief. 
Take  me  this  work  out. 

Bianca. 
O,  Cassio!  whence  came  this ? 
This  is  some  token  from  a  newer  friend : 
To  the  felt  absence,  now,  I  feel  a  cause. 
Is  it  come  to  this  ?    Well,  well. 

Cassio. 

Go  to,  woman  I 
Throw  your  vile  guesses  in  the  devil's  teeth, 
From  whence  you  have  them.    You  are  jealous 

now, 
That  this  is  from  some  mistress  some  remem- 
No,  in  good  troth,  Bianca.  [brance: 

Bianca. 

Why,  whose  is  it? 
Cassio. 
I  know  not,  sweet :  I  found  it  in  my  chamber. 
I  like  the  work  well ;  ere  it  be  demanded, 
(As  like  enough  it  will)  I'd  have  it  copied  : 
Take  it,  and  do't ;  and  leave  me  for  this  time. 
Bianca. 
Leave  you!  wherefore? 

Cassio. 
I  do  attend  here  on  the  general, 
And  think  it  no  addition,  nor  my  wish, 
To  have  him  see  me  woman'd. 
Bianca. 

Why,  I  pray  you  ? 
Cassio. 
Not  that  I  love  you  not. 
Bianea. 
But  that  you  do  not  love  me. 
I  pray  you,  bring  me  on  the  way  a  little  ; 
And  say,  if  I  shall  see  you  soon  at  night. 

ClM 

'Tis  but  a  little  way,  that  I  can  bring  you, 
For  I  attend  here ;  but  I'll  see  you  soon. 
Bianca. 
'Tis  very  good:  I  must  be  circumstane'd. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT 


xoo4 


OTHELLO, 


Act  iv.  Sc,  j. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  same. 

Enter  Othello  and  logo. 

Iago. 
TyiLL  you  think  so? 


Othello. 

Think  so,  Iago  f 
Iago. 


To  kiss  in  private  ? 


What! 


Othello. 
An  unauthoriz'd  kiss. 
Iago. 
Or  to  be  naked  with  her  friend  abed, 
An  hour,  or  more,  not  meaning  any  harm  ? 
Othello. 
Naked  abed,  Iago,  and  not  mean  harm  ? 
It  is  hypocrisy  against  the  devil : 
They  that  mean  virtuously,  and  yet  do  so, 
The  devil  their  virtue  tempts,  and  they  tempt 
heaven. 

Iago. 
If  they  do  nothing,  'tis  a  venial  slip : 
But  if  1  give  my  wife  a  handkerchief,— 
Othello. 
What  then  ? 

Iago. 
Why,  then  'tis  hers,  my  lord ;  and,  being  hers, 
She  may,  I  think,  bestow't  on  any  man. 
Othello. 
She  is  protectress  of  her  honour  too : 
May  she  give  that  ? 

Iago. 
Her  honour  is  an  essence  that's  not  seen ; 
They  have  it  very  oft,  that  have  it  not : 
But,  for  the  handkerchief,— 
Othello. 
By  heaven,  I  would  most  gladly  have  forgot  it. 
Thou  saidst,  —  O  !  it  comes  o'er  my  memory, 
As  doth  the  raven  o'er  the  infected  house, 
Boding  to  all,— he  had  my  handkerchief. 
Iago. 
Ay,  what  of  that  ? 

Othello. 

That's  not  so  good,  now. 

Iago. 
What,  if  I  had  said,  I  had  seen  him  do  you 
wrong  ? 
Or  heard  him  say, — as  knaves  be  such  abroad, 
Who  having,  by  their  own  importunate  suit, 
Or  voluutary  dotage  of  some  mistress, 
Convinced  or  supplied  them,  cannot  choose 
But  they  must  blab— 

Othello. 

Hath  he  said  any  thing? 

Iago. 
He  hath,  my  lord  ;  but  be  you  well  assur'd, 
No  more  than  he'll  unswear. 


Othello. 
Iago. 


What  hath  he  said  ? 

'Faith,  that  he  did,— ^  know  not  what  he  did. 

Othello. 
What?  what? 


Lie- 


Iago. 


Othello. 
With  her  ? 

Iago. 
With  her,  on  her  ;  what  you  will. 
Othello. 
Lie  with  her!  lie  on  her! — We  say,  lie  on 
her,  when  they  belie  her.    Lie  with  her  !  that's 
fulsome.— Handkerchief, — confessions, — hand- 
kerchief.—  To  confess,  and  be  hanged  for  his 

labour First,  to  be  hanged,  and  then  to  confess : 

— 1  tremble  at  it.  Nature  would  not  invest  her- 
self in  such  shadowing  passion,  without  some 
instruction.   It  is  not  words,  that  shake  me  thus : 

—  Pish  I  — Noses,  ears,  and  lips Is  it  possible  ? 

—  Confess !  — Handkerchief  I— O  devil  !— 

[Falls  in  a  Trance. 

Iago. 

Work  on,  [caught ; 

My  medicine,  work  !    Thus  credulous  fools  are 

And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames,  even  thus. 

All  guiltless,  meet  reproach — What,  ho!  my 

lordl 

Enter  Cassio. 
My  lord,  I  say !  Othello !  —  How  now,  Cassio! 
Cassio. 
What's  the  matter  ? 

Iago. 
My  lord  is  fallen  into  an  epilepsy: 
This  is  his  second  fit ;  he  had  one  yesterday. 
Cassio. 
Rub  him  about  the  temples. 
Iago. 

No,  forbear. 
The  lethargy  must  have  his  quiet  course, 
If  not,  he  foams  at  mouth ;  and,  by  and  by, 
Breaks  out  to  savage  madness.    Look,  he  stirs : 
Do  you  withdraw  yourself  a  little  while, 
He  will  recover  straight :  when  he  is  gone, 
1  would  on  great  occasion  speak  with  you — 

[Exit  Cassio. 
How  is  it,  general?  have  you  not  hurt  your  head? 
Othello. 
Dost  thou  mock  me  ? 

Iago. 
I  mock  you  !  no,  by  heaven, 
Would  you  would  bear  your  fortunes  like  a  man. 

Othello. 
A  horned  man's  a  monster,  and  a  beast. 

Iago. 
There's  many  a  beast,  then,  in  a  populous  city, 
And  many  a  civil  monster. 
Othello. 
Did  he  confess  it  ? 

Iago. 
Good  sir,  be  a  man  ; 
Think,  every  bearded  fellow,  that's  but  yok'd, 
May  draw  with  you :  there's  millions  now  alive, 
That  nightly  lie  in  those  unproper  beds,  [better. 
Which  they  dare  swear  peculiar :  your  case  is 
O  !  'tis  the  spite  of  hell,  the  fiend's  arch-mock, 
To  lip  a  wanton  in  a  secure  couch, 
And  to  suppose  her  chaste.    No,  let  me  know ; 
And,  knowing  what  I  am,  I  know  what  she  shall 
be. 

Othello. 
O  !  thou  art  wise ;  'tis  certain. 

Iago. 
Stand  you  awhile  apart ; 
Confine  yourself  but  in  a  patient  list. 
Whilst  you  were  here,  o'erwhelmed  with  your 
(A  passion  most  unsuiting  such  a  man)     [grief, 

Cassio 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENfCK. 


1005 


Cassia  came  hither:  I  shifted  him  away. 
Ami  laid  good  'sense  upon  your  ecstasy  ; 
Bade  him  anon  return,  and  here  speak  with  mc; 
The  which  he  promis'd.    But  encave  yourself. 
And  mark  the  fleers,  the  gibes,  ana  notable 
That  dwell  in  every  region  of  his  face ;  [scorns, 
For  I  will  make  him  tell  the  tale  anew. 
When,  how,  how  oft,  how  long  ago,  and  when 
He  hath,  and  is  again  to  cope  your  wife: 
I  say,  but  mark  his  gesture.  —  Marry,  patience ; 
Or  I  shall  say,  you  are  all  in  all  in  spleen, 
And  nothing  of  a  man. 

Othello. 

Dost  thou  hear,  lago  T 
I  will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience  ; 
But  (dost  thou  hear  ?)  most  bloody. 

lago. 

That's  not  amiss ; 
But  yet  keep  time  in  all.  Will  you  withdraw  ? 
[Othello  retires. 
Now  will  I  question  Cassio  of  Btanca, 
A  housewife,  that  by  selling  her  desires, 
Buys  herself  bread  and  clothes:  it  is  a  creature, 
That  dotes  on  Cassio,  as  'tis  the  strumpet's 

plague, 
To  beguile  many,  and  be  beguil'd  by  one. 
He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 
From  the  excess  of  laughter :— here  he  comes.  — 

Re-enter  Cassio. 

As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad; 

And  his  unbookish  jealousy  must  construe 

Poor  Cassia's  smiles,  gestures,  and  light  be- 
haviour, 

Quite  in  the  wrong.  —  How  do  you  now,  lieu- 
tenant? 

Cassio. 
The  worser,  that  you  give  me  the  addition, 
Whose  want  even  kills  me. 

lago. 
Ply  Desdemona  well,  and  you  are  sure  on't. 
Now,  if  this  suit  lay  in  Bianco"*  power, 

How  quickly  should  you  speed? 

Cassio. 

Alas,  poor  caitiff! 


Othello 
Look,  how  he  laughs  already  1 

lagp. 
a  lc 


[Aside. 


I  never  knew  woman  love  man  so. 

Cassio. 
Alas,  poor  rogue !    I  think,  i'faith,  she  loves 
me. 

Othello. 
Now  he  denies  it  faintly,  and  laughs  it  out. 

[Aside.  I 
lago 
Do  you  hear,  Cassio  r 

Othello. 

Now  he  importunes  him 
To  tell  it  o'er.    Go  to ;  well  said,  well  said. 

[Aside, 
lago. 
She  gives  it  out,  that  you  shall  marry  her : 
Do  you  intend  it? 

Sta^hal 


Othello. 
,  Roman 


?  do  you  triumph  ? 
[Aside. 


Do  you  triumph, 

I  Ml    I 

hat !  a  < 
bear  some  charity  to  my  wit ;  do  not  thin 


So,  to,  so,  so.    They  laugh  that  win.    [Aside. 

lago. 
'Faith,  the  cry  goes,  that  you  shall  marry  her. 

Cassio. 
Pr'ythee,  say  true. 

I  am  a  very  villain  eUe.' 

Othello. 
Have  you  scored  me?    Well.  [Aside. 

Cassio. 

This  is  the  monkey's  own  giving  out :  she  is 
persuaded  I  will  marry  her,  out  of  her  own  love 
and  flattery,  not  out  of  my  promise. 

Othello. 
logo  beckons  me :  now  he  begins  the  story. 

[Aside. 
Cassio. 
She  was  hero  even  now ;  she  haunts  me  in 
every  place.  I  was,  the  other  day,  talking  on 
the  sea-bank  with  certain  Venetians,  and  thither 
comes  this  bauble ;  and,  by  this  hand,  she  falls 
me  thus  about  my  neck  ;  — 

Othello. 
Crying,  O  dear  Cassio!  as  it  were :  his  gesture 
imports  it.  [Aside. 

Cassio. 
So  hangs,  and  lolls,  and  weeps  upon  me;  so 
hales,  and  pulls  me :  ha,  ha,  ha  I— 

Othello. 
Now  he  tells,  how  she  plucked  him  to  my 
chamber.     01  I  see  that  nose  of  yours,  but  not 
that  dog  I  shall  throw  it  to.  [Aside. 

Cassio. 
Well,  I  must  leave  her  company. 


here 


I  marry  her !— what !  a  customer?  I  pr'ythee, 
"ty  to  my  wit ;  do  not  think  it  "' 
unwholesome.     Ha,  ha,  ha  1 


Before  me !  look  where  she  comes. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Cassio. 

•Tis  such  another  fitchew  !  marry,  a  perfumed 
one. — W  hat  do  you  mean  by  this  haunting  of  me  ? 

Bianca. 
Let  the  devil  and  his  dam  haunt  you  !    What 
did  you  mean  by  that  same  handkerchief,  you 

fave  me  even  now  ?  I  was  a  fine  fool  to  take  it. 
must  take  out  the  work?— A  likely  piece  of 
work,  that  you  should  find  it  in  your  chamber, 
and  know  not  who  left  it  there.  This  is  some 
minx's  token,  and  I  must  take  out  the  work? 
There,  give  it  your  hobby-horse:  wheresoever 
you  had  it,  I'll  take  out  no  work  on't. 

Cassio. 

How  now,  my  sweet  Bianca!  how  now,  how 
now  I 

By  heaven,  that  should  be  my  handkerchief! 
[Aside. 
Bianca.  .  . 

An  you'll  come  to  supper  to-night,  you  may: 
an  you  will  not,  come  when  you  are  next  pre- 
pared for.  [Exit. 

After  her,  after  her. 

'Faith,  I  must;  she'll' rail  in  the  street  else. 

Will  you  sup  there  r 


so 


...  .    Cassio. 

'Faith,  I  intend  so. 


lago. 


ioo6 


OTHELLO, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  i. 


Iago. 
Well,  I  may  chance  to  see  you,  for  I  would 
very  fain  speak  with  you. 
Cassio. 
P'ry thee,  come ;  will  you? 

Iago. 
Go  to ;  say  no  more.  [Exit  Cassio. 

Othello.  [Advancing. 

How  shall  I  murder  him,  Iago? 

Iago. 
Did  you  perceive  how  he  laughed  at  his  vice? 

Othello. 
O,  Iago! 

Iago. 
And  did  you  see  the  handkerchief? 

Othello. 
Was  that  mine? 

Iago. 
Yours,  by  this  hand :  and  to  see  how  he  prizes 
the  foolish  woman  your  wife !  she  gave  it  him, 
and  he  hath  given  it  his  whore. 
Othello. 
I  would  have  him  nine  years  a  killing.— A  fine 
woman !  a  fair  woman  !  a  sweet  woman  ! 
Iago. 
Nay,  you  must  forget  that. 

Othello. 
Ay,  let  her  rot,  and  perish,  and  be  damned  to- 
night,  for  she  shall  not  live.  No,  my  heart  is 
turned  to  stone;  I  strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my 
hand.  O  !  the  world  hath  not  a  sweeter  creature: 
she  might  lie  by  an  emperor's  side,  and  command 
him  tasks. 

Iago. 
Nay,  that's  not  your  way. 
Othello. 
Hang  her!     I  do  but  say  what  she  is.  — So 
delicate  with  her  needle! — An  admirable  mu- 
sician !    O !  she  will  sing  the  savageness  out  of 
a  bear — Of  so  high  and  plenteous  wit  and  in- 
vention!— 

Iago. 
She's  the  worse  for  all  this. 

Othello. 
O !  a  thousand  thousand  times.    And  then,  of 
so  gentle  a  condition. 

Iago. 
Ay,  too  gentle. 

Othello. 
Nay,  that's  certain:— but  yet  the  pity  of  it, 
Iago!  —  O,  Iago!  the  pity  of  it,  Iago! 
Iago. 
If  you  are  so  fond  over  her  iniquity,  give  her 
patent  to  offend ;  for  if  it  touch  not  you,  it  comes 
near  nobody. 

Othello. 
I  will  chop  her  into  messes. — Cuckold  me ! 

Iago. 
O  !  'tis  foul  in  her, 

Othello. 
With  mine  officer ! 

Iago. 
That's  fouler. 

Othello. 
Get  me  some  poison,  Iago;  this  night:  —  I'll 
not  expostulate  with  her,  lest  her  body  and 
beauty  unprovide  my  mind  again — This  night, 
Iago. 

Iago. 
Do  it  not  with  poison,  strangle  her  in  her  bed, 
even  the  bed  she  hath  contaminated. 


Othello. 
Good,  good:   the  justice  of  it  pleases;  very 
good. 

And  for  Cassio,  let  me  be  his  undertaker. 
You  shall  hear  more  by  midnight. 

[A  Trumpet  within. 

Othello. 
Excellent  good — What  trumpet  is  that  same? 

Iago. 
Something  from  Venice,  sure.     'Tis  Lodovico, 
Come  from  the  duke;  and,  see,  your  wife  is 
with  him. 

Enter  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 

Lodovico. 
'Save  you,  worthy  general ! 
Othello. 

With  all  my  heart,  sir. 
Lodovico. 
The  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  greet  you. 
[Giving  him  a  Packet. 
Othello. 
I  kiss  the  instrument  of  their  pleasures. 

[Opens  the  Packet,  and  reads. 
Desdemona. 
And  what's  the  news,  good  cousin  Lodovico  ? 

Iago. 
I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  signior : 
Welcome  to  Cyprus. 

Lodovico. 
I  thank  you.    How  does  lieutenant  Cassio ■? 

Iago. 
Lives,  sir. 

Desdemona. 
Cousin,  there's  fallen  between  him  and  my  lord 
An  unkind  breach,  but  you  shall  make  all  well. 
Othello. 
Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

Desdemona. 
My  lord  ? 

Othello. 
"  This  fail  you  not  to  do,  as  you  will"— 
[[Reading. 
Lodovico. 
He  did  not  call ;  he's  busy  in  the  paper. 
Is  there  division  'twixt  my  lord  and  Cassio  f 
Desdemona. 
A  most  unhappy  one :  I  would  do  much 
To  atone  them,  for  the  love  I  bear  to  Cassio. 
Othello. 
Fire  and  brimstone ! 

Desdemona. 
My  lord? 
Othello. 

Are  you  wise  ? 
Desdemona. 
What!  is  he  angry? 

Lodovico. 
May  be,  the  letter  mov'd  him ; 
For,  as  I  think,  they  do  command  him  home, 
Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 
Desdemona. 
By  my  troth,  I  am  glad  on't. 
Othello. 

Indeed. 

Desdemona. 

My  lord  ? 
Othello. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you  mad. 

Desdemona. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  ii. 


Tin;  mook  ok  vi.Nici:. 


1007 


How,  tweet  OthcUo  t 
Othello. 
Devil!  [Striking  her. 

Desdemona. 
I  have  not  deierv'd  this. 
Lodovico. 
My  lord,  this  would  not  be  believ'd  in  Venice, 
Though  I  should  swear  1  saw  it.   'Tis  very  much; 
Make  her  amends,  she  weeps. 
Othello. 

O  devil,  devil ! 
If  that  the  earth  could  teem  with  woman's  tears, 
I-  .u'li  drop  she  falls  would  prove  a  crocodile. — 
Out  of  my  sight  1 

Desdemona. 
I  will  not  stay  to  offend  you.    [Going. 
Lode 
Truly  an  obedient  lady. — 
I  do  beseech  your  lordship,  cull  her  back. 
Othello. 
Mistress  1 

Desdemona. 
My  lord  ? 

Othello. 
What  would  you  with  her,  sir? 
Lodovico. 
Who,  I,  my  lord  ? 

Othello. 
Ay ;  you  did  wish,  that  I  would  make  her  turn  : 
Sir,  she  can  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on, 
And  turn  again ;  and  she  can  weep,  sir,  weep ; 
And  she's  obedient,  as  you  say,— obedient, — 

Very  obedient Proceed  you  in  your  tears 

Concerning  this,  sir,  — O  well-painted  passion  ! 
1  am  commanded  home. — Get  you  away; 
I'll  send  for  you  anon. — Sir,  I  obey  the  mandate, 
And  will  return  to  Venice.  —  Hence!  avaunt! 

[Exit  Desdemona. 
Cassia  shall  have  my  place.   And,— sir,  to-night, 
I  do  entreat  that  we  may  sup  together : 
You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus.—  Goats  and 
monkeys!  [Exit. 

Lodovico. 
Is  this  the  noble  Moor  whom  our  full  senate 
Call  all-in-all  sufficient  ?— This  the  noble  nature 
Whom  passion  could  not  shake  ?  whose  solid 

virtue 
The  shot  of  accident,  nor  dart  of  chance, 
Could  neither  graze,  nor  pierce  ? 
Iago. 

He  is  much  chang'd. 
Lodovico. 
Are  his  wits  safe?  is  he  not  light  of  brain  ? 

Iago. 

He's  that  he  is :  I  may  not  breathe  my  censure. 

What  he  might  be.— if,  what  he  might,  he  is 

I  would  to  heaven,  he  were.  [not,— 

Lodovico. 

What!  strike  his  wife  ? 
Iago. 
'Faith,  that  was  not  so  well ;  yet  would  I  knew, 
That  stroke  would  prove  the  worst. 
Lodovico. 

Is  It  his  use? 
Or  did  the  letters  work  upon  his  blood, 
And  new-create  this  fault  ? 
Iago. 

Alas,  alas ! 
It  is  not  honesty  in  me,  to  speak 


Wl1.1t  I  have  seen  and  known.  You  shall  observe 
And  his  own  courses  will  denote  him  so,    [him; 
That  I  may  save  my  speech.    Do  but  go  after, 
And  mark  now  he  continues, 
vico. 
I  am  sorry,  that  I  am  decelv'd  in  him. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    A  Room  In  the  Castle. 
Enter  Othello  and  Emilia. 
Othello. 
You  have  seen  nothing  then  ? 

Emilia. 
Nor  ever  heard ;  nor  ever  did  suspect. 

Othello. 
Yes,  you  have  seen  Cassio  and  her  together. 

Emilia. 

But  then  I  saw  no  harm ;  and  then  I  heard 

Each  syllable  that  breath  made  up  between  them. 

Othello. 
What !  did  they  never  whisper  ? 

Emilia. 

Never,  my  lord. 
Othello. 
Nor  send  you  out  o*  the  way  ? 

Emilia. 

Never. 
Othello. 
To  fetch  her  fan,  her  gloves,  her  mask,  nor 
nothing  ? 

Emilia. 
Never,  my  lord. 

Othello. 
That's  strange. 
Emilia. 
I  durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest, 
Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake :  if  you  think  other, 
Remove  your  thought ;  it  doth  abuse  your  bosom. 
If  any  wretch  have  put  this  in  your  head, 
Let  heaven  requite  it  with  the  serpent's  curse, 
For  if  she  be  not  honest,  chaste,  and  true. 
There's  no  man  happy ;  the  purest  of  their  wives 
Is  foul  as  slander. 

Othello. 

Bid  her  come  hither:— go.— 
[Exit  Emilia. 
She  says  enough ;  — yet  she's  a  simple  bawd, 
That  cannot  say  as  much.     This  is  a  subtle 

whore, 
A  closet-lock-and-key  of  villainous  secrets : 
And  yet  she'll  kneel,  and  pray ;  I  have  seen  her 
do't. 

Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Desdemona. 

Desdemona. 
My  lord,  what  is  your  will  ? 

Othello. 
Pray,  chuck,  come  hither. 
Desdemona. 
What  is  your  pleasure  ? 

Othello. 

Let  me  see  your  eyes : 
Look  in  my  face. 

Desdemona. 
What  horrible  fancy's  this  ? 
Othello. 
Some  of  your  function,  mistress  ;  [To  Emilia, 
Leave  procreants  alone,  and  shut  the  door ; 

Cough, 


ioo8 


OTHELLO, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  u. 


Cough,  or  cry  hem,  if  any  body  come : 
Your  mystery,  your  mystery  ;  —  nay,  despatch. 
[Exit  Emilia. 
Desdemona. 
"   Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  im- 
I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words,  [port  ? 

But  not  the  words. 

Othello. 

Why,  what  art  thou  ? 

Desdemona. 

Your  wife,  my  lord  ;  your  true 
And  loyal  wife. 

Othello. 
Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself ; 
Lest,  being  like  one  of  heaven,  the  devils  them- 
selves 
Should  fear  to  seize  thee :  therefore,  be  double- 
Swear  thou  art  honest.  [damn'd ; 

Desdemona. 

Heaven  doth  truly  know  it. 

Othello. 
Heaven  truly  knows,  that  thou  art  false  as 
hell. 

Desdemona. 
To  whom,  my  lord  ?  with  whom  ?    How  am 
I  false? 

Othello. 

0  Desdemona !  —  away,  away,  away  ! 

Desdemona. 
Alas,  the  heavy  day  !  —  Why  do  you  weep  ? 
Am  I  the  occasion  of  these  tears,  my  lord  ? 
If,  haply,  you  my  father  do  suspect 
An  instrument  of  this  your  calling  back, 
Lay  not  your  blame  on  me :  if  you  have  lost  him, 
Why,  I  have  lost  him  too. 

Othello. 

Had  it  pleas'd  heaven 
To  try  me  with  affliction  ;  had  he  rain'd 
All  kinds  of  sores,  and  shames,  on  my  bare 
Steep'd  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips  ;    [head  ; 
Given  to  captivity  me  and  my  utmost  hopes  ; 
I  should  have  found  in  some  part  of  my  soul 
A  drop  of  patience :  but,  alas  !  to  make  me 
A  fixed  figure,  for  the  time  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow  and  moving  finger  at ; 
Yet  could  I  bear  that  too  ;  well,  very  well  : 
But  there,  where  I  have  garner'd  up  my  heart, 
Where  either  I  must  live,  or  bear  no  life, 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up  ;  to  be  discarded  thence, 
Or  keep  it  as  a  cistern,  for  foul  toads 
To  knot  and  gender  in  !  —  turn  thy  complexion 

there, 
Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lipp'd  cherubin  ; 
Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell ! 
Desdemona. 

1  hope,  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

Othello. 

O  !  ay ;  as  summer  flies  are  in  the  shambles, 

That  quicken  even  with  blowing.  O  thou  weed  1 

Who  art  so  lovely  fair,  and  smell'st  so  sweet, 

That  the  sense  aches  at  thee,  would  thou  hadst 

ne'er  been  born ! 

Desdemona. 
Alas  !  what  ignorant  sin  have  I  committed  ? 

Othello. 

Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 
Made  to  write  whore  upon  ?  What  committed  ? 
Committed  !  —  O  thou  public  commoner  ! 
I  should  make  very  forges  of  my  cheeks, 
That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty, 
Did  I  but  speak  thy  deeds.  —  What  committed  ? 


Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it,  and  the   moon 

winks : 
The  bawdy  wind,  that  kisses  all  it  meets, 
Is  hush'd  within  the  hollow  mine  of  earth, 
And  will  not  hear  it.    What  committed  ?  — 
Impudent  strumpet ! 

Desdemona. 
By  heaven  you  do  me  wrong. 

Othello. 
Are  not  you  a  strumpet  ? 

Desdemona. 

No,  as  I  am  a  Christian. 
If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord, 
From  any  other,  foul,  unlawful  touch, 
Be  not  to  be  a  strumpet,  I  am  none. 

Othello. 
What,  not  a  whore  ? 

Desdemona. 

No,  as  I  shall  be  saved. 

Othello. 
Is  it  possible  ? 

Desdemona. 
O,  heaven  forgive  us  ! 

Othello. 

I  cry  you  mercy,  then  ? 
I  took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice, 
That  married  with  Othello.  —  You,  mistress, 

Re-enter  Emilia. 
That  have  the  office  opposite  to  Saint  Peter, 
And  keep  the  gate  of  hell ;  you,  you,  ay,  you  : 
We  have  done  our  course ;  there's  money  for 

your  pains. 
I  pray  you,  turn  the  key,  and  keep  our  counsel. 

[Exit. 
Emilia. 
Alas  !  what  does  this  gentleman  conceive  ? 
How  do  you,  madam?  how  do  you,  my  good 
lady? 

Desdemona. 
'Faith,  half  asleep. 

Emilia. 
Good  madam,  what's  the  matter  with  my  lord  ? 

Desdemona. 
With  whom  ? 

Emilia. 
Why,  with  my  lord,  madam. 

Desdemona. 
Who  is  thy  lord 

Emilia. 

He  that  is  yours,  sweet  lady. 

Desdemona. 
I  have  none :  do  not  talk  to  me,  Emilia  ; 
I  cannot  weep  ;  nor  answer  have  I  none, 
But  what  should  go  by  water.  Pr'ythee,  to-night 
Lay  on  my  bed  my  wedding  sheets,— remem- 
And  call  thy  husband  hither.  [ber ;  — 

Emilia. 
Here  is  a  change,  indeed  ! 
[Exit. 
Desdemona. 
'Tis  meet  I  should  be  us'd  so,  very  meet. 
How  have  I  been  behav'd,  that  he  might  stick 
The  small'st  opinion  on  my  least  misuse  ? 

Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Iago. 
lago. 
What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ?    How  i3  it 
with  you  ? 

Desdemona. 
I  cannot  tell.    Those,  that  do  teach  young 
babes, 

Do 


Act  iv.  Sc.  II. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


1009 


Do  it  with  gentle  means,  and  easy  tasks ; 
He  might  have  chid  me  so  ;  for,  in  good  faith, 
I  am  a  child  to  chiding. 

lago. 

What's  the  matter,  lad/  ? 

Emilia. 

Alas  1  lago,  my  lord  hath  so  bewhor'd  her, 

Thrown  such  despite  and  heavy  terms  upon  her, 

As  true  hearts  cannot  bear. 

Desdemona, 
Am  I  that  name,  lago  t 
lago. 

What  name,  fair  lady  ? 
Desderaona. 
Such  as,  she  says,  my  lord  did  say  I  was. 

Emilia. 

He  call'd  her  whore :  a  beggar  in  his  drink, 

Could  not  have  laid  such  terms  upon  his  callat. 

lago. 

Why  did  he  so? 

Desdemona. 
I  do  not  know  ;  I  am  sure,  I  am  none  such. 

lago. 
Do  not  weep,  do  not  weep.    Alas  the  day  ! 

Emilia. 
Has  she  forsook  so  many  noble  matches, 
Her  father,  and  her  country,  and  her  friends, 
To  be  call'd  whore?  would  it  not  make  one 
weep? 

Desdemona. 
It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 
lago. 

Beshrew  him  for  It  1 
How  comes  this  trick  upon  him  ? 
Desdemona. 

Nay,  heaven  doth  know. 
Emilia. 
I  will  be  hang'd,  if  some  eternal  villain, 
Some  busy  and  insinuating  rogue, 
Some  cogging,  cozening  slave,  to  get  some  office, 
Have  not  devis'd  this  slander ;  I'll  be  hang'd 
else. 

lago. 

Fie  1  there  is  no  such  man :  it  is  impossible. 

Desdemona. 
If  any  such  there  be,  heaven  pardon  him  1 

Emilia. 
A  halter  pardon  him,  and  hell  gnaw  his  bones  ! 
Why  should  he  call  her,  whore  ?  who  keeps  her 
company?  riihood? 

What  place  ?  what  time  ?  what  form  ?  what  like- 
The  Moor's  abus'd  by  some  most  villainous 
knave,  [low. — 

Some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  fel- 
O,  heaven  !  that  such  companions  thou'dst  un- 
And  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip,         [fold, 
To  lash  the  rascals  naked  through  the  world, 
Even  from  the  east  to  the  west ! 
lago. 
*  Speak  within  door. 

Emilia. 
O,  fie  upon  them  I  some  such  squire  he  was, 
That  turn'd  your  wit  the  seamy  side  without, 
And  made  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  Moor, 
lago. 
You  are  a  fool ;  go  to. 

Desdemona. 

O  good  lago  I 
What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again  ? 


Good  friend,  go  to  him ;  for,  by  this  light  of 

heaven, 
I  know  not  how  1  lost  him.    Here  I  kneel :  — 
If  e'er  my  will  did  trespass  'gainst  his  love, 
Either  in  discourse  of  thought,  or  actual  deed ; 
Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense, 
Delighted  them  in  any  other  form  ; 
Or  that  I  do  not  yet,  and  ever  did. 
And  ever  will, — though  he  do  shake  me  off 
To  beggarly  divorcement, — love  him  dearly, 
Comfort  forswear  me!  Unkindnessmaydomuch; 
And  his  unkindness  may  defeat  my  life, 
But  never  taint  my  love.     I  cannot  say  whore; 
It  does  abhor  me,  now  I  speak  the  word ; 
To  do  the  act  that  might  the  addition  earn, 
Not  the  world's  mass  of  vanity  could  make  me. 
lago. 
I  pray  you,  be  content ;  'tis  but  his  humour : 
The  business  of  the  state  does  him  offence, 
And  he  does  chide  with  you. 
Desdemona. 

If  'twere  no  other  — 
lago. 
•Tis  but  so,  I  warrant. 
Hark,  how  these  instruments  summon  to  6upper! 
The  messengers  of  Venice  stay  the  meat 
Go  in,  and  weenjiot :  all  thiags  shall  he  .well.. 
JKieyxritDexdemona  and  Emum. 

Enter  Roderigo. 

How  now,  Roderigo! 

Roderigo. 
I  do  not  find  that  thou  deal'st  justly  with  me. 

lago. 
What  in  the  contrary  ? 

Roderigo. 

Every  day  thou  dafTst  me  with  some  device, 

logo  ;  and  rather,  as  it  seems  to  me  now,  keep'st 

from  me  all  conveniency,  than  suppliest  me  with 

the  least  advantage  of  hope.     I  will,  indeed,  no 

longer  endure  it ;  nor  am  I  yet  persuaded,  to  put 

up  in  peace  what  already  I  have  foolishly  suffered. 

lago. 

Will  you  hear  me.  Roderigo  T 

Roderigo. 
'Faith,  I  have  heard  too  much  ;  for  your  words, 
and  performances,  are  no  kin  together, 
lago. 

You  charge  me  most  unjustly. 
Roderigo. 

With  nought  but  truth.  I  have  wasted  myself 
out  of  my  means :  the  jewels  you  have  had  from 
me,  to  deliver  to  Desdemona,  would  half  have 
corrupted  a  votarist :  you  have  told  me,  she  has 
received  them,  and  returned  me  expectations  and 
comforts  of  sudden  respect  and  acquaintance; 
but  I  find  none. 

li'gO. 

Well ;  go  to ;  very  well. 

Roderigo. 
Very  well !  go  to  !    I  cannot  go  to,  man  ;  nor 
'tis  not  very  well :  by  this  hand.  I  say,  it  is  very 
scurvy;  and  begin  to  find  myself  fobbed  in  it. 
lago. 

Very  well.  _    .    . 

Roderigo. 

I  tell  you,  tis  not  very  well.  I  will  make 
myself  known  to  Desdemona :  if  she  will  return 
me  my  jewels,  I  will  give  over  my  suit,  and  repent 
my  unlawful  solicitation  ;  if  not,  assure  yourself, 
I  will  seek  satisfaction  of  you. 
lago. 

You  have  said  now  _    : 

3  T  Roderigo. 


1010 


OTHELLO, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Roderigo. 
Ay,  and  I  have  said  nothing,  but  what  I  protest 
intendment  of  doing. 

lago. 
Why,  now  I  see  there's  mettle  in  thee ;  and 
even,  from  this  instant,  do  build  on  thee  abetter 
opinion  than  ever  before.  Give  me  thy  hand, 
Roderigo :  thou  hast  taken  against  me  a  most 
just  exception;  but,  yet,  I  protest,  I  have  dealt 
most  directly  in  thy  affair. 

Roderigo . 
It  hath  not  appeared. 

lago. 
I  grant,  indeed,  it  hath  not  appeared,  and  your 
suspicion  is  not  without  wit  and  judgment  But, 
Roderigo,  if  thou  hast  that  within  thee,  indeed, 
which  I  have  greater  reason  to  believe  now  than 
ever,— I  mean,  purpose,  courage,  and  valour, — 
this  night  show  it :  if  thou  the  next  night  fol- 
lowing enjoyest  not  Desdemona,  take  me  from 
this  world  with  treachery,  and  devise  engines  for 
my  life. 

Roderigo. 
Well,  what  is  it  ?  is  it  within  reason,  and  com- 
pass? 

lago. 
Sir,  there  is  especial  commission  come  from 
Venice,  to  depute  Cassio  in  Othello's  place. 
Roderigo. 
Is  that  true?  why,  then  Othello  and  Desdemona 
return  again  to  Venice. 

lago. 
O,  no !  he  goes  into  Mauritania,  and  takes 
away  with  him  the  fair  Desdemona,  unless  his 
abode  be  lingered  here  by  some  accident ; 
wherein  none  can  be  so  determinate,  as  the  re- 
moving of  Cassio. 

lloderigo. 
How  do  you  mean  removing  of  him  ? 

lago. 
Why,  by  making  him  uncapable  cf  Othello's 
place ;  knocking  out  his  brains. 
Roderigo. 
And  that  you  would  have  me  do  ? 

lago. 
Ay ;  if  you  dare  do  yourself  a  profit,  and  a 
right.  He  sups  to-night  with  a  harlotry,  and 
thither  will  I  go  to  him:  he  knows  not  yet  of  his 
honourable  fortune.  If  you  will  watch  his  going 
thence,  (which  I  will  fashion  to  fall  out  between 
twelve  and  one)  you  may  take  him  at  your 
pleasure :  I  will  be  near  to  second  your  attempt, 
and  he  shall  fall  between  us.  Come,  stand  not 
amazed  at  it,  but  go  along  with  me ;  I  will  show 
you  such  a  necessity  in  his  death,  that  you  shall 
think  yourself  bound  to  put  it  on  him.  It  is  now 
high  supper-time,  and  the  night  grows  to  waste: 
about  it. 

Roderigo. 
I  will  hear  farther  reason  for  this. 


lago. 
And  you  shall  be  satisfied. 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    Another  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  Emilia, 
and  Attendants. 
Lodovico. 
I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  yourself  no 
farther. 

Othello. 
O I  pardon  me;  'twill  do  me  good  to  walk. 


Lodovico. 
Madam,  good  night;  I  humbly  thank  your 
ladyship. 

Desdemona. 
Your  honour  is  most  welcome. 
Othello. 

Wrill  you  walk,  sir?— 

0  ! — Desdemona,— 

Desdemona. 

My  lord? 
Othello. 
Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant ;  I  will  be  re- 
turned forthwith.  Dismiss  your  attendant  there: 
look,  it  be  done. 

Desdemona. 

1  will,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Othello,  Lodovico,  and  Attendants. 

Emilia. 
How  goes  it  now  ?  he  looks  gentler  than  he 
did. 

Desdemona. 
He  says,  he  will  return  incontinent ; 
He  hath  commanded  me  to  go  to  bed, 
And  bade  me  to  dismiss  you. 
Emilia. 

Dismiss  me  i 
Desdemona. 
It  was  his  bidding;  therefore,  good  Emilia, 
Give  me  my  nightly  wearing,  and  adieu: 
We  must  not  now  displease  him. 
r.milia. 
I  would  you  had  never  seen  him. 

Desdemona. 

So  would  not  I:  my  love  doth  so  approve  him, 

That  even  his  stubbornness,  his  checks,  and 

frowns, — 
Pr'ythee,  unpin  me, — have  grace  and  favour  in 
them. 

Emilia. 
I  have  laid  those  sheets  you  bade  me  on  the 
bed. 

Desdemona. 
All's  one.  — Good  father!  how  foolish  are  our 
minds ! — 
If  I  do  die  before  thee,  pr'ythee,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 
Emilia. 

Come,  come,  you  talk. 
Desdemona. 
My  mother  had  a  maid  call'd  Barbara  : 
She  was  in  love ;  and  he  she  lov'd  prov'd  mad, 
And  did  forsake  her:  she  had  a  song  of— willow, 
An  old  thing  'twas,  but  it  express'd  her  fortune, 
And  she  died  singing  it :  that  song,  to-night, 
Will  not  go  from  my  mind;  I  have  much  to  do, 
But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 
And  sing  it  like  poor  Barbara.    Pr'ythee,  de- 
spatch. 

Emilia. 
Shall  I  go  fetch  your  night-gown  ? 
Desdemona. 

No,  unpin  me  here.— 
This  Lodovico  is  a  proper  man. 
Emilia. 
A  very  handsome  man. 

Desdemona. 
He  speaks  well. 

Emilia. 

I  know  a  lady  in  Venice  would  have  walked 

barefoot  to  Palestine  for  a  touch  of  his  nether 

HP-  ~     , 

Desdemona. 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


Desdemona.  [Singing. 

The  poor  soul  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore  tree. 


Sing  all  a  green 
ler  kit 


Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee. 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow : 
The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmur'd 
her  moans  ; 
Sing  willow,  willow,  willow  : 
Her  salt  tears  Jell  from  her,  and  sqften'd  the 

stones  ; 
Lay  by  these.— 
Sing  willow,  willow,  willow. 

Pr'ythee,  hie  thee ;  he'll  come  anon 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland. 
Let  nobody  blame  him,  his  scorn  I  approve,  — 
Nay,  that's  not  next — Hark!  who  is  it  that 
knocks?  ■ 

Emilia. 
It  is  the  wind. 

D«»Jemoua. 

/  ctilfd  my  love,  false  love ;  but  what  said  he 

then? 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow  : 

If  I  court  mo  women,  you'll  couch  with  mo  men. 

So,  get  thee  gone ;  good  night.    Mine  eyes  do 

Doth  that  bode  weeping  ?  [itch ; 

F.milia. 

Ti*  neither  here  nor  there. 
Desdemona. 
I  hare  heard  it  said  so.— O,  these  men,  these 
men! — 
Dost  thou  in  conscience  think,— tell  me,  Emilia,— 
That  there  be  women  do  abuse  their  husbands 
In  such  gross  kind  ? 

Emilia. 
There  be  some  such,  no  question. 
Desdemona. 
Would'st  thou  do  such  a  deed  for  all  the 
world  ? 

Emilia. 
Why,  would  not  you  ? 

Desdemona. 

No,  by  this  heavenly  light. 
Emilia. 
Nor  1  neither  by  this  heavenly  light: 
I  might  do't  as  well  t  the  dark. 
Desdemona. 
Would'st  thou  do  such  a  deed  for  all  the 
world  ? 

Emilia. 
The  world  is  a  huge  thing :  'tis  a  great  price 
For  a  small  vice. 

Desdemona. 
In  troth,  I  think  thou  would'st  not. 
Emilia. 
In  troth,  I  think  I  should,  and  undo't,  when 
I  had  done.    Marry,  I  would  not  do  such  a 
thing  for  a  joint-ring,  nor  for  measures  of  lawn, 
nor  for  gowns,  petticoats,  nor  caps,  nor  any 
petty  exhibition ;  but,  for  the  whole  world,  — 
why,  who  would  not  make  her  husband  a  cuckold, 
to  make  him  a  monarch?     I  should  venture 
purgatory  for't. 

Desdemona. 
Beshrew  me,  if  I  would  do  such  a  wrong  for 
the  whole  world. 

Emilia. 

Why,  the  wrong  is  but  a  wrong  i'  the  world ; 
and,  having  the  world  for  your  labour,  'tis  a 
wrong  in  your  own  world,  and  you  might  quickly 
make  it  right. 


Desdemona. 
I  do  not  think  there  Is  any  such  woman. 

r.n,. 

Yes,  a  dozen ;  and  as  many  [play'd  for. 

To  the  vantage,  as  would  store  the  world  they 
But,  I  do  think,  it  is  their  husbands'  faults, 
If  wives  do  fall.   Say,  that  they  slack  their  duties, 
And  pour  our  treasures  into  foreign  laps ; 
Or  else  break  out  in  peevish  jealousies. 
Throwing  restraint  upon  us ;  or,  say,  they  strike 
Or  scant  our  former  having  in  despite,  [us, 

Why,  we  have  galls ;  and,  though  we  have  some 

grace. 
Yet  have  we  some  revenge.  Let  husbands  know, 
Their  wives  have  sense  like  them:  they  see,  and 

smell, 
And  have  their  palates,  both  for  sweet  and  sour, 
As  husbands  have.    What  is  it  that  they  do. 
When  they  change  us  for  others?    Is  it  sport  ? 
I  think,  it  is  ;  and  doth  affection  breed  it? 
I  think,  it  doth.     Is't  frailty,  that  thus  errs  ? 
It  is  so  too :  and  have  not  we  affections, 
Desires  for  sport,  and  frailty,  as  men  have  ? 
Then,  let  them  use  us  well ;  else,  let  them  know, 
The  ills  wc  do,  their  ills  instruct  us  so. 
Desdemona. 
Good  night,  good  night:  heaven  me  such  uses 

send, 
Not  to  pick  bad  from  bad,  but  by  bad  mend  1 

[Exeunt. 

4n>  -0-0  ••#  ■#•  •$  •#>  •#  •$>• 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  l.    A  Street. 

Enter  Iago  and  Roderigo. 

lago. 

HERE,  stand  behind  this  bulk;  straight  will 
he  come: 
Wear  thy  good  rapier  bare,  and  put  it  home. 
Quick,  quick;  fear  nothing;  I'll  be  at  thy  elbow. 
It  makes  us,  or  It  mars  us ;  think  on  that, 
And  fix  most  firm  thy  resolution. 
Roderigo. 
Be  near  at  hand ;  1  may  miscarry  in't. 

Iago. 
Here,  at  thy  hand :  be  bold,  and  take  thy  stand. 
[Retires  to  a  Tittle  distance. 
Roderigo. 
I  have  no  great  devotion  to  the  deed ; 
And  yet  he  has  given  me  satisfying  reasons — 
'Tis  but  a  man  gone:  — forth,  my  sword;  he 
dies.  [Goes  to  his  stand. 

lago. 
I  have  rubb'd  this  young  quat  almost  to  the 
sense. 
And  he  grows  angry.  Now,  whether  he  kill  Cos- 
Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other,     [sio, 
Every  way  makes  my  game:  live  Roderigo, 
He  calls  me  to  a  restitution  large 
Of  gold,  and  jewels,  that  I  bobb'd  from  him, 
As  gifts  to  Desdemona  ; 
It  must  not  be:  if  Cassio  do  remain, 
He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life, 


That  makes  me  ugly;  and,  besides,  the  Moor 
to  him: 
peril. 


May  unfold  me 


there  stand  I  in  much 


No,  he  must  die:— be't  so;  I  hear  him  coming. 

Enter  Cassio. 

Roderigo. 

1  know  his  gait:  'tis  he Villain,  thou  dlfst 

[Rushingout,  and  making  a  pass  at  Cassio. 
Cassio 


joia 


OTHELLO, 


Act  v.  Sc.  i. 


Cassio. 
That  thrust  had  been  mine  enemy  indeed, 
But  that  my  coat  is  better  than  thou  know'st: 
I  will  make  proof  of  thine. 

[Draws,  and  wounds  Roderigo. 
Roderigo. 

O !  I  am  slain. 
[logo  rushes  from  his  post,  cuts  Cassio  be- 
hind in  the  Leg,  and  exit. 
Cassio. 
I  am  maim'd  for  ever.— Light,  hoi  murder  1 
murder  1  [Falls 

Enter  Othello,  at  a  distance. 

Othello. 

The  voice  of  Cassio.— Jago  keeps  his  word. 

Roderigo. 
O,  villain  that  I  am  1 

Othello. 

It  is  e'en  so. 
Cassio. 
O,  help  1  ho  1  light !  a  surgeon ! 

Othello. 
•Tis  he.  — O  brave  Iagol  honest,  and  just, 
That  hast  such  noble  sense  of  thy  friend's  wrong ; 
Thou  teachest  me. — Minion,  your  dear  lies  dead, 
And  your  unblest  fate  hies :  —  strumpet,  1  come ! 
Forth  of  my  heart  those  charms,  thine  eyes,  are 

blotted ; 
Thy  bed,  lust-stain'd,  shall  with  lust's  blood  be 
spotted.  [Exit  Othello. 

Enter  Lodovico  and  Gratiano,  at  a  distance. 

.Cassio. 
What,  hoi  no  watch?  no  passage?  murder  1 
murder  I 

Gratiano. 
'Tis  some  mischance;  the  cry  is  very  direful. 

Cassio. 
O,  help ! 

Lodovico. 
Hark! 

Roderigo. 

O  wretched  villain  1 

Lodovico. 

Two  or  three  groan — It  is  a  heavy  night: 

These  may  be  counterfeits ;  let's  think  't  unsafe 

To  come  in  to  the  cry  without  more  help. 

Roderigo. 

No  body  come?  then  shall  I  bleed  to  death. 

Enter  Jago,  with  a  Light. 
Lodovico. 
Hark! 

Gratiano. 
Here's  one  comes  in  his  shirt,  with  light  and 
weapons. 

Iago. 
Who's  there?  whose  noise  is  this,  that  cries 
on  murder  ? 

Lodovico 
We  do  not  know. 

Iago. 

Did  not  you  hear  a  cry  ? 
Cassio. 
Here,  here !  for  heaven's  sake,  help  me. 
Iago 

What's  the  matter  ? 
Gratiano. 
This  is  Othello's  ancient,  as  I  take  it 

Lodovico. 
Tne  same  indeed;  a  very  valiant  fellow. 


Iago. 
What  are  you  here,  that  cry  so  grievously  ? 

Cassio. 
Iagof  O!  lam  spoil'd;  undone  by  villains : 
Give  me  some  help. 

Iago. 

0  me,  lieutenant!  what  villains  have  done 

this? 

Cassio. 

1  think  that  one  of  them  is  hereabout, 
And  cannot  make  away. 

Iago. 
O  treacherous  villains  !  — 
What  are  you  there?  come  in,  and  Sive  some 
help.  [To  Lodovico  and  Gratiano. 

Roderigo. 
O,  help  me !  here. 

Cassio. 
That's  one  of  them. 

Iago. 
O  murderous  slave !  O  villain  I 
\lago  stabs  Roderigo. 

Roderigo. 

0  damn'd  Iagol  O  inhuman  dog  !  — 

Iago. 
Kill  men  i'  the  dark ! — Where  be  these  bloody 
thieves?  — 
How  silent  is  this  town  ! — Ho!  murder!  murder! 
What  may  you  be  ?  are  you  of  good  or  evil  ? 
Lodovico. 
As  you  shall  prove  us,  praise  us. 

Iago. 
Signior  Lodovico  t 

Lodovico. 
He,  sir. 

Iago. 

1  cry  you  mercy.  Here's  Cassio  hurt  by  villains. 

Gratiano. 
Cassio  t 

Iago. 
How  is  it,  brother? 

Cassio. 
My  leg  is  cut  in  two* 

Iago. 
Marry,  heaven  forbid  I  — 
Light,  gentlemen ;  I'll  bind  it  with  my  shirt. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bianca. 

What  is  the  matter,  ho?  who  is't  that  cry'd? 

Iago. 
Who  is't  that  cry'd! 

Bianca. 
O  my  dear  Cassio!  my  sweet  Cassio  I 
O  Cassio,  Cassio,  Cassio! 
Iago. 

0  notable  strumpet  I— Cassio,  may  you  suspect 
Who  they  should  be,  that  have  thus  mangled 

you? 

Cassio. 
No. 

Gratiano. 

1  am  sorry,  to  find  you  thus :  I  have  been  to 

seek  you. 

Iago. 
Lend  me  a  garter : — so.  —  O ,  for  a  chair, 
To  bear  him  easily  hence  ! 
Bianca. 
Alasl  he  faints — O  Cassio!  Cassio!  Cassio! 

Iago. 
Gentlemen  all,  I  do  suspect  this  trash 

To 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


ion 


To  be  a  party  In  this  injury.— 

Patience  a  while,  good  Cassia.— Come,  come. 

Lend  me  a  light Know  we  this  face,  or  no? 

Alas  I  my  friend,  and  my  dear  countryman, 
Roderigo?  no:— yet,  sure.    O  heaven  I  Roderigo. 
Gratiano. 


What,  of  Venice  T 


Iago. 


Even  he,  sir ;  did  you  know  him  ? 
Gratiano. 

Know  him  ?  ay. 
Iago. 
Signior  Gratiano  T  I  cry  you  gentle  pardon  : 
These  bloody  accidents  must  excuse  my  manners, 
That  so  neglected  you. 

Gratiano. 

I  am  glad  to  see  you. 

Iago. 
How  do  you,  Cassia  f—  O,  a  chair,  a  chair  I 

Gratiano. 
Roderigo  ! 

Iago. 
He,  he,  'tis  he.— 01  that's  well  said  j— the 
chair.—  [A  Chair  brought  In. 

Some  good  man  bear  him  carefully  from  hence; 
I'll  fetch  the  general's  surgeon.  — For  you  mis- 
tress, [To  Bianca. 
Save  you  your  labour — He  that  lies  slain  here, 

Cassio, 
Was  my  dear  friend.  What  malice  was  between 
you? 

None  in  the  world;  nor  do  I  know  the  man. 

Iago. 
What,  look  you  pale?— O,  bear  him  out  o'  the 
air.—  [CaiSto  and  Rvdcn'go  are  borne  off. 
Stay  you,  good  gentlemen.  — Look  you  pale, 

mistress  ? 
Do  you  perceive  the  gastness  of  her  eye  ? — 
Nay,  an  you  stir: — we  shall  hear  more  anon. — 
Behold  her  well ;  I  pray  you,  look  upon  her : 
Do  you  see,  gentlemen  ?  nay,  guiltiness  will 
Though  tongues  were  out  of  use.  [speak, 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emilia. 
Alas!  what's  the  matter?  what's  the  matter, 
husband  ? 

Iago. 
Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark 
By  Roderigo,  and  fellows  that  are  scap'd : 
He's  almost  slain,  and  Roderigo  dead. 

Emilia. 
Alas,  good  gentleman  !  alas,  good  Cassio  ! 

Iago. 
This  is  the  fruit  of  whoring.— Pr'ythee,  Emilia, 
Go  know  of  Cassio  where  he  supp  d  to-night. — 
What  1  do  you  shake  at  that  ? 

Bianca. 
He  supp'd  at  my  house ;  but  I  therefore  shake 
not. 

Iago. 
O I  did  he  so  ?    I  charge  you,  go  with  me. 

Emilia. 
O,  fle  upon  thee,  strumpet  1 

Bianca. 
I  am  no  strumpet;  but  of  life  as  honest, 
As  you  that  thus  abuse  me. 


Iago. 
Kind   gentlemen,  lets'  go  see   poor  Cassio 
dress'd. — 
Come,  mistress,  you  must  tell's  another  tale.— 
Emilia,  run  you  to  the  citadel, 
And  tell  my  lord  and  lady  what  hath  happ'd — 
Will  you  go  on,  I  pray  ?— This  is  the  night, 

[Aside. 
That  either  makes  me,  or  fordoet  me  quite. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.    A  Bedchamber. 

Desdemona  in  bed  asleep.    A  Light  burning. 

Enter  Othello. 

Othello. 
It  Is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, — 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars  !— 
It  is  the  cause.— Yet  I'll  not  shed  her  blood ; 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 
And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she'll  betray  more  men. 
Put  out  the  light,  and  then — put  out  the  light? 
If  I  quench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 
I  can  again  thy  former  light  restore, 
Should  I  repent  me;  but  once  put  out  thy  light. 
Thou  cunning'st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 
I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat, 
That  can    thy  light   relume.     When  I   have 

pluck'd  thy  rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 
It  needs  must  wither :— I'll  smell  it  on  the  tree.— 
[Kissing  her. 

0  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword!  —  One  more,  one 

more — 
Be  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  I  will  kill  thee, 
And  love  thee  after.  —  One  more,  and  this  the 

last: 
So  sweet  was  ne'er  so  fatal.    I  must  weep, 
But  they  are  cruel  tears:  this  sorrow's  heavenly; 
It  strikes,  where  it  doth  love.—  She  wakes— 

Desdemona. 
;     Who's  there?    Othello t 

Othello. 

Ay,  Desdemona. 

Desdemona. 
Will  you  come  to  bed,  my  lord  ? 

Othello. 
Have  you  pray'd  to-night,  Desdemona  f 

Desdemona. 

Ay,  my  lord. 
Othello. 
If  you  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime, 
Unreconcll'd  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace, 
Solicit  for  it  straight. 

Desdemona. 
Alas,  my  lord  I  what  may  you  mean  by  that  ? 

Othello. 
Well,  do  it,  and  be  brief ;  I  will  walk  by : 

1  would  not  kill  thy  unprepared  spirit; 

No, — heaven  forefend — I  would  not  kill  thy  soul. 

Desdemona. 
Talk  you  of  killing? 

Othello. 

Ay,  I  do. 


Emilia 


As  I  ?  fle  upon  thee  1 


Desdemona. 
Have  mercy  on  me  I 


Then,  heaven 


Othello. 
Amen,  with  all  my  heart  I 
Desdemona, 


ioi4 


OTHELLO, 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii 


Desdemona. 
If  you  say  so,  I  hope  you  will  not  kill  me. 

Othello. 
Humph ! 

Desdemona. 

And  yet  I  fear  you ;  for  you  are  fatal  then, 

When  your  eyes  roll  so.    Why  I  should  fear,  I 

know  not, 
Since  guiltiness  I  know  not;  but  yet,  I  feel  I 
fear. 

Othello. 
Think  on  thy  sins. 

Desdemona. 
They  are  loves  1  bear  to  you. 
Othello. 
Ay,  and  for  that  thou  diest. 
Desdemona. 
That  death's  unnatural,  that  kills  for  loving.— 
Alas  1  why  gnaw  you  so  your  nether  lip? 
Some  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame : 
These  are  portents ;  but  yet,  I  hope,  I  hope, 
They  do  not  point  on  me. 
Othello. 

Peace,  and  be  still  1 
Desdemona. 
I  will  go.    What's  the  matter  ? 

Othello. 
That  handkerchief,  which  I  so  lov'd,and  gave 
Thou  gav'st  to  Cassio.  [thee, 

Desdemona. 

No,  by  my  life  and  soul ! 
Send  for  the  man,  and  ask  him. 
Othello. 

Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 
Take  heed  of  perjury ;  thou'rt  on  thy  death- 
bed. 

Desdemona. 
Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die. 

Othello. 

Yes,  presently : 
Therefore,  confess  thee  freely  of  thy  sin  ; 
For  to  deny  each  article  with  oath,  [tion, 

Cannot  remove,  nor  choke,  the  strong  concep- 
That  I  do  groan  withal.    Thou  art  to  die. 
Desdemona. 
Then,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me  1 
Othello. 

I  say,  amen. 
Desdemona. 
And  have  you  mercy  too  ! — I  never  did 
Offend  you  in  my  life ;  never  lov'd  Cassio, 
But  with  such  general  warranty  of  heaven 
As  I  might  love:  I  never  gave  him  token. 
Othello. 
By  heaven,  1  saw  my  handkerchief  in's  hand. 

0  perjur'd  woman  !  thou  dost  stone  my  heart, 
And  mak'st  me  call,  what  I  intend  to  do, 

A  murder,  which  1  thought  a  sacrifice : 

1  saw  the  handkerchief. 

Desdemona. 

He  found  it  then  •, 
I  never  gave  it  him — Send  for  him  hither ; 
Let  him  confess  a  truth. 

Othello. 

He  hath  confess'd. 
Desdemona 
What,  my  lord  ? 

Othello. 
That  he  hath  —  us'd  thee. 
Desdemona. 

How  ?  unlawfully  ? 


Othello. 


Ay. 


Desdemona. 
He  will  not  say  so. 
Othello. 

No,  his  mouth  is  stopp'd  ; 
Honest  logo  hath  ta'en  order  for't. 
Desdemona. 
My  fear  interprets  then.  —  What !  is  he  dead  ? 

Othello. 
Had  all  his  hairs  been  lives,  my  great  revenge 
Had  stomach  for  them  all. 

Desdemona. 
Alas  1  he  is  betray'd,  and  I  undone. 

Othello. 
Out,  strumpet !    Weep'st  thou  for  him  to  my 
face?  n     , 

Desdemona. 
O  1  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not. 

Othello. 
Down,  strumpet  1 

Desdemona. 
Kill  me  to-morrow ;  let  me  live  to-night. 

Othello. 
Nay,  if  you  strive, — 

Desdemona. 
But  half  an  hour. 
Othello. 

Being  done, 
There  is  no  pause. 

Desdemona. 

But  while  I  say  one  prayer. 
Othello. 
It  is  too  late.  [He  smothers  her. 

Desdemona. 

0  Lord,  Lord,  Lord  I 

Emilia.  [Within. 

My  lord,  my  lord  1  what  ho  I  my  lord,  my 
lordl 

Othello. 
What  noise  is  this  ?—  Not  dead  !  not  yet  quite 
I,  that  am  cruel,  am  yet  merciful ;  [dead  ? 

I  would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain.— 
So,  so  1 

Emilia.  [Within. 

What  ho  1  my  lord,  my  lord  ! 
Othello. 

Who's  there  ? 
Emilia.  [Within. 

O,  good  my  lord  I    I  would  speak  a  word  witli 
you. 

Othello. 

Yes;— 'tis  Emilia,— By  and  by.  —  She's  dead. 

'Tis  like  she  comes  to  speak  of  Cassio'&  death ; 

The  noise  was  high —  Hal  no  more  moving  ? 

Still  as  the  grave. — Shall  she  come  in  ?  Were't 

good? 
I  think  she  stirs  again  :— no — What's  the  best  ? 
If  she  come  in,  she'll  sure  speak  to  my  wife: 
My  wife !  my  wife !  what  wife  ?  —  I  have  no  wife : 
O,  insupportable,  O  heavy  hour  ! 
Methinks  it  should  be  now  a  huge  eclipse 
Of  sun  and  moon,  and  that  th'  affrighted  globe 
Should  yawn  at  alteration. 

Emilia.  [Within. 

1  do  beseech  you,  I  may  speak  with  you. 
O,  good  my  lord  ! 

Othello. 

1  had  forgot  thee.     O  !  come  in,  Emilia. — 

Soft,  —  by  and  by:  —  let  me  the  curtains  draw  — 

Where  art  thou  ?    What's  the  matter  with  thee 

now  ?  [Unlocks  the  Door. 

Enter 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


101$ 


Enter  Emilia. 

O,  good  my  lord  1  yonder'i  foul  murder  done. 

Othello. 
What  !  now? 

Emilia. 
But  now,  my  lord  ! 
Othrllo. 
It  is  the  very  error  of  the  moon  ; 
She  come*  more  near  the  earth  than  the  was 
And  makes  men  mad.  [wont, 

ilia. 
Cassia,  my  lord,  has  kill'd  a  young  Venetian, 
Call'd  Rodcrigo. 

Othello. 
Roderigo  kill'd  I 
And  Cassio  kill'd  ? 

Emilia. 

No ;  Cassio  is  not  kill'd. 
Othello. 
Not   Cassio  kill'd?     Then  murder's  out  of 
And  sweet  revenge  grows  harsh.  [tune, 

Desdemona. 
O,  falsely,  falsely  murder'd  I 
Emilia. 

'Alas  I  what  cry  is  that  ? 
Othello. 
That !  what  ? 

Km  Ilia. 

Out,  and  alas  !  that  was  my  lady's  voice :  — 

Help  !  Help,  ho  !  help  1  —  O  lady,  speak  again  ! 

Sweet  Desdemona  I  O,  sweet  mistress,  speak  1 

Desdemona. 

A  guiltless  death  I  die. 

Emilia. 

0 1  who  hath  done 
This  deed  ? 

Desdemona. 
Nobody;  I  myself;  farewell: 
Commend  me  to  my  kind  lord.    O  farewell  1 

fDles 
Othello. 
Why,  how  should  she  be  murder'd  ? 
Emilia. 

Alas,  who  knows  ?  | 
Othello. 
You  heard  her  say  herself,  it  was  not  I. 

Emilia. 
She  said  so;  I  must  needs  report  a  truth. 

Othello. 
She's  like  a  liar  gone  to  burning  hell : 
'Twas  I  that  kill'd  her. 

Emilia. 

O !  the  more  angel  she, 
And  you  the  blacker  devil. 
Othello. 
She  turn'd  to  folly,  and  she  was  a  whore. 

Emilia.        , 
Thou  dost  belie  her,  and  thou  art  a  devil. 

Othello. 
She  was  false  as  water. 

Kmilia. 

Thou  art  rash  as  fire,  to  say 
That  she  was  false :  O !  she  was  heavenly  true. 
Othello 
Cassio  did  top  her ;  ask  thy  husband  else. 
O !  I  were  damn'd  beneath  all  depth  in  hell, 
But  that  I  did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity.    Thy  husband  knew  it  all. 


Emilia. 
My  husband  ? 

Othello. 
Thy  husband. 

Emilia. 
That  she  was  false  to  wedlock  ? 

Othello. 
Ay,  with  Cassio.    Nay,  had  she  been  true, 
If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite, 
I'd  not  have  sold  her  for  it. 
rmilla. 
My  husband  ? 

Othello. 
Ay,  'twas  he  that  told  me  first ; 
An  honest  man  he  is,  and  hates  the  slime 
That  sticks  on  filthy  deeds. 
Emilia. 

My  husband  ? 
Othrllo. 
What  needs  this  Iteration,  woman  ?    I  say, 
thy  husband 

Emilia. 
O  mistress  I  villainy  hath  made  mocks  with 
My  husband  say,  that  she  was  false  ?      [love.  — 
Othello. 

He,  woman  ; 
I  say,  thy  husband :  dost  understand  the  word  ? 
My  friend,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  logo. 
Emilia. 
If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 
Rot  half  a  grain  a  day  1  he  lies  to  the  heart : 
She  was  too  fond  of  her  most  filthy  bargain. 
Othello. 
Hal 

Emilia. 
Do  thy  worst : 
This  deed  of  thine  is  no  more  worthy  heaven, 
Than  thou  wast  worthy  her. 
Othello. 

Peace  !  you  were  best. 
Barilla, 
Thou  hast  not  half  the  power  to  do  me  harm, 
A  s  I0ave  to  be  hurt.  O  gull  1  O  dolt  I 
As  ignorant  as  dirt !—  thou  hast  done  a  deed,  — 
I  care  not  for  thy  sword  ;  I'll  make  thee  known, 
Though  I  lost  twenty  lives.  —  Help  1  help,  ho ! 

help! 
The  Moor  has  kill'd  my  mistress  1    Murder  I 
murder  1 

Enter  Montano,  Gratiano,  and  Iago. 

Moutano. 

What  Is  the  matter  ?  —  How  now,  general  I 

Emilia. 

0  !  are  you  come,  lago  ?  you  have  done  well, 
That  men  must  lay  their  murders  on  your  neck. 

Gratiano. 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

Emilia. 

Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be'st  a  man : 

He  says,  thou  told'st  him  that  his  wife  was  false. 

I  know,  thou  didst  not,  thou'rt  not  such  a  villain. 

Speak,  for  ray  heart  is  full. 

lago. 

1  told  him  what  I  thought ;  and  told  no  more 
Than  what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true. 

Emilia. 

But  did  you  ever  tell  him,  she  was  false  ? 

Iago. 

I  did.  „    „, 

Emilia. 


ioi6 


OTHELLO, 


Act  v.  Sc.  il 


Emilia. 
You  told  a  lie ;  an  odious,  damned  lie  ; 
Upon  my  soul,  a  lie ;  a  wicked  lie —    [Cassia  ? 
She  false  with  Cassio?  —  Did  you   say   with 

Iago. 
With  Cassio,  mistress.    Go  to,  charm  your 
tongue. 

Emilia. 
I  will  not  charm  my  tongue ;  I  am  bound  to 
speak. 
My  mistress  here  lies  murder'd  in  her  bed. 

All. 

O  heavens  forfend  ! 

Emilia. 
And  your  reports  have  set  the  murder  on. 

Othello. 
Nay,  stare  not,  masters :  it  is  true,  indeed 

Gratiano. 
'Tis  a  strange  truth. 

Montano. 
O  monstrous  act  1 

Emilia. 
Villainy !  villainy !  villainy  ! 
I  think  upon't,  —  I  think,  —  I  smell't :  —  O  vil- 
lainy 1 
I  thought  so  then :— I'll  kill  myself  for  grief.  — 

0  villainy,  villainy  I 

Iago. 
What !  are  you  mad  ?    I  charge  you,  get  you 
home. 

Emilia. 
Good  gentlemen,  let  me  have  leave  to  speak : 
'Tis  proper  I  obey  him,  but  not  now — 
Perchance,  Iago,  I  will  ne'er  go  home. 
Othello. 
O !  OIO!  [Falling  on  the  Bed. 

Emilia. 
Nay,  lay  thee  down  and  roar, 
For  thou  hast  killM  the  sweetest  innocent, 
That  e'er  did  lift  up  eye. 

Othello. 

O  1  she  was  foul.— 
[Rising. 

1  scarce  did  know  you,  uncle :  there  lies  your 

niece,  [stqBp'd. 

Whose  breath,  indeed,  these  hands  have  newly 
I  know,  this  act  shows  terrible  and  grim. 
Gratiano. 
Poor  Desdemona !  I  am  glad  thy  father's  dead. 
Thy  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain  :  did  he  live  now, 
This  sight  would  make  him  do  a  desperate  turn, 
Yea,  curse  his  better  angel  from  his  side, 
And  fall  to  reprobation. 

Othello. 
'Tis  pitiful ;  but  yet  Iago  knows, 
That  she  with  Cassio  hath  the  act  of  shame 
A  thousand  times  committed :  Cassio  confess'd 
And  she  did  gratify  his  amorous  works  [it ; 

With  that  recognizance  and  pledge  of  love 
Which  I  first  gave  her.     I  saw  it  in  his  hand ; 
It  was  a  handkerchief,  an  antique  token 
My  father  gave  my  mother. 
Emilia. 
O  heaven  I  O  heavenly  powers  ! 
Iago. 

Come,  hold  your  peace. 
Emilia. 
'Twill  out,  'twill  out:  —  I  hold  my  peace,  sir? 
No,  I  will  speak  as  liberal  as  the  north.       [no  ; 
Let  heaven,  and  men,  and  devils,  let  them  all, 
All,  all,  cry  shame  against  me,  yet  I'll  speak. 


Iago. 
Be  wise,  and  get  you  home. 

Emilia. 

I  will  not. 
[Iago  offers  to  stab  his  Wife. 

Gratiano. 

Fiet 
Your  sword  upon  a  woman  ? 

Emilia. 

0  thou  dull  Moor  1  that  handkerchief  thou 

speak'st  of, 
I  found  by  fortune,  and  did  give  my  husband ; 
For  often,  with  a  solemn  earnestne'ss, 
(More  than,  indeed,  belong'd  to  such  a  trifle) 
He  begg'd  of  me  to  steal  it. 

Iago. 

Villainous  whore  ! 
Emilia. 
She  give  it  Cassio  !  no,  alas  !  I  found  it, 
And  I  did  give  't  my  husband. 

Iago. 

Filth,  thou  liest. 
Emilia. 
By  heaven,  I  do  not ;  I  do  not,  gentlemen. 

0  murderous  coxcomb  !  what  should  such  a  fool 
Do  with  so  good  a  woman  ? 

[Iago  stabs  Emilia,  then  runs  out. 

Othello. 
Are  there  no  stones  in  heaven. 
But  what  serve  for  the  thunder  ?  —  Precious 
villain  I 

Gratiano. 
The  woman  falls :  sure,  he  has  kill'd  his  wife. 

Emilia. 
Ay,  ay.     O,  lay  me  by  my  mistress'  side  I 

Gratiano 
He's  gone,  but  his  wife's  kill'd. 

Montano. 
'Tis  a  notorious  villain.  Take  you  this  weapon, 
Which  1  have  here  recover'd  from  the  Moor. 
Come,  guard  the  door  without :  let  him  not  pass, 
But  kill  him  rather.     I'll  after  that  same  villain. 
For  'tis  a  damned  slave. 

[Exeunt  Montano  and  Gratiano. 

Othello. 

I  am  not  valiant  neither, 
But  every  puny  whipster  gets  my  sword. 
But  why  6hould  honour  outlive  honesty? 
Let  it  go  all. 

Emilia. 
What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady  ? 
Hark,  canst  thou  hear  me  ?  I  will  play  the  swan, 
And  die  in  music :  —  Willow,  willow,  willow. — 
Moor,  she  was  chaste ;  she  lov'd  thee,  cruel  Moor : 
So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true ; 
So  speaking  as  I  think,  1  die,— 1  die.         [Dies. 

Othello. 

1  have  another  weapon  in  this  chamber, 

It  is  a  sword  of  Spain,  the  ice-brook's  temper — 

0 1  here  it  is.  —  Uncle,  I  must  come  forth. 

Gratiano.  [Within. 

If  thou  attempt  it,  it  will  cost  thee  dear : 
Thou  hast  no  weapon,  and  perforce  must  suffer. 

Othello. 
Look  in  upon  me,  then,  and  speak  to  me, 
Or,  naked  as  I  am,  I  will  assault  thee. 

Re-*nter  Gratiano. 

Gratiano. 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

Othello. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


Till;  MOOR  OF  VBNICE. 


I3T7 


Othello. 

Behold  !  I  have  a  weapon  ; 
A  better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a  soldier's  thigh  :  I  have  seen  the  day. 
That,  with  this  little  arm,  and  this  good  sword, 
I  have  made  my  way  through  more  impediments 
Thau   twenty  times  your  stop. —  But,  O  vain 

bOMl  ! 
Who  can  control  his  fate  ?  'tis  not  so  now.— 
Be  not  afraid,  though  you  do  see  me  weapon'd ; 
Here  is  my  journey's  end,  here  is  my  butt, 
And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 
Do  you  go  back  dismay 'd?  'tis  a  lost  fear  ; 
Man  but  a  rush  against  Othello's  breast. 
And  he  retires.—  Where  should  Othello  go?— 
Now,  how  dost  thou  look  now?   O  ill-starr'd 

wench ! 
Pale  as  thy  smock !  when  we  shall  meet  at  compt, 
This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 
And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it.   Cold,  cold,  my  girl ; 
Even  like  thy  chastity — O,  cursed  slave  !— 
Whip  me,  ye  devils, 

From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight ! 
Blow  me  about  in  winds  !  roast  me  in  sulphur  1 
Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire  ! 
O  Desdemonal  Dcsdemona!  dead?  Ol  O!  O! 

Enter  Lodov  to,  Montano,  Ctutio,  and  Officers, 

with  logo,  prisoner. 

Lodovlco. 

Where  is  this  rash  and  most  unfortunate  man  ? 

Othello. 
That's  he,  that  was  Othello :  here  I  am. 

Lodovico. 
Where  is  that  viper?  bring  the  villain  forth. 

Othello. 
I  look  down  towards  his  feet;— but  that's  a 
fable: 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  devil,  I  cannot  kill  thee. 

[Othello  wounds  Iago. 

Lodovico. 
Wrench  his  sword  from  him. 
Iago. 

I  bleed,  sir ;  but  not  kill'd. 
Othello. 
I  am  not  sorry  neither :  I'd  have  thee  live  ; 
For,  in  my  sense,  'tis  happiness  to  die. 
Lodovico. 

0  thou  Othello!  that  wert  once  so  good, 
Fall'n  in  the  practice  of  a  damned  slave, 
What  shall  be  said  to  thee? 

Othello. 

Why,  any  thing : 
An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will ; 
For  nought  I  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour. 
Lodovico. 
This  wretch  hath  part  confess'd  his  villainy. 
Did  you  and  he  consent  in  Cawi'o's  death  ? 
Othello. 

Cassio. 
Dear  general,  I  never  gave  you  cause. 
Othello. 

1  do  believe  it,  and  I  ask  you  pardon. 
Will  you,  I  pray,  demand  that  demi-devil, 
Why  he  hath  thus  ensnar'd  my  soul  and  body  ? 

Iago. 

Demand  me  nothing:  what  you  know,  you 
know. 
From  this  time  forth  I  never  will  speak  word. 
Lodovico. 
What !  not  to  pray  ? 


Gratiano. 

Torments  will  ope  your  lips. 
Othello. 
Well,  thou  dost  best. 

Lodovico. 

Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befall 'n. 

Which,  as  I  think,  you  know  not.    Here  Is  a 

letter, 
Found  In  the  pocket  of  the  slain  Roderigo ; 
And  here  another :  the  one  of  them  imports 
The  death  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo.  ^^ 

O  villain ! 

Cassio. 
Most  heathenish,  and  most  gross  1 
Lodovico. 
Now,  here's  another  discontented  paper, 
Found  in  his  pocket  too  ;  and  this,  it  seems, 
Roderigo  meant  to  have  sent  this  damned  villain ; 
But  that,  belike,  Iago  in  the  interim 
Came  in  and  satisfied  him. 
Othello. 

O,  the  pernicious  caitiff !  — 
How  came  you,  Cassio,  by  that  handkerchief, 
That  was  my  wife's? 

Casalo. 

I  found  It  In  my  chamber ; 
And  he  himself  confess'd,  but  even  now, 
That  there  he  dropp'd  it,  for  a  special  purpose, 
Which  wrought  to  his  desire. 
Othello. 

O  fool  1  fool !  fool  I 
Cassio. 
There  is,  besides,  In  Roderigo's  letter, 
j  How  he  upbraids  Iago,  that  he  made  him 
Brave  me  upon  the  watch  ;  whereon  it  came 
That  I  was  cast :  and  even  but  now  he  spake. 
After  long  seeming  dead,—  Iago  hurt  him, 
Iago  set  him  on. 

Lodovico. 
You  must  forsake  this  room,  and  go  with  us: 
Your  power  and  your  command  is  taken  off, 
And  Cassio  rules  in  Cyprus.    For  this  slave, 
If  there  be  any  cunning  cruelty, 
That  can  torment  him  much,  and  hold  him  long. 
It  shall  be  his.     You  shall  close  prisoner  rest, 
{Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  be  known 
|  To  the  Venetian  state.— Come ;  bring  him  away. 
Othello. 
Soft  you ;  a  word  or  two,  before  you  go.    [it ; 
I  have  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know 
No  more  of  that.  — I  pray  you,  in  your  letters. 
When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 
Speak  of  me  as  I  am  ;  nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  aught  in  malice  :  then,  must  you 
Of  one  that  lov'd,  not  wisely,  but  too  well :  [speak 
Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme  ;  of  one,  whose  hand, 
Like  the  base  Indian,  threw  a  pearl  away, 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe ;  of  one,  whose  sub- 
Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood,  [dued  eyes, 
Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 
Their  medicinal  gum.    Set  you  down  this  ; 
And  say,  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once, 
Where  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  Turk 
Beat  a  Venetian,  and  tradue'd  the  state, 
I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog, 
And  smote  him  — thus.  [Stabs  himself. 

Lodovico. 
O  bloody  period  1 

Gratiano. 

All  that's  spoke  is  marr'd. 
Othello. 


joi8 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  i, 


Othello. 
I  kiss'd  thee,  ere  I  kill'd  thee :— no  way  but 
this,  [Falling  upon  Desdemona. 

Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss.  [Dies. 

Cassia. 
This  did  I  fear,  but  thought  he  had  no  weapon, 
For  he  was  great  of  heart. 

Lodovlco. 

O  Spartan  dog ! 
More  fell  than  anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea, 


Look  on  the  tragic  loading  of  this  bed ;  TTo  lago. 
This  is  thy  work  :  the  object  poisons  sight ; 
Let  it  be  hid.  — Gratiano,  keep  the  house, 
And  seize  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  Moor, 
For  they  succeed  on  you — To  you,  lord  governor, 
Remains  the  censure  of  this  hellish  villain ; 
The  time,  the  place,  the  torture :  —  O,  enforce  it ! 
Myself  will  straight  aboard,  and  to  the  state 
This  heavy  act  with  heavy  heart  relate. 

[Exeunt. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Triumvirs. 


Friends  of  Antony. 


M.  ANTONY,         ) 
Octavius  Caesar,       J- 
M.  ^Emil.  Lepidus,  3 
Sextus  Pompeius. 
Domitius  Enobarbus, 
Ventidius, 
Eros, 
Scar  us, 
Dercetas, 
Demetrius, 
Philo, ' 
Mecaenas,   "1 
Agrippa,      | 

Thyreus,      I 
Gall  us,        J 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.    Alexandria.    A  Room  in 
Cleopatra's  Palace. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Philo. 
Philo. 
AY,  but  this  dotage  of  our  general's 


h 


N 


Overflows  the  measure:  those  his  goodly 
That  o'er  the  files  and  musters  of  the  war  [eyes, 
Have  glow'd  like  plated  Mars,  now  bend,  now 
The  office  and  devotion  of  their  view  [turn 

Upon  a  tawny  front :  his  captain's  heart, 
Which  in  the  scuffles  of  great  fights  hath  burst 
The  buckles  on  his  breast,  reneges  all  temper, 
And  is  become  the  bellows,  and  the  fan, 
To  cool  a  gipsy's  lust.    Look,  where  they  come. 


Menas, 

Menecrates,  £-  Friends  to  Pompey 
Varrius, 

Taurus,  Lieutenant-General  to  Caesar. 
Canidius,  Lieutenant-General  to  Antony. 
Silius,  an  Officer  under  Ventidius. 
Euphronius,  Ambassador  from  Antony  to  Caesar. 
|  Alexas,  Mardian,  Seleucus,  and  Diomedes,   At- 
tendants  on    Cleopatra.     A    Soothsayer.    A 
Clown. 
Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt. 
Octavia,  Sister  to  Caesar,  and  Wife  to  Antony. 

Iras™13"'  }  Pendants  on  Cleopatra 
Officers,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and  other  At- 
tendants. 
SCENE,  in  several  Parts  of  the  Roman  Empire. 


Flourish.  Enter  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  with 
their  Trains ;  Eunuchs  fanning  her. 

Take  but  good  note,  and  you  shall  see  in  him 
The  triple  pillar  of  the  world  transform'd 
Into  a  strumpet's  fool :  behold  and  see. 
Cleopatra. 
If  it  be  love  Indeed,  tell  me  how  much. 

Antony. 
There's   beggary   in    the   love   that  can  be 
reckon'd. 

Cleopatra. 

I'll  set  a  bourn  how  far  to  be  belov'd. 

Antony. 
Then  must  thou  needs  find  out  new  heaven. 


new  earth. 


Enter 


Act  i.  5c.  u. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1019 


Enter  an  Attendant. 

News,  my  good  lord,  from  Rome. 

Antony. 

urates  me :  —  the  sum. 

Cleopatra. 
Nay,  hear  them,  Antony : 
Fulvta,  perchance,  is  angry  ;  or,  who  knows 
If  the  scarce-bearded  Ctesar  have  not  sent 
His  powerful  mandate  to  you,  "  Do  this,  or  this  ; 
Take  in  that  kingdom,  and  enfranchise  that ; 
Perfonn't,  or  else  we  damn  thee." 

Antony. 

How,  my  lore ! 

Cleopatra. 

Perchance,-  nay,  ana  most  like, — 

You  must  not  stayhere  longer  ;  your  dismission 

Is  come  from  Ctesar;  therefore  hear  it,  Antony. — 

Where's  Fulvia's  process?     Ctesar's,  I  would 

say?— Both?— 
Call  in  the  messengers. — As  I  am  Egypt's  queen, 
Thou  blushest,  Antony,  and  that  blood  of  thine 
Is   Ctesar's  homager;  else  so  thy  cheek  pays 

shame, 
When  shrill-tonguM  Fulvfa  scolds.— The  mes- 
sengers ! 

Antony. 
Let  Rome  in  Tyber  melt,  and  the  wid^arch 
Of  the  rang'd  empire  fall  1    Here  is  my  Space. 
Kingdoms  are  clay  :  our  dungy  earth  alike 
Feeds  beast  as  man :  the  nobleness  of  life 
Is  to  do  thus ;  when  such  a  mutual  pair 


i  Embracing. 
IT 


And  such  a  twain  can  do't,  In  which  I  bind, 
On  pain  of  punishment,  the  world  to  weet, 
We  stand  up  peerless. 

Cleouatra. 

Excellent  falsehood ! 
Why  did  he  marry  Fulvia,  and  not  love  her  ? — 
I'll  seem  the  fool  I  am  not ;  Antony 
Will  be  himself. 

Antony. 
But  stirr'd  by  Cleopatra.— 
Now,  for  the  love  ot  Love,  and  her  soft  hours, 
Let's  not  confound  the  time  with  conference 

harsh : 
There's  not  a  minute  of  our  lives  should  stretch 
Without  some  pleasure  now.    What  sport  to- 
night ? 

Cleopatra. 
Hear  the  ambassadors. 

Antony. 

Fie,  wrangling  queen  I 
Whom  every  thing  becomes,  to  chide,  to  laugh, 
To  weep  ;  w'hose  every  passion  fully  strives 
To  make  itself,  in  thee,  fair  and  admir'd. 
No  messenger  ;  but  thine,  and  all  alone,     [note 
To-night  we'll  wander  through  the  streets,  and 
The  qualities  of  people.     Come,  my  queen  ; 
Last  night  you  did  desire  it.  — Speak  not  to  us. 
[Exeunt  Antony  and  Cleopatra  with  their 
Train. 

Demetrius. 
Is  Ca?sar  with  Antonius  priz'd  so  slight? 

Philo. 
Sir,  sometimes,  when  he  is  not  Antony, 
He  comes  too  short  of  that  great  property 
Which  still  should  go  with  Antony. 

Demetrius 

I  am  full  sorry, 
That  he  approves  the  common  liar,  who 
Thus  speaks  of  him  at  Rome;  but  I  will  hope 
Of  better  deeds  to-morrow.     Rest  you  happy. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.    The  same.    Another  Room. 
Enter  Ckarmian,  Iras,  Alexas,  and  a  Soothsayer. 
Charmian. 
Lord  Alexas,  sweet  Alexas,  most  any  thing 
Alexas,  almost  most  absolute  Alexas,  where's  the 
soothsayer  that  you  praised  so  to  the  queen  ?  O  I 
that  I  knew  this  husband,  which,  you  say,  must 
charge  his  horns  with  garlands  I 
Alexas. 
Soothsayer ! 

Soothsayer. 
Your  will  ? 

Charmian. 
Is  this  the  man?— Is't  you,  sir,  that  know 
things  ? 

Soothsayer. 
In  nature's  Infinite  book"  of  secrecy, 
A  little  I  can  read. 

Alexas. 

Show  him  your  hand. 

Enter  Enobarbus. 
Enobarbus. 
Bring  in  the  banquet  quickly;  wine  enough, 
Cleopatra's  health  to  drink. 
Charmian. 
Good  sir,  give  me  good  fortune. 

Soothsayer. 
I  make  not,  but  foresee." 

Charmian. 
Pray,  then,  foresee  me  one. 
Soothsayer. 
You  shall  be  yet  far  fairer  than  you  are. 

Charmian. 
He  means,  in  flesh. 

Iras. 
No,  you  shall  paint  when  you  are  old. 

Charmian. 
Wrinkles  forbid ! 

Alexas. 
Vex  not  his  prescience ;  be  attentive. 

Charmian. 
Hush! 

Soothsayer. 
You  shall  be  more  beloving,  than  belov'd. 

Charmian. 
I  had  rather  heat  my  liver  with  drinking. 

Alexas. 
Nay,  hear  him. 

Charmian. 
Good  now,  some  excellent  fortune.    Let  me 
be  married  to  three  kings  in  a  forenoon,  and 
widow  them  all :  let  me  have  a  child  at  fifty,  to 
whom  Herod  of  Jewry  may  do  homage :  find  me 
|  to  marry  me  with  Octavius  Ca?sar,  and  com- 
panion me  with  my  mistress. 
Soothsayer. 
You  shall  outlive  the  lady  whom  you  serve. 

Charmian. 
O  excellent  I  I  love  long  life  better  than  figs. 
Soothsayer. 
;     You  have  seen,  and  proved  a  fairer  former 
I  Than  that  which  is  to  approach.  [fortune, 

Charmian. 
Then,  belike,   my  children    shall   hare   no 
names.     Pr'ythee,  how  many  boys  and  wenches 
must  I  have  ? 

Soothsayer. 
If  every  of  your  wishes  had  a  womb, 
And  fertile  every  wish,  a  million. 

Charmian. 


1020 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  i.  Sc  n. 


Charmian. 
Out,  fool  I  I  forgive  thee  for  a  witch. 

Alexas. 
You  think,  none  but  your  sheets  are  privy  to 
your  wishes. 

Charmian. 
Nay,  come ;  tell  Iras  hers.' 
Alexas. 
We'll  know  all  our  fortunes. 
Enobarbus. 
Mine,  and  most  of  our  fortunes,  to-night,  shall 
be,  drunk  to  bed. 

Iras. 
There's  a  palm  presages  chastity,  if  nothing 
else. 

Charmian. 
Even   as   the   o'er  flowing   Nilus    presageth 
famine. 

Iras. 
Go,  you  wild  bedfellow,  you  cannot  soothsay. 

Charmian. 
Nay,  if  an  oily  palm  be  not  a  fruitful  prognos- 
tication, I  cannot  scratch  mine  ear —  rr'ythee, 
tell  her  but  a  worky-day  fortune. 
Soothsayer. 
Your  fortunes  are  alike. 
Iras. 
But  how  ?  but  how  ?  give  me  particulars. 

Soothsayer. 
I  have  said. 

Iras. 
Am  I  not  an  inch  of  fortune  better  than  she  ? 

Charmian. 
Well,  if  you  were  but  an  inch  of  fortune  better 
than  I,  where  would  you  choose  it  ? 
Iras. 
Not  in  my  husband's  nose. 
Charmian. 
Our  worser  thoughts  heavens  mend  1    Alexas, 
—  come,  his  fortune,  his  fortune.  —  O  I  let  him 
marry  a  [woman  that  cannot  go,  sweet  Isis,  I 
beseech  thee :  and  let  her  die  too,  and  give  him 
a  worse  ;  and  let  worse  follow  worse,  till  the 
worst  of  all  follow  him  laughing  to  his  grave, 
fifty-fold  a  cuckold.     Good  Isis,  hear  me  this 
prayer,  though  thou  deny  me  a  matter  of  more 
weight,  good  Isis,  I  beseech  thee ! 
Iras. 
Amen.    Dear  goddess,  hear  that  prayer  of  the 
people;  for,  as  it  is  a  heart-breaking  to  see  a 
handsome  man  loose-wived,  so  it  is  a  deadly  sor- 
row to  behold  a  foul  knave  uncuckolded :  there- 
fore, dear  Isis,  keep  decorum,  and  fortune  him 
accordingly  I 

Charmian. 
Amen. 

Lo,  now  !  if  it  lay  In  their  hands  to  make  me 
a  cuckold,  they  would  make  themselves  whores, 
but  they'd  do't. 

Enobarbus. 

Hush  1  here  comes  Antony. 

Charmian. 

Not  he,  the  queen. 

Enter  Cleopatra. 

Cleopatra. 
Saw  you  my  lord  ? 

Enobarbus. 
No,  lady. 

Cleopatra. 
Was  he  not  here  ? 


Charmian. 
No,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 
He  was  dispos'd  to  mirth  ;  but  on  the  sudden. 
A  Roman  thought  hath  struck    him Eno- 
barbus, — 

Enobarbus. 
Madam. 

Cleopatra. 
Seek  him,  and  bring  him  hither.    Where's 
Alexas  ? 

Alexas. 
Here,  at  your  service.  —  My  lord  approaches. 

Enter  Antony,  with  a  Messenger  and 
Attendants. 

Cleopatra. 
We  will  not  look  upon  him :  go  with  us. 
[Exeunt  Cleopatra,  Enobarbus,  Alexas,  Iras, 
Charmian,  Soothsayer,  and  Attendants. 

Messenger. 
Fulvia,  thy  wife,  first  came  into  the  field. 

Antony. 
Against  my  brother  Lucius  f 

Messenger 
Ay: 
But  soon  that  war  had  end,  and  the  time's  state 
Made  friends  of  them,  jointing  their  force  'gainst 

Ccesar  ; 
(Whose  better  issue  in  the  war,  from  Italy 
\  Upon  the  first  encounter  drave  them. 
Antony. 

Well,  what  worst  ? 
Messenger. 
The  nature  of  bad  news  infects  the  teller. 
Antony, 

When  it  concerns  the  fool,  or  coward On  : 

|  Things,  that  are  past,  are  done,  with  me.  —  'Tis 

thus  ; 
|  Who  tells  me  true,  though  in  his  tale  lie  death, 
:  I  hear  him  as  he  flatter'd. 

Messenger 

Lahienus 
(This  is  stiff  news)  hath  with  his  Parthian  force 
j  Extended  Asia  from  Euphrates  ; 
\  His  conquering  banner  shook  from  Syria 

j  To  Lydia,  and  to  Ionia  ;  whilst 

Antony. 
j     Antony,  thou  would'st  say,  — 

Messenger. 
j     O,  my  lord  1 

Antony. 
Speak  to  me  home,  mince  not  the  general 
tongue ; 
jName  Cleopatra  as  she  is  call'd  in  Rome  ; 
jRail  thou  in  Fulvia's  phrase,  and  taunt  my 

faults 
(With  such  full  licence,  as  both  truth  and  malice 
j  Have  power  to  utter.    O  !  then  we  bring  forth 

weeds, 
When  our  quick  winds  lie  still ;  and  our  Ills  told 
I  Is  as  our  earing.    Fare  thee  well  awhile,      [us, 
Messenger. 
At  your  noble  pleasure.  [Exit. 

Antony. 
From  Sicyon  how  the  news  ?    Speak  there. 

First  Attendant. 
The  man  from  Sicyon.— Is  there  such  an  one? 

Second  Attendant. 
He  stays  upon  your  will. 

Antony. 


Act  l  Sc.  hi. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


I  01 1 


Antony. 

Let  him  appear.— 
These  strong  Egyptian  fetters  1  must  break, 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Or  lose  myself  in  dotage  —  What  are  you  ? 
Il   tad  m  sjengcr. 
Fuivia  thy  wife  is  dead. 

Antony. 

Where  died  she  ? 
Second  Messenger. 
In  Sicyon ; 
Her  lenpth  of  sickness,  with  what  else  more 

serious 
Importeth  thee  to  know,  this  bears. 

[Giving  a  Letter 
Antony 

Forbear  me.  — 
[Exit  Messenger. 
There's  a  great  spirit  gone.  Thus  did  I  desire 
What  our  contempts  do  often  hurl  from  us,  [it : 
We  wish  it  ours  again  ;  the  present  pleasure, 
By  revolution  lowering,  does  become 
The  opposite  of  itself:  she's  good,  being  gone  ; 
The  hand  could  pluck  her  back,  that  shov'd  her 

on. 
I  must  from  this  enchanting  queen  break  off; 
Ten  thousand  harms,  more  than  the  ills  I  know, 
My  idleness  doth  hatch. —  How   now  1    Eno- 
barbus! 

Enter  Enobarbus. 
Enobarbus, 
What's  your  pleasure,  sir  ? 
Antony. 
I  must  with  haste  from  hence. 

Enobarbus. 
Why,  then,  we  kill  all  our  women.    We  see 
how  mortal  an  unkindness  is  to  them :  if  they 
suffer  our  departure,  death's  the  word. 
Antony. 
I  must  be  gone. 

Enobarbus 
Under  a  compelling  occasion,  let  women  die : 
it  were  pity  to  cast  them  away  for  nothing; 
though,  between  them  and  a  great  cause,  they 
should  be  esteemed  nothing.    Cleopatra,  catch- 
ing but  the  least  noise  of  this,  dies  instantly :  I 
have  seen  her  die  twenty  times  upon  far  poorer 
moment.    I  do  think,  there  is  mettle  in  death, 
which  commits  some  loving  act  upon  her,  she 
hath  such  a  celerity  in  dying. 
Antony. 
She  is  cunning  past  man's  thought. 

Enobarbus. 
Alack,  sir  1  no ;  her  passions  are  made  of 
nothing  but  the  finest  part  of  pure  love.  We 
cannot  call  her  winds  and  waters,  sighs  and 
tears  ;  they  are  greater  storms  and  tempests 
than  almanacs  can  report :  this  cannot  be  cunning 
in  her ;  if  it  be,  she  makes  a  shower  of  rain  as 
well  as  Jove. 

Antony. 
Would  I  had  never  seen  her  I 

Enobarbus. 
O,  sir  I  you  had  then  left  unseen  a  wonderful 
piece  of  work,  which  not  to  have  been  blessed 
withal  would  have  discredited  your  travel. 
Antony. 
Fuivia  is  dead. 

Enobarbus. 
Sir? 

Antony. 
Fuivia  is  dead. 


Enobarba*. 
Fuivia  I 

Antony. 
Dead. 

hnoharuus. 

Why,  sir.  give  the  gods  a  thankful  sacrifice. 
When  it  pleaseth  their  deities  to  take  the  wife 
of  a  man  from  him,  it  shows  to  man  the  tailors 
of  the  earth  :  comforting  therein,  that  when  old 
robes  are  worn  out,  there  are  members  to  make 
new.  If  there  were  no  more  women  but  Fuivia, 
then  had  you  indeed  a  cut,  and  the  case  to  be 
lamented :  this  grief  is  crowned  with  consolation  ; 
your  old  smock  brings  forth  a  new  petticoat ; 
and,  indeed,  the  tears  live  in  an  onion,  that 
should  water  this  sorrow. 

Antony. 

The  business  she  hath  broached  in  the  state, 
Cannot  endure  my  absence. 
Enobarbus. 

And  the  business  you  have  broached  here 
cannot  be  without  you  ;  especially  that  of  Cleo- 
patra's, which  wholly  depends  on  your  abode. 
■   Antony. 

No  more  light  answers.    Let  our  officers 
Have  notice  what  we  purpose.    I  shall  break 
The  cause  of  our  expedience  to  the  queen, 
And  get  her  love  to  part :  for  not  alone 
The  death  of  Fuivia,  with  more  urgent  touches, 
Do  strongly  speak  to  us,  but  the  letters,  too, 
Of  many  our  contriving  friends  in  Rome 
Petition  us  at  home.    Sextus  Pompeius 
Hath  given  the  dare  to  Casar,  and  commands 
The  empire  of  the  sea :  our  slippery  people 
(Whose  love  is  never  link'd  to  the  deserver, 
Till  his  deserts  are  past)  begin  to  throw 
Pompey  the  great,  and  all  his  dignities, 
Upon  his  son  :  who,  high  in  name  and  power, 
Higher  than  both  in  blood  and  life,  stands  up 
For  the  main  soldier  ;  whose  quality,  going  on, 
The  sides  o*  the  world  may  danger.    Much  is 

breeding, 
Which,  like  the  courser's  hair,  hath  yet  but  life, 
And  not  a  serpent's  poison.    Say,  our  pleasure, 
To  such  whose  place  is  under  us,  requires 
Our  quick  remove  from  hence. 

Enobarbus. 

I  shall  do  it.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  III. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  AUxas. 

Cleopatra. 
Where  is  he  ? 

Charmian. 
I  did  not  see  him  since. 
Cleopatra. 
See  where  he  is,  who's  with  him,  what  hedoes : 
I  did  not  send  you— If  you  find  him  sad, 
Say,  I  am  dancing ;  if  in  mirth,  report 
That  I  am  sudden  sick :  quick,  and  return. 

[Exit  AUxas. 
Charmian. 
Madam,  methinks,  if  you  did  love  him  dearly, 
You  do  not  hold  the  method  to  enforce 
The  like  from  him. 

Cleopatra. 

What  should  I  do,  I  do  not  ? 
Charmian. 
In  each  thing  give  him  way,  cross  him  in  no- 
thing. 

Cleopatra. 
Thou  teachest,  like  a  fool,  the  way  to  lose  him. 
Charmian. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  in. 


Charm  ian. 
Tempt  him  not  so  too  far ;  I  wish,  forbear : 
In  time  we  hate  that  which  we  often  fear. 

Enter  Antony. 
But  here  comes  Antony. 

Cleopatra. 

I  am  sick,  and  sullen. 
Antony. 
I  am  sorry  to  give  breatning  to  my  purpose,— 

Cleopatra. 
Help  me  away,  dear  Charmian,  I  shall  fall : 
It  cannot  be  thus  long,  the  sides  of  nature 
Will  not  sustain  it. 

Antony. 

Now,  my  dearest  queen,— 
Cleopatra. 
Pray  you,  stand  farther  from  me. 
Antony. 

What's  the  matter  ? 
Cleopatra. 
I  know,  by  that  same  eye,  there's  some  good 
news. 
What  says  the  married  woman  ?  —  You  may  go : 
Would,  she  had  never  given  you  leave  to  come  1 
Let  her  not  say,  'tis  I  that  keep  you  here, 
I  have  no  power  upon  you ;  hers  you  are. 
Antony. 
The  gods  best  know, — 

Cleopatra. 

O  !  never  was  there  queen 
So  mightily  betray'd  ;  yet  at  the  first 
I  saw  the  treasons  planted. 
Antony. 

Cleopatra,  — 
Cleopatra. 
Why  should  I  think,  you  can  be  mine,  and  true, 
Though  you  in  swearing  shake  the  throned  gods, 
Who  have  been  false  to  Fulvia  f    Riotous  mad- 
ness, 
To  be  entangled  with  those  mouth-made  vows, 
Which  break  themselves  in  swearing  1 
Antony. 

Most  sweet  queen,— 
Cleopatra. 
Nay,  pray  you,  seek  no  colour  for  your  going, 
But  bid  farewell,  and  go :  when  you  sued  staying, 
Then  was  the  time  for  words  ;  no  going  then : 
Eternity  was  in  our  lips,  and  eyes  ; 
Bliss  in  our  brows'  bent ;  none  our  parts  so  poor, 
But  was  a  race  of  heaven :  they  are  so  still, 
Or  thou,  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  world, 
Art  turn'd  the  greatest  liar. 
Antony. 

How  now,  lady  I 
Cleopatra. 
I  would,  I  had  thy  inches  ;   thou  should'st 
There  were  a  heart  in  Egypt.  [know, 

Antony. 

Hear  me,  queen. 
The  strong  necessity  of  time  commands 
Our  services  a  while,  but  my  full  heart 
Remains  in  use  with  you.     Our  Italy 
Shines  o'er  with  civil  swords :  Sextus  Pompeius 
Makes  his  approaches  to  the  port  of  Borne : 
Equality  of  two  domestic  powers  [strength, 

Breeds  scrupulous  faction.   The  hated,  grown  to 
Are  newly  grown  to  love:  the  condemn'd  Pom- 
Rich  in  his  father's  honour,  creeps  apace    [pey, 
Into  the  hearts  of  such  as  have  not  thriv'd 
Upon  (lie  present  state,  whosenumbers  threaten ; 


And  quietness,  grown  sick  of  rest,  would  purge 

By  any  desperate  change.     My  more  particular, 

And  that  which  most  with  you  should  safe  my 

Is  Fulvia's  death.  [going, 

Cleopatra. 

Though  age  from  folly  could  not  give  me 

freedom, 

It  does  from  childishness Can  Fulvia  die  ? 

Antony. 
She's  dead,  my  queen. 
Look  here,  and,  at  thy  sovereign  leisure,  read 
The  garboils  she  awak'd ;  at  the  last,  best, 
See,  when,  and  where  she  died. 
Cleopatra. 

O  most  false  love  I 
Where  be  the  sacred  vials  thou  should'st  fill 
With  sorrowful  water?    Now  I  see,  I  see, 
In  Fulvia's,  death,  how  mine  receiv'd  shall  be. 
Antony. 
Quarrel  no  more,  but  be  prepar'd  to  know 
The  purposes  I  bear ;  which  are,  or  cease, 
As  you  shall  give  the  advice  :  by  the  fire 
That  quickens  Nilus*  slime,  I  go  from  hence, 
Thy  soldier,  servant ;  making  peace,  or  war, 
As  thou  affect'st. 

Cleopatra. 
Cut  my  lace,  Charmian,  come.— 
But  let  it  be — I  am  quickly  ill,  and  well, 
So  Antony  loves. 

Antony. 
My  precious  queen,  forbear ; 
And  give  true  evidence  to  his  love,  which  stands 
An  honourable  trial. 

Cleopatra. 

So  Fulvia  told  me. 
I  pr'ythee,  turn  aside,  and  weep  for  her; 
Then  bid  adieu  to  me,  and  say,  the  tears 
Belong  to  Egypt :  good  now,  play  one  scene 
Of  excellent  dissembling ;  and  let  it  look 
Like  perfect  honour. 

Antony. 
You'll  heat  my  blood :  no  more. 
Cleopatra. 
You  can  do  better  yet,  but  this  is  meetly. 

Antony. 
Now,  by  my  sword, — 

Cleopatra. 

And  target.  — Still  he  mends; 
But  this  is  not  the  best.    Look,  pr'ythee,  Char- 
mian, 
How  this  Herculean  Roman  does  become 
The  carriage  of  his  chafe. 

Antony. 
I'll  leave  you,  lady. 

Cleopatra. 

Courteous  lord,  one  word. 
Sir,  you  and  I  must  part,— but  that's  not  it : 
Sir,  you  and  I  have  lov'd, — but  there's  not  it; 
That  you  know  well:  something  it  is  I  would,— 
O I  my  oblivion  is  a  very  Antony, 
And  lam  all  forgotten. 

Antony. 

But  that  your  royalty 
Holds  idleness  your  subject,  I  should  take  you 
For  idleness  itself. 

Cleopatra. 
'Tis  sweating  labour 
To  bear  such  idleness  so  near  the  heart, 
As  Cleopatra  this.    But,  sir,  forgive  me; 
Since  my  becomings  kill  me,  when  they  do  not 
Eye  well  to  you  :  your  honour  calls  you  hence ; 
Therefore,  be  deaf  to  my  unpitied  folly, 

And 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1023 


And  all  the  god*  go  with  you  1  upon  your  s word 
Sit  Uurel'd  victory,  and  smooth  success 
Be  strew'd  before  your  feet ! 
Ant 

Let  us  go.    Come ; 
Our  separation  so  abides,  and  flies, 
That  thou,  residing  here,  go'st  yet  with  me, 
And  I,  hence  tleetiug,  here  remain  withthee. 
Awayl  [Kxeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Rome.    An  Apartment  in  Cxsar't 
Houw. 

Enter  Octavhu  C*tar,  Lepidus,  and  Attendant*. 
Cstsar. 
You  may  tee,  Lepidus,  and  henceforth  know, 
It  is  not  Ccesar'i  natural  vice  to  hate 
One  great  competitor.     From  Alexandria 
This  is  the  news:  he  fishes,  drinks,  and  wastes 
The  lamps  of  night  in  revel ;  is  not  more  manlike 
Than  Cleopatra,  nor  the  queen  of  Ptolemy 
More  womanly  than  he:  hardly  gave  audience,  or 
Vouchsaf 'd  to  think  he  had  partners :  you  shall 

find  there 
A  man,  who  is  the  abstract  of  all  faults 
That  all  men  follow. 

Lepidus. 
I  must  not  think,  there  are 
Evils  enow  to  darken  all  his  goodness  : 
His  faults,  in  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 
More  fiery  by  night's  blackness ;  hereditary, 
Rather  than  purchas'd ;  what  he  cannot  change, 
Than  what  he  chooses. 

Caspar. 
You  are  too  indulgent.    Let  us  grant,  it  is  not 
Amiss  to  tumble  on  the  bed  of  Ptolemy  ; 
To  give  a  kingdom  for  a  mirth ;  to  sit 
And  keep  the  turn  of  tippling  with  a  slave; 
To  reel  the  streets  at  noon,  and  stand  the  buffet 
With  knaves  that  smell  of  sweat :  say,  this  be- 
comes him, 
(As  his  composure  must  be  rare  indeed, 
Whom  these  things  cannot  blemish)  yet  must  ! 

Antony 
No  way  excuse  his  foils,  when  we  do  bear 
So  great  weight  in  his  lightness.    If  he  fill'd 
His  vacancy  with  his  voluptuousness, 
Full  surfeits,  and  the  dryness  of  his  bones, 
Call  on  him  for't ;  but,  to  confound  such  time, 
That  drums  him  from  his  sport,  and  speaks  as 

loud 
As  his  own  state,  and  ours,— 'tis  to  be  chid 
As  we  rate  boys ;  who,  being  mature  in  know- 
ledge, 
Pawn  their  experience  to  their  present  pleasure, 
And  so  rebel  to  judgment. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Lepidus. 

Hert's  more  news. 
Messenger. 
Thy  biddings  have  been  done ;  and  every  hour, 
Most  noble  Ceesar,  shalt  thou  have  report 
How  'tis  abroad.    Pompey  is  strong  at  sea ; 
And  it  appears,  he  is  belov'd  of  those 
That  only  have  fear'd  Ccesar:  to  the  ports 
The  discontents  repair,  and  men's  reports 
Give  him  much  wrong'd. 
Caesar. 
I  should  have  known  no  less. 
It  hath  been  taught  us  from  the  primal  state, 
That  he,  which  is,  was  wish'd,  until  he  were; 
And  the  ebb'd  man  ne'er  Iov'd,  till  ne'er  worth 
love, 


Comes  fear'd  by  being  lack'd.     This  common 

body, 
Like  to  a  vagabond  flag  upon  the  stream. 
Goes  to,  and  back,  lackeying  the  varying  tide, 
To  rot  itself  with  motion. 

1  nger. 
Ceesar,  I  bring  thee  word, 
Menecrales  and  Menas,  famous  pirates, 
Make  the  sea  serve  them ;  which  they  ear  and 

wound 
With  keels  of  every  kind  :  many  hot  inroads 
They  make  in  Italy;  the  borders  maritime 
Lick  blood  to  think  on't,  and  flush  youth  revolt: 
No  vessel  can  peep  forth,  but  'tis  as  soon 
Taken  as  seen ;  for  Pompey'*  name  strikes  more. 
Than  could  his  war  resisted. 
Qssifjt, 

Antony, 
Leave  thy  lascivious  wassails.    When  thou  once 
Wast  beaten  from  Modena,  where  thou  slew'st 
Hirtius  and  Pansu,  consuls,  at  thy  heel 
Did  famine  follow  ;  whom  thou  fought 'st  against, 
Though  daintily  brought  up,  with  patience  more 
Than  savages  could  suffer:  thou  didst  drink 
The  stale  of  horses,  and  the  gilded  puddle, 
Which  beasts  would  cough  at :  thy  palate  then 

did  deign 
The  roughest  berry  on  the  rudest  hedge ; 
Yea,  like  the  stag,  when  snow  the  pasture  sheets, 
The  barks  of  trees  thou  browsed'st :  on  the  Alps 
It  is  reported,  thou  didst  eat  strange  flesh, 
Which  some  did  die  to  look  on ;  and  all  this 
(It  wounds  thine  honour,  that  I  speak  it  now) 
Was  borne  so  like  a  soldier,  that  thy  cheek 
So  much  as  lank'd  not. 

I^pldus. 

•Tis  pity  of  him. 
Caesar. 
Let  his  shames  quickly 
Drive  him  to  Rome.    "Tis  time  we  twain 
Did  show  ourselves  i'  the  field ;  and,  to  that  end, 
Assemble  we  immediate  council :  Pompey 
Thrives  in  our  idleness. 

Lepidus 

To-morrow,  Qesar, 
I  shall  be  furnish'd  to  inform  you  rightly 
Both  what  by  sea  and  land  I  can  be  able, 
To  front  this  present  time. 
Caesar. 

Till  which  encounter, 
It  is  my  business  too.    Farewell. 
Lepidus. 
Farewell,  my  lord.     What  you  shall  know 
mean  time 
Of  stirs  abroad,  I  shall  beseech  you,  sir, 
To  let  me  be  partaker. 

Csesar. 
Doubt  not,  sir ;  I  knew  it  for  my  bond. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE  V.    Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Mardian 
Cleopatra. 
Charmian, — 


Madam . 


Charmian. 

Cleopatra. 
Ha,  ha!  — 
Give  me  to  drink  mandragora. 
Charmian. 


wh'-ff?w; 


eopatra. 


T014- 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


Cleopatra 
That  I  might  sleep  out  this  great  gap  of  time, 
My  Antony  is  away. 

Charmlan. 

You  think  of  him  too  much 
Cleopatra. 
O,  'tis  treason ! 

Charmian. 

Madam,  I  trust,  not  so. 
Cleopatra. 
Thou,  eunuch,  Mardian— 
Mardian. 
What's  your  highness'  pleasure  ? 
Cleopatra. 

Not  now  to  hear  thee  sing :  I  take  no  pleasure 
In  aught  an  eunuch  has.    'Tis  well  for  thee, 
That,  being  unseminar'd,  thy  freer  thoughts 
May  not  fly  forth  of  Egypt.     Hast  thou  af- 
fections ?      ..     ., 

Mardian. 
Yes,  gracious  madam. 

Cleopatra. 

Indeed?  ■ 

Mardian. 
Not  in  deed,  madam  ;  for  I  can  do  nothing, 
But  what  in  deed  is  honest  to  be  done  ; 
Yet  have  I  fierce  affections,  and  think 
What  Venus  did  with  Mart. 
Cleopatra. 

O,  Charmian  I 
Where  think'st  thou  he  is  now  ?    Stands  he,  or 

sits  he  ? 
Or  does  he  walk  ?  or  is  he  on  his  horse  ? 
O  happy  horse  to  bear  the  weight  of  Antony! 
Do  bravely,  horse,  for  wot'st  thou  whom  thou 

mov'st  ? 
The  demi-  Atlas  of  this  earth,  the  arm 

And  burgonet  of  men He's  speaking  now, 

Or  murmuring,  "  Where's  my  serpent  of  old 

Nile?" 
For  so  he  calls  me.    Now  I  feed  myself 
With  most  delicious  poison: — think  on  me, 
That  am  with  Phoebus'  amorous  pinches  black, 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time?    Broad-fronted 

Ceesar, 
When  thou  wast  here  above  the  ground,  I  was 
A  morsel  for  a  monarch ;  and  great  Pompey 
Would  stand,  and  make  his  eyes  grow  in  my 

brow: 
There  would  he  anchor  his  aspect,  and  die 
With  looking  on  his  life. 

Enter  Alexas. 
Alexai. 

Sovereign  of  Egypt,  hail  1 
Cleopatra. 
How  much  unlike  art  thou  Mark  Antony; 
Yet,  coming  from  him,  that  great  medicine  hath 
With  his  tinct  gilded  thee.— 
How  goes  it  with  my  brave  Mark  Antony? 
Alexai. 
Last  thing  he  did,  dear  queen, 
He  kiss'd,— the  last  of  many  doubled  kisses, — 
This  orient  pearl:— his  speech  sticks  in  my 
heart. 

Cleopatra. 
Mine  ear  must  pluck  it  thence." 
Alexas. 

Good  friend,  quoth  he, 
Say,  "  the  firm  Roman  to  great  Egypt  sends 
This  treasure  of  an  oyster;  at  whose  foot, 
To  mend  the  petty  present,  I  will  piece 


Her  opulent  throne  with  kingdoms:  all  the  east," 
Say  thou,  "shall  call  her  mistress."     So  he 

nodded, 
And  soberly  did  mount  an  arm-gaunt  steed, 
Who  neigh'd  so  high,  that  what  I  would  have 
Was  beastly  dumb'd  by  him.  [spoke 

Cleopatra. 

What  1  was  he  sad,  or  merry  ? 
Alexas. 
Like  to  the  time  o*  the  year  between  the 
extremes 
Of  hot  and  cold :  he  was  nor  sad,  nor  merry. 
Cleopatra. 
O  well-divided  disposition ! — Note  him, 
Note  him,  good  Charmian,  'tis  the  man;  but 

note  him : 
He  was  not  sad,  for  he  would  shine  on  those 
That  make  their  looks  by  his:  he  was  not  merry, 
Which  seem'd  to  tell  them,  his  remembrance  lay 
In  Egypt  with  his  joy ;  but  between  both  : 

0  heavenly  mingle !  Be'st  thou  sad,  or  merry, 
The  violence  of  either  thee  becomes, 

So  does  it  no  man  else. — Met'st  thou  my  posts  ? 
Alexai. 
Ay,  madam,  twenty  several  messengers. 
Why  do  you  send  so  thick  ? 
Cleopatra. 

Who's  born  that  day 
When  I  forget  to  send  to  Antony, 

Shall  die  a  beggar.— Ink  and  paper,  Charmian 

Welcome,  my  good  Alexas.— Did  I,  Charmian, 
Ever  love  Ceesar  so  ? 

Charmian . 

O,  that  brave  Ceesar  I 
Cleopatra. 
Be  chok'd  with  such  another  emphasis  I 
Say,  the  brave  Antony. 

Charmian. 

The  valiant  Ceesar  I 
Cleopatra. 
By  Isis,  1  will  give  thee  bloody  teeth, 
If  thou  with  Ceesar  paragon  again, 
My  man  of  men. 

Charmian. 
By  your  most  gracious  pardon, 

1  sing  but  after  you. 

Cleopatra. 

My  sallad  days, 
When  I  was  green  in  judgment :  —  cold  in  blood, 
To  say  as  I  said  then  ! — But  come,  away ; 
Get  me  ink  and  paper : 
He  shall  have  every  day  a  several  gree 
Or  I'll  unpeople  Egypt. 


(eunt. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    Messina.    A  Room  in  Pompey'* 
House. 

Enter  Pompey,  Menecrates,  and  Menas. 
Pompej. 

IF  the  great  gods  be  just,  they  shall  assist 
The  deeds  of  justest  men. 
Menecrates 

Know,  worthy  Pompey, 
That  what  they  do  delay,  they  not  deny. 
Pompey. 
Whiles  we  are  suitors  to  their  throne,  decays 
The  thing  we  sue  for.  _, 

Menecrates. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  if. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


io»5 


We,  Ignorant  of  ourselves, 
Beg  often  our  own  barms,  which  the  wise  powers 
Deny  us  fur  our  good  ;  so  tind  we  profit, 
By  losing  of  our  prayers. 
^psstj 

I  shall  do  well : 
The  people  love  me,  and  the  sea  is  mine  ; 
My  powers  are  crescent,  and  my  auguring  hope 
Says,  it  will  come  to  the  full.    Mark  Antony 
In  Egypt  sits  at  dinner,  and  will  make 
No  wars  without  doors :    Ceesar  gets  money, 
He  loses  hearts  :  Lcpidus  flatters  both,    [where 
Of  both  is  flatter'd  ;  but  he  neither  loves, 
Nor  either  cares  for  him. 

Menas. 

Ctesar  and  Lcpidus 
Are  in  the  field :  a  mighty  strength  they  carry. 

Pom  no  v, 
Where  have  you  this  ?  'tis  false. 

Menas. 

From  Silvius,  sir. 
Pom: 
He  dreams:  I  know,  they  are  in  Rome  to- 
gether, 
Looking  for  Antony.    But  all  the  charms  of  love, 
Salt  Cleopatra,  soften  thy  wan'd  lip  I 
Let  witchcraft  join  with  beauty,  lust  with  both : 
Tie  up  the  libertine  in  a  field  of  feasts, 
Keep  his  brain  fuming ;  Epicurean  cooks, 
Sharpen  with  cloyless  sauce  his  appetite. 
That  sleep  and  feeding  may  prorogue  his  honour, 
Even  till  a  Lethe'd  dulness.  —  How  now,  Var- 
rius! 

Enter  Varrius. 
Varrius, 
This  is  most  certain,  that  I  shall  deliver. 
Mark  Antony  is  every  hour  in  Rome 
Expected ;  since  he  went  from  Egypt,  'tis 
A  space  for  farther  travel. 

Pompey. 
I  could  nave  given  less  matter 
A  better  ear.  —  Menas,  I  did  not  think, 
This  amorous  surfeiter  would  havedon'd  his  helm 
For  such  a  petty  war :  his  soldiership 
Is  twice  the  other  twain.     But  let  us  rear 
The  higher  our  opinion,  that  our  stirring 
Can  from  the  lap  of  Egypt's  widow  pluck 
The  ne'er  lust-weariea  Antony. 

Menas . 

I  cannot  hope, 
C&sar  and  Antony  shall  well  greet  together : 
His  wife  that's  dead  did  trespasses  to  Ceesar  ; 
His  brother  warr'd  upon  him,  although,  I  think, 
Not  mov'd  by  Antony. 

Pompey. 

I  know  not,  Menas, 
How  lesser  enmities  may  give  way  to  greater. 
Were't  not  that  we  stand  up  against  them  all, 
"f  were  pregnant  they  should  square  between 

themselves ; 
For  they  have  entertained  cause  enough 
To  draw  their  swords :  but  how  the  fear  of  us 
May  cement  their  divisions,  and  bind  up 
The  petty  difference,  we  yet  not  know. 
Be  it  as  our  gods  will  have't !     It  only  stands 
Our  lives  upon,  to  use  our  strongest  hands. 
Come,  Menas.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.     Rome.    A  Room  In  the  House  of 
Lepidus. 

Enter  Enobarbus  and  Lepidus 
Lepidus 
Good  Enobarbus 


s,  'tis  a  worthy  deed, 


And  shall  become  you  well,  to  entreat  your  cap- 
To  soft  and  gentle  speech.  [tain 

>rbus. 

I  shall  entreat  him 
To  answer  like  himself:  If  Ccesar  move  him, 
Let  Antony  look  over  Casar't  head, 
And  speak  as  loud  as  Mars.    By  Jupiter, 
Were  I  the  wearer  of  Antonius'  beard, 
I  would  not  shave't  to-day. 

Lepidus. 

•Tis  not  a  time 
For  private  stomaching. 

Enobarbus. 

Every  time 
Serves  for  the  matter  that  is  then  born  in't. 

Lepidus. 
But  small  to  greater  matters  must  give  way. 

Enobarbus. 
Not  if  the  small  come  first 

Lepidus. 

Your  speech  is  passion : 
But,  pray  you,  stir  no  embers  up.  Here  comet 
The  noble  Antony. 

Enter  Antony  and  Ventidita. 
Enobarbus. 

And  yonder,  Ceesar. 

Enter  Ceesar,  Meccenas,  and  Agrippa. 

Alton7' 
If  we  compose  well  here,  to  Parthia: 
Hark  you,  Ventidius. 

Csesar. 

I  do  not  know, 
Meceenas  ;  ask  Agrippa. 

Lepidus. 

Noble  friends, 
That  which  combin'd  us  was  most  great,  and  let 
A  leaner  action  rend  us.    What's  amiss,      [not 
May  it  be  gently  heard :  when  we  debate 
Our  trivial  difference  loud,  we  do  commit 
Murder  in  healing  wounds.    Then,  noble  part- 
(The  rather,  for  I  earnestly  beseech)  [ners 

Touch  you  the  sourest  points  with  sweetest  terms  j 
Nor  curstness  grow  to  the  matter. 

Antony. 

'Tis  spoken  well. 
Were  we  before  our  armies,  and  to  fight, 
I  should  do  thus. 

.Cesar. 
Welcome  to  Rome. 


Sit. 
Sit,  sir. 


A"ffln 
Caesar. 

Antony. 

Ceesar. 


k  you. 


Nay,  then- 

Antony. 
I  learn,  you  take  things'ill,  which  are  not  so ; 
Or,  being,  concern  you  not. 

Caesar. 

I  must  be  laugh'd  at. 
If,  or  for  nothing,  or  a  little,  I 
Should  say  myself  offended  ;  and  with  you 
Chiefly  i' the  world:  morelaugh'dat,  that  I  should 
Once  name  you  derogately,  when  to  sound  your 
It  not  concern'd  me.  [name 

Antony. 
My  being  in  Egypt,  Ceesar, 


What  was't  to  you  ? 


3  v 


Casar. 


i  1026 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  11.  Sc.  11. 


No  more  than  my  residing  here  at  Rome 
Might  be  to  you  in  Egypt :  yet,  if  you  there 
Did  practise  on  my  state,  your  being  in  Egypt 
Might  be  my  question. 

Antony. 

How  intend  you,  practis'd? 
Cassar. 
You  may  be  pleas'd  to  catch  at  mine  intent, 
By  what  did  here  befal  me.    Your  wife,  and 

brother, 
Made  wars  upon  me,  and  their  contestation 
Was  theme  for  you  ;  you  were  the  word  of  war. 
Antony. 
You  do  mistake  your  business :  my  brother 
never 
Did  urge  me  in  his  act :  I  did  enquire  it ; 
And  have  my  learning  from  some  true  reports, 
That  drew  their  swords  with  you.    Did  he  not 
Discredit  my  authority  with  yours  ;         [rather 
And  make  the  wars  alike  against  my  stomach, 
Having  alike  your  cause  ?    Of  this  my  letters 
Before  did  satisfy  you.    If  you'll  patch  a  quarrel, 
As  matter  whole  you  have  to  make  it  with, 
It  must  not  be  with  this. 
Ca?sar. 

You  praise  yourself 
By  laying  defects  of  judgment  to  me  ;  but 
You  patch'd  up  your  excuses. 
Antony. 

Not  so,  not  so ; 
I  know  you  could  not  lack,  I  am  certain  on't, 
Very  necessity  of  this  thought,  that  I, 
Yourpartnerinthe  cause 'gainst  which  he  fought, 
Could  not  with  graceful  eyes  attend  those  wars 
Which  fronted  mine  own  peace.   As  for  my  wife, 
1  would  you  had  her  spirit  in  such  another  ; 
The  third  o'  the  world  is  yours,  which  with  a 
You  may  pace  easy,  but  not  such  a  wife,  [snaffle 
Enobarbus. 
Would  we  had  all  such  wives,  that  the  men 
might  go  to  wars  with  the  women  ! 
Antony. 
So  much  uncurbable,  heir  garboils,  Ccesar, 
Made  out  of  her  impatience,  (which  not  wanted 
Shrewdness  of  policy  too)  I  grieving  grant, 
Did  you  too  much  disquiet :  for  that,  you  must 
But  say,  I  could  not  help  it. 
Cassar. 

I  wrote  to  you, 
When  rioting  in  Alexandria  ;  you 
Did  pocket  up  my  letters,  and  with  taunts 
Did  gibe  my  missive  out  of  audience. 
Antony. 

Sir, 
He  fell  upon  me,  ere  admitted  i  then 
Three  kings  I  had  newly  feasted,  and  did  want 
Of  what  I  was  i'  the  morning  ;  but,  next  day, 
I  told  him  of  myself,  which  was  as  much 
As  to  have  ask'd  him  pardon.    Let  this  fellow 
Be  nothing  of  our  strife  ;  if  we  contend, 
Out  of  our  question  wipe  him. 
Cansar 

You  have  broken 
The  article  of  your  oath,  which  you  shall  never 
Have  tongue  to  charge  me  with. 
Lepidus. 

Soft,  Ccesar. 
Antony. 
No,  Lepidus,  let  him  speak : 
The  honour's  sacred  which  he  talks  on  now, 
Supposing  that  I  lack'd  it.    But  on,  Ccesar; 
The  article  of  my  oath. 


^tesar. 
To  lend  me  arms  and  aid  when  I  requir'd  them, 
The  which  you  both  denied. 
Antony. 

Neglected,  rather ; 
And  then,  when  poison'd  hours  had  bound  me  up 
From  mine  own  knowledge.  As  nearly  as  I  may, 
I'll  play  the  penitent  to  you  ;  but  mine  honesty 
Shall  not  make  poor  my  greatness,  nor  my  power 
Work  without  it.    Truth  is,  that  Fulvia, 
To  have  me  out  of  Egypt,  made  wars  here ; 
For  which  myself,  the  ignorant  motive,  do 
So  far  ask  pardon,  as  befits  mine  honour 
To  stoop  in  such  a  case. 

Lepidus. 

'Tis  noble  spoken. 
Mecaenas. 
If  it  might  please  you,  to  enforce  no  farther 
The  griefs  between  ye :  to  forget  them  quite, 
Were  to  remember  that  the  present  need 
Speaks  to  atone  you. 

Lepidus. 

Worthily  spoken,  Mecwnas. 
Enobarbus. 
Or,  if  you  borrow  one  another's  love  for  the 
instant,  you  may,  when  you  hear  no  more  words 
of  Ponipey,  return  it  again :  you  shall  have  time 
to  wrangle  in,  when  you  have  nothing  else  to  do. 
Antony. 
Thou  art  a  soldier  only :  speak  no  more. 

Enobarbus. 
That  truth  should  be  silent,  I  had  almost  for- 
got. 

Antony. 
You  wrong  this  presence ;  therefore,  speak  no 
more. 

Enobarbus. 
Go  to  then  ;  your  considerate  stone. 

Caesar. 
I  do  not  much  dislike  the  matter,  but 
The  manner  of  his  speech  ;  for  it  cannot  be, 
We  shall  remain  in  friendship,  our  conditions 
So  differing  in  their  acts.    Yet,  if  I  knew 
What  hoop  should  hold  us  staunch,  from  edge 
O'  the  world  I  would  pursue  it.  [to  edge 

Agrippa. 

Give  me  leave,  Ccesat  — 
Caesar. 
Speak,  Agrippa. 

Agrippa. 
Thou  hast  a  sister  by  the  mother's  side. 
Admir'd  Oc'avia  :  great  Mark  Antony 
Is  now  a  widower. 

Caesar. 

Say  not  so,  Agrippa  : 
If  Cleopatra  heard  you,  your  reproof 
Were  well  deserv'd  of  rashness. 
Antony. 
I  am  not  married,  Ccesar :  let  me  hear 
Agrippa  farther  speak. 

Agrippa. 
To  hold  you  in  perpetual  amity, 
To  make  you  brothers,  and  to  knit  your  hearts 
With  an  unslipping  knot,  take  Antony 
Octavia  to  his  wife;  whose  beauty  claims 
No  worse  a  husband  than  the  best  of  men, 
Whose  virtue  and  whose  general  graces  speak 
That   which   none   else   can   utter.     By  this 

marriage, 
All  little  jealousies,  which  now  seem  great. 
And  all  great  fears,  which  now  import  their 
dangers,- 

Would 


Act  ii.  Sc.  11. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1027 


Would  then  be  nothing:  truths  would  be  tides, 
Where  now  half  tales  be  truths :  her  love  to 

both. 
Would,  each  to  other,  and  all  loves  to  both, 
Draw  after  her.    Pardon  what  I  have  spoke, 
For  'tis  a  studied,  not  a  present  thought, 
By  duty  ruminated. 

Antony. 
Will  Casar  speak  ? 

Qsjnr, 

Not  till  he  hears  how  Antony  is  touch 'd 
With  what  is  spoke  already. 
Antony. 

What  power  is  in  Agrippa, 
If  I  would  say,  "  Agrippa,  be  it  so," 
To  make  this  good? 

C';c?.ir. 

The  power  of  Casar,  and 
His  power  unto  Octavia. 

Antony. 

May  I  never 
To  this  good  purpose,  that  so  fairly  shows, 
Dream  of  impediment ! — Let  me  have  thy  hand : 
Further  this  act  of  grace,  and  from  this  hour 
The  heart  of  brothers  govern  in  our  loves, 
And  sway  our  great  designs  ! 
Caw. 

There  is  my  hand. 
A  sister  I  bequeath  you,  whom  no  brother 
Did  ever  love  so  dearly  :  let  her  live 
To  join  our  kingdoms,  and  our  hearts ;  and  never 
Fly  off  our  loves  again  1 

Lepidus. 

Happily,  amen. 
Antony. 
I  aid  not  think  to  draw  my  sword  'gainst 
Pompey  ; 
For  he  hath  laid  strange  courtesies,  and  great, 
Of  late  upon  me :  I  must  thank  him  only, 
Lest  mv  remembrance  suffer  ill  report ; 
At  heei  of  that,  defy  him. 

Lepidus. 

Time  calls  upon  us : 
Of  us  must  Pompey  presently  be  sought, 
Or  else  he  seeks  out  us. 

Antony. 

Where  lies  he  ? 
Caesar. 
About  the  Mount  Misenum. 
Antony. 

What's  his  strength 
By  land  ? 

Caesar. 

Great,  and  increasing ;  but  by  sea 
He  is  an  absolute  master. 

Antony. 

So  is  the  fame. 
Would  we  had  spoke  together!   Haste  we  for  it ; 
Yet,  ere  we  put  ourselves  in  arms,  despatch  we 
The  business  we  have  talk'd  of. 
Cssar. 

With  most  gladness ; 
And  do  invite  you  to  my  sister's  view, 
Whither  straight  I'll  lead  you. 
Antony. 

Let  us,  Lepidus, 
Not  lack  your  company. 

Lepidus. 

Noble  Antony, 
Not  .sickness,  shoujd  detaiiume,        . 

fTlourish.     Exeunt    Ca-sar,    Antony,    and 
Lepidus. 


Macsenas. 
Welcome  from  Egypt,  sir. 

Enobarbus. 
Half  the  heart  of  Casar,  worthy  Mecxnast— 
my  honourable  friend,  Agrippa! — 
Agrippa. 
Good  Enobarbus  ! 

Meca?nas. 
We  have  cause  to  be  glad,  that  matters  are  so 
well  digested.    You  stay'd  well  by  it  in  Egypt. 
Enobarbus. 
Ay,  sir ;  we  did  sleep  day  out  of  countenance, 
and  made  the  night  light  with  drinking. 
Mecssnas. 
Eight  wild  boars  roasted  whole  at  a  breakfast, 
and  but  twelve  persons  there;  is  this  true? 
Enobarbus. 
This  was  but  as  a  fly  by  an  eagle :  we  had 
much  more  monstrous  matter  of  feast,  which 
worthily  deserved  noting. 

Mecaenas. 
She's  a  most  triumphant  lady,  if  report  be 
square  to  her.        _     ,     . 

Enobarbus. 

When  she  first  met  Mark  Antony,  she  pursed 
up  his  heart,  upon  the  river  of  Cydnus. 
Agrippa. 
I     There  she  appeared  indeed,  or  my  reporter 
I  devised  well  for  her. 

Enobarbus. 
I  will  tell  you. 
The  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  burnish'd  throne, 
Burn'd  on  the  water:  the  poop  was  beaten  gold ; 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed,  that 
The  winds  were  love-sick  with  them  :  the  oars 

were  silver; 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and 

made 
The  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster, 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes.     For  her  own 

person, 
It  beggar'd  all  description  :  she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion,  (cloth  of  gold,  of  tissue) 
O'er- picturing  that  Venus,  where  we  see, 
The  fancy  out-work  nature :  on  each  side  her, 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  diverse-colour'd  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 
And  what  they  undid,  did. 
Agrippa. 

O,  rare  for  Antony! 
Enobarbus. 
Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids,  tended  her  i'  the  eyes. 
And  made  their  bends  adornings :  at  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers ;  the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches    of  those    flower-soft 

hands, 
That  yarely  frame  the  office.     From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  perfume  hits  the  sense 
Of  the  adjacent  wharfs.    The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her;  and  Antony, 
Enthron'd  i'  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Whistling  to  the  air ;  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too, 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature. 
Agrippa. 

Rare  Egyptian ! 
Enobarbus. 
Upon  her  landing  Antony  sent  to  her, 
Invited  her  to  supper  :  she  replied, 
It  should  be  better  he  became  her  guest, 

WImh 


1028 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


Which  she  entreated.    Our  courteous  Antony, 
Whom  ne'er  the  word  of  "No"  woman  heard 

speak, 
Being  barber'd  ten  times  o'er,  goes  to  the  feast ; 
And  for  his  ordinary  pays  his  heart 
For  what  his  eyes  eat  only. 
Agrippa. 

Royal  wench ! 
She  made  great  Ceesar  lay  his  sword  to  bed ; 
He  plough'd  her,  and  she  cropp'd. 
Enobarbus. 

I  saw  her  once 
Hop  forty  paces  through  the  public  street ; 
And  having  lost  her  breath,  she  spoke,  and  panted, 
That  she  did  make  defect,  perfection, 
And,  breathless,  power  breathe  forth. 
Mecaenas. 
Now  Antony  must  leave  her  utterly. 

Enobarbus. 
Never  ;  he  will  not. 
Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety :  other  women  cloy 
The  appetites  they  feed,  but  she  makes  hungry, 
Where  most  she  satisfies  :  for  vilest  things 
Become  themselves  in  her,  that  the  holy  priests 
Bless  her  when  she  is  riggish. 
Mccajnas. 
If  beauty,  wisdom,  modesty,  can  settle 
The  heart  of  Antony,  Octavia  is 
A  blessed  lottery  to  him. 

Agrippa. 

Let  us  go.  — 
Good  Enobarbus,  make  yourself  my  guest, 
Whilst  you  abide  here. 

Enobarbus. 

Humbly,  sir,  I  thank  you. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.     A  Room  in  Oesar's 
House. 

Enter  Cusar,  Antony,  Octavia  between  them  ; 

Attendants. 

Antony. 

The  world,  and  my  great  office,  will  sometimes 

Divide  me  from  your  bosom. 

Octavia. 

All  which  time, 
Before  the  gods  my  knee  shall  bow  my  prayers 
To  them  for  you. 

Antony. 

Good  night,  sir My  Octavia, 

Read  not  my  blemishes  in  the  world's  report 
I  have  not  kept  my  square,  but  that  to  come 
Shall  all  be  done  by  the  rule.    Good  night,  dear 
Good  night,  sir.        _  [lady.  — 

Ceesar. 
Good  night.        [Exeunt  Ciesar  XnA  Octavia. 
Enter  a  Soothsayer. 
.  Antony. 
Now,  sirrah  :  you  do  wish  yourself  in  Egypt  f 

Soothsayer. 
Would  I  had  never  come  from  thence,  nor 
you  thither  I 

Antony. 
If  you  can,  your  reason  ? 

Soothsayer. 
I  see  it  in  my  motion,  have  it  not  in  my  tongue : 
but  yet  hie  you  to  Egypt  again. 
Antony. 
Say  to  me,  whose  fortunes  shall  rise  higher, 
Cesar's,  or  mine  ? 


Soothsayer. 
Cesar's. 
Therefore,  O  Antony!  stay  not  by  his  side : 
Thy  daemon,  that  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee,  is 
Noble,  courageous,  high,  unmatchable, 
Where  Cesar's  is  not;  but  near  him  thy  angel 
Becomes  a  fear,  as  being  o'erpower'd :  therefore, 
Make  space  enough  between  you. 
Antony. 

Speak  this  no  more. 

Soothsayer. 

To  none  but  thee ;  no  more,  but  when  to  thee. 

If  thou  dost  play  with  him  at  any  game, 

Thou  art  sure  to  lose  ;  and,  of  that  natural  luck, 

He  beats  thee  'gainst   the   odds:    thy   lustre 

thickens, 
When  he  shines  by.    I  say  again,  thy  spirit 
Is  all  afraid  to  govern  thee  near  him, 
But,  he  away,  'tis  noble. 

Antony. 

Get  thee  gone : 
Say  to  Ventidius,  I  would  speak  with  him.— 

[Exit  Soothsayer. 
He  shall  to  Parlkia  —  Be  it  art,  or  hap, 
He  hath  spoken  true :  the  very  dice  obey  him  ; 
And  in  our  sports  my  better  cunning  faints 
Under  his  chance  :  if  we  draw  lots,  he  speeds : 
His  cocks  do  win  the  battle  still  of  mine, 
When  it  is  all  to  nought ;  and  his  quails  ever 
Beat  mine,  inhoop'd,  at  odds.    I  will  to  Egypt : 
And  though  I  make  this  marriage  for  my  peace, 

Enter  Ventidius. 

I'  the  east  my  pleasure  lies 0  1  come,  Ven- 
tidius, 
You  must  to  Parthia :  your  commission's  ready ; 
Follow  me,  and  receive  it.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    A  Street. 

Enter  Lepidus,  Mecenas,  and  Agrippa. 

Lepidus. 

Trouble   yourselves   no  farther:    pray   you, 

Your  generals  after.  [hasten 

Agrippa. 

Sir,  Mark  Antony 
Will  e'en  but  kiss  Octavia,  and  we'll  follow. 
Lepidus. 
Till  I  shall  see  you  in  your  soldier's  dress, 
Which  will  become  you  both,  farewell. 
Mecasnas. 

We  shall, 
As  I  conceive  the  journey,  be  at  Mount 
Before  you,  Lepidus. 

Lepidus. 

Your  way  is  shorter ; 
My  purposes  do  draw  me  much  about : 
You'll  win  two  days  upon  me. 

Meceenas  and  Agvippa. 

Sir,  good  success  ! 
Lepidus. 
Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Alexandria.    A  Room  In  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 
Cleopatra. 
Give  me  some  music  ;  music,  moody  food 
Of  us  that  trade  in  love. 

Atfertdatit. 

The  music,  ho  !  _ 

Enter 


Act  ii.  Sc.  v. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1019 


Enter  Mardian. 
Cleopatra. 
Let  it  Alone;  left  to  billiards:  come,  Char- 
mian. 

niiin. 
My  arm  it  sore,  best  play  with  Mardian. 

Cleopatra. 
As  well  a  woman  with  an  eunuch  play'd, 
As  with  a  woman.  — Come,  you'll  play  with  me 
sir? 

Mardian. 
As  well  as  I  can,  madam. 
Cleopatra. 
And  when  good  will  is  show'd,  though  *t  come 
too  short, 
The  actor  may  plead  pardon.    I'll  none  now.  — 
Give  me  mine  angle,  — we'll  to  the  river :  there, 
My  music  playing  far  off,  I  will  betray 
Tawny-finn'd  fishes ;  my  bended  hook  shall  pierce 
Their  slimy  jaws,  and  as  I  draw  them  up, 
I'll  think  them  every  one  an  Antony, 
And  say,  Ah,  ha ;  you're  caught. 
Charmian. 

Twas  merry,  when 
You  wager'd  on  your  angling  ;  when  your  diver 
Did  hang  a  salt-fish  on  his  hook,  which  he 
With  fervency  drew  up. 

Cleopatra. 

That  time,— O  times !  — 
I  laugh'd  him  out  of  patience ;  and  that  night 
I  laugh'd  him  into  patience :  and  next  morn, 
Ere  the  ninth  hour,  I  drunk  him  to  his  bed  ; 
Then,  put  my  tires  and  mantles  on  him,  whilst 
I  wore  his  sword  Philippian. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

O  !  from  Italy  f— 
Ram  thou  thy  fruitful  tidings  in  mine  ears, 
That  long  time  have  been  barren. 
Messenger. 

Madam,  madam,— 
Cleopatra. 
Antony's  dead  ? — 
If  thou  say  so,  villain,  thou  kill'st  thy  mistress : 
But  well  and  free. 

If  thou  so  yield  him,  there  is  gold,  and  here 
My  bluest  veins  to  kiss  ;  a  hand,  that  kings 
Have  lipp'd,  and  trembled  kissing. 

Messenger. 
First,  madam,  he  is  well. 

Cleopatra. 

Why,  there's  more  gold. 
But,  sirrah,  mark,  we  use 
To  say,  the  dead  are  well :  bring  It  to  that, 
The  gold  I  give  thee  will  I  melt,  and  pour 
Down  thy  ill-uttering  throat. 

Messenger. 
Good  madam,  hear  me, 

Cleopatra. 

Well,  go  to,  I  will ; 
But  there's  no  goodness  in  thy  face.     If  Antony 
Be  free,  and  healthful,— so  tart  a  favour 
To  trumpet  such  good  tidings!  if  not  well, 
Thou  should'st  come  like  a  fury  crown'd  with 
Not  like  a  formal  man.  [snakes, 

Messenger. 
WilPt  please  you  hear  me  ? 

Cleopatra. 
I  have  a  mind  to  strike  thee,  ere  thou  speak'st : 
I  Yet,  if  thou  say,  Antony  lives,  'tis  well  ; 
,  Or  friends  v:\taCasar,  or  not  captive  to  him, 
;  I'll  set  thee  in  a  shower  of  gold,  and  hail 
Rich  pearls  upon  thee. 


Ill  Ml  :.      r 


,  he's  well. 


Cleopatra. 

Messenger. 
And  friends  with  Cesar. 


Well  said. 


,  >tra. 

Thou'rt  an  honest  man. 

Carsar  and  he  are  greater  friends  than  ever. 

Cleopatra. 
Make  thee  a  fortune  from  me. 
Messenger. 

But  yet,  madam,— 
Cleopatra. 
I  do  not  like  '*  but  yet,"  it  does  allay 
The  good  precedence  ;  fie  upon  "  but  yet ! " 
"  But  yet  "  is  as  a  gaoler  to  bring  forth 
Some  monstrous  malefactor.     Pr'ythee,  friend, 
Pour  out  the  pack  of  matter  to  mine  ear. 
The  good  and  bad  together.    He's  friends  with 

Ctesar  ; 
In  state  of  health,  thou  say'st ;  and,  thou  say'st, 
free. 

Messenger. 
Free,  madam  ?  no  ;  I  made  no  such  report : 
He's  bound  unto  Octavia. 

Cleopatra. 

For  what  good  turn  ? 
Messenger. 
For  the  best  turn  i'  the  bed. 
Cleopatra. 

I  am  pale,  Charmian. 
Messenger. 
Madam,  he's  married  to  Octavia. 

Cleopatra. 
The  most  infectious  pestilence  upon  thee ! 

[Strikes  him  down . 
Messenger. 
Good  madam,  patience. 

Cleopatra. 

What  say  you  ?—  Hence, 
[Strikes  him  again. 
Horrible  villain !  or  I'll  spurn  thine  eyes 
Like  balls  before  me :  I'll  unhair  thy  head. 

[She  hales  him  up  and  down. 
Thou  shalt  be  whipp'd  with  wire,  and  stew'd  in 
Smarting  in  lingering  pickle.  [brine, 

Messenger. 

Gracious  madam, 

I,  that  do  bring  the  news,  made  not  the  match. 

Cleopatra. 

Say,  'tis  not  so,  a  province  I  will  give  thee, 

And  make  thy  fortunes  proud :  the  blow  thou 

hadst 
Shall  make  thy  peace,  for  moving  me  to  rage  ; 
And  I  will  boot  thee  with  what  gift  beside 
Thy  modesty  can  beg. 

Messenger. 

He's  married,  madam. 
Cleopatra. 
Rogue !  thou  hast  liv'd  too  long. 

t Draws  a  Dagger. 
Messenger. 

Nay,  then  I'll  run. — 
What  mean  you,  madam  ?  I  have  made  no  fault. 

[Exit. 
Charmian. 
Good  madam,  keep  yourself  within  yourself: 
The  man  is  innocent. 

Cteonatra. 


1030 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  v. 


Some  innocents  'scap^not  £he  thuuder-bolt — 
Melt  Egypt  into  Nile!  and  kindly  creatures 
Turn  all  to  serpents  !  —  Call  the  slave  again : 
Though  I  am  mad,  I  will  not  bite  him.  — Call. 

__    .  Charmian. 

He  is  afeard  to  come. 

e0PI  will  not  hurt  him — 
These  hands  do  lack  nobility,  that  they  strike 
A  meaner  than  myself ;  since  I  myself 
Have  given  myself  the  cause Come  hither,  sir. 

Re-enter  Messenger. 
Though  it  be  honest,  it  is  never  good 
To  bring  bad  news  :  give  to  a  gracious  message 
An  host  of  tongues  ;  but  let  ill  tidings  tell 
Themselves,  when  they  be  felt. 

Messenger. 
I  have  done  my  duty. 

Cleopatra. 

Is  he  married  ? 
I  cannot  hate  thee  worser  than  I  do, 
If  thou  again  say,  Yes. 

Messenger. 

He's  married,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 
The  gods  confound  thee !  dost  thou  hold  there 
still? 

Messenger. 
Should  I  lie,  madam  ? 

Cleopatra. 

O !  I  would,  thou  didst, 
So  half  my  Egypt  were  submerg'd,  and  made 
A  cistern  for  scaPd  snakes.   Go,  get  thee  hence  : 
Hadst  thou  Narcissus  in  thy  face,  to  me 
Thou  would'st  appear  most  ugly.    He  is  mar- 
ried ? 

Messenger. 
I  crave  your  highness'  pardon. 

Cleopatra. 

He  is  married  ? 
Messenger. 
Take  no  offence,  that  I  would  not  offend  you  : 
To  punish  me  for  what  you  make  me  do, 
Seems  much  unequal.    He  is  married  to  Oc- 
tavia. 

Cleopatra. 
O !  that  his  fault  should  make  a  knave  of  thee, 
Thou  art  not  what  thou'rt  sure  of. — Get  thee 
hence :  [Rome, 

The  merchandise  which  thou  hast  brought  from 
Are  all  too  dear  for  me  :  lie  they  upon  thy  hand, 
And  be  undone  by  'em !  [Exit  Messenget, 

Charmian, 
Good  your  highness,  patience. 
Cleopatra. 
In  praising  Antony,  I  have  disprais'd  Ccesar. 

Charmian. 
Many  times,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 

I  am  paid  for't  now. 
Lead  me  from  hence  ; 

I  faint.   Olras!  Charmian! — 'Tis  no  matter — 
Go  to  the  fellow,  good  Alexas  ;  bid  him 
Report  the  feature  of  Oclavia,  her  years, 
Her  inclination,  let  him  not  leave  out 
The  colour  of  her  hair :  bring  me  word  quickly.— 

«...  ,     .  ,         ^  EE&J1  ^e fas. 

Let  him  for  ever  go  :  —  let  him  not  —  Charmian, 
Though  he  be  painted  one  way  like  a  Gorgon, 


The  other  way  he's  a  Mars.  —  Bid  you  Alexas 

t.  ■  a    .         ....      [To  Mqrdian. 

Bring  me  word,  how  tall  she  Is.—  Pity  me, 

Charmian, 
But  do  not  speak  to  me Lead  me  to    my 

chamber.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Near  Misenuin. 

Flourish.  Enter  Pompey  and  Menas,  at  one 
side,  with  Drum  and  Trumpet :  at  another, 
Ccesar,  Lepidus,  Antony,  Enobarbus,  Me- 
ccenas,  with  Soldiers  marching. 

Pompey. 
Your  hostages  I  have,  so  have  you  mine  ; 
And  we  shall  talk  before  we  fight. 

Caesar. 

Most  meet, 
That  first  we  come  to  words ;  and  therefore  have 
Our  written  purposes  before  us  sent,  [we 

Which,  if  thou  hast  consider'd,  let  us  know 
If  'twill  tie  up  thy  discontented  sword, 
And  carry  back  to  Sicily  much  tall  youth, 
That  else  must  perish  here. 
Pompey. 

To  you  all  three, 
The  senators  alone  of  this  great  world, 
Chief  factors  for  the  gods —  I  do  not  know, 
Wherefore  my  father  should  revengers  want, 
Having  a  son,  and  friends  ;  since  Julius  Casar, 
Who  at  Philippi  the  good  Brutus  ghosted, 
There  saw  you  labouring  for  him.  What  was  it, 
That  mov'd  pale  Cassius  to  conspire?    And 

what 
Made  all-honoured,  honest,  Roman  Brutus, 
With  thearm'd  rest,  courtiers  of  beauteous  free- 
dom, 
To  drench  the  Capitol,  but  that  they  would 
Have  one  man  but  a  man  ?    And  that  is  it 
Hath  made  me  rig  my  navy,  at  whose  burden 
The  anger'd  ocean  foams  ;  with  which  I  meant 
To  scourge  th'  ingratitude  that  despiteful  Rome 
Cast  on  my  noble  father. 

Ca'Sar. 

Take  your  time. 
Antony. 
Thou  canst  not  fear  us,  Pompey,  with  thy 
sails ; 
We'll  speak  with  thee  at  sea:  at  land,  thou 
How  much  we  do  o'er-count  thee.         [know'st 
Pompey. 

At  land, indeed, 
Thou  dost  o'er-count  me  of  my  father's  house : 
But,  since  the  cuckoo  builds  not  for  himself, 
Remain  in't  as  thou  may'st. 
Lepidus. 

Be  pleas'd  to  tell  us, 
(For  this  is  from  the  present)  how  you  take 
The  offers  we  have  sent  you. 
Caesar. 

There's  the  point. 
Antony. 
Which  do  not  be  entreated  to,  but  weigh 
What  it  is  worth  embrac'd. 
Caesar. 

And  what  may  follow, 
To  try  a  larger  fortune. 

Pompey. 

You  have  made  me  offer 
Of  Sicily,  Sardinia  ;  and  I  must 
Rid  all  the  sea  of  pirates  ;  then,  to  send 
Measures  of  wheat  to  Rome :  this  'greed  upon, 
To  part  with  unhack'd  edges,  and  bear  back 
Our  targes  undinted.  Ca>sar 


Act  ii.  5c.  m. 


ANTONY  ANJ)  CLKOl'ATHA. 


1031 


...  Antony,  and  Lrpldua. 
That's  our  offer. 

Pompey. 
Know  then, 
I  came  before  you  hero,  a  man  prepar'd 
To  take  this  oner  ;  but  Mark  Antony 
Put  me  to  some  impatience. —  Though  I  lose 
The  praise  of  it  by  telling,  you  must  know, 
When  Qesar  and  your  brother  were  at  blows. 
Your  mother  came  to  Sicily,  and  did  find 
Her  welcome  friendly. 

Antony. 
I  have  heard  it,  Pompey  ; 
And  am  well  studied  for  a  liberal  thanks, 
Which  I  do  owe  you. 

Pom: 

Let  me  have  your  hand. 
I  did  not  think,  sir,  to  have  met  you  here. 
Antony. 
The  beds  i'  the  east  are  soft ;  and  thanks  to 
you. 
That  call'd  me  timelier  than  my  purpose  hither, 
For  I  have  gain'd  by  it. 

Caesar. 

Since  I  saw  you  last, 
There  is  a  change  upon  you. 
Pompey. 

Well,  I  know  not 
What  counts  harsh  fortune  casts  upon  my  face, 
But  in  my  bosom  shall  she  never  come, 
To  make  my  heart  her  vassal. 
Lepidus. 

Well  met  here. 
Pompey. 
I  hope  so,  Lepidus —  Thus  we  are  agreed. 
I  crave,  our  composition  may  be  written, 
And  seal'd  between  us. 

Caesar. 

That's  the  next  to  do. 
Pompey. 
We'll  feast  each  other,  ere  we  part ;  and  let  us 
Draw  lots  who  shall  begin. 
Antony. 

That  will  1,  Pompey. 
Pompey. 
No,  Antony,  take  the  lot ;  but,  first 
Or  last,  your  fine  Egyptian  cookery 
Shall  have  the  fame.     I  have  heard,  that  Julius 
Grew  fat  with  feasting  there.  \Ccesar 

Antony. 

Vou  have  heard  much. 
Pompey. 
I  have  fair  meanings,  sir. 
Antony. 

And  fair  words  to  them. 
Pompey. 
Then,  so  much  have  I  heard: 
And  I  have  heard,  Apollodorus  carried  — 

Enobarbus. 
No  more  of  that :  —  he  did  so. 
Pompey. 

What,  I  pray  you  ? 
Enobarbus. 
A  certain  queen  to  desar  in  a  mattress. 

Pompev. 
I  know  thee  now:  how  far'st  thou,  soldier  ? 


Enobarbus. 

And  well  am  like  to  do  ;  for,  I  perceive, 
Four  feasts  are  toward. 


Well; 


1  MMft 

Let  me  shake  thy  hand  : 
I  never  hated  thee.     I  have  seen  thee  fight, 
When  I  have  envied  thy  behaviour. 
iibua. 

Sir, 
I  never  lov'd  you  much  ;  but  I  haveprais'd  you, 
When  you  have  well  deserv'd  ten  times  as  much 
As  I  have  said  you  did. 

Pompev. 

Enjoy  thy  plainness, 

It  nothing  ill  becomes  thee 

Aboard  my  galley  I  invite  you  all : 
Will  you  lead,  lords  ? 

Cccsar,  Antony,  and  Lepidus. 

Show  us  the  way,  sir. 
Pompey. 

Come. 
[Exeunt  Pompey,  C&sar,  Antony,  Lepidus, 
Soldiers  and  Attendants. 

Menas. 
Thy  father,  Pompey  y  would  ne'er  have  made 
this  treaty— [Aside..]— You  and  I  have  known, 
sir. 

Enobarbus. 
At  sea,  I  think. 

Men  as. 
We  have,  sir. 

Enobarbus. 
You  have  done  well  by  water. 

Menas. 
And  you  by  land. 

Enobarbus. 
I  will  praise  any  man  that  will  praise  me ; 
though  it  cannot  be  denied  what  I  have  done  by 
land. 

Menas. 
Nor  what  I  have  done  by  water. 

Enobarbus. 
Yes ;  something  you  can  deny  for  your  own 
safety :  you  have  been  a  great  thief  by  sea. 
Menas. 
And  you  by  land. 

Enobarbus. 

There  I  deny  my  land  service.    But  give  me 

your  hand,  Menas :  if  our  eyes  had  authority, 

here  they  might  take  two  thieves  kissing. 

IfeoM. 

All   men's  faces  are  true,  whatsoe'er  their 

hands  are. 

Enobarbus. 
But  there  is  never  a  fair  woman  has  a  true  face. 

Menas. 
No  slander ;  they  steal  hearts. 

Enobarbus. 
We  came  hither  to  fight  with  you. 

Menas. 
For  my  part,  I  am  sorry  it  is  turned  to  a 
drinking.    Pompey  doth  this  day  laugh  away 
his  fortune. 

Enobarbus . 
If  he  do,  sure,  he  cannot  weep  it  back  again. 

Menaj. 
You  have  said,  sir.    We  looked  not  for  Mark 
Antony  here :  pray  you,  is  he  married  to  Cleo- 
patra t 

Enobarbus. 
C&sar's  sister  is  call'd  Octavia. 

Menas. 
True,  sir;  she  was  the  wife  of  Caius  Mar- 
ceUus. 

Enobarbus 


103* 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vi. 


Enobarbus. 
But  she  is  now  the  wife  of  Marcus  Antonius. 

Menas. 
Pray  you,  sir  ? 

Enobarbus. 
'Tis  true. 

Menas. 
Then  is  Ccesar,  and  he,  for  ever  knit  together. 

Enobarbus. 
If  I  were  bound  to  divine  of  this  unity,  I 
would  not  prophesy  so. 

Menas. 
I  think,  the  policy  of  that  purpose  made  more 
in  the  marriage,  than  the  love  of  the  parties. 

Enobarbuf. 
I  think  so  too :  but  you  shall  find,  the  band 
that  seems  to  tie  their  friendship  together  will 
be  the  very  strangler  of  their  amity.    Octavia  is 
of  a  holy,  cold,  and  still  conversation. 

Menas. 
Who  would  not  have  his  wife  so  ? 

Enobarbus. 
Not.he,  that  himself  is  not  so;  which  is  Mark 
Antony.  He  will  to  his  Egyptian  dish  again : 
then,  shall  the  sighs  of  Octavia  blow  the  fire  up 
in  Ccesar;  and,  as  I  said  before,  that  which  is 
the  strength  of  their  amity,  shall  prove  the 
immediate  author  of  their  variance.  Antony 
will  use  his  affection  where  it  is:  he  married 
but  his  occasion  here. 

Menas. 
And  thus  it  may  be.     Come,  6ir,  will  you 
aboard  ?    I  have  a  health  for  you. 

Enobarbus. 
I  shall  take  it,  sir:  we  have  used  our  throats 
in  Egypt. 

Menas. 
Come ;  let's  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.   On  board  Pompey' &  Galley,  lying 
near  Misenum. 

Music.    Enter  two  or  three  Servantst  with  a 
Banquet. 

First  Servant. 
Here  they'll  be,  man.    Some  o'  their  plants 
are  ill-rooted  already ;  the  least  wind  i*  the 
world  will  blow  them  down. 

Second  Servant. 
Lepidus  is  high-coloured. 

First  Servant. 
They  have  made  him  drink  alms-drink. 

Second  Servant. 
As  they  pinch  one  another  by  the  disposition, 
he  cries  out, "  no  more;-  reconciles  them  to  his 
entreaty,  and  himself  to  the  drink. 

First  Servant. 
But  it  raises  the  greater  war  between  him  and 
his  discretion. 

Second  Servant. 

Why,  this  it  is  to  have  a  name  in  great  men's 

fellowship :  I  had  as  lief  have  a  reed  that  will 

do  me  no  service,  as  a  partizan  I  could  not 

heave. 

First  Servant. 
To  be  called  into  a  huge  sphere,  and  not  to 
be  seen  to  move  in't,  are  the  holes  where  eyes 
■hould  be,  which  pitifully  disaster  the  cheeks. 


A  Sennet  sounded.  Enter  Ccesar,  Antony,  Pom. 
pey,  Lepidus,  Agrippa,  Meccenas,  Enobarbus, 
Menas,  with  other  Captains. 

Antony. 
Thus  do  they,  sir.     [To  Ccesar."]  They  take 
the  flow  o'  the  Nile 
By  certain  scales  i'  the  pyramid :  they  know, 
By  the  height,  the  lowness,  or  the  mean,  if  dearth, 
Or  foison,  follow.    The  higher  Nilus  swells, 
The  more  it  promises :  as  it  ebbs,  the  seedsman 
Upon  the  slime  and  ooze  scatters  his  grain, 
And  shortly  comes  to  harvest. 

Lepidus. 
You  have  strange  serpents  there. 

Antony. 

Ay,  Lepidus. 
Lepidus. 
Your  serpent  of  Egypt  is  bred,  now,  of  your 
mud  by  the  operation  of  your  sun :  so  is  your 
crocodile. 

They  are  so 

Pompey. 
Sit,— and  some  wine !  — A  health  to  Lepidus. 

Lepidus. 
I  am  not  so  well  as  I  should  be,  but  I'll  ne'er 
out. 

Enobarbus. 
Not  till  you  have  slept :  I  fear  me,  you'll  be 
in,  till  then. 

Lepidus. 
Nay,  certainly,  I  have  heard,  the  Ptolemies* 
pyramises  are  very  goodly  things ;  without  con- 
tradiction, I  have  heard  that. 


Antony. 


Pompey,  a  word. 


Menas.  [Aside. 

Pompey.  [  Aside. 

Say  in  mine  ear :  what  is't  ? 

Menas.  [Aside. 

Forsake  thy  seat,  I  do  beseech  thee,  captain, 
And  hear  me  speak  a  word. 

Pompey.  [Aside. 

Forbear  me  till  anon — 
This  wine  for  Lepidus. 

Lepidus. 
What  manner  o'  thing  is  your  crocodile  ? 

Antony. 
It  is  shaped,  sir,  like  itself,  and  it  is  as  broad 
as  it  hath  breadth;  it  is  just  so  high  as  it  is, and 
moves  with  its  own  organs;  it  lives  by  that 
which  nourisheth  it,  and  the  elements  once  out 
of  it,  it  transmigrates. 

Lepidus. 
What  colour  is  it  of? 

Antony. 
Of  its  own  colour  too. 

Lepidus. 
'Tis  a  strange  serpent. 

Antony. 
"Tis  so;  and  the  tears  ofit  are  wet. 

Caesar. 
Will  this  description  satisfy  him? 

With  the  health  that  Pompey  gives  him,  else 
he  is  a  very  epicure. 

Pompey.   ITo  Menas,  aside. 
Go,  hang,  sir,  hang!    Tell  me  of  that?  away ! 
Do  as  I  bid  you.  — Where's  this  cup  I  call'd 
for? 

Menas. 


Act  ii.  6'c.  vn. 


ANTONY  AND  CLKoI'ATRA. 


1033 


Menu.  [Aside. 

If  for  the  sake  of  merit  thou  wilt  hear  me, 
Rise  from  thy  stool. 

Pompey.  [Aside. 

I  think,  thou'rt  mad.    The  matter  ? 
[Walks  aside. 
Mcnas. 
I  have  ever  held  my  cap  off  to  thy  fortunes. 

Pompey. 
Thou  hast  serv'd  me  with  much  faith.  What's 
Be  jolly,  lords.  [else  to  say  ?— 

A r tony. 
These  quick-sands,  Lepidut, 
Keep  off  them,  for  you  sink. 
Mcnas. 
Wilt  thou  be  lord  of  all  the  world  ? 
Pompey. 

What  say'st  thou  ? 


Wilt  thou  be  lord  of  the  whole  world  ?  That's 
twice. 

Pompey. 
How  should  that  be  ? 

Men  as. 

But  entertain  it, 
And  though  thou  think  me  poor,  I  am  the  man 
Will  give  thee  all  the  world. 
Pompey. 

Hast  thou  drunk  well  ? 
Mcnas. 
No,  Pompey,  I  have  kept  me  from  the  cup. 
Thou  art,  if  thou  dar'st  be,  the  earthly  Jove: 
Whate'er  the  ocean  pales,  or  sky  inclips, 
Is  thine,  if  thou  wilt  have't. 
Pompey. 

Show  me  which  way. 
Menas. 
These  three  world-sharers,  these  competitors, 
Are  in  thy  vessel :  let  me  cut  the  cable ; 
And.  when  we  are  put  off,  fall  to  their  throats : 
All  there  is  thine. 

Pompey. 
Ah  !  this  thou  should'st  have  done, 
And  not  have  spoke  on't.     In  me,  'tis  villainy  ; 
In  thee,  't  had  been  good  service.    Thou  must 

know, 
'Tis  not  my  profit  that  does  lead  mine  honour, 
Mine  honour,  it.     Repent,  that  e'er  thy  tongue 
Hath  so  betray 'd  thine  act :  being  done  unknown, 
I  should  have  found  it  afterwards  well  done, 
But  must  condemn  it  now.    Desist,  and  drink. 
Menas.  [  Aside. 

For  this, 
I'll  never  follow  thy  pall'd  fortunes  more. 
Who  seeks,  and  will  not  take,  when  once  'tis 
Shall  never  find  it  more  [offered, 

Pompey. 

This  health  to  Lepidus. 
Antony. 
Bear   him  ashore.  — I'll  pledge  it  for  him, 

Enobarbus. 
Here's  to  thee,  Menas. 

Menas. 

Enobarbus,  welcome. 
Pompey. 
Fill,  till  the  cup  be  hid. 

Enobarbus. 

[Pointing  to*  he  AtA-ndant  who  carries  off 
Lepidus. 


Menas. 

Why? 
Enobarbus. 

He  bears 
The  third  part  of  the  world,  man :  see'st  not  ? 
1  as. 
The  third  part,  then,  he  is  drunk:  would  it 
were  all, 
That  it  might  go  on  wheels  1 
Enobarbus. 
Drink  thou  ;  increase  the  reels. 

Mcnas. 
Come. 

Pompey. 
This  is  not  yet  an  Alexandrian  feast. 

Antony. 
It  ripens  towards  it — Strike  the  vessels,  ho  ! 
Here  is  to  Ctesar. 

Cesar. 

I  could  well  forbear  it. 
It's  monstrous  labour,  when  I  wash  my  brain, 
And  it  grows  fouler. 

Antony. 

Be  a  child  o'  the  time. 
Caesar. 
Possess  it,  I'll  make  answer ;  but  I  had  rather 
fast 
From  all  four  days,  than  drink  so  much  in  one. 
Enobarbus. 
Ha,  my  brave  emperor  !  [To  Antony. 

Shall  we  dance  now  the  Egyptian  Bacchanals, 
And  celebrate  our  drink  ? 

Pompey. 

Let's  ha't,  good  soldier. 

Antony. 

Come,  let  us  all  take  hands, 

Till  that  the  conquering  wine  hath  steep 'd  our 

In  soft  and  delicate  Lethe.  [sense 

Enobarbus. 

All  take  bands.  — 
Make  batterv  to  our  ears  with  the  loud  music  ; 
The  while  I'll  place  you :  then,  the  boy  shall  sing ; 
The  holding  every  man  shall  bear,  as  loud 
As  his  strpng  sides  can  volley. 

[Music  plays.    Enobarbus  places  them  hand 
in  hand. 

song. 

Come,  thou  monarch  of  the  vine, 
P lumpy  Bacchus,  with  pink  eyne : 
In  thy  vats  our  cares  be  drown'd ; 
With  thy  grapes  our  hairs  be  croum'd; 
Cup  us,  till  the  world  go  round  ; 
Cup  us,  till  the  world  go  round ! 
Ctesar. 
What  would  you  more  ? — Pompey,  good  night. 
—  Good  brother, 
Let  me  request  you  off:  our  graver  business 
Frowns  at  this  levity.  — Gentle  lords,  let's  part; 
You  see,  we  have  burnt  our  cheeks.    Strong 

Enobarbe 
Is  weaker  than  the  wine,  and  mine  own  tongue 
Splits  what  it  speaks:  the  wild  disguise  hath 

almost 
Antick'd  us  all.     What  needs   more  words  ? 
Good  Antony,  your  hand.  [Good  night.  — 

Pompey. 

I'll  try  you  on  the  shore. 
Antony. 
And  shall,  sir.     Give's  your  hand. 
Pompey. 

O,  Antony  ! 
\ou 


r- — 

1034 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  vn 


You  have  my  father's  house.  — But  what?  we 

Come  down  into  the  boat.  [are  friends. 

Enobarbus. 

Take  heed  you  fall  not.— 
[Exeunt  Pompey,  C&sar,  Antony,  and  At- 
tendants. 
Menas,  I'll  not  on  shore. 

Menas. 

No,  to  my  cabin 

These  drums  !— these  trumpets,  flutes!  what! — 
Let  Neptune  hear,  we  bid  a  loud  farewell 
To  these  great  fellows :  sound,  and  be  hang'd  ! 
sound  out !  [A  flourish. 

Enobarbus. 
Ho,  says  'a !  —  There's  my  cap. 
Menas. 
Ho  !  — noble  captain  !  come. 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    A  Plain  in  Syria. 

Enter  Ventidius,  as  it  were  in  triumph,  with 
Silius,  and  other  Romans,  Officers,  and  Sol- 
diers ;  the  dead  Body  of  Pacorus  borne  before 
him. 

Ventidius. 
TV  OW,  darting  Parlhia,  art  thou  struck  ;  and 
-1-1     now 
Pleas'd  fortune  does  of  Marcus  Crassus'  death 

Make  me  revenger Bear  the  king's  son's  body 

Before  our  army.  —  Thy  Pacorus,  Orodes, 
Pays  this  for  Marcus  Crassus. 
Silius. 

Noble  Ventidius, 
Whilst  yet  with  Parthian  blood  thy  sword  is 

warm, 
The  fugitive  Parthians  follow:   spur  through 
Mesopotamia,  and  the  shelters  whither    [Media, 
The  routed  fly :  so  thy  grand  captain,  Antony, 
Shall  set  thee  on  triumphant  chariots,  and 
Put  garlands  on  thy  head. 

Ventidius. 

O  Silius,  Silius  ! 
I  have  done  enough :  a  lower  place,  note  well, 
May  make  too  great  an  act ;  for  learn  this,  Silius, 
Better  to  leave  undone,  than  by  our  deeds  acquire 
Too  high  a  fame,  when  him  we  serve's  away. 
Caesar  and  Antony  have  ever  won 
More  in  their  officer,  than  person :  Sossiust 
One  of  my  place  in  Syria,  his  lieutenant, 
For  quick  accumulation  of  renown, 
Which  he  achiev  'd  by  the  minute,  lost  his  favour. 
Who  does  i'  the  wars  more  than  his  captain  can, 
Becomes  his  captain's  captain  ;  and  ambition, 
The  soldier's  virtue,  rather  makes  choice  of  loss, 
Than  gain  which  darkens  him. 
I  could  do  more  to  do  Antonius  good, 
But  'twould  offend  him  ;  and  in  his  offence 
Should  my  performance  perish. 
Silius. 

Thou  hast,  Ventidius,  that 
Without  the  which  a  soldier,  and  his  sword, 
Grants  scarce  distinction.    Thou  wilt  write  to 
Antony? 

Ventidfcw. 
I'll  humbly  signify  what  in  his  name, 
That  magical  word  of  war,  we  have  effected  ; 
How,  with  his  banners  and  his  well-paid  ranks, 


The  ne'er-yet-beaten  horse  of  Parthia 
We  have  jaded  out  o'  the  field. 


Silius. 
Ventidius. 


Where  is  he  now  ? 


He  purposeth  to  Athens  ;  whither,  with  what 

haste 
The  weight  we  must  convey  with  us  will  permit. 
We  shall  appear  before  him.  — On,  there  ;  pass 

along.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Rome.    An  Ante-Chamber  in 
Casar'a  House. 

Enter  Agrippa,  and  Enobarbus,.  meeting. 
Agrippa.  "* 

What !  are  the  brothers  parted  ? 

Enobarbus. 
They  have  despatch 'd  with  Pompey:   he  is 
gone; 
The  other  three  are  sealing.    Octavia  weeps 
To  part  from  Rome;  C&sar  is  sad  ;  and  Lepidus, 
Since  Pompey's  feast,  as  Menas  says,  is  troubled 
With  the  green  sickness. 

Agrippa. 

'Tis  a  noble  Lepidus. 
Enobarbus. 
A  very  fine  one.    O,  how  he  loves  Casar ! 

Agrippa. 
Nay,  but  how  dearly  he  adores  Mark  Antony! 

Enobarbus. 
Ca?sar  ?    Why,  he's  the  Jupiter  of  men. 

Agrippa. 
What's  Antony  ?    The  god  of  Jupiter. 

Enobarbus. 
Spake  you  of  Cccsar  ?    How  !  the  nonpareil ! 

Agrippa. 
O  Antony  !    O  thou  Arabian  bird ! 

Enobarbus. 
Would  you  praise  Casar,  say,— Ccesar  ; — go 
no  farther. 

Agrippa. 
Indeed,  he  ply'd  them  both  with  excellent 
praises. 

Enobarbus. 
But  he  loves  Casar  best;— yet  he  loves  An- 
tony. 
Ho !    hearts,  tongues,  figures,  scribes,  bards, 

poets  cannot 
Think,  speak,  cast,  write,  sing,  number,  ho  ! 
His  love  to  Antony.    But  as  for  C&sar, 
Kneel  down,  kneel  down,  and  wonder. 
Agrippa. 

Both  he  loves 
Enobarbus. 
They  are  his  shards,  and  he  their  beetle.   So,— 


This  is  to  horse. 


[Trumpets. 
nppt 


-Adieu,  noble  Agrippa. 

Agrippa. 
Good  fortune,  worthy  soldier  ;  and  farewell. 

Enter  C&sar,  Antony,  Lepidus,  and  Octavia. 

Antony. 
No  farther,  sir. 

Caesar. 
You  take  from  me  a  great  part  of  myself ; 
Use  me  well  in't.  — Sister,  prove  such  a  wife 
As  my  thoughts  make  thee,  and  as  my  farthest 

band 
Shall  pass  on  thy  approof. — Most  noble  Antonj, 
Let  not  the  piece  of  virtue,  which  is  set 
Betwixt  us  as  the  cement  of  our  love, 

To 


ui.  Sc.  in. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATKA. 


ioj3 


To  keep  It  bullded,  bo  the  ram  to  batter 
The  fortress  of  it";  for  better  might  we 
Have  loved  without  this  mean,  if  on  both  part* 
Tins  be  not  chcrish'd. 
Ant 

Make  me  not  oflended 
In  your  distrust. 

I  have  said. 
Antony. 

You  shall  not  find, 
Though  you  be  therein  curious,  the  least  cause 
For  what  you  seem  to  fear.    So,  the  gods  keep 

you, 
And  make  the  hearts  of  Romans  serve  your  ends  I 
We  will  here  part. 

Csfjar. 
Farewell,  my  dearest  sister,  fare  thee  well : 
The  elements  be  kind  to  thee,  and  make 
Thy  spirits  all  of  comfort  1  fare  thee  well. 
Octavia. 
My  noble  brother  ! — 

Antony. 
The  April's  in  her  eyes  ;  it  Is  love's  spring, 
And  these  the  showers  to  bring  it  on.  — Be 
cheerful. 

Octavla. 
Sir,  look  well  to  my  husband's  house  ;  and  — 

Caesar. 
What,  OctaviaT 

Octavla. 
I'll  tell  you  in  your  ear. 

Antony. 
Her  tongue  will  not  obey  her  heart,  nor  can      j 
Her  heart  inform  her  tongue ;  the  swan's  down 

feather, 
That  stands  upon  the  swell  at  the  full  of  tide, 
And  neither  way  inclines. 

Enobarbus. 

Will  Ccesar  weep  ?  [Aside  to  Agrippa. 

Agrippa. 

He  has  a  cloud  in's  face. 
Enobarbus. 
He  were  the  worse  for  that,  were  he  a  horse ; 
So  is  he,  being  a  man. 

Agrippa. 

Why,  Enobarbus, 
When  Antony  found  Julius  Ccesar  dead, 
He  cried  almost  to  roaring ;  and  he  wept, 
When  at  Philippi  he  found  Brutus  slain. 
Enobarbus. 
That  year,  indeed,  he  was  troubled  with  a 
rheum ; 
What  willingly  he  did  confound,  he  wail'd : 
Believe  *t,  till  I  weep  too. 
Caesar. 

No,  sweet  Octavia, 
You  shall  hear  from  me  still :  the  time  shall  not 
Out-go  my  thinking  on  you. 
Antony. 

Come,  sir,  come ; 
I'll  wrestle  with  you  in  my  strength  of  love : 
Look,  here  I  have  you  ;  thus  I  let  you  go, 
And  give  you  to  the  gods. 
Caesar. 

Adieu ;  be  happy ! 
Lepldus. 
Let  all  the  number  of  the  stars  give  light 
To  thy  fair  way  I 

*  Caesar. 

Farewell,  farewell.    [Kisses  Octavia. 


Antony. 

[Trumpet*  sound.    Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.    Alexandria.    A  Room  In  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 

Cleopatra. 
Where  is  the  fellow  ? 

Alexas. 

Half  afeard  to  come. 
Cleopatra. 
Go  to,  go  to.  — Come  hither,  sir. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Alexas. 

Good  majesty, 
Herod  of  Jewry  dare  not  look  upon  you, 
But  when  you  are  well  pleas'd. 
Cleopatra 

That  Herod's  head 
I'll  have  :  but  how,  when  Antony  is  gone 
Through  whom  I  might  command  it?— Come 
thou  near. 

Messenger. 
Most  gracious  majesty,— 
Cleopatra. 

Didst  thou  behola 
Octavia? 

Messenger. 
Ay,  dread  queen. 

Cleopatra. 

Where  ? 

Messenger. 

Madam,  in  Rome 
I  look'd  her  in  the  face ;  and  saw  her  led 
Between  her  brother  and  Mark  Antony. 
Cleopatra. 
Is  she  as  tall  as  me  ? 

Messenger. 

She  is  not,  madam. 
Cleopatra. 
Didst  hear  her  speak  ?    Is  she  shrill-tongu'd, 
or  low  ? 

Messenger. 
Madam,  I  heard  her  speak :  she  is  low-voic'd. 

Cleopatra. 
That's  not  so  good :  he  cannot  like  her  long. 

Charmian . 
Like  her  ?    O  Isis!  'tis  impossible. 

Cleopatra. 
I  think  so,  Charmian :  dull  of  tongue,  and 
dwarfish !  — 
What  majesty  is  in  her  gait  ?    Remember, 
If  e'er  thou  look'dst  on  majesty. 
Messenger. 

She  creep* ; 
Her  motion  and  her  station  are  as  one: 
She  shows  a  body  rather  than  a  life ; 
A  statue,  than  a  breather. 

Cleopatra. 

Is  this  certain  ? 
Messenger. 
Or  I  have  no  observance. 
Charmian. 

Three  in  Egypt 
Cannot  make  better  note. 

Cleopatra. 

He's  very  knowing, 
I  do  perceive't — There's  nothing  in  her  yet.— 
The  fellow  has  good  judgment. 

Charm  iaa 


io^6 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATKA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  in. 


Charm  ian. 

_  Excellent. 

Cleopatra. 

Guess  at  her  years,  I  pr'ythee. 
Messenger. 

Madam, 
She  was  a  widow. 

Cleopatra. 

Widow  ?— Charmian,  hark. 
Messenger. 
And  I  do  think,  she's  thirty. 

Cleopatra. 
Bear'st  thou  her  face  in  mind?  is't  long,  or 
round? 

Messenger. 

Round,  even  to  faultiness. 
Cleopatra. 
For  the  most  part,  too,  they  are  foolish  that 
Her  hair,  what  colour  ?  [are  so.  — 

Messenger. 
Brown,  madam ;  and  her  forehead 
As  low  as  she  would  wish  it. 
Cleopatra. 

There's  gold  for  thee: 
Thou  must  not  take  my  former  sharpness  ill. 
I  will  employ  thee  back  again :  I  find  thee 
Most  fit  for  business.     Go,  make  thee  ready ; 
Our  letters  are  prepar'd.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Charmian. 

A  proper  man. 
Cleopatra. 
Indeed,  he  is  so :  I  repent  me  much, 
That  so  I  harry'd  him.    Why,  methinks,  by  him, 
This  creature  s  no  such  thing. 
Charmian. 
Nothing,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 
The  man  hath  seen  some  majesty,  and  should 
know. 

Charmian. 
Hath  he  seen  majesty  ?    7m  else  defend, 
And  serving  you  so  long ! 

Cleopatra. 
I  have  one  thing  more  to  ask  him  yet,  good 
Charmian : 
But  'tis  no  matter;  thou  shalt  bring  him  to  me 
Where  I  will  write.    All  may  be  well  enough. 
Charmian. 
I  warrant  you,  madam.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Athens.    A  Room  in  Antony's 
House. 

Enter  Antony  and  Oclavia. 
Antony. 
Nay,  nay,  Octavia,  not  only  that,— 
That  were  excusable,  that,  and  thousands  more 
Of  semblable  import,— but  he  hath  wag'd 
New  wars  'gainst  Pompey;  made  his  will,  and 
To  public  ear:  [read  it 

Spoke  scantly  of  me :  when  perforce  he  could  not 
But  pay  me  terms  of  honour,  cold  and  sickly 
He  vented  them ;  most  narrow  measure  lent  me. 
When  the  best  hint  was  given  him,  he  not  took't, 
Or  did  it  from  his  teeth. 

Octavia. 

O  my  good  lord ! 
Believe  not  all ;  or,  if  you  must  believe, 
Stomach  not  all.    A  more  unhappy  lady, 
If  this  division  chance,  ne'er  stood  between, 
Praying  for  both  parts 


The  good  gods  will  mock  me  presently, 
When   I  shall  pray,   "  O,  bless  my  lord  and 

husband!" 
Undo  that  prayer,  by  crying  out  as  loud, 
"  O,  bless  my  brother  ! "     Husband  win,  win 

brother, 
Prays,  and  destroys  the  prayer;  no  midway 
'Twixt  these  extremes  at  all. 
Antony. 

Gentle  Octavia, 
Let  your  best  love  draw  to  that  point,  which 

seeks 
Best  to  preserve  it.     If  I  lose  mine  honour, 
I  lose  myself:  better  I  were  not  yours, 
Than  yours  so  branchless.    But,  as  you  re- 
quested. 
Yourself  shall  go  between  us :  the  mean  time, 

lady, 
I'll  raise  the  preparation  of  a  war 
Shall  stain  your  brother.    Make  your  soonest 
So,  your  desires  are  yours.  [haste: 

Octavia. 

Thanks  to  my  lord. 
The  Jove  of  power  make  me  most  weak,  most 

weak, 
Your  reconciler !  Wars  'twixt  you  twain  would 

be, 
As  if  the  world  should  cleave,  and  that  slain  men 
Should  solder  up  the  rift. 

Antony. 
When  it  appears  to  you  where  this  begins, 
Turn  your  displeasure  that  way ;  for  our  faults 
Can  never  be  so  equal,  that  your  love     [going ; 
Can  equally  move  with  them.     Provide  your 
Choose  your  own  company,  and  command  what 

cost  r^. 

Your  heart  has  mind  to.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    The  same.    Another  Room  in  the 
same. 

Enter  Enobarbus  and  Eros,  meeting. 

Enobarbus. 

How  now,  friend  Eros  T 

Eros. 

There's  strange  news  come,  sir. 

Enobarbus. 

What,  man  ? 

Eros. 

Ceesar  and  Lepidus  have  made  wars  upon 

P°mpey'  Enobarbus. 

This  is  old :  what  is  the  success  ? 

Eros. 
Ccesar,  having  made  use  of  him  in  the  wars 
'gainst  Pompey,  presently  denied  him  rivality, 
would  not  let  him  partake  in  the  glory  of  the 
action;  and  not  resting  here,  accuses  him  of 
letters  he  had  formerly  wrote  to  Pompey  ;  upon 
his  own  appeal,  seizes  him:  so  the  poor  third  is 
up,  till  death  enlarge  his  confine. 
Enobarbus. 
Then,  world,  thou  hast  a  pair  of  chaps,  no 
more; 
And  throw  between  them  all  the  food  thou  hast, 
They'll  grind  each  other.    Where  is  Antony? 
Eros. 
He's   walking   in   the  garden  — thus;   and 
spurns 
The  rush  that  lies  before  him ;  cries,  M  Fool, 

Lepidus !  " 
And  threats  the  throat  of  that  his  officer, 
That  murder'd  Pa***-  Enobarbus. 


\ 


Act  hi.  Sc.  vt. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


'037 


Enobarbus. 

Our  great  navy's  rigg'd. 
Err*. 
For  Italy,  and  Ctesar.    More,  Domitius  ; 
My  lord  desires  you  pre«ently  :  my  news 
I  might  have  told  hereafter. 
Enobarbus. 

•Twill  be  naught ; 
But  let  it  be.— Bring  me  to  Antony. 
Eros. 
Come,  »ir.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.    Home.    A  Room  in  C<esar*§ 
Houie. 

Enter  Qcsar,  Agrippa,  and  Hcamat. 

C«sar. 

Contemning  Rome,  he  has  done  all  this,  and 
more, 
In  Alexandria  :  here's  the  manner  of  it. 
I'  the  market-place,  on  a  tribunal  silver'd, 
Cleopatra  and  himself  in  chairs  or  gold 
Were  publicly  enthron'd  :  at  the  feet  sat 
Ctesarion,  whom  they  call  my  father's  son, 
And  all  the  unlawful  issue,  that  their  lust 
Since  then  hath  made  between  them.    Unto  her 
He  gave  the  'stablishment  of  Egypt;  made  her 
Of  lower  Syria,  Cyprus,  Lydia, 
Absolute  queen.      ,. 

Mecamas. 

This  in  the  public  eye  ? 
Cap*. 

I'  the  common  show-place,  where  they  exer- 
cise. 
His  sons  he  there  proclaim 'd,  the  kings  of  kings : 
Great  Media,  Parthia,  and  Armenia, 
He  gave  to  Alexander  ;  to  Ptolemy  he  assign 'd 
Syria,  Cilicia,  and  Phoenicia.    She 
In  the  habiliments  of  the  goddess  Isis 
That  day  appear 'd ;  and  oft  before  gave  audience, 
As  'tis  reported,  so. 


Let  Rome  be  thus 
Inform'd.  .     , 

Agnppa. 

Who,  queasy  with  his  insolence 
Already,  will  their  good  thoughts  call  from  him. 
Ctesar. 
The  people  know  it ;  and  have  now  receiv'd 
His  accusations. 

Agrlppa. 

Whom  does  he  accuse  ? 
C»sar. 
Ctesar  ;  and  that,  having  in  Sicily 
Scxtus  Pompeius  spoil'd,  we  had  not  rated  him 
His  part  o'  the  isle :  then  does  he  say,  he  lent  me 
Some  shipping  unrestor'd :  lastly,  he  frets, 
That  Lepidus  of  the  triumvirate 
Should  be  depos'd  ;  and.  being  that,  we  detain 

All  his  revenue.       . , 

Afinppa. 

Sir,  this  should  be  answer'd. 
Ctesar. 
'Tis  done  already,  and  the  messenger  gone. 
I  have  told  him,  Lepidus  was  grown  too  cruel  ; 
That  he  his  high  authority  abus'd,  [quer'd, 

And  did  deserve  his  change:  for  what  I  havecon- 
I  grant  him  part ;  but  then,  in  his  Armenia, 
And  other  of  his  conquer'd  kingdoms,  I 
Demand  the  like. 

Mecaenas. 

He'll  never  yield  to  that. 


Cst«ar. 

Nor  must  not,  then,  be  yielded  to  in  this. 
Enter  Octavia,  with  her  Train. 
Octavia. 
Hail,  Ctesar,  and  my  lord  1  hail,  most  dear 
Ccetar  I 

C  a-sar. 

That  ever  I  should  call  thee  cast-away ! 

Octavia. 
You  have  not  calPd  me  so,  nor  have  you 
cause.  _ 

Cs«ar. 

Why  have  you  stol'n  upon  us  thus?    You 
come  not 
Like  Carsar's  sister :  the  wife  of  Antony 
Should  have  an  army  for  an  usher,  and 
The  neighs  of  horse  to  tell  of  her  approach, 
Long  ere  she  did  appear  ;  the  trees  by  the  way. 
Should  have  borne  men,  and  expectation  fainted 
Longing  for  what  it  had  not ;  nay,  the  dust 
Should  have  ascended  to  the  roof  of  heaven, 
Rais'd  by  your  populous  troops.    But  you  are 

come 
A  market  -maid  to  Rome,  and  have  prevented 
The  ostentation  of  our  love,  which,  left  unshown 
Is  often  left  unlov'd :  we  should  have  met  you 
By  sea  and  land,  supplying  every  stage 
With  an  augmented  greeting. 
Octavia. 

Good  my  lord, 
To  come  thus  was  I  not  constraint,  but  did  it 
On  my  free-will.    My  lord,  Mark  Antony, 
Hearing  that  you  prepar'd  for  war,  acquainted 
My  grieved  ear  withal ;  whereon,  I  begg'd 
His  pardon  for  return. 

Ceesar. 

Which  soon  he  granted 
Being  an  obstruct  'tween  his  lust  and  him. 
Octavia. 
Do  not  say  so,  my  lord. 
Cssar. 

I  have  eyes  upon  him, 
And  his  affairs  come  to  me  on  the  wind. 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

Octavia. 

My  lord,  in  Athens. 

Caesar. 
No,  my  most  wronged  sister;  Cleopatra 
Hath  nodded  him  to  her:   he  hath  given  his 
Up  to  a  whore  ;  who  now  are  levying     [empire 
The  kings  o'  the  earth  for  war.     He  hath  as- 
sembled 
Bacchus,  the  king  of  Lybia;  Archclaus, 
Of  Cappadocia ;  Philddelphos,  king 
Of  Paphlagonia  ;  the  Thracian  king,  Adallas  : 
King  Malchus  of  Arabia  ;  king  of  Pont ; 
Herod  of  Jewry  ;  Mithridates,  king 
Of  Comagene  ;  Polemon  and  Amintas, 
The  kings  of  Mede,  and  Lycaonia, 
With  a  more  larger  list  of  sceptres. 

Octavia. 

Ah  me,  most  wretched, 
That  have  my  heart  parted  betwixt  two  friends, 
That  do  afflict  each  other  1 
Ctesar. 

Welcome  hither. 
Your  letters  did  withhold  our  breaking  forth, 
Till  we  perceiv'd,  both  how  you  were  wrong  led, 
And  we  in  negligent  danger.   Cheer  your  heart : 
Be  you  not  troubled  with  the  time,  which  drives 
O'er  your  content  these  strong  necessities  ; 
But  let  determin'd  things  to  destiny 
Hold  unbewail'd  their  way.   Welcome  to  Rome  ; 
Nothing 


1038 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  in.  Sc.  vi. 


Nothing  more  dear  to  me.    You  are  abus'd 
Beyond  the  mark  of  thought ;  and  the  high  gods, 
To  do  you  justice,  make  their  ministers 
Of  us  and  those  that  love  you.  Best  of  comfort ; 
And  ever  welcome  to  us. 

Agrippa. 

Welcome,  lady. 
Mecamas. 
Welcome,  dear  madam. 
Each  heart  in  Rome  does  love  and  pity  you  : 
Only  the  adulterous  Antony,  most  large 
In  his  abominations,  turns  you  off, 
And  gives  his  potent  regiment  to  a  trull, 
That  noises  it  against  us. 

Octavia. 

Is  it  so,  sir? 
Caesar. 
Most  certain.    Sister,  welcome:  pray  you, 
Be  ever  known  to  patience.    My  dearesLsister  1 

SCENE  VII.     Antony's  Camp,  near  the  Pro- 
montory of  Actium. 

Enter  Cleopatra  and  Enobarbus. 
Cleopatra. 
I  will  be  even  with  thee,  doubt  it  not. 

Enobarbus. 
But  why,  why,  why? 

Cleopatra. 
Thou  hast  forspoke  my  being  in  these  wars, 
And  say'st,  it  is  not  fit. 

Enobarbus. 

Well,  is  it,  is  it? 
Cleopatra. 
If  not  denounc'd  against  us,  why  should  not 
Be  there  in  person  ?  [we 

Enobarbus.  [Aside. 

Well,  I  could  reply:  — 
If  we  shouldserve  with  horse  and  mares  together, 
The  horse  were  merely  lost ;  the  mares  would 
A  soldier,  and  his  horse.  [bear 

Cleopatra. 

What  is't  you  say  ? 
Enobarbus. 
Your  presence  needs  must  puzzle  Antony  ; 
Take  from  his  heart,  take  from  his  brain,  from's 

time, 
What  should  not  then  be  spar'd.    He  is  already 
Traduc'd  for  levity  ;  and  'tis  said  in  Rome, 
That  Pholinus  an  eunuch,  and  your  maids, 
Manage  this  war. 

Cleopatra. 
Sink  Rome;  and  their  tongues  rot, 
That  speak  against  us !     A  charge  we  bear  i' 

the  war, 
And  as  the  president  of  my  kingdom  will 
Appear  there  for  a  man.    Speak  not  against  it ; 
I  will  not  stay  behind. 

Enobarbus. 

Nay,  I  have  done. 
Here  comes  the  emperor. 

Enter  Antony  and  Canidius. 
Antony. 
Is't  not  strange,  Canidius. 
That  from  Tarentum,  and  Brundusium, 
He  could  so  quickly  cut  the  Ionian  sea, 
And  take  in  Torynet— You  have  heard  on't, 
sweet  ? 

Cleopatra. 

Celerity  is  never  more  admir'd, 
Than  by  the  negligent. 


Autony. 

A  good  rebuke, 
Which  might  have  well  become  the  best  of  men, 
To  taunt  at  slackness —  Canidius,  we 
Will  fight  with  him  by  sea. 
Cleopatra. 

By  sea!    What  else? 
Canidius. 
Why  will  my  lord  do  so  ? 
Antony. 

For  that  he  dares  us  to't. 
Enobarbus. 
So  hath  my  lord  dar'd  him  to  single  fight. 

Canidius. 
Ay,  and  to  wage  this  battle  at  Pharsaliu, 
Where  Ca?sar  fought  with  Pompey ;  but  these 

offers, 
Which  serve  not  for  his  vantage,  he  shakes  off, 
And  so  should  you. 

Enobarbus. 
Your  ships  are  not  well  mann'd  ; 
Your  mariners  are  muliters,  reapers,  people 
Ingross'd  by  swift  impress  :  in  C&sar's  fleet 
Are  those,  that  often  have  'gainst  Pompey  fought. 
Their  ships  are  yare,  yours,  heavy :  no  disgrace 
Shall  fall  you  for  refusing  him  at  sea, 
Being  prepar'd  for  land. 

Antony. 

By  sea,  by  sea. 
Enobarbus. 
Most  worthy  sir,  you  therein  throw  away 
The  absolute  soldiership  you  have  by  land  ; 
Distract  your  army,  which  doth  most  consist 
Of  war-mark'd  footmen ;  leave  unexecuted 
Your  own  renowned  knowledge ;  quite  forego 
The  way  which  promises  assurance,  and 
Give  up  yourself  merely  to  chance  and  hazard 
From  firm  security. 

Antony. 

I'll  fight  at  sea. 
Cleopatra. 
I  have  sixty  sails,  Ccesar  none  better. 

Antony. 
Our  overplus  of  shipping  will  we  burn, 
And  with  the  rest,  full-mann'd,  from  the  beau 

of  Actium 
Beat  th'  approaching  Ccesar :  but  if  we  fail, 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
We  then  can  do't  at  land.  — Thy  business  ? 
Messenger. 
The  news  is  true,  my  lord  ;  he  is  descried  ; 
C&sar  has  taken  Toryne. 

Antony. 

Can  he  be  there  in  person  ?  'tis  impossible  ; 

Strange,  that  his  power  should  be.  —  Canidius, 

Our  nineteen  legions  thou  shalt  hold  by  land, 

And  our  twelve  thousand  horse :  we'll  to  our 

ship. 

Enter  a  Soldier. 

Away,  my  Thetis!— How  now,  worthy  soldier ! 

Soldier. 

O,  noble  emperor  !  do  not  fight  by  sea  ; 

Trust  not  to  rotten  planks.    Do  you  misdoubt 

This  sword,  and  these  my  wounds  ?     Let  the 

Egyptians, 
And  the  Phoenicians,  go  a  ducking ;  we 
I  Have  used  to  conquer  standing  on  the  earth, 
I  And  fighting  foot  to  foot. 

Antony. 

Well,  well.— A  way  I 
[Exeunt  Antony,  Cleopatra,  and  Enobarbus. 


A.  i  in.   .SV.  ix. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1039 


Soldier. 
By  Hercul<s,  I  think,  Iarni'  the  right. 

Canidius. 
Soldier,  thou  art ;  but  his  whole  action  growl 
Not  in  the  power  on't :  to  our  leader's  led, 
And  we  are  women's  men. 


You  keep  by  land 
The  legions  and  the  horse  whole,  do  you  not  ? 

Marcus  Octarius,  Marcus  Justcius, 
Publieola,  and  Grlius,  are  for  sea  ; 
But  we  keep  whole  by  laud.     This  speed  or 
Carries  beyond  belief.  [Grsar't 

Soldier. 

While  he  was  yet  in  Rome, 
His  power  went  out  in  such  distractions,  as 
Beguil'd  all  spies. 

Canidius. 
Who's  his  lieutenant,  hear  you  ? 
Soldier. 
They  say,  one  Taurus. 

Canidius. 

Well  I  know  the  man. 
Enter  a  Messttiger. 
Messenger. 
The  emperor  calls  Canidius. 

Canidius. 
With  news  the  time's  with  labour ;  and  throws 
forth 
Each  minute  some.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  VIII.    A  Plain  near  Actium. 

Enter  Ctcsar,  Taurus,  Officers,  and  others. 

Caesar. 

Taurus  I  _ 

Taurus. 
My  lord. 

Caesar. 
Strike  not  by  land  ;  keep  whole : 
Provoke  not  battle,  till  we  have  done  at  sea. 
Do  not  exceed  the  prescript  of  this  scroll : 
Our  fortune  lies  upon  this  jump.  (Exeunt. 

Knter  Antony  and  Etwbarhtts. 
Antony. 
Set  we  our  squadrons  on  yond*  side  o'  the  hill, 
In  eye  of  Gesar's  battle ;  from  which  place 
We  may  the  number  of  the  ships  behold. 
And  so  proceed  accordingly.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Canidius,  marching  with  his  Land  Army 
one  way  over  the  Stage;  and  Taurus,  the 
Lieutenant  of  Gesar,  the  other  way.  After 
their  going  in,  is  heard  tho  Noise  of  a  Sea- 
Fight. 

Alarum.    Re-enter  Enobarbus. 
Enobarbua. 
Naught,  naught,  all  naught !     I  can  behold  no 
longer. 
The  Antoniad,  the  Egyptian  admiral, 
With  all  their  sixty,  fly,  and  turn  the  rudder : 
To  see't,  mine  eyes  are  blasted. 

Enter  Scants. 
Scarus. 

Gods,  and  goddesses, 
All  the  whole  synod  of  them  ! 
Enobarbus. 

What's  thy  passion  ? 


Scarus. 
The  greater  rant le  of  the  world  it  lost 
With  very  ignorance:  we  have  kiss'd  away 
Kingdoms  and  provinces. 

rbus. 
How  appears  the  fight  ? 

Scarus. 
On  our  side  like  the  token'd  pestilence, 
Where  death  is  sure.    Yond*  ribald-rid  nag  of 

Egypt, 
Whom  leprosy  o'ertake  I    i'  the  midst  o'  the 

fight,— 
When  vantage  like  a  pair  of  twins  appear'd, 
Both  as  the.  same,  or  rather  ours  the  elder  ;  — 
The  brize  upon  her  like  a  cow  in  Junr, 
Hoists  sails,  and  flies. 

Enobarbus. 

That  I  beheld : 
Mine  eyes  did  sicken  at  the  sight,  and  could  not 
Endure  a  further  view. 

Scarus. 

She  once  being  Ioof'd, 
The  noble  ruin  of  her  magic,  Antony, 
Claps  on  his  »ea- wing,  and  like  a  doting  mallard, 
Leaving  the  fight  in  height,  flies  after  her. 
I  never  saw  an  action  of  such  shame: 
Experience,  manhood,  honour,  ne'er  before 
Did  violate  so  itself. 

Enobarbus. 

Alack,  alack ! 

Enter  Canidius. 

Canidius. 

Our  fortune  on  the  sea  is  out  of  breath, 

And  sinks  most  lamentably.    Had  our  general 

Been  what  he  knew  himself,  it  had  gone  well : 

0  !  he  has  given  example  for  our  flight, 
Most  grossly,  by  his  own. 

Enobarbus. 
Ay,  are  you  thereabouts?    Why  then,  good 
Indeed.  [night 

Canidius. 
Towards  Peloponnesus  are  they  fled. 

Scarus. 
'Tis  easy  to't ;  and  there  I  will  attend 
What  farther  comes. 

Canidius. 

To  Gesar  will  I  render 
My  legions,  and  my  horse  :  six  kings  already 
Show  me  the  way  of  yielding. 
Enobarbus. 

I'll  yet  follow 
The  wounded  chance  of  Antony,  though  my 
Sits  in  the  wind  against  me.  [reason 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.    Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Antony,  and  Attendants. 
Antony. 
Hark  !  the  land  bids  me  tread  no  more  upon't ; 
It  is  asham'd  to  bear  me. — Friends,  come  hither, 

1  am  so  lated  in  the  world,  that  I 

Have  lost  my  way  for  ever I  have  a  ship 

Laden  with  gold  ;  take  that,  divide  it ;  fly, 
And  make  your  peace  with  Gesar. 
Attendants. 

Fly !  not  w». 
Antony. 
I  have  fled  myself,  and  have  instructed  cowards 

To 


1040 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  ix. 


To  run,  and  show  their  shoulders. — Friends,  be 
I  have  myself  resolv'd  upon  a  course,  [gone ; 
Which  has  no  need  of  you ;  be  gone : 

My  treasure's  in  the  harbour,  take  it O  ! 

I  follow 'd  that  I  blush  to  look  upon  : 
My  very  hairs  do  mutiny  ;  for  the  white 
Reprove  the  brown  for  rashness,  and  they  them 
For  fear  and  doting.  — Friends,  be  gone:  you 

shall 
Have  letters  from  me  to  some  friends,  that  will 
Sweep  your  way  for  you.   Pray  you,  look  not  sad, 
Nor  make  replies  of  loathness:  take  the  hint 
Which  my  despair  proclaims ;  let  that  be  left 
Which  leaves  itself:  to  the  sea  side  straightway : 
I  will  possess  you  of  that  ship  and  treasure. 
Leave  me,  I  pray,  a  little ;  'pray  you  now :  — 
Nay,  do  so ;  for,  indeed,  I  have  lost  command, 
Therefore,  I  pray  you.    I'll  see  you  by  and  by. 
[Sits  down. 

Enter  Eroa,  and  Cleopatra,  ted  by  Charmian, 
and  Iras. 

Bros. 
Nay,  gentle  madam,  to  him ;  comfort  him. 

Iras. 
Do,  most  dear  queen. 

Charmian. 
Do  1   Why,  what  else  ? 

Cleopatra. 
Let  me  sit  down.    O  Juno ! 

Antony. 
No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

Eros. 
See  you  here,  sir  ? 

Antony. 

0  fie,  fie,  fie  1 

Charmian. 
Madam, — 

Iras. 
Madam:  0  good  empress  !  — 

Eros. 
Sir,  sir,— . 

Antony. 
Yes,  my  lord,  yes.  — He,  at  Philippi,  kept 
His  sword  e'en  like  a  dancer,  while  I  struck 
The  lean  and  wrinkled  Cassius ;  and  'twas  I 
That  the  mad  Brutus  ended:  he  alone 
Dealt  on  lieutenantry,  and  no  practice  had 
In  the  brave  squares  of  war;  yet  now  — No 
matter. 

Cleopatra. 
Ah  !  stand  by. 

Eros. 
The  queen,  my  lord,  the  queen. 

Iras. 
Go  to  him,  madam,  speak  to  him  : 
He  is  unqualitied  with  very  shame. 
Cleopatra. 
Well  then,— sustain  me:  —  O  ! 

Eros. 

Most  noble  sir,  arise ;  the  queen  approaches : 

Her  head's  declin'd,  and  death  will  seize  her ;  but 

Your  comfort  makes  the  rescue. 

Antony. 

1  have  offended  reputation ; 
A  most  unnoble  swerving. 

Eros. 

Sir,  the  queen. 
Antony. 
0 1  whither  hast  thou  led  me,  Egypt  f    See, 
How  I  convey  my  shame  out  of  thine  eyes, 


By  looking  back  what  I  have  left  behind 
'Stroyed  in  dishonour. 

Cleopatra. 

O  my  lord,  my  lord  1 
Forgive  my  fearful  sails :  I  little  thought, 
You  would  have  follow'd. 
Antony. 

Egypt,  thou  knew'st  too  well, 
My  heart  was  to  thy  rudder  tied  by  the  strings, 
And  thou  should'st  tow  me  after:  o'er  my  spirit 
Thy  full  supremacy  thou  knew'st,  and  that 
Thy  beck  might  from  the  bidding  of  the  gods 
Command  me. 

Cleopatra. 

O,  my  pardon  1 

Antony. 

Now  I  must 
To  the  young  man  send  humble  treaties,  dodge 
And  palter  in  the  shifts  of  lowness,  who 
With  half  the  bulk  o'  the  world  play 'd  as  I  pleas'd, 
Making,  and  marring  fortunes.    You  did  know, 
How  much  you  were  my  conqueror  ;  and  that 
My  sword,  made  weak  by  my  affection,  would 
Obey  it  on  all  cause. 

Cleopatra. 

Pardon,  pardon  ! 
Antony. 
Fall  not  a  tear,  I  say :  one  of  them  rates 
All  that  is  won  and  lost.     Give  me  a  kiss  ; 
Even  this  repays  me. — We  sent  our  school- 
master ; 
Is  he  come  back? — Love,  I  am  full  of  lead. — 
Some  wine,  within  there,  and  our  viands  1  — 

Fortune  knows, 
We  scorn  her  most  when  most  she  offers  blows. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  X.    Cesar's  Camp  in  Egypt. 
Enter  Casar,  Dolabella,  Thyreus,  and  .others. 

Caesar. 
Let  him  appear  that's  come  from  Antony.— 
Know  you  him  ? 

Dolabella. 

Cessar,  'tis  his  schoolmaster: 
An  argument  that  he  is  pluck'd,  when  hither 
He  sends  so  poor  a  pinion  of  his  wing, 
Which  had  superfluous  kings  for  messengers, 
Not  many  moons  gone  by. 

Enter  Ewphronius. 
Caesar. 

Approach,  and  speak. 
Euphronius. 
Such  as  I  am,  I  come  from  Antony : 
I  was  of  late  as  petty  to  his  ends, 
As  is  the  morn-dew  on  the  myrtle  leaf 
To  his  grand  sea. 

Caesar. 
Be  it  so.    Declare  thine  office. 
Euphronius. 
Lord  of  his  fortunes  he  salutes  thee,  and 
Requires  to  live  in  Egypt ;  which  not  granted, 
He  lessens  his  requests,  and  to  thee  sues 
To  let  him  breathe  bet  ween  the  heavens  and  earth 
A  private  man  in  Athens :  this  for  him. 
Next,  Cleopatra  does  confess  thy  greatness, 
Submits  her  to  thy  might,  and  of  thee  craves 
The  circle  of  the  Ptolemies  for  her  heirs, 
Now  hazarded  to  thy  grace. 
Caesar. 

For  Antony, 
I  have  no  ears  to  his  request.  The  queen 
Of  audience,  nor  desire,  shall  fail ;  so  she 

From 


Ac  i  in.  Sc.  xi. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1041 


From  Egypt  drive  her  all-disgraced  friend, 
Or  take  hit  life  there:  this  if  she  perform, 
She  shall  not  sue  unheard.    So  to  them  both. 

Euphronius. 
Fortune  pursue  thee  I 

1  I     .- 
Bring  him  through  the  bands. 
[Exit  Euphronius. 
To  try  thy  eloquence,  now  'tis  time;  despatch. 
From  Antony  win  Cleopatra  :  promise, 

[To  Thy  reus. 
And  in  our  name,  what  she  requires  ;  add  more, 
From  thine  invention,  offers.  Women  are  not 
In  their  best  fortunes  strong,  but  want  will  per- 
jure [Thyreus; 
The  ne'er-touch'd  vestal.  Trv  thy  cunning. 
Make  thine  own  edict  for  thy  pains,  which  we 
Will  answer  as  a  law. 

Thyreus. 

Cicsar,  I  go. 

Caesar. 
Observe  how  Antony  becomes  his  flaw, 
And  what  thou  think'st  his  very  action  speaks 
In  every  power  that  moves. 

Thrroui. 
Cwsar,  1  shall.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  XI.    Alexandria.  A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Enobarbus,  Charmian,  and 

Iras. 

Cleopatra. 

What  shall  we  do,  Enobarbus? 

Euobarbus. 

Think,  and  die. 
Cleopatra. 
Is  Antony,  or  we,  in  fault  for  this  ? 

Enobarbus. 
Antony  only,  that  would  make  his  will 
Lord  of  his  reason.    What  though  you  fled 
From  that  great  face  of  war,  whose  several  ranges 
Frighted  each  other,  why  should  he  follow? 
The  itch  of  his  affection  should  not  then 
Have  nick'd  hi    captainship  ;  at  such  a  point, 
When  half  to  hah  the  world  oppos'd,  he  being 
The  mered  question.     'Twas  a  shame  no  less 
Than  was  his  loss,  to  course  your  flying  flags, 
And  leave  his  navy  gazing. 

Cleopatra. 

Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Enter  Antony,  with  Euphronius. 
Antony. 
Is  that  his  answer  ? 

Euphronius.         • 
Ay,  my  lord. 

Antony. 
The  queen  shall  then  have  courtesy,  so  she 
Will  yield  us  up. 

Euphronius. 
He  says  so. 
Antony. 

Let  her  know  it.- 
To  the  boy  Ca-sar  send  this  grilled  head, 
And  he  will  fill  thy  wishes  to  the  brim 
With  principalities. 

Cleopatra. 

That  head,  my  lord  ? 
Antony. 
To  him  again.    Tell  him,  he  wears  the  rose 


Of  youth  upon  him,  from  which  the  world  should 

note 
Something  particular:  his  coin,  ships,  legions, 
May  be  a  coward's  ;  whose  ministers  would  pre- 
V  mler  the  service  of  a  child,  as  soon  [vail, 

As  i'  the  command  of  Ccesar ;  I  dare  him,  there- 
fore. 
To  lay  his  gay  comparisons  apart, 
And  answer  me  declln'd  ;  sword  against  sword, 
Ourselves  alone.    I'll  write  it :  follow  roe. 

[Exeunt  Antony  and  Euphronius. 
Enobarbus. 
Yes,  like  enough,  high-battled  Ceesar  will 
Unstate  his  happiness,  and  be  stag'd  t*  the  show 
Against  a  sworder.  —  I  see,  men's  judgments  are 
A  parcel  of  their  fortunes  ;  and  things  outward 
Do  draw  the  inward  quality  after  them, 
To  suffer  all  alike.    That  he  should  dream, 
Knowing  all  measures,  the  full  Ca?sar  will 
Answer  his  emptiness  \—Ca?sar,  thou  hast  sub- 
His  judgment  too.  [du'd 

Enter  an  Attendant. 
Attendant. 

A  messenger  from  Catar. 
Cleopatra. 
What    no  more    ceremony? — See,   my  wo- 
men ! — 
Against  the  blown  rose  may  they  stop  their  nose, 
That  kneel'd  unto  the  buds.— Admit  him,  sir. 
Enobarbus. 
Mine  honesty  and  I  begin  to  square.     [Aside. 
The  lovalty  well  held  to  fools  does  make 
Our  faith  mere  folly  :  yet  he,  that  can  endure 
To  follow  with  allegiance  a  fallen  lord. 
Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 
And  earns  a  place  i*  the  story. 

Enter  Thyreus. 
Cleopatra. 

tear's  will  ? 
Thyreus. 


Hear  it  apart. 

Cleopatra. 
None  but  friends  :  say  boldly. 
Thvreus. 
So,  haply,  are  they  friends  to  Antony. 

Enobarbus. 
He  needs  as  many,  sir,  as  Ccesar  has, 
Or  needs  not  us.     If  Ccesar  please,  our  master 
Will  leap  to  be  his  friend :  for  us,  you  know, 
Whose  he  is,  we  are,  and  that's  Catsar'a. 
Thyreus. 

So.— 
Thus  then,  thou  most  renown 'd  :  Ca>sar  entreats 
Not  to  consider  in  what  case  thou  stand'st, 
Farther  than  he  is  Ca?sar. 

Cleopatra. 

Go  on:  right  royal. 
Thyreus. 
He  knows,  that  you  embrace  not  Antony 
As  you  did  love,  but  as  you  fear'd  him. 
Cleopatra. 

O! 
Thy  reus. 
The  scars  upon  your  honour,  therefore,  he 
I  Does  pity,  as  constrained  blemishes, 
!  Not  as  deserv'd. 

Cleopatra. 
He  is  a  god,  and  knows 
:  What  is  most  right.  Mine  honour  was  not  yielded, 
JBut  conquer'd  merely. 

Enobarbus.  [Aside. 

To  be  sure  of  that, 
ix  I  "ill 


104* 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  hi.  Sc  xi. 


I  will  ask  Antony Sir,  sir,  thou'rt  so  leaky, 

That  we  must  leave  thee  to  thy  sinking,  for 
Thy  dearest  quit  thee.  [Exit  Enobarbus. 

Thyreus. 

Shall  I  say  to  Ccesar 
What  you  require  of  him  ?  for  he  partly  begs 
Tobedesir'dtogive.   It  much  would  please  him, 
That  of  his  fortunes  you  should  make  a  staff 
To  lean  upon  ;  but  it  would  warm  his  spirits, 
To  hear  from  me  you  had  left  Antony, 
And  put  yourself  "under  his  shroud, 
The  universal  landlord. 

Cleopatra.  , 

What's  your  name  ? 
Thyreus. 
My  name  is  Thyreus. 

Cleopatra. 

Most  kind  messenger, 
Say  to  great  Ccesar  this :  In  disputation 
I  kiss  his  conqu'ring  hand :  tell  him,  I  am  prompt 
To  lay  my  crown  at 's  feet,  and  there  to  kneel : 
Tell  him,  from  his  all-obeying  breath  I  hear 
The  doom  of  Egypt. 

Thy  rem. 

'Tis  your  noblest  course. 
Wisdom  and  fortune  combating  together, 
If  that  the  former  dare  but  what  it  can, 
No  chance  may  shake  it.    Give  me  grace  to  lay 
My  duty- on  your  hand. 

Cleopatra. 

Your  Ceesar's  father  oft, 
When  he  hath  mus'd  of  taking  kingdoms  in, 
Bestow'd  his  lips  on  that  unworthy  place, 
As  it  rain'd  kisses. 

Re-enter  Anton}/  and  Enobarbus. 
Antony. 
Favours,  by  Jove  that  thunders  ! — 
What  art  thou,  fellow  ? 

Thyreus. 

One,  that  but  performs 
The  bidding  of  the  fullest  man,  and  worthiest 
To  have  command  obey'd. 

Enobarbus. 

You  will  be  whipp'd. 
Antony. 
Approach,  there.— Ay,  you  kite  ! — Now  gods 
and  devils ! 
Authority  melts  from  me :  of  late,  when  I  cry'd, 

"ho!" 
Like  boys  unto  a  muss,  kings  would  start  forth, 
Andcry,"  Your  will?"  Haveyounoears?  lam 

Enter  Attendants. 

Antony  yet.    Take  hence  this  Jack,  and  whip 
him.  _     .     . 

Enobarbus. 

'Tis  better  playing  with  a  lion's  whelp, 
Than  with  an  old  one  dying. 
Antony. 

Moon  and  stars  !  — 
Whip  him. — Were't  twenty  of  the  greatest  tri 

butaries 
That  do  acknowledge  Ccesar,  should  I  find  them 
So  saucy  with  the  hand  of— she  here,  what's  her 

name, 
Since  she  was  Cleopatra?— Whip  him,  fellows, 
Till,  like  a  boy,  you  see  him  cringe  his  face, 
And  whine  aloud  for  mercy.    Take  him  hence. 
Thvreus, 


Mark  Antony,  — 


Antony, 
fug  him  away  :  being  whipp'd, 


Bring  him  again The  Jack  of  Ceesar's  shall 

Bear  us  an  errand  to  him.— 

[Exeunt  Attendants  with  Thyreus. 
You  were  half  blasted  ere  I  knew  you :  ha  1 
Have  I  my  pillow  left  unpress'd  in  Rome, 
Forborne  the  getting  of  a  lawful  race, 
And  by  a  gem  of  women,  to  be  abus'd 
By  one  that  looks  on  feeders  ? 
Cleopatra. 

Good  my  lord, — 
Antony. 
You  have  been  a  boggier  ever :  — 
But  when  we  in  our  viciousness  grow  hard, 
(O  misery  on't !)  the  wise  gods  seel  our  eyes, 
In  our  own  filth  drop  our  clear  judgments; 

make  us 
Adore  our  errors;  laugh  at  us,  while  we  strut 
To  our  confusion. 

Cleopatra. 

O  !  is  it  come  to  this  ? 
Antony. 
I  found  you  as  a  morsel,  cold  upon 
Dead  Ceesar's  trencher :  nay,  you  were  a  frag- 
ment 
Of  Cneius  Pompey's  ;  besides  what  hotter  hours, 
Unregister'd  in  vulgar  fame,  you  have 
Luxuriously  pick'd  out ;  for,  I  am  sure, 
Though  you  can  guess  what  temperance  should 
You  know  not  what  it  is.  [be, 

Cleopatra. 

Wherefore  is  this  ? 
Antony. 
To  let  a  fellow  that  will  take  rewards, 
And  say,  "  God  quit  you  !  "  be  familiar  with 
My  playfellow,  your  hand  ;  this  kingly  seal, 
And  plighter  of  high  hearts  !  —  O  !  that  I  were 
Upon  the  hill  of  Ba.san,  to  outroar 
The  horned  herd,  for  I  have  savage  cause ; 
And  to  proclaim  it  civilly  were  like 
A  halter'd  neck,  which  does  the  hangman  thank 
For  being  yare  about  him.  — 

Re-enter  Attendants,  with  Thyreus. 

Is  he  whipp'd  ? 

First  Attendant. 
Soundly,  my  lord. 

Antony. 
Cry'd  he  ?  and  begg'd  he  pardon  ? 
First  Attendant. 
He  did  ask  favour. 

Antony. 

If  that  thy  father  live,  let  him  repent 

Thou  wast  hot  made  his  daughter  ;  and  be  thou 

To  follow  Ccesar  in  his  triumph,  since       [sorry 

Thou  hast  been  whipp'd  for  following  him: 

henceforth, 
The  white  hand  of  a  lady  fever  thee ; 
Shake  thou  to  look  on't.  —  Get  thee  back  to 

Ccesar, 
Tell  him  thy  entertainment :  look,  thou  say, 
He  makes  me  angry  with  him  ;  for  he  seems 
Proud  and  disdainful,  harping  on  what  I  am, 
Not  what  he  knew  I  was.  He  makes  me  angry 
And  at  this  time  most  easy  'tis  to  do't,  [guides. 
When  my  good  stars,  that  were  my  former 
Have  empty  left  their  orbs,  and  shot  their  fires 
Into  the  abysm  of  hell.     If  he  mislike 
My  speech,  and  what  is  done,  tell  him,  he  has 
Hipparchus,  my  enfranchis'd  bondman,  whom 
He  may  at  pleasure  whip,  or  hang,  or  torture, 
As  he  shall  like,  to  quit  me,     Urge  it  thou : 


Hence,  with  thy  stripes  !  begone! 


xit  Thyreus. 
Cleopatra. 


Act  iv.  -V.  ii. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATKA. 


1043 


il.iw'  you  done 


p.itra. 


Antony. 
Alack 


I  our  tcrrcno  moon 
Is  now  eclips'd,  ami  it  portends  alone 
The  fall  of  Antony. 

Cleopatra. 
I  must  stay  his  time. 

To  flatter  Cesar,  would  you  mingle  eyes 
With  one  that  tics  his  points  ? 


Cleopatra, 


toot  know  me  yet 


Cold-hearted  toward  me  'r 

C,e0patXh,dear!lfIheRo, 
From  my  cold  heart  let  heaven  engender  hail, 
And  poison  it  in  the  source,  and  the  first  stone 
Drop  in  my  neck  :  as  it  determines,  so 
Dissolve  my  life  1    The  next  Cassation  smite, 
Till  by  degrees  the  memory  of  my  womb, 
Together  with  my  brave  Egyptians  all. 
By  the  discandying  of  this  pelleted  storm, 
Lie  graveless,  till  the  flies  and  gnats  of  Nile 
Have  buried  them  for  prey  ! 

Antony 

I  am  satisfied. 
Cersar  sits  down  in  Alexandria,  where 
I  will  oppose  his  fate.     Our  force  by  land 
Hath  nobly  held  ;  our  sever'd  navy,  too, 
Have  knit  "again,  and  fleet,  threat'uing  most  sea- 
like. 
Where  hast  thou  been,  my  heart  ?—  Dost  thou 

hear,  lady  ? 
If  from  the  field  I  shall  return  once  more 
To  kiss  these  lips,  I  will  appear  in  blood  ; 
I  and  my  sword  will  earn  our  chronicle: 
There's  hope  in  't  yet 


Cleop^r 


at's  my  brave  lord  ! 

I  will  be  treble-sinew  d,  nearted,  breath'd, 
And  tight  maliciously:  for  when  mine  hours 
Were  nice  and  lucky,  men  did  ransom  lives 
Of  me  for  jests  ;  but  now,  I'll  set  my  teeth, 
And  send  to  darkness  all  that  stop  me.  —  Come, 
I-et's  have  one  other  gaudy  night.  —  Call  to  me 
All  my  sad  captains  :  fill  our  bowls  ;  once  more 
Let's  mock  the  midnight  bell. 

Cleopatra.     , 

It  is  my  birthday: 
I  had  thought,  to  have  held  it  poor ;  but  since 
Is  Antony  again,  I  will  be  Cleopatra,     [my  lord 

Wewillyetdoweftnt0ny- 

Cleopatra. 
Call  all  his  noble  captains  to  my  lord. 

Do  so,  we'll  speak  to  them  ;  and  to-night  I'll 
force 
The  wine  peep  through  their  scars.  —  Come  on, 

my  queen  ; 
There's  sap  in't  yet.    The  next  time  I  do  fight, 
I'll  make  death  love  me,  for  I  will  contend 
Even  with  his  pestilent  scythe. 

[Exeunt  Antony,  Cleopatra,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Now  he'll   outstare   the   lightning.    To   be 
furious. 
Is,  to  be  frighted  out  of  fear  ;  and  in  that  mood, 


The  dove  will  peck  the  estridge:  and  I  see  still, 
A  diminution  in  our  captain's  brain        1 1 
Restores  his  he»rt.     When   valour    preys    011 
It  eats  the  swore  it  fights  with.     I  will  seek 
Some  way  to  lea  e  him.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.     Cwsar't  Camp  at  Alexandria. 

Enter  Catar,  reading  a  Letter  ;  Agrippa, 
Mecamas,  and  others. 

TJ  E  calls  me  boy,  and  clifdes,  as  he  had  power 
•*-•■-   To  beat  me  out  of  Egypt ;  my  messenger 
He  hath  whipp'd  with  rods,  dares  me  to  per- 
sonal combat, 
C&sar  to  Antony  :  let  the  old  ruffian  know, 
1  have  many  other  ways  to  die,  mean  time, 
Laugh  at  his  challenge. 

Mecaenai. 

Cwsar  must  think, 
When  one  so  great  begins  to  rage,  he's  hunted 
Even  to  falling.     Give  him  no  breath,  but  now 
Make  boot  of  his  distraction.     Never  auger 
Made  good  guard  for  itself. 

Ca>*ar. 

Let  our  best  heads 
Know,  that  to-morrow  the  last  of  many  battles 
We  mean  to  fight.     Within  our  files  there  are, 
Of  those  that  serv'd  Mark  Antony  but  late, 
Enough  to  fetch  him  in.    See  it  done  ; 
And  feast  the  army  :  we  have  store  to  do't, 
And  they  have  eam'd  the  waste.    Poor  Antony! 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Alexandria.     A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Antony,  Cleopatra,  Enobarbus,  Charmian, 
Iras,  Alexas,  and  others. 

Antony. 
He  will  not  fight  with  me,  Domitius. 

Enobarbus. 

No. 
Antony. 
Why  should  he  not  ? 

Enobarbus. 
He  thinks,  being  twenty  times  of  better  for- 
He  is  twenty  men  to  one.  [tune, 

Antony. 

To-morrow,  soldier, 
By  sea  and  land  I'll  fight :  or  I  will  live, 
Or  bathe  my  dying  honour  in  the  blood 
Shall  make  it  live  again.  Woo't  thou  fight  well  ? 

,  Enobarbus.       , 

111  strike;  and  cry,  "Take  all." 

Ante 


ell  said  ;  come  on. — 
Call  forth  my  household  servants :  let's  to-night 

Enter  Servants. 
Be  bounteous  at  our  meal.—  Give  me  thy  hand. 
Thou  hast  been  rightly  honest ; — so  hast  thou  ;— 
Thou, — and  thou, —  and  thou: — you  have  servM 
And  kings  have  been  your  fellows.       [me  well, 

"What  means  this  ? 
Enobarbus. 


1044 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Enobarbus. 
'Tis  one  of  those  odd  tricks,  which  sorrow 
Out  of  the  miiid.  [shoots 

Antony. 

And  thou  art  honest  too. 
I  wisn,  I  could  be  made  so  many  men, 
And  all  of  you  clapp'd  up  together  in 
An  Antony,  that  I  might  do  you  service, 
So  good  as  you  have  done. 
Servants. 

The  gods  forbid ! 
Antony. 
Well,  my  good  fellows,  wait  on  me  to-night ; 
Scant  not  my  cups,  and  make  as  much  of  me, 
As  when  mine  empire  was  your  fellow  too, 
And  suffer'd  my  command. 
Cleopatra. 

What  does  he  mean  ? 
Enobarbus. 
To  make  his  followers  weep. 
Antony. 

Tend  me  to-night ; 
May  be,  it  is  the  period  of  your  duty  : 
Haply,  you  shall  not  see  me  more ;  or  if, 
A  mangled  shadow  :  perchance,  to-morrow 
You'll  serve  another  master.     I  look  on  you, 
As    one   that   takes   his   leave.     Mine  honest 

friends, 
I  turn  you  not  away ;  but,  like  a  master 
Married  to  your  good  service,  stay  till  death. 
Tend  me  to-night  two  hours,  I  ask  no  more, 
And  the  gods  yield  you  for't ! 
Enobarbus. 

What  mean  you,  sir, 
To  give  them  this  discomfort  ?     Look,  they 

weep; 
And  I,  an  ass,  am  onion-ey'd:  for  shame, 
Transform  us  not  to  women. 
Antony. 

Ho,  ho,  ho ! 
Now,  the  witch  take  me,  if  I  meant  it  thus. 
Grace  grow  where  those  drops  fall !    My  hearty 
You  take  me  in  too  dolorous  a  sense,     [friends, 
For  I  spake  to  you  for  your  comfort ;  did  desire 

you 
To  burn  this  night  with  torches.    Know,  my 

hearts, 
I  hope  well  of  to-morrow ;  and  will  lead  you, 
Where  rather  I'll  expect  victorious  life, 
Than  death  and  honour.   Let's  to  supper ;  come, 
And  drown  consideration.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 
Enter  Two  Soldiers,  to  their  Guard. 
First  Soldier. 
Brother,  good  night :  to-morrow  is  the  day. 

Second  Soldier. 

It  will  determine  one  way :  fare  you  well. 

Heard  you  of  nothing  strange  about  the  streets? 

First  Soldier. 

Nothing.    What  news  ? 

Second  Soldier. 
Belike,  'tis  but  a  rumour.    Good  night  to  you. 

First  Soldier. 
Well,  sir,  good  night. 

Enter  Two  other  Soldiers. 
Second  Soldier. 
Soldiers,  have  careful  watch. 
Third  Soldier. 
And  you.     Good  night,  good  night. 
[The  first  Two  place  themselves  at  their 
Posts. 


Fourth  Soldier. 
Here  we:  [They  take  their  Posts]   an(j  if  to- 
morrow 
Our  navy  thrive,  I  have  an  absolute  hope 
Our  landmen  will  stand  up. 

Third  Soldier. 

'Tis  a  brave  army, 
And  full  of  purpose. 

[Muric  of  Hautboys  under  the  Stage. 

Fourth  Soldier. 
Peace !  what  noise  ? 

First  Soldier. 
List,  list ! 

Second  Soldier. 
Hark! 

First  Sohlior. 
Music  i'  the  air. 

Third  Soldier. 
Under  the  earth. 

Fourth  Soldier. 
It  signs  well,  does  it  not  ? 

Third  Soldier. 
No. 

First  Soldier. 
Peace  !  I  say.    What  should  this  mean  ? 

Second  Soldier. 
'Tis  the  god  Hercules,  whom  Antony  lov'd, 
Now  leaves  him. 

First  Soldier. 
Walk;  let's  see  if  other  watchmen 
Do  hear  what  we  do. 

[They  advance  to  another  Post. 

Second  Soldier. 
How  now,  masters ! 

Omnes. 
How  now ! 
How  now  !  do  you  hear  this  ? 

[Speaking  together. 
First  Soldier. 

Ay ;  is't  not  strange  ? 
Third  Soldier. 
Do  you  hear,  masters  ?  do  you  hear  ? 

First  Soldier. 
Follow  the  noise  so  far  as  we  have  quarter; 
Let's  see  how  it  will  give  off. 
Omnes. 
Content:  'Tis  strange.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    The  same.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Antony,  and  Cleopatra;  Chartnian,  and 

others,  attending. 

Antony. 

Eros !  mine  armour,  Eros ! 

Cleopatra. 

Sleep  a  little. 
Antony. 
No,  my  chuck. — Eros,  come;  mine  armour, 
Eros ! 

Enter  Eros,  with  Armour. 
Come,  good  fellow,  put  thine  iron  on  :  — 
If  fortune  be  not  ours  to-day,  it  is 
Because  we  brave  her.  —  Come. 
Cleopatra. 

Nay,  I'll  help  too. 
What's  this  for  ? 

Antony. 

Ah,  let  be,  let  be  !  thou  art 
The  armourer  of  my  heart :  —  false,  false;  this, 
this. 

Cleopatra. 


Ac  i  l\.    N<.  vi. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1045 


Cleopatra. 
Sooth,  la !  I'll  help.    Thu»  it  must  be. 


Aiil-vy. 


Well,  well 


We  shall  thrlTe  now.  —  Seest  thou,  m 
Go,  put  on  thy  defences. 

Eros. 

Briefly,  sir. 


[f. 


Aril  ; 

pood 
llow? 


Cleopatra. 
Is  not  this  buckled  well  ? 

Antouy. 

Rarely,  rarely : 
He  that  unbuckles  this,  till  we  do  please 
To  dofTt  for  our  repose,  shall  hear  a  storm. — 
Thou  fumblest,  Eros  ;  and  my  queen's  a  squire 
More  tight  at  this,  than  thou.     Despatch.  —  O, 

love ! 
That  thou  couldst  see   my  wars  to-day,  and 

knew'st 
The  royal  occupation  1  thou  should'st  see 

Enter  an  armed  Soldier. 
A    workman    in't.  —  Good    morrow    to    thee  ; 

welcome : 
Thou  look'st  like  him  that  knows  a  warlike 

charge- 
To  business  that  we  love,  we  rise  betime, 
And  go  to't  with  delight. 

Soldier. 

A  thousand,  sir, 
Early  though  't  be,  have  on  their  riveted  trim, 
And  at  the  port  expect  you. 

[Shout.    Trumpets  flourish. 

Enter  Captain*,  and  Soldiers. 

Captains. 
The  morn  is  fair — Good  morrow,  general. 

All. 
Good  morrow,  general. 

Antony. 

Tis  well  blown,  lads. 
This  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youth 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes. — 
So  so ;  come,  give  me  that :  this  way ;  well  said. 
Fare  thee  well,  dame  :  whate'er  becomes  of  me, 
This  is  a  soldier's  kiss.     Rebukable, 

[Kisses  her. 
And  worthy  shameful  chock  it  were,  to  stand 
On  more  mechanic  compliment :  I'll  leave  thee 
Now,  like  a  man  of  steel.  —  You,  that  will  fight, 
Follow  me  close ;  I'll  bring  you  to't. — Adieu. 
[Exeuut  Antony,  Eros,  Officers,  and  Soldiers. 

Charmian. 
Please  you,  retire  to  your  chamber. 

Cleopatra. 

Lead  me. 
He  goes  forth  gallantly.    That  he  and  Carsar 

might 
Determine  this  great  war  in  single  fight ! 
Then,  Antony, — but  now, — well,  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Antony'a  Camp  near  Alexandria. 

Trumpets  sound.     Enter  Antony  and  Eros  ;   a 
Suldier  meeting  them. 

Soldier. 
The  gods  make  this  a  happy  day  to  Antony! 

Antony. 
Would  thou,  and  those  thy  scars,  had  once 
prevail'd 
To  make  me  fight  at  land  ! 


Soldier. 

Hadst  thou  done  so, 
The  kings  that  have  revolted,  and  the  soldier 
That  has  this  morning  left  thee,  would  have  still 
Follow 'd  thy  heels. 

ntony. 

ho's  gone  this  morning  ? 

Soldier. 

Who? 
One  ever  near  thee:  call  for  Enobarbus, 
He  shall  not  hear  thee ;  or  from  Carsar't  camp 
Say,  "  I  am  none  of  thine." 

Antony 


*> 


What  say'st  thou  ? 


Soldier. 


He  is  with  Carsar. 
He  has  not  with  him 


Eros. 
Sir,  his  chests  and  treasure 


Antonv. 

Is  Tie  gone? 

Soldier. 

Most  certain. 
Antony. 
Go,  Eros,  send  his  treasure  after ;  do  it : 
Detain  no  jot,  I  charge  thee.    Write  to  him 
(I  will  subscribe)  gentle  adieus,  and  greetings: 
Say,  that  I  wish  he  never  find  more  cause 
To  change  a  master.  —  O  !  my  fortunes  have 
Corrupted  honest  men; — despatch.  —  Enobar- 
ota!  [Exeuut. 


SCENE  VI.    Carsar't  dwap before  Alexandria. 

Flourish.     Enter  Carsar,  with  Agrippa,  Eno- 
bar bus,  and  others. 
Caesar. 
Go  forth,  Agrippa,  and  begin  the  fight. 
Our  will  is,  Antony  be  took  alive; 
Make  It  so  known. 

Agrippa. 
Carsar,  I  shall.  [Exit  Agrippa. 

Caesar. 
The  time  of  universal  peace  is  near  : 
Prove  this  a  prosperous  day,  the  three-nook'd 
Shall  bear  the  olive  freely.  [world 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger. 

Antony 
Is  come  into  the  field. 

Caesar. 

Go,  charge  Agrippa 
Plant  those  that  have  revolted  in  the  van, 
That  Antony  may  seem  to  spend  his  fury 
Upon  himself.     [Exeunt  Carsar  and  bis  Train. 

Enobarbus. 
Alexas  did  revolt,  and  went  to  Jewry  on 
Affairs  of  Anlmiy ;  there  did  persuade 
Great  Herod  to  incline  himself  to  Carsar, 
And  leave  his  master  Antony:  for  this  pains, 
Carsar  hath  hang'd  him.     Canidius,  and  the  rost 
That  fell  away,  have  entertainment,  but 
No  honourable  trust.     I  have  done  ill, 
Of  which  I  do  accuse  myself  so  sorely, 
That  I  will  joy  no  more. 

Enter  a  Soldier  of  Car sar't. 
Soldier. 

Enobarbus,  Antontf 
Hath  after  thee  sent  all  thy  treasure,  with 
His  bounty  overplus  :  the  messenger 

Cam* 


1046 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Came  on  my  guard,  and  at  thy  tent  is  now 
Unloading  of  his  mules. 

Enobarbus. 

I  give  it  you. 
Soldier. 
Mock  not,  Enobarbus. 
I  tell  you  true :  best  you  safd  the  bringer 
Out  of  the  host ;  I  must  attend  mine  office, 
Or  would  have  done't  myself.     Your,  emperor 
Continues  still  a  Jove.  [Exit  Soldier. 

Enobarbus. 
I  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth, 
And  feel  I  am  so  most.     O  Antony  ! 
Thou  mine  of  bounty,  how  would'st  thou  have 
My  better  service,  when  my  turpitude         [paid 
Thou  dost  so  crown  with  gold  I    This  blows  my 

heart : 
If  swift  thought  break  it  not,  a  swifter  mean 
Shall  outstrike  thought ;  but  thought  will  do't, 

I  feel. 
I  fight  against  thee  ?  —  No  :  I  will  go  seek 
Some  ditch,  wherein  to  die  ;  the  foul'st  best  fits 
My  latter  part  of  life.  [Exit. 

SCENE  VII.    Field  of  Battle  between  the 

Camps. 

Alarum.    Drums  and  Trumpets.    Enter 

Agrippa,  and  others. 

Agrippa. 

Retire,  we  have  engag'd  ourselves  too  far. 

Ceesar  himself  has  work,  and  our  oppression 

Exceeds  what  we  expected.  [Exeunt. 

Alarum.    Enter  Antony  and  Scarus,  wounded. 
Scar  us. 

0  my  brave  emperor,  this  is  fought  indeed  ! 
Had  we  done  so  at  first,  we  had  driven  them 
With  clouts  about  their  heads.  [home 

Antony. 

Thou  bleed'st  apace. 
Scarus. 

1  had  a  wound  here  that  was  like  a  T. 
But  now  'tis  made  an  H. 

Antony. 

They  do  retire. 
Scarus. 
We'll  beat  'em  into  bench-holes.    I  have  yet 
Room  for  six  scotches  more. 

Enter  Eros. 

Eros. 

They  are   beaten,  sir ;    and    our  advantage 

For  a  fair  victory.  [serves 

Scarus. 

Let  us  score  their  backs, 
And  snatch  'em  up,  as  we  take  hares,  behind : 
'Tis  sport  to  maul  a  runner. 
Antony. 

I  will  reward  thee 
Once  for  thy  sprightly  comfort,  and  ten-fold 
For  thy  good  valour.     Come  thee  on. 
Scarus. 

I'll  halt  after.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.    Under  the  Walls  of 
Alexandria. 

Alarum.    Enter  Antony,  marching  ;  Scarus, 
and  Forces. 
Antony. 
We  have  beat  him  to  his  camp.    Run  one 
before. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


And  let  the  queen  know  of  our  guests. To- 
morrow, 
Before  the  sun  shall  see  us,  we'll  spill  the  blood 
That  has  to-day  escap'd.     I  thank  you  all, 
For  doughty-handed  are  you ;  and  have  fought 
Not  as  you  serv'd  the  cause,  but  as  it  had  been 
Each  man's  like  mine:    you   have  shown  all 

Hectors. 
Enter  the  city,  clip  your  wives,  your  friends, 
Tell  them  your  feats ;  whilst  they  with  joyful 

tears 
Wash  the  congealment  from  your  wounds,  and 

kiss 
The  honour'd  gashes  whole.  —  Give   me   thy 
hand : 

Enter  Cleopatra,  attended. 
To  this  great  fairy  I'll  commend  thy  acts, 
Make  her  thanks  bless  thee.— O  thou  day  o'  the 

world ! 
Chain  mine arm'd neck;  leap  thou,  attire  and  all, 
Through  proof  of  harness  to  my  heart,  and  there 
Ride  on  the  pants  triumphing. 
Cleopatra. 

Lord  of  lords ! 
O  infinite  virtue!  com'st  thou  smiling  from 
The  world's  great  snare  uncaught  ? 
Antony. 

My  nightingale. 
We  have  beat  them  to  their  beds.    What,  girl ! 

though  grey 
Do  something  mingle  with  our  younger  brown  ; 

yet  have  we 
A  brain  that  nourishes  our  nerves,  and  can 
Get  goal  for  goal  of  youth.    Behold  this  man  ; 
Commend  unto  his  lips  thy  favouring  hand :  — 
Kiss  it,  my  warrior  :  —  he  hath  fought  to-day, 
As  if  a  god,  in  hate  of  mankind,  had 
Destroy'd  in  such  a  shape. 

Cleopatra. 

I'll  give  thee,  friend, 
An  armour  all  of  gold  ;  it  was  a  king's. 

Antony. 
He  has  deserv'd  it,  were  it  carbuncled 
Like  holy  Phcebus,  car.—  Give  me  thy  hand : 
Through  Alexandria  make  a  jolly  march  ; 
Bear  our  hack'd  targets  like  the  men  that  owe 
Had  our  great  palace  the  capacity  [them. 

To  camp  this  host,  we  all  would  sup  together, 
And  drink  carouses  to  the  next  day's  fate, 
Which  promises  royal  peril. — Trumpeters, 
With  brazen  din  blast  you  the  city's  ear ; 
Make  mingle  with  our  rattling  tabourines  ; 
That  heaven  and  earth  may  strike  their  sounds 

together, 
Applauding  our  approach.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.    Ctesar's  Camp. 

Sentinels  on  their  Post.    Enter  Enobarbus. 

First  Soldier. 
If  we  be  not  rcliev'd  within  this  hour, 
We  must  return  to  the  court  of  guard.    The 

night 
Is  shiny,  and,  they  say,  we  shall  embattle 
By  the  second  hour  i'  the  morn. 

Second  Soldier. 

This  last  day  was 
A  shrewd  one  to  us. 

Enobarbus. 

O  !  bear  me  witness,  night,— 
Third  Soldier. 
What  man  is  this  ? 

Second 


Act  iv.  Sc.  x. 


ANTONY  AND  CLKOPATIiA. 


1047 


Baeoai  feMli  >• 

Stand  close,  and  list  him. 

Enobarbus. 
Be  witness  to  mo,  O  thou  blessed  moon! 
When  men  revolted  shall  upon  record 
Hear  hateful  memory,  poor  Enobarbus  did 
Before  thy  face  repeat. — 

First  Soldier. 

Enobarbus  ! 
Third  Soldier. 

Peace! 
Hark  farther. 

Enobarbus. 
O  sovereign  mistress  of  true  melancholy  ! 
The  poisonous  damp  of  night  disponge  upon  me, 
That  life,  a  very  rebel  to  my  will, 
Mi)  bang  no  longer  on  me  :  throw  my  heart 
Against  the  flint  and  hardness  of  my  lault, 
Which,  being  dried  with  grief,  will  break   to 

powder. 
And  finish  all  foul  thoughts.     O  Antony ! 
Nobler  than  my  revolt  is  infamous, 
Forgive  me  in  thine  own  particular  ; 
But  let  the  world  rank  me  in  register 
A  master-leaver,  and  a  fugitive 
O  Antony !  O  Antony!  [Dies. 

Second  Soldier. 
Let's  speak  to  him. 

First  Soldier, 
loot's  hear  him  ;  for  the  things  he  speaks 
May  concern  Ctesar. 

Third  Soldier. 

Let's  do  so.     But  he  sleeps. 

First  Soldier. 
Swoons  rather ;  for  so  bad  a  prayer  as  his 
Was  never  yet  for  sleep. 

Second  Soldier. 

Go  we  to  him. 
Third  Soldier. 
Awake,  sir,  awake  !  speak  to  us. 

Second  Soldier. 

Hear  you,  sir? 

first  Soldier. 

The  hand  of  death  hath  raught  him.    Hark  ! 

the  drums  {Drums  afar  off 

Demurely  wake  the  sleepers.     Let  us  bear  him 

To  the  court  of  guard  ;  he  is  of  note :  our  hour 

Is  fully  out. 

Third  Soldier. 
Come  on,  then ; 
He  may  recover  yet.        [Exeunt  with  the  body. 

SCEXE  X.     Between  the  two  Camps. 

Enter  Antony  and  Srarus,  with  Forces, 
marching. 

„,     .  .     Antony. 

Their  preparation  i»  to-day  by  sea: 
We  please  them  not  by  land. 

Scams. 

For  both,  my  lord. 

Antony. 
I  would,  they'd  fight  i'  the  fire,  or  i'  the  air  ; 
We'd  fight  there  too.     But  this  it  is  :  our  foot 
Upon  the  hills  adjoining  to  the  city 
Shall  stay  with  us  (order  for  sea  is  given, 
They  have  put  forth  the  haven) 
Where  their  appointment  we  may  best  discover, 
And  look  on  their  endeavour.  [Exeunt 

Enter  Casar,  and  his  Forces,  marching. 

Caesar. 

But  being  charg'd,  we  will  be  still  by  land. 


Which,  as  I  take't,  we  shall ;  for  his  l»est  force 
"s  forth  to  man  his  galleys.    To  the  vales, 
And  hold  our  best  advantage  !  [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Antony  and  Scants. 

Antony. 
Yet  they  are  not  join'd.    Where  yond*  pine 
does  stand, 
I  shall  discover  all :  I'll  bring  thee  word 
Straight,  how  'tis  like  to  go.  [Exit. 

Scarus. 

Swallows  have  built 
In  Cleopatra's  sails  their  nests:  theaugurers 
Say,  tliey  know  not, — they  cannot  tell ;  —  look 

grimly. 
And  dare  not  speak  their  knowledge.     Antony 
Is  valiant,  and  dejected  ;  and  by  starts 
His  fretted  fortunes  give  him  hope,  and  fear, 
Of  what  he  has,  and  has  not. 

[Alarum  afar  off,  as  at  a  Sea  Fight. 

Re-enter  Antony. 

Antony. 

All  is  lost! 
This  foul  Egyptian  hath  betrayed  me: 
My  fleet  hath  yielded  to  the  foe  ;  and  yonder 
They  cast  their  caps  up,  and  carouse  together 
Like  friends  long  lost — Triple-turn'd  whore! 

'tis  thou 
Hast  sold  me  to  this  novice,  and  my  heart. 
Makes  only  wars  on  thee.- — Bid  them  all  fly  ; 
For  when  I  am  reveng'd  upon  my  charm, 
I  have  done  all .  —  Bid  them  all  fly  j  be  gone. 

[Exit  Scarus. 
O  sun  !  thy  uprise  shall  I  see  no  more  : 
Fortune  and  Antony  part  here ;  even  here 
Do  we  shake  hands. — All  come  to  this? — The 

hearts 
That  spaniel'd  me  at  heels,  to  whom  I  gave 
Their  wishes,  do  discandy,  melt  their  sweets 
On  blossoming  Ca?sar  ;  and  this  pine  is  bark'd, 
That  overtopp'd  them  all.     Betray'd  I  am. 
O  this  false  soul  of  Egypt!  this  grave  charm, — 
Whose  eye  beck'd  forth  my  wars,  and  call'd  them 

home. 
Whose  bosom  was  my  crownet,  my  chief  end, 
Like  a  right  gipsy,  hath,  at  fast  and  loose, 
Beguil'd  me  to  the  very  heart  of  loss. — 
What,  Eros!  Eros! 

Enter  Clt-opatra. 

Ah,  thou  spell !  Avaunt ! 

Cleouattv. 

Why  is  my  lord  enrag  d  against  his  love? 

Afttony. 

Vanish,  or  I  shall  give  tnee  thy  deserving. 

And  blemish  Carsar*&  triumph.    Let  him  take 

thee. 
And  hoist  thee  up  to  the  shouting  plebeians  : 
Follow  his  chariot,  like  the  greatest  spot 
Of  all  thy  sex  ;  most  monster-like,  be  shown 
For  poor'st  diminutives,  for  doits  ;  and  let 
Patient  Octavia  plough  thy  visage  up 
With  her  prepared  nails.  [Exit  Cleopatra. 

Til  well  thou  rt  gone, 
If  it  be  well  to  live ;  but  better  'twere 
Thou  fell'st  into  my  fury,  for  one  death 
Might  have  prevented  many — Eros,  ho  !  — 
The  shirt  of  Xesstis  is  upon  me :  teach  roe, 
Alcides,  thou  mine  ancestor,  thy  rage: 
Let  mc  lodge  Lichas  on  the  horns  o*  the  moon  ; 
And  with  those  hands,  that  grasp'd  the  heaviest 

club, 
Subdue  my  worthiest  self.     The  witch  shall  die : 

To 


1048 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  iv.  iSc:  y. 


To  the  young  Roman  bov  she  hath  sold  me,  and 

I  fall 
Under  this  plot;  she  dies  for't.  —  Eros,  ho  ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  XI.    Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Mardian. 

Cleopatra. 

Help  me,  my  women  !    O  !  he  is  more  mad 

Than    Telamon    for    his    shield;    the   boar  of 

Thessaly 
Was  never  so  emboss'd. 

Charmian. 

To  the  monument ! 
There  lock  yourself,  and  send  him  word  you  are 

dead. 
The  soul  and  body  rive  not  more  in  parting, 
Than  greatness  going  off. 

Cleopatra. 

To  the  monument  ! 
Mardian,  go  tell  him  I  have  slain  myself; 
Say,  that  the  last  I  spoke  was,  Antony, 
And  word  it,  pr'ythee,  piteously.     Hence, 
Mardian,  and  bring  me  how  he  takes  my  death  — 
To  the  monument !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  XII.    The  same.    Another  Room. 
Enter  Antony  and  Eros. 
Antony. 
Eros,  thou  yet  behold'st  me  ? 

Eros. 

Ay,  noble  lord. 
Antony. 
Sometime,  we  see  a  cloud  that's  dragonish, 
A  vapour,  sometime,  like  a  bear,  or  lion, 
A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendant  rock, 
A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 
With  trees  upon't,  that  nod  unto  the  world, 
And  mock  our  eyes  with  air:  thou  hast  seen 

these  signs  ; 
They  are  black  vesper's  pageants. 
Eros. 

Ay,  my  lord. 
Antony. 
That,  which  is  now  a  horse,  even  with  a 
thought, 
The  rack  dislimns,  and  makes  it  indistinct, 
As  water  is  in  water. 

Erroi. 

It  does,  my  lord. 

Antony. 
My  good  knave,  Eros,  now  thy  captain  is 
Even  such  a  body :  here  I  am  Antony, 
Yet  cannot  hold  this  visible  shape,  my  knave. 
I  made  these  wars  for  Egypt,  and  the  queen, 
Whose  heart,  I  thought,  I  had,  for  she  had 

mine, 
Which,  whilst  it  was  mine,  had  annex 'd  unto't 
A  million  more,  now  lost :  she,  Eros,  has 
Pack'd  cards  with  Ccesar's,  and  false  play'd  my 
Unto  an  enemy's  triumph —  [glory 

Nay,  weep  not,  gentle  Eros  ;  there  is  left  us 
Ourselves  to  end  ourselves.  —  O,  thy  vile  lady ! 

Enter  Mardian. 
She  has  robb'd  me  of  my  sword. 
Mardian. 

No,  Antony ; 
My  mistress  lov'd  thee,  and  her  fortunes  mingled 
With  thine  entirely. 


Antony. 
Hence,  saucy  eunuch  :  peace ! 
She  hath  betray'd  me,  and  shall  die  the  death. 

Mardian. 
Death  of  one  person  can  be  paid  but  once, 
And    that    she    has    discharg'd.      What    thou 

would'st  do, 
Is  done  unto  thy  hand :  the  last  she  spake 
Was,  Antony!  most  noble  Antony! 
Then,  in  the  midst  a  tearing  groan  did  break 
The  name  of  Antony  ;  it  was  divided 
Between  her  heart  and  lips.    She  render'd  life, 
Thy  name  so  buried  in  her. 

Antony. 

"Dead,  then? 

Mardian. 

Dead. 

Antony. 

Unarm,  Eros  :  the  long  day's  task  is  done, 

And  we  must  sleep. — That  thou  depart'st  hence 

safe, 
Does  pay  thy  labour  richly;  go.— [Exit  MardianA 

Off,  pluck  off:  — 
The  seven-fold  shield  of  Ajax  cannot  keep 
The  battery  from  my  heart.    O,  cleave,  my  sides ! 
Heart,  once  be  stronger  than  thy  continent, 

Crack  thy  frail  case !  —  Apace,  Eros,  apace 

No  more  a  soldier : — bruised  pieces,  go  ; 

You  have  been   nobly  borne —  From   me  a 

while —  [Exit  Eros. 

I  will  o'ertake  thee,  Cleopatra,  and 
Weep  for  my  pardon.     So  it  must  be,  for  now 
All  length  is  torture:  since  the  torch  is  out, 
Lie  down,  and  stray  no  farther.   Now  all  labour 
Mars  what  it  does ;  yea,  very  force  entangles 
Itself  with  strength ;  seal  then,  and  all  is  done — 
Eros! — I  come,  my  queen — Eros!— Stay  forme: 
Where  souls  do  couch  on  flowers,  we'll  hand  in 

hand, 
And  with  our  sprightly  port  make  the  ghosts 
Dido  and  her  JEneas  shall  want  troops,     [gaze  : 
And  all  the  haunt  be  ours  —Come,  Eros!  Eros! 

Re-enter  Eros. 
Eros. 
What  would  my  lord  ? 

Antony. 

Since  Cleopatra  died 
I  have  liv'd  in  such  dishonour,  that  the  gods 
Detest  my  baseness.     I,  that  with  my  sword 
Quarter'd  the  world,  and  o'er  green  Neptune's 

back 
With  ships  made  cities,  condemn  myself  to  lack 
The  courage  of  a  woman  ;  less  noble  mind 
Than  she,  which  by  her  death  our  Ccssar  tells, 
"  I  am  conqueror  of  myself."    Thou  art  sworn, 

Eros, 
That  when  the  exigent  should  come,  (which  now 
Is  come  indeed)  when  I  should  see  behind  me 
The  inevitable  prosecution  of 
Disgrace  and  horror,  that  on  my  command 
Thou  then  would'st  kill  me :  do't ;  the  time  is 

come. 
Thou  strik'st  not  me,  'tis  Ccesar  thou  defeat's!. 
Put  colour  in  thy  cheek. 

Eros. 

The  gods  withhold  me ! 
Shall  I  do  that,  which  all  the  Parthian  darts, 
Though  enemy,  lost  aim,  and  could  not  ? 

Antony. 

Eros, 
Would'st  thou  be  window'd  in  great  Rome,  and 

see 
Thy  master  thus  with  pleach'd  arms,  bending 
His  corrigible  neck,  his  face  subdued        [down 

To 


Ac.  iv.   St.  wit.         ANTONY  AND  CLKOPATRA. 


1049 


To  penetrative  shame,  whiltt  the  wheel'd  seat 
Of  fortunate  Ctesar,  drawn  before  him,  branded 
Hit  baseness  that  entued  ? 
Eros. 

I  would  not  see't. 
Antony. 
Come,  then ;  for  with  a  wound  I  must  be 
cur'd. 
Draw  that  thy  honest  sword,  which  thou  hast 
Most  useful  for  thy  country.  [worn 

Err*. 

O,  sir !  pardon  me. 
Antony, 
When  I  did  make  thee  free,  swor'st  thou  not 
then 
To  do  this  when  I  bade  thee  ?    Do  it  at  once, 
Or  thy  precedent  services  are  all 
But  accidents  unpurpos'd.     Draw,  and  come. 

Eros. 

Turn  from  me,  then,  that  noble  countenance, 

Wherein  the  worship  of  the  whole  world  lies. 

Antony. 

Lo  theel  f  Turning  from  him. 

Eros. 
My  sword  is  drawn. 

Antony. 

Then,  let  it  do  at  once 
The  thing  why  thou  hast  drawn  it. 
Eros. 

My  dear  master, 
My  captain,  and  my  emperor,  let  me  sav. 
Before  I  strike  this  bloody  stroke,  farewell. 
Antony, 
*Tis  said,  man,  and  farewell. 

Eros. 

Farewell,  great  chief.    Shall  I  strike  now  ? 

Antony. 


Eros. 


Now,  Eros. 


Why,    there  then :  —  [*all»  on  his   Sword] 
Thus  do  I  escape  the  sorrow 
Of  Antony's  death.  [Dies. 

Antony. 

Thrice  nobler  than  myself ! 
Thou  teachest  me,  O  valiant  Eros!  what  [Eros  j 
I  should,  and  thou  could'st  not.    My  queen  and  ; 
Have,  by  their  brave  instruction,  got  upon  me     j 
A  nobleness  in  record :  but  I  will  be 
A  bridegroom  in  my  death,  and  run  into't 
As  to  a  lover's  bed.    Come  then  ;  and,  Eros, 
Thy  master  dies  thy  scholar :  to  do  thus 

[Falling  on  hit  Sword. 
I  learn'dofthee — How  !  not  dead?  not  dead?  — 
The  guard,  ho  !  — O,  despatch  me  1 

Enter  Dercetas  and  Guard. 
First  Guard. 

What's  the  noise  ? 
Antony. 
I  have  done  my  work  ill,  friends :  O  !  make  an 
Of  what  I  have  begun.  [end 

Second  Guard. 

The  star  is  fallen. 
First  Guard. 
And  time  is  at  his  period. 
All. 

Alas,  and  woe  I 
Antony. 
Let  him  that  loves  me,  strike  me  dead. 
First  Guard. 

Not  I. 


Second  Guard. 
Nor  I. 

Third  Guard. 
Nor  any  one.  [Exeunt  Guard. 

Dercetas. 
Thy  death  and  fortunes  bid  thy  followers  fly. 
This  sword  butthown  to  C<tsar,  with  this  tidingt. 
Shall  enter  me  with  him. 

Enter  Diomedes. 

Diomedea. 
Where't  Antony  T 

Dercetas. 
There,  Diomed,  there. 

Diomedes. 
Lives  he  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  answer,  man  ?      [Exit  Dercetas. 

Antony. 
Art  thou  there,  Diomed?    Draw  thy  sword. 
Sufficing  strokes  for  death.  [and  give  me 

Diomedes. 

Most  absolute  lord. 
My  mistress,  Cleopatra,  sent  me  to  thee. 
Antony. 
When  did  the  send  thee  ? 
Diomedes. 

Now,  my  lord. 
Antony. 

Where  is  she? 
Diomedes. 
Lock'd  in  her  monument.    She  had  a  prophe- 
sying fear 
Of  what  hath  come  to  pass  ;  for  when  she  saw 
(Which  never  shall  be  found)  you  did  suspect 
She  had  dispos'd  with  Casar,  and  that  vour  rage 
Would  not  be  purg'd,  she  sent  you  word  she  was 

dead, 
But,  fearing  since  bow  it  might  work,  hath  sent 
Me  to  proclaim  the  truth  ;  and  I  am  come, 
I  dread,  too  late. 

Antony. 
Too  late,  good  Diomed.    Call  my  guard,   I 
pT'ythee. 

Diomedes. 
What,  ho  !  the  emperor's  guard  !    The  guard. 
Come ;  your  lord  calls.  [what,  ho  ! 

Enter  some  of  the  Guard. 
Antony. 
Boar  me,  good  friends,  where  Cleopatra  bides ; 
*Tis  the  last  service  that  I  shall  command  you. 
First  Guard. 
Woe,  woe  are  we,  sir,  you  may  not  live  to  wear 
All  your  true  followers  out. 
All. 

Most  heavy  day  ! 
Antony. 
Nay,  good  my  fellows,  do  not  please  sharp  fate 
To  grace  it  with  your  sorrows  :  bid  that  welcome 
Which  comes  to  punish  us,  and  we  punish  it 
Seeming  to  bear  it  lightly.    Take  me  up : 
I  have  led  you  oft  ;  carry  me  now,  good  friends, 
And  have  my  thanks  for  all. 

[Exeunt,  bearing  Antony.  ! 

SCENE  XIII.    The  same.    A  Monument. 
Enter,  above,  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  and  Iras. 

Cleopatra. 
O  Charmian!  I  will  never  go  from  hence. 

Charmian. 
Be  comforted,  dear  madam. 

Cleopatra. 


1050 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  xin. 


Cleopatra. 

No,  I  will  not. 
All  strange  and  terrible  events  are  welcome, 
But  comforts  we  despise  :  our  size  of  sorrow, 
Proportion'd  to  our  cause,  must  be  as  great 

Enter,  below,  Diomedes. 
As  that  which  makes  it — How  now  !  is  he  dead? 
Diomedes. 
His  death's  upon  him,  but  not  dead. 
Look  out  o'  the  other  side  your  monument, 
His  guard  have  brought  him  thither. 
Enter,  below,  Antony,  borne  by  the  Guard. 
Cleopatra. 

0  sun, 
Burnthegreatspherethoumov'stin  !— darkling 

stand 
The  varying  shore  o'  th'  world.     O  Antony,  An- 
tony, Antony  ! 
Help,  Charmian,  help,  Iras,  help :  help,  friends, 
Below  ;  let's  draw  him  hither. 
Antony. 

Peace  ! 
Not  Cesar's  valour  hath  o'erthrown  Antony, 
But  Antony's  hath  triumph'd  on  itself. 
Cleopatra. 
So  it  should  be,  that  none  but  Antony 
Should  conquer  Antony  ;  but  woe  'tis  so  ! 
Antony. 

1  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying  ;  only 

I  here  importune  death  a  while,  until 
Of  many  thousand  kisses  the  poor  last 
I  lay  upon  thy  lips — 

Cleopatra. 

I  dare  not,  dear, 
(Dear  my  lord,  pardon)  I  dare  not, 
Lest  I  be  taken  :  not  the  imperious  show 
Of  the  full-fortun'd  Ccesar  ever  shall 
Be  brooch'd  with  me  ;  if  knife,  drugs,  serpents, 
Edge,  sting,  or  operation,  I  am  safe :  [have 

Your  wife  Octavia,  with  her  modest  eyes, 
And  still  conclusion,  shall  acquire  no  honour 
Demuring  upon  me. — But  come,  come,  Antony,  — 
Help  me,  my  women,  —  we  must  draw  thee  up — 
Assist,  good  friends. 

Antony 

O  !  quick,  or  I  am  gone. 

Cleopatra. 

Here's  sport,  indeed  ! — How  heavy  weighs  my 

Our  strength  is  all  gone  into  heaviness,     [lord  ! 

That  makes  the  weight:   had  I  great  Juno's 

power, 
The  strong- wing'd  2tfe»c«rj/  should  fetch  thee  up, 
And  set  thee  by  Jove's  side.   Yet  come  a  little,— 
Wishers  were  ever    fools.  —  O  !    come,   come, 
come  ;  [They  draw  Antony  up 

And  welcome,  welcome  !  die,  where  thou  hast 

liv'd: 
Quicken  with  kissing:  had  my  lips  that  power, 
Thus  would  I  wear  them  out. 
AH. 

A  heavy  sight. 
Antony. 
I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying. 
Give  me  some  wine,  and  let  me  speak  a  little. 
Cleopatra. 
No,  let  me  speak  ;  and  let  me  rail  so  high, 
That  the  false  housewife  Fortune  break  her 
Provok'd  by  my  offence.  [wheel, 

Antony. 

One  word,  sweet  queen. 
Of  C<esar  seek  your  honour  with  your  safety. 

—  o» 


Cleopatra. 
They  do  not  go  together. 
Antony. 

Gentle,  hear  me. 
None  about  Ccesar  trust,  but  Proculeius. 
Cleopatra. 
My  resolution,  and  my  hands,  I'll  trust; 
None  about  Ctesar. 

Antony. 
The  miserable  change  now  at  my  end 
Lament  nor  sorrow  at,  but  please  your  thoughts, 
In  feeding  them  with  those  my  former  fortunes 
Wherein  I  liv'd,  the  greatest  prince  o'  the  world, 
The  noblest ;  and  do  now  not  basely  die, 
Not  cowardly  put  off  my  helmet  to 
My  countryman,  a  Roman  by  a  Roman 
Valiantly  vanquished.     Now,  my  spirit  is  going ; 
I  can  no  more.  [Dies. 

Cleopatra. 
Noblest  of  men,  woo't  die  ? 
Hast  thou  no  care  of  me?  shall  I  abide 
In  this  dull  world,  which  in  thy  absence  is 
No  better  than  a  stye  ?—  O  !  see,  my  women. 

The  crown  o'  the  earth  doth  melt My  lord  !  — 

O  !  wither'd  is  the  garland  of  the  war,      [girls, 
The  soldier's  pole  is  fallen :   young  boys,  and 
Are  level  now  with  men  ;  the  odds  is  gone, 
And  there  is  nothing  left  remarkable 
Beneath  the  visiting  moon. 

Charmian. 

O,  quietness,  lady  ! 
Iras. 
She  is  dead  too,  our  sovereign. 
Charmian. 

Lady!  — 
Iras. 

Madam !  — 
Charmian. 
O  madam,  madam,  madam  { 
Iras. 

Royal  Egypt! 
Empress  ! 

Charmian. 
Peace,  peace,  Iras ! 

Cleopatra. 
No  more,  but  e'en  a  woman ;  and  commanded 
By  such  poor  passion  as  the  maid  that  milks, 
And  does  the  meanest  chares.  — It  were  for  me 
To  throw  my  sceptre  at  the  injurious  gods  ; 
To  tell  them,  that  this  world  did  equal  theirs. 
Till  they  had  stolen  our  jewel:  all's  but  naught; 
Patience  is  sottish,  and  impatience  does 
Become  a  dog  that's  mad:  then  is  it  sin, 
To  rush  into  the  secret  house  of  death, 
Ere  death  dare  come  to  us? — How  do  you, 

women  ? 
What,  what !    good  cheer !     Why,  how  now, 

Charmian  ! 
My  noble  girls !  —  Ah,  women,  women  !  look, 

Our  lamp  is  spent,  it's  out Good  sirs,  take 

heart :  L  To  the  Guard  below. 

We'll  bury  him;  and  then,  what's  brave,  what's 

noble, 

Let's  do  it  after  the  high  Roman  fashion, 
And  make  death  proud  to  take  us.   Come,  away : 
This  case  of  that  huge  spirit  now  is  cold. 
Ah,  women,  women  !  come;  we  have  no  friend 
But  resolution,  and  the  briefest  end. 

[Exeunt;  those  above  bearing  off  Antony'* 
Body. 


•#"#-<t 


ACT 


Act     5.     Sc.    2. 


Act  v.  5c-.  h. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1051 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.    C*sar'»  Camp  before  Alexandria. 

Enter  C<etart  Agrippa,  Dolah-lla,  Mcatiias, 
Gallus,  Proculeius,  and  others. 

(  1  Ml 

GO  to  him,  Dolabella,  bid  him  yi*-Kl ; 
Bstaf  so  frustrate,  tell  liim, 
H<-  huh  ks  us  hy  the  pauses  that  he  makes, 
bella. 
Cxsar,  I  shall.  CExit  Dotabclla. 

Enter  Dercetas,  \rith  the  Sword  of  Antony. 

(    .  ■  .:. 

Wherefore  Is  that?  and  what  art  thou,  that 

Appear  thus  to  us  ?  [dar'st 

Dercetas. 

I  am  call'd  Dercetas. 
Mark  Antony  1  scrv'd,  who  lust  was  worthy 
Best  to  be  serv'd  :  whilst  be  stood  up,  and  spoke, 
He  was  my  master,  ami  I  wore  my  life, 
To  spend  upon  his  haters.     If  thou  please 
To  take  me  to  thee,  as  I  was  to  him 
I'll  be  to  Ccesar;  if  thou  pleasest  not, 
I  yield  thee  up  my  life. 

What  is't  thou  say'st  ? 
Dercetas. 
I  say,  O  Cecsar!  Antony  is  dead. 

Caesar. 
The  breaking  of  so  great  a  thing  should  make 
A  greater  crack :  the  round  world  should  have 
lions  into  civil  streets,  [shook 

And  citizens  to  their  dens.  The  death  of  Antony 
Is  not  a  single  doom :  in  the  name  lay 
A  moiety  of  the  world. 

Dercetes. 

He  is  dead,  Carsar  ; 
Not  by  a  public  minister  of  justice. 
Nor  by  a  hired  knife;  but  that  self  hand, 
Which  writ  his  honour  in  the  acts  it  did, 
Hath,  with  the  courage  which  the  heart  did 

lend  it, 
Splitted  the  heart.    This  is  his  sword  ; 
I  robb'd  his  wound  of  it :  behold  it  stain'd 
With  his  most  noble  blood. 

Look  you  sad,  friends  ? 
The  gods  rebuke  me,  but  it  is  tidings 
To  wash  the  eyes  of  kings. 
Agrippa. 

And  strange  it  is, 
That  nature  must  compel  us  to  lament 
Our  most  persisted  deeds. 

His  taints  and  honours 
Waged  equal  with  him. 

Agrippa. 

A  rarer  spirit  never 

Did  steer  humanity;  but  you,  gods,  will  give  us 

Some  faults  to  make  us  men.    Cccsar  is  touch'd. 

Mec  semis. 

When  such  a  spacious  mirror's  set  before  him, 

He  needs  must  see  himself. 

Caesar. 

O  Antony  f 
I  have  follow'd  thee  to  this  ; — but  we  do  lance 
Diseases  in  our  bodies.     I  must  perforce 
Have  shown  to  thee  such  a  declining  day, 
Or  look  on  thine:  we  could  not  stall  together 


In  the  whole  world.    But  yet  let  me  lament. 
With  tears  as  sovereign  as  the  blood  of  hearts, 
That  thou,  my  brothi-r,  my  1  ompetitor 
In  top  of  all  design,  my  mate  in  empire, 
Friend  and  companion  in  the  front  of  war, 
The  arm  of  mine  own  liody,  and  the  heart 
When  mine  his  thoughts  did  kindle,  that  our 
Unreconcileable  should  divide  [stars. 

Our  equalness  to  this Hear  me,  good  friends, — 

But  1  will  tell  you  at  some  meeter  season : 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
The  business  of  this  man  looks  out  of  him  ; 
We'll  hear  him  what  he  says.  — Whence  aro 
you? 

Messenger. 
A  poor  Egyptian  yet.  The  queen  my  mistress, 
Confin'd  in  all  she  has,  her  monument, 
Of  thy  intents  desires  instruction, 
That  she  preparedly  may  frame  herself 
To  the  way  she's  forced  to. 

Bid  her  have  good  heart: 
She  soon  shall  know  of  us,  by  some  of  ours, 
How  honourable  and  how  kindly  we 
Determine  for  her;  for  Ctesar  cannot  live 
To  be  ungentle. 

nger. 
So  the  gods  preserve  thee !    [Exit. 
Coesar. 
Come  hither,  Proculeitts.    Go,  and  say, 
We    purpose  her  no    shame:    give  her  what 

comforts 
The  quality  of  her  passion  shall  require, 
Lest  in  her  greatness  by  some  mortal  stroke 
She  do  defeat  us  ;  for  her  life  in  Rome 
Would  be  eternal  in  our  triumph.     Go, 
And  with  your  speediest  bring  us  what  she  says, 
And  how  you  find  of  her. 

Proculeitts. 

C&sar,  I  shall.     [Exit  Proculeius. 

Caesar. 

Callus,  go  you  along.— Where's  Dolabella. 

To  second  Proculeius  t  [Exit  Gallus. 

All. 

DolabeUa  ! 
Ca:sar. 
Let  him  alone,  for  I  remember  now 
How  he's  employed  :  he  shall  in  time  be  ready. 
Go  with  me  to  my  tent,  where  vou  shall  see 
How  hardly  I  was  drawn  into  this  war, 
How  calm  and  gentle  I  proceeded  still 
In  all  my  writings.     Go  with  me,  and  see 
What  I  can  show  in  this.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.     Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Monument. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  and  Iras. 
Cleopatra. 
My  desolation  does  begin  to  make 
A  better  life.     "JTis  paltry  to  be  Oemr  : 
Not  being  fortune,  he's  but  fortune's  knave, 
A  minister  of  her  will ;  and  it  is  great 
To  do  that  thing  that  ends  all  other  deeds. 
Which  shackles  accidents,  and  bolts  up  change ; 
Which  sleeps,  and  never  palates  more  the  dung, 
The  beggar's  nurse  and  Conor's. 

Enter,  to  the  Gates  of  the  Monument,  Procsf- 

leius,  Gallus,  and  Soldiers. 

Proculeius. 

Cusar  sends  greeting  to  the  queen  of  EgijjH  ; 

And 


1052 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ij. 


And  bids  thee  study  on  what  fair  demands 
Thou  mean'st  to  have  him  grant  thee. 

Cleopatra. 

What's  thy  name  ? 

Proculeius. 
My  name  is  Proculeius. 

Cleopatra. 

Antony 
Did  tell  me  of  you,  bade  me  trust  you  ;  but 
I  do  not  greatly  care  to  be  deceiv'd, 
That  have  no  use  for  trusting.     If  your  master 
Would  have  a  queen  his  beggar,  you  must  tell 
That  majesty,  to  keep  decorum,  must  [him, 

No  less  beg  than  a  kingdom  :  if  he  please 
To  give  me  conquer'd  Egypt  for  my  son, 
He  gives  me  so  much  of  mine  own,  as  I 
Will  kneel  to  him  with  thanks. 

Proculeius. 

Be  of  good  cheer; 
You  are  fallen  into  a  princely  hand,  fear  nothing. 
Make  your  full  reference  freely  to  my  lord, 
Who  is  so  full  of  grace,  that  it  flows  over 
On  all  that  need.    Let  me  report  to  him 
Your  sweet  dependancy,  and  you  shall  find 
A  conqueror,  that  will  pray  in  aid  for  kindness, 
Where  he  for  grace  is  kneel'd  to. 

Cleopatra. 

Pray  you,  tell  him 
I  am  his  fortune's  vassal,  and  I  send  him 
The  greatness  he  has  got.     I  hourly  learn 
A  doctrine  of  obedience,  and  would  gladly 
Look  him  i'  the  face. 

Proculeius. 

This  I'll  report,  dear  lady. 
Have  comfort ;  for,  I  know,  your  plight  is  pitied 
Of  him  that  caus'd  it. 

Gallus. 
You  see  how  easily  she  may  be  surpris'd. 
[Proculeius,  and  t  vo  of  the  Guard,  ascend 
the  Monument  by  a  Ladder,  and  come 
behind  Cleopatra.     Some  of  the   Guard 
unbar  and  open  the  Gates. 
Guard  her  till  Qesar  come. 

[To    Proculeius   and   the    Guard.      Exit 
Gallus. 

Iras. 
Royal  queen  ! 

Charmian. 
O  Cleopatra!  thou  art  taken,  queen  !  — 

Cleopatra. 
Quick,  quick,  good  hands. 

[Drawing  a  Dagger. 
Proculeius. 

Hold,  worthy  lady,  hold  ! 
[Seizes  and  disarms  her. 
Do  not  yourself  such  wrong,  who  are  in  this 
Reliev'd,  but  not  betray'd. 

Cleopatra. 

What,  of  death,  too, 
That  rids  our  dogs  of  languish  ? 

Proculeius. 

Cleopatra, 
Do  not  abuse  my  master's  bounty,  by 
Th'  undoing  of  yourself :  let  the  world  see 
His  nobleness  well  acted,  which  your  death 
Will  never  let  come  forth. 

Cleopatra. 

Where  art  thou,  death  ? 
Come  hither,  come!  come,  come,  and  take  a 
Worth  many  babes  and  beggars  !  [queen 

Proculeius. 

O,  temperance,  lady ! 


Cleopatra. 
Sir,  I  will  eat  no  meat,  I'll  not  drink,  sir ; 
If  idle  talk  will  once  be  necessary,  [ruin, 

I'll  not  sleep  neither.    This  mortal  house  I'll 
Do  Ccesar  what  he  can.     Know,  sir,  that  I 
Will  not  wait  pinion'd  at  your  master's  court, 
Nor  once  be  chastis'd  with  the  sober  eye 
Of  dull  Oclavia.    Shall  they  hoist  me  up, 
And  show  me  to  the  shouting  varletry 
Of  censuring  Rome  t    Rather  a  ditch  in  Egypt 
Be  gentle  grave  to  me !  rather  on  Nilus'  mud 
Lay  me  stark  nak'd,  and  let  the  water  flies 
Blow  me  into  abhorring  !  rather  make 
My  country's  high  pyramides  my  gibbet, 
And  hang  me  up  in  chains  ! 

Proculeius. 

You  do  extend 
These  thoughts  of  horror  farther,  than  you  shall 
Find  cause  in  Ccesar. 

Enter  Dolabella. 
Dolabella. 

Proculeius, 
What  thou  hast  done  thy  master  Ccesar  knows, 
And  he  hath  sent  for  thee :  for  the  queen, 
I'll  take  her  to  my  guard. 

Proculeius. 

So,  Dolabella, 
It  shall  content  me  best :  be  gentle  to  her — 
To  Cxsar  I  will  speak  what  you  shall  please, 

[To  Cleopatra. 
If  you'll  employ  me  to  him. 

Cleopatra. 

Say,  I  would  die. 
[Exeunt  Proculeius,  and  Soldiers. 

Dolabella. 
Most  noble  empress,  you  have  heard  of  me  ? 

Cleopatra. 
I  cannot  tell. 

Dolabella. 
Assuredly,  you  know  me. 

Cleopatra. 

No  matter,  sir,  what  1  have  heard,  or  known. 

You  laugh,  when  boys,  or  women,  tell  their 

Is't  not  your  trick  ?  [dreams  ; 

Dolabella. 

I  understand  not,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 
I  dream'd,  there  was  an  emperor  Antony  : 
O,  such  another  sleep,  that  I  might  see 
But  such  another  man  ! 

Dolabella. 

If  it  might  please  you,— 

Cleopatra. 

His  face  was  as  the  heavens  ;  and  therein 

stuck 

A  sun,  and  moon,  which  kept  their  course,  and 

The  little  O,  the  earth.  [lighted 

Dolabella. 
Most  sovereign  creature,— 

Cleopatra. 
His  legs  bestrid  the  ocean  ;  his  rear'd  arm 
Crested  the  world  ;  his  voice  was  propertied 
As  all  the  tuned  spheres,  and  that  to  friends  ; 
But  when  he  meant  to  quail  and  shake  the  orb, 
He  was  as  rattling  thunder.     For  his  bounty, 
There  was  no  winter  in't ;  an  autumn  'twas, 
That  grew  the  more  by  reaping :  his  delights 
Were  dolphin-like  ;  they  show'd  his  back  above 
The  element  they  liv'd  in  :  in  his  livery 
Walk'd    crowns,    and    crownets ;    realms    and 

islands  were 
As  plates  dropp'd  from  his  pocket. 

Dolabella. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


1053 


DolabclU. 

Cleopatra,— 

Cleopatra. 

Think  you,  there  was,  or  might  be,  such  a 

As  this  I  'dreain'd  of  ?  [man 

Dolabella. 

Gentle  madam,  no. 
Cleopatra. 
You  He,  up  to  the  hearing  of  the  gods  : 
But,  if  there  be,  or  ever  were  one  such. 
It's  past  the  site  of  dreaming :  nature  wants  stuff 
To  vie  strange  forms  with  fancy  ;  yet,  to  ima- 
gine 
An  Antony,  were  nature's  piece  'gainst  fancy, 
Condemning  shadows  quite. 
Dolabella. 

Hear  me,  good  madam. 
Your  loss  is  as  yourself,  great ;  and  you  bear  it 
As  answering  to  the  weight :  would  I  might 
O'ertake  pursu'd  success,  but  I  do  feel,     [never 

K"    the  rebound  of  your's,  a  grief  that  shoots 
j  very  heart  at  root- 

Cleopjitrn. 

I  thank  you,  sir. 
Know  you,  what  Casar  means  to  do  with  me  ? 

Dolabella. 
I  am  loath  to  tell  you  what  I  would  you  knew. 

Cleopatra. 
Nay,  pray  you,  sir,— 

Dolabella. 

Though  he  be  honourable,— 

Cleopatra. 
He'll  lead  me,  then,  in  triumph  ? 

Dolabella. 
Madam,  he  will ;  I  know't. 

[Within.]    Make  way  there !—  Ctesar ! 

Enter  Ctesar,  Gallus,  Procvleius,  Mectrnna, 
Seleucus,  and  Attendants. 
Caesar. 
Which  is  the  queen  of  Egypt  f 

Dolabella. 
It  is  the  emperor,  madam.   [Cleopatra  kneels. 

Canar. 
Arise,  you  shall  not  kneel. 
I  pray  you,  rise  ;  rise,  Egypt. 
Cleopatra. 

Sir,  the  pods 
Will  have  it  thus  :  my  master  and  my  lord 
1  must  obey. 

Caesar. 
Take  to  you  no  hard  thoughts  : 
The  record  of  what  injuries  you  did  us, 
Though  written  in  our  flesh,  we  shall  remember 
As  things  but  done  by  chance. 
Cleo!>.-i?r;i 

Sole  sir  o'  the  world, 
I  cannot  project  mine  own  cause  so  well 
To  make  it  clear ;  but  do  confess  I  have 
Been  laden  with  like  frailties,  which  before 
Have  often  shara'd  our  sex. 

Caesar. 

Cleopatra,  know, 
We  will  extenuate  rather  than  enforce: 
If  you  apply  yourself  to  our  intents, 
(Which  towards  you  are  most  gentle)  you  shall 
A  benefit  in  this  change  ;  but  if  you  seek    [find 
To  lay  on  me  a  cruelty,  by  taking 
Antony's  course,  you  shall  bereave  yourself 
Of  my  good  purposes,  and  put  your  children 


To  that  destruction  which  I'll  guard  them  from. 
If  thereon  you  rely.    I'll  take  my  leave. 
Cleopatra. 
And  may  through  all  the  world  :  'tis  yours  ; 
and  we  [shall 

Your  scutcheons,  and  your  signs  of  conquest. 
Hang  In  what  place  you  please.   Here,  my  good 
lord. 

Ci  mt, 
You  shall  advise  me  in  all  for  Cleopatra. 

Cleopatra. 

This  Is  the  brief  of  money,  plate,  and  jewels, 

I  am  possessed  of :  'tis  exactly  valued  ; 

Not  petty  things  admitted.— Where's  Seleucus? 

Seleucus. 

Here,  madam. 

Cleopatra. 
This  is  my  treasurer  :  let  him  speak,  my  lord, 
Upon  his  peril,  that  I  have  reserv'd 
!  To  myself  nothing.    Speak  the  truth,  Seleucus. 

Seleucus. 
I     Madam, 

'  I  had  rather  seal  my  lips,  than  to  my  peril 
Speak  that  which  is  not. 

Cleopatra. 

What  have  I  kept  back  ? 
Seleucus. 
Enough   to  purchase  what  you  have  made 
known. 

Caesar. 
Nay,  blush  not,  Cleopatra  ;  I  approve 
Your  wisdom  in  the  deed. 

Cleopat.a. 

See,  Ca>sar !  O,  behold, 
How  pomp  is  follow'd  I  mine  will  now  be  yours. 
And  should  we  shift  estates,  yours  would  be 
The  ingratitude  of  this  Seleucus  does  [mine. 
Even  make  me  wild.— O  slave,  of  no  more  trust 
Than  love  that's    hir'dl— What!    goest    thou 

back  ?  thou  shalt 
Go  back,  I  warrant  thee ;  but  I'll  catch  thine 

eyes, 
Though  they  had  wings.  Slave,  soul-less  villain, 
O  rarely  base  !  [dog ! 

Caesar. 
Good  queen,  let  us  entreat  you. 

Cleopatra. 
O  Casar!  what  a  wounding  shame  is  this  ; 
That  thou,  vouchsafing  here  to  visit  me, 
Doing  the  honour  of  thy  lordliness 
To  one  so  meek,  that  mine  own  servant  should 
Parcel  the  sum  of  my  disgraces  by 
Addition  of  his  envy  !    Say,  good  Casar, 
That  I  some  lady  trifles  have  reserv'd, 
Immoinent  toys,  things  of  such  dignity 
As  we  greet  modern  friends  withal ;  and  say, 
Some  nobler  token  I  have  kept  apart 
For  Livia,  and  Octavia,  to  induce 
Their  mediation,  must  I  be  unfolded  [me 

With  one  that  I  have  bred  ?    The  gods !  it  smites 
Beneath  the  fall  I  have.    Pr'ythee,  go  hence  ; 


[Xo.Selnicus. 
spirits 


Or  I  shall  show  the  cinders  of  my  spir 
Through  th  ashes  of  my  chance. — Wert  thou  a 
Thou  would'st  have  mercy  on  me,  [man, 

Forbear,  Seleucus. 
j .  [Exit  Seleucus. 

Claopatra. 
Be  it  known,  that  we,  the  greatest,  are  mis- 
thought 
i  For  things  that  others  do  ;  and  when  we  fall, 

We  answer  others'  merits  in  our  name, 
;  Are  therefore  to  be  pitied. 

Caesar. 


i°54 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  v.  Sc.  ii. 


Cassar. 

Cleopatra, 

Not  what  you  have  reserv'd,  nor  what  acknow- 
ledged, 
Put  we  i'  the  roll  of  conquest :  still  be  it  yours 
Bestow  it  at  your  pleasure  ;  and  believe, 
Ccesar's  no  merchant,  to  make  prize  with  you 
Of  things  that  merchants  sold.    Therefore  be 

cheer'd ; 

Make  not  your  thoughts  your  prisons :  no,  dear 
For  we  intend  so  to  dispose  you,  as         [queen  ; 
Yourself  shall  give  us  counsel.  Feed,  and  sleep 
Our  care  and  pity  is  so  much  upon  you, 
That  we  remain  your  friend  ;  and  so,  adieu. 
Cleopatra. 
My  master,  and  my  lord  ! 
Caesar. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  Ctesar,  and  his  Train 
Cleopatra. 
He  words  me,  girls,  he  words  me,  that  I  should 
not 
Be  noble  to  myself:  but  hark  thee,  Charmiqn. 

Iras. 
Finish,  good  lady ;  the  bright  day  is  done, 
And  we  are  for  the  dark. 

Cleopatra. 

Hie  thee  again : 
I  have  spoken  already,  and  it  is  provided  ; 
Go,  put  it  to  the  haste. 

Cbarmian. 

Madam,  I  will. 
Re-enter  Dolabella. 
Dolabella. 
Where  is  the  queen  ? 

Charmian. 

Behold,  sir.  [Exit  Charmian. 

Cleopatra. 

r»  i  k  i.  Dolabella? 

Dolabella. 
Madam,  as  thereto  sworn  by  your  command, 
Which  my  love  makes  religion  to  obey, 
I  tell  you  this :  Cccsar  through  Syria 
Intends  his  journey,  and  within  three  days 
You  with  your  children  will  he  send  before. 
Make  your  best  use  of  this  ;  I  have  perform'd 
Your  pleasure,  and  my  promise. 
Cleopatra. 

Dolabella, 
I  shall  remain  your  debtor. 
Dolabella. 

I  your  servant. 
Adieu,  good  queen  ;  I  must  attend  on  Ccesar. 
Cleopatra. 
Farewell,  and  thanks.  [Exit  Dolabella. ,]  now< 
has,  what  think'st  thou  ? 
Thou,  an  Egyptian  puppet,  shalt  be  shown 
In  Rome,  as  well  as  I  :  mechanic  slaves 
With  greasy  aprons,  rules,  and  hammers,  shall 
Uplift  us  to  the  view :  in  their  thick  breaths 
Rank  of  gross  diet,  shall  we  be  enclouded, 
And  fore'd  to  drink  their  vapour. 
Iras. 

The  gods  forbid  ! 
Cleopatra. 
Nay,  'tis  most  certain,  Iras.    Saucy  lictors 
Will  catch  at  us,  like  strumpets ;    and  scald 

rhymers 
Ballad  us  out  o'  tune :  the  quick  comedians 
Extemporally  will  stage  us,  and  present 


Our  Alexandrian  revels  :  Antony 
Shall  be  brought  drunken  forth,  and  I  shall  see 
Some  squeaking  Cleopatra  boy  my  greatness 
I'  the  posture  of  a  whore. 
Iras. 

O,  the  good  gods  ! 
Cleopatra. 

Nay,  that  is  certain. 

Ira*. 
I'll  never  see  it ;  for,  I  am  sure,  my  nails 
Are  stronger  than  mine  eyes. 
Cleopatra. 

Why,  that's  the  way 
To  fool  their  preparation,  and  to  conquer 
Their  most  absurd  intents.— Now,  Charmian?— 
Re-enter  Charmian. 

Show  me,  my  women,  like  a  queen  :  — go  fetch 
My  best  attires  ;—  I  am  again  for  Cydnus, 
To  meet  Mark  Antony.  —  Sirrah,  Iras,  go.— 
Now,  noble  Charmian,  we'll  despatch  indeed  ; 
And,  when  thou  hast  done  this  chare,  I'll  give 

thee  leave 
To  play  till  dooms-day.  — Bring  our  crown  and 
Wherefore's  this  noise.?  r  .        .  fall. 

[Exit  Iras.    A  noise  within. 

Enter  one  of  the  Guard. 
Guard. 

Here  is  a  rural  fellow, 
That  will  not  be  denied  your  highness'  presence : 
He  brings  you  ligs. 

Cleopatra. 
Let  him  come  in.    What  poor  anJngtmment 

May  do  a  noble  deed  !  he  brings  me  liberty. 
My  resolution's  plac'd,  and  I  have  nothing 
Of  woman  in  me:  now  from  head  to  foot 
I  am  marble-constant ;  now  the  fleeting  moon 
No  planet  is  of  mine. 
Re-enter  Guard,  with  a  Clown  bringing  in  a 
Basket. 
Guard. 

This  is  the  man. 
Cleopatra. 
Avoid,  and  leave  him.  [Exit  Guard. 

Hast  thou  the  pretty  worm  of  Jilus  there, 
That  kills  and  pains  not. 

Clown. 
Truly  I  have  him  ;  but  I  would  not  be  the 
party  that  should  desire  you  to  touch  him,  for 
his  biting  is  immortal :  those  that  do  die  of  it  do 
seldom  or  never  recover. 

Cleopatra. 
Remember'st  thou  any  that  have  died  on't  ? 

Clown. 
Very  many,  men  and  women  too.  I  heard  of 
one  of  them  no  longer  than  yesterday :  a  very 
honest  woman,  but  something  given  to  lie,  as  a 
woman  should  not  do  but  in  the  way  of  honesty, 
how  she  died  of  the  biting  of  it,  what  pain  she 
felt. — Truly,  she  makes  a  very  good  report  o* 
the  worm  ;  but  he  that  will  believe  all  that  they 
say,  shall  never  be  saved  by  half  that  they  do. 
But  this  is  most  fallible,  the  worm's  an  odd 
worm.  „. 

Cleopatra. 

Get  thee  hence :  farewell. 
Clown. 
I  wish  you  all  joy  of  the  worm 

Cleopatra. 
Farewell  {Clown  sets  down  the  Basket 

Clown 


Sc.  ii. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


»«55 


Mb 

You  must  think  this,  look  you,  that  the  worm 
will  do  hit  kind. 

Gwtpaftnk 

Ay,  ay ;  farewell. 

Clown. 
Look  you,  the  worm  ii  not  to  Ik?  trusted  but 
in  the  keeping  of  wise  people  ;  for,  indeed,  there 
is  no  goodness  in  the  worm. 
Cleopatra. 
Take  thou  no  care:  it  shall  be  heeded. 

Clown. 
Very  good.     Give  it  nothing,  I  pray  you,  for 
it  is  not  worth  the  feeding. 
Cleopatra. 

Will  it  eat  me  ? 

Clown. 

You  must  not  think  I  am  so  simple,  but  I 
know  the  devil  himself  will  not  eat  a  woman  :  I 
know,  that  a  woman  is  a  dish  for  the  gods,  if  the 
devil  dress  her  not ;  but,  truly,  these  same 
whoreson  devils  do  the  gods  great  harm  in  their 
women,  for  in  every  ten  that  they  make,  the 
devils  mar  five. 

Cleopatra. 
Well,  get  thee  gone:  farewell. 

Clown. 
Yes,  forsooth  ;  I  wish  you  joy  of  the  worm. 
[Exit. 

Re-enter  I  rat,  with  a  Robe,  Crown,  &c. 

Cleopatra. 
Give  me  my  robe,  put  on  my  crown  ;  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me.     Now,  no  more 

The  juice  of  Egypt's  grape  shall  moist  this  lip 

Yare,  yare,  good  Iras ;  quick Methinks,  I  hear 

Antony  call:  I  see  him  rouse  himself 
To  praise  my  noble  act ;  I  hear  him  mock 
The  luck  of  Ca?sar,  which  the  gods  give  men 
To  excuse  their  after  wrath.   Husband,  I  come : 
Now  to  that  name  my  courage  prove  my  title  1 
I  am  fire,  and  air  ;  my  other  elements 
I  give  to  baser  life. —  So, —  have  you  done  ? 
Come  then,  and  take  the  last  warmth  of  my  lips. 
Farewell,  kind  Charmian  :—Iras,  long  farewell. 
Kttsei  them      Iras  falls  and  dies. 
Have  I  the  aspick  in  my  lips  ?    Dost  fall  ? 
If  thou  and  nature  can  so  gently  part, 
'1  he  stroke  of  death  is  as  a  lover's  pinch, 
Which  hurts,  and  is  desir'd.   Dost  thou  lie  still  ? 
If  thus  thou  vanishest,  thou  tell'st  the  world 
It  is  not  worth  leave-taking. 

Charmian. 
Dissolve,  thick  cloud,  and  rain,  that  I  may  say, 
The  gods  themselves  do  weep. 

Cleopatra. 

This  proves  me  base : 
If  she  first  meet  the  curled  Antony, 
He'll  make  demand  of  her,  and  spend  that  kiss, 
Which  is  my  heaven  to  have.  Come,  thou  mortal 
wretch, 
("To  the  Asp,  which  the  applies  to  her  Breast. 
With  thy  sharp  teeth  this  knot  intrinsicate 
Of  life  at  once  untie :  poor  venomous  fool, 
Be  angry,  and  despatch.   O  !  could'st  thou  speak, 
That  I  might  hear  thee  call  great  Ctesar  ass 
Unpolicied  1 

Charmian. 
O  eastern  star  ! 

Cleopatra. 

Peace,  peace  1 
Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ? 


Charmian. 

O,  break!  O,  br<  ak  ! 
Cleopatra. 
At  sweet  as  balm,  as  soft  as  air,  as  gentle.-- 
O  Antony !—  Nay,  I  will  take  thee  too.  — 

[Applying  another  Asp  to  her  Arm. 
What  should  I  stay  —  [Tails  on  a  Bed,  and  dies. 
Cltarmian. 
In  this  vile  world  ?  —  So,  fare  thee  well — 
Now  boast  thee,  death,  in  thy  possession  lies 

A  lass  unparallel'd Downy  windows,  close; 

And  golden  l'ha-bus  never  be  beheld 

Of  eyes  again  so  royal  !     Your  crown's  awry  ; 

I'll  mend  it,  and  then  play  — 

Enter  the  Guard,  rushing  in. 
First  Guard. 
Where  is  the  queen  ? 

Charmian. 

Speak  softly ;  wake  her  not 
First  Guard. 
Casar  hath  sent — 

Charmian. 

Too  slow  a  messenger. 
[Applies  the  Asp. 

0  !  come;  apace;  despatch  :  I  partly  feel  thee. 

First  Guard. 
Approach,  ho  !     All's  not  well :  Casar's  be- 
guil'd. 

Second  Guard. 
There's  Dolabella  sent  from  C&sar:  call  him. 

First  Guard. 
What  work  is  here  ?  —  Charmian,  is  this  well 
done  ? 

Charmian. 
It  is  well  done,  and  fitting  for  a  princess 
Descended  of  so  many  royal  kings. 
Ah,  soldier !  [Dies. 

Enter  Dolabella. 
Dolabella. 
How  goes  it  here  ? 

Second  Guard 
All  dead. 
Dolabella. 

C&sar,  thy  thoughts 
Touch  their  effects  in  this  :  thyself  art  coming 
To  see  perform'd  the  dreaded  act,  which  thou 
So  sought'st  to  hinder. 
[Within.]   A  way  there  !  a  way  for  C&sarl 
Enter  Carsar,  and  all  his  Train. 
Dolabella. 
O,  sir  !  you  are  too  sure  an  augurer: 
That  you  did  fear,  is  done. 
Caesar. 

Bravest  at  the  last : 
She  levell'd  at  our  purposes,  and,  being  royal. 
Took  herown  way—  The  manner  of  their  deaths  ? 

1  do  not  see  them  bleed. 

Dolabella. 

Who  was  last  with  them  ? 
First  Guard 
A  simple  countryman  that  brought  her  figs-: 
This  was  his  basket. 

Caesar. 

Poison'd,  then. 
First  Guard. 
■■  OCa-sar! 

This  Charmian  lived  but  now  ;  she  stood,  uu.-l 

spake. 
I  found  her  trimming  up  the  diadem 

On 


ioq6 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  1. 


On  her  dead  mistress :  tremblingly  she  stood, 
And  on  the  sudden  dropp'd. 
Caesar. 

O  noble  weakness !  — 
If  they  had  swallow'd  poison,  'twould  appear 
By  external  swelling ;  but  she  looks  like  sleep, 
As  she  would  catch  another  Antony 
In  her  strong  toil  of  grace. 

Dolabella. 

Here,  on  her  breast, 
There  is  a  vent  of  blond,  and  something  blown  : 
The  like  is  on  her  arm. 

First  Guard. 
This  is  an  aspick's  trail ;  and  these  fig-leaves 
Have  slime  upon  them,  such  as  theaspick  leaves 
Upon  the  caves  of  Nile. 


ceesar. 

Most  probable, 
That  so  she  died  ;  for  her  physician  tells  me, 
She  hath  pursu'd  conclusions  infinite 
Of  easy  ways  to  die. — Take  up  her  bed, 
And  bear  her  women  from  the  monument. 
She  shall  be  buried  by  her  Antony : 
No  grave  upon  the  earth  shall  clip  in  it 
A  pair  so  famous.     High  events  as  these 
Strike  those  that  make  them  ;  and  their  story  is 
No  less  in  pity,  than  his  glory,  which 
Brought  them  to  be  lamented.   Our  army  shall, 
In  solemn  show,  attend  this  funeral, 
And  then  to  Rome —  Come,  Dolabella,  see 
High  order  in  this  great  solemnity.      [Exeunt. 


CYMBELINE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


CYMBELINE,  King  of  Britain. 
Cloten,  Son  to  the  Queen  by  a  former  Husband. 
Leonatus  Posthumus,  Husband  to  Imogen. 
Belarius,  a  banished  Lord,  disguised  under  the 

name  of  Morgan. 
n  -j„.i..e    fSons  to  Cymbeline,  disguised  under 
A^lIIUt'  <     the  names  °f  Polydore  and  Cad- 
Arviragub,  ^    walj  supposed  s0ns  to  Belarius. 
Philario,  Friend  to  Posthumus,")  !>_«__, 
Iachimo,  Friend  to  Philario,      j  "attans. 
A  French  Gentleman,  Friend  to  Philario. 
Caius  Lucius,  General  of  the  Roman  Forces. 
A  Roman  Captain. 
Two  British  Captains. 
Pisanio,  Servant  to  Posthumus. 


ACT  I. 

SCESF.  I.    Britain.    The  Garden  behind 
Cymbeline'i  Palace. 

Enter  Two  Gentlemen. 
First  Gentleman. 

YOU  do  not  meet  a  man,  but  frowns :  our 
bloods 
No  more  obey  the  heavens,  than  our  courtiers 
Still  seem  as  does  the  king. 

Second  Gentleman. 

But  what's  the  matter  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
His    daughter,  and  the  heir  of's  kingdom, 
whom 


Cornelius,  a  Physician. 

Two  Gentlemen. 

Two  Gaolers. 

Queen,  Wife  to  Cymbeline. 

Imogen,  Daughter  to  Cymbeline  by  a  former 

Queen. 
Helen,  Woman  to  Imogen. 

Lords,  Toadies,  Roman  Senators,  Tribunes,  Ap- 
paritions, a  Soothsayer,  a  Dutch  Gentleman, 
a  Spanish  Gentleman,  Musicians,  Officers, 
Captains,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and  other  At- 
tendants. 

i    SCENE,  sometimes  in  Britain,  sometimes  in 
Italy. 


i  He  purpos'd  to  his  wife's  sole  son,  (a  widow 
!  That  late  he  married)  hath  referr'd  herself 
Unto  a  poor   but   worthy  gentleman.      She's 

wedded ; 
Her  husband  banish 'd  ;  she  imprison'd  :  all 
Is  outward  sorrow,  though,  I  think,  the  king 
Be  touch'd  at  very  heart. 

Second  Gentleman. 

None  but  the  king  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
He  that  hath  lost  her,  too:  so  is  the  queen, 
I  That  most  desir'd  the  match  ;  but  not  a  courtier, 

Although  they  wear  their  faces  to  the  bent 
|  Of  the  king's  looks,  hath  a  heart  that  is  not 
:  Glad  at  the  thing  they  scowl  at.  Sccoal 


Act  i.  Sc.  H. 


CYMBELINE. 


1057 


And  why  so? 
Firit  Gentleman. 
He  that  hath  mlss'd  the  princess  is  a  thing 
Ton  bad  for  bad  report ;  and  he  that  hath  her, 
( I  mwffl.  that  married  her, —  alack,  good  man  ! — 
And  therefore  banifh'd)  is  a  creature  such 
As,  to  seek  through  the  regions  of  the  eartli 
For  one  his  like,  there  would  be  something  fail- 
ing 
In  him  that  should  compare.     I  do  not  think, 
So  lair  an  outward,  and  such  stufT  within, 
Endows  a  man  but  he. 

Second  Gentleman. 

You  speak  him  far. 
First  Gentleman. 
I  do  extend  him,  sir,  within  himself; 
Crush  him  together,  rather  than  unfold 
His  measure  duly. 

Second  Gentleman. 

What's  his  name,  and  birth  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
I  cannot  delve  him  to  the  root.    His  father 
Was  calPd  Sicilius,  who  did  join  his  honour 
Against  the  Romans  with  Cassibelan, 
But  had  his  titles  by  Tenantius,  whom 
He  serv'd  with  glory  and  admir'd  success; 
So  gain'd  the  sur-addition,  Leonatus  ; 
And  had,  besides  this  gentleman  in  question, 
Two  other  sons,  who,  in  the  wars  o'  the  time, 
Died  with  their  swords  in  hand  ;  for  which  their 

father 
(Then  old  and  fond  of  issue)  took  such  sorrow, 
That  he  quit  being  ;  and  his  gentle  lady, 
Big  of  this  gentleman,  our  theme,  deceas'd 
As  he  was  born.    The  king  he  takes  the  babe 
To  his  protection ;  calls  him  Posthumus  Leo- 

natus ; 
Breeds  him,  and  makes  him  of  his  bed-chamber, 
Puts  to  him  all  the  learnings  that  his  time 
Could  make  him  the  receiver  of ;  which  he  took, 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  rainister'd  ;  and 
In  his  spring  became  a  harvest ;  liv'd  in  court, 
(Which  rare  it  is  to  do)  most  prais'd,  most  lov'd; 
A  sample  to  the  youngest,  to  the  more  mature, 
A  glass  that  feated  them  ;  and  to  the  graver, 
A  child  that  guided  dotards  :  to  his  mistress, 
For  whom  he  now  is  banish'd.  her  own  price 
Proclaims  how  she  esteem'd  him  and  his  virtue; 
By  her  election  may  be  truly  read 
What  kind  of  man  lie  is. 

Second  Gentleman. 

I  honour  him, 
Even  out  of  your  report.  But,  pray  you,  tell  me, 
Is  she  sole  child  to  the  king  ? 

First  Gentleman. 

His  only  child. 
He  had  two  sons,  (if  this  be  worth  your  hearing, 
Mark  it)  the  eldest  of  them  at  three  years  old, 
1'  the  swathing  clothes  the  other,  from  their 

nursery 
Were  stolen  ;    and  to  this  hour  no  guess  in 
Which  way  they  went.  [knowledge 

Second  Gentleman. 

How  long  is  this  ago  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
Some  twenty  years. 

Second  Gentleman. 
That  a  king's  children  should  be  so  convey'd, 
So  slackly  guarded,  and  the  search  so  slow, 
That  could  not  trace  them  1 

First  Gentleman. 

Howsoe'er  'tis  strange, 


Or  that  the  negligence  may  well  be  laugh'd  at. 
Yet  is  it  true,  »ir. 

Second  Gentleman. 

I  do  well  believe  you. 
First  Gentleman. 
We  must  forbear.     Here  comes  the  « 

man,  the  queen,  and  princess.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 
Enter  tht  Queen,  Posthumus,  and  Imogen. 

Queen. 
No,  beassur'd,  you  shall  not  find  me,  daughter, 
After  the  slander  of  most  step-mothers, 
Evil-ey'd  unto  you  :  you  are  my  prisoner,  but 
Your  jailer  shall  deliver  you  the  keys 
That  lock  up  your  restraint.  For  you.  Posthumus, 
So  soon  as  I  can  win  th*  offended  king, 
I  will  be  known  your  advocate:  marry,  yet 
The  fire  of  rage  is  in  him  ;  and  'twere  good. 
You  lean'd  unto  his  sentence,  with  what  patience 
Your  wisdom  may  inform  you. 
Posthumus. 

Please  your  highness 
I  will  from  hence  to-day. 

Queen. 

You  know  the  peril. 
I'll  fetch  a  turn  about  the  garden,  pitying 
The  pangs  of  barr'd  affections,  though  the  king 
Hath  charg'd  you  should  not  speak  together. 

'  [Ex;t  Queen. 

Imogen. 
O  dissembling  courtesy  !  How  fine  this  tyrant 
Can    tickle  where    she  wounds!  — My  dearest 

husband, 
I  something  fear  my  father's  wrath  ;  but  nothing 
(Always  reserv'd  my  holy  duty)  what 
His  rage  can  do  on  me.    You  must  be  gone  ; 
And  1  shall  here  abide  the  hourly  shot 
Of  angry  eyes  ;  not  comforted  to  live, 
But  that  there  is  this  jewel  in  the  world, 
That  I  may  see  again. 

Posthumus. 

My  queen  !  my  mistress  1 
O,  lady  !  weep  no  more,  lest  I  give  cause 
To  be  suspected  of  more  tenderness 
Than  doth  become  a  man.     I  will  remain 
The  loyal'st  husband  that  did  e'er  plight  troth : 
My  residence  in  Home  at  one  Philario't ; 
Who  to  my  father  was  a  friend,  to  me 
Known  but  by  letter.  Thither  write,  my  queen, 
And  with  mine  eyes  I'll  drink  the  words  you 
Though  ink  be  made  of  gall.  [send, 

Re-enter  Queen. 
Queen. 

Be  brief,  I  pray  you : 
If  the  king  come,  I  shall  incur  I  know  not 
How  much  of  his  displeasure.  lAside.)   Yet  I'll 

move  him 
To  walk  this  way.     I  never  do  him  wrong, 
But  he  does  buy  my  injuries  to  be  friends. 
Pays  dear  for  my  offences.  [Exit. 

Posthumus. 

Should  we  be  taking  leave 
As  long  a  term  as  yet  we  have  to  live. 
The  loathness  to  depart  would  grow.     Adieu  I 
Imogen. 
Nay,  stay  a  little : 
Were  you  but  riding  forth  to  air  yourself, 
Such  parting  were  too  petty.     Look  here,  love 
This  diamond  was  my  mother's ;  take  it,  heart 
But  keep  it  till  you  woo  another  wife, 
lin 


When  Imogen  is  dead. 


.3  Y 


Posthumus 


1058 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  1.  Se.  re 


Posthumus. 

How  !  how !  another? — 
You  gentle  gods,  give  me  but  this  I  have, 
And  sear  up  my  embracements  from  a  next 
With  bonds  of  death  I  —  Remain,  remain  thou 
here  [Putting  on  the  Ring. 

While  sense  can  keep  it  on.     And  sweetest, 

fairest, 
As  I  my  poor  self  did  exchange  for  you, 
To  your  so  infinite  loss,  so  in  our  trifles 
I  still  win  of  you  :  for  my  sake,  wear  this : 
It  is  a  manacle  of  love ;  I'll  place  it 
Upon  this  fairest  prisoner. 

[Putting  a  Bracelet  on  her  Arm. 
Imogen. 

O,  the  gods ! 
When  shall  we  see  again  ? 

Enter  Cymbeline  and  Lords. 
Posthumus. 

Alack,  the  king ! 
Cymbeline. 
Thou  basest  thing,  avoid  I  hence,  from  my 
sight  1 
If  after  this  command  thou  fraught  the  court 
With  thy  unworthiness,  thou  diest.     Away! 
Thou'rt  poison  to  my  blood. 
Posthumus. 

The  gods  protect  you, 
And  bless  the  good  remainders  of  the  court ! 
I  am  gone.  [Exit. 

Imogen. 
There  cannot  be  a  pinch  in  death 
More  sharp  than  this  is. 

Cymbeline. 

O  disloyal  thing ! 
That  should'st  repair  my  youth,  thou  heapest 
A  year's  age  on  me. 

Imogen. 

I  beseech  you,  sir, 
Harm  not  yourself  with  your  vexation  : 
I  am  senseless  of  your  wrath  ;  a  touch  more  rare 
Subdues  all  pangs,  all  fears. 
Cymbeline. 

Past  grace  ?  obedience  ? 
Imogen. 
Past  hope,  and  in  despair  ;  that  way,  past 
grace. 

Cymbeline. 
That  might'st  have  had  the  sole  son  of  my 
queen. 

Imogen. 
O  bless'd,  that  I  might  not !   I  chose  an  eagle, 
And  did  avoid  a  puttock. 

Cymbeline. 
Thou  took'st  a  beggar ;  would'st  have  made 
A  seat  for  baseness.  [my  throne 

Imogen. 
No ;  I  rather  added 
A  lustre  to  it. 

Cymbeline. 

O  thou  vile  one ! 

Imogen. 

Sir, 
It  is  your  fault  that  I  have  lov'd  Posthumus. 
You  bred  him  as  my  play-fellow ;  and  he  is 
A  man  worth  any  woman  ;  overbuys  me 
Almost  the  sum  he  pays. 

Cymbeline. 

What !  art  thou  mad  ? 
Imogen. 
Almost,  sir:  heaven  restore  me!  —  Would  I 


A  neat-herd's  daughter,  and  my  Leonafus 
Our  neighbour  shepherd's  son  ! 

Re-enter  Queen. 
Cymbeline. 

Thou  foolish  thing!  — 
They  were  again  together :  you  have  done 

[To  the  Queen. 
Not  after  our  command.    Away  with  her, 
And  pen  her  up. 

Queen. 

Beseech  your  patience.—  Peace  ! 

Dear  lady  daughter,  peace!  —  Sweet  sovereign, 

Leave  us  to  ourselves  ;  and  make  yourself  some 

Out  of  your  best  advice.  [comfort 

Cymbeline. 

Nay,  let  her  languish 
A  drop  of  blood  a  day ;  and,  being  aged, 
Die  of  this  folly!  [Exit. 

Enter  Pisanio. 
Queen. 

Fie !  —  you  must  give  way : 

Here  is  your  servant How  now,  sir!    What 

news? 

Pisanio. 
My  lord  your  son  drew  on  my  master. 
Queen. 

Ha! 
No  harm,  I  trust,  is  done  ? 
Pisanio. 

There  might  have  been, 
But  that  my  master  rather  play'd  than  fought, 
And  had  no  help  of  anger :  they  were  parted 
By  gentlemen  at  hand. 

Queen. 

I  am  very  glad  on't. 
Imogen. 
Your  son's  my  father's  friend;   he  takes  his 
part.— 
To  draw  upon  an  exile  !  — O  brave  sir! — 
I  would  they  were  in  Afric  both  together, 
Myself  by  with  a  needle,  that  I  might  prick 

The  goer  back Why  came  you  from  your 

master  ? 

Pisanio. 
On  his  command.    He  would  not  suffer  me 
To  bring  him  to  the  haven  :  left  these  notes 
Of  what  commands  I  should  be  subject  to, 
When  't  pleas'd  you  to  employ  me. 
Queen. 

This  hath  been 
Your  faithful  servant :  I  dare  lay  mine  honour, 
He  will  remain  so. 

Pisanio. 
I  humbly  thank  your  highness. 
Queen. 
Pray,  walk  a  while. 

Imogen. 
About  some  half  hour  hence, 
Pray  you,  speak  with  me.     You  shall,  at  least, 
Go  see  my  lord  aboard  :  for  this  time,  leave  me. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    A  Public  Place. 

Enter  Cloten,  and  Two  Lords. 

First  Lord. 

Sir,  I  would  advise  you  to  shift  a  shirt:  the 

violence  of  action  hath  made  you   reek  as  a 

sacrifice.    Where  air  comes  out,  air  comes  in  ; 

there's  none  abroad  so  wholesome  as  that  you 

vent-  „,  * 

Cloten. 


Act  l  n<  .  v. 


CYMBELINE. 


1059 


IT  my  shirt  were  bloody,  then  to  shift  it  — 
Have  1  hurt  him  ? 

Second  Lord.  [Atidc. 

No,  faith  ;  not  to  much  as  hit  patience. 

First  Lord. 
Hurt  him  ?  his  body't  a  pattable  carcass,  if  he 
b<-  not  hurt :  it  is  a  thoroughfare  for  steel,  if  it 
be  not  hurt. 

Second  Lord.  [Atidc. 

His  steel  was  in  debt ;  it  went  o'  the  backside 
the  town. 

Clotcn. 
The  villain  would  not  stand  me. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

No  ;  but  he  fled  forward  still,  toward  your 
face. 

First  Lord. 
Stand  you !     You  have  land  enough  of  your 
own  ;  but  he  added  to  your  having,  gave  you 
tome  ground. 

Second  Lord.  [Atide. 

At  many  inches  as  you  have  oceans — Pup- 
pies! 

C  to  ten. 
I  would  they  had  not  come  between  us. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

So  would  I,  till  you  had  measured  how  long  a 
fool  you  were  upon  the  ground. 

Cloten. 
And  that  she  should  love  this  fellow,  and 
refuse  me ! 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

If  it  be  a  sin  to  m;ike  a  true  election,  she  is 
damned. 

First  Lord. 
Sir,  as  I  told  you  always,  her  beauty  and  her 
brain  go  not  together  :  she's  a  good  sign,  but  I 
have  seen  small  reflection  of  her  wit. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

She  shines  not  upon  fools,  lest  the  reflection 
should  hurt  her. 

Clotcn. 
Come,  I'll  to  my  chamber.    Would  there  had 
been  some  hurt  done ! 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

I  wish  not  so  ;  unless  it  had  been  the  fall  of 
an  ass,  which  is  no  great  hurt. 
Cloten. 
You'll  go  with  us  ? 

First  Lord. 
I'll  attend  your  lordship. 

Cloten. 
Nay,  come,  let's  go  together. 

Second  Lord. 
Well,  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.     A  Room  in  Cymbeline't  Palace. 
Enter  Imogen  and  Pisanio. 

Imogen. 
I  would  thou  grew'st  unto  the  shores  o'  the 
haven, 
And  question'dst  every  sail :  if  he  should  write, 
And  I  not  have  it,  'tw«-re  a  paper  lost. 
As  oflfer'd  mercy  is.    What  was  the  last 
That  he  spake  to  thee  ? 

Pisanio. 

It  was,  his  queen,  his  queen  1 
Imogen. 
Then  wav'd  his  handkerchief? 


Pisani 


10. 

And  kits'd  it,  madam. 


Imogen. 
Senteleti  linen,  happier  therein  than  I  !— 
And  that  wat  all  ? 

Pisanio. 

No,  madam  ;  for  to  long 
As  he  could  make  me  with  this  eye  or  ear 
Distinguish  him  from  others,  he  did  keep 
The  deck,  with  glove,  or  hat,  or  handkerchief. 
Still  waving,  as  the  tits  and  stirs  of  his  mind 
Could  best  express  how  slow  his  soul  tail'd  on, 
How  swift  his  ship. 

Imogen. 
Thou  siiould'st  have  made  him 
As  little  as  a  crow,  or  less,  ere  left 
To  after-eye  him. 

Pisanio. 
Madam,  so  I  did. 

Imogen. 
I  would  have  broke  mine  eye-strings,  crack  d 
them,  but 
To  look  upon  him,  till  the  diminution 
Of  space  had  pointed  him  sharp  as  my  needle ; 
Nay,  follow'd  him,  till  he  had  melted  from 
The  smallness  of  a  gnat  to  air  ;  and  then 
Have  turn'd  mine  eye,  and  wept.— But,  good 
When  shall  we  hear  from  him  ?  [Pisanio, 

Pisanio. 

Be  assur'd,  madam, 
With  his  next  vantage. 

Imogen 
I  did  not  take  my  leave  of  him,  but  had 
Most  pretty  tilings  to  say :  ere  I  could  tell  him, 
How  I  would  think  on  him,  at  certain  hours. 
Such  thoughts,  and  such  ;  or  I  could  make  him 
The  shes  of  Italy  should  not  betray  [swear 

Mine  interest,  and  his  honour  ;  or  have  charg'd 

him, 
At  the  sixth  hour  of  morn,  at  noon,  at  midnight, 
T'  encounter  me  with  orisons,  for  then 
I  am  in  heaven  for  him  ;  or  ere  I  could 
Give  him  that  parting  kiss,  which  I  had  set 
Betwixt  two  charming  words,  comes    in    my 

father, 
And,  like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north, 
Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing. 

Enter  a  Lady. 
Lady. 

The  queen,  madam. 
Desires  your  highness'  company. 

Imogen. 

Those  things    I  bid  you  do,   get    them   de- 

I  will  attend  the  queen.  [spatch'd.— 

Madam,  I  shall.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Rome.    An  Apartment  in 
Philatio'x  House. 

Enter  Philarto,  Iachimo,  a  Frenchman,  a 
Dutchman,  and  a  Spaniard. 
Iachimo. 
Believe  it,  sir,  I  have  seen  him  in  Britain  : 
he  was  then  of  a  crescent  note  ;  expected  to 
prove  so  worthy,  as  since  he  hath  been  allowed 
the  name  of ;  but  I  could  then  have  looked  on 
him  without  the  help  of  admiration,  though  the 
catalogue  of  his  endowments  had  been  tabled  by 
hit  side,  and  I  to  peruse  him  by  items. 
Philario. 
You  speak  of  him  when  he  was  less  furnished, 
than  now  he  is,  with  that  which  makes  him  both 
without  and  within. 

Frenchman. 


io6o 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  v. 


Frenchman. 

I  have  seen  him  in  France  :  we  had  very  many 
there  could  behold  the  sun  with  as  firm  eyes  as 
he. 

Iachimo. 

This  matter  of  marrying  his  king's  daughter, 
(wherein  he  must  be  weighed  rather  by  her 
value,  than  his  own)  words  him,  I  doubt  not,  a 
great  deal  from  the  matter. 
Frenchman. 

And,  then,  his  banishment.— 
Iachimo. 

Ay,  and  the  approbation  of  those,  that  weep 
this  lamentable  divorce  under  her  colours,  are 
wonderfully  to  extend  him  ;  be  it  but  to  fortify 
her  judgment,  which  else  an  easy  battery  might 
lay  flat,  for  taking  a  beggar  without  less  quality. 
But  how  comes  it,  he  is  to  sojourn  with  you  ? 
How  creeps  acquaintance  ? 
Philario. 

His  father  and  I  were  soldiers  together ;  to 
whom  I  have  been  often  bound  for  no  less  than 

my  life 

Enter  Posthumus. 
Here  comes  the  Briton.  Let  him  be  so  enter- 
tained amongst  you,  as  suits  with  gentlemen  of 
your  knowing  to  a  stranger  of  his  quality. — I 
beseech  you  all,  be  better  known  to  this  gen- 
tleman, whom  I  commend  to  you,  as  a  noble 
friend  of  mine :  how  worthy  he  is,  I  will  leave 
to  appear  hereafter,  rather  than  story  him  in  his 
own  hearing. 

Frenchman. 

Sir,  we  have  known  together  in  Orleans. 
Posthumus. 

Since  when  I  have  been  debtor  to  you  for 
courtesies,  which  I  will  be  ever  to  pay,  and  yet 
pay  still. 

Frenchman. 

Sir,  you  o'er-rate  my  poor  kindness.  I  was 
glad  I  did  atone  my  countryman  and  you  :  it 
had  been  pity,  you  should  have  been  put  toge- 
ther with  so  mortal  a  purpose,  as  then  each 
bore,  upon  importance  of  so  slight  and  trivial  a 
nature. 

Posthumus. 

By  your  pardon,  sir,  I  was  then  a  young  tra- 
veller ;  rather  shunned  to  go  even  with  what  I 
heard,  than  in  my  every  action  to  be  guided  by 
others'  experiences :  but,  upon  my  mended 
judgment,  (if  I  offend  not  to  say  it  is  mended) 
my  quarrel  was  not  altogether  slight. 
Frenchman. 

Faith,  yes,  to  be  put  to  the  arbitrement  of 
swords:  and  by  such  two,  that  would,  by  all 
likelihood,  have  confounded  one  the  other,  or 
have  fallen  both. 

Iachimo. 

Can  we,  with  manners,  ask  what  was  the  dif- 
ference ?  _ 

Frenchman. 

Safely,  I  think.  'Twas  a  contention  in  pub- 
lic, which  may,  without  contradiction,  suffer  the 
report.  It  was  much  like  an  argument  that  fell 
out  last  night,  where  each  of  us  fell  in  praise  of 
our  country  mistresses  ;  this  gentleman  at  that 
time  vouching,  (and  upon  warrant  of  bloody 
affirmation)  his  to  be  more  fair,  virtuous,  wise, 
chaste,  constant,  qualified,  and  less  attemptable, 
than  any  the  rarest  of  our  ladies  in  France. 
Iachimo. 

That  lady  is  not  now  living ;  or  this  gentle- 
man's opinion,  by  this,  worn  out. 


Posthumus. 
She  holds  her  virtue  still,  and  I  my  mind. 

Iachimo. 
You  must  not  so  far  prefer  her  'fore  ours  of 
Italy. 

Posthumus. 
Being  so  far  provoked  as  I  was  in  France,  I 
would  abate    her   nothing;    though   I  profess 
myself  her  adorer,  not  her  friend. 
Iachimo. 
As  fair,  and  as  good,  (a  kind  of  hand-in-hand 
comparison)  had  been  something  too  fair,  and 
too  good,  for  any  lady  in  Britany.     If  she  went 
before  others  I  have  seen,  as  that  diamond  of 
yours  out-lustres  many  I  have  beheld,  I  could 
not  but  believe  she  excelled  many ;  but  I  have 
not  seen  the  most  precious  diamond  that  is,  nor 
you  the  lady. 

Posthumus. 
I  praised  her  as  I  rated  her ;  so  do  I  my  stone. 

Iachimo. 
What  do  you  esteem  it  at  ? 
Posthumus. 
More  than  the  world  enjoys. 

Iachimo. 
Either  your  un paragoned  mistress  is  dead,  or 
she's  outprized  by  a  trifle. 

Posthumus. 
You  are  mistaken :  the  one  may  be  sold,  or 
given  ;  or  if  there  were  wealth  enough  for  the 
purchase,  or  merit  for  the  gift :  the  other  is  not 
a  thing  for  sale,  and  only  the  gift  of  the  gods. 
Iachimo. 
Which  the  gods  have  given  you  ? 

Posthumus. 
Which,  by  their  graces,  I  will  keep. 

Iachimo. 
You  may  wear  her  in  title  yours  ;  but,  you 
know,   strange    fowl   light  upon   neighbouring 
ponds.    Your  ring  may  be  stolen,  too :  so,  your 
brace  of  unprizeable  estimations,  the  one  is  but 
frail,  and  the  other  casual;  a  cunning  thief,  or  a 
that  way  accomplished  courtier,  would  hazard 
the  winning  both  of  first  and  last. 
Posthumus. 
Your  Italy  contains  none  so  accomplished  a 
courtier  to  convince  the  honour  of  my  mistress, 
if  in  the  holding  or  loss  of  that  you  term  her 
frail.    I  do  nothing  doubt,  you  have  store  of 
thieves ;  notwithstanding,  I  fear  not  my  ring. 
Philario. 
Let  us  leave  here,  gentlemen. 

Posthumus. 
Sir,  with  all  my  heart.    This  worthy  signior, 
I  thank  him,  makes  no  stranger  of  me  ;  we  are 
familiar  at  first.      _    ., 

Iachimo. 

With    five   times  so  much    conversation,    I 
should  get  ground  of  your  fair  mistress  ;  make 
her  go  back,  even  to  the  yielding,  had  I  admit- 
tance, and  opportunity  to  friend. 
Posthumus 

No.no.  .     " 

Iachimo. 

I  dare  thereupon  pawn  the  moiety  of  my  es- 
tate to  your  ring,  which,  in  my  opinion,  o'er- 
values    it   something,  but  I  make   my  wager 
rather  against  your  confidence,  than  her  repu- 
tation :  and,  to  bar  your  offence  herein  too,  I 
durst  attempt  it  against  any  lady  In  the  world. 
Posthumus. 
You  are  a  great  deal  abused  in  too  bold  a 
persuasion ; 


An  i.    Sc.  VI. 


CYMBELINE. 


1061 


perfusion  ;  and  I  doubt  not  you  sustain  what 
jou're  worthy  of  by  your  attempt. 
lachlmo. 
What's  that  t 

Posthumus. 
A  repulse ;  though  your  attempt,  as  you  call 
u.  a. -<  rve  more,  a  punishment  too. 
Philario. 
(ientlemen,  enough  of  this ;  it  came  in  too 
suddenly  :  let  it  die  as  it  was  born,  and,  I  pray 
you,  be  better  acquainted. 

lachlmo. 
Would  I  had  put  my  estate,  and  my  neigh- 
bour's, on  the  approbation  of  what  I  have  spoke. 
Posthumus. 
What  lady  would  you  choose  to  assail  ? 

Iachimo. 
Yours  ;  whom  in  constancy,  you  think,  stands 
so  safe.  I  will  lay  you  ten  thousand  ducats  to 
your  ring,  that,  commend  me  to  the  court  where 
your  lady  is,  with  no  more  advantage  than  the 
opportunity  of  a  second  conference,  and  I  will 
bring  from  thence  that  honour  of  hers,  which 
you  imagine  so  reserved. 

Posthumus. 
I  will  wage  against  your  gold,  gold  to  it :  my 
ring  I  hold  dear  as  my  finger  ;  'tis  part  of  it. 

Iachimo. 
You  are  a  friend,  and  therein  the  wiser.     If 
you  buy  ladies'  flesh  'at  a  million  a  dram,  you 
cannot  preserve  it  from  tainting.   But  I  see,  you 
have  some  religion  in  you,  that  you  fear. 

Posthumus . 
This  is  but  a  custom  In  your  tongue :  you 
bear  a  graver  purpose,  I  hope. 

Iachimo. 
I  am  the  master  of  my  speeches  ;  and  would 
undergo  what's  spoken,  I  swear. 

Posthumus. 
Will  you  ?— I  shall  but  lend  my  diamond  till 
your  return.     Let  there  be  covenants  drawn 
between  us.    My  mistress  exceeds  in  goodness 
the  hugeness  of  your  unworthy  thinking :  I  dare 
you  to  this  match.     Here's  my  ring. 
Philario. 
I  will  have  it  no  lay. 

Iachimo. 

By  the  gods  it  is  one.— If  I  bring  you  no  suf- 
ficient testimony,  that  I  have  enjoyed  the  dearest 
bodily  part  of  your  mistress,  my  ten  thousand 
ducats  are  yours  ;  so  is  your  diamond  too  :  if  I 
come  off,  and  leave  her  in  such  honour  as  you 
have  trust  in,  she  your  jewel,  this  your  jewel, 
and  my  gold  are  yours  ;  —  provided,  I  have 
your  commendation,  for  my  more  free  enter- 
tainment. 

Posthumus. 

I  embrace  these  conditions  ;  let  11s  have  arti- 
cles betwixt  us Only,  thus  far  you  shall  an- 
swer :  if  you  make  your  voyage  upon  her,  and 
give  me  directly  to  understand  you  have  pre- 
vail'd,  1  am  no  farther  your  enemy  ;  she  is  not 
worth  our  debate:  if  she  remain  unseduced, 
(you  not  making  it  appear  otherwise)  for  your 
ill  opinion,  and  the  assault  you  have  made  to 
her  chastity,  you  shall  answer  me  with  your 
sword. 

Iachimo. 

Your  hand  :  a  covenant.  We  will  have  these 
things  set  down  by  lawful  counsel,  and  straight 
away  for  Britain,  lest  the  bargain  should  catch 
cold,  and  starve.  I  will  fetch  my  gold,  and  have 
our  two  wagers  recorded. 


Posthumus. 
Agreed.        [Exeunt  Pottkumus  and  Iachimo. 

I  man. 
Will  this  hold,  think 

Philario. 

Signior  Iachimo  will  not  from  it.     Pray,  let 

us  follow  'em.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.   Britain.    A  Room  In  Cymbeline'% 
Palace. 

Enter  Queen,  Ladies,  and  Cornelius. 
Queen. 
Whiles  yet  the  dew's  on  ground,  gather  those 
flowers : 
Make  haste.    Who  has  the  note  of  them  ? 

First  Lady. 

I,  madam. 
Queen. 
Despatch.—  [Exeunt  Ladies. 

Now,  master  doctor,  have  you  brought  those 
drugs  ? 

Cornelius. 
Pleaseth  your  highness,  ay:  here  they  are, 
madam  :  [Presenting  a  small  Box. 

But  I  beseech  your  grace,  without  offence, 
(My  concience  bids  me  a*k)  wherefore  you  have 
Commanded  of  me  these  most  poisonous  com- 
pounds, 
Which  are  the  movers  of  a  languishing  death ; 
But  though  slow,  deadly  ? 

Queen. 

I  wonder,  doctor. 
Thou  ask'st  me  such  a  question :  have  I  not  been 
Thy  pupil  long?  Hast  thou  not  learn'd  me  how 
To  make  perfumes  ?  distil  ?  preserve  ?  yea,  so, 
That  our  great  king  himself  doth  woo  me  oft 
For  my  confections?     Having  thus  far  pro- 
ceeded, 
(Unless  thou  think'st  me  devilish)  is't  not  meet 
That  I  did  amplify  my  judgment  in 
Other  conclusions  ?    I  will  try  the  forces 
Of  these  thy  compounds  on  such  creatures  as 
We  count  not  worth  the  hanging,  (but  none 
To  try  the  vigour  of  them,  and  apply     [human) 
Allayments  to  their  act ;  and  by  them  gather 
Their  several  virtues,  and  effects. 

Cornelius. 

Your  highness 
Shall  from  this  practice  but  make  hard  your 
Besides,  the  seeing  these  effects  will  be  [heart : 
Both  noisome  and  infectious. 


Queen. 


O !  content  thee. 


Enter  Pisanio. 
[Aside")  Here  comes  a  flattering  rascal ;  upon 
Will  I  first  work  :  he's  for  his  master,         [him 
And  enemy  to  my  son.  — How  now,  Pisanio! — 
Doctor,  your  service  for  this  time  is  ended : 
Take  your  own  way. 

Cornelius.  [Aside. 

I  do  suspect  you,  madam  ; 
But  you  shall  do  no  harm. 

Queen. 
Hark  thee,  a  word —     [To  Pisanio. 

Cornelius.  [Aside. 

I  do  not  like  her.    She  doth  think,  sheTias 
Strange  lingering  poisons :  I  do  know  her  spirit, 
And  will  not  trust  one  of  her  malice  with 
A  drug  of  such  damn'd  nature.    Those  she  has 
Will  stupify  and  dull  the  sense  awhile  ; 
Which  first,  perchance,  she'll  prove  on  cats,  and 

Then 


fo62 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  i.  Sc.  vl 


Then  afterward  up  higher ;  but  there  is 
No  danger  in  what  show  of  death  it  makes, 
More  than  the  locking  up  the  spirits  a  time, 
To  be  more  fresh,  reviving.    She  is  fool'd 
With  a  most  false  effect ;  and  I  the  truer, 
So  to  be  false  with  her. 

Queen. 

No  farther  service,  doctor, 
Until  I  send  for  thee. 

Cornelius . 
I  humbly  take  my  leave.     ["Exit. 
Queen. 
Weeps  she  still,  say'st  thou  ?  Dost  thou  think, 

in  time 
She  will  not  quench,  and  let  instructions  enter 
Where  folly  now  possesses  ?    Do  thou  work  : 
When  thou  shalt  bring  me  word  she  loves  my 

son, 
I'll  tell  thee  on  the  instant  thou  art,  then, 
As  great  as  is  thy  master  :  greater  ;  for 
His  fortunes  all  lie  speechless,  and  his  name 
Is  at  last  gasp :  return  he  cannot,  nor 
Continue  where  he  is :  to  shift  his  being, 
Is  to  exchange  one  misery  with  another, 
And  every  day  that  comes  comes  to  decay 
A  day's  work 'in  him.    What  shalt  thou  expect, 
To  be  depender  on  a  thing  that  leans  ? 
Who  cannot  be  new-built ;  nor  has  no  friends, 
[The  Queen  drops  a  Box :  Pisanio  takes 
it  up. 
So  much  as  but  to  prop  him.  —Thou  tak'st  up 
Thou  know'st  not  what ;  but  take  it  for  thy 

labour. 
It  is  a  thing  I  made,  which  hath  the  king 
Five  times  redeem'd  from  death:  I  do  not  know 
What  is  more  cordial :— nay,  I  pr'ythee,  take  it ; 
It  is  an  earnest  of  a  farther  good 
That  I  mean  to  thee.     Tell  thy  mistress  how 
The  case  stands  with  her:  do't  as  from  thyself. 
Think  what  a  chance  thou  changest  on :  but 

think 
Thou  hast  thy  "mistress  still ;  to  boot,  my  son, 
Who  shall  take  notice  of  thee.     I'll  move  the 
To  any  shape  of  thy  preferment,  such  [king 

As  thou'lt  desire;  and  then  myself,  I  chiefly, 
That  set  thee  on  to  this  desert,  am  bound 
To  load  thy  merit  richly.    Call  my  women  : 
Think  on  my  words.     [Exit  Pisanio.}—  A  sly 

and  constant  knave, 
Not  to  be  shak'd  ;  the  agent  for  his  master, 
And  the  remembrancer  of  her,  to  hold       [that, 

The  hand  fast  to  her  lord I  have  given  him 

Which,  if  he  take,  shall  quite  unpeople  her 
Of  liegers  for  her  sweet ;  and  which  she  after, 
Except  she  bend  her  humour,  shall  be  assur'd 

Re-enter  Pisanio,  and  Ladies. 

To  taste  of  too.— So,  so  ;— well  done,  well  done. 
The  violets,  cowslips,  and  the  primroses, 
Bear  to  my  closet.  —  Fare  thee  well,  Pisanio  ; 
Think  on  my  words. 

[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 

Pisanio. 

And  shall  do ; 
But  when  to  my  good  lord  I  prove  untrue, 
I'll  choke  myself:  there's  all  I'll  do  for  you. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  VII.    Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Imogen. 

Imogen. 

A  father  cruel,  and  a  step-dame  false  ; 

A  foolish  suitor  to  a  wedded  lady,  [band ! 

That  hath  her  husband  banish'd :— O,  that  hus- 


My  supreme  crown  of  grief!  and  those  repeated 
Vexations  of  it  I     Had  I  been  thief-stolen, 
!  As  my  two  brothers,  happy !  but  most  miserable 
;  Is  the  desire  that's  glorious  :  blessed  be  those, 
How  mean  soe'er,  that  have  their  honest  wills, 
;  Which  seasons  comfort.— Who  may  this  be? 
Fie! 

Enter  Pisanio  and  Iachimo. 

Pisanio. 
Madam,  a  noble  gentleman  of  Rome 
Comes  from  my  lord  with  letters. 
Iachimo. 

Change  you,  madam  ? 
The  worthy  Leonalus  is  in  safety, 
And  greets  your  highness  dearly. 

[Presents  a  Letter. 
Imogen. 

Thanks,  good  sir : 
You  are  kindly  welcome. 

Iachimo.  [Aside. 

All  of  her,  that  is  out  of  door,  most  rich  1 
I  If  she  be  furnish'd  with  a  mind  so  rare, 
I  She  is  alone  the  Arabian  bird,  and  I 
Have  lost  the  wager.    Boldness  be  my  friend  ! 
Arm  me,  audacity,  from  head  to  foot, 
Or,  like  the  Parthian,  I  shall  flying  fight ; 
Rather,  directly  fly. 

Imogen.  [Reads. 

"  He  is  one  of  the  noblest  note,  to  whose 
kindnesses  I  am  most  infinitely  tied.  Reflect 
upon  him  accordingly,  as  you  value  your  trust — 
"  Leonatus." 
So  far  I  read  aloud  ; 
But  even  the  very  middle  of  my  heart 

Is  warm'd  by  the  rest,  and  takes  it  thankfully 

You  are  as  welcome,  worthy  sir,  as  I 
i  Have  words  to  bid  you  ;  and  shall  find  it  so, 
;  In  all  that  I  can  do. 

Iachimo. 

Thanks,  fairest  lady 

j  What !  are  men  mad  ?    Hath  nature  given  them 
1  To  see  this  vaulted  arch,  and  the  rich  crop  [eyes 
Of  sea  and  land,  which  can  distinguish  'twixt 
The  fiery  orbs  above,  and  the  twinn'd  stones 
Upon  the  number'd  beach  ;  and  can  we  not 
Partition  make  with  spectacles  so  precious 
'Twixt  fair  and  foul  ? 

Imogen. 
What  makes  your  admiration  ? 
Iachimo. 
It  cannot  be  i'  the  eye ;  for  apes  and  monkeys, 
'Twixt  two  such  shes,  would  chatter  this  way,  and 
Contemn  with  mows  the  other:  nor  i'  the  judg- 
For  idiots,  in  this  case  of  favour,  would  [ment ; 
Be  wisely  definite :  nor  i'  the  appetite  ; 
Sluttery,  to  such  neat  excellence  oppos'd, 
Should  make  desire  vomit  emptiness, 
Not  so  allur'd  to  feed. 

Imogen. 
What  is  the  matter,  trow  ? 

Iachimo. 

The  cloyed  will, 
(That  satiate  yet  unsatisfied  desire, 
That  tub  both  fiU'd  and  running)  ravening  first 
The  lamb,  longs  after  for  the  garbage. 
Imogen. 

What,  dear  sir, 
Thus  raps  you  ?    Are  you  well  ? 
Iachimo. 
Thanks,  madam,  well.  — Beseech  you,  sir,  de- 
sire [To  Pisanio. 
My 


Act  i.  Sc.  vi i. 


CYMBEUNE. 


1063 


hr 


Pisanio. 


My  man's  abode  where  I  did  leave  him 
Is  strange  and  peevish. 

Pisanto. 

To  give  him  welcome.  [Exit  J 

Imogen. 
Continues  well  my  lord  ?    Hie  health,  "beseech 
you?  _    ., 

Iachimo. 

Well,  madam. 

Imogen. 

Is  he  dispos'd  to  mirth  ?    I  hope,  he  Is. 

Iachimo. 
Exceeding  pleasant ;  none  a  stranger  there 
So  merry  and  so  gamesome  :  he  is  call'd 
The  Briton  reveller. 

Imogen. 
When  he  was  here, 
!  He  did  incline  to  sadness  ;  and  oft-times 
Not  knowing  why. 

Iachimo. 

I  never  saw  him  sad. 
There  is  a  Frenchman  his  companion,  one, 
An  eminent  monsieur,  that,  it  seems,  much  loves 
A  Gallian  girl  at  home;  he  furnaces 
The  thick  sighs  from  him,  whiles  the  jolly  Briton 
(Your  lord,  I  mean)  laughs  from's  free  lungs, 

cries,  "  O  ! 
Can  my  sides  hold,  to  think,  that  man,  — who 
By  history,  report,  or  his  own  proof,        [knows 
What  woman  is,  yea,  what  she  cannot  choose 
But  must  be,— will  his  free  hours  languish 
For  assur'd  bondage  ?" 

!  Imogen. 

Will  my  lord  say  so  ? 
Iachimo. 
Ay,  madam,  with  his  eyes  in  flood  with  laugh* 
ter: 
It  is  a  recreation  to  be  by. 
And  hear  him  mock  the  Frenchman  ;  but,  hea- 
Some  men  are  much  to  blame.  [vens  know, 

Imogen. 

Not  he,  1  hope. 
Iachimo. 
I      Not  he ;  but  yet  heaven's  bounty  towards  him 

might 
!  Be  us'd  more  thankfully.   In  himself,  'tis  much ; 
I  In  you,— which  I  account  hisbeyond  all  talents,— 
I  Whilst  I  am  bound  to  wonder,  I  am  bound 
I  To  pity  too. 

Imogen. 

What  do  you  pity,  sir  ? 
Iachimo. 
Two  creatures,  heartily. 
Imogen. 

Am  I  one,  sir  ? 
You  look  on  me :  what  wreck  discern  you  in  me, 
Deserves  your  pity  ? 

Iachimo. 
Lamentable !    What ! 
To  hide  me  from  the  radiant  sun,  and  solace 
I*  the  dungeon  by  a  snuff? 
Imogen. 

I  pray  you,  sir, 
Deliver  with  more  openness  your  answers 
To  my  demands.    Why  do  you  pity  me  ? 
Iachimo. 
That  others  do, 
I  was  about  to  say,  enjoy  your — But 
It  is  an  office  of  the  gods  to  venge  it, 
Not  mine  to  speak  on't. 


Imogen. 

You  do  seem  to  know 
Something  of  me,  or  what  concerns  me:  pray 

you, 
(Since  doubting  things  go  ill,  often  hurts  more 
Than  to  be  sure  they  do  ;  for  certainties 
Either  are  past  remedies,  or,  timely  knowing, 
The  remedy  then  born)  discover  to  me 
What  both  you  spur  and  stop. 

Iachimo. 

Had  I  this  cheek 
To  bathe  my  lips  upon  ;  this  hand,  whose  touch, 
Whose  every  touch,  would  force  the  feeler's  soul 
To  the  oath  of  loyalty  ;  this  object,  which 
Takes  prisoner  the  wild  motion  of  mine  eye, 
Fixing  it  only  here;  should  I  (damn'd  then) 
Slaver  with  lips  as  common  as  the  stairs 
That  mount  the  Capitol;  join  gripes  with  hands 
Made  hard  with  hourly  falsehood  (falsehood  as 
With  labour)  then  by-peeping  in  an  eye, 
Base  and  illustrous  as  the  smoky  light 
That's  fed  with  stinking  tallow,  it  were  fit, 
That  all  the  plagues  of  hell  should  at  one  time 
Encounter  such  revolt. 

Imogen. 

My  lord,  I  fear, 
Has  forgot  Britain. 

Iachimo. 
And  himself.    Not  I, 
Inclin'd  to  this  intelligence,  pronounce 
The  beggary  of  his  change ;  but  'tis  your  graces 
That,  from  my  mutest  conscience,  to  my  tongue, 
Charms  this  report  out 

Imogen. 

Let  me  hear  no  more. 

Iachimo. 
O  dearest  soul !  your  cause  doth  strike  my 
heart 
With  pity,  that  doth  make  me  sick.     A  lady 
So  fair,  and  fasten'd  to  an  empery,      [partner'd 
Would  make  the  great'st  king  double,  to  be 
With  tomboys,  hir'd  with  that  self  exhibition 
Which  your  own  coffers  yield  1  with  diseas'd 

ventures, 
That  play  with  all  infirmities  for  gold         [stuff, 
Which  rottenness  can  lend  nature  !  such  boil'd 
As  well  might  poison  poison  !    Be  reveng'd, 
Or  she  that  bore  you  was  no  queen,  and  you 
Recoil  from  your  great  stock. 

Imogen. 

Reveng'd  ! 
How  should  I  be  reveng'd  ?    If  this  be  true, 

iAs  I  have  such  a  heart,  that  both  mine  ears 
lust  not  in  haste  abuse)  if  it  be  true, 
How  should  I  be  reveng'd  ? 
Iachimo. 

Should  he  make  me 
Live,  like  Diana's  priest,  betwixt  cold  sheets, 
Whiles  he  is  vaulting  variable  ramps, 
In  your  despite,  upon  your  purse  ?    Revenge  it. 
I  dedicate  myself  to  your  sweet  pleasure, 
More  noble  than  that  runagate  to  your  bed, 
And  will  continue  fast  to  your  affection, 
Still  close,  as  sure. 

Imogen. 

What  ho,  Pisanio! 
Iachimo- 
Let  me  my  service  tender  on  your  lips. 

Imogen. 

Away  !  —  I  do  condemn  mine  ears,  that  hare 

So  long  attended  thee. —  If  thou  wert  honourable, 

Thou  would'st  have  told  this  tale  for  virtue,  not 

For  such  an  end  thou  seek'st,  as  base,  as  strange. 

Thou 


1064. 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  1.  Sc.  vii. 


Thou  wrong'st  a  gentleman,  who  is  as  far 

From  thy  report,  as  thou  from  honour  ;  and 

Solicit'st  here  a  lady,  that  disdains 

Thee  and  the  devil  alike. — What  ho,  Pisanio!  — 

The  king  my  father  shall  be  made  acquainted 

Of  thy  assault :  if  he  shall  think  it  fit, 

A  saucy  stranger,  in  his  court,  to  mart 

As  in  a  Romish  stew,  and  to  expound 

His  beastly  mind  to  us,  he  hath  a  court 

He  little  cares  for,  and  a  daughter  whom 

He  not  respects  at  all. — What  ho,  Pisanio !  — 

Iachimo. 
O  happy  Leonatus !  I  may  say  ; 
The  credit,  that  thy  lady  hath  of  thee,         [ness 
Deserves  thy  trust ;  and  thy  most  perfect  good- 
Her  assur'd  credit. — Blessed  live  you  long  I 
A  lady  to  the  worthiest  sir,  that  ever 
Country  call'd  his  ;  and  you  his  mistress,  only 
For  the  most  worthiest  fit  Givemeyour  pardon. 
I  have  spoke  this,  to  know  if  your  affiance 
Were  deeply  rooted  ;  and  shall  make  your  lord, 
That  which  he  is,  new  o'er :  and  he  is  one 
The  truest  manner'd  ;  such  a  holy  witch, 
That  he  enchants  societies  unto  him : 
Half  all  men's  hearts  are  his. 

Imogen. 

You  make  amends. 

Iachimo. 
He  sits  'mongst  men,  like  a  descended  god  : 
He  hath  a  kind  of  honour  sets  him  off, 
More  than  a  mortal  seeming.    Be  not  angry, 
Most  mighty  princess,  that  I  have  adventur'd 
To  try  your  taking  of  a  false  report ;  which  hath 
Honour'd  with  confirmation  your  great  judg- 
In  the  election  of  a  sir  so  rare,  [ment 

Which,  you  know,  cannot  err.    The  love  I  bear 

him 
Made  me  to  fan  you  thus  ;  but  the  gods  made  you, 
Unlike  all  others,  chaffless.    Pray,  your  pardon. 

Imogen. 
All's  well,  sir.    Take  my  power  i'  the  court 
for  yours. 

Iachimo. 
My  humble  thanks.    I  had  almost  forgot 
T'  entreat  your  grace  but  in  a  small  request, 
And  yet  of  moment  too,  for  it  concerns 
Your  lord  ;  myself,  and  other  noble  friends, 
Are  partners  in  the  business. 
Imogen. 

Pray,  what  is't  ? 
Iachimo. 
Some  dozen  Romans  of  us,  and  your  lord, 
(The  best  feather  of  our  wing)  have  mingled 
To  buy  a  present  for  the  emperor  ;  [sums, 

Which  I,  the  factor  for  the  rest,  have  done 
In  France  :  'tis  plate  of  rare  devioe,  and  jewels 
Of  rich  and  exquisite  form.  Their  values  great, 
And  I  am  something  curious,  being  strange, 
To  have  them  in  safe  stowage :  may  it  please  you 
To  take  them  in  protection  ? 
Imogen. 

Willingly, 
And  pawn  mine  honour  for  their  safety ;  since 
My  lord  hath  interest  in  them,  I  will  keep  them 
In  my  bed-chamber. 

Iachimo. 
They  are  in  a  trunk, 
Attended  by  my  men  ;  I  will  make  bold 
To  seud  them  to  you,  only  for  this  night, 
I  must  aboard  to-morrow. 


Imogen. 


O 1  no,  no. 


Iachimo. 
Yes,  I  beseech  ;  or  I  shall  short  my  word, 
By  lengthening  my  return.     From  Gallia 
I  cross'd  the  seas  on  purpose,  and  on  promise 
To  see  your  grace. 

Imogen. 

I  thank  you  for  your  pains ; 
But  not  away  to-morrow  ? 

Iachimo. 

O  !  I  must,  madam  : 
Therefore,  I  shall  beseech  you,  if  you  please 
To  greet  your  lord  with  writing,  do't  to  night: 
I  have  outstood  my  time,  which  is  material 
To  the  tender  of  our  present. 

Imogen. 

I  will  write. 
Send  your  trunk  to  me  :  it.  shall  safe  be  kept, 
And  truly  yielded  you.    You  're  very  welcome. 

•0-  #••#••#••#•  #■•#••#••#•■#• 
ACT  II. 

SCENE  I.    Court  before  Cymbeline's  Palace. 

Enter  Cloten,  and  Two  Lords. 

Cloten. 

vy  AS  there  ever  man  had  such  luck  !  when  I 

*v    kissed  the  jack  upon  an  up-cast,  to  be  hit 

away  !     I  had  a  hundred  pound  on't :  and  then 

a  whoreson  jackanapes  must  take  me  up  for 

swearing  ;  as  if  I  borrowed  mine  oaths  of  him, 

and  might  not  spend  them  at  my  pleasure. 

First  Lord. 

What  got  he  by  that  ?    You  have  broke  his 

pate  with  your  bowl. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

If  his  wit  had  been  like  him  that  broke  it,  it 
would  have  run  all  out. 

Cloten. 

When  a  gentleman  is  disposed  to  swear,  it  is 

not  for  any  standers-by  to  curtail  his  oaths,  ha? 

Second  Lord. 

No,  my  lord ;  [Aside]  nor  crop  the  ears  of 

them. 

Cloten. 
Whoreson    dog! — I  give  him    satisfaction? 
Would  he  had  been  one  of  my  rank ! 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

To  have  smelt  like  a  fool. 
Cloten. 
I  am  not  vexed  more  at  any  thing  in  the  earth. 
—  A  pox  on't !  I  had  rather  not  be  so  noble  as 
I  am :  they  dare  not  fight  with  me,  because  of 
the  queen  my  mother.  Every  jack-slave  hath 
his  belly  full  of  fighting,  and  1  must  go  up  and 
down  like  a  cock  that  no  body  can  match. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

You  .ire  cock  and  capon  too ;  and  you  crow, 
cock,  with  your  comb  on. 

Cloten. 
Sayest  thou  ? 

Second  Lord. 

It  is  not  fit,  your  lordship  should  undertake 

every  companion  that  you  give  offence  too. 

Cloten. 

No,  I  know  that :  but  it  is  fit  I  should  commit 

offence  to  my  inferiors. 

Second  Lord. 
Ay,  it  is  fit  for  your  lordship  only. 

Cloten. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in. 


CYMBKI.INI. 


1065 


Oaten. 

Why,  so  I  say. 

First  Lord. 
Did  you  hoar  of  n  stranger,  that's  come  to 
court  to  night? 

Clo' 

A  stranger,  and  I  not  know  on't ! 

Second  I/)rd.  [Aside. 

He's  a  strange  fellow  himself,  and  knows  it 
not. 

First  Lord. 
There's  an  Italian  come;  and,  'tis  thought, 
one  of  Leonatus'  friends. 

Litwaius!  a  banished  rascal ;  and  he's  another, 
whatsoever  he  be.  Who  told  you  of  this 
stranger  ? 

First  Lord. 
One  of  your  lordship's  pages. 

Cloten. 
Is  it  fit,  I  went  to  look  upon  him  ?     Is  there 
no  derogation  in't? 

First  Lord. 
You  cannot  derogate,  my  lord. 

Cloten. 
Not  easily,  I  think. 

Second  Lord.  [Aside. 

You  are  a  fool  granted  ;  therefore,  your  issues 
being  foolish  do  not  derogate. 
Cloten. 
Come,  I'll  go  see  this  Italian.    What  I  have 
lost  to-day  at  bowls,  I'll  win  to-night  of  him. 
Come,  go. 

Second  Lord. 
I'll  attend  your  lordship. 

[Exeunt  Cloten  and  first  Lord. 
That  such  a  crafty  devil  as  is  his  mother 
Should  yield  the  world  this  ass  !  a  woman,  that 
Rears  all  down  with  her  brain ;  and  this  her  son 
Cannot  take  two  from  twenty  for  his  heart, 
And  leave  eighteen.    Alas,  poor  princess  ! 
Thou  divine  Imogen,  what  thou  endur'st, 
Betwixt  a  father  by  thy  step-dame  govern'd  ; 
A  mother  hourly  coining  plots  ;  a  wooer, 
More  hateful  than  the  foul  expulsion  is 
Of  thy  dear  husband,  than  that  horrid  act  [firm 
Of  the  divorce  he'd  make !    The  heavens  hold 
The  walls  of  thy  dear  honour  ;  keep  unshak'd 
That  temple,  thy  fair  mind  ;  that  thou  may'st 

stand, 
T'  enjoy  thy  banish'd  lord,  and  this  great  land  ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    A  Bed-chamber;  in  one  Part  of 
it  a  Trunk. 

Imogen  reading  in  her  Bed ;  a  Lady  attending. 
Imogen. 
Who's  there  ?  my  woman,  Helen  ? 

Lady. 

Please  you,  madam. 

Imogen. 
What  hour  is  it  ? 

Lady. 

Almost  midnight,  madam. 

Imogen. 
I  have  read  three  hours,  then.    Mine  eyes  are 
weak  ; 
Fold  down  the  leaf  where  I  have  left :  to  bed. 
Take  not  away  the  taper,  leave  it  burning ; 
And  if  thou  canst  awake  by  four  o'  the  clock, 
I    pr'ythee,  call    me.     Sleep  hath    seiz'd    me 
wholly.  [Exit  Lady. 


To  your  protection  I  commend  me,  gods  ! 
From  fairies,  and  the  tempters  of  the  night, 
Guard  me,  beseech  ye  1 

[Btepti    JSmMm  comes  from  the  Trunk. 
Iachimo. 
The  crickets  sing,  and  man's  o'er-labour'd 
Repairs  itself  by  rest :  our  Tarquin  thus  [sense 
Did  softly  press  the  rushes,  ere  he  waken  d 


The  chastity  he  wounded — Cytherea 
ttravef 
whiter 
touch 


y 
How  bravely  thou  becom'st  thy  bed  1  fresh  lily. 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets  f    That   I  might 


But  kiss  ;  one  kiss  !— Rubies  unparagon'd, 
How  dearly  they  do't ! — 'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus :  the  flame  o'  the 

taper 
Bows  toward  her,  and  would  under-peep  her  lids, 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows  ;  white  and  azure,  lae'd 
With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct.  —  But  my 

design, 
To  note  the  chamber  :  I  will  write  all  down  :  — 
Such,  and  such,  pictures :  —  there  the  window  ; 

—  such 
Th'  adornment  of  her  bed  :  — the  arras,  figures, 
Why,  such,  and  such ;— and  the  contents  o'  the 

story — 
Ah  !  but  some  natural  notes  about  her  body, 
Above  ten  thousand  meaner  moveables 
Would  testify,  t'  enrich  mine  inventory  : 
O  sleep,  thou  ape  of  death,  lie  dull  upon  her! 
And  be  her  sense  but  as  a  monument, 
Thus  in  a  chapel  lying ! — Come  off,  come  off  ;— 
("Taking  off  her  Bracelet. 
As  slippery,  as  the  Gordian  knot  was  hard  ! — 
'Tis  mine;  and  this  will  witness  outwardly, 
As  strongly  as  the  conscience  does  within, 
To  the  madding  of  her  lord. — On  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
I'  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip :  here's  a  voucher, 
Stronger  than  ever  law  could  make :  this  secret 
Will  force  him  think  I  have  pick'd  the  lock, 

and  ta'en 
The  treasure  of  her  honour.    No  more. To 

what  end, 
Why  should  I  write  this  down,  that's  riveted, 
Screw'd  to  my  memory  ?  She  hath  been  reading 

late 
The  tale  of  Tereus  ,•  here  the  leaf's  turn'd  down, 
Where  Philomel  gave  up. — I  have  enough  : 
To  the  trunk  again,  and  shut  the  spring  of  it. 
Swift,  swift,  you  dragons  of  the  night,  that 

dawning 
May  bare  the  raven's  eye :  1  lodge  in  fear ; 
Though  this  a  heavenly  angel,  hell  is  here. 

'■     '  -       [Clock  strikes. 

One,  two,  three, —  time,  time  ! 

[Goes  into  the  Trunk.    The  Scene  closes. 

SCENE  III.    An  Ante-Chamber  adjoining 
Imogen's  Apartment. 

Enter  Cloten  and  Lords. 

First  Lord. 
Your  lordship  is  the  most  patient  man  in  I06S, 
the  most  coldest  that  ever  turned  up  ace. 

Cloten. 
It  would  make  any  man  cold  to  lose. 

First  Lord. 
But  not  every  man  patient,  after  the  noble 
temper  of  your  lordship.    You  are  most  hot,  and 
furious,  when  you  win. 

Cloten. 
Winning  will  put  any  man  into  courage.     If 
I  could 


ic66 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  in 


I  could  get  this  foolish  Imogen,  I  should  have  ■ 
gold  enough.    It's  .almost  morning,  is't  not  ? 
First  Lord. 
Day,  my  lord.        _ 

*■     '  Cloten. 

I  would  this  music  would  come.  I  am  advised  I 
to  give  her  music  o'  mornings  ;  they  say,  It  will 
penetrate. 

Enter  Musicians. 

Come  on  ;  tune  :  if  you  can  penetrate  her  with 
your  fingering,  so  ;  we'll  try  with  tongue  too : 
if  none  will  do,  let  her  remain;  but  I'll  never 
give  o'er.  First,  a  very  excellent  good  conceited 
thing ;  after,  a  wonderful  sweet  air,  with  ad- 
mirable rich  words  to  it, — and  then  let  her  con- 
sider. 

SONG. 
Hark!  hark!  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chalic'd  flowers  that  lies  ; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  is, 
My  lady  sweet,  arise; 
Arise,  arise! 
So,  get  you  gone.    If  this  penetrate,  I  will  con- 
sider your  music  the  better :  if  it  do  not,  it  is  a 
vice  in  her  ears,  which  horse-hairs,  and  calves'- 
guts,  nor  the  voice  of  unpayed  eunuch  to.  boot, 
can  never  amend.  [Exeunt  Musicians. 

Enter  Cymbeline  and  Queen. 
Second  Lord. 
Here  comes  the  king. 

Cloten. 
I  am  glad  I  was  up  so  late,  for  that's  the  rea- 
son I  was  up  so  early :  he  cannot  choose  but 
take  this  service  I  have  done,  fatherly — Good 
morrow  to  your  majesty,  and  to  my  gracious 
mother.  _      '    „ 

Cymbeline. 

Attend  vou  here  the  door  of  our  stern  daugh-j 
Will  she  not  forth?  [ter?| 

Cloten. 
I  have  assailed  her  with  music,  but  she  vouch- 
safes no  notice.      _      .    ,. 

Cymbeline. 

The  exile  of  her  minion  is  too  new ; 
She  hath  not  yet  forgot  him  :  some  more  time 
Must  wear  the  print  of  his  remembrance  out, 
And  then  she's  yours. 

Queen. 
You  are  most  bound  to  the  king 
Who  lets  go  by  no  vantages,  that  may 
Prefer  you  to  his  daughter.     Frame  yourself 
To  orderly  solicits,  and  be  friended 
With  aptness  of  the  season  :  make  denials 
Increase  your  services  :  so  seem,  as  if 
You  were  inspir'd  to  do  those  duties  which 
You  tender  to  her ;  that  you  in  all  obey  her, 
Save  when  command  to  your  dismission  tends, 
And  therein  you  are  senseless. 
Cloten. 

Senseless  ?  not  so 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 
So  like  you,  sir,  ambassadors  from  Rome  : 
The  one  is  Cuius  Lucius. 

Cymbeline. 

A  worthy  fellow, 
Albeit  he  comes  on  angry  purpose  now  ; 
But  that's  no  fault  of  his  :  we  must  receive  him 
According  to  the  honour  of  his  sender  ; 


And  towards  himself,  his  goodness  forespent  on 

us, 
We  must  extend  our  notice.  — Our  dear  son, 
When  you  have  given  good  morning  to  your 

mistress, 
Attend  the  queen,  and  us  ;  we  shall  have  need 
To  employ  you  towards  this  Roman.  — Come, 

[Exeurit  Cymbeline,  Queen,  Lords,  and  Mes- 
senger. 

Cloten. 
If  she  be  up,  I'll  speak  with  her  ;  if  not, 

Let  her  lie  still,  and  dream By  your  leave, 

ho!—  [Knocks. 

I  know  her  women  are  about  her :  what 
If  I  do  line  one  of  their  hands?   'Tis  gold  [makes 
Which  buys  admittance ;  oft  it  doth ;  yea,  and 
Diana's  rangers  false  themselves,  yield  up 
Their  deer  to  the  stand  o*  the  stealer  ;  and  'tis 

gold 
Which  makes  the  true  man  kill'd,  and  saves  the 

thief; 
Nay,  sometime,  hangs  both  thief  and  true  man  : 
Cau  it  not  do,  and  undo  ?    I  will  make      [what 
One  of  her  women  lawyer  to  me ;  for 
I  yet  not  understand  the  case  myself. 
By  your  leave.  [Knocks. 

Enter  a  Lady. 
Lady. 
Who's  there,  that  knocks  ? 
Cloten. 

A  gentleman. 


Lady. 

Cloten. 
Yes,  and  a  gentlewoman's  son. 
Lady. 


No  more  ? 


That's  more 
Than  some,  whose  tailors  are  as  dear  as  yours, 
Can  justly  boast  of.    What's  your  lordship's 
pleasure  ? 


Cloten. 

Your  lady's  person  :  is  she  ready  ? 
Lady. 


Ay, 


To  keep  her  chamber. 

Cloten. 
There's  gold  for  you :  sell  me  your  good  report. 

Lady. 
How  !  my  good  name  ?  or  to  report  of  you 

What  I  shall  think  is  good?— The  princess 

Enter  Imogen. 
Cloten. 
Good  morrow,  fairest :  sister,  your  sweet  hand. 

Imogen. 
Good  morrow,  sir.  You  lay  out  too  much  pains 
For  purchasing  but  trouble  :  the  thanks  I  give, 
Is  telling  you  that  I  am  poor  of  thanks, 
And  scarce  can  spare  them. 
Cloten. 

Still,  I  swear,  I  love  you. 
Imogen. 
If  you  but  said  so,  'twere  as  deep  with  me : 
If  you  swear  still,  your  recompense  is  still 
That  I  regard  it  not. 

Cloten. 

This  is  no  answer. 
Imogen. 
But  that  you  shall  not  say  I  yield,  being  silent, 
I  would  not  speak.    I  pray  you,  spare  me :  faith, 
I  shall  unfold  equal  discourtesy 


A<  r  n.   Sc.  ix. 


CYMBKLINK. 


1067 


To   your  best    kindness.     One  of  your  great 

knowing 
Should  learn,  being  taught,  forbearance. 

To  leave  you  in  your  madness,  'twere  my  sin  : 
I  will  not. 

Imogen. 

Fools  arc  not  mud  folks. 
Cloten. 

Do  you  call  mc  fool  ? 
Imogen. 
As  I  am  mad,  I  do  : 
If  you'll  be  patient,  I'll  no  more  be  mad  ; 
Th'at  cures  us  both.     I  am  much  sorry,  sir, 
You  jmt  me  to  forget  a  lady's  manners. 
By  being  so  verbal :  and  learn  now,  for  all, 
That  I,  which  know  my  heart,  do  here  pronounce, 
By  the  very  truth  of  it.  I  care  not  for  you  ; 
1  And  am  so  near  the  lack  of  charity, 
(To  accuse  myself)  I  hate  you ;  which  I  had 
You  felt,  than  make't  my  boast.  [rather 

Cloten. 

You  sin  against 
Obedience,  which  you  owe  your  father.     For 
The  contract  you  pretend  with  that  base  wretch, 
(One,  bred  of  alms,  and  foster'd  with  cold  dishes, 
;  With  scraps  o'  the  court)  it  is  no  contract,  none : 
And  though  it  be  allow'd  in  meaner  parties, 
(Yet  who  than  he  more  mean?)  to  knit  their 
(On  whom  there  is  no  more  dependency    [souls 
But  brats  and  beggary)  in  self-rigur'd  knot, 
Yet  you  are  curb'd  from  that  enlargement  by 
The  consequence  o'  the  crown,  and  must  not  foil 
The  precious  note  of  it  with  a  base  slave, 
A  hilding  for  a  livery,  a  squire's  cloth, 
A  pantler,  not  so  eminent. 
Imogen. 

Profane  fellow  1 
Wert  thou  the  son  of  Jupiter,  and  no  more 
But  what  thou  art  besides,  thou  wert  too  base 
To  be  his  groom :  thou  wert  dignified  enough, 
Even  to  the  point  of  envy,  if  'twere  made 
Comparative  for  your  virtues,  to  be  styl'd 
The  under-hangman  of  his  kingdom,  and  hated 
For  being  preferr'd  so  well. 
Cloten. 

The  south-fog  rot  him ! 
Imogen. 
He  never  can  meet  more  mischance,  than 
come 
To  be  but  nam'd  of  thee.  His  meanest  garment, 
That  ever  hath  but  clipp'd  his  body,  is  dearer 
In  my  respect  than  all  the  hairs  above  thee. 
Were  they  all  made  such  men — How  now, 
Pisanio! 

Enter  Pisanio 
Cloten. 
His  garment  ?    Now,  the  devil  — 

Imogen. 
To  Dorothy  my  woman  hie  thee  presently. — 

Cloten. 
His  garment  ? 

Imogen. 

I  am  sprlghted  with  a  fool ; 

Frighted,    and    anger'd  worse.  —  Go,  bid  my 

Search  for  a  jewel,  that  too  casually        [woman 

Hath  left  mine  arm :  it  was  thy  master's  ;  'shrew 

me,  • 

If  I  would  lose  it  for  a  revenue 
Of  any  king's  in  Europe.     I  do  think, 
I  saw't  this  morning:  confident  I  am. 
Last  night  'twas  on  mine  arm ;  I  kiss'd  it. 


I  hope,  it  be  not  gone  to  tell  my  lord 
That  I  kiss  ought  but  he. 

Pisanio. 

'Twill  not  be  lost. 
Imogen. 
1  hope  so:  go,  and  search.         [Exit  Pisanio. 
Cloten. 

You  have  abus'd  me.  — 
His  meanest  garment? 

Imogen. 

Ay ;  I  said  so,  sir. 
If  you  will  make't  an  action,  call  witness  to't. 
Cloten. 
I  will  inform  your  father. 
Imogen. 

Your  mother  too: 
She's  my  good  lady ;  and  will  conceive,  I  hope, 
But  the  worst  of  me.    So  I  leave  you,  sir, 
To  the  worst  of  discontent.  [Exit. 

Cloten. 

I'll  bereveng'd.— 
His  meanest  garment  ?  —  Well.  [Exit. 

SCEUE  IV.    Rome.    An  Apartment  in 
Philario'*  House. 

Enter  Posthumus  and  Philario. 
Posthumus. 
Fear  it  not,  sir :  I  would,  I  were  so  sure 
To  win  the  king,  as  I  am  bold,  her  honour 
Will  remain  hers. 

Philario. 
What  means  do  you  make  to  him  ? 
Posthumus. 
Not  any ;  but  abide  the  change  of  time ; 
Quake  in  the  present  winter's  state,  and  wish 
That  warmer  days  would  come.    In  these  fear'd 
I  barely  gratify  your  love ;  they  failing,  [hopes 
I  must  die  much  your  debtor. 
Philario. 
Your  very  goodness,  and  your  company, 
O'erpays  all  I  can  do.    By  this,  your  king 
Hath  heard  of  great  Augustus:  Caius  Lucius 
Will  do  's  commission  throughly  ;  and,  I  think, 
He'll  grant  the  tribute,  send  the  arrearages, 
Or  look  upon  our  Romans,  whose  remembrance 
Is  yet  fresh  in  their  grief. 

Posthumus. 

I  do  believe, 
(Statist  though  I  am  none,  nor  like  to  be) 
That  this  will  prove  a  war  ;  and  you  shall  hear 
The  legion,  now  in  Gallia,  sooner  landed 
In  our  not-fearing  Britain,  than  have  tidings 
Of  any  penny  tribute  paid.     Our  countrymen 
Are  men  more  order'd,  than  when  Julius  Caesar 
Smil'd  at  their  lack  of  skill,  but  found  their 

courage 
Worthy  his  frowning  at:  their  discipline 
(Now  mingled  with  their  courages)  will  make 

known 
To  their  approvers,  they  are  people,  such 
That  mend  upon  the  world. 

Enter  Iachimo. 
Philario. 

See !  Iachimo  t 
Posthumus. 
The  swiftest  harts  have  posted  you  by  land, 
And  winds  of  all  the  corners  kiss'd  your  sails, 
To  make  your  vessel  nimble. 
Philario. 

Welcome,  sir. 
Posthumus. 


io68 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


Posthumus. 
I  hope,  the  briefness  of  your  answer  made 
The  speediness  of  your  return. 
Iachimo. 

Your  lady 
Is  one  of  the  fairest  that  I  have  look'd  upon. 

Posthumus. 
And,  therewithal,  the  best ;  or  let  her  beauty 
Look  through  a  casement  to  allure  false  hearts, 
And  be  false  with  them. 

Iachimo. 

Here  are  letters  for  you. 
Posthumus. 
Their  tenor  good,  I  trust. 

Iachimo. 

'Tis  very  like. 
Philario. 
Was  Caws  Lucius  in  the  Britain  court, 
When  you  were  there  ? 

Iachimo. 

He  was  expected  then, 
But  not  approach'd. 

Posthumus. 

All  is  well  yet.  — 
Sparkles  this  stone  as  it  was  wont?  or  is't  not 
Too  dull  for  your  good  wearing  ? 

Iachimo. 

If  I  have  lost  it, 
I  should  have  lost  the  worth  of  it  in  gold. 
I'll  make  a  journey  twice  as  far,  t'  enjoy 
A  second  night  of  such  sweet  shortness,  which 
Was  mine  in  Britain;  for  the  ring  is  won. 

Posthumus. 
The  stone's  too  hard  to  come  by. 

Iachimo. 

Not  a  whit, 
Your  lady  being  so  easy. 

Posthumus. 

Make  not,  sir, 
Your  loss  your  sport :  I  hope,  you  know  that  we 
Must  not  continue  friends. 

Iachimo. 

Good  sir,  we  must, 
If  you  keep  covenant.    Had  I  not  brought 
The  knowledge  of  your  mistress  home,  I  grant 
We  were  to  question  farther  ;  but  I  now 
Profess  myself  the  winner  of  her  honour, 
Together  with  your  ring ;  and  not  the  wronger 
Of  her,  or  you,  having  proceeded  but 
By  both  your  wills. 

Posthumus. 
If  you  can  make 't  apparent 
That  you  have  tasted  her  in  bed,  my  hand, 
And  ring,  is  yours:  if  not,  the  foul  opinion 
You  had  of  her  pure  honour,  gains,  or  loses, 
Your  sword,  or  mine ;  or  masterless  leaves  both 
To  who  shall  find  them. 

Iachimo. 

Sir,  my  circumstances, 
Being  so  near  the  truth,  as  I  will  make  them, 
Must  first  induce  you  to  believe:  whose  strength 
I  will  confirm  with  oath;  which,  I  doubt  not, 
You'll  give  me  leave  to  spare,  when  you  shall 
You  need  it  not.  [find 

Posthumus 
Proceed. 
Iachimo. 

First,  her  bedchamber, 
(Where,  I  confess,  I  slept  not,  but,  profess, 
Had   that  was  well  worth  watching)  it    was 
hang'd 


With  tapestry  of  silk  and  silver;  the  story, 
Proud  Cleopatra,  when  she  met  her  Roman, 
And  Cydnus  swell'd  above  the  banks,  or  for 
The  press  of  boats,  or  pride  :  a  piece  of  work 
So  bravely  done,  so  rich,  that  it  did  strive 
In  workmanship,  and  value;  which,  I  wonder'd, 
Could  be  so  rarely  and  exactly  wrought, 
Since  the  true  life  on't  was  — 

Posthumus. 

This  is  true ; 
And  this  you  might  have  heard  of  here,  by  me, 
Or  by  some  other. 

Iachimo: 
More  particulars 
Must  justify  my  knowledge. 

Posthumus. 

So  they  must, 
Or  do  your  honour  injury. 

Iachimo. 

The  chimney 
Is  south  the  chamber;  and  the  chimney-piece, 
Chaste  Dian,  bathing :  never  saw  I  figures 
So  likely  to  report  themselves :  the  cutter 
Was  as  another  nature,  dumb ;  outwent  her, 
Motion  and  breath  left  out. 

Posthumus. 

This  is  a  thing, 
Which  you  might  from  relation  likewise  reap, 
Being,  as  it  is,  much  spoke  of. 

Iachimo. 

The  roof  o'  the  chamber 
With  golden  cherubins  is  fretted  :  her  andirons 
(I  had  forgot  them)  were  two  winking  Cupids 
Of  silver,  each  on  one  foot  standing,  nicely 
Depending  on  their  brands. 

Posthumus. 

This  is  her  honour.  — 
Let  it  be  granted,  you  have  seen  all  this,  (and 

praise 
Be  given  to  your  remembrance)  the  description 
Of  what  is  in  her  chamber,  nothing  saves 
The  wager  you  have  laid. 

Iachimo. 

Then,  if  you  can, 
Be  pale :  I  beg  but  leave  to  air  this  jewel ;  see  1— . 

A  Producing  a  Bracelet, 
must  be  married 
To  that  your  diamond ;  I'll  keep  them. 

Posthumus. 

Jove ! — 
Once  more  let  me  behold  it.    Is  it  that 
Which  I  left  with  her  ? 

Iachimo. 

Sir,  (I  thank  her)  that: 
She  stripp'd  it  from  her  arm ;  I  see  her  yet ; 
Her  pretty  action  did  outsell  her  gift, 
And  yet  enrich'd  it  too.    She  gave  it  me, 
And  said,  she  priz'd  it  once. 

Posthumus. 

May  be,  she  pluck'd  it  off, 
To  send  it  me. 

Iachimo. 
She  writes  so  to  you,  doth  she  ? 

Posthumus. 

O  !  no,  no,  no ;  'tis  true.    Here,  take  this  too ; 

[Giving  the  Ring. 

It  is  a  basilisk  unto  mine  eye, 

Kills  me  to  look  on't.— Let  there  be  no  honour, 

Where  there  is  beauty ;  truth,  where  semblance ; 

love, 
Where  there's  another  man  :  the  vows  of  women 
Of  no  more  bondage  be,  to  where  they  are  made, 

Than 


Act  hi.  Sc.  i. 


CYM  B  KLINE. 


1069 


Than  theyare  to  their  vlrtucs.whichisnothlng.—  I 
O,  above  measure  false  1 

Philarlo. 

Have  patience,  sir, 
And  take  your  ring  again ;  'tis  not  yet  won  : 
It  may  be  probable  she  lost  it;  or, 
Who  knows,  if  one,  her  women,  being  corrupted , 
Hath  stolen  it  from  her? 

Pojtbumus. 

Very  true; 
And  so,  I  hope,  he  came  by't — Back  my  ring. — 
Render  to  me  some  corporal  sign  about  her, 
More  evident  than  this,  for  this  was  stolen, 
lachimo. 
By  Jupiter,  I  had  it  from  her  arm . 

Posthumus. 

Hark  you,  he  swears ;  by  Jupiter  he  swears. 

'Tis  true;  —  nay,  keep  the  ring  —  'tis  true.    I 

am  sure, 
She  would  not  lose  it :  her  attendants  are 
All  sworn,  and  honourable: — they  indue'd  to 

steal  it  1 
And  by  a  stranger  !  —  No,  he  hath  enjoy'd  her : 
The  cognizance  of  her  incontinency 
Is  this  :  —  she  hath  bought  the  name  of  whore 

thus  dearly. — 
There,  take  thy  hire;  and  all  the  fiends  of  hell 
Divide  themselves  between  you ! 
Philarlo. 

Sir,  be  patient. 
This  is  not  strong  enough  to  bebeliev'd 

Of  one  persuaded  well  of 

Posthumus. 

Never  talk  on't ; 
She  hath  been  colted  by  him. 
lachimo. 

If  you  seek 
P'or  farther  satisfying,  under  her  breast 
( Worthy  the  pressing)  lies  a  mole,  right  proud 
Of  that  most  delicate  lodging  :  by  my  life, 
I  kiss'd  it,  and  it  gave  me  present  hunger 
To  feed  again,  though  full.    You  do  remember 
This  stain  upon  her  ? 

Posthumus. 

Ay,  and  it  doth  confirm 
Another  stain,  as  big  as  hell  can  hold, 
Were  there  no  more  but  it. 
lachimo. 

Will  you  hear  more  ? 
Posthumus. 
Spare  your  arithmetic:  never  count  the  turns ; 
Once,  and  a  million  ! 

lachimo. 

I'll  be  sworn, 

Posthumus. 

No  swearing. 
If  you  will  swear  you  have  not  done't,  you  lie ; 
And  1  will  kill  thee,  if  thou  dost  deny 
Thou'st  made  me  cuckold, 
lachimo. 

I  will  deny  nothing. 
Posthumus. 
O.  that  I  had  her  here,  to  tear  her  limb-meal  1 
I  will  go  there,  and  do't ;  i'  the  court ;  before 

Her  father.  —  I'll  do  something tExit 

Phllario. 

Quite  besides 
The  government  of  patience,! — You  have  won  : 
Let's  follow  him,  and  pervert  the  present  wrath 
He  hath  against  himself. 

lachimo. 
With  all  my  heart.  [Exeunt 


SCENE  V.    The  same.    Another  Room  in  the 

sain  (.!. 

Eater  Posthumus. 
Posthumus. 
Is  there  no  way  for  men  to  be,  but  women 
Must  be  half-workers  ?    We  are  all  bastards ; 
And  that  most  venerable  man,  which  I 
Did  call  my  father,  was  I  know  not  where 
When  I  was  stamp'd ;  some  coiner  with  his  tools 
Made  me  a  counterfeit :  yet  my  mother  seemed 
The  Dian  of  that  time  ;  so  doth  my  wife 
The  nonpareil  of  this — O  vengeance,  vengeance! 
Me  of  my  lawful  pleasure  she  restrain'd, 
And  pray'd  me  oft  forbearance;  did  it  with 
A  pudency  so  rosy,  the  sweet  view  on't 
Might  well  have  warm'd  old  Saturn;   that   I 

thought  her 
As  chaste  as  unsunn'd  snow:— O, all  thedevils! — 
This  yellow  lachimo,  in  an  hour, — was't  not?— 
Or  less, — at  first;  perchance  he  spoke  not,  but, 
Like  a  full-acorn'd  boar,  a  German  one, 
Cry'd  "  oh ! "  and  mounted ;  found  no  opposition 
But  what  he  look'd  for  should  oppose,  and  she 
Should  from  encounter  guard.     Could  I  find  out 
The  woman's  part  in  me  !   For  there's  no  motion 
That  tends  to  vice  in  man,  but  I  affirm 
It  is  the  woman's  part :  be  it  lying,  note  it, 
The  woman's;  flattering,  hers;  deceiving,  hers  ; 
Lust  and  rank  thoughts,  hers,  hers  ;  revenges, 

hers ; 
Ambitions,  covetings,  change  of  prides,  disdain, 
Nice  longings,  slanders,  mutability,        [knows, 
All  faults  that  may  be  nam'd;  nay,  that  hell 
Why,  hers,  in  part,  or  all :  but,  rather,  all ; 
For  even  to  vice 

They  are  not  constant,  but  are  changing  still 
One  vice,  but  of  a  minute  old,  for  one 
Not  half  so  old  as  that.    I'll  write  against  them, 
Detest  them,  curse  them Yet,  'tis   greater 

skill, 
In  a  true  hate,  to  pray  they  have  their  will : 
The  very  devils  canuot  plague  them  better. 

[Exit. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I.    Britain.    A  Room  of  State  in 
Cymbcline't  Palace. 

Enter  Cymbeline,  Queen,  Cloten,  and  Lords,  at 
one  Door  ;  and  at  another,  Caius  Lucius,  and 
Attendants. 

Cymbeline. 
\T  OW  say,  what  would  Augustus  Casar  with 
-^       us? 

Lucius. 
When  Julius  Cccsar  (whose  remembrance  yet 
Lives  in  men's  eyes,  and  will  to  ears,  and  tongues, 
Be  theme,  and  hearing  ever)  was  in  this  Britain, 
And  conquer'd  it,  Cassibelan,  thine  uncle, 
(Famous  in  Casar's  praises,  no  whit  less 
Than  in  his  feats  deserving  it)  for  him. 
And  his  succession,  granted  Borne  a  tribute, 
Yearly  three  thousand  pounds  ;  which  by  thee 
Is  left  untender'd.  [lately 

Queen 

And,  to  kill  the  marvel, 
Shall  be  so  ever. 

Cloten. 
There  be  many  Cwsars, 
Ere  such  another  Julius.     Britain  is 


A  world 


1070 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  in.  Sc.  1. 


A  world  by  itself;  and  we  will  nothing  pay, 
For  wearing  our  own  noses. 

Queen. 

That  opportunity, 
Which  then  they  had  to  take  from  us,  to  resume 
We  have  again.  —  Remember,  sir,  my  liege, 
The  kings  your  ancestors,  together  with 
The  natural  bravery  of  your  isle  ;  which  stands 
As  Neptune's  park,  ribbed  and  paled  in 
With  rocks  unscaleable,  and  roaring  waters  ; 
With  sands,  that  will  not  bear  your  enemies* 

boats, 
But  suck  them  up  to  the  top-mast.     A  kind  of 

conquest 
Ccesar  made  here ;  but  made  not  here  his  brag 
Of  "came,"  and  "saw,"  and  "overcame:"  with 

shame 
(The  first  that  ever  touch'd  him)  he  was  carried 
From  off  our  coast,  twice  beaten  ;  and  his  ship- 
Ping. 
(Poor  ignorant  baubles  !)  on  our  terrible  seas, 
Like  egg-shells  mov'd  upon  their  surges,  crack'd 
As  easily  'gainst  our  rocks.     For  joy  whereof 
The  fam'd  Cassibelan,  who  was  once  at  point 
(O,  giglot  fortune  !)  to  master  Ccesar's  sword, 
Made  Lud's  town  with  rejoicing  fires  bright, 
Aud  Britons  strut  with  courage. 

Cloteu. 
Come,  there's  no  more  tribute  to  be  paid. 
Our  kingdom  is  stronger  than  it  was  at  that 
time ;  and,  as  I  said,  there  is  no  more  such 
C&sars :  other  of  them  may  have  crooked  noses ; 
jut,  to  owe  such  straight  arms,  none. 

Cymbeline. 
Son,  let  your  mother  end. 

Cloten. 
We  have  yet  many  among  us  can  gripe  as 
hard  as  Cassibelan  :  I  do  not  say,  I  am  one;  but 
I  have  a  hand — Why  tribute?  why  should  we 
pay  tribute  ?  If  Ccesar  can  hide  the  sun  from 
us  with  a  blanket,  or  put  the  moon  in  his  pocket, 
we  will  pay  him  tribute  for  light ;  else,  sir,  no 
more  tribute,  pray  you  now. 

Cymbeline. 
You  must  know, 
Till  the  injurious  Romans  did  extort 
This  tribute  from  us,  we  were  free:  Ccesar's 

ambition, 
(Which  swell'd  so  much,  that  it  did  almost 

stretch 
The  sides  o'  the  world)  against  all  colour,  here 
Did  put  the  yoke  upon  us  ;  which  to  shake  off, 
Becomes  a  warlike  people,  whom  we  reckon 
Ourselves  to  be.    We  do  say,  then,  to  Ccesar, 
Our  ancestor  was  that  Mulmutius,  which 
Ordain'd  our  laws;  whose  use  the  sword  of 

Ccesar 
Hath  too  much  mangled ;   whose  repair,  and 

franchise, 
Shall,  by  the  power  we  hold,  be  our  good  deed, 
Though  Hume  be  therefore  angry.    Mulmutius 

made  our  laws, 
Who  was  the  first  of  Britain  which  did  put 
His  brows  within  a  golden  crown,  and  call'd 
Himself  a  king. 

Lucius.        ,  ,. 
I  am  sorry,  Cymbeline, 
That  I  am  to  pronounce  Augustus  Ccesar 
(Ccesar,  that  hath  more  kings  his  servants, than 
Thyself  domestic  officers)  thine  enemy. 

Receive  it  from  me,  then War,  and  confusion, 

In  Cesar's  name  pronounce  I  'gainst  thee :  look 

For  fury  not  to  be  resisted Thus  defied, 

I  thank  thee  for  myself. 


Cymbeline. 

Thou  art  welcome,  Caius. 
j  Thy  Ccesar  knighted  me ;  my  youth  I  spent 
!  Much  under  him  ;  of  him  1  gather'd  honour ; 
j  Which  he,  to  seek  of  me  again,  perforce, 
j  Behoves  me  keep  at  utterance.     I  am  perfect, 
;  That  the  Pannonians  and  Dalmatians,  for 
Their  liberties,  are  now  in  arms  ;  a  precedent 
Which  not  to  read  would  show  the  Britons  cold : 
So  Ccesar  shall  not  find  them. 
Lucius. 

Let  proof  speak. 
Cloten. 
His  majesty  bids  you  welcome.  Make  pas- 
time with  us  a  day  or  two,  or  longer :  if  you 
seek  us  afterwards  in  other  terms,  you  shall  find 
us  in  our  salt-water  girdle :  if  you  beat  us  out 
of  it,  it  is  yours.  If  you  fall  in  the  adventure, 
our  crows  shall  fare  the  better  lor  you  ;  and 
there's  an  end. 

Lucius. 
So,  sir. 

Cymbeline. 

I  know  your  master's  pleasure,  and  he  mine 

All  the  remain  is,  welcome.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Another  Room  In  the  same. 

Enter  Pisanio. 

Pisanio. 
How !  of  adultery  ?    Wherefore  write  you  no 
What  monster's  her  accuser  ? — Leonatus! 
O,  master  1  what  a  strange  infection 
Is  fallen  into  thy  ear  !    What  false  Italian 
(As  poisonous  tongued,  as  handed)  hath  pre 

vail'd 
On  thy  too  ready  hearing  ? — Disloyal?  No  : 
She's  punish'd  for  her  truth  ;  and  undergoes, 
More  goddess-like  than  wife-like,  such  assaults 
As  would  take  in  some  virtue.  —  O,  my  master  I 
Thy  mind  to  her  is  now  as  low,  as  were 
Thy  fortunes — How  !  that  I  should  murder  her? 
Upon  the  love,  and  truth,  and  vows,  which  I 
Have  made  to  thy  command? — I,  her? — her 
If  it  be  so  to  do  good  service,  never         [blood? 
Let  me  be  counted  serviceable.     How  look  I, 
That  I  should  seem  to  lack  humanitv, 
So  much  as  this  fact  comes  to  ?    "*Do't.    The 

letter  [Reading. 

That  I  have  sent  her,  by  her  own  command 
Shall  give  thee  opportunity : " — O  damn'd  paper  I 
Black  as  the  ink  that's  on  thee.  Senseless  bauble, 
Art  thou  a  feodary  for  this  act,  and  look'st 
So  virgin-like  without  ?    Lo  !  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Imogen. 
I  am  ignorant  in  what  I  am  commanded. 

Imogen. 
How  now,  Pisanio! 

Pisanio. 
Madam,  here  is  a  letter  from  my  lord. 

Imogen. 
Who  ?  thy  lord  ?  that  is  my  lord  :  Leonatus. 
O  !  learn'd  indeed  were  that  astronomer, 
That  knew  the  stars,  as  I  his  characters  ; 
He'd  lay  the  future  open.— You  good  gods, 
Let  what  is  here  contain'd  relish  of  love, 
Of  my  lord's  health,  of  his  content,— yet  not, 
That  we  two  are  asunder,  —  let  that  grieve  him : 
Some  griefs  are  medicinable ;  that  is  one  of  them, 
I  For  it  doth  physic  love ;  —  of  his  content, 
I  All  but  in  that !  — Good  wax,  thy  leave.  — Bless'd 

be, 
j  You  bees,  that  make  these  locks  of  counsel ! 
Lovers, 

And 


Air  in.  Sc.  in. 


CYMBELINE 


X07I 


Ami  men  In  dangerous  bonds,  pray  not  alike : 

Though  lorft-iters  you  cast  in  prison,  yet 

You  clasp  young  Cupid' s  tables.  — Good  ncwf, 

"  Justice,  and  your  father's  wrath,  should  he 
take  me  in  his  dominion,  could  not  he  so  cruel 
to  me,  as  you,  O  the  dearest  of  creatures,  would 
even  renew  me  with  your  eyes.  Take  notice, 
that  I  am  in  Cambria,  at  Milford-llaven  :  what 
your  own  love  will  out  of  this  advise  you  follow. 
So,  he  wishes  you  all  happiness,  that  remains 
loyal  to  his  vow,  and  your,  increasing  in  love, 

"  I.kon  \  n  s  Posthumus." 
O,    for  a  horse  with  wings  !— Hear'st    thou, 

Pisaniof 
He  is  at  Mii/ord- Haven  :  read,  and  tell  me 
How  far  'tis  thither.     1 1  one  of  mean  affairs 
May  plod  it  in  a  week,  why  may  not  I 
Glide  thither  in  a  day?— Then,  true  Pisarii), 
(Who  long'st,  like  me,  to  see  thy  lord  ;  who 

long'st,— 
O,    let  me    'bate  !  —  but    not    like   me  ;  —  yet 

long'st,— 
But  in  a  fainter  kind  :  — O  !  not  like  me, 
For  mine's  beyond  beyond)  say,  and  speak  thick, 
(Love's  counsellor  should  fill  the  bores  of  hear- 
ing, 
To  the  smothering  of  the  sense)  how  far  it  is 
To  this  same  blessed  Milford:  and,  by  the  way, 
Tell  me  how  Wales  was  made  so  happy,  as 
T'  inherit  such  a  haven  :  but,  first  of  all, 
How  we  may  steal  from  hence  ;  and,  for  the  gap 
That  we  shall  make  in  time,  from  our  hence- 
going, 
And  our  return,  to  excuse :  —  but  first,  how  get 

hence. 
Why  should  excuse  be  born,  or  e'er  begot  ? 
We'll  talk  of  that  hereafter.    Pr'ythee,  speak, 
How  many  score  of  miles  may  we  well  ride 
'Twixt  hour  and  hour  ? 

Plsanio. 

One  score  'twixt  sun  and  sun, 

Madam,  's  enough  for  you,  and  too  much,  too. 

Imogen. 

Why,  one  that  rode  to  *s  execution,  man, 

Could  never  go  so  slow  :  I  have  heard  of  riding 

wagers, 
Where  horses  have  been  nimbler  than  the  sands 
That  run  i'  the  clock's  behalf.  — But  this  is 

foolery.  — 
Go,  bid  my  woman  feign  a  sickness  ;  say 
She'll  home  to  her  father  ;  and  provide  me,  pre- 
A  riding  suit,  no  costlier  than  would  fit  [sently, 
A  franklin's  housewife. 

Plsanio. 
Madam,  you're  best  consider. 
Imogen. 
I  see  before  me,  man :  nor  here,  nor  here, 
Nor  what  ensues,  but  have  a  fog  in  them, 
That  I  cannot  look  through.    Away,  I  pr'ythee ; 
Do  as  I  bid  thee.    There  s  no  more  to  say ; 
Accessible  is  none  but  Milford  way.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Wales.    A  mountainous  Country, 
with  a  Cave. 

Enter  Bclarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragus. 

Belarius. 

A  goodly  day  not  to  keep  house,  with  such 

Whose  roof's  as  low  as  ours.     Stoop,  boys :  this 

gate 
Instructs  you  how  t'  adore  the  heavens,  and 

bows  you 
To  a  morning's  holy  office :  the  gates  of  monarchs 


Are  arch'd  so  high,  that  giants  may  jet  through 
And  keep  their  impious  turbands  on,  without 

Good  morrow  to  the  sun Hail, thou  fair  heaven! 

We  house  i'  the  rock,  yet  use  thee  not  so  hardly 
As  prouder  livers  do. 

Guiderius. 

Hail,  heaven ! 
Arvlrngus. 

Hail,  heaven  ! 
Belarius 
Now,  for  our  mountain  sport.     Up  to  yond* 

hill : 
Your  legs  are  young;    I'll  tread  these   flats. 

Consider, 
When  you  above  perceive  me  like  a  crow. 
That  it  is  place  which  lessens  and  sets  off: 
And  you  may  then  revolve  what  tales  I  have  told 
Of  courts,  of  princes,  of  the  tricks  in  war :  [you, 
This  service  is  not  service,  so  being  done, 
But  being  so  allow'd  :  to  apprehend  thus, 
Draws  us  a  profit  from  all  things  we  see ; 
And  often,  to  our  comfort,  shall  we  find 
The  sharded  beetle  in  a  safer  hold 
Than  is  the  full-wing'd  eagle.     O  !  this  life 
Is  nobler,  than  attending  for  a  check  ; 
Richer,  than  doing  nothing  for  a  bribe  ; 
Prouder,  than  rustling  in  unpaid-for  silk  : 
Such  gain  the  cap  of  him,  that  makes  him  fine, 
Yet  keeps  his  book  uncross'd.    No  life  to  ours. 
Guideriiu. 
Out  of  your  proof  you  speak :  we,  poor  un- 

fledg'd, 
Have  never  wing'd  from  view  o'  the  nest ;  nor 

know  not 
What  air's  from  home.    Haply  this  life  is  best, 
If  quiet  life  be  best ;  sweeter  to  you, 
That  have  a  sharper  known,  well  corresponding 
With  your  stiff  age  ;  but  unto  us  it  is 
A  cell  of  ignorance,  travelling  abed, 
A  prison  for  a  debtor,  that  not  dares 
To  stride  a  limit. 

Arviragus. 

What  should  we  speak  of, 
When  we  are  old  as  you  ?  when  we  shall  hear 
The  rain  and  wind  beat  dark  December,  how 
In  this  our  pinching  cave  shall  we  discourse 
The   freezing   hours    away?     We    have    seen 

nothing : 
We  are  beastly :  subtle  as  the  fox  for  prey  ; 
Like  warlike  as  the  wolf  for  what  we  eat : 
Our  valour  is,  to  chase  what  flies  ;  our  cage 
We  make  a  quire,  as  doth  the  prison'd  bird, 
And  sing  our  bondage  freely. 
Bclarius. 

How  you  speak  I 
Did  you  but  know  the  city's  usuries, 
And  felt  them  knowingly  :  the  art  o'  the  court. 
As  hard  to  leave,  as  keep  ;  whose  top  to  climb 
Is  certain  falling,  or  so  slippery,  that 
The  fear's  as  bad  as  falling  :  the  toil  of  the  war, 
A  pain  that  only  seems  to  seek  out  danger 
I'  the  name  of  fame,  and  honour  ;  which  dies  P 

the  search, 
And  hath  as  oft  a  slanderous  epitaph, 
As  record  of  fair  act ;  nay,  many  times, 
Doth  ill  deserve  by  doing'  well ;  what's  worse. 
Must  court'sy  at  the  censure. — O,  boys  !  this 

story 
The  world,  may  read  in  me  :  my  body's  mark'd 
With  Roman  swords,  and  my  report  was  once 
First  with  the  best  of  note.    Cymbdine  lov'd 

me; 
And  when  a  soldier  was  the  theme,  my  name 
Was  not  far  off:  then,  was  I  as  a  tree,     [night. 
Whose  boughs  did  bend  with  fruit  ;  but,  in  one 
A  storm 


T072 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  hi.  Sc  in. 


A  storm,  or  robbery,  call  it  what  you  will, 
Shook   down   my   mellow  hangings,  nay,  my 
And  left  me  bare  to  weather.  [leaves, 

Guiderius. 

Uncertain  favour ! 
Belarius. 
My  fault  being  nothing  (as  I  have  told  you 

oft) 
But  that  two  villains,  whose  false  oaths  prevail'd 
Before  my  perfect  honour,  swore  to  Cymbeline, 
I  was  confederate  with  the  Romans :  so, 
Follow'd  my  banishment;  and  this  twenty  years 
This  rock,  and  these  demesnes,  have  been  my 

world ; 
Where  I  have  liv'd  at  honest  freedom,  paid 
More  pious  debts  to  heaven,  than  in  all 
The  fore-end   of  my  time.  — But,  up  to  the 

mountains ! 
This  is  not  hunter's  language — He  that  strikes 
The  venison  first  shall  be  the  lord  o'  the  feast ; 
To  him  the  other  two  shall  minister, 
And  we  will  fear  no  poison,  which  attends 
In  place  of  greater  state.    I'll  meet  you  in  the 

J  Exeunt  Guiderius  and  Arviragus 
How  hard  it  is,  to  hide  the  sparks  of  nature! 
These  boys  know  little,  they  are  sons  to  the 

king; 
Nor  Cymbeline  dreams  that  they  are  alive. 
They  think,  they  are  mine :  and,  though  train'd 

up  thus  meanly  [hit 

I'  the  cave  wherein  they  bow,  their  thoughts  do 
The  roofs  of  palaces  ;  and  nature  prompts  them, 
In  simple  and  low  things,  to  prince  it,  much 
Beyond  the  trick  of  others.    This  Polydore, — 
The  heir  of  Cymbeline  and  Britain,  whom 
The  king  his  father  call'd  Guiderius,  —  Jove  I 
When  on  my  three-foot  stool  I  sit,  and  tell 
The  warlike  feats  I  have  done,  his  spirits  fly  out 
Into  my  story,  say,  —  "  Thus  mine  enemy  fell ; 
And  thus  I  set  my  foot  on's  neck  ; "  even  then 
The  princely  blood  flows  in  his  cheek,  he  sweats, 
Strains  hi»  young  nerves,  and  puts  himself  in 

posture 
That  acts  my  words.  The  younger  brother,  Cad- 
(Once  Arviragus)  in  as  like  a  figure,  [wal, 

Strikes  life  into  my  speech,  and  shows  much 

more 
His   own   conceiving.      Hark  1    the   game    is 

rous'd. — 
O  Cymbeline!  heaven,  and  my  conscience,  knows, 
Thou  didst  unjustly  banish  me  ;  whereon 
At  three,  and  two  years  old,  I  stole  these  babes, 
Thinking  to  bar  thee  of  succession,  as 
Thou  reft'st  me  of  my  lands.    Euriphile, 
Thou  wast  their  nurse ;  they  took  thee  for  their 

mother, 
And  every  day  do  honour  to  her  grave : 
Myself,  Belarius,  that  am  Morgan  call'd, 
They  take  for  natural  father  .—The  game  isup. 

SCENE  IV.    Near  Milford- Haven. 
Enter  Pisanio  and  Imogen. 
Imogen. 
Thou  told'st  me,  when  we  came  from  horse, 
the  place 
Was  near  at  hand.— Ne'er  long'd  my  mother  so 
To  see  me  first,  as  I  have  now,— Pisanio!  Man ! 
Where  is  Posthumus  ?    What  is  in  thy  mind, 
That  makes  thee  stare  thus  ?  Wherefore  breaks 

that  sigh 
From  th'  inward  of  thee?    One,  but  painted 
Would  be  interpreted  a  thing  perplex'd     [thus, 


Beyond  self-explication  :  put  thyself 
Into  a  haviour  of  less  fear,  ere  wildness      [ter  ? 
Vanquish  my  staider  senses.    What's  the  mat- 
Why  tender'st  thou  that  paper  to  me,  with 
A  look  untender  ?    If  it  be  summer  news, 
Smile  to't  before  ;  if  winterly,  thou  need'st 
But  keep  that  countenance  still. — My  husband's 

hand! 
That  drug-damn'd  Italy  hath  out-craftied  him, 
And  he's  at  some  hard  point  —  Speak,  man  :  thy 

tongue 
May  take  off  some  extremity,  which  to  read 
Would  be  even  mortal  to  me. 
Pisanio. 

Please  you,  read ; 
And  you  shall  find  me,  wretched  man,  a  thing 
The  most  disdain'd  of  fortune. 

Imogen.  [Reads. 

"  Thy  mistress,  Pisanio,  hath  played  the 
strumpet  in  my  bed ;  the  testimonies  whereof 
lie  bleeding  in  me.  I  speak  not  out  of  weak 
surmises,  but  from  proof  as  strong  as  my  grief, 
and  as  certain  as  I  expect  my  revenge.  That  part, 
thou,  Pisanio,  must  act  for  me,  if  thy  faith  be 
not  tainted  with  the  breach  of  hers.  Let  thine 
own  hands  take  away  he.-  life  ;  I  shall  give  thee 
opportunity  at  Milford-Haven :  she  hath  my 
letter  for  the  purpose:  where,  if  thou  fear  to 
strike,  and  to  make  me  certain  it  is  done,  thou 
art  the  pandar  to  her  dishonour,  and  equally  to 
me  disloyal." 

Pisanio. 
What  shall  I  need  to  draw  my  sword?  the 

paper 
Hath  cut  her  throat  already.  —  No  ;  'tis  slander, 
Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword  ;  whose 

tongue 
Outvenoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile;  whose  breath 
Rides  on  the  posting  winds,  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  of  the  world:  kings,  queens,  and 

states, 
Maids,  matrons,  nay,  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This    viperous   slander  enters — What  cheer, 

madam  ? 

Imogen. 

False  to  his  bed !  What  is  it,  to  be  false  ? 
To  lie  in  watch  there,  and  to  think  on  him  ? 
To  weep  'twixt  clock  and  clock  ?  if  sleep  charge 

nature, 
To  break  it  with  a  fearful  dream  of  him, 
And  cry  myself  awake  ?  that's  false  to  his  bed : 
Is  it? 

Pisanio. 

Alas,  good  lady ! 

Imogen. 
I  false  ?    Thy  conscience  witness.  —  Iachimo, 
Thou  didst  accuse  him  of  incontinency  ; 
Thou  then  look'dst  like  a  villain;  now,  me- 

thinks, 
Thy  favour's  good  enough.  —  Some  jay  of  Italy, 
Whose  mother  was  her  painting,  hath  betray'd 

him: 
Poor  I  am  stale,  a  garment  out  of  fashion  ; 
And,  for  I  am  richer  than  to  hang  by  the  walls, 
I  must  be  ripp'd  : — to  pieces  with  me !  —  O  ! 
Men's  vows  are  women's  traitors.    All  good 

seeming, 
By  thy  revolt,  O  husband !  shall  be  thought 
Put  on  for  villany  ;  not  bom  where't  grows, 
But  worn  a  bait  for  ladies. 
Pisanio. 

Good  madam,  hear  me. 
Imogen. 
True  honest  men  being  heard,  like  false  JEncas, 

Were! 


Act  in.  Sc.  rv 


CYMBKLINE. 


1073 


Were  lu  his  time  thought  false;  and  Simon's 

weeping 
Did  scandal  many  a  holy  tear  ;  took  pity 
From  most  true  wretchedness :  so  thou,  Pus- 

tnurnus. 
Wilt  lay  the  leaven  on  all  proper  men  1 
Goodly,  and  gallunt,  shall  be  false,  and  perjur'd, 
From  thy  great  fuiL  —  Come,  fellow,  be  thou 

honest : 
Do  thou  thy  master's  bidding.  When  thou  seest 
A  little  witness  my  obedience :  look  I         [him, 
I  draw  the  sword  myself:  take  it;  and  hit 
The  innocent  mansion  of  my  love,  my  heart. 
Fear  not ;  'tis  empty  of  all  things,  but  grief: 
Thy  master  is  not  there,  who  was,  indeed, 
The  >  iclies  of  it.    Do  his  bidding ;  strike. 
Thou  raay'st  be  valiant  in  a  better  cause, 
But  now  thou  seem'st  a  coward. 
Pisanio. 

Hence,  vile  instrument ! 
Thou  shalt  not  damn  my  hand. 
Imogen. 

Why,  I  must  die ; 
And  if  I  do  not  by  thy  hand,  thou  art 
No    servant   of  thy   master's.     Against    self- 
There  is  a  prohibition  so  divine,  [slaughter 
That  cravens  my  weak  hand.    Come,  here's  my 

heart: 
Something's  afore't :  —  Soft,  soft!  we'll  no  de- 
fence ; 

Obedient  as  the  scabbard What  is  here  ? 

The  scriptures  of  the  loyal  Leonatus, 
All  turn'd  to  heresy  ?    Away,  away, 
Corrupters  of  my  faith  I  you  shall  no  more 
Be  stomachers  to  my  heart.    Thus  may  poor 

fools 
Believe  false  teachers:  though  those  that  are 

betray'd 
Do  feel  the  treason  sharply,  yet  the  traitor 
Stands  in  worse  case  of  woe. 
And  thou,  PostAumus,  that  didst  set  up 
My  disobedience  'gainst  the  king  my  father, 
And  make  me  put  into  contempt  the  suits 
Of  princely  fellows,  shalt  hereafter  find 
It  is  no  act  of  common  passage,  but 
A  strain  of  rareness  :  and  I  grieve  myself, 
To  think,  when  thou  shalt  be  disedg'd  by  her 
That  now  thou  tir'st  on,  how  thy  memory 
Will  then  be  pang'dby  me — Pr'ythee,  despatch : 
The  lamb  entreats  the  butcher:  where's  thy 

knife  ? 
Thou  art  too  slow  to  do  thy  master's  bidding, 
When  I  desire  it  too. 

Pisanio. 

O  gracious  lady ! 
Since  I  receiv'd  command  to  do  this  business, 
I  have  not  slept  one  wink. 
Imogen. 

Do't,  and  to  bed,  then. 
Pisanio. 
I'll  wake  mine  eye-balls  blind  first. 
Imogen. 

Wherefore,  then, 
Didst  undertake  it  ?    Why  hast  thou  abus'd 
So  many  miles  with  a  pretence?  this  place  ? 
Mine  action,  and  thine  own  ?  our  horses' labour  ? 
The  time  inviting  thee  ?  the  perturb'd  court, 
For  my  being  absent ;  whereuuto  I  never 
Purpose  return  ?    Why  hast  thou  gone  so  far, 
To  be  unbent,  when  thou  hast  ta'en  thy  stand, 
Th'  elected  deer  before  thee  ? 
Pisanio. 

But  to  win  time, 
To  lose  so  had  employment ;  in  the  which 


I  have  consider'd  of  a  course.    Good  lady, 
Hear  me  with  patience. 

Imogen. 
Talk  thy  tongue  weary  ;  speak: 
1  have  heard  I  am  a  strumpet,  and  mine  ear, 
Therein  false  struck,  can  take  no  greater  wound, 
Nor  tent  to  bottom  that.    But  speak. 
Pisanio. 

Then,  madam, 
I  thought  you  would  not  back  again. 
Imogen. 

Most  like, 
Bringing  me  here  to  kill  me. 
Pisanio. 

Not  so,  neither: 
But  if  I  were  as  wise  as  honest,  then 
My  purpose  would  prove  well.    It  cannot  be, 
But  that  my  master  is  abus'd : 
Some  villain,  ay,  and  singular  in  his  art. 
Hath  done  you  both  this  cursed  injury. 
Imogen. 
Some  Roman  courtezan. 
Pisanio. 

No,  on  my  life. 
I'll  give  but  notice  you  are  dead,  and  send  him 
Some  bloody  sign  of  it ;  for  'tis  commanded 
I  should  do  so  :  you  shall  be  miss'd  at  court, 
And  that  will  well  confirm  it. 
Imogen. 

Why,  good  fellow, 
What  shall  I  do  the  while?  where  bide?  how 
Or  in  my  life  what  comfort,  when  I  am  [live  ? 
Dead  to  my  husband  ? 

Pisanio. 

If  you'll  back  to  the  court,— 
Imogen. 
No  court,  no  father ;  nor  no  more  ado 
With  that  harsh,  noble,  simple  nothing, 
That  Cloten,  whose  love-suit  hath  been  to  me 
As  fearful  as  a  siege. 

Pisanio. 

If  not  at  court, 
Then  not  in  Britain  must  you  bide. 
Imogen. 

Where  then? 
Hath  Britain  all  the  sun  that  shines?    Day, 

night, 
Are  they  not  but  in  Britain  t    V  the  world's 

volume 
Our  Britain  seems  as  of  it,  but  not  in  it ; 
In  a  great  pool,  a  swan's  nest :  pr'ythee,  think 
There's  livers  out  of  Britain. 
Pisanio. 

I  am  most  glad 
You  think  of  other  place.    Th'  embassador, 
Lucius  the  Roman,  comes  to  Mi/ford- Haven 
To-morrow  :  now,  if  you  could  wear  a  mind 
Dark  as  your  fortune  is,  and  but  disguise 
That,  which,  t*  appear  itself,  must  not  yet  be, 
But  by  self-danger,  you  should  tread  a  course 
Pretty,  and  full  of  view :  yea,  haply,  near 
The  residence  of  Posthumus  ;  so  nigh,  at  least, 
That  though  his  actions  were  not  visible,  yet 
Report  should  render  him  hourly  to  your  ear, 
As  truly  as  he  moves. 

Imogen. 

O,  for  such  means  I 
Though  peril  to  my  modesty,  not  death  on't, 
I  would  adventure. 

Pisanio 

Well  then,  here's  the  point. 
You  must  forget  to  be  a  woman  ;  change 

J  z  Command 


1074 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  hi.  Sc  iv. 


Command  into  obedience ;  fear,  and  niceness, 
(The  handmaids  of  all  women,  or  more  truly, 
Woman  its  pretty  self)  into  a  waggish  courage : 
Ready  in  gibes,  quick-answer'd,  saucy,  and 
As  quarrelous  as  the  weasel :  nay,  you  must 
Forget  that  rarest  treasure  of  your  cheek, 
Exposing  it  (but,  O,  the  harder  heart ! 
Alack,  no  remedy  !)  to  the  greedy  touch 
Of  common-kissing  Titan;  and  forget 
Your  laboursome  and  dainty  trims,  wherein 
You  made  great  Juno  angry. 

Imogen. 

Nay,  be  brief : 
I  see  into  thy  end,  and  am  almost 
A  man  already. 

Pisanio. 
First,  make  yourself  but  like  one. 
Forethinking  this,  I  have  already  fit 
('Tis  in  my  cloak-bag)  doublet,  hat,  hose,  all 
That   answer  to  them:   would  you,  in   their 

serving, 
And  with  what  imitation  you  can  borrow 
From  youth  of  such  a  season,  'fore  noble  Lucius 
Present  yourself,  desire  his  service,  tell  him 
Wherein  you  are  happy,  (which  you  will  make 

him  know, 
If  that  his  head  have  ear  in  music)  doubtless, 
With  joy  he  will  embrace  you ;  for  he's  honour- 
able, 
And,  doubling  that,  most  holy.    Your  means 

abroad, 
You  have  me,  rich ;  and  I  will  never  fail 
Beginning  nor  supplyment. 

Imogen. 

Thou  art  all  the  comfort 
The  gods  will  diet  me  with.    Pr'ythee,  away : 
There's  more  to  be  consider'd,  but  we'll  even 
All  that  good  time  will  give  us.    This  attempt 
I'm  soldier  to,  and  will  abide  it  with 
A  prince's  courage.    Away,  I  pr'ythee. 

Pisanio. 

Well,  madam,  we  must  take  a  short  farewell, 
Lest,  being  miss'd,  I  be  suspected  of 
Your  carriage  from  the  court.    My  noble  mis- 
Here  is  a  box ;  I  had  it  from  the  queen  :    [tress, 
What's  in't  is  precious;  if  you  are  sick  at  sea, 
Or  stomach-  qualm'd  at  land,  a  dram  of  this 

Will  drive  away  distemper To  some  shade, 

And  fit  you  to  your  manhood — May  the  gods 
Direct  you  to  the  best  1 

Imogen. 
Amen,    lthank  thee.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    A  Room  ia  Cymbeline'*  Palace. 

Enter  Cymbeline,  Queen,  Ctoten,  Lucius,  and 
Lords. 


Thus  far 


Cymbeline. 
and  so  farewell. 


Lucius. 

Thanks,  royal  sir. 
My  emperor  hath  wrote,  I  must  from  hence ; 
And  am  right  sorry  that  I  must  report  ye 
My  master's  enemy. 

Cymbeline. 

Our  subjects,  sir, 
Will  not  endure  his  yoke;  and  for  ourself 
To  show  less  sovereignty  than  they,  must  needs 
Appear  unkinglike. 

Lucius. 
So,  sir.    I  desire  of  you 
A  conduct  over  land  to  Milford- Haven. — 
.Madam,  all  joy  befall  your  grace,  and  you ! 


Cymbeline. 
My  lords,  you  are  appointed  for  that  office ; 
The  due  of  honour  in  no  point  omit. 
So,  farewell,  noble  Lucius. 
Lucius. 

Your  hand,  my  lord. 
Cloten. 
Receive  it  friendly ;  but  from  this  time  forth 
I  wear  it  as  your  enemy. 

Lucius. 

Sir,  the  event 
Is  yet  to  name  the  winner.     Fare  you  well. 
Cymbeline. 
Leave  not  the  worthy  Lucius,  good  my  lords, 
Till  he  have  cross'd  the  Severn.—  Happiness  ! 
[Exeunt  Lucius  and  Lords. 
Queen. 
He  goes  hence  frowning ;  but  it  honours  us, 
That  we  have  given  him  cause. 
Cloten. 

'Tis  all  the  better : 
Your  valiant  Britons  have  their  wishes  in  it. 
Cymbeline. 
Lucius  hath  wrote  already  to  the  emperor 
How  it  goes  here.     It  fits  us,  therefore,  ripely. 
Our  chariots  and  our  horsemen  be  in  readiness: 
The  powers  that  he  already  hath  in  Gallia 
Will  soon  be  drawn  to  head,  from  whence  he 
His  war  for  Britain.  [moves 

Queen. 
'Tis  not  sleepy  business, 
But  must  be  look'd  to  speedily,  and  strongly. 
Cymbeline. 
Our  expectation  that  it  would  be  thus 
Hath  made  us  forward.    But,  my  gentle  queen. 
Where  is  our  daughter  ?    She  hath  not  appear'd 
Before  the  Roman,  nor  to  us  hath  tender 'd 
The  duty  of  the  day.    She  looks  us  like 
A  thing  more  made  of  malice,  than  of  duty  : 
We  have  noted  it —  Call  her  before  us,  for 
We  have  been  too  slight  in  sufferance. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
Queen. 

Royal  sir, 
Since  the  exile  of  Pos/humus,  most  retir'd 
Hath  her  life  been ;  the  cure  whereof,  my  lord, 
'Tis  time  must  do.    Beseech  your  majesty, 
Forbear  sharp  speeches  to  her :  she's  a  lady 
So  tender  of  rebukes,  that  words  are  strokes, 
And  strokes  death  to  her. 

Re-enter  an  Attendant. 
Cymbeline. 

Where  is  she,  sir  ?    How 
Can  her  contempt  be  answer'd  ? 

Attendant. 

Please  you,  sir, 
Her  chambers  are  all  lock'd;  and  there's  no 

answer 
That  will  be  given  to  the  loud  noise  we  make. 
Queen. 
My  lord,  when  last  I  went  to  visit  her, 
She  pray'd  me  to  excuse  her  keeping  close ; 
Whereto  constrain'd  by  her  infirmity, 
She  should  that  duty  leave  unpaid  to  you, 
Which  daily  she  was  bound  to  proffer :  this 
She  wish'd  me  to  make  known,  but  our  great 
Made  me  to  blame  in  memory.  [court 

Cymbeline. 

Her  doors  lock'd  ? 
Not  seen  of  late  ?  Grant,  heavens,  that  which  I 
Fear  prove  false  I  [Exit. 

Queen. 


Act  hi.  Sc.  v. 


CYM13ELINE. 


1075 


Quetn. 

Son,  I  say,  follow  the  king. 

CM 
Tljat  man  of  hen,  Pisanio,  her  old  servant, 
I  have  not  seen  these  two  days. 

Queen. 
Go,  look  after.-     ^'^  Ctoten. 
Pisanio,  thou  that  stand'st  so  for  Posthumus, 
H<>  hath  a  drug  of  mine  :  I  pray,  his  absence 
Proceed  by  swallowing  that,  for  he  believes 
It  is  a  thing  most  precious.    But  for  her, 
Where  is  she  gone?    Haply,  despair  hath  seii'd 

her; 
Or,  wing'd  with  fervour  of  her  love,  she's  flown 
To  her  desir'd  Posthumus.    Gone  she  is 
To  death,  or  to  dishonour;  and  my  end 
Can  make  good  use  of  either :  she  being  down, 
I  have  the  placing  of  the  British  crown. 

llo-enter  Cloten. 
How  now,  my  son  1 

Cloten. 

*Tis  certain,  she  is  fled. 
Go  in,  and  cheer  the  king :  he  rages  ;  none 
Dare  come  about  him. 

Queen. 

All  the  better :  may 
This  night  forestal  him  of  the  coming  day ! 

Cloten. 
I  love,  and  hate  her,  for  she's  fair  and  royal  ; 
And  that  she  hath  all  courtly  parts,  more  ex- 
quisite 
Than  lady,  ladies,  woman  :  from  every  one 
The  best  she  hath,  and  she,  of  all  compounded, 
Outsells  them  all.     I  love  her  therefore  ;  but, 
Disdaining  me,  and  throwing  favours  on 
The  low  Posthumus,  slanders  so  her  judgment, 
That  what's  else  rare  is  chok'd ;  and  in  that 

point 
I  will  conclude  to  hate  her ;  nay,  indeed, 
To  be  reveng'd  upon  her :  for,  when  fools  shall— 

Enter  Pisanio. 

Who  is  here  ?    What !  are  you  packing,  sirrah  ? 
Come  hither.    Ah,  you  precious  pandar  !     Vil- 
Where  is  thy  lady  ?    In  a  word,  or  else      [lain, 
Thou  art  straightway  with  the  fiends. 
Pisanio. 

O,  good  my  lord  ! 
Cloten. 
Where  is  thy  lady  ?  or,  by  Jupiter— 
1  will  not  ask  again.    Close  villain, 
I'll  have  this  secret  from  thy  heart,  or  rip 
Thy  heart  to  find  it.     Is  she  with  Posthumus  f 
From  whose  so  many  weights  of  baseness  can- 
A  dram  of  worth  be  drawn.  [not 

Pisanio. 

Alas,  my  lord  I 
How  can  she  be  with  him?    When  was  she 
He  is  in  Rome.  [miss'd  ? 

Cloten. 
Where  is  she,  sir  ?    Come  nearer  ; 
No  farther  halting :  satisfy  me  home, 
What  is  become  of  her  ? 

Pisanio. 
O,  my  all-worthy  lord  ! 

Cloten. 

All-worthy  villain  I 
Discover  where  thy  mistress  is,  at  once. 
At  the  next  word,  —  No  more  of  worthy  lord,— 
Speak,  or  thy  silence  on  the  instant  is 
Thy  condemnatiqn  and  thy  death. 


Pisanio. 

Then,  sir, 
This  paper  Is  the  history  of  my  knowledge 
Touching  her  flight.  |Tfe*c«»tTng  Abetter. 

Cloten. 
loot's  see't. — 1  will  pursue  her 
Even  to  Augustus'  throne. 

Pisanio.  [Aside. 

Or  this,  or  perish. 
She's  far  enough  ;  and  what  he  learns  by  this, 
May  prove  his  travel,  not  her  danger. 
CI, .ten. 

Pisanio. 
I'll  write  to  my  lord  she's  dead.     O  Imogen, 
Safe  may'st  thou  wander,  safe  return  again  I 
Cloten. 
Sirrah,  is  this  letter  true  ? 
Pisanio. 
Sir,  as  I  think. 

Cloten. 
It  is  Posthumus'  hand  ;  I  know't.  — Sirrah,  if 
thou  would'st  not  be  a  villain,  but  do  me  true 
service,  undergo  those  employments,  wherein  I 
should  have  cause  to  use  thee,  with  a  serious 
industry,— that  is,  what  villainy  so'er  I  bid  thee 
do,  to  perform  it  directly  and  truly, — I  would 
think  thee  an  honest  man  :  thou  shouldest  nei- 
ther want  my  means  for  thy  relief,  nor  my  voice 
for  thy  preferment. 

Pisanio. 
Well,  my  good  lord. 

Cloten. 

Wilt  thou  serve  me  ?    For  since  patiently  and 

constantly  thou  hast  stuck  to  the  bare  fortune 

of  that  beggar  Posthumus,  thou  canst  not  in  the 

course  of  gratitude  but  be  a  diligent  follower  of 

mine.    Wilt  thou  serve  me  ? 

Pisanio. 

Sir,  I  will. 

Cloten. 
Give  me  thy  hand;  here's  my  purse.     Hast 
any  of  thy  late  master's  garments  in  thy  pos- 
session ? 

Pisanio. 
I  have,  my  lord,  at  my  lodging,  the  same  suit 
he  wore  when  he  took  leave  of  my  lady  and  mis- 
tress. 

Cloten. 

The  first  service  thou  dost  me,  fetch  that  suit 

hither :  let  it  be  thy  first  service ;  go. 

Pisanio. 

I  shall,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Cloten. 

Meet  thee  at  Milford-Haven I  forgot  to  ask 

him  one  thing;  I  11  remember't  anon.  —  Even 

there  thou  villain,  Posthumus,  will  I  kill  thee 

I  would,  these  garments  were  come.  She  said 
upon  a  time  (the  bitterness  of  it  I  now  belch 
from  my  heart)  that  she  held  the  very  garment 
of  Posthumus  in  more  respect  than  "my  noble 
and  natural  person,  together  with  the  adorn- 
ment of  my  qualities.  With  that  suit  upon  my 
back,  will  I  ravish  her:  first  kill  him,  and  in  her 
eyes  ;  there  shall  she  see  my  valour,  which  will 
then  be  a  torment  to  her  contempt.     He  on  the 

S round,  my  speech  of  insultment  ended  on  his 
ead  body,  —  and  when  my  lust  hath  dined, 
(which,  as  I  say,  to  vex  her,  I  will  execute  in 
the  clothes  that  she  so  praised)  to  the  court  I'll 
knock  her  back,  foot  her  home  again.  She  hath 
despised  me  rejoicingly,  and  I'll  be  merry  in  my 
revenge. 

Re-enter 


io?6 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  hi.  Sr.  v. 


Re-enter  Pisanio,  with  the  Clothes. 
Be  those  the  garments  ? 

Pisanio. 
Ay,  my  noble  lord. 

Cloten. 
How  long  is't  since  she  went   to  Milford- 
Haven? 

Pisanio. 
She  can  scarce  be  there  yet. 

Cloten. 
Bring  this  apparel  to  my  chamber;  that  is  the 
second  thing  that  I  have  commanded  thee :  the 
third  is,  that  thou  wilt  be  a  voluntary  mute  to 
my  design.  Be  but  duteous,  and  true  prefer- 
ment shall  tender  itself  to  thee.— My  revenge 
is  now  at  Milford  :  would  I  had  wings  to  follow 
it.  —  Come,  and  be  true.  [Exit. 

Pisanio. 
Thou  bidd'st  me  to  my  loss :  for,  true  to  thee, 
Were  to  prove  false,  which  I  will  never  be, 
To  him  that  is  most  true. — To  Mitford  go, 
And  find  not  her  whom  thou  pursuest.    Flow, 

flow, 
You  heavenly  blessings,  on  her !    This  fool's 

speed 
Be  cross'd  with  slowness :  labour  be  his  meed  ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  VI.    Before  the  Cave  of  Belarius. 

Enter  Imogen,  in  Boy's  Clothes. 

Imogen. 
I  see,  a  man's  life  is  a  tedious  one : 
I  have  tir'd  myself,  and  for  two  nights  together 
Have  made  the  ground  my  bed:  I  should  be 

sick, 
But  that  my  resolution  helps  me.— Milford, 
When  from  the  mountain-top  Pisanio  show'd 

thee, 
Thou  wast  within  a  ken.    O  Jove  I  I  think, 
Foundations  fly  the  wretched  ;  such,  I  mean, 
Where  they  should  be  reliev'd.    Two  beggars 

told  me, 
I  could  not  miss  my  way :  will  poor  folks  lie, 
That  have  afflictions  on  them,  knowing  'tis 
A  punishment,  or  trial  ?    Yes ;  no  wonder, 
When  rich  ones  scarce  tell  true:  to  lapse  in 

fulness 
Is  sorer,  than  to  lie  for  need ;  and  falsehood 
Is  worse  in  kings,  than  beggars. — My  dear  lord  ! 
Thou  art  one  o'  the  false  ones  :  now  I  think  on 

thee, 
My  hunger's  gone ;  but  even  before,  I  was 
At  point  to  sink  for  food.  —  But  what  is  this  ? 
Here  is  a  path  to  it :  'tis  some  savage  hold : 
1  were  best  not  call ;  I  dare  not  call ;  yet  famine, 
Ere  clean  it  o'erthrow  nature,  makes  it  valiant. 
Plenty,  and  peace,  breeds  cowards ;  hardness 

ever 
Of  hardiness  is  mother. — Ho!  Who's  here? 
If  any  thing  that's  civil,  speak  ;  if  savage, 
Take,  or  lend Ho!— No  answer?  then,  I'll 

enter. 
Best  draw  my  sword  ;  and  if  mine  enemy 
But  fear  the  sword  like  me,  he'll  scarcely  look 
Such  a  foe,  good  heavens !  [on't. 

[She  enters  the  Cave. 

Enter  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragut. 
Belariu*. 
You,  Polydore,  have  prov'd  best  woodman,  and 
Are  master  of  the  feast :  Cadwul,  and  I, 
Will  play  the  cook  and  servant ;  'tis  our  match : 
The  sweat  of  industry  would  dry,  and  die, 
But  for  the  end  it  works  to.  Come ;  our  stomachs 
Will  make  what's  homely,  savoury :  weariness 


Can  snore  upon  the  flint,  when  resty  sloth 

Finds  the  down  pillow  hard Now,  peace  be 

Poor  house,  that  keep'st  thyself !  [here, 

Guiderius. 

I  am  thoroughly  weary. 
Arviragus. 
I  am  weak  with  toil,  yet  strong  in  appetite. 

Guiderius. 

There  is  cold  meat  i'  the  cave :  we'll  browze 

Whilst  what  we  have  kill'd  be  cook'd.  [on  that, 

Belarius. 

Stay  :  come  not  in. 


[Looking  in. 
I  should  think 


But  that  it  eats  our  victuals 
Here  were  a  fairy. 

Guiderius. 
What's  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Belarius. 
By  Jupiter,  an  angel !  or,  if  not, 
An  earthly  paragon  !  —  Behold  divineness 
No  elder  than  a  boy  ! 

Enter  Imogen. 
Imogen. 
Good  masters,  harm  me  not : 
Before  I  enter'd  here,  I  call'd  ;  and  thought 
To  have  begg'd,  or  bought,  what  I  have  took. 

Good  troth, 
I  have  stolen  nought ;  nor  would  not,  though  I 

had  found 
Gold  strew'd  i'  the  floor.     Here's  money  for  my 
I  would  have  left  it  on  the  board,  so  soon  [meat : 
As  I  had  made  my  meal,  and  parted 
With  prayers  for  the  provider. 

Guiderius. 

Money,  youth  ? 
Arviragus. 
All  gold  and  silver  rather  turn  to  dirt  ! 
As  'tis  no  better  reckon'd,  but  of  those 
Who  worship  dirty  gods. 

Imogen. 

I  see,  you  are  angry. 
Know,  if  you  kill  me  for  my  fault,  I  should 
Have  died,  had  I  not  made  it. 
Belarius. 

Whither  bound  ? 
Imogen.  • 

To  Mi/ford- Haven. 

Belarius. 
What's  your  name  ? 

Imogen. 
Fidele,  sir.    I  have  a  kinsman,  who 
Is  bound  for  Italy :  he  embark'd  at  Milford  ; 
To  whom  being  going,  almost  spent  with  hunger, 
I  am  fallen  in  this  offence. 

Belarius. 

Pr'ythee,  fair  youth, 
Think  us  no  churls,  nor  measure  our  good  minds 
By  this  rude  place  we  live  in.  Well  encounter'd. 
'Tis  almost  night :  you  shall  have  better  cheer 
Ere  you  depart ;  ana  thanks,  to  stay  and  eat  it.  — 
Boys,  bid  him  welcome. 

Guiderius. 
Were  you  a  woman,  youth, 
I  should  woo  hard,  but  be  your  groom — In 
I  bid  for  you,  as  I  do  buy.  [honesty, 

Arviragus . 

I'll  make't  my  comfort, 
He  is  a  man :  I'll  love  him  as  my  brother ; 
And  such  a  welcome  as  I'd  give  to  him, 
After  long  absence,  such  is  yours.— Most  wel- 
Be  sprightly,  for  you  fall  'niongst  friends,  [come. 

Imogen. 


ccarsariBE  a.  e  xs  be  . 


An  iv.    Sc<  n. 


CYMBEL1NE 


1077 


Imogen. 

'Mongst  friends  ! 
If  brothers?— [Aside]  Would  It  had  been  so. 

tli.it  they 
Had  born  my  father's  sons  :  then,  had  my  prise 
Been  le«* :  and  so  more  equal  ballasting 
To  thee,  Posthumus. 

1  ius. 
He  wrings  at  some  distress. 

Ouiderius. 
Would  I  could  free't ! 

Arviragus. 

Or  I ;  whate'er  It  be, 
What  pain  it  cost,  what  danger.    Gods  ! 

Bclarius. 

Hark,  boys.  [Whispering. 
Imogen. 
Great  men, 
That  had  a  court  no  bigger  than  this  cave, 
That  did  attend  themselves,  and  had  the  virtue 
Which  their  own  conscience  seal'd  them,  (laying 
That  nothing  gift  of  differing  multitudes)      [by 
Could  not  out-peer  these  twain.     Pardon  me, 

gods  ! 
I'd  change  my  sex  to  be  companion  with  them, 
Since  Leonatus  false. 

Belarius. 

It  shall  be  so.   [come  in  : 
Boys,  we'll  go  dress  our  hunt.  —  Fair  youth, 
Discourse  is  heavy,  fasting ;  when  we  have  s  upp'd, 
We'll  mannerly  demand  thee  of  thy  story, 
So  far  as  thou  wilt  speak  it. 
Guiderius. 

Pray,  draw  near. 
Arviragus. 
The  night  to  the  owl,  and  morn  to  the  lark, 
less  welcome. 


Thanks,  sir. 


Imogen. 

Arviragus. 
I  pray,  draw  near. 


[Exeunt. 


SCENE  VII.    Rome. 


Enter  Two  Senators  and  Tribunes. 
First  Senator. 
This  is  the  tenour  of  the  emperor's  writ : 
That  since  the  common  men  are  now  in  action 
'Gainst  the  Pannonians  and  Dalmatians ; 
And  that  the  legions  now  in  Gallia  are 
Full  weak  to  undertake  our  wars  against 
The  fallen-off  Britons,  that  we  do  incite 
The  gentry  to  this  business.    He  creates 
Lucius  pro-consul ;  and  to  you,  the  tribunes, 
For  this  immediate  levy  he  commands 
Nis  absolute  commission.    Long  live  Catsar! 
Tribunes. 
Is  Lucius  general  of  the  forces  ? 
Second  Senator. 

Ay. 
Tribunes. 
Remaining  now  in  Gallia  f 
First  Senator. 

With  those  legions 
Which  I  have  spoke  of,  whereunto  your  levy 
Must  be  suppliant :  the  words  of  your  commission 
Will  tie  you  to  the  numbers,  and  the  time 
Of  their  despatch. 

Ttibunes. 

We  will  discharge  our  duty. 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I.    The  Forest,  near  the  Cave. 

Enter  Cloten. 

Cloten. 

I  AM  near  to  the  place  where  they  should  meet, 
if  Pisanio  have  mapped  it  truly.  How  fit  his 
garments  serve  me!  Why  should  his  mistress, 
who  was  made  by  him  that  made  the  tailor,  not 
be  fit  too?  the  rather  (saving  reverence  of  the 
word)  for  'tis  said,  a  woman's  fitness  comes  by 
fits.  Therein  I  must  play  the  workman.  I  dare 
speak  it  to  myself,  (for  it  is  not  vain-glory,  for  a 
man  and  his  glass  to  confer  in  his  own  chamber) 
I  mean,  the  lines  of  my  body  arc  as  well-drawn 
as  his;  no  less  young,  more  strong,  not  beneath 
him  in  fortunes,  beyond  him  in  the  advantage  of 
the  time,  above  him  in  birth,  alike  conversant 
ia  general  services,  and  more  remarkable  in 
single  oppositions:  yet  this  imperseverant  thing 
loves  him  in  my  despite.  What  mortality  is  I 
Posthumus,  thv  head,  which  now  is  growing 
upon  thy  shoulders,  shall  within  this  hour  be 
off,  thy  mistress  enforced,  thy  garments  cut  to 
pieces  before  thy  face;  and  all  this  done,  spurn 
her  home  to  her  father,  who  may,  haply,  be  a 
littleangry  for  my  so  rough  usage,  but  my  mother, 
having  power  of  his  testiness,  shall  turn  all  into 
my  commendations.  My  horse  is  tied  up  safe : 
out,  sword,  and  to  a  sore  purpose!  Fortune, 
put  them  into  my  hand  1  This  is  the  very  de- 
scription of  their  meeting-place,  and  the  fellow 
dares  not  deceive  me.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.    Before  the  Cave. 

Enter,  from  the  Cave,  Belarius,  Guiderius, 

Arviragus,  and  Imogen. 

Belarius. 

You  arc  not  well :  [To  Imogen]  remain  here 

in  the  cave ; 

We'll  come  to  you  after  hunting. 

Arviragus. 

Brother,  stay  here: 
[To  Imogen. 
Are  we  not  brothers  ? 

Imogen. 

So  man  and  man  should  be ; 
But  clay  and  clay  differs  in  dignity, 
Whose  dust  is  both  alike.     I  am  very  sick. 
Guiderius. 
Go  you  to  hunting ;  I'll  abide  with  him. 

Imogen. 

So  sick  I  am  not,— yet  I  am  not  well ; 

But  not  so  citizen  a  wanton,  as  [me; 

To  seem  to  die,  ere  sick.    So  please  you,  leave 

Stick  to  your  journal  course :    the  breach  of 

custom 
Is  breach  of  all.     I  am  ill  ;  but  your  being  by 
Cannot  amend  me :  society  is  no  comfort      [me 
To  one  not  sociable.     I  am  not  very  sick, 
Since  I  can  reason  of  it :   pray  you,  trust  me 

here; 
I'll  rob  none  but  myself,  and  let  me  die, 
Stealing  so  poorly. 

Guiderius. 

I  love  thee ;  I  have  spoke  it : 
How  much  the  quantity,  the  weight  as  much, 
As  I  do  love  my  father. 

Belarius. 


1078 


CY1UBELINE. 


Act  iv.  5c.  11. 


Belarius. 

What !  how  ?  how  ? 

Arviragus. 
If  it  be  sin  to  say  so,  sir,  I  yoke  me 
In  my  good  brother's  fault :  I  know  not  why 
I  love  this  youth  ;  and  I  have  heard  you  say, 
Love's  reason's  without  reason :  the  bier  at  door, 
And  a  demand  who  is't  shall  die,  I'd  say, 
My  father,  not  this  youth. 

Belarius.  [Aside. 

O  noble  strain  1 

0  worthiness  of  nature  *  breed  of  greatness  ! 
Cowards  father  cowards,  and  base  things  sire 

base: 

Nature  hath  meal,  and  branj    contempt  and 
grace. 

1  am  not  their  father  ;  yet  who  this  should  be, 
Doth  miracle  itself,  lov'd  before  me. — 

'Tis  the  ninth  hour  o'  the  morn. 
Arviragus. 

Brother,  farewell. 
Imogen. 
I  wish  ye  sport. 

Arviragus. 
You  health.— So  please  you,  sir. 

Imogen.  [Aside. 

These  are  kind  creatures.    Gods,  what  lies  I 
have  heard  ! 
Our  courtiers  say,  all's  savage  but  at  court : 
Experience,  O  1  thou  disprov'st  report. 
Th  Imperious  seas  breed  monsters  ;  for  the  dish, 
Poor  tributary  rivers  as  sweet  fish. 
I  am  sick  still ;  heart-sick — Pisanio, 
I'll  now  taste  of  thy  drug. 

Gulderius. 

I  could  not  stir  him : 
He  said,  he  was  gentle,  but  unfortunate  ; 
Dishonestly  af&icted,  but  yet  honest. 

Arviragus. 
Thus  did  he  answer  me ;  yet  said,  hereafter 
I  might  know  more. 

Belarius. 

To  the  field,  to  the  field  !  — 
We'll  leave  you  for  this  time ;  go  in,  and  rest. 
Arviragus. 
We'll  not  be  long  away. 

Belarius. 

Pray,  be  not  sick, 
For  you  must  be  our  housewife. 

Imogen. 

Well,  or  ill, 
I  am  bound  to  you. 

Belarius. 

And  shalt  be  ever.  [Exit  Imogen. 

This  youth,  howe'er  distress'd,  appears  he  hath 

Good  ancestors.  [had 

Arviragus. 

How  angel-like  he  sings. 

Guiderius. 
But  his  neat  cookery:  he  cut  our  roots  in 
characters  ; 
And  saue'd  our  broths,  as  Juno  had  been  sick, 
And  he  her  dieter. 

Arviragus. 
Nobly  he  yokes 
A  smiling  with  a  sigh,  as  if  the  sigh 
Was  that  it  was,  for  not  being  such  a  smile ; 
The  smile  mocking  the  sigh,  that  it  would  fly 
From  so  divine  a  temple,  to  commix 
With  winds  that  sailors  rail  at. 
Guiderius. 

I  do  note, 


That  grief  and  patience,  rooted  in  him  both, 
Mingle  their  spurs  together. 

Arviragus. 

Grow,  patience ! 
And  let  the  stinking  elder,  grief,  untwine 
His  perishing  root  with  the  increasing  vine  ! 

Belarius. 
It  is  great  morning.    Come  :  away  !  —Who's 
there  ? 

Enter  Cloten. 

Cloten. 
I  cannot  find  those  runagates :  that  villain 
Hath  mock'd  me.— I  am  faint. 

Belarius. 

Those  runagates ! 
Means  he  not  us  ?  I  partly  know  him  ;  'tis 
Cloten,  the  son  o'  the  queen.  I  fear  some  am- 
I  saw  him  not  these  many  years,  and  yet  [bush. 
I  know  'tis  he. — We  are  held  as  outlaws:  — 
hence. 

Guiderius. 
He  is  but  one.    You  and  my  brother  search 
What  companies  are  near :  pray  you,  away ; 
Let  me  alone  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Belarius  and  Arviragus. 

Cloten. 

Soft !  What  are  you 
That  fly  me  thus  ?  some  villain  mountaineers? 
I  have  heard  of  such. — What  slave  art  thou  ? 

Guiderius. 

A  thing 
More  slavish  did  I  ne'er,  than  answering 
A  slave  without  a  knock. 

Cloten. 

Thou  art  a  robber, 
A  law-breaker,  a  villain.    Yield  thee,  thief. 
Guiderius. 
To  whom  ?  to  thee  ?  What  art  thou  ?    Have 
not  I 
An  arm  as  big  as  thine  ?  a  heart  as  big  ? 
Thy  words,  I  grant,  are  bigger  ;  for  I  wear  not 
My  dagger  in  my  mouth.     Say,  what  thou  art, 
Why  I  should  yield  to  thee  ? 
Cloten. 

Thou  villain  base, 
Know'st  me  not  by  my  clothes  ? 
Guiderius. 

No,  nor  thy  tailor,  rascal, 
Who  is  thy  grandfather  :  he  made  those  clothes, 
Which,  as  it  seems,  make  thee. 
Cloten. 

Thou  precious  varlet, 
My  tailor  made  them  not. 

Guiderius. 

Hence  then,  and  thank 
The  man  that  gave  them  thee.  Thou  art  some 
I  am  loath  to  beat  thee.  [fool ; 

Cloten. 

Thou  injurious  thief, 
Hear  but  my  name,  and  tremble. 
Guiderius. 

What's  thy  name  ? 
Cloten. 
Cloten,  thou  villain. 

Guiderius. 

Cloten,  thou  double  villain,  be  thy  name, 

I  cannot  tremble  at  it:  were  it  toad,  or  adder, 

'Twould  move  me  sooner.  [spider, 

Cloten. 

To  thy  farther  fear, 
Nay, 


Act  iv.  5c.  n. 


I'YMKKLINK. 


'Q79 


Nay,  to  thy  more  confusion,  thou  shalt  know 
I'm  »on  to  the  quoin. 

Gui<!< 

I  tun  sorry  for't,  not  teeming 
So  worthy  as  thy  birth. 
Clo; 

Art  not  afeard  ? 
Guiderius. 
Those  that  I  reverence,  those  I  fear,  the  wise: 
At  fools  I  laugh,  not  fear  them. 
Cloten. 

Die  the  death. 
When  I  hate  slain  thee  with  my  proper  hand, 
I'll  follow  those  that  even  now  fled  hence, 
And  on  the  gates  of  Lud's  town  set  your  heads- 
Yield,  rustic,  mountaineer.      [Exeifnt,  lighting. 

Enter  Belartut  and  Arviragus. 
Belarius. 
No  company's  abroad. 

Arvlragus. 
None  in  the  world.    You  did  mistake  him, 
sure.  fa  ,     . 

Belarius. 
I  cannot  tell :  long  is  it  since  I  saw  him, 
But  time  hath  nothing  blurr'd  those  lines  of 

favour 
Which  then  he  wore :  the  snatches  in  his  voice, 
And  burst  of  speaking,  were  as  his.     I  am  ab- 
'Twas  very  Cloten.  [solute 

Arvlragus. 
In  this  place  we  left  them : 
I  wish  my  brother  make  good  time  with  him, 
You  say  he  is  so  fell. 

Belarius. 

Being  scarce  made  up, 
I  mean,  to  man,  he  had  not  apprehension 
Of  roaring  terrors  ;  for  th'  effect  of  judgment 
Is  oft  the  cause  of  fear.    But  see,  thy  brother. 

Re-enter  Guiden'us,  with  Cloteii's  Head. 
Guiderius. 
This  Cloten  was  a  fool,  an  empty  purse, 
There  was  no  money  in't.    Not  Hercules 
Could  have  knock 'd  out  his  brains,  for  he  had 

none  ; 
Yet  I  not  doing  this,  the  fool  had  borne 
My  head,  as  I  do  his. 

Belarius. 

What  hast  thou  done  ? 
Guiderius. 
I  am  perfect  what:  cut  off  one  Cloten' s  head, 
Son  to  the  queen,  after  his  own  report ; 
Who  call'd  me  traitor,  mountaineer  ;  and  swore, 
With  his  own  single  hand  he'd  take  us  in, 
Displace  our  heads,  where  (thank  the  gods!) 
And  set  them  on  Lud's  town.  [they  grow, 

Belarius. 

We  are  all  undone. 
Guiderius. 
Why,  worthy  father,  what  have  we  to  lose, 
But  that  he  swore  to  take,  our  lives  ?    The  law 
Protects  not  us ;  then,  why  should  we  be  tender, 
To  let  an  arrogant  piece  of  flesh  threat  us  ; 
Play  judge,  and  executioner,  all  himself, 
For  we  do  fear  the  law  ?    What  company 
Discover  you  abroad  ? 

Belarius. 

No  single  soul 
Can  we  set  eye  on,  but  in  all  safe  reason 
He  must  have  some  attendants.    Though  his 
humour 


Was  nothing  but  mutation  ;  ay,  and  that 
From  one  bad  thing  to  worse  ;  not  frenzy,  not 
Absolute  madness,  could  so  far  have  rav  d, 
i  To  bring  him  here  alone.    Although,  perhaps, 
It  may  be  heard  at  court,  that  such  as  we 
Cave  here,  hunt  here,  are  outlaws,  and  in  time 
May  make  some  stronger  head ;  the  which  he 
hearing, 


(As  it  is  like  him)  might  break  out,  and  swear 
He'd  fetch  us  in,  vet  ls't  not  probable 
To  come  alone,  either  he  so  undertaking. 


Or  they  so  suffering:  then,  on  good  ground  we 
If  we  do  fear  this  body  hath  a  tail  [fear, 

More  perilous  than  the  head. 
Arvlragus. 

Let  ordinance 
Come  as  the  gods  foresay  it :  howsoe'er, 
My  brother  hath  done  well. 
Belarius. 

I  had  no  mind 
To  hunt  this  day :  the  boy  Fidele's  sickness 
Did  make  my  way  long  forth. 
Guiderius. 

With  his  own  sword, 
Which  he  did  wave  against  my  throat,  I  have 

ta'en 
His  head  from  him  :  I'll  throw't  into  the  creek 
Behind  our  rock  ;  and  let  it  to  the  sea, 
And  tell  the  fishes,  he's  the  queen  son,  Cloten ; 
That's  all  I  reck.  [Exit 

Belarius. 

I  fear,  'twill  be  reveng'd. 
Would,  Polydore,  thou  had'st  not  done't,  though 
Becomes  thee  well  enough.  [valour 

Arviragus. 

Would  I  had  done't, 
So  the  revenge  alone  pursued  me. — Polydore, 
1  love  thee  brotherly,  but  envy  much, 
Thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  this  deed :  I  would  re- 
venges, 
That  possible  strength  might  meet,  would  seek 
And  put  us  to  our  answer.  [us  through, 

Belarius. 

Well,  'tis  done. 
We'll  hunt  no  more  to-day,  nor  seek  for  danger 
Where  there's  no  profit.    I  pr'ythee,  to  our 
You  and  Fidele  play  the  cooks  ;  I'll  stay  [rock : 
Till  hasty  Polydore  return,  and  bring  him 
To  dinner  presently. 

Arviragus. 

Poor  sick  Fidel*. ' 
I'll  willingly  to  him  :  to  gain  his  colour, 
I'd  let  a  parish  of  such  Clotens  blood, 
And  praise  myself  for  charity.  [Exit. 

Belarius. 

O  thou  goddess. 
Thou  divine  Nature,  how  thyself  thou  blazon's*. 
In  these  two  princely  boys  1    They  are  as  gentle 
As  zephyrs,  blowing  below  the  violet. 
Not  wagging  his  sweet  head ;  and  yet  as  rough, 
Their  royal  blood  enchaf'd,  as  the  rud'st  wind, 
That  by  the  top  doth  take  the  mountain  pine. 
And  make  him  stoop  to  the  vale.    'Tis  wonder 
That  an  invisible  instinct  should  frame  them 
To  royalty  unlearn'd,  honour  untaught, 
Civility  not  seen  from  other,  valour 
That  wildly  grows  in  them,  but  yields  a  crop 
As  if  it  had  been  sow'd  1    Yet  still  it's  strange, 
What  Cloten's  being  here  to  us  portends, 
Or  what  his  death  will  bring  us. 

He- enter  Guiderius. 
Guiderius. 

Where's  my  brother  ? 
,  I  have  sent  Cloten's  clotpoll  down  the  stream. 
I  In 


io8o 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n 


In  embassy  to  his  mother:  his  body's  hostage 
For  his  return.  [Solemn  music. 

Belarius. 
My  ingenious  instrument ! 
Hark,  Polydore,  it  sounds;  but  what  occasion 
Hath  Cadwat  now  to  give  it  motion  ?    Hark  1 

Guiderius. 
Is  he  at  home? 

Belarius. " 

He  went  hence  even  now. 
Guiderius. 
What  does  he  mean  ?  since  death  of  my  dear'st 
mother 
It  did  not  speak  before.    All  solemn  things 
Should  answer  solemn  accidents.    The  matter  ? 
Triumphs  for  nothing,  and  lamenting  toys, 
Is  jollity  for  apes,  and  grief  for  boys. 
Is  Cadwal  mad  ? 

Re-enter  Arviragus,  bearing  Imogen,  as  dead, 
in  his  Anns. 
Belarius. 
Look !  here  he  comes, 
And  brings  the  dire  occasion  in  his  arms, 
Of  what  we  blame  him  for. 

Arviragus. 

The  bird  is  dead, 
That  we  have  made  so  much  on.  I  had  rather 
Have  skipp'd  from  sixteen  years  of  age  to  sixty 
To  have  turn'd  my  leaping 'time  into  a  crutch, 
Than  have  seen  this. 

Guiderius. 

O  sweetest,  fairest  lily  ! 
My  brother  wears  thee  not  the  one  half  so  well, 
As  when  thou  grew'st  thyself. 

Belarius. 

O,  melancholy ! 
Who  ever  yet  could  sound  thy  bottom?  find 
The  ooze,  to  show  what  coast  thy  sluggish  crare 
Might   easiliest   harbour   in?  — Thou  blessed 

thing  1 
Jove  knows  what  man  thou  might'st  have  made ; 

but  I, 
Thou  diedst  a  most  rare  boy,  of  melancholy.— 
How  found  you  him? 

Arviragus. 

Stark,  as  you  see : 

Thus  smiling,  as  some  fly  had  tickled  slumber, 

Not  as  death's  dart,  being  laugh'd  at ;  his  right 

Reposing  on  a  cushion.  [cheek 

Guiderius. 

Where? 
Arviragus. 

O' the  floor ; 
His  arms  thus  leagu'd:  I  thought  he  slept,  and 

put 
My  clouted  brogues  from  off  my  feet,  whose 

rudeness 
Answer'd  my  steps  too  loud. 
Guiderius. 

Why,  he  but  sleeps  ; 
If  he  be  gone,  he'll  make  his  grave  a  bed : 
With  female  fairies  will  his  tomb  be  haunted, 
And  worms  will  not  come  to  thee. 
Arviragus. 

With  fairest  flowers, 
Whilst  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave :  thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower,  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose ; 

nor 
The  azur'd  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins  ;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 


Out-sweeten'd  not   thy  breatli :    the   ruddock 

would, 
With  charitable  bill  (O  bill,  sore-shaming 
Those  rich-left  heirs,  that  let  their  fathers  lie 
Without  a  monument !)  bring  thee  all  this  ; 
Yea,  and  furr'd  moss  besides,  when  flowers  are 
To  winter-ground  thy  corse.  [noue, 

Guiderius. 

Pr'ythee,  have  done : 
And  do  not  play  in  wench-like  words  with  that 
Which  is  so  serious.    Let  us  bury  him, 
And  not  protract  with  admiration  what 
Is  now  due  debt.— To  the  grave. 

Arviragus. 

Say,  where  shall's  lay  him  ? 
Guiderius. 
By  good  Euriphile,  our  mother. 
Arviragus. 

Be't  so : 
And  let  us,  Polydore,  though  now  our  voices 
Have  got  the  mannish  crack,  sing  him  to  the 

ground, 
As  once  our  mother :  use  like  note,  and  words, 
Save  that  Euriphile  must  be  Fid-ele. 
Guiderius. 
Cadwal, 
I  cannot  sing :  I'll  weep,  and  word  it  with  thee ; 
For  notes  of  sorrow,  out  of  tune,  are  worse 
Than  priests  and  fanes  that  lie. 
Arviragus. 

We'll  speak  it  then. 
Belarius. 
Great  griefs,  I  see,  medicine  the  less;   for 
Clolen 
Is  quite  forgot.     He  was  a  queen's  son,  boys  ; 
And,  though  he  came  our  enemy,  remember, 
He  was  paid  for  that :  though  mean  and  mighty, 

rotting 
Together,  have  one  dust,  yet  reverence, 
(That  angel  of  the  world)  doth  make  distinction 
Of  place  'tween  high  and  low.    Our  foe  was 

princely, 
And  though  you  took  his  life,  as  being  our  foe, 
Yet  bury  him  as  a  prince. 

Guiderius. 
Pray  you,  fetch  him  hither. 
Thersilcs'  body  is  as  good  as  Ajax, 
When  neither  are  alive. 

Arviragus. 

If  you'll  go  fetch  him, 
We'll  say  our  song  the  whilst.— Brother,  begin. 
[Exit  Belarius. 
Guiderius. 
Nay,  Cadwal,  we  must  lay  his  head  to  the  east ; 
My  father  hath  a  reason  for't. 
Arviragus. 

'Tis  true. 
Guiderius. 
Come  on  then,  and  remove  him. 
Arviragus. 

So.  —  Begin. 

SONG. 

Gul.  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o"  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  g 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone,  and  to1  en  thy  wages  : 
Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must. 
As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 
Arv.  Fear  no  more  the  frown  o'  the  great, 
Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke  ; 
Care  no  more  to  clothe,  and  eat ; 
To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak : 

The 


Act  iv.  5c.  11. 


CYMBELINE. 


1081 


The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 
All follow  this,  ami  cotne'to  dust. 

OiiL  Fear  no  more  the  lightning-flash, 
Arv.  Nor  th'  alt-dreaded  thunder-sUmc ; 
l\ar  not  slander,  censure  rash  ; 
I'liou  hast  finish' d  joy  and  moan  : 
Ail  lovers  young,  all  lovers  must 
Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

G  ul.    No  exorciser  harm  thee ! 
Arv.    Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee! 
Gut.     Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee! 
Arv.    Nothing  ill  come  near  thee  ! 
Both.  Quiet  consummation  have  ; 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave  t 


Re-enter  Belarius,  with  the  Body  of  Cloten. 

Gulderius. 
We  have  done  our  obsequies.    Come,  lay  him 
down. 

Belarius. 
Here's  a  few  flowers,  but 'bout  midnight  more: 
The  herbs  that  have  on  them  cold  dew  o'  the 

Are  sowings  fitt'st  for  graves.-Upon  their  \l%JS^^^tf^$™ 

You  were  as  flowers,  now  wither'd  ;  even  so  Sienna's  brother. 

These  herb'lets  shall,  which  we  upon  you  strew «n~ 

Come  on,  away;  apart  upon  our  knees.  When  expect  you  them  ? 

The  ground  that  gave  them  first  has  them  again :  Captain. 

Their  pleasures  here  are  past,  so  is  their  pain.  With  the  next  benefit  o'  the  wind. 
[Exeunt  Belarius.  Guiderius,  and  Arvtragus 


Have  laid  this  woe  here.     O  !  'tis  pregnant. 

pregnant. 
The  drug  he  gave  me,  which,  he  said,  was  pre- 
cious 
And  cordial  to  me,  have  I  not  found  it    [home  • 
Murderous  to  the  senses?     That  confirms  it 
This  is  Pisanio's  deed,  and  Cloten  :  O  !  — 
Give  colour  to  ray  pale  cheek  with  thy  blood, 
That  we  the  horrider  may  seem  to  those 
Which  chance  to  find  us.    O,  my  lord,  my  lord  '. 

Enter  Lucius,  a  Captain,  and  other  Officers, 

and  a  Soot  A  utyer. 
L,\y 
To  them  the  legions  garrison'd  in  Gallia, 
After  your  will,  have  cross 'd  tha  sea  ;  attending 
You,  here  at  Milford-Haven,  with  your  ships  : 
They  are  here  in  readiness. 
Lucius. 

But  what  from  Rome  ? 
Captain. 
The  senate  hath  stirr'd  up  the  confiners, 
And  gentlemen  of  Italy  ;  most  willing  spirits, 


ich   is   the  \  Mak<*  our  hopes  fair 


Lucius. 

This  forwardness 
Command,  our  present 


Imogen. 
Yes,  sir,  to  Mitford- Haven  ;    wh 

way  ? numbers 

I  thank  you.  —  By  yond'  bush  ?— Pray,  how  far    Be  muster'd  ;  bid  the  captains  look  to't 

thither? 
'Ods  pittikins  !  —can  it  be  six  miles  yet  ?— 
1  have  gone  all  night :— 'faith,  I'll  lie  down  and 

sleep. 
But,  soft !  no  bedfellow 


sir. 


Now, 


These  flowers  are  like  the  pleasures  o?  the  world , 
This  bloody  man,  the  care  on't — I  hope  I  dream', 
For  so  I  thought  I  was  a  cave-keeper, 
And  cook  to  honest  creatures  ;  but  'tis  not  so : 
'Twas  but  a  bolt  of  nothing,  shot  at  nothing, 
Which  the  brain  makes  of  fumes.    Our  very 

eyes 
Are  sometimes  like  our  judgments,  blind.  Good 

faith, 
I  tremble  still  with  fear  ;  but  if  there  be 
Yet  left  in  heaven  as  small  a  drop  of  pity 
As  a  wren's  eve,  fear'd  gods,  a  part  of  it ! 
The  dream's  here  still :  even  wnen  I  wake,  it  is 
Without  me,  as  within  me  ;  not  imagin'd,  felt. 
A  headless  man ! — The  garment  of  Posthumus ! 
I  know  the  Bhape  of  *s  leg  :  this  is  his  hand  ; 
His  foot  Mercurial  ;  his  Martial  thigh  ; 
The  brawns  of  Hercules  :  but  his  Jovial  face  — 
Murder  in  heaven!  — How?— 'Tis  gone.  —  Pi. 

sanio, 
All  curses  madded  Hecuba  gave  the  Greeks, 
And  mine  to  boot,  be  darted  on  thee  !    Thou, 
Conspir'd  with  that  irregulous  devil,  Cloten, 
Hast  here  cut  off  my  lord.— To  write,  and  read, 
He  henceforth  treacherous  I  —  Damn'd  Pisanio 
Hath  with  his  forged  letters,— damn'd  Pisanio— 
From  this  most  bravest  vessel  of  the  world 
Struck  the  main-top  !  — O,  Posthumus  I  alas, 
Where  is  thy  head  ?  where's  that  ?  Ah  me 

Where's  that  ? 
Pisanio  might  have  kill'd  thee  at  the  heart, 
And  left  this  head  on.  — How  should  this  be? 

Pisanio  I 
'Tis  he  and  Cloten :  malice  and  lucre  in  them 


What  have  you  dream'd  of  late  of  this  war's 
purpose  ? 

Soothsayer. 
O,  gods  and  goddesses !      tLast  ni8ht  the  veT  gods  show'd  me  a  vision, 
[Seeing  the  Body.  '  <l  <ast,  and pray'd,  for  their  intelligence)  thus :— 
nleasiirAsnf  fhp  ivnri/i .     I  saw  Jove's  bird,  the  Roman  eagle,  wing'd 

From  the  spungy  south  to  this  part  of  the  west, 
There  vanish'd  in  the  sunbeams :  which  portends, 
(Unless  my  sins  abuse  my  divination) 
Success  to  the  Roman  host. 
Lucius. 
.    .  Dream  often  so, 

And  never  false — Soft,  ho  !  what  trunk  is  here, 
Without  his  top  ?    The  ruiu  speaks,  that  some- 
time 
It  was  a  worthy  building.— How  !  a  page!  — 
Or  dead,  or  sleeping  on  him?    But  dead  rather; 
For  nature  doth  abhor  to  make  his  bed 
With  the  defunct,  or  sleep  upon  the  dead- 
Let's  see  the  boy's  face. 

Captain. 

He  is  alive,  my  lord. 
Lucius. 
He'll  then  instruct  us  of  this  body.— Young 
one, 
Inform  us  of  thy  fortunes  ;  for,  it  seems. 
They  crave  to  be  demanded.     Who  is  this, 
Thou  mak'stthy  bloody  pillow  ?  Or  who  was  he, 
That,  otherwise  than  noble  nature  did. 
Hath  alter'd  that  good  picture?    What's  thy 

interest 
In  this  sad  wreck  ?    How  came  it  ?    Who  is  it? 
What  art  thou  ? 


Imogen. 
I  am  nothing:  or  if  not, 
Nothing  to  be  were  better.  This  was  my  master, 
A  very  valiant  Briton,  and  a  good, 
That  here  by  mountaineers  lies  slain—  Ala* ! 

There  1 


1082 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  n. 


Thsre  are  no  more  such  masters  :  I  may  wander 
From  east  to  Occident,  cry  out  for  service, 
Try  many,  all  good,  serve  truly,  never 
Find  such  another  master. 

Lucius. 

'Lack,  good  youth  ! 
Thou  mov'st  no  less  with  thy  complaining,  than 
Thy  master  in  bleeding.    Say  his  name,  good 
friend. 

Imogen. 
Richard  du  Champ.  [Aside.]  if  i do  lie,  and  do 
No  harm  by  it,  though  the  gods  hear,  I  hope 
They'll  pardon Say  you,  sir  ? 

Lucius. 

Thy  name  ? 

Imogen. 

_     ,  Fidele,  6ir. 

Lucius. 
Thou  dost  approve  thyself  the  very  same: 
Thy  name  well  fits  thy  faith ;  thy  faith,  thy 

name. 
Wilt  take  thy  chance  with  me  ?    I  will  not  say, 
Thou  sh.ilt  be  so  well  master'd,  but,  be  sure, 
No  less  belov'd.    The  Roman  emperor's  letters, 
Sent  by  a  consul  to  me,  should  not  sooner, 
Than  thine  own  worth,  prefer  thee :  go  with  me. 

Imogen. 
I'll  follow,  sir.    But  first,  an't  please  the  gods, 
I'll  hide  my  master  from  the  flies,  as  deep 
As  these  poor  pickaxes  can  dig :  and  when 
With  wild  wood-leaves  and  weeds  I  have  strewed 
And  on  it  said  a  century  of  prayers,    [his  grave, 
Such  as  I  can,  twice  o'er,  I'll  weep,  and  sigh  ; 
And,  leaving  so  his  service,  follow  you, 
So  please  you  entertain  me. 

Lucius. 

Ay,  good  youth ; 
And  rather  father  thee,  than  master  thee.  —  My 

friends, 
The  boy  hath  taught  us  manly  duties  :  let  us 
Find  out  the  prettiest  daisied  plot  we  can, 
And  make  him  with  our  pikes  and  partisans 
A  grave :  come,  arm  him.  —  Boy,  he  is  preferr'd 
By  thee  to  us,  and  he  shall  be  interr'd, 
As  soldiers  can.    Be  cheerful ;  wipe  thine  eyes : 


Some  falls  are  means  the  happier  to  arise, 
[E 


xeunt. 


SCENE  III.    A  Room  in  Cymbeline'i  Palace. 

Enter  Cymbeline,  Lords,  and  Pisanio. 

Cymbeline. 

Again  ;  and  bring  me  word  how  'tis  with  her. 

A  fever  with  the  absence  of  her  son  ; 

A  madness,  of  which  her  life's  in  danger. — 

Heavens, 
How  deeply  you  at  once  do  touch  me  1    Imogen, 
The  great  part  of  my  comfort,  gone  ;  my  queen 
Upon  a  desperate  bed,  and  in  a  time 
When  fearful  wars  point  at  me  ;  her  son  gone, 
So  needful  for  this  present :  it  strikes  me,  past 
The  hope  of  comfort.  — But  for  thee,  fellow, 
Who  needs  must  know  of  her  departure,  and 
Dost  seem  so  ignorant,  we'll  enforce  it  from  thee 
By  a  sharp  torture. 

Pisanio. 

Sir,  my  life  is  yours,  [tress, 
I  humbly  set  it  at  your  will ;  but,  for  my  mis- 
I  nothing  know  where  she  remains,  why  gone,      ! 
Nor  when  she  purposes  return.    Beseech  your  j 
Hold  me  your  loyal  servant.  [highness, 

First  Lord. 

Good  my  liege, 
The  day  that  she  was  missing  he  was  here  : 


I  dare  be  bound  he's  true,  and  shall  perform 
All  parts  of  his  subjection  loyally.     For  Cloten, 
There  wants  no  diligence  in  seeking  him, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  be  found. 
Cymbeline. 

The  time  is  troublesome : 
We'll  slip  you  for  a  season  ;  but  ouriealousy  . 

Does  yet  depend. 

First  Lord. 

So  please  your  majesty, 
The  Roman  legions,  all  from  Gallia  drawn, 
Are  landed  on  your  coast,  with  a  supply 
Of  Roman  gentlemen  by  the  senate  sent. 
Cymbeline. 
Now  for  the  counsel  of  my  son  and  queen  J  — 
I  am  amaz'd  with  matter. 

First  Lord. 

Good  my  liege, 
Your  preparation  can  affront  no  less 
Than  what  you  hear  of:  come  more,  for  more 

you're  ready. 
The  want  is,  but  to  put  those  powers  in  motion, 
That  long  to  move. 

Cymbeline. 
I  thank  you.    Let's  withdraw, 
And  meet  the  time,  as  it  seeks  us  :  we  fear  not 
What  can  from  Italy  annoy  us,  but 
We  grieve  at  chances  here.— Away  I     [Exeunt. 
Pisanio. 
I  heard  no  letter  from  my  master,  since 
I  wrote  him  Imogen  was  slain.    'Tis  strange : 
Nor  hear  I  from  my  mistress,  who  did  promise 
To  yield  me  often  tidings  ;  neither  know  I 
What  is  betid  to  Cloten,  but  remain 
Perplex'd  in  all :  the  heavens  still  must  work. 
Wherein  I  am  false,  I  am  honest ;  not  true,  to 

be  true : 

These  present  wars  shall  find  I  love  my  country, 
Even  to  the  note  o'  the  king,  or  I'll  fall  in  them. 
All  other  doubts  by  time  let  them  be  clear'd  ; 
Fortune  brings  in  some  boats  that  are  not  steer 'd. 

SCENE  IV.    Before  the  Cave. 
Enter  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragus. 

Guiderius. 
The  noise  is  round  about  us. 
Belarius. 

Let  us  from  it. 
Arviragus. 
What  pleasure,  sir,  find  we  in  life,  to  lock  it 
From  action  and  adventure  ? 
Guiderius. 

Nay,  what  hope 
Have  we  in  hiding  us  ?  this  way  the  Romans 
Must  or  for  Britons  slay  us,  or  receive  us 
For  barbarous  and  unnatural  revolts 
During  their  use,  and  slay  us  after. 
Belarius. 

Sons, 

We'll  higher  to  the  mountains ;  there  secure  us. 
To  the  king's  party  there's  no  going :  newness 
Of  Cloten'*  death  (we  being  not  known,  not 

muster'd 
Among  the  bands)  may  drive  us  to  a  render 
Where  we  have  liv'd ;  and  so  extort  from  's  that 
Which  we  have  done,  whose  answer  would  be 
Drawn  on  with  torture.  [death 

Guiderius. 

This  is,  sir,  a  doubt, 
In 


Act  v.  Se.  n. 


CYMBELINB. 


10*3 


In  inch  a  time  nothing  becoming  you, 
Nor  satisfying  us. 

Arviragus . 
It  it  not  likely, 
That  when  they  hear  the  Roman  horses  neigh, 
Behold  their  nuarter'd  flr»-i,  have  both  their  eyes 
'  And  ears  so  cloy'd  importantly  as  now. 
That  they  will  waste  their  time 
To  know  from  whence  we  are. 


upon  our  note. 


BliWrnMi 

O !  I  am  known 
Of  many  in  the  army  :  many  years,  [him 

Though  Cloten  then  but  young,  you  see,  not  wore 
From  my  remembrance:  and,  besides,  the  king 
Hitli  not  deserv'd  my  service,  nor  your  loves, 
Who  tiiui  in  my  exile  the  want  of  breeding, 
The  certainty  of  this  hard  life ;  aye,  hopeless 
To  have  the  courtesy  your  cradle  promis'd, 
But  to  be  still  hot  summer's  tanlings,  and 
The  shrinking  slaves  of  winter. 

Gulderlus. 

Than  be  so, 
Better  to  cease  to  be.     Pray,  sir,  to  the  army  : 
I  and  my  brother  are  not  known  ;  yourself, 
So  out  of  thought,  and  thereto  so  o'ergrown, 
Cannot  be  question'd. 

Arviragus 

By  this  sun  that  shines, 
I'll  thither  :  what  thing  is  't,  that  I  never 
Did  see  man  die  ?  scarce  ever  look'd  on  blood, 
But  that  of  coward  hares,  hot  goats,  and  venison? 
Never  bestrid  a  horse,  save  one  that  had 
A  rider  like  myself,  who  ne'er  wore  rowel, 
Nor  iron,  on  his  heel  ?  I  am  asham'd 
To  look  upon  the  holy  sun,  to  have 
The  benefit  of  his  bless'd  beams,  remaining 
So  long  a  poor  unknown. 

Guiderius. 

By  heavens,  I'll  go. 
If  you  will  bless  me,  sir,  and  give  me  leave, 
I'll  take  the  better  care ;  but  if  you  will  not, 
The  hazard  therefore  due  fall  on  me  by 
The  bands  of  Romans. 

Arviragus. 

So  say  I.    Amen. 

Belarius. 
No  reason  I,  since  of  your  lives  you  set 
So  slight  a  valuation,  should  reserve  [boys. 

My  crack'd  one  to  more  care.     Have  with  you, 
If  in  your  country  wars  you  chance  to  die, 
That  is  my  bed  too,  lads,  and  there  I'll  lie : 
Lead,  lead.—  [Asldej   The  time  seems  long; 

their  blood  thinks  scorn, 
Till  it  fly  out,  and  show  them  princes  born. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I.     A  Field  between  the  British 
and  Roman  Camps. 

Enter  Posthumus.  with  a  bloody  Handkerchief. 

Posthumus. 
V  EA,  bloody  cloth,  I'll   keep   thee  ;   for  I 
1       wish'd 
Thou  should'st  be  colour'd  thus.    You  married 

ones, 
If  each  of  you  should  take  this  course,  how  many 
Must  murder  wives  much  better  than  themselves, 
For  wrying  but  a  little  ?— O,  Pisanio! 


Every  good  servant  does  not  all  commands ; 
No  blind,  but  to  do  just  ones.  —  Gods  1  if  you 
Should  have  ta'en  vengeance  on  my  faults,   I 

never 
Had  liv'd  to  put  on  this :  so  had  you  saved 
The  noble  Imogen  to  repent,  and  struck 
Me,  wretch,  more  worth  your  vengeance.    But, 

alack  I 
You  snatch  some  hence  for  little  faults  ;  that's 

love, 

To  have  them  fall  no  more :  you  some  permit 
To  second  ills  with  ills,  each  elder  worse  ; 
And  make  them  dread  it,  to  the  doer's  thrift. 
But  Imogen  is  your  own  :  do  your  best  wills, 
And  make  me  bless'd  to  obey  I—  I  am  brought 
Among  the  Italian  gentry,  and  to  fight    [hither 
Against  my  lady's  kingdom  :  'tis  enough 
That,  Britain,  I  have  kill'd  thy  mistress  ;  peace ! 
I'll  give  no  wound  to  thee.    Therefore,  good 

heavens, 
Hear  patiently  my  purpose.     I'll  disrobe  me 
Of  these  Italian  weeds,  and  suit  myself 
As  does  a  Briton  peasant :  so  I'll  fight 
Against  the  part  1  come  with  ;  so  I'll  die 
For  thee,  O  Imogen !  even  for  whom  my  life 
Is,  every  breath,  a  death  :  and  thus  unknown, 
Pitied  nor  hated,  to  the  face  of  peril 
Myself  I'll  dedicate.     Let  me  make  men  know 
More  valour  in  me,  than  my  habits  show. 
Gods,  put  the  strength  o'  the  Leonati in  me! 
To  shame  the  guise  o'  the  world,  I  will  begin 
The  fashion,  less  without,  and  more  w  ithin. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 

Enter  at  one  side,  Lucius,  Iachimo,  and  the 
Roman  Army :  at  the  other  side,  the  British 
Army  ;  Leonatus  Posthumus  following  like  a 
poor  Soldier.  They  march  over  and  go  out. 
Alarums.  Then  enter  again  in  skirmish, 
Iachimo  and  Posthumus  :  he  vanquisheth  and 
disarmeth  Iachimo,  and  then  leaves  him. 

Iachimo. 
The  heaviness  and  guilt  within  my  bosom 
Takes  off  my  manhood :  I  have  belied  a  lady, 
The  princess  of  this  country,  and  the  air  onft 
Revengingly  enfeebles  me  ;  or  could  this  carl, 
A  very  drudge  of  nature's,  have  subdu'd  me 
In  my  profession  ?    Knighthoods  and  honours, 
As  I  wear  mine,  are  titles  but  of  scorn,     [borne 
If  that  thy  gentry,  Britain,  go  before 
This  lout,  as  he  exceeds  our  lords,  the  odds 
Is.  that  we  scarce  are  men,  and  you  are  gods. 

[Exit. 

The  Battle  continues  :  the  Britons  fly ;  Cymhe- 
line  is  taken  :  then  enter,  to  his  rescue,  Bela- 
rius, Guiderius,  and  Arviragus. 

Belarius. 
Stand,  stand  1    We  have  the  advantage  of  the 
ground. 
The  lane  is  guarded  :  nothing  routs  us,  but 
The  villainy  of  our  fears. 

Guiderius  and  Arviragus. 

Stand,  stand,  and  fight ! 

Enter  Posthumut,  and  seconds  the  Britons  ; 
they  re«cne  Cymheline,  and  exeunt:  then, 
enter  Lucius,  Iachimo,  and  Imogen. 

Lucius. 
Away,  boy,  from  the  troops,  and  save  thyself; 
For  friends  kill  friends,  and  the  disorder's  such 
As  war  were  hood-wink *d. 

Iachimo. 

*Tis  their  fresh  supplies. 
Luciu*. 


To84 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  hi. 


Lucius. 
It  Is  a  day  tum'd  strangely :  or  betimes 
Let's  re-enforce,  or  fly.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.    Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Enter  Posthumus  and  a  British  Lord. 

Lord. 

Cam'st  thou  from  where  they  made  the  stand  ? 

Posthumus. 

I  did; 
Though  you,  it  seems,  come  from  the  fliers. 
Lord. 

I  did. 
Posthumus. 
No  blame  be  to  you,  sir  ;  for  all  was  lost, 
But  that  the  heavens  fought.    The  king  himself 
Of  his  wings  destitute,  the  army  broken, 
And  but  the  backs  of  Britons  seen,  all  flying 
Through  a  strait  lane :  the  enemy  full-hearted, . 
Lolling  the  tongue  with  slaughtering,  having 

work 
More  plentiful  than  tools  to  do't,  struck  down 
Some   mortally,  some   slightly  touch'd,   some 

falling 
Merely  through  fear ;  that  the  strait  pass  was 

damm'd 
With  dead  men  hurt  behind,  and  cowards  living 
To  die  with  lengthen'd  shame. 
Lord. 

Where  was  this  lane  ? 
Posthumus. 
Close  by  the  battle,  ditch'd,  and  wall'd  with 

turf; 
Which  gave  advantage  to  an  ancient  soldier, 
An  honest  one,  I  warrant ;  who  desei  v'd 
So  long  a  breeding,  as  his  white  beard  came  to, 
In  doing  this  for's  country  :  athwart  the  lane, 
He,  with  two  striplings,  (lads  more  like  to  run 
The  country  base,  than  to  commit  such  slaughter ; 
With  faces  fit  for  masks,  or  rather  fairer 
Than  those  for  preservation  cas'd,  or  shame) 
Made  good  the  passage ;  cry'd  to  those  that  fled, 
"  Our  Britain's  harts  die  flying,  not  our  men  : 
To  darkness  fleet,  souls  that  fly  backwards  I 

Stand; 
Or  we  are  Romans,  and  will  give  you  that  [save, 
Like  beasts,  which  you  shun  beastly,  and  may 
But  to  look  back  in  frown:  stand,  standi"— 

These  three, 
Three  thousand  confident,  in  act  as  many, 
(For  three  performers  are  the  file,  when  all 
The  rest  do  nothing)  with  this  word,  "  stand, 

stand  ! " 
Accommodated  by  the  place,  more  charming, 
With  their  own  nobleness,  (which  could  have 

tum'd 
A  distaff  to  a  lance)  gilded  pale  looks, 
Part  shame, part  spiritrenew'd;  that  some,  turn'd 
But  by  example  (O,  a  sin  in  war,  [coward 

Damn'd  in  the  first  beginners  !)  'gan  to  look 
The  way  that  they  did,  and  to  grin  like  lions 
Upon  the  pikes  o'  the  hunters.  Then  began 
A  stop  i'  the  chaser,  a  retire  ;  anon, 
A  rout,  confusion  thick :  forthwith  they  fly, 
Chickens,  the  way  which  they  stoop'd  eagles ; 

slaves, 
The  strides  they  victors  made.    And  now  our 

cowards 
(Like  fragments  in  hard  voyages)  became  [open 
The  lifeo'  the  need :  having  found  the  back-door 
Of  the  unguarded  hearts,  Heavens,  how  they 

wound  I 
Some  slain  before;   some  dying;   some,  their 

friends, 


O'er-bornei'  the  former  wave :  ten  chac'd  by  one, 
Are  now  each  one  the  slaughter-man  of  twenty: 
Those  that  would  die  or  ere  resist  are  grown 
The  mortal  bugs  o'  the  field. 

Lord. 
This  was  strange  chance: 
A  narrow  lane,  an  old  man,  and  two  boys  ! 

Posthumus. 
Nay,  do  not  wonder  at  it :  you  are  made 
Rather  to  wonder  at  the  things  you  hear, 
Than  to  work  any.    Will  you  rhyme  upon't, 
And  vent  it  for  a  mockery  ?    Here  is  one  : 
*'  Two  boys,  an  old  man  twice  a  boy,  a  lane, 
Preserv'd  the  Britons,  was  the  Romans'  bane." 

Lord. 
Nay,  be  not  angry,  sir. 

Posthumus 

'Lack  !  to  what  end  ? 
Who  dares  not  stand  his  foe,  I'll  be  his  friend  ; 
For  if  he'll  do,  as  he  is  made  to  do, 
I  know,  he'll  quickly  fly  my  friendship  too. 
You  have  put  me  into  rhyme. 
Lord. 
Farewell ;  you  are  anjgry. 

Posthumus. 
Still  going?— This  is  a  lord.    O  noble  misery 
To  be  i'  the  field,  and  ask,  what  news,  of  me. 
To-day,  how  many  would  have  given  their  ho. 

nours 
To  have  sav'd  their  carcases?  took  heel  to  do't. 
And  yet  died  too  ?    I,  in  mine  own  woe  charm'd, 
Could  not  find  death  where  I  did  hear  him  groan, 
Nor  feel  him  where  he  struck :  being  an  ugly 

monster, 
'Tis  strange  he  hides  him  in  fresh  cups,  soft  beds, 
Sweet  words  ;  or  hath  more  ministers  than  we 
That  draw  his  knives  i'  the  war. — Well,  I  will 

find  him  ; 
For  being  now  a  favourer  to  the  Briton, 
No  more  a  Briton,  I  have  resum'd  again 
The  part  I  came  in.    Fight  I  will  no  more, 
But  yield  me  to  the  veriest  hind,  that  shall 
Once  touch  my  shoulder.    Great  the  slaughter  is 
Here  made  by  the  Roman  ;  great  the  answer  be 
Britons  must  take  ;  for  me,  my  ransom's  death : 
On  either  side  I  come  to  spend  my  breath, 
Which  neither  here  I'll  keep,  nor  bear  again, 
But  end  it  by  some  means  for  Imogen. 

Enter  Two  British  Captains,  and  Soldiers. 

First  Captain. 
Great  Jupiter  be  prais'd  1    Lucius  is  taken. 
'Tis  thought,  the  old  man  and  his  sons  were 
angels. 

Second  Captain. 
There  was  a  fourth  man,  in  a  silly  habit, 
That  gave  th'  affront  with  them. 

First  Captain. 

So,  'tis  reported ; 
But  none  of  them  can  be  found — Stand  !  who 
is  there  ? 

Posthumus. 
A  Roman, 
Who  had  not  now  been  drooping  here,  if  seconds 
Had  answer'd  him. 

Second  Captaiu. 

Lay  hands  on  him  ;  a  dog  ! 
A  leg  of  Rome  shall  not  return  to  tell 
What  crows  have  peck'd  them  here.    He  brags 

his  service 
As  if  he  were  of  note.    Bring  him  to  the  king. 


Act  v.  Sc.  iv. 


CYMBELINE. 


io35 


Ay. 


Cpmbeline,  attendi-d  ;   Belanus. 

Arviragus,  fWmo,  and  Roman  Captives. 
The  Captain*  present  I'osthumus  to  Cnnbeline. 
who  deliver*  him  over  to  a  Gaoler ;  after 
which,  all  go  out. 

SCENE  IX.    A  Prison. 

Enter  Posthumus  and  two  Gaolers. 

First  Gaoler. 

You  shall  not  now  be  stolen  ;  you  have  locks 

So,  graze  as  you  find  pasture.  [upon  you : 

Second  Gaoler. 

or  a  stomach. 
.    xeunt  Gaolers 
Posthumut. 
Most  welcome,  bondage,  for  thou  art  a  way 
1  think,  to  liberty.    Yet  am  I  better 
Thau  one  that's  sick  o'  the  gout ;  since  he  had 
Groan  so  in  perpetuity,  than  be  cur'd       [rather 
By  the  sure  physician,  death,  who  is  the  key 
T  unbar  these  locks.    My  conscience,  thou  art 

fetter'd 
More  than  my  shanks,  and  wrists :  you  good  gods, 

give  me 
The  penitent  instrument  to  pick  that  bolt, 
Then,  free  for  ever  !     ls't  enough,  I  am  sorry  ? 
So  children  temporal  fathers  do  appease  ; 
Gods  are  more  full  of  mercy.    Must  I  repent  ? 
I  cannot  do  it  better  than  in  gyves, 
Desir'd,  more  than  constrain 'd :  to  satisfy, 
If  of  my  freedom  'tis  the  main  part,  take 
No  stricter  render  of  me,  than  my  all. 
I  know,  you  are  more  clement  than  vile  men, 
Who  of  their  broken  debtors  take  a  third, 
A  sixth,  a  tenth,  letting  them  thrive  again 
On  their  abatement :  that's  not  my  desire. 
For  Imogen's  dear  life,  take  mine ;  and  though 
"Fis  not  so  dear,  yet  'tis  a  life :  you  coin'd  it : 
'Tweeu  man  and  man  they  weigh  not  every  stamp, 
Though  light,  take  pieces  for  the  figure's  sake: 
You  rather  mine,  being  yours  ;  and  so,  great 

powers, 
If  you  will  take  this  audit,  take  this  life, 
I  And  cancel  these  cold  bonds.    O  Imogen  I 
1*11  speak  to  thee  iu  silence.  [He  sleeps. 

Solemn  Music.  Enter,  as  an  Apparition,  Sicilius 
Lennatns,  Father  to  Posthumus,  an  old  Man, 
attired  like  a  Warrior  ;  leading  in  his  Hand 
an  ancient  Matron,  his  Wife  and  Mother  to 
Posthumus,  with  Music  before  them  :  then, 
after  other  Music,  follow  the  two  young  Leo- 
nati,  Brothers  to  Posthumus,  with  Wounds  as 
they  died  in  the  Wars.  They  circle  Post- 
humus  round,  as  he  lies  sleeping. 

Sicilius. 
No  more,  thou  thunder-master,  show 

Thy  spite  on  mortal  flies : 
With  Mars  fall  out,  with  Juno  chide, 

That  thy  adulteries 

Rates  and  revenges. 
Hath  my  poor  boy  done  aught  but  well  ? 

Whose  face  I  never  saw  ; 
1  died,  whilst  in  the  womb  he  stay'd 

Attending  nature's  law. 
Whose  father,  then,  (as  men  report, 

Thou  orphans'  father  art) 
Thou  shouldst  have  been,  and  shielded  him 

From  this  earth- vexing  smart. 
Mo- 
Lucina  lent  not  me  her  aid, 

But  took  me  in  my  throes ; 
That  from  me  was  Pusthumus  ript, 

Came  crying  'inongst  his  foes, 
A  thing  of  pity  1 


Sicilius. 
Great  nature,  like  his  ancestry, 

Moulded  the  stuff  so  fair, 
That  he  deserv'd  the  praise  o*  the  world, 
As  great  Sicilius'  heir. 
First  Brother. 
When  once  he  was  mature  for  man, 

In  Britain  w  here  was  he. 
That  could  stand  up  his  parallel, 

Or  fruitful  object  be 
In  eye  of  Imogen,  that  best 
Could  deem  bis  dignity  ? 
Mother. 
With  marriage  wherefore  was  he  mock'd, 

To  be  exil'd,  and  thrown 
From  Leonut?  seat,  and  cast 
From  her  his  dearest  oue, 
Sweet  Imogen? 

Sicilius. 
Why  did  you  suffer  Iachimo, 

Slight  thing  of  Italy, 
To  taint  his  nobler  heart  and  brain 

With  needless  jealousy  ; 
And  to  become  the  geek  and  scorn 

O'  the  other's  villainy  ? 
Second  Brother. 
For  this  from  stiller  seats  we  came, 

Our  parents,  and  us  twain, 
That  striking  in  our  country's  cause 

Fell  bravely,  and  were  slain  ; 
Our  fealty,  and  Tenantius'  right, 

With  honour  to  maintain. 
First  Brother. 
Like  hardiment  Posthumus  hath 

To  Cymbeline  perform'd : 
Then,  Jupiter,  thou  king  of  gods, 

Why  hast  thou  thus  adjourn'd 
The  graces  for  his  merits  due, 

Being  all  to  dolours  turn'd  ? 
Sicilius. 
Thy  crystal  window  ope ;  look  out : 

No  longer  exercise, 
Upon  a  valiant  race,  thy  harsh 

And  potent  injuries. 
Mother. 
Since,  Jupiter,  our  son  is  good, 

Take  off  his  miseries. 
Sicilius. 
Peep  through  thy  marble  mansion  ;  help  t 

Or  we  poor  ghosts  will  cry, 
To  the  shining  synod  of  the  rest, 

Against  thy  deity. 

Second  Brother. 
Help,  Jupiter  I  or  we  appeal, 

And  from  thy  justice  fly. 

Jupiter  descends  In  Thunder  and  Lightning, 
sitting  upon  an  Eagle :  he  throws  a  Thunder- 
bolt ;  the  Ghosts  fall  on  their  Knees. 

Jupiter. 
No  more,  you  petty  spirits  of  region  low. 

Offend  our  hearing:  hush! — How  dare  you 
ghosts 
Accuse  the  thunderer,  whose  bolt  you  know, 

Sky-planted,  batters  all  rebelling  coasts  ? 
Poor  shadows  of  Elysium,  hence;  and  rest 

Upon  your  never-withering  banks  of  flowers  : 
Be  not  with  mortal  accidents  opprest ; 

No  care  of  yours  it  is  ;  you  know,  'tis  ours. 
Whom  best  I  love,  I  cross  ;  to  make  my  gift. 

The  more  delay'd,  delighted.    Be  content ; 
Yuur  low-laid  son  our  godhead  will  uplift : 

His  comforts  thrive,  his  trials  well  are  spent. 

Our 


!  io86 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  v.  Se.  iv. 


Our  Jovial  star  reign'd  at  his  birth,  and  in 

Our  temple  was  he  married.  —  Rise,  and 
He  shall  be  lord  of  lady  Imogen,  [fade !  — 

And  happier  much  by  his  affliction  made. 
This  tablet  lay  upon  his  breast,  wherein 

Our  pleasure  his  full  fortune  doth  confine ; 
And  so,  away :  no  farther  with  your  din 
Express  impatience,  lest  you  stir  up  mine. — 
Mount,  eagle,  to  my  palace  crystalline. 

[Ascends. 
Sicilius. 
He  came  in  thunder ;  his  celestial  breath 
Was  sulphurous  to  smell :  the  holy  eagle 
Stoop'd,  as  to  foot  us  :  his  ascension  is 
More  sweet  than  our  bless'd  fields.    His  royal 

bird 
Prunes  the  immortal  wing,  and  cloys  his  beak, 
As  when  his  god  is  pleas 'd. 
All. 

Thanks,  Jupiter. 
Sicilius. 
The  marble  pavement  closes  ;  he  is  enter'd 
His  radiant  roof.  — Away  1  and,  to  be  blest, 
Let  us  with  care  perform  his  great  behest. 

{Ghosts  vanish. 
Posthumus.  [Waking. 

Sleep,  thou  hast  been  a  grandsire,  and  begot 
A  father  to  me  ;  and  thou  hast  created 
A  mother,  and  two  brothers.    But  (O  scorn  !) 
Gone !  they  went  hence  so  soon  as  they  were 

born, 
And  so  I  am  awake.  — Poor  wretches,  that  de- 
pend 
On  greatness'  favour,  dream  as  I  have  done ; 
Wake,  and  find  nothing.  —  But,  alas,  I  swerve: 
Many  dream  not  to  find,  neither  deserve, 
And  yet  are  steep'd  in  favours  ;  so  am  I, 
That  have  this  golden  chance,  and  know  not 

why. 
What  fairies  haunt  this  ground  ?    A  book  ?    O, 

rare  one ! 
Be  not,  as  is  our  fangled  world,  a  garment 
Nobler  than  that  it  covers  :  let  thy  effects 
So  follow,  to  be  most  unlike  our  courtiers, 
As  good  as  promise. 

[Reads.!  "When  as  a  lion's  whelp  shall,  to 
himself  unknown,  without  seeking  find,  and  be 
embraced  by  a  piece  of  tender  air  ;  and  when 
from  a  stately  cedar  shall  be  lopped  branches, 
which,  being  dead  many  years,  shall  after  revive, 
be  jointed  to  the  old  stock,  and  freshly  grow, 
then  shall  Posthumus  end  his  miseries,  Britain 
be  fortunate,  and  flourish  in  peace  and  plenty." 

'Tis  still  a  dream,  or  else  such  stuff  as  madmen 
Tongue,  and  brain  not ;  either  both,  or  nothing : 
Or  senseless  speaking,  or  a  speaking  such 
As  sense  cannot  untie.    Be  what  it  is, 
The  action  of  my  life  is  like  it,  which 
I'll  keep,  if  but  for  sympathy. 

Re-enter  Gaolers. 
Gaoler. 
Come,  sir,  are  you  ready  for  death  ' 

Posthumus. 
Over-roasted,  rather ;  ready  long  ago. 

Gaoler. 
Hanging  is  the  word,  sir :  if  you  be  ready  for 
that,  you  are  well  cooked. 

Posthumus. 
So,  if  I  prove  a  good  repast  to  the  spectators, 
the  dish  pays  the  shot. 

Gaoler. 
A  heavy  reckoning  for  you,  sir  ;  but  the  com- 
fort is,  you  shall  be  called  to  no  more  payments, 


fear  no  more  tavern  bills,  which  are  often  the 
sadness  of  parting,  as  the  procuring  of  mirth. 
You  come  in  faint  for  want  of  meat,  depart  reel- 
ing with  too  much  drink ;  sorry  that  you  have 
paid  too  much,  and  sorry  that  you  are  paid  too 
much ;  purse  and  brain  both  empty :  the  brain 
the  heavier  for  being  too  light,  the  purse  too 
light,  being  drawn  of  heaviness.  O  !  of  this 
contradiction  you  shall  now  be  quit. —  O,  the 
charity  of  a  penny  cord  !  it  sums  up  thousands 
in  a  trice :  you  have  no  true  debitor  and  creditor 
but  it ;  of  what's  past,  is,  and  to  come,  the  dis-  \ 
charge.  — Your  neck,  sir,  is  pen,  book,  and 
counters  ;  so  the  acquittance  follows. 
Posthumus. 

I  am  merrier  to  die,  than  thou  art  to  live. 
Gaoler. 

Indeed,  sir,  he  that  sleeps  feels  not  the  tooth- 
ache ;  but  a  man  that  were  to  sleep  your  sleep, 
and  a  hangman  to  help  him  to  bed,  I  think,  he 
would  change  places  with  his  officer  ;  for,  look 
you,  sir,  you  know  not  which  way  you  shall  go. 
Posthumus. 

Yes,  indeed  do  I,  fellow. 
Gaoler. 

Your  death  has  eyes  in's  head,  then  ;  I  have 
not  seen  him  so  pictured  :  you  must  either  be 
directed  by  some  that  take  upon  them  to  know, 
or  take  upon  yourself  that,  which  I  am  sure  you 
do  not  know,  or  jump  the  after-inquiry  on  your 
own  peril :  and  how  you  shall  speed  in  your 
journey's  end,  I  think  you'll  never  return  to  tell 
one. 

Posthumus. 

I  tell  thee,  fellow,  there  are  none  want  eyes 
to  direct  them  the  way  I  am  going,  but  such  as 
wink,  and  will  not  use  them. 
Gaoler. 

What  an  infinite  mock  is  this,  that  a  man 
should  have  the  best  use  of  eyes  to  see  the  way 
of  blindness  !  I  am  sure,  hanging's  the  way  of 
winking. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Messenger. 

Knock  off  his  manacles :  bring  your  prisoner 
to  the  king. 

Posthumus. 

Thou  bring'st  good  news.  I  am  called  to  be 
made  free. 

Gaoler. 

I'll  be  hanged,  then. 

Posthumus. 

Thou  shalt  be  then  freer  than  a  gaoler ;  no 
bolts  for  the  dead. 

[Exeunt  Posthumus  and  Messenger. 
Gaoler. 

Unless  a  man  would  marry  a  gallows,  and 
beget  young  gibbets,  I  never  saw  one  so  prone. 
Yet,  on  my  conscience,  there  are  verier  knaves 
desire  to  live,  for  all  he  be  a  Roman  ;  and  there 
be  some  of  them  too,  that  die  against  their  wills : 
so  should  I,  if  I  were  one.  I  would  we  were  all 
of  one  mind,  and  one  mind  good  :  O,  there  were 
desolation  of  gaolers,  and  gallowses  !  I  speak 
against  my  present  profit,  but  my  wish  hath  a 
preferment  in't.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Cymbeline's  Tent. 

Enter  Cymbeline,  Belarius,  Guiderius,  Arvi. 
ragus,  Pisanio,  Lords,  Officers,  and  At- 
tendants. 

Cymbeline. 
Stand  by  my  side,'  you  whom  the  gods  have 
made 

Preservers 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


CYMBELINE. 


10*7 


Preservers  or  my  throne.    Woe  is  my  h- 
That  the  poor  soldier,  that  so  richly  fought, 
WIiom'  rags  sham'd  gilded  arms,  whose  naked 

breast 
Stepp'd  before  targe  of  proof,  cannot  be  found 
He  shall  be  happy  that  can  find  him,  if 
Our  grace  can  make  him  so. 

Belarlus. 

I  never  saw 
Such  noble  furv  in  so  poor  a  thing ; 
Such  precious  deeds  in  one,  that  promis'd  nought 
But  beggary  and  poor  looks. 

Cymbeline. 

No  tidings  of  him? 

Pisanlo. 
He  hath  been  search'd  among  the  dead  and 
But  no  trace  of  him.  [living, 

Cymbeline. 

To  my  grief,  I  am 
The  heir  of  his  reward  ;  which  I  will  add 
To  you,  the  liver,  heart,  and  brain  of  Britain, 
By  whom,  I  grant,  she  lives.    'Tis  now  the  time 
To  ask  of  whence  you  are :— report  it. 

Belarlus. 

Sir, 
In  Cambria  are  we  born,  and  gentlemen. 
Farther  to  boast,  were  neither  true  nor  modest, 
Unless  I  add,  we  are  honest. 

Cymbeline. 

Bow  your  knees. 
Arise,  my  knights  o*  the  battle :  I  create  you 
Companions  to  our  person,  and  will  fit  you 
With  dignities  becoming  your  estates. 

Enter  Cornelius  and  Ladies. 

There's  business  in  these  faces. — Why  so  sadly 
Greet  you  our  victory  ?  you  look  like  Romans, 
And  not  o'  the  court  of  Britain. 

Cornelius. 

Hail,  great  king ! 
To  sour  your  happiness,  I  must  report 
The  queen  is  dead. 

Cvmbeline. 

Whom  worse  than  a  physician 
Would  this  report  become  ?    But  I  consider, 
Bv  medicine  life  may  be  prolong'd,  yet  death 
Will  seize  the  doctor  too.— How  ended  she  ? 

Cornelius. 
With  horror,  madly  dying,  like  her  life  ; 
Which,  being  cruel  to  the  world,  concluded 
Most  cruel  to  herself.     What  she  confess'd, 
I  will  report,  so  please  you  :  these  her  women 
Can  trip  me,  if  I  err,  who  with  wet  cheeks 
Were  present  wheu  she  finish'd. 

Cymbeline. 

Pr'ythee,  say. 
Cornelius. 
First,  she  confess'd  she  never  lov'd  you  ;  only 
Affected  greatness  got  by  you,  not  you  : 
Married  jour  royalty,  was  wife  to  your  place, 
Abhorr'd  your  person. 

Cymbeline. 

She  alone  knew  this  ; 
And,  but  she  spoke  it  dying.  I  would  not 
Believe  her  lips  in  opening  it.    Proceed. 

Cornelius. 
Your  daughter,  whom  she  bore  in  hand  to  love 
With  such  integrity,  she  did  confess 
Was  as  a  scorpion  to  her  sight :  whose  life, 
But  that  her  flight  prevented  it,  she  had 
Ta'en  off  by  poison. 


( |  abdlna. 

O  most  delicate  fiend  1 
Who  is't  can  read  a  woman  ?— 1»  there  more  ? 
Cornelius. 
More,  sir,  and  worse.  She  did  confess,  she  had 
For  you  a  mortal  mineral ;  which,  being  took, 
Should  by  the  minute  feed  on  life,  and  lingering 
By  inches  waste  you :  in  which  time  she  pur- 

pos'd, 
By  watching,  weeping,  tendance,  kissing,  to 

0  ercome  you  with  her  show;  and  in  time 

iWhen  she  had  fitted  you  with  her  craft)  to  work 
ler  son  into  t h'  adoption  of  the  crown  : 
But  failing  of  her  end  by  his  strange  absence, 
Grew  shameless-desperate;  open'd,  in  despite 
Of  heaven  and  men,  her  purposes;  repented 
The  evils  she  hatch'd  were  not  effected;  so, 
Despairing  died. 

Cymbeline. 
Heard  you  all  this,  her  women  ? 
Ladies. 
We  did  so,  please  your  highness. 
Cymbeline. 

Mine  eyes 
Were  not  in  fault,  for  she  was  beautiful ; 
Mine  ears,  that  heard  her  flattery ;  nor  my  heart. 
That  thought  her  like  her  seeming ;  it  had  been 

vicious, 
To  have  mistrusted  her :  yet,  O  my  daughter ! 
That  it  was  folly  in  me,  thou  may'st  say, 
Aud  prove  it  in  thy  feeling.    Heaven  mend  all  1 

Enter  Lucius,  Iachimo,  the  Soothsayer,  and  other 
Roman  Prisoners, guarded;  Pusthumut  behind, 
and  Imogen. 
Thou  com'st  not,  Caius,  now  for  tribute :  that 
The  Britons  have  raz'd  out,  though  with  the  loss 
Of  many  a  bold  one;  whose  kinsmen  have  made 

suit, 
That  their  good  souls  may  be  appeas'd  with 

slaughter 
Of  you   their   captives,   which   ourself   have 
So,  think  of  your  estate.  [granted : 

Lucius. 
Consider,  sir,  the  chance  of  war :  the  day 
Was  yours  by  accident ;  had  it  gone  with  us, 
We  should  not,  when  the  blood  was  cool,  have 

threaten'd 
Our  prisoners  with  the  sword.     But  since  the 

gods 
Will  have  it  thus,  that  nothing  but  our  lives 
Mav  be  call'd  ransom,  let  it  come  :  sufficeth, 
A  Roman  with  a  Roman's  heart  can  suffer  : 
Augustus  lives  to  think  on't;  and  so  much 
For  my  peculiar  care.    This  one  thing  only 

1  will  entreat :  my  boy,  a  Briton  born. 
Let  him  be  ransom'd  :  never  master  had 
A  page  so  kind,  so  duteous,  diligent, 

So  tender  over  his  occasions,  true, 

So  feat,  so  nurse-lfke.    Let  his  virtue  join 

With  my  request,  which,  I'll  make  bold,  your 

highness 
Cannot  deny:  he  hath  done  no  Briton  harm, 
Though  he  have  serv'd  a  Roman.  Save  him,  sir, 
And  spare  no  blood  beside. 

Cymbeline. 

I  have  surely  seen  him  : 
His  favour  is  familiar  to  me.  —  Boy, 
Thou  hast  look'd  thyself  into  my  grace, 
And  art  mine  own.— I  know  not  whv,  nor 

wherefore, 
To  say,  live,  boy:  ne'er  thank  thy  master;  live. 
And  ask  of  Cymbeline  what  boon  thou  wilt. 
Fitting  my  bounty  and  thy  state,  I'll  give  it ; 

Yea,! 


lo88 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  iv.  Sc.  v. 


Yea,  though  thou  do  demand  a  prisoner, 
The  noblest  ta'eu. 

Imogen. 
I  humbly  thank  your  highness. 
Lucius. 
I  do  not  bid  thee  beg  my  life,  good  lad, 
And  yet  I  know  thou  wilt. 
Imogen. 

No,  no;  alack ! 
There's  other  work  in  hand — I  see  a  thing 
Bitter  to  me  as  death. — Your  life,  good  master, 
Must  shuffle  for  itself. 

Lucius. 

The  boy  disdains  me, 
He  leaves  me,  scorns  me :  briefly  die  their  joys, 
That  place  them  on  the  truth  of  girls  and  boys — 
Why  stands  he  so  perplex'd  ? 
Cymbeline. 

What  would'st  thou,  boy  ? 
I  love  thee  more  and  more;  think  more  and 

more 
What's  best  to  ask.    Know'st  him  thou  look'st 

on  ?  speak ; 

Wilt  have  him  live?   Is  he  thy  kin  ?  thy  friend? 

Imogen. 

He  is  a  Roman ;  no  more  kin  to  me, 

Than  I  co  your  highness,  who,  being  born  your 

Am  something  nearer.  [vassal, 

Cymbeline. 

Wherefore  ey'st  him  so  ? 
Imogen. 
I'll  tell  you,  sir,  in  private,  if  you  please 
To  give  me  hearing. 

Cymbeline. 

Ay,  with  all  my  heart, 
And  lend  my  best  attention.  What's  thy  name? 
Imogen. 
Fidele,  sir. 

Cymbeline. 
Thou  art  my  good  youth,  my  page; 
I'll  be  thy  master :  walk  with  me ;  speak  freely. 
[Cymbeline  and  Imogen  converse  apart . 

Belartus. 
Is  not  this  boy  reviv'd  from  death  ? 
Arviragus. 

One  sand  another 
Not  more  resembles  :  that  sweet  rosy  lad, 

Who  died,  and  was  Fidele What  think  you  ? 

Guiderius. 
The  same  dead  thing  alive. 
Belarius. 
Peace,  peace!  see  farther;  he  eyes  us  not: 
forbear. 
Creatures  may  be  alike  :  were't  he,  I  am  sure 
He  would  have  spoke  to  us. 
Guiderius. 

But  we  saw  him  dead. 
Belarius. 
Be  silent ;  let's  see  farther. 

Pisanio,  [Aside. 

It  is  my  mistress  ! 
Since  she  is  living,  let  the  time  run  on, 
To  good,  or  bad. 

[Cymbeline  and  Imogen  come  forward. 
Cymbeline. 

Come,  stand  thou  by  our  side : 
Make  thy  demand  aloud.— Sir,  [To  lachimo,] 

step  you  forth ; 
Give  answer  to  this  boy,  and  do  it  freely, 
Or,  by  our  greatness,  and  the  grace  of  it, 


Which  is  our  honour,  bitter  torture  shall 

Winnow  the  truth  from  falsehood On,  speak 

to  him. 

Imogen. 
My  boon  is,  that  this  gentleman  may  render 
Of  whom  he  had  this  ring. 

Posthumus.  [Aside. 

What's  that  to  him  ? 
Cymbeline. 
That  diamond  upon  your  finger,  say, 
How  came  it  yours  ? 

lachimo. 
Thou'lt  torture  me  to  leave  unspoken  that 
Which,  to  be  spoke,  would  torture  thee. 
Cymbeline. 

How !  me  ? 
lachimo. 
I  am  glad  to  be  constrain'd  to  utter  that  which 
Torments  me  to  conceal.    By  villany 
I  got  this  ring :  'twas  Leonaius*  jewel ; 
Whom  thou  didst  banish;  and  (which  more 

may  grieve  thee, 
As  it  doth  me)  a  nobler  sir  ne'er  liv'd 
'Twixt  sky  and  ground.    Wilt  thou  hear  more, 
my  lord  ? 

Cymbeline. 
All  th:«*  belongs  to  this. 

lachimo. 

That  paragon,  thy  daughter, 
For  whom  my  heart  drops  blood,  and  my  false 

spirits 
Quail  to  remember, — Give  me  leave ;  I  faint. 
Cymbeline. 
My  daughter  !    what   of  her  ?     Renew  thy 
strength  : 
I  had  rather  thou  should'st  live  while  natui  • 

will, 
Than  die  ere  I  hear  more.     Strive  man,  and 
speak. 

lachimo. 
Upon  a  time,  (unhappy  was  the  clock 
That  struck  the  hour)  it  was  in  Home,  (accurs'd 
The  mansion  where)  'twas  at  a  feast,  (0  !  would 
Our  viands  had  been  poison'd,  or  at  least 
Those  which  I  heav'd  to  head)  the  good  Post- 
humus, 
(What  should  I  say  ?  he  was  too  good  to  be 
Where  ill  men  were,  and  was  the  best  of  all 
Amongst  the  rar'st  of  good  ones)  sitting  sadly, 
Hearing  us  praise  our  loves  of  Italy 
For  beauty,  that  made  barren  the  swell'd  boast 
Of  him  that  best  could  speak  :  for  feature,  lam- 
ing 
The  shrine  of  Venus,  or  straight-pight  Minerva, 
Postures  beyond  brief  nature  ;  for  condition, 
A  shop  of  all  the  qualities  that  man 
Loves  woman  for  ;  besides,  that  hook  of  wiving, 

Fairness,  which  strikes  the  eye : 

Cymbeline. 

I  stand  on  fire. 
Come  to  the  matter. 

lachimo. 
All  too  soon  I  shall, 
Unless    thou  would'st   grieve  quickly —  This 

Posthumus, 
(Most  like  a  noble  lord  in  love,  and  one 
That  had  a  royal  lover)  took  his  hint ; 
And,  not  dispraising  whom  we  prais'd,  (therein 
He  was  as  calm  as  virtue)  he  began 
His   mistress'  picture ;    which  by  his  tongue 

being  made, 
And  then  a  mind  put  in't,  either  our  brags 
Were  crack'd  of  kitchen  trulls,  or  his  descrip- 
Prov'd  us  unspeaking  sots.  [tioa 

Cymbeline. 


Act  v.  5c.  v. 


CY.MBKUNE. 


1089 


Cymbeline. 

Nay,  nay,  to  the  purpose. 

lachltno. 

Your  daughter*!  chastity  — there  it  begins. 

He  tpake  of  her  as  Dian  had  hot  dreams, 

And  she  alone  were  cold  :  whereat,  I,  wretch. 

Made  scruple  of  his  praise;  and  wager'd  with 

hlra 
Piece*  of  gold  'gainst  this,  which  then  he  wore 
Upon  his  honour'd  finger,  to  attain 
In  suit  the  place  of  his  bed,  and  win  this  ring 
By  her's  and  mine  adultery.     He,  true  knight, 
No  lesser  of  her  honour  confident 
Than  I  did  truly  find  her,  stakes  this  ring ; 
And  would  so,  had  it  been  a  carbuncle 
Of  Phoebus'  wheel ;  and  might  so  safely,  had  it 
Been  all  the  worth  of  his  car.    Away  to  Britain 
Post  I  in  this  design  :  well  may  you,  sir, 
Remember  me  at  court,  where  I  was  taught 
Of  your  chaste  daughter  the  wide  difference 
*Twixt  amorous  and  villainous.     Being  thus 

quench'd 
Of  hope,  not  longing,  mine  Italian  brain 
'Gan  in  your  duller  Britain  operate 
Most  vilely  ;  for  my  vantage,  excellent ; 
And,  to  be  brief,  my  practice  so  prevail'd, 
That  I  retum'd  with  simular  proof,  enough 
To  make  the  noble  Leonatus  mad, 
By  wounding  his  belief  in  her  renown 
With  tokens  thus,  and  thus  ;  averring  notes 
Of  chamber-hauging,  pictures,  this  her  bracelet, 
(O  cunning,  how  I  got  it \)  nay,  some  marks 
Of  secret  on  her  person,  that  he  could  not 
Kut  think  her  bond  of  chastity  quite  crack'd, 
I  having  ta'en  the  forfeit.    Whereupon,— 
Methiuks,  I  see  him  now, — 
Posthumus. 

Ay.  so  thou  dost, 
[Coming  forward. 
Italian  fiend!  — Ah  mel  most  credulous  fool, 
Egregious  murderer,  thief,  any  thing 
That's  due  to  all  the  villains  past,  in  being, 
To  come  I  —  O,  gi ve  me  cord,  or  knife,  or  poison, 
Some  upright  justicer  I    Thou,  king,  send  out 
For  torturers  ingenious  :  it  is  I 
That  all  the  abhorred  things  o'  the  earth  amend, 
By  being  worse  than  they.    I  am  Posthumus, 
That  kill'd  thy  daughter:  — villain-like,  I  lie; 
That  caus'd  a  lesser  villain  than  myself, 
A  sacrilegious  thief,  to  do't :  —  the  temple 
Of  virtue  was  she :  — yea,  and  she  herself 
Spit,  and  throw  stones,  cast  mire  upon  me  ;  set 
The  dogs  o'  the  street  to  bay  me :  every  villain 
Be  call'd,  Posthumus  Leonatus,  and 
Be  villainy  less  than  'twas !  —  O  Imogen  I 
My  queen,  my  life,  my  wife  1    O  Imogen, 
Imogen,  Imogen  ! 

Imogen. 
Peace,  my  lord !  hear,  hear  1  — 
Posthumns. 
Shall's  have  a  play  of  this  ?    Thou  scornful 
page. 
There  lie  thy  part.         [Striking  her :  the  falls. 
Pisanio. 

O,  gentlemen !  help, 
Mine,  and  your  mistress.  —  O,  my  lord  Post- 

humus ! 
You  ne'er  kill'd  Imogen  till  now — Help,  help  !— 
Mine  honour'd  lady  1 

Cymbeline. 

Does  the  world  go  round  ? 
Posthumus. 
How  come  these  staggers  on  me  ? 
Pisanio. 

Wake,  my  mistress ! 


Cymbeline. 

If  this  be  so,  the  gods  do  mean  to  strike  me 
To  death  with  mortal  joy. 
Pisa 

How  fares  my  mistress  ? 
Imogen. 
O  I  get  thee  from  my  sight ; 
Thou  gav'st  me  poison  :  dangerous  fellow,  hence ! 
Breathe  not  where  princes  are. 
Cymbeline. 

The  tune  of  Itnogen  I 
Pisanio. 
Lady, 
The  gods  throw  stones  of  sulphur  on  me,  if 
That  box  I  gave  you  was  not  thought  by  me 
A  precious  thing :  I  bad  it  from  the  queen. 
Cymbeline. 
New  matter  still  ? 

Imogen. 

It  poison'd  me. 
Cornelius. 

O  gods  I 
I  left  out  one  thing  which  the  queen  confess'd, 
Which  must  approve  thee  honest :  if  Pisanio 
Have,  said  she,  given  his  mistress  that  confec- 
tion 
Which  I  gave  him  for  a  cordial,  she  is  serv'd 
As  I  would  serve  a  rat. 

Cymbeline. 

What's  this,  Cornelius  t 
Cornelius. 
The  queen,  sir,  very  oft  importun'd  me 
To  temper  poisons  for  her ;  still  pretending 
The  satisfaction  of  her  knowledge,  only 
In  killing  creatures  vile,  as  cats  and  dogs 
Of  no  esteem  :  I,  dreading  that  her  purpose 
Was  of  more  danger,  did  compound  for  her 
A  certain  stuff,  which,  being  ta'en,  would  cease 
The  present  power  of  life  ;  but,  in  short  time, 
All  offices  of  nature  should  again 

Do  their  due  functions Have  you  ta'en  of  it  ? 

Imogen. 
Most  like  I  did,  for  I  was  dead. 
Belarius. 

My  boys, 
There  was  our  error. 

Ouiderius. 

This  is,  sure,  Fidelc. 
Imogen. 
Why  did  you  throw  your  wedded  lady  from 
you? 
Think,  that  you  are  upon  a  rock}  and  now 
Throw  me  again.  [Embracing  him. 

Posthumus. 
Hang  there  like  fruit,  my  soul, 
Till  the  tree  die  I 

Cymbeline. 
How  now  1  my  flesh,  my  child? 
What !  mak'st  thou  me  a  dullard  in  this  act  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  speak  to  me  ? 
Imogen. 

Your  blessing,  sir. 

[Kneeling. 

Belarius. 

Though  you  did  love  this  youth,  I  blame  ye 

You  had  a  motive  for't  [not ; 

[To  Guiderfus  and  Arviragmi. 

Cymbeline. 

My  tears  that  fall, 
Prove  holy  water  on  thee  1    Imogen, 
Thy  mother's  dead. 

4  a  Imogen. 


1090 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


Imogen. 

I  am  sorry  for't,  my  lord. 
Cymbeline. 
0 1  she  was  naught ;  and  'long  of  her  it  was, 
That  we  meet  here  so  strangely:  but  her  son 
Is  gone,  we  know  not  how,  nor  where. 
Pisanio. 

My  lord, 
Now  fear  is  from  me,  I'll  speak  troth.  Lord 
Upon  my  lady's  missing,  came  to  me  [Cloten, 
With  his  sword  drawn ;  foam'd  at  the  mouth, 

and  swore, 
If  I  discover'd  not  which  way  she  was  gone, 
It  was  my  instant  death.    By  accident, 
I  had  a  feigned  letter  of  my  master's 
Then  in  my  pocket,  which  directed  him 
To  seek  her  on  the  mountains  near  to  Milford; 
Where,  in  a  frenzy,  in  my  master's  garments, 
Which  he  inforc'd  from  me,  away  he  posts 
With  unchaste  purpose,  and  with  oath  to  violate 
My  lady's  honour:  what  became  of  him, 
I  farther  know  not. 

Gutderius. 

Let  me  end  the  story. 

Cymbeline. 
Marry,  the  gods  forefend ! 


I  slew  him  there. 


I  would  not  thy  good  deeds  should  from  my  lips 
Pluck  a  hard  sentence :  pr'ythee,  valiant  youth, 
Deny't  again.  ■ 

1  Guiderlus. 

I  hare  spoke  it,  and  I  did  it. 
Cymbeline. 
He  was  a  prince. 

Guiderlus. 

A  most  uncivil  one.    The  wrongs  he  did  me 

Werenothingprince-like ;  for  he  did  provoke  me 

With  language  that  would  make  me  spurn  the 

sea, 
If  it  could  so  roar  to  me.    I  cut  ofTs  head ; 
And  am  right  glad,  he  is  not  standing  here 
To  tell  this  tale  of  mine. 

Cymbeline. 

I  am  sorry  for  thee : 
By  thine  own  tongue  thou  art  condemn'd,  and 

must 
Endure  our  law.    Thou  art  dead. 
Imogen. 

That  headless  man 
I  thought  had  been  my  lord. 
Cymbeline. 

Bind  the  offender, 
And  take  him  from  our  presence. 
Batumi. 

Stay,  sir  king. 
This  man  is  better  than  the  man  he  slew, 
As  well  descended  as  thyself;  and  hath 
More  of  thee  merited,  than  a  band  of  Clotens 
Had  ever  scar  for.  —  Let  his  arms  alone : 

[To  the  Guard. 
They  were  not  born  for  bondage. 
Cymbeline. 

Why,  old  soldier, 
Wilt  thou  undo  the  worth  thou  art  unpaid  for, 
By  tasting  of  our  wrath  ?    How  of  descent 
As  good  as  we  ? 

Arviragus. 

In  that  he  spake  too  far. 
Cymbeline. 
And  thou  shalt  die  for't. 
Belarius. 

We  will  die  all  three: 


But  I  will  prove  that  two  on's  are  as  good 
As  I  have  given  out  him.— My  sons,  I  must 
For  mine  own  part  unfold  a  dangerous  speech, 
Though,  haply,  well  for  you. 
Arviragus. 

Your  danger's  ours. 
Guiderlus. 
And  our  good  his. 

Belarius. 

Have  at  it,  then,  by  leave. 
Thou  hadst,  great  king,  a  subject,  who  wascall'd 
Belarius. 

Cymbeline. 

What  of  him?  he  is 
A  banish'd  traitor. 

Belarius. 
He  it  is  that  hath 
Assum'd  this  age:  indeed,  a  banish'd  man  ; 
I  know  not  how,  a  traitor. 

Cymbeline. 

Take  him  hence. 
The  whole  world  shall  not  save  him. 
Belarius. 

Not  too  hot : 
First  pay  me  for  the  nursing  of  thy  sons  ; 
And  let  it  be  confiscate  all,  so  soon 
As  I  have  receiv'd  it. 

Cymbeline. 

Nursing  of  my  sons  ? 
Belarius. 
I  am  too  blunt,  and  saucy ;  here's  my  knee : 
Ere  I  arise,  I  will  prefer  my  sons  ; 
Then,  spare  not  the  old  father.    Mighty  sir, 
These  two  young  gentlemen,  that  call  me  father, 
And  think  they  are  my  sons,  are  none  of  mine : 
They  are  the  issue.of  your  loins,  my  liege, 
And  blood  of  your  begetting. 
Cymbeline. 

How  !  my  issue? 
Belarius. 
So  sure  as  you  your  father's.     I,  old  Morgan, 
Am  that  Belarius  whom  you  sometime  banish'd : 
Your  pleasure  was  my  mere  offence,  my  punish- 
ment 
Itself,  and  all  my  treason  ;  that  I  suffer'd 
Was  all  the  harm  I  did.    These  gentle  princes 
(For  such,  and  so  they  are)  these  twenty  years 
Have  I  train'd  up  ;  those  arts  they  have,  as  I 
Could  put  into  them :  my  breeding  was,  sir,  as 
Your  highness  knows.    Their  nurse,  Euriphile, 
Whom  for  the  theft  I  wedded,  stole  thesechildren 
Upon  my  banishment:  I  mov'd  her  to't ; 
Having  receiv'd  the  punishment  before, 
For  that  which  I  did  then :  beaten  for  loyalty 
Excited  me  to  treason.    Their  dear  loss, 
The  more  of  you  'twas  felt,  the  more  it  shap'd 
Unto  my  end  of  stealing  them.  But,  gracious  sir, 
Here  are  your  sons  again ;  and  I  must  lose 
Two  of  the  sweet'st  companions  in  the  world — 
The  benediction  of  these  covering  heavens 
Fall  on  their  heads  like  dew  !  for  they  are  worthy 
To  inlay  heaven  with  stars. 
Cymbeline. 
Thou  weep'st,  and  speak'st 
The  service,  that  you  three  have  done,  is  more 
Unlike  than  this  thou  tell'st.  I  lost  my  children: 
If  these  be  they,  I  know  not  how  to  wish 
A  pair  of  worthier  sons. 

Belarius. 

Bepleas'd  awhile.— 
This  gentleman,  whom  I  call  Polt/dore, 
Most  worthy  prince,  as  your's  is  true  Guiderlus 
This  gentleman,  my  Cadtoal,  Arviragus, 

Your 


Act  v.  Sc.  v. 


CYMBELINK. 


1091 


Your  younger  princely  ton :  he,  iir,  was  lapp'd 
In  a  most  curious  mantle,  wrought  by  thu  hand 
Of  hit  queen  mother,  which,  for  more  probation, 
I  can  with  ease  produce. 

Cymbellne. 

Gw'derius  had 
Upon  his  neck  a  mole,  a  sanguine  star : 
It  was  a  mark  of  wonder. 

Belarlus. 

This  is  he, 
Who  hath  upon  him  still  that  natural  stamp. 
It  sr«  wise  nature's  end  in  the  donation, 
To  be  his  evidence  now. 

Cymbellne. 

O  !  what  am  I 
A  mother  to  the  birth  of  three?    Ne'er  mother 
Rejoic'd  deliverance  more.— Bless'd  pray  you  be, 
That  after  this  strange  starting  from  your  orbs, 
You  may  reign  in  them  now.  —  O  Imogeti! 
Thou  hast  lost  by  this  a  kingdom. 

Imogen. 

No,  my  lord ; 
1  have  got  two  worlds  by't.  — O,  my  gentle 

brothers ! 
Have  we  thus  met  ?    O  !  never  say  hereafter, 
But  I  am  truest  speaker:  you  call'd  me  brother, 
When  I  was  but  your  sister ;  I  you  brothers, 
When  you  were  so  indeed. 

Cymbellne. 

Did  you  e'er  meet  ? 

Arviragus. 
Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Guiderius. 

And  at  first  meeting  lov'd; 
Continued  so,  until  we  thought  he  died. 
Cornelius. 
By  the  queen's  dram  she  swallow'd. 
Cymbeline. 

O  rare  instinct ! 
When  shall  I  hear  all  through?    This  fierce 

abridgment 
Hath  to  it  circumstantial  branches,  which 
Distinction  should  be  rich  in. — Where?  how 

liv'd  you? 
And  when  came  you  to  serve  our  Roman  captive  ? 
How  parted  with  your  brothers?  how  first  met 

them? 
Why  fled  you  from  the  court,  and  whither? 

These, 
And  your  three  motives  to  the  battle,  with 
I  know  not  how  much  more,  should  be  de- 
manded. 
And  all  the  other  by-dependencies, 
From  chance  to  chance;  but  nor  the  time,  nor 

place, 
Will  serve  our  long  inter'gatories.    See, 
Posthumus  anchors  upon  Imogen; 
And  she,  like  harmless  lightning,  throws  her 

eye 
On  him,  her  brothers,  me,  her  master,  hittiug 
Each  object  with  a  joy:  the  counterchange 
Is  severally  in  all.     Let's  quit  this  ground, 

And  smoke  the  temple  with  our  sacrifices 

Thou  art  my  brother:  so  we'll  hold  thee  ever. 
[To  Belarius. 
Imogen. 
You  are  my  father,  too ;  and  did  relieve  me, 
To  see  this  gracious  season. 

Cymbellne. 

All  o'erjoy'd, 
Save  these  in  bonds:  let  them  be  joyful  too. 
For  they  shall  taste  our  comfort. 


Imogen. 

My  good  mast.r, 
1  will  yet  do  you  service. 

Lucius. 

Happy  be  you  I 

The  forlorn  soldier,  that  so  nobly  fought, 
He  would  have  well  become  this  place,  aid 

grac'd 
The  thankings  of  a  king. 

Posthumus. 

I  am,  sir. 
The  soldier  that  did  company  these  three 
In  poor  beseeming :  'twas  a  fitment  for 
The  purpose  I  then  follow'd.— That  I  was  he, 
Speak,  hichimo :  I  had  you  down,  and  might 
Have  made  you  finish. 

lachimo. 

I  am  down  again ; 

[Kneeling. 
But  now  my  heavy  conscience  sinks  my  knee, 
As  then  your  force  did.    Take  that  life,  beseech 

you, 
Which  I  so  often  owe;  but  your  ring  first, 
And  here  the  bracelet  of  the  truest  princess, 
That  ever  swore  her  faith. 

Posthumus. 

Kneel  not  to  me: 
The  power  that  I  have  on  you  is  to  spare  you ; 
The  malice  towards  you  to  forgive  you.  Live, 
And  deal  with  others  better. 

Cymbellne. 

Nobly  doom'd. 
We'll  learn  our  freeness  of  a  son-in-law: 
Pardon's  the  word  to  all. 

Arviragus. 

You  holp  us,  sir, 
As  you  did  mean  indeed  to  be  our  brother; 
JoyM  are  we,  that  you  are. 

Posthumus. 
Your   servant,   princes.— Good   my  lord  of 
Rome, 
Call  forth  your  soothsayer.     As  I  slept,  me- 

thought, 
Great  Jupiter,  upon  his  eagle  back'd, 
Appear'd  to  me,  with  other  spritely  shows 
Of  mine  own  kindred:  when  I  wak'd,  I  found 
This  label  on  my  bosom ;  whose  containing 
Is  so  from  sense  in  hardness,  that  I  can 
Make  no  collection  of  it:  let  him  show 
His  skill  in  the  construction. 
Lucius. 

Philaiinonui! 
Soothsayer. 
Here,  my  good  lord.  f  Coming  forward. 

Lucius. 
Read,  and  declare  the  meaning. 

Sooth  saver.  [Reads. 

"  When  as  a  lion's  whelp  shall,  to  himself  un- 
known, without  seeking  find,  and  be  embraced 
by  a  piece  of  tender  air ;  and  when  from  a  stately 
cedar  shall  be  lopped  branches,  which  being  dead 
many  years  shall  after  revive,  be  jointed  to  the 
old  stock,  and  freshly  grow,  then  shall  Post- 
humus end  his  miseries,  Britain  be  fortunate, 
and  flourish  in  peace  and  plenty." 
Thou,  Leonatus,  art  the  lion's  whelp ; 
The  fit  and  apt  construction  of  thy  name, 
Being  Leo-natus,  doth  import  so  much. 
The  piece  of  tender  air,  thy  virtuous  daughter, 
[To  Cymbeline. 
Which  we  call  mollis  aer  ;  and  mollis  aer 
We  term  it  mulier ;  which  mulier,  I  divine, 




1091 


PERICLES, 


Act  1. 


Is  this  most  constant  wife ;  who,  even  now, 
Answering  the  letter  of  the  oracle, 
Unknown  to  you,  unsought,  were  clipp'd  about 
With  this  most  tender  air. 

Cymbeline. 

This  hath  some  seeming. 

Soothsayer. 
The  lofty  cedar,  royal  Cymbeline, 
Personates  thee ;  and  thy  Topp'd  branches  point 
Thy  two  sons  forth  ;  who,  by  Belarius  stolen, 
For  many  years  thought  dead,  are  now  reviv'd, 
To  the  majestic  cedar  join'd,  whose  issue 
Promises  Britain  peace  and  plenty. 

Cymbeline. 

Well, 
My  peace  we  will  begin — And,  Cains  Lucius, 
Although  the  victor,  we  submit  to  Casar, 
And  to  the  Roman  empire;  promising 
To  pay  our  wonted  tribute,  from  the  which 
We  were  dissuaded  by  our  wicked  queen ; 
Whom  heavens,  in  justice,  both  on  her  and  hers, 
Have  laid  most  heavy  hand. 

Soothsayer. 
The  fingers  of  the  powers  above  do  tune 


The  harmony  of  this  peace.    The  visiou, 
Which  I  made  known  to  Lucius  ere  the  stroke 
Of  this  yet  scarce-cold  battle,  at  this  instant 
Is  full  accomplish'd ;  for  the  Roman  eagle, 
From  south  to  west  on  wing  soaring  aloft, 
Lessen'd  herself,  and  in  the  beams  o'  the  sun 
So    vanish'd:    which  foreshow'd  our  princely 
Th'  imperial  Casar,  should  again  unite    [eagle, 
His  favour  with  the  radiant  Cymbeline, 
Which  shines  here  in  the  west. 

Cymbeline. 

Laud  we  the  gods  ; 
And  let  our  crooked  smokes  climb  to  their 

nostrils 
From  our  bless'd  altars.    Publish  we  this  peace 
To  all  our  subjects.    Set  we  forward.    Let 
A  Roman  and  a  British  ensign  wave 
Friendly    together;    so    through    Lud'n   town 

march, 
And  in  the  temple  of  great  Jupiter 
Our  peace  we'll  ratify;  seal  it  with  feasts — 
Set  on  there.—  Never  was  a  war  did  cease, 
Ere  bloody  hands  were  wash'd,  with   such  a 

peace.  [Exeunt. 


PEKICLES, 

PRINCE    OF    TYRE. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


ANTIOCHUS,  %  of  Antioch. 
Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre. 
^T'l^^ds  of  Tyre. 

Simonides,  King  of  Pentapolis. 
Cleon,  Governor  of  Tharsus. 
Lysimachus,  Governor  of  Mitylene. 
Cerimon,  a  Lord  f/Ephesus. 
Thaliard,  a  Lord  of  Antioch. 
Philemon,  Servant  to  Cerimon. 
Leonine,  Servant  to  Dionyza. 
Marshal. 


1  A  Pander,  and  his  Wife. 
;  Boult,  their  Servant. 

Gower,  as  Chorus. 

The  Daughter  of  Antiochus. 

Dionyza,  Wife  to  Cleon. 

Thaisa,  Daughter  to  Simonides. 

Marina,  Daughter  to  Pericles  and  Thaisa. 

Lychorida,  Nurse  to  Marina. 

Diana. 

Lords,    Ladies,    Knights,   Gentlemen,   Sailors, 

Pirates,  Fishermen  and  Messengers,  tyc. 

SCENE,  dispersedly  In  various  Countries. 


ACT  I. 

Enter  Gower. 
Before  the  Palace  of  Antioch. 

TO  6ing  a  song  that  old  was  sung, 
From  ashes  ancient  Gower  is  come ; 
Assuming  man's  infirmities, 
To  glad  your  ear,  and  please  your  eyc&. 


It  hath  been  sung  at  festivals, 

On  ember-eves,  and  holy  ales, 

And  lords  and  ladies  in  their  lives 

Have  read  it  for  restoratives : 

The  purpose  is  to  make  men  glorious ; 

Et  bonum  quo  antiquius,  eo  melius. 

If  you,  born  in  these  latter  times, 

When  wit's  more  ripe,  accept  my  rhymes, 

And  that  to  hear  an  old  man  sing, 

May  to  your  wishes  pleasure  bring, 

I  Hfe 


Act  i.  Sc.  i. 


PRINCE  OF  TYKK. 


1093 


I  life  would  wish,  and  that  I  might 

Waste  it  for  you,  like  taper-light — 

This  Antioch,  then :  Antiochus  the  great 

Built  up  this  city  for  his  chiefest  seat, 

The  fairest  in  all  Syria  ; 

I  tell  you  what  my  authors  say : 

This  king  unto  him  took  a  feere, 

Who  died  and  left  a  female  heir, 

So  buxom,  blithe,  and  full  of  face, 

As  heaven  had  lent  her  all  his  grace ; 

With  whom  the  father  liking  took, 

And  her  to  incest  did  provoke. 

Bad  child,  worse  father,  to  entice  his  own 

To  evil,  should  be  done  by  none. 

By  custom  what  they  did  begin 

Was  with  long  use  account  no  sin. 

The  beauty  of  this  sinful  dame 

Made  many  princes  thither  frame, 

To  seek  her  as  a  bed-fellow, 

In  marriage  pleasures  play-fellow: 

Which  to  prevent  he  made  a  law, 

To  keep  her  still  and  men  in  awe, 

That  whoso  ask'd  her  for  his  wife. 

His  riddle  told  not,  lost  his  life : 

So,  for  her  many  a  wight  did  die, 

As  yond'  grim  looks  do  testify.  [eye 

What  now  ensues,  to  the  judgment  of  your 

I  give,  my  cause  who  best  can  justify. 

SCENE  I.     Antioch.     A  Hoom  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Antiochus,  Pericles,  ami  Attendants. 
Antiochus. 
Young  prince  of  Tyre,  you  have  at  large  re- 
!   The  danger  of  the  tasK  you  undertake,      [ceiv'd 
Pericles. 
I  have,  Antiochus,  and  with  a  soul 
Embolden'd  with  the  glory  of  her  praise, 
I  Think  death  no  hazard,  in  this  enterprise. 

"Music 
Antiochus. 
Bring  in  our  daughter,  clothed  like  a  bride, 
1  For  the  embracements  even  of  Jove  himself ; 
At  whose  conception,  (till  Lucina  reign'd) 
Nature  this  dowry  gave,  to  glad  her  presence, 
The  senate-house  of  planets  all  did  sit, 
To  knit  in  her  their  best  perfections. 

Enter  the  Daughter  of  Ant- 
Pericles. 

j     See,  where   she   comes,  apparell'd  like  the 
! ,  spring, 

Graces  her  subjects,  and  her  thoughts  the  king 
Of  every  virtue  gives  renown  to  men ! 
Her  face,  the  book  of  praises,  where  is  read 
Nothing  but  curious  pleasures,  as  from  thence 
Sorrow  were  ever  ras'd,  and  testy  wrath 

[  Could  never  be  her  mild  companion. 
Ye  gods,  that  made  me  man,  and  sway  in  love, 
That  have  inflam'd  desire  in  my  breast, 
To  taste  the  fruit  of  yon  celestial  tree, 
Or  die  in  the  adventure,  be  my  helps, 
As  I  am  son  and  servant  to  your  will, 
To  compass  such  a  boundless  happiness ! 

Antiochus. 
Prince  Pericles, — 

Pericles. 
That  would  be  son  to  great  Antiochus. 

Antiochus. 
Before  thee  stands  this  fair  Hesperides, 
With  golden  fruit,  but  dangerous  to  be  touch'd; 
For  death-like  dragons  here  affright  thee  hard  : 
Her  face,  like  heaven,  enticeth  thee  to  view 


Her  countless  glory,  which  desert  must  gain  ; 
And  which,  without  desert,  because  thine  eye 
Presumes  to  reach,  all  thy  whole  heap  must  die. 
Yond'  sometime  famous  princes,  like  thyself, 
Drawn  by  report,  adventurous  by  desire,   [pale, 
Tell  thee  with  speechless  tongues.and  semblance 
That,  without  covering,  save  yond'  field  of  stars, 
They  here  stand  martyrs,  slain  in  Cupid's  wars ; 
And  with  dead  cheeks  advise  thee  to  desist, 
For  going  on  death's  net,  whom  none  resist. 
ferirlte, 

Antiochus,  I  thank  thee,  who  hath  taught 
My  frail  mortality  to  know  itself, 
And  by  those  fearful  objects  to  prepare 
This  body,  like  to  them,  to  what  I  must : 
For  death  remember'd  should  be  like  a  mirror, 
Who  tells  us,  life's  but  breath  ;  to  trust  it,  error. 
I'll  make  my  will,  then  ;  and  as  sick  men  do, 
Who  know  the  world,  see  heaven,  but  feeling 

woe, 
Gripe  not  at  earthly  joys,  as  erst  they  did : 
So,  I  bequeath  a  happy  peace  to  you, 
And  all  good  men,  as  every  prince  should  do : 
My  riches  to  the  earth  from  whence  they  came, 
But  my  unspotted  fire  of  love  to  you. 

[To  the  Daughter  of  Antiochus. 
Thus,  ready  for  the  way  of  life  or  death, 
I  wait  the  sharpest  blow. 

Antiochus. 

Scorning  advice,  read  the  conclusion,  then ; 
Which  read  and  not  expounded,  'tis  decreed, 
As  these  before  thee,  thou  thyself  shalt  bleed. 
Daughter. 

Of  all,  'say  'd  yet,  may'st  thou  prove  prosperous ! 
Of  all,  'say'd  yet,  I  wish  thee  happiness. 
Pericles. 

Like  a  bold  champion,  I  assume  the  lists, 
Nor  ask  advice  of  any  other  thought 
But  faithfulness,  and  courage. 

THl   RIDDLR. 

J  am  no  viper,  yet  I  feed 
On  mother's  flesh,  which  did  me  breed, 
I  sought  a  husband,  in  which  labour, 
I  found  that  kindness  in  a  father : 
He's  father,  son,  and  husband  mild, 
I  mother,  wife,  and  yet  his  child. 
How  they  may  be,  and  yet  in  two, 
As  you  will  live,  resolve  it  you. 
Sharp  physick  is  the  last :  but,  O  you  powers  ! 
That  give  heaven  countless  eyes  to  view  men's 

acts, 
(Why  cloud  they  not  their  sights  perpetually, 
!  If  this  be  true,  which  makes  me  pale  to  read  it  ? 
I  Fair  glass  of  light,  I  lov'd  you,  and  could  still, 
,Were  not  this  glorious  casket  stor'd  with  ill ; 
But  I  must  tell  you,— now,  my  thoughts  revolt, 
'For  he's  no  man  on  whom  perfections  wait, 
jThat,  knowing  sin  within,  will  touch  the  gate. 
I  You're  a  fair  viol,  and  your  sense  the  strings, 
Who,  finger'd  to  make  man  his  lawful  music, 
Would  draw  heaven  down  and  all  the  gods  to 

hearken ; 
But  being  play'd  upon  before  your  time, 
Hell  only  danceth  at  so  harsh  a  chime. 
Good  sooth,  I  care  not  for  you. 
Antiochus. 
Prince  Pericles,  touch  not,  upon  thy  life, 
For  that's  an  article  within  our  law, 
As  dangerous  as  the  rest.     Your  time's  expir'd  : 
Either  expound  now,  or  receive  your  sentence. 
Pericles. 
Great  king, 
Few  love  to  hear  the  sins  they  love  to  act ; 
"fwould  'braid  yourself  too  near  for  me  to  tell  it. 

Who 


[o9+ 


PERICLES, 


Act  r.  Sc.  t. 


Who  h;is  a  book  of  all  that  monarchs  do, 
He's  more  secure  to  keep  it  shut,  than  shown  ; 
For  vice  repeated  is  like  the  wandering  wind, 
Blows  dust  in  others'  eyes,  to  spread  itself; 
And  yet  the  end  of  all  is  bought  thus  dear. 
The  breath  is  gone,  and  the  sore  eyes  see  clear : 
To  stop  the  air  would  hurt  them.    The  blind 

mole  casts 
Copp'd  hills  towards  heaven,  to  tell  the  earth  is 

throng'd 
By  man's  oppression  ;  and  the  poor  worm  doth 

die  for't. 
King's  are  earth's  gods  ;  in  vice  their  law's  their 

will, 
And  if  Jove  stray,  who  dares  say  Jove  doth  ill  ? 
It  is  enough  you  know  ;  and  it  is  fit, 
What  being  more  known  grows  worse,  to  smother 

it. 
All  love  the  womb  that  their  first  beings  bred. 
Then,  give  my  tongue  like  leave  to  love  my  head. 
Antiochus.  [Aside. 

Heaven,  that  I  had  thy  head  !  he  has  found 

the  meaning ; 
But  I  will  gloze  with  him.    [To  him.]    Young 

prince  of  Tyre, 
Though  by  the  tenour  of  our  strict  edict, 
Your  exposition  misinterpreting, 
We  might  proceed  to  cancel  of  your  days  ; 
Yet  hope,  succeeding  from  so  fair  a  tree 
As  your  fair  self,  doth  tune  us  otherwise. 
Forty  days  longer  we  do  respite  you  ; 
If  by  which  time  our  secret  be  undone, 
This  mercy  shows,  we'll  joy  in  such  a  son  : 
And  until  then  your  entertain  shall  be, 
As  doth  befit  our  honour,  and  your  worth. 

[Exeunt  Antiochus,  nls  Daughter,  and  At- 
tendants. 

Periclet. 
How  courtesy  would  seem  to  cover  sin, 
When  what  is  done  is  like  an  hypocrite, 
The  which  is  good  in  nothing  but  in  sight  1 
If  it  be  true  that  I  interpret  false, 
Then  were  it  certain,  you  were  not  so  bad, 
As  with  foul  incest  to  abuse  your  soul ; 
Where  now  you're  both  a  father  and  a  son. 
By  your  untimely  claspings  with  your  child, 
(Which  pleasure  fits  a  husband,  not  a  father) 
And  she  an  eater  of  her  mother's  flesh, 
By  the  defiling  of  her  parent's  bed  ; 
And  both  like  serpents  are,  who  though  they  feed 
On  sweetest  flowers,  yet  they  poison  breed. 
Antioch,  farewell  !  for  wisdom  sees,  those  men 
Blush  not  in  actions  blacker  than  the  night, 
Will  shun  no  course  to  keep  them  from  the  light : 
One  sin,  I  know,  another  doth  provoke  ; 
Murder's  as  near  to  lust,  as  flame  to  smoke. 
Poison  and  treason  are  the  hands  of  sin, 
Ay,  and  the  targets,  to  put  off  the  shame  : 
Then,  lest  my  life  be  cropp'd  to  keep  you  clear, 
By  flight  I'll  shun  the  danger  which  I  fear. 

fExit. 
Re-enter  Antiochus. 
Antiochus. 
He  hath  found  the  meaning,  for  the  which  we 
To  have  his  head.  [mean 

He  must  not  live  to  trumpet  forth  my  infamy, 
Nor  tell  the  world,  Antiochus  doth  sin 
In  such  a  loathed  manner : 
And  therefore  instantly  this  prince  must  die ; 
For  by  his  fall  my  honour  must  keep  high. 
Who  attends  us  there  ? 

Enter  Thaliard. 
Thaliard. 

Doth  jour  highness  call  ? 


Antiochus. 
Thaliard, 
You're  of  our  chamber,  and  our  mind  partakes 
Her  private  actions  to  your  secrecy ; 
And  for  your  faithfulness  we  will  advance  you. 
Thaliard,  behold,  here's  poison,  and  here's  gold  ; 
We  hate  the  prince  of  Tyre,  and  thou  must  kill 
It  fits  thee  not  to  ask  the  reason  why,        [him  : 
Because  we  bid  it.    Say,  is  it  done  ? 
Thaliard. 

My  lord, 
'Tis  done. 

Enter  a  Messenger 

Antiochus. 

Enough. — 

Let  your  breath  cool  yourself,  telling  your  haste. 

Messenger. 

My  lord,  prince  Pericles  is  fled. 

[Exit  Messenger. 
Antiochus. 

As  thou 
Wilt  live,  fly  after :  and,  as  an  arrow,  shot 
From  a  well-experienc'd  archer,  hits  the  mark 
His  eye  doth  level  at,  so  ne'er  return, 
Unless  thou  say  Prince  Pericles  is  dead. 
Thaliard. 
My  lord.  If  I 
Can  get  him  once  within  my  pistol's  length, 
I'll  make  him  sure :  so,  farewell  to  your  high- 
ness. [Exit. 
Antiochus. 
Thaliard,  adieu.— Till  Pericles  be  dead, 
My  heart  can  lend  no  succour  to  my  head. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  II.    Tyre.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Pericles,  HeUcanus,  and  other  Lords.    ■ 

Pericles. 
Let  none  disturb  us  :  why  should  this  charge 

of  thoughts  ? 
The  sad  companion,  dull-ey'd  melancholy, 
By  me  so  us'd  a  guest,  as  not  an  hour, 
In  the  day's  glorious  walk,  or  peaceful  night, 
The  tomb  where  grief  should  sleep,  can  breed 

me  quiet. 
Here  pleasures  court  mine  eyes,  and  mine  eyes 

shun  them. 
And  danger,  which  I  feared,  is  at  Antioch, 
Whose  arm  seems  far  too  short  to  hit  me  here ; 
Yet  neither  pleasure's  art  can  joy  my  spirits, 
i  Nor  yet  the  other's  distance  comfort  me. 
j  Then,  it  is  thus :  that  passions  of  the  mind, 
i  That  have  their  first  conception  by  mis-dread, 
Have  after-nourishment  and  life  by  care  ; 
And  what  was  first  but  fear  what  might  be  done, 
Grows  elder  now,  and  cares  it  be  not  done  : 
And  so  with  me:  —  the  great  Antiochus 
('Gainst  whom  I  am  too  little  to  contend, 
Since  he's  so  great,  can  make  his  will  his  act) 
Will  think  me  speaking,  though   I  swear  to 
Nor  boots  it  me  to  say,  I  honour,  [silence; 

If  he  suspect  I  may  dishonour  him : 
And  what  may  make  him  blush  in  being  known, 
He'll  stop  the  course  by  which  it  might  be 

known. 
With  hostile  forces  he'll  o'erspread  the  land, 
And  with  the  ostent  of  war  will  look  so  huge, 
Amazement  shall  drive  courage  from  the  state ; 
Our  men  be  vanquish'd  ere  they  do  resist, 
And  subjects  punish'dthatne'erthoughtoffence: 
Which  care  of  them,  not  pity  of  myself, 
(Who  am  no  more  but  as  the  tops  of  trees, 
Which  fence  the  roots  they  grow  by,  and  defend 

them) 

Makes 


Act  i.  Sir.  in. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


1095 


Makes  both  my  body  pine,  find  soul  to  languish, 
And  punish  that  before  that  he  would  punish. 
First  Lord. 
Joy  and  all  comfort  In  your  sacred  breast. 

Second  Lord. 
And  keep  your  mind,  till  you  return  to  us, 
I  .:  ,md' comfortable. 

il.  I, cuius. 
Peace,  peace  !  and  glre  experience  tongue. 
They  do  abuse  the  kin*,  that  flatter  him : 
For'fl.ittcry  Is  the  bellows  blows  up  sin  ; 
The  thing  the  which  is  flatter'd,  but  a  spark. 
To  which  that  blast  gives  heat  and  stronger 

glowing; 
Whereas  reproof,  obedient  and  In  order. 
Fits  kings,  as  they  are  men,  for  they  may  err  : 
When  signior  Sooth,  here,  does  proclaim  a  peace 
He  flatters  you,  makes  war  upon  your  life. 
Prince,  pardon  me,  or  strike  me,  if  you  please; 
I  cannot  be  much  lower  than  my  knees. 
Pericles. 
All  leave  us  else ;  but  let  your  cares  o'er-look 
What  shipping,  and  what  lading's  in  our  haven, 
And  then  return  to  us.    [Exeunt  Lords.]  Heli- 
canus, thou 
Hast  moved  us :  what  seest  thou  in  our  looks  ? 
Helic.imts. 
An  angry  brow,  dread  lord. 
IVride*. 
If  there  be  such  a  dart  In  prince's  frowns, 
How  durst  thy  tongue  move  anger  to  our  face  ? 
Helicanus. 
How  dare  the  plants  look  up  to  heaven,  from 
They  have  their  nourishment  ?  [whence 

Pericles. 

Thou  know'st  I  have  power 
To  take  thy  life  from  thee. 

Helicanus. 
I  have  ground  the  axe  myself; 
Do  you  but  strike  the  blow. 
I'ericles. 

Rise,  pr'ythee  rise ; 
Sit  down  ;  thou  art  no  flatterer : 
I  thank  thee  for  it ;  and  heaven  forbid, 
That  kings  should  let  their  ears  hear  their  faults 
Fit  counsellor,  and  servant  for  a  prince,      [hid. 
Who  by  thy  wisdom  mak'st  a  prince  thy  servant, 
What  would'st  thou  have  me  do  ? 
Helicanus. 

To  bear  with  patience 
Such  griefs  as  you  yourself  do  lay  upon  yourself. 
Pei  1. 
Thou  speak 'st  like  a  physician,  Helicanus, 
That  ministers  a  potion  unto  me, 
That  thou  would'st  tremble  to  receive  thyself. 
Attend  me,  then  :  I  went  to  Antioch, 
Where,  as  thou  know'st,  against  the  face  of  death 
I  sought  the  purchase  of  a  glorious  beauty, 
From  whence  an  issue  I  might  propagate, 
Are  arms  to  princes,  and  bring  joys  to  subjects. 
Her  face  was  to  mine  eye  beyond  all  wonder; 
The  rest  (hark  in  thine  ear)  as  black  as  Incest : 
Which  by  my  knowledge  found,  the  sinful  father 
Seem'd  not  to  strike,  but  smooth;  but  thou 

know'st  this, 
*Tis  time  to  fear,  when  tyrants  seem  to  kiss. 
Which  fear  so  grew  in  me,  I  hither  fled 
Under  the  covering  of  a  careful  night, 
Who  seem'd  my  good  protector ;  and  being  here. 
Bethought   me   what   was   past,   what   might 

succeed. 
I  knew  him  tyrannous ;  and  tyrants'  fears 
Decrease  notj  but  grow  faster  than  the  years. 


And  should  he  doubt  it,  (as  no  doubt  he  doth  i 
That  I  should  open  to  the  listening  air, 
How  many  worthy  princes'  bloods  were  shed. 
To  keep  his  bed  of  blackness  unlaid  ope. 
To  lop  that  doubt  he'll  (ill  this  land  with  arms, 
And  make  pretence  of  wrong  that  I  have  done 

him  ; 
When  all,  for  mine.  If  I  may  call't,  offence. 
Must  feel  war's  blow,  who  spares  not  innocence : 
Which  love  to  all,  of  which  thyself  art  one, 
Who  now  reprov'st  me  for  it— 
Helicanus. 

Alas,  sir  ! 
•  let. 
Drew  sleep  out  of  mine  eyes,  blood  from  my 
cheeks, 
Musings  into  my  mind,  a  thousand  doubts 
How  I  might  stop  this  tempest  ere  it  came; 
And  finding  little  comfort  to  relieve  them, 
I  thought  it  princely  charity  to  grieve  them. 
Helicanus. 
Well,  my  lord,  since  you  have  given  me  leave 
to  speak, 
Freely  will  I  speak.    Antiochus  you  fear 
And  justly  too,  I  think,  you  fear  the  tyrant. 
Who  either  by  public  war,  or  private  treason, 
Will  take  away  your  life. 
Therefore,  my  lord,  go  travel  for  a  while, 
Till  that  his  rage  and  anger  be  forgot. 
Or  till  the  Destinies  do  cut  his  thread  of  life. 
Your  rule  direct  to  any  ;  if  to  me, 
Day  serves  not  light  more  faithful  than  I'll  be. 
Ferities. 
I  do  not  doubt  thy  faith  ; 
But  should  he  wrong  my  liberties  in  my  absence  ? 
Helicanus. 
We'll  mingle  our  bloods  together  In  the  earth, 
From  whence  we  had  our  being  and  our  birth. 
Pericles. 
Tyre,    I  now  look  from  thee,  then;  and  to 
Tharsus 
Intend  my  travel,  where  I'll  hear  from  thee, 
And  by  whose  letters  I'll  dispose  myself. 
The  care  I  had,  and  have,  of  subjects'  good,  [it. 
On  thee  I  lay,  whose  wisdom's  strength  can  bear 
I'll  take  thy  word  for  faith,  not  ask  thine  oath  ; 
Who  shuns  not  to  break  one,  will  surecrack  both. 
But  in  our  orbs  we  live  so  round  and  safe, 
That  time  of  both  this  truth  shall  ne'er  convince, 
Thou  show'dst  a  subject's  shine,  I  a  true  Prince. 
[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.     Tyre.    An  Ante-chamber  In  the 
Palace. 

Kntcr  Thaliard. 
Thaliard. 
So,  this  is  Tyre,  and  this  is  the  court.  Here 
must  I  kill  king  Pericles;  and  if  I  do  not,  I  am 
sure  to  be  hanged  at  home:  'tis  dangerous.— 
Well,  I  perceive  he  was  a  wise  fellow,  and  had 
good  discretion,  that  being  bid  to  ask  what  be 
would  of  the  king,  desired  he  might  know  none 
of  his  secrets :  now  do  I  see  he  had  some  reason 
for  it ;  for  if  a  king  bid  a  man  be  a  villain,  he  is 
bound  by  the  indenture  of  his  oath  to  be  one.— 
Hush  1  here  come  the  lords  of  Tyre. 

Enter  Helicanus,  Escanes,  and  other  Lords. 
Helicanus. 

You  shall  not  need,  my  fellow  peers  of  Tyre, 
Farther  to  question  me  of  your  king's  departure: 
His  seal'd  commission,  left  in  trust  with  me, 
Doth  speak  sufficiently,  he's  gone  to  trarel.     . 


1096 


PERICLES, 


Act  1.  Sc.  in. 


Thaliard.  fAslde. 

How  !  the  king  gone  ? 

Helicanus. 
If  farther  yet  you  will  be  satisfied, 
Why,  as  it  were  unlicens'd  of  your  loves, 
He  would  depart,  I'll  give  some  light  unto  you. 
Being  at  Antioch— 

Thaliard<  f  Aside. 

What  from  Antioch  f 
Helicanus. 
Royal  Antiochus  (on  what  cause  I  know  not) 
Took  some  displeasure  at  him :   at  least,  he 

judg'd  so ; 
And  doubting  lest  that  he  had  err'd  or  sinu'd, 
To  show  his  sorrow  he'd  correct  himself ; 
So  puts  himself  unto  the  shipmau's  toil, 
With  whom  each  minute  threatens  life  or  death. 
Thaliard.  [Aside. 

Well,  I  perceive 
I  shall  not  be  hang'd  now,  although  I  would ; 
But  since  he's  gone,  the  king's  seas  must  please: 
He  'scap'd  the  land,  to  perish  at  the  sea. — 
I'll  present  myself. — [To  them.]  Peace  to  the 
lords  of  Tyre. 

Helicanus. 
Lord  Thaliard  from  Antiochus  is  welcome. 

Thaliard. 
From  him  I  come, 
With  message  unto  princely  Pericles ; 
But  since  my  landing  I  have  understood, 
Your  lord  hath  betook   himself  to   unknown 

travels, 
My  message  must  return  from  whence  it  came. 
Helicanus. 
We  have  no  reason  to  desire  it, 
Commended  to  our  master,  not  to  us : 
Yet,  ere  you  shall  depart,  this  we  desire. 
As  friends  to  Antioch,  we  may  feast  in  Tyre. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Tharsus.    A  Room  in  the 
Governor's  House. 

Enter  Cleon,  Dionyza,  and  Attendants. 
Cleon. 
My  Dionyza,  shall  we  rest  us  here, 
And  by  relating  tales  of  other's  griefs, 
See  if  'twill  teach  us  to  forget  our  own  ? 
Dionyza. 
That  were  to  blow  at  fire  in  hope  to  quench  it ; 
For  who  digs  hills  because  they  do  aspire, 
Throws  down  one  mountain  to  cast  up  a  higher. 
O  my  distressed  lord  !  even  such  our  griefs  ; 
Here  they're  but  felt,  and  seen  with  mischief's 

eyes, 
But  like  to  groves,  being  topp'd,  they  higher  rise. 
Cleon. 
O  Dionyza, 
Who  wanteth  food,  and  will  not  say  he  wants  it, 
Or  can  conceal  his  hunger,  till  he  famish  ? 
Our  tongues  and  sorrows  do  sound  deep 
Our  woes  into  the  air ;  our  eyes  do  weep, 
Till  lungs  fetch  breath  that  may  proclaim  them 

.  louder ; 
That  if  heaven  slumber,  while  their  creatures 

want, 
They  may  awake  their  helps  to  comfort  them. 
I'll  then  discourse  our  woes,  felt  several  years, 
And,  wanting  breath  to  speak,  help  me  with  tears. 

Dionyza. 
I'll  do  my  best,  sir. 

Cleon. 
This  Tharsus,  o'er  which  I  have  the  govern- 
ment, 


I  A  city,  on  whom  plenty  held  full  hand, 
For  riches  strew'd  herself  even  in  the  streets, 
Whose  towers  bore  heads  so  high,  they  kiss'd 

the  clouds, 
And  strangers  ne'er  beheld,  but  wonder'd  at ; 
Whose  men  and  dames  so  jetted,  and  adorn'd, 
Like  one  another's  glass  to  trim  them  by : 
Their  tables  were  stor'd  full  to  glad  the  sight, 
And  not  so  much  to  feed  on  as  delight ; 
All  poverty  was  scorn 'd,  and  pride  so  great, 
The  name  of  help  grew  odious  to  repeat. 

Dionyia. 

O  !  'tis  too  true. 

Cleon. 

But  see  what  heaven  can  do !    By  this  our 
change, 
These  mouths,  whom  but  of  late,  earth,  sea,  and 
Were  all  too  little  to  content  and  please,      [air, 
Although  they  gave  their  creatures  in  abundance, 
As  houses  are  defil'd  for  want  of  use, 
They  are  now  starv'd  for  want  of  exercise : 
Those  palates,  who  not  yet  two  summers  younger, 
Must  have  inventions  to  delight  the  taste, 
Would  now  be  glad  of  bread,  and  beg  for  it : 
Those  mothers  who  to  nousle  up  their  babes 
Thought  nought  too  curious,  are  ready  now 
To  eat  those  little  darlings  whom  they  lov'd. 
So  sharp  are  hunger's  teeth,  that  man  and  wife 
Draw  lots,  who  first  shall  die  to  lengthen  life. 
Here  stands  a  lord,  and  there  a  lady  weeping  ; 
Here  many  sink,  yet  those  which  see  them  fall, 
Have  scarce  strength  left  to  give  them  burial. 
Is  not  this  true  ? 

Dionyza. 

Our  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes  do  witness  it. 

Cleon. 

0  !  let  those  cities,  that  of  plenty's  cup 
And  her  prosperities  so  largely  taste, 

With  their  superfluous  riots,  hear  these  tears : 
The  misery  of  Tharsus  may  be  theirs. 

Enter  a  Lord. 
Lord. 
Where's  the  lord  governor  ? 

Cleon- 

Here.  .  [haste, 

Speak  out  thy  sorrows  which  thou  bring'st  in 

For  comfort  is  too  far  for  us  to  expect. 

Lord. 

We  have  descried,  upon  our  neighbouring 

A  portly  sail  of  ships  make  hither  ward,   [shore, 

Cleon. 

1  thought  as  much. 

One  sorrow  never  comes,  but  brings  an  heir 
That  may  succeed  as  his  inheritor  ; 
And  so  in  ours.    Some  neighbouring  nation, 
Taking  advantage  of  our  misery,  [power, 

Hath  stuffd  these  hollow  vessels  with  their 
To  beat  us  down,  the  which  are  down  already ; 
And  make  a  conquest  of  unhappy  me, 
Whereas  no  glory's  got  to  overcome. 
Lord. 
That's  the  least  fear ;  for  by  the  semblance 
Of  their  white  flags  display'd,  they  bring  us 

peace, 
And  come  to  us  as  favourers,  not  as  foes 
Cleon. 
Thou  speak'st  like  hlm's  untutor'd  to  repeat ; 
Who  makes  the  fairest  show  means  most  deceit. 
But  bring  they  what  they  will,  and  what  they 
What  need  we  fear  ?  [can, 

The  ground's  the  low'st,  and  we  are  half  way 

there. 
Go,  tell  their  general  we  attend  him  here, 

To 


Act  ii.  Sc.  i. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


1097 


To  know  for  what  he  comet,  and  whence  lie 
Ami  what  he  craves.  [comes, 

Lord. 
I  go,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Cleon. 
Welcome  Is  peace,  if  he  on  peace  constat ; 
1 1  wars,  we  are  unable  to  resist. 

Enter  Perkles,  with  Attendant*. 

Pericles. 

Lord  governor,  for  so  we  hear  you  are. 
Let  not  our  ships  and  number  of  our  men, 
Be,  like  a  beacon  fir'd,  to  amaze  vour  eyes. 
We  have  heard  your  miseries  as  far  as  Tyre, 
And    son  the  desolation  of  your  streets  ; 
Nor  come  we  to  add  sorrow  to  your  tears, 
But  to  relieve  them  of  their  heavy  load: 
And  these  our  ships  vou  happily  may  think 
Are  like  the  Trojan  horse,  was  stuff'd  within 
With  bloody  veins,  expecting  overthrow, 
Are  stor'd  with  corn  to  make  your  needy  bread, 
And  give  them  life  whom  hunger  starv'd  half 
dead. 

All. 

The  gods  of  Greece  protect  you  1 
And  we'll  pray  for  you. 

Pericles. 

Arise,  I  pray  you,  arise : 
We  do  not  look  for  reverence,  but  for  love. 
And  harbourage  for  ourself,  our  ships,  and  men. 

Cleon. 
The  which  when  any  shall  not  gratify, 
J I  Or  pay  you  with  unthankfulness  in  thought, 

Be  it  our  wives,  our  children,  or  ourselves, 
'  The  curse  of  heaven  and  men  succeed  their  evils ! 
,  Till  when,  (the  which,  I  hope,  shall  ne'er  be  seen) 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  our  town  and  us. 

rcricles. 
Which  welcome  we'll  accept;  feast  here  a 
while. 
Until  our  stars  that  frown  lend  us  a  smile. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  H. 

Enter  Gower. 
Gower. 

HERE  have  you  seen  a  mighty  king 
His  child,  I  wis,  to  incest  bring  ; 
A  better  prince,  and  benign  lord, 
That  will  prove  awful  both  in  deed  and  word. 
Be  quiet,  then,  as  men  should  be, 
Till  he  hath  pass'd  necessity. 
I'll  show  you  those  in  troubles  reign, 
Losing  a  mite,  a  mountain  gain. 
The  good  in  conversation 
(To  whom  I  give  my  benison) 
Is  still  at  Tharsus,  where  each  man 
Thinks  all  is  writ  he  spoken  can : 
And  to  remember  what  he  does, 
Build  his  statue  to  make  him  glorious  : 
But  tidings  to  the  contrary 
Are  brought  your  eyes ;  what  need  speak  I  ? 

Dumb  show. 

Enter  at  one  door  Periclet,  talking  with  Cleon ; 

all  the  Train  with  them.    Enter  at  another 

door,  a  Gentleman,  with  a  Letter  to  Periclet : 

Pericles   shows  the  Letter  to  Cleon;    then 

Sve»  the  Messenger  a  reward,  and  knights 
m.    Exeunt  Pericles,  Cleon,  &c.  severally. 


Good  Helicane  hath  stay'd  at  home, 
Not  to  eat  honey  like  a  drone, 
From  others'  labours;  for  though  he  strive 
To  k i! li'ii  bad,  keep  good  alive  ; 
And,  to  fulfil  his  prince'  desire. 
Sends  word  of  all  that  haps  in  Tyre: 
How  Thaliard  came  full  bent  with  sin, 
And  hid  intent,  to  murder  him  ; 
And  that  in  Tharsus  was  not  best 
Longer  for  him  to  make  his  rest. 
He,  knowing  so,  put  forth  to  seas, 
Where  when  men  been,  there's  seldom  ease ; 
For  now  the  wind  begins  to  blow  ; 
Thunder  above,  and  deeps  below, 
Make  such  unquiet,  that  the  ship, 
Should  house  him  safe,  is  wreck'd  and  split ; 
And  he,  good  prince,  having  all  lost. 
By  waves  from  coast  to  coast  is  tost. 
All  perishen  of  man,  of  pelf, 
Ne  aught  escapen  but  himself; 
Till  fortune,  tired  with  doing  bad, 
Threw  him  ashore,  to  give  him  glad : 
And  here  he  comes.    What  shall  be  next, 
Pardon  old  Gower;  thus  long's  the  text. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  1.    Pentapotts.    An  open  Place  by 
the  Sea-side. 

Enter  Pericles,  wet. 

Pericles. 

Yet  cease  your  ire,  you  angry  stars  of  heaven  ! 

Wind,  rain,  and  thunder,  remember,  earthly 

man 
Is  but  a  substance  that  must  yield  to  you  ; 
And  I,  as  fits  my  nature,  do  obey  you. 
Alas !  the  sea  hath  cast  me  on  the  rocks, 
Wash'd  me  from  shore  to  shore,  and  left  me 

breath 
Nothing  to  think  on,  but  ensuing  death  : 
Let  it  suffice  the  greatness  of  your  powers, 
To  have  bereft  a  prince  of  all  his  fortunes  ; 
And  having  thrown  him  from  your  watery  grave, 
Here  to  have  death  in  peace  is  all  he'll  crave. 

Enter  Three  Fishermen. 

,      ■     First  Fisherman. 
What,  ho,  Pilch  ! 

Second  Fisherman, 
Ho !  come,  and  bring  away  the  nets. 

First  Fisherman. 
What,  Patch-breech,  I  say  1 

Third  Fisherman. 
What  say  you,  master  ? 

First  Fisherman. 
Look  how  thou  stirrest  now !  come  away,  or 
I'll  fetch  thee  with  a  wannion. 

Third  Fisherman. 
'Faith,  master,  I  am  thinking  of  the  poor 
men,  that  were  cast  away  before  us  even  now. 

First  Fisherman. 

Alas,  poor  souls !  it  grieved  my  heart  to  hear 
what  pitiful  cries  they  made  to  us  to  help  them, 
when,  well-a-day,  we  could  scarce  help  our- 
selves. 

Third  Fisherman. 

Nay,  master,  said  not  I  as  much,  when  I  saw 
the  porpus,  how  he  bounced  and  tumbled  ?  they 
say,  they  are  half  fish,  half  flesh :  a  plague  on 
them !  they  ne'er  come,  but  I  look  to  be  washed. 
Master,  I  marvel  how  the  fishes  live  in  the  sea. 

First  Fisherman. 
Why  as  men  do  a-land :  the  great  ones  eat  tip 

the 


1098 


PERICLES 


Act  11.  Sc.  1. 


the  little  ones.  I  can  compare  onr  rich  misers 
to  nothing  so  fitly  as  to  a  whale  ;  'a  plays  and 
tumbles,  driving  the  poor  fry  before  him,  and 
at  last  devours  them  all  at  a  mouthful.  Such 
whales  have  I  heard  on  the  land,  who  never 
leave  gaping,  till  they've  swallowed  the  whole 
parish,  church,  steeple,  bells  and  all. 
Pericles. 
A  pretty  moral. 

Third  Fisherman. 
But,  master,  if  I  had  been    the   sexton,   I 
would  have  been  that  day  in  the  belfry. 
Second  Fisherman. 
Why,  man  ? 

Third  Fisherman. 
Because  he  should  have  swallowed  me  too ; 
and  when  I  had  been  in  his  belly,  I  would  have 
kept  such  a  jangling  of  the  bells,  that  he  should 
never  have  left,  till  he  cast  bells,  steeple,  church, 
and  parish,  up  again.    But  if  the  good  king 

Simonides  were  of  my  mind 

Pericles. 
Simonides  T 

Third  Fisherman. 
We  would  purge  the  land  of  these  drones, 
that  rob  the  bee  of  her  honey. 
Pericles. 
How  from  the  finny  subject  of  the  sea 
These  fishers  tell  the  infirmities  of  men  ; 
And  from  their  watery  empire  recollect 
All  that  may  men  approve,  or  men  detect ! — 
Peace  be  at  your  labour,  honest  fishermen. 
Second  Fisherman . 
Honest !  good  fellow,  what's  that  ?  if  it  be  a 
day  fits  you,  search  out  of  the  calendar,  and  no 
body  look  afte,  it.   ^^ 

Y*  may  see,  the  sea  hath  cast  me  upon  your 
coast — -         ,  _  , 

Second  Fisherman. 

What  a  drunken  knave  was  the  sea,  to  cast 
thee  in  our  way. 

Pericles. 
A  man  whom  both  the  waters  and  the  wind, 
In  that  vast  tennis-court,  hath  made  the  ball 
For  them  to  play  upon,  entreats  you  pity  him  ; 
He  asks  of  you,  that  never  us'd  to  beg. 
First  Fisherman. 
No,  friend,  cannot  you  beg  ?  here's  them  in 
our  country  of  Greece,  gets  more  with  begging, 
than  we  can  do  with  working. 

Second  Fisherman. 
Canst  thou  catch  any  fishes,  then  ? 

Pericles. 
I  never  practis'd  it. 

Second  Fisherman. 
Nay,  then  thou  wilt  starve,  sure  ;  for  here's 
nothing  to  be  got  now  a-days,  unless  thou  canst 
fish  for't.  _     .  , 

Pericles. 
What  I  have  been  I  have  forgot  to  know, 
But  what  I  am  want  teaches  me  to  think  on  ; 
A  man  throng'd  up  with  cold :  my  veins  are 

chill, 
And  have  no  more  of  life,  than  may  suffice 
To  give  my  tongue  that  heat  to  ask  your  help  ; 
Which  if  you  shall  refuse,  when  I  am  dead, 
For  that  I  am  a  man,  pray  see  me  buried. 
First  Fisherman. 
Die  quoth-a  ?    Now,  gods  forbid  it !    I  have 
a  gown  here  ;  come,  put  it  on  ;  keep  thee  warm. 
Now,  afore  me,  a  handsome  fellow !     Come, 


thou  shalt  go  home,  and  we'll  have  flesh  for 
holidays,  fish  for  fasting-days,  and  moreo'er 
puddings  and  flap  jacks  ;  and  thou  shalt  be  wel- 
come. _    ,  . 

Pericles. 

I  thank  you,  sir 

Second  Fisherman. 
Hark  you,  my  friend,  you  said  you  could  not 
beg"  Pericles. 

I  did  but  crave. 

Second  Fisherman. 
But  crave  ?    Then  I'll  turn  craver  too,  and  so 
I  shall  'scape  whipping. 

Pericles. 
Why,  are  all  your  beggars  whipped,  then  ? 

Second  Fisherman. 
O !  not  all,  my  friend,  not  all ;  for  if  all  your 
beggars  were  whipped,  I  would  wish  no  better 
office  than  to  be  beadle.     But,  master,  I'll  go 
draw  up  the  net,_        ir_,        #"       „.  . 

[Exeunt  Two  of  the  Fishermen. 

Pericles. 

How  well  this  honest  mirth  becomes  their 
labour  1  __.  __  . 

First  Fisherman. 

Hark  you,  sir  ;  do  you  know  where  you  are  ? 
Pericles. 

Not  well.       _,.    .'      . 

First  Fisherman. 

Why,  I'll  tell  you  :  this  is  called  Pentapolis, 
and  our  king,  the  good  Simonides. 
Pericles. 
The  good  king  Simonides,  do  you  call  him  ? 

First  Fisherman. 
Ay,  sir  ;  and  he  deserves  to  be  so  called,  for 
his  peaceable  reign,  and  good  government. 
Pericles. 
He  is  a  happy  king,  since  he  gains  from  his 
subjects  the  name  of  good  by  his  government. 
How  far  is  his  court  distant  from  this  shore  ? 
First  Fisherman. 
Marry,  sir,  half  a  day's  journey:  and  I'll  tell 
you,  he  hath  a  fair  daughter,  and  to-morrow  is 
her  birth-day;  and  there  are  princes  and  knights 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  to  joust  and 
tourney  for  her  love. 

Pericles. 
Were  my  fortunes  equal  to  my  desires,  I  could 
wish  to  make  one  there. 

First  Fisherman. 
O,  sir !  things  must  be  as  they  may  ;  and  what 
a  man  cannot  get,  he  may  lawfully  deal  for.   His 
wife's  soul — 

Re-enter  the  Two  Fishermen,  drawing  up  a  Net. 
Second  Fisherman. 
Help,  master,  help  !  here's  a  fish  hangs  in  the 
net,  like  a  poor  man's  right  in  the  law  ;  'twill 
hardly  come  out.    Ha  !  bots  on't ;  'tis  come  at 
last,  and  'tis  turned  to  a  rusty  armour. 
Pericles. 
An  armour,  friends  !  I  pray  you,  let  me  see  It. 
Thanks,  fortune,  yet,  that  after  all  crosses 
Thou  giv'st  me  somewhat  to  repair  myself: 
And  though   it  was  mine  own,  part  of  mine 

heritage, 
Which  my  dead  father  did  bequeath  to  me, 
With  this  strict  charge  (even  as  he  left  his  life) 
"  Keep  it,  my  Pericles,  it  hath  been  a  shield 
'Twixt  me  and  death  ; "  (and  pointed  to  this 
brace) 

"  For 


Act  ii.  Sc.  n. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


1099 


"  For  that  it  sav'd  mc,  keop  it;  in  like  necessity, 
The  which  the  gods  protect  thee  from  1  it  may 

defend  thee." 
It  kept  where  1  kept,  1  »o  dearly  lov'd  it. 
Till  the  rough  seas,  that  spare  not  any  man, 
Took  it  In  rage,  though  calm'd,  have  given  't 

again. 
I  thank  thee  for't:  my  shipwreck  now's  no  ill, 
Since  I  have  here  my  father's  gilt  in's  will. 
First  Fisherman. 
What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

IflL 

To  beg  of  you,  kind  friends,  this  coat  of  worth, 
For  it  was  sometime  target  to  a  king  ; 
I  know  it  by  this  mark.    He  lov'd  me  dearly, 
And  for  his  sake  I  wish  the  having  of  it ; 
And  that  you'd  guide  me  to  your  sovereign's 

court, 
Where  with  it  I  may  appear  a  gentleman : 
And  if  that  ever  my  low  fortunes  better, 
I'll  pav  your   bounties ;    till  then,  rest   your 
debtor. 

First  Fisherman. 
Why,  wilt  thou  tourney  for  the  lady  ? 

Pericles. 
I'll  show  the  virtue  I  have  borne  in  arms. 

First  Fisherman. 
Why,  do  ye  take  it ;  and  the  gods  give  thee 
good  on't ! 

Second  Fisherman. 

Ay,  but  hark  you,  my  friend ;  'twas  we  that 

>    made  up  this  garment  through  the  rough  seams 

of  the  waters  :  there  are  certain  condolements, 

!  1  certain  vails.     I  hope,  sir,  if  you  thrive,  you'll 

j  remember  from  whence  you  had  it. 

Pericles. 
Believe  it,  I  will. 
!  I  By  your  furtherance  I  am  cloth 'd  in  steel ; 
;  And  spite  of  all  the  rapture  of  the  sea, 
!  This  jewel  holds  his  building  on  my  arm  : 
Unto  thy  value  will  I  mount  myself 
Upon  a  courser,  whose  delightful  steps 
Shall  make  the  gazer  joy  to  see  him  tread  — 
Only,  my  friend,  I  yet  am  unprovided 
Of  a"  pair  of  bases. 

Second  Fisherman. 
We'll  sure  provide:  thou  shalt  have  my  best 
gown  to  make  thee  a  pair,  and  I'll  bring  thee  to 
the  court  myself. 

Pericles. 
Then  honour  be  but  a  goal  to  my  will  I 
This  day  I'll  rise,  or  else  add  ill  to  ill. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.  The  same.  A  Platform  leading  to 
the  Lists.  A  Pavilion  near  it,  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  King,  Princes,  Ladies,  Lords,  &c. 

Enter  Simonides,  Thaisa,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Simonides. 

Are  the  knights  ready  to  begin  the  triumph  ? 

First  Lord. 
They  are.  my  liege  ; 
And  stay  your  coming  to  present  themselves. 
Simonides. 
Return  them,  we  are  ready  ;  and  our  daughter, 
In  honour  of  whose  birth  these  triumphs  are, 
Sits  here,  like  beauty's  child,  whom  nature  gat 
For  men  to  see,  and  seeing  wonder  at. 

[Exit  a  Lord. 
Thaisa. 
It  pleaseth  you.  my  royal  father,  to  express 
My  commendations  great,  whose  merit's  less. 


Simonides. 
'Tis  fit  it  should  be  so  ;  for  princes  are 
A  model,  which  heaven  makes  like  to  itself: 
As  jewels  lose  their  glory  if  neglected, 
So  princes  their  renown,  if  not  respected. 
'Tis  now  your  honour,  daughter,  to  explain 
The  labour  of  each  knight  in  his  device. 
Thaisa. 
Which,  to  preserve  mine  honour,  I'll  perform. 

Fnter  a  Knight ;  he  passes  over  the  Stage,  and 
his  Squire  presents  his  Shield  to  the  Princess. 

Simonides. 
Who  is  the  first  that  doth  prefer  himself? 

Thaisa. 
A  knight  of  Sparta,  my  renowned  father  ; 
And  the  device  he  bearsupon  his  shield 
Is  a  black  iEthiop,  reaching  at  the  sun ; 
The  word,  Lux  tua  vita  mini. 

Simonides. 
He  loves  you  well  that  holds  his  life  of  you. 
[The  second  Knight  passes  over. 
Who  is  the  second  that  presents  himself? 

Thaisa. 
A  prince  of  Macedon,  my  royal  father ; 
And  the  device  he  bears  rtpon  his  shield 
Is  an  arm'd  knight,  that's  conquer'd  by  a  lady: 
The  motto  thus,  in  Spanish,  Piu  per  dulzura 
que  per  fuerxa. 

[The  third  Knight  passes  over. 
Simonides. 
And  what  the  third  ? 

Thaisa. 

The  third  of  Antioch  ; 
And  his  device,  a  wreath  of  chivalry : 
The  word,  Me  pomp<e  provexit  apex. 

[The  fourth  Knight  passes  orer. 
Simonides. 
What  is  the  fourth  ? 

Thaisa. 
A  burning  torch,  that's  turned  upside  down  ; 
The  word,  Quod  me  alit,  me  extinguit. 
Simonides. 
Which  shows  that  beauty  hath  his  power  and 
will, 
Which  can  as  well  inflame,  as  it  can  kill. 

[The  fifth  Knight  passes  over. 
Thaisa. 
The  fifth,  a  hand  environed  with  clouds, 
Holding  out  gold  that's  by  the  touchstone  tried; 
The  motto  thus,  Sic  spectanda  fides. 

[The  sixth  Knight  passes  over. 
Simonides. 
And  what's  the  sixth  and  last,  the  which  the 
knight  himself 
With  such  a  graceful  courtesy  deliver'd? 
Thaisa. 
He  seems  to  be  a  stranger ;  but  his  present  is 
A  wither'd  branch,  that's  only  green  at  top: 
The  motto,  In  hac  spe  vivo. 
Simonides. 
A  pretty  moral : 
From  the  dejected  state  wherein  he  is, 
He  hopes  by  you  his  fortunes  yet  may  flourish. 
First  Lord. 
He  had  need  mean  better,  than  his  outward 
show 
Can  any  way  speak  in  his  just  commend ; 
For  by  his  rusty  outside  he  appears 
To  have  practised  more  the  whipstock,  than  the 
lance. 

Second 


MOO 


PERICLES, 


Act  ii.  Sc.  11. 


Second  Lord. 
He  well  may  be  a  stranger,  for  he  comes 
To  an  honour  d  triumph  strangely  furnished. 

Third  Lord. 
And  on  set  purpose  let  his  armour  rust 
Until  this  day,  to  scour  it  in  the  dust. 

Simonides. 
Opinion's  but  a  fool,  that  makes  us  scan 
The  outward  habit  by  the  inward  man. 
But  stay,  the  knights  are  coming:  we'll  with- 
draw 
Into  the  gallery.  [Exeunt. 

[Great  shouts,  and  all  cry.  The  mean  knight ! 

SCENE  III.    The  same.    A  Hall  of  State.— 
A  Banquet  prepared. 

Enter  Simonides,  Thaisa,  Ladies,  Lords, 
Knights,  and  Attendants. 

Simonides. 
Knights, 
To  say  you  are  welcome  were  superfluous. 
To  place  upon  the  volume  of  your  deeds, 
As  in  a  title-page,  your  worth  in  arms, 
Were  more  than  you  expect,  or  more  than's  fit, 
Since  every  worth  in  show  commends  itself. 
Prepare  for  mirth,  for  mirth  becomes  a  feast : 
You  are  princes,  and  my  guests. 

Thaisa. 
But  you,  my  knight  and  guest; 
To  whom  this  wreath  of  victory  I  give, 
And  crown  you  king  of  this  day's  happiness, 
rericles. 
*Tis  more  by  fortune,  lady,  than  my  merit. 

Simonides. 
Call  it  by  what  you  will,  the  day  is  yours ; 
And  here,  I  hope,  is  none  that  envies  it. 
In  framing  an  artist  art  hath  thus  decreed, 
To  make  some  good,  but  others  to  exceed ; 
And  you're  her  labour'd  scholar.    Come,  queen 

o'  the  feast, 
(For,  daughter,  so  you  are)  here  take  your  place : 
Marshal  the  rest,  as  they  deserve  their  grace. 

Knights. 
We  are  honour'd  much  by  good  Simonides. 

Simonides. 
Your  presence  glads  our  days:    honour  we 
love, 
For  who  hates  honour,  hates  the  gods  above. 

Marshal. 
Sir,  yond's  your  place. 

Pericles. 

Some  other  is  more  fit. 
First  Knight. 
Contend  not,  sir ;  for  we  are  gentlemen, 
That  neither  in  our  hearts,  nor  outward  eyes, 
Envy  the  great,  nor  do  the  low  despise. 
Pericles. 
You  are  right  courteous  knights. 
Simonides. 

Sit,  sir  ;  sit. 
By  Jove,  I  wonder,  that  is  king  of  thoughts, 
These  cates  resist  me,  he  not  thought  upon. 
Thaisa. 
By  Juno,  that  is  queen 
Of  marriage,  all  the  viands  that  I  eat 
Do  seem  unsavoury,  wishing  him  my  meat ! 
Sure  he's  a  gallant  gentleman. 
Simonides. 
He's  but  a  country  gentleman : 


He  has  done  no  more  than  other  knights  have 

done, 
He  has  broken  a  staff,  or  so ;  so,  let  it  pass. 

Thaisa. 
To  me  he  seems  like  diamond  to  glass. 

Pericles. 
Yond'  king's  to  me  like  to  my  father's  picture, 
Which  tells  me  in  that  glory  once  he  was ; 
Had  princes  sit,  like  stars,  about  his  throne, 
And  he  the  sun  for  them  to  reverence. 
None  that  beheld  him,  but  like  lesser  lights 
Did  vail  their  crowns  to  his  supremacy ; 
Where  now  his  son,  like  a  glow-worm  in  the 

night, 
The  which  hath  fire  in  darkness,  none  in  light: 
Whereby  I  see  that  Time's  the  king  of  men ; 
He's  both  their  parent,  and  he  is  their  grave, 
And  gives  them  what  he  will,  not  what  they 
crave. 

Simonides. 
What !  are  you  merry,  knights  ? 

First  Knight. 
Who  can  be  other,  in  this  royal  presence  ? 

Simonides. 
Here,  with  a  cup  that's  stor'd  unto  the  brim, 
(As  you  do  love,  fill  to  your  mistress'  lips) 
We  drink  this  health  to  you. 

Knights. 

We  thank  your  grace 
Simonides. 
Yet  pause  a  while ; 
Yond'  knight  doth  sit  too  melancholy, 
As  if  the  entertainment  in  our  court 
Had  not  a  show  might  countervail  his  worth. 
Note  it  not  you,  Thaisa  ? 

Thaisa. 

What  is  it 
To  me,  my  father? 

Simonides. 
O  !  attend,  my  daughter: 
Princes,  in  this,  should  live  like  gods  above, 
Who  freely  give  to  every  one  that  comes 
To  honour  them ;  and  princes,  not  doin#  so, 
Are  like  to  gnats,  which  make  a  sound,  but 
Are  wonder'd  at.    Therefore,  [kill'd 

To  make  his  entrance  more  sweet,  here  say 
We  drink  this  standing-bowl  of  wine  to  him. 

Thaisa. 
Alas,  my  father !  it  befits  not  me 
Unto  a  stranger  knight  to  be  so  bold 
He  may  my  proffer  take  for  an  offence, 
Since  men  take  women's  gifts  for  impudtnce. 

Simonides. 
How! 
Do  as  I  bid  you,  or  you'll  move  me  else. 

Thaisa.  [Aside. 

Now,  by  the  gods,  he  could  not  please  me 
better. 

Simonides. 
And  farther  tell  him,  we  desire  to  know, 
Of  whence  he  is,  his  name,  and  parentage. 

Thaisa. 
The  king  my  father,  sir,  has  drunk  to  you. 

Pericles. 
I  thank  him. 

Thaisa. 
Wishing  it  so  much  blood  unto  your  life. 

Pericles. 
I  thank  both  him  and  you,  and  pledge  him 
freely. 

Thaisa. 


Act  ii.  Sc.  iv. 


PRINCE   OK  TYRE. 


1101 


Tbalsa. 
And,  farther,  he  desires  to  know  of  you. 
Of  wliem  v  you  are,  your  name  and  parentage. 

A  gentleman  of  Tyre  (my  name,  Pericles, 
My  education  been  in  arts  and  arms) 
Who  looking  for  adventure*  in  the  world, 
Was  by  the  rough  seas  reft  of  ships  and  men, 
And  after  shipwreck  driven  upon  this  shore. 

Thalsa. 

Hi'  thanks  your  grace;  names  himself  Pericles, 
A  gentleman  of  Tyre, 
,  Who  only  by  misfortune  of  the  seas 
Bereft  of  ships  and  men,  cast  on  the  shore 

Sun  on  Ides. 
Now  by  the  gods,  I  pity  his  misfortune, 
And  will  awake  him  from  his  melancholy. 
Come,  gentlemen,  we  sit  too  long  on  trifles, 
And  waste  the  time  which  looks  for  other  revels. 
Even  in  your  armours,  as  you  are  address'd, 
Will  very  well  become  a  soldier's  dance. 
I  will  not  have  excuse,  with  saying,  this 
Loud  music  is  too  harsh  for  ladies'  heads, 
Since  they  love  men  in  arms,  as  well  as  beds. 

[The  Knights  dance. 
So,  this  was  well  ask'd,  'twas  so  well  performed. 
Come,  sir ; 

Here  is  a  lady  that  wants  breathing  too : 
And  I  have  often  heard,  you  knights  of  Tyre 
Are  excellent  in  making  ladies  trip, 
And  that  their  measures  are  as  excellent. 

Pericles. 
In  those  that  practise  them,  they  are,  my  lord. 

Slmonides. 

0  !  that's  as  much,  as  you  would  be  denied 

[The  Knights  and  Ladies  dance. 
Of  your  fair  courtesy.  —  Unclasp,  unclasp ; 
Thanks,  gentlemen,  to  all ;  all  have  done  well, 
But  you  the  best.    [To  Pericles.]    Pages  and 

lights,  to  conduct 
These  knights  unto  their  several  lodgings .'  — 

Yours,  sir, 
We  have  given  order  to  be  next  our  own. 

Pericles. 

1  am  at  your  grace's  pleasure. 

Simon  ides. 
Princes,  it  is  too  late  to  talk  of  love, 
And  that's  the  mark  I  know  you  level  at : 
Therefore,  each  one  betake  him  to  his  rest ; 
To-morrow  all  for  speeding  do  their  best. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Tyre.    A  Room  In  the 
Governor'%  House. 

Enter  Helicanus  and  Escanes. 

Helicanus. 
No,  Escanes  ;  know  this  of  me, 
Antioclius  from  incest  liv'd  not  free : 
For  which  the  most  high  gods,  not  minding 

longer 
To  withhold  the  vengeance  that  they  had  in 
Due  to  this  heinous  capital  offence,  [store, 

Even  in  the  height  and  pride  of  all  his  glory, 
When  he  was  seated,  and  his  daughter  with  him, 
In  a  chariot  of  inestimable  value, 
A  fire  from  heaven  came,  and  shrivell'd  up 
Those  bodies,  even  to  loathing ;  for  they   so 

stunk, 
That  all  those  eyes  ador'd  them  ere  their  fall, 
I  Scorn  now  their  hand  should  give  them  burial. 

Escanes. 
Twas  very  strange. 


anus. 

And  yet  but  just ;  for  though 
This  king  were  great,  his  greatness  was    no 

guard 
To  bar  heaven's  shaft,  but  sin  had  his  reward. 

Escanes. 
'Tis  very  true. 

Enter  Three  Lords. 

First  Lord. 
See  !  not  a  man,  In  private  conference 
Or  council,  has  respect  with  him  but  he. 

Second  Lord. 
It  shall  no  longer  grieve  without  reproof. 

Third  Lord. 
And  curs'd  be  he  that  will  not  second  it. 

First  Lord. 
Follow  me,  then.  —  Lord  Helicane,  a  word. 

Helicanus. 
With  me?  and  welcome. —Happy  day,  my 
lords. 

First  Lord. 

Know,  that  our  griefs  are  risen  to  the  top, 

And  now  at  length  they  overflow  their  banks. 

Helicanus. 
Your  griefs !  for  what  ?  wrong  not  the  prince 
you  love. 

First  Lord. 
Wrong  not  yourself,  then,  noble  Helicane  ; 
But  if  the  prince  do  live,  let  us  salute  him, 
Or  know  what  ground's  made  happy  by  his 

breath. 
If  in  the  world  he  live,  we'll  seek  him  out ; 
If  in  his  grave  he  rest,  we'll  find  him  there ; 
And  be  resolved,  he  lives  to  govern  us, 
Or  dead,  gives  cause  to  mourn  his  funeral, 
And  leaves  us  to  our  free  election. 

Second  Lord. 
Whose  death's,  indeed,  the  strongest  in  our 
censure : 
And  knowing  this  kingdom  is  without  a  head, 
Like  goodly  buildings  left  without  a  roof, 
Soon  fall  to  ruin,  your  noble  self, 
That  best  know'st  how  to  rule,  and  how  to  reign, 
We  thus  submit  unto,  our  sovereign. 

All. 
Live,  noble  Helicane  I 

Helicanus. 
For  honour's  cause,  forbear  your  suffrages  : 
If  that  you  love  prince  Pericles,  forbear. 
Take  I  your  wish,  I  leap  into  the  seas, 
Where's  hourly  trouble  for  a  minute's  ease. 
A  twelvemonth  longer,  let  me  entreat  you 
To  forbear  the  absence  of  your  king ; 
If  in  which  time  expir'd  he  not  return, 
I  shall  with  aged  patience  bear  your  yoke. 
But  if  I  cannot  win  you  to  this  love, 
Go  search  like  nobles,  like  noble  subjects, 
And  in  your  search  spend  your  adventurous 

worth ; 
Whom  if  you  find,  and  win  unto  return, 
You  shall  like  diamonds  sit  about  his  crown. 

First  Lord 
To  wisdom  he's  a  fool  that  will  not  yield  : 
And  since  lord  Helicane  enjoineth  us, 
We  with  our  travels  will  endeavour. 

Helicanus. 
Then,  you  love  us,  we  you,  and  we'll  clasp 
hands : 
When  peers  thus  knit,  a  kingdom  ever  stands. 
[Exeunt. 
SCENE 


PERICLES. 


Act  ii.  So.  v. 


SCENE  V.    Pentapolis.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Simonides,  reading  a  Letter :  the 
Knights  meet  him. 

First  Knight. 
Good  morrow  to  the  good  Simonides. 

Simonides. 
Knights,  from  my  daughter  this   I  let  you 
know, 
That  for  this  twelvemonth  she'll  not  undertake 
A  married  life. 

Her  reason  to  herself  is  only  known, 
Which  yet  from  her  by  no  means  can  I  get. 

Second  Knight. 
May  we  not  get  access  to  her,  my  lord  ? 

Simonides. 

'Faith,  by  no  means  ;  she  hath  so  strictly  tied 

To  her  chamber,  that  it  is  impossible.  [her 

One  twelve  moons  more  she'll  wear  Diana's 

livery ; 
This  by  the  eye  of  Cynthia  hath  she  vow'd, 
And  on  her  virgin  honour  will  not  break  it. 
Third  Knight 
Though  loath  to  bid  farewell,  we  take  our 
leaves.  [Exeunt. 

Simonides. 
So, 
They're  well  despatch'd  ;  now  to  my  daughter's 

letter. 
She  tells  me  here,  she'll  wed  the  stranger  knight, 
Or  never  more  to  view  nor  day  nor  light. 
"Tis  well,  mistress ;  your  choice  agrees  with 

mine ; 
I  like  that  well :  —  nay,  how  absolute  she's  in't, 
Not  minding  whether  I  dislike  or  no. 
Well,  I  commend  her  choice, 
And  will  no  longer  have  it  be  delay'd. 
Soft !  here  he  comes :  I  must  dissemble  it. 

Enter  Periclet. 

Pericles. 

All  fortune  to  the  good  Simonides  I 
Simonides. 

To  you  as  much,  sir.    I  am  beholding  to  you, 
For  your  sweet  music  this  last  night:  I  do 
Protest,  my  ears  were  never  better  fed 
With  such  delightful  pleasing  harmony. 

Pericles. 
It  is  your  grace's  pleasure  to  commend, 
Not  my  desert. 

Simonides. 
Sir,  you  are  music's  master. 
Pericles. 
The  worst  of  all  her  scholars,  my  good  lord. 

Simonides 
Let  me  ask  one  thing. 
What  do  you  think  of  my  daughter,  sir  ' 
Pericles. 
As  of  a  most  virtuous  princess. 

Simonides. 
And  she  is  fair  too,  is  she  not  ? 

Pericles. 
As  a  fair  day  in  summer ;  wondrous  fair. 

Simonides. 

My  daughter,  sir,  thinks  very  well  of  you ; 

Ay,  so  well,  sir,  that  you  must  be  her  master, 

And  she'll  your  scholar  be:  therefore,  look  to  it. 

Pericles. 

I  '.n»  unworthy  for  her  schoolmaster. 


Simonides. 
She  thinks  not  so ;  peruse  this  writing  else. 

,„,     .   .  Pericles.  [Aside 

What's  here  ? 
A  letter,  that  she  loves  the  knight  of  Tyre? 
'Tis  the  king's  subtilty,  to  have  my  life. 
[To  him.]  O!  seek  not  to  entrap  me,  gracious 
A  stranger  and  distressed  gentleman,         [lord 
That  never  aim'd  so  high,  to  love  your  daughter 
But  bent  all  offices  to  honour  her. 
Simonides. 
Thou  hast  bewitch'd  my  daughter,  and  thou 
A  villain.  [art 

Pericles. 
By  the  gods,  I  have  not, 
Never  did  thought  of  mine  levy  offence; 
Nor  never  did  my  actions  yet  commence 
A  deed  might  gain  her  love,  or  your  displeasure. 
Simonides. 
Traitor,  thou  liest. 

Pericles. 
Traitor ! 
Simonides. 

Ay,  traitor. 
Pericles. 
Even  in  his  throat,  unless  it  be  the  king, 
That  calls  me  traitor,  I  return  the  lie. 

Simonides.  [Aside. 

Now,  by  the  gods,  I  do  applaud  his  courage. 

Pericles. 
My  actions  are  as  noble  as  my  thoughts, 
That  never  relish'd  of  a  base  descent. 
I  came  unto  your  court  for  honour's  cause, 
And  not  to  be  a  rebel  to  her  state ; 
And  he  that  otherwise  accounts  of  me, 
This  sword  shall  prove  he's  honour's  enemy. 
Simonides. 
No!  — 
Here  comes  my  daughter,  she  can  witness  it. 

Enter  Thaisa. 
Pericles. 
Then,  as  you  are  as  virtuous  as  fair, 
Resolve  your  angry  father,  if  my  tongue 
Did  e'er  solic.*;,  or  my  hand  subscribe 
To  any  syllable  that  made  love  to  you  ? 
Thaisa. 
Why,  sir,  if  you  had, 
Who  takes  offence  at  that  would  make  me  glad  ? 
Simonides. 
Yea,  mistress,  are  you  so  peremptory  ? — 
[Aside.]  I  am  glad  on't  with  all  my  heart. 
[To  her.]  I'll  tame  you  ;  I'll  bring  you  in  sub- 
Will  you,  not  having  my  consent,  [jection. 
Bestow  your  love  and  your  affections 
Upon  a  stranger  ?  I  Aside.]  who,  for  aught  I  know, 
May  be  (nor  can  I  think  the  contrary) 
As  great  in  blood  as  I  myself. 
Therefore,  hear  you,  mistress  ;  either  frame 
Your  will  to  mine;  and  you,  sir,  hear  you, 
Either  be  rul'd  by  me,  or  1  will  make  you  — 
Man  and  wife.  —  Nay,  come;  your  hands, 
And  lips  must  seal  it  too  ; 
And  being  join'd,  I'll  thus  your  hopes  destroy; 
And  for  farther  grief,  —  God  give  you  joy !  — 
What,  are  you  both  pleas'd  ? 
Thaisa. 

Yes,  if  you  love  me,  sir. 
Pericles. 
Even  as  my  life,  my  blood  that  fosters  it. 

Simonides. 
What !  are  you  both  agreed  ? 

Both. 


Act  hi.   &.  r. 


PRINCE  OF  TYKK. 


1103 


Both. 
Yes,  ift  please  your  majesty. 

8Jmonlil'  1 
It  pleaseth  me  so  well,  I'll  see  yoti  wed ; 
Then,  with  what  haste  you  can  get  nu  u>  bed. 


ACT  III. 

Enter  Gower. 
Gower. 

NOW  sleep  y slaked  hath  the  rout; 
No  din  but  snores  the  house  about. 

Made  louder  by  the  o'er-fed  breast 

Of  this  most  pompous  marriage  feast. 

The  cat  with  eyne  of  burning  coal. 

Now  couches  'fore  the  mouse's  hole ; 

And  crickets  sing  at  the  oven's  mouth, 

Are  the  blither  for  their  drouth. 

Hymen  hath  brought  the  bride  to  bed, 

Where,  by  the  loss  of  maidenhead, 

A  babe  is  moulded — Be  attent, 

And  time  that  is  so  briefly  spent. 

With  your  fine  fancies  quaintly  eche  ; 

What  s  dumb  in  show,  I'll  plain  with  speech. 

Dumb  show. 

Enter  Pericles  and  Simonides  at  one  door,  with 

Attendant*  ;  a  Messenger  meets  them,  kneels, 

and  gives  Prrieles  a  letter :  Pericles  shows  it 

to  SiMonit.'fs ;    the   Lards  kneel  to  Pnicles. 

Then,  enter  Th<iisa  with  child,  and  Lychorida: 

Simonuii:;  show*    his   Daughter  the  Letter ; 

she  rejoices :  she  and  Pericles  take  leave  of 

her  Father,  and  all  depart. 
Gower. 
By  many  a  dearn  and  painful  perch 
Of  Pt  rides  the  careful  search 

By  the  four  opposing  coignes, 

Which  the  world  together  joins, 
Is  made,  with  all  due  diligence, 

That  horse,  and  sail,  and  high  expence, 
Can  stead  the  quest.    At  last  from  Tyre 

(Fame  answering  the  most  strange  inquire,) 

To  the  court  of  king  Simouides 

Are  letters  brought,  the  tenour  these:  — 

Antiochus  and  his  daughter  dead: 

The  men  of  Tyrus  on  the  head 

Of  Helicanus  would  set  on 

The  crown  of  Tyre,  but  he  will  none: 

The  mutiny  he  there  hastes  t'  oppress  ; 

Says  to  them,  if  king  Pericles 

Come  not  home  in  twice  six  moons, 

He,  obedient  to  their  dooms, 

Will  take  the  crown.    The  sum  of  this, 

Brought  hither  to  Pentapolis, 

Yravished  the  regions  round, 

And  every  one  with  claps  'gan  sound, 

"  Our  heir  apparent  is  a  king  I 

Who  dream'd,  who  thought  of  such  a  thing  ? ' 

Brief,  he  must  hence  depart  to  Tyre  : 

His  queen,  with  child,  makes  her  desire 

(Which  who  shall  cross  ?)  along  to  go  ; 

Omit  we  all  their  dole  and  woe : 

Lychorida,  her  nurse,  she  takes, 

And  so  to  sea.    Then,  vessel  shakes 

On  Neptune's  billow  ;  half  the  flood 

Hath  their  keel  cut ;  but  fortune's  mood 

Varies  again  :  the  grizzly  north 

Disgorges  such  a  tempest  forth 

That,  as  a  duck  for  life  that  dives. 

So  up  and  down  the  poor  ship  drives. 


[Exit. 


The  lady  shrieks,  and  well-a-near. 
Does  fall  in  travail  with  her  fear  : 
And  what  ensues  in  this  self  storm 
Shall  for  itself  itself  perform. 
I  1. ill  relate,  action  may 
Conveniently  the  rest  convey. 
Which  might  not  what  bv  me  is  told. 
In  your  imagination  hold 
This  stage  the  ship,  upon  whose  deck 
The  seas-tost  Pericles  appears  to  speak. 

SCENE  I. 

Enter  Pericles,  on  shipboard. 

Pericles. 

Thou  God  of  this  great  vast,  rebuke  these 

surges, 

Which  wash  both  heaven  and  hell ;  and  thou, 

that  hast 
Upon  the  winds  command,  bind  them  in  brass, 
Having  call'd  them  from  the  deep.     O  !  still 
Thy  deafening,  dreadful  thunders  ;  duly  quench 
Thy  nimble,   sulphurous    flashes  1  —  O  l    how, 

Lychorida, 
How  does  my  queen  ?  —  Thou  storm,  venom- 
ously 
Wilt  thou  spit  all  thyself?  — The  seaman's 
Is  as  a  whisper  in  the  ears  of  death,  [whistle 
Unheard — Lychorida  l—Lucina,  O I 
Divinest  patroness,  and  midwife,  gentle 
To  those  that  cry  by  night,  convey  thy  deity 
Aboard  our  dancing  boat;  make  swift  the  pangs 
Of  my  queen's  travails !  —  Now,  Lychorida  — 

Enter  Lychorida,  with  an  Infant. 

Lychorida. 
Here  is  a  thing  too  young  for  such  a  place, 
Who,  if  it  had  conceit,  would  die  as  I 
Am  like  to  do.    Take  in  your  arms  this  piece 
Of  your  dead  queen. 

Pericles. 

How  !  how,  Lychorida  ! 
Lychorida. 
Patience,  good  sir  ;  do  not  assist  the  storm. 
Here's  all  that  is  left  living  of  your  queen, 
A  little  daughter  :  for  the  sake  of  It, 
Be  manly,  and  take  comfort. 
Pericles. 

O  you  gods  1 
Why  do  you  make  us  love  your  goodly  gifts, 
And  snatch  them  straight  away  ?    We,  here 

below, 
Recall  not  what  we  give,  and  therein  may 
Use  honour  with  you. 

Lychorida 

Patience,  good  sir, 
Even  for  this  charge. 

Pericles. 
Now,  mild  may  be  thy  life  l 
For  a  more  blust'rous  birth  had  never  babe : 
Quiet  and  gentle  thy  conditions ! 
For  thou'rt  the  ruddiest  welcome  to  this  world. 
That  e'er  was  prince's  child.    Happy  what  fol 
Thou  hast  as  chiding  a  nativity,  [lows ! 

As  fire,  air,  water,  earth,  and  heaven  can  make. 
To  herald  thee  from  the  womb:  even  at  the 

first, 
Thy  loss  is  more  than  can  thy  portage  quit, 
With  all  thou  canst  find  here.  —  Now  the  good 
Throw  their  best  eyes  upon  it  l  (.gods 

Enter  Two  Sailors. 

First  Sailor. 

What  courage,  sir  ?    God  save  you. 

Periclea. 


lOf 


PERICLES, 


Act  hi,  5c.  I. 


„,  Pericles. 

Courage  enough.    I  do  not  fear  the  flaw  ; 
It  hath  done  to  me  the  worst :  yet,  for  the  love 
Of  this  poor  infant,  this  fresh  new  sea-farer, 
I  would  it  would  be  quiet. 

First  Sailor. 
Slack  the  bowlines  there ;  thou  wilt  not,  wilt 
thou  ?  — Blow,  and  split  thyself. 

Second  Sailor. 
But  sea-room,  an  the  brine  and  cloudy  billow 
kiss  the  moon,  I  care  not. 

First  Sailor. 
Sir,  your  queen   must   overboard:    the   sea 
works  high,  the  wind  is  loud,  and  will  not  lie 
till  the  ship  be  cleared  of  the  dead. 

Pericles. 
That's  your  superstition. 

First  Sailor. 
Pardon  us,  sir ;  with  us  at  sea  it  hath  been 
still  observed,  and  we  are  strong  in  custom. 
Therefore  briefly  yield  her,  for  she  must  over- 
board  straight. 

Pericles. 
As  you  think  meet.— Most  wretched  queen  1 

Lychorida. 
Here  she  lies,  sir. 

Pericles. 

A  terrible  child-bed  hast  thou  had,  my  dear  ; 
No  light,  no  fire :  the  unfriendly  elements 
Forgot  thee  utterly  ;  nor  have  1  time 
To  give  thee  hallow 'd  to  thy  grave,  but  straight 
Must  cast  thee,  scarcely  cofnn'd,  in  the  ooze ; 
Where,  for  a  monument  upon  thy  hones, 
And  aye-remaining  lamps,  the  belching  whale, 
And  humming  water  must  o'erwhelm  thy  corpse, 
Lying  with  simple  shells.  —  O  Lychorida! 
Bid  Nestor  bring  me  spices,  ink  and  paper, 
My  casket  and  my  jewels  ;  and  bid  Nicander 
Bring  me  the  satin  coffer:  lay  the  babe 
Upon  the  pillow.    Hie  thee,  whiles  I  say 
A  priestly  farewell  to  her :  suddenly,  woman. 
[Exit  Lychorida. 
Second  Sailor. 

Sir,  we  have  a  chest  beneath  the  hatches, 
caulk'd  and  bitumed  ready. 

Pericles. 
I  thank  thee.  Mariner,  say  what  coast  is  this  ? 

Second  Sailor. 
We  are  near  Tharsus. 

Pericles. 

Thither,  gentle  mariner, 
Alter  thy  course  for  Tyre.    When  canst  thou 
reach  it  ? 

Second  Sailor. 
By  break  of  day,  if  the  wind  cease. 

Periclei. 
O !  make  for  Tharsus — 
There  will  I  visit  Cleon,  for  the  babe 
Cannot  hold  out  to  Tyrus  :  there  I'll  leave  it 
At  careful  nursing— Go  thy  ways,  good  mariner : 
I'll  bring  the  body  presently.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.    Ephesus.    A  Room  In  Cer town's 
House. 

Enter  Cerimon,  a  Servant,  and  some  Persons 
who  have  been  shipwrecked. 

Cerimon. 
Philemon,  ho  I 

Enter  Philemon. 


Doih  my  lord  ca 


Philemon. 
A? 


Cerimon. 
Get  fire  and  meat  for  these  poor  men  : 
It  has  been  a  turbulent  and  stormy  night. 

Servant. 
I  have  been  in  many ;  but  such  a  night  as  this, 
Till  now  I  ne'er  endur'd. 

Cerimon. 
Your  master  will  be  dead  ere  you  return  : 
There's  nothing  can  be  minister'd  to  nature, 
That  can  recover  him.     Give  this  to  the  'pothe- 
And  tell  me  how  it  works.  [cary, 

[To  Philemon. 
TExeunt  Philemon,  Servant,  and  the  rest. 

Enter  Two  Gentlemen. 
First  Gentleman. 

Good  morrow,  sir. 
Second  Gentleman. 
Good  morrow  to  your  lordship. 

Cerimon. 

Gentlemen, 
Why  do  you  stir  so  early  ? 

First  Gentleman. 

Sir, 
Our  lodgings,  standing  bleak  upon  the  sea, 
Shook,  as  the  earth  did  quake  ; 
The  very  principals  did  seem  to  rend, 
And  all  to  topple.    Pure  surprise  and  fear 
Made  me  to  quit  the  house. 

Second  Gentleman. 

That  is  the  cause  we  trouble  you  so  early  ; 
'Tis  not  our  husbandry. 

Cerimon. 

O  !  you  say  well. 
First  Gentleman. 

But  I  much  marvel  that  your  lordship,  having 
Rich  tire  about  you,  should  at  these  early  hours 
Shake  off  the  golden  slumber  of  repose. 
'Tis  most  strange, 

Nature  should  be  so  conversant  with  pain, 
Being  thereto  not  compell'd. 
Cerimon. 

I  hold  it  ever, 
Virtue  and  cunning  were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches  :  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend ; 
But  immortality  attends  the  former, 
Making  a  man  a  god.    'Tis  known,  I  ever 
Have  studied  physic,  through  which  secret  art, 
By  turning  o'er  authorities,  I  have 
(Together  with  my  practice)  made  familiar 
To  me  and  to  my  aid,  the  blest  infusions 
That  dwell  in  vegetives,  in  metals,  stones ; 
And  can  speak  of  the  disturbances  that  nature 
Works,  and  of  her  cures  ;  which  doth  give  me 
A  more  content  in  course  of  true  delight 
Than  to  be  thirsty  after  tottering  honour, 
Or  tie  my  treasure  up  in  silken  bags, 
To  please  the  fool  and  death. 

Second  Gentleman. 

Your  honour  has  through  Ephesus  pour'd  forth 
Your  charity,  and  hundreds  call  themselves 
Your  creatures,  who  by  you  have  been  restor'd  : 
And  not  your  knowledge,  your  personal  pain, 

but  even 
Your  purse,  still  open,  hath  built  lord  Cerimon 
Such  strong  renown  as  time  shall  never — 

Enter  Two  Servants  with  a  Chest. 
Servant. 
So ;  lift  there. 

Cerimon. 
What  is  that? 

Servant. 


Act  hi.  i'c.  in. 


l'KIXCE  OF  TYliE. 


mo5 


Servant. 

Sir,  even  now 
Did  the  tea  toss  upon  our  shore  this  chest : 
Tis  of  some  wreck. 

Orimon. 
Set  it  down  ;  let's  look  upon't. 

Second.Gentleman. 
Til  like  a  coffin,  sir. 

Cerimon. 

Whate'er  it  be, 
Tis  wondrous  heavy.     Wrench  it  open  straight: 
If  the  sea's  stomach  be  o'ercharg'd  with  gold, 
Tis  a  good  constraint  of  fortune  it  belches  upon 
us. 

Second  Gentleman, 
Tis  so,  my  lord. 

Cerunou. 
How  close  'tis  caulk'd  and  bitum'd. 
Did  the  sea  cast  it  up  ? 

Servant. 
I  never  saw  so  huge  a  billow,  sir, 
As  toss'd  it  upon  shore. 

Cerimon 

Come,  wrench  it  open. 
Soft,  soft !  it  smells  most  sweetly  in  my  sense. 
Second  Gentleman. 
A  delicate  odour. 

Cerimon. 
As  ever  hit  my  nostril.    So,  up  with  it. 
O,  you  most  potent  gods  !  what's  here?  a  corse  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
Most  strange  1 

Cerimon. 
Shrouded  in  cloth  of  state ;  balm'd  and  en- 
treasured 
With  full  bags  of  spices  !    A  passport  too  : 
Apollo,  perfect  me  i*  the  characters  1 

[Unfolds  a  Scroll. 
"  Here  I  give  to  understand,  [Reads. 

\jf e'er  this  coffin  drive  a-land) 
/,  king  Pericles,  have  lost 
This  queen,  worth  all  our  mundane  cost. 
Who  finds  her,  give  her  burying; 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  king  : 
Besides  this  treasure  for  a  fee, 
The  gods  requite  his  charity  I  '* 
If  thou  liv'st,  Pericles,  thou  hast  a  heart  [night. 
That  even  cracks  for  woe!— This  chane'd  to- 
Second  Gentleman. 
Most  likely,  sir. 

Cerimon. 

Nay,  certainly  to-night ; 
For  look,  how  fresh  she  looks. — They  were  too 

rough. 
That  threw  her  in  the  sea.    Make  fire  within  : 
Fetch  hither  all  the  boxes  in  my  closet. 
Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours, 
And  yet  the  fire  of  life  kindle  again 
The  overpressed  spirits.     I  heard 
Of  an  Egyptian,  that  had  nine  hours  lien  dead. 
Who  was  by  good  appliance  recovered. 

Enter  a  Servant,  with  Boxes,  Napkins,  and  Fire. 
Well  said,  well  said  ;  the  fire  and  the  cloths.  — 
The  rough  and  woful  music  that  we  have, 
Cause  it  to  sound,  'beseech  you.  [block  ! — 

The  vial  once  more;  — how  thou  stirr'st,  thou 
The  music  there  I  — I  pray  you,  give  her  air. 
Gentlemen, 

This  queen  will  live :  nature  awakes  a  warm 
Breath  out  of  her :  she  hath  not  been  entrane'd 
Above  five  hours.    See,  how  she  'gins  to  blow 
Into  life's  flower  again  1 


First  Gentleman. 

The  heavens, 
Through  you,  increase  our  wonder,  and  set  up 
Your  fame  for  ever. 

Cerimon. 
She  is  alive  1  behold, 
Her  t-vflids,  cases  to  those  heavenly  jewels 
Which  Pericles  hath  lost. 
Begin  to  part  their  fringes  of  bright  gold: 
The  diamonds  of  a  most  praised  water 
Do  appear  to  make  the  world  twice  rich.    Live, 
And  make  us  weep  to  hear  your  fate,  fair  crea- 
Kare  as  you  seem  to  be  1  [ture, 

[She  moves. 
Thaisa. 

O  dear  Diana  I 
Where  am  I  ?    Where's  my  lord  ?    What  world 
is  this  ? 

8ccond  Gentleman. 
Is  not  this  strange  ? 

First  Gentleman. 
Most  rare. 
Cerimon. 

Hush,  gentle  neighbours  ! 
Lend  me  your  hands ;  to  the  next  chamber  bear 

her. 
Get  linen  :  now  this  matter  must  be  look'd  to, 
For  her  relapse  is  mortal.    Come,  come ; 
And  Msculapius  guide  us  1 

[Exeunt,  carrying  Thaisa  away. 

SCENE  III.    Tharsus.    A  Room  in  Cleon't 
House. 

Enter  Pericles,  Clean,  Dionyxa,  Lyckorida.  and 
Marina. 
Pericles. 
Most  honour'd  Cleon,  I  must  needs  be  gone  : 
My  twelve  months  are  expir'd,  and  Tyrus  stands 
In  a  litigious  peace.    You,  and  your  lady, 
Take  from  my  heart  all  thankfulness ;  the  gods 
Make  up  the  rest  upon  you  I 
Cleon. 
Your  shafts  of  fortune,  though  they  hurt  you 
Yet  glance  full  wouderingly  on  us.      [mortally, 
Dionyza. 

O  your  sweet  queen  ! 
That  the  strict  fates  had  pleas'd  you  had  brought 
To  have  bless'd  mine  eyes  I  [her  hither, 

Pericles. 

We  cannot  but  obey 
The  powers  above  us.     Could  I  rage  and  roar 
As  doth  the  sea  she  lies  in,  yet  the  end 
Must  be  as  'tis.    My  gentle  babe  Marina  (whom. 
For  she  was  born  at  sea,  I  have  nam'd  so)  here 
I  charge  your  charity  withal,  and  leave  her 
The  infant  of  your  care  ;  beseeching  you 
To  give  her  princely  training,  that  she  may 
Be  manner 'd  as  she' is  born. 
Cleon, 

Fear  not,  my  lord,  but  think 
Your  grace,  that  fed  my  country  with  your  corn, 
(For  which  the  people  s  prayers  still  fall  upon 

you) 
Must  in  your  child  be  thought  on.     If  neglection 
Should  therein  make  me  vile,  the  common  body. 
By  you  reliev'd,  would  force  me  to  my  duty; 
But  if  to  that  my  nature  need  a  spur. 
The  gods  revenge  it  upon  me  and  mine, 
To  the  end  of  generation  1 

Pericles. 

I  believe  you  ; 
Your  honour  and  your  goodness  teach  me  to't, 
Without  your  vows.  Till  she  bemarried,  madam, 
4_B By 


no6 


PERICLES, 


Act  jii.  Sc.  iji. 


By  bright  Diana,  whom  we  honour  all, 
Unscissar'd  shall  this  hair  of  mine  remain. 
Though  I  show  ill  in't.    So  I  take  my  leave. 
Good  madam,  make  me  blessed  in  your  care 
In  bringing  up  my  child. 

Dionyza. 

I  have  one  myself, 
Who  shall  not  be  more  dear  to  my  respect, 
Than  yours,  my  lord. 

Pericles. 
Madam,  my  thanks  and  prayers. 
Cleon. 
We'll  bring  your  grace  even  to  the  edge  o'  the 
shore ; 
Then  give  you  up  to  the  mask'd  Neptune,  and 
The  gentlest  winds  of  heaven. 
Pericles. 

I  will  embrace 
Your  offer.  Come, dear 'st madam.—  O!  notears, 
Lychorida,  no  tears : 

Look  to  your  little  mistress,  on  whose  grace 
You  may  depend  hereafter.  —Come,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.  Ephesns.     A  Room  in  Cerimon't 
House. 

Enter  Cerimon  and  T/iaisa. 
Cerimon. 
Madam,  this  letter,  and  some  certain  jewels, 
Lav  with  you  in  your  coffer,  which  are 
At 'your  command.    Know  you  the  character  ? 
Thaisa. 
It  is  my  lord's. 
That  I  was  shipp'd  at  sea,  I  well  remember, 
Even  on  my  yearning  time  ;  but  whether  there 
Delivered  or  no,  by  the  holy  gods, 
I  cannot  rightly  say.    But  since  king  Pericles, 
My  wedded  lord,  I  ne'er  shall  see  again, 
A  vestal  livery  will  I  take  me  to, 
And  never  more  have  joy. 

Cerimon. 
Madam,  if  this  you  purpose  as  you  speak, 
Diana's  temple  is  not  distant  far, 
Where  you  may  abide  till  your  date  expire. 
Moreover,  if  you  please,  a  niece  of  mine 
Shall  there  attend  you. 

Thaisa. 
My  recompense  is  thanks,  that's  all ; 
Yet  my  good  will  is  great,  though  the  gift  small. 
[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Enter  Gower. 
Gower. 

IMAGINE  Pericles  arriv'd  at  Tyre, 
Welcom'd  and  settled  to  his  own  desire : 
His  woful  queen  we  leave  at  Ephesus, 
Unto  Diana  there  a  votaress. 
Now  to  Marina  bend  your  mind, 
Whom  our  fast-growing  scene  must  find 
At  Tharsus,  and  by  Cleon  train 'd 
In  music,  letters  ;  who  hath  gain'd 
Of  education  all  the  grace, 
Which  makes  her  both  the  heart  and  place 
Of  general  wonder.     But  alack  ! 
That  monster  envy,  oft  the  wrack 
Of  earned  praise,  Marina's  life 
Seeks  to  take  off  by  treason's  knife. 


And  in  this  kind  hath  our  Cleon 

One  daughter,  and  a  wench  full  grown, 

Even  ripe  for  marriage  rite:  this  maid 

Hight  Philoten  ;  and  it  is  said 

For  certain  in  our  story,  she 

Would  ever  with  Marina  be : 

Be't  when  she  weav'd  the  sleided  silk 

With  fingers,  long,  small,  white  as  milk ; 

Or  when  she  would  with  sharp  needle  wound 

The  cambric,  which  she  made  more  sound 

By  hurting  it ;  or  when  to  the  lute 

She  sung,  and  made  the  night-bird  mute, 

That  still  records  with  moan  ;  or  when 

She  would  with  rich  and  constant  pen 

Vail  to  her  mistress  Dian  ;  still 

This  Philoten  contends  in  skill 

With  absolute  Marina :  so 

With  the  dove  of  Paphos  might  the  crow 

Vie  feathers  white.     Marina  gets 

All  praises,  which  are  paid  as  debts, 

And  not  as  given.    This  so  darks 

In  Philoten  all  graceful  marks, 

That  Cleon's  wife,  with  envy  rare, 

A  present  murderer  does  prepare 

For  good  Marina,  that  her  daughter 

Might  stand  peerless  by  this  slaughter. 

The  sooner  her  vile  thoughts  to  stead, 

Lychorida,  our  nurse,  is  dead: 

And  cursed  Dionyza  hath 

The  pregnant  instrument  of  wrath 

Prest  for  this  blow.    The  unborn  event 

I  do  commend  to  your  content : 

Only  I  carried  winged  time 

Post  on  the  lame  feet  of  my  rhyme ; 

Which  never  could  I  so  convey, 

Unless  your  thoughts  went  on  my  way. — 

Dionyza  doth  appear, 

With  Leonine,  a  murderer.  [Exit. 

SCENE  I.     Tharsus.    An  open  Place  near  the 
Sea-shore. 

Enter  Dionyza  and  Leonine 
Dionyza. 
Thy  of.th  remember ;  thou  hast  sworn  to  do't . 
'Tis  but  a  blow,  which  never  shall  be  known. 
Thou  canst  not  do  a  thing  i'  the  world  so  soon, 
To  yield  thee  so  much  profit.     Let  not  con- 
science. 
Which  is  but  cold,  Inflaming  love  in  thy  bosom, 
Inflame  too  nicely  ;  nor  let  pity,  which 
Even  women  have  cast  off,  melt  thee,  but  be 
A  soldier  to  thy  purpose. 

Leonine. 
I'll  do't ;  but  yet  she  is  a  goodly  creature. 

Dionyza. 
The  fitter  then  the  gods  should  have  her. 
Here 
She  comes  weeping  for  her  old  nurse's  death. 
Thou  art  resolv'd  ? 

Leonine. 
I  am  resolv'd. 

Enter  Marina,  with  a  Basket  of  Flowera. 

Marina. 
No,  I  will  rob  Tellus  of  her  weed. 
To  strew  thy  grave  with  flowers:  the  yellows, 
The  purple  violets,  and  marigolds,  [blues, 

Shall,  as  a  carpet,  hang  upon  thy  grave, 
While  summer  days  do  last.  An  me,  poor  maid ! 
Born  in  a  tempest,  when  my  mother  died, 
This  world  to  me  is  like  a  lasting  storm, 
Whirring  me  from  my  friends. 

Dionyza. 
How  now,  Marina  !  why  do  you  weep  alone  ? 

How 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


1107 


How  chance  my  daughter  it  not  with  you  ?    Do 

not 
Consume  vour  blood  with  »orrowing :  you  have 
Anurseofme.  Lord!  how  your  favour's  chang'd 
\s  nil  thla  unprofitable  woe  !    Come,  come  ; 
Give  me  your  flower*,  ere  the  tea  mar  it. 
Walk  with  Leonine ;  the  air  it  quick  there, 
And  it  pierces  and  sharpens  the  stomach.  Come, 
Leonine,  take  her  by  the  arm,  walk  with  her. 
Marina. 
No,  I  pray  you  ; 
I'll  not  bereave  you  of  your  servant. 
Dionyza. 

Come,  come ; 
I  love  the  king  your  father,  and  yourself, 
With  more  than  foreign  heart.     We  every  day 
Expect  him  here :  when  he  shall  come,  and  find 
Our  paragon  to  all  reports  thus  blasted, 
He  will  repent  the  breadth  of  his  great  voyage  ; 
Blame  both  my  lord  and  me,  that  we  have  taken 
No  care  to  your  best  courses.     Go,  I  pray  you  ; 
Walk,  and  be  cheerful  once  again  :  reserve 
That  excellent  complexion,  which  did  steal 
The  eyes  of  young  and  old.    Care  not  for  me ; 
1  can  go  home  alone. 

Marina. 

Well,  I  will  go ; 
But  yet  I  have  no  desire  to  it. 
Dionyza. 
Come,  come,  I  know  'tis  good  for  you.— 
Walk  half  an  hour,  Leonine,  at  the  least. 
Remember  what  I  have  said. 
Leonine. 

I  warrant  you,  madam. 
Dionyxa. 
I'll  leave  you,  my  sweet  lady,  for  a  while. 
Pray  you  walk  softly,  do  not  heat  your  blood: 
What !  I  must  have  care  of  you. 
Marina. 

Thanks,  sweet,  madam — 
[Exit  Dionyxa. 

Is  the  wind  westerly  that  blows  ? 
Leonine. 

South-west. 
Marina. 

When  I  was  born,  the  wind  was  north. 
Leonine. 

Was'tso? 
Marina. 

My  father,  as  nurse  said,  did  never  fear, 
But  cry'd  '*  good  seamen  !"  to  the  sailors,  galling 
His  kingly  hands  hauling  ropes ; 
And,  clasping  to  the  mast,  endur'd  a  sea 
That  almost  burst  the  deck. 
Leonine. 

When  was  this  ?  _ .    . 

Marina. 

When  I  was  born : 
Never  were  waves  nor  wind  more  violent ; 
And  from  the  ladder-tackle  washes  off    [out  ?  " 
A  canvass-climber.     "Hal"  says  one,  "wilt 
And  with  a  dropping  industry  they  skip 
From  stem  to  stern :  the  boatswain  whistles,  and 
The  master  calls,  and  trebles  their  confusion. 
Leonine. 
Come ;  say  your  prayers. 
Marina. 

What  mean  you? 
Leonine. 
If  you  require  a  little  space  for  prayer, 
I  grant  it.     Pray;  but  be  not  tedious, 

I  For  the  gods  are  quick  of  ear,  and  I  am  sworn 
To  do  my  work  with  haste. 


Marina. 

Why  will  you  kill  me? 
Inc. 
To  satisfy  my  lady. 

Marina. 
Why  would  she  have  me  klll'd? 
Now  as  I  can  remember,  by  my  troth, 
I  never  did  her  hurt  in  all  my  life. 
I  never  spake  bad  word,  nor  did  ill  turn 
To  any  living  creature:  believe  me,  la, 
I  never  kilPd  a  mouse,  nor  hurt  a  fly : 
I  trod  upon  a  worm  against  my  will, 
But  I  wept  for  It.     How  have  I  offended. 
Wherein  my  death  might  yield  her  profit,  or 
My  life  imply  her  any  danger  ? 
Leonine. 

My  commissioa 
Is  not  to  reason  of  the  deed,  but  do  it. 
Marina. 
You  will  not  do't  for  all  the  world,  I  hope. 
You  are  well  favour'd,  and  your  looks  foreshow 
You  have  a  gentle  heart.     I  saw  you  lately, 
When  you  caught   hurt  in  parting  two  that 

fought : 
Good  sooth,  it  show'd  well  in  you ;  do  so  now : 
Your  lady  seeks  my  life ;  come  you  between, 
And  save  poor  me,  the  weaker. 
I^eonlne. 

I  am  sworn, 
And  will  despatch. 
Enter  Pirates,  whilst  Marina  is  struggling. 

First  Pirate. 
Hold,  villain  !  {Leonine  runs  away 

Second  Pirate. 
A  prize  !  a  prize ! 

Third  Pirate. 
Half-part,  mates,  half-part.    Come,  let's  have 


her  aboard  suddenly 
tF?> 


xeunt  Pirates  with  Marina 


SCENE  II.    Near  the  same. 
Enter  Leonine. 
Leonine. 
These  roguing  thieves  serve  the  great  pirate 
V aides; 
And  they  have  seiz'd  Marina.    Let  her  go : 
There's  no  hope  she'll  return.    I'll  swear  she's 

dead, 
And  thrown  into  the  sea.  — But  I'll  see  farther ; 
Perhaps  they  will  but  please  themselves  upon 
Not  carry  her  aboard.    If  she  remain,         Cher, 
Whom  they  have  ravish'd  must  by  me  beslaip. 

SCENE  III.    Mitylene.    A  Room  in  a  Brothel. 
Enter  Pander,  Bawd,  and  Boult. 


Buult. 


Sir. 


Pander. 
Boult. 


Pander. 

Search  the  market  narrowly ;  Mitylene  is  full 
of  gallants:  we  lost  too  much  money  this  mart, 
by  being  too  wenchless. 

Bawd. 

We  were  never  so  much  out  of  creatures.  We 

have  but  poor  three,  and  they  can  do  no  more 

than  they  can  do ;  and  they  with  continual  action 

are  even  as  good  as  rotten. 

Pander. 

Therefore,  let's  have  fresh  ones,  whate'er  we 

p»y 


no8 


PERICLES, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  in. 


pay  for  them.  If  there  be  not  a  conscience  to  be 
used  in  every  trade  we  shall  never  prosper. 
Bawd 
Thou  say'st  true:  'tis  not  the  bringing  up  of 
poor  bastards,  as  I  think,  I  have  brought  up 

tome  eleven 

Boult. 
Ay,  to  eleven ;  and  brought  them  down  again. 
But  shall  I  search  the  market  ? 
Bawd. 
What  else,  man?  The  stuff  we  have,  a  strong 
wind  will  blow  it  to  pieces,  they  are  so  pitifully 
sodden.  _,     , 

Pander. 

Thou  say'st  true;  they're  too  unwholesome 
o'  conscience.  The  poor  Transilvanian  is  dead, 
that  lay  with  the  little  baggage. 
Boult. 
Ay,  she  quickly  pooped  him  ;  she  made  him 
roast-meat  for  worms.  But  I'll  go  search  the 
market.  „     .  [Exit  Boult. 

Pander. 
Three  or  four  thousand   chequins  were  as 
pretty  a  proportion  to  live  quietly,  and  so  give 
over—  . 

Bawd. 

Why,  to  give  over,  I  pray  you?  is  it  a  shame 
to  get  when  we  are  old? 

Pander. 
O !  our  credit  comes  not  in  like  the  commo- 
dity; nor  the  commodity  wages  not  with  the 
danger:  therefore,  if  in  our  youths  we  could 
pick  up  some  pretty  estate,  'twere  not  amiss  to 
keep  our  door  hatched  Besides,  the  sore  terms 
we  stand  upon  with  the  gods  will  be  strong  with 
us  for  giving  over. 

Bawd. 
Come ;  other  sorts  offend  as  well  as  we. 

Pander. 
As  well  as  we?  ay.  and  better  too;  we  offend 
worse.  Neither  is  our  profession  any  trade ;  it's 
no  calling.    But  here  comes  Boult. 
Enter  Boult,  and  the  Pirates  with  Marina. 

Boult. 
Come  your  ways.    My  masters,  you  say  she's 
•  virgin?  „.       „    . 

6  First  Pirate. 

O,  sir  1  we  doubt  it  not. 
Boult. 
Master,  I  have  gone  thorough  for  this  piece, 
you  see :  if  you  like  her,  so ;  if  not,  I  have  lost 
my  earnest. 

Bawd. 
Boult,  has  she  any  qualities  ? 

Boult. 
She  has  a  good  face,  speaks  well,  and  has  ex- 
cellent good  clothes :  there's  no  farther  neces- 
sity of  qualities  can  make  her  be  refused. 
Bawd. 
What's  her  price,  Boult  t 
Boult. 
I  cannot  be  bated  one  doit  of  a  thousand 
pieces.  _     . 

Pander. 

Well,  follow  me,  ray  masters,  you  shall  have 
your  money  presently.  Wife,  take  her  in  :  in- 
struct her  what  she  has  to  do,  that  she  may  not 
be  raw  In  her  entertainment. 

[Exeunt  Pander  and  Pirates. 

Bawd. 
Boult,  take  you  the  marks  of  her  ;  the  colour 


of  her  hair,  complexion,  height,  her  age,  with 
warrant  of  her  virginity,  and  cry,  "  He  that  will 
give  most,  shall  have  her  first."  Such  a  maiden- 
head were  no  cheap  thing,  if  men  were  as  they 
have  been.  Get  this  done  as  I  command  you. 
Boult. 
Performance  shall  follow.  [Exit  Boult. 

Marina. 

Alack,  that  Leonine  was  so  slack,  so  slow  ! 

He  should  have  struck,  not  spoke ;  or  that  these 

pirates, 
(Not  enough  barbarous)  had  o'erboard  thrown 
For  to  seek  my  mother !  [me 

Bawd. 
Why  lament  you,  pretty  one  ? 

Marina. 
That  I  am  pretty. 

Bawd. 
Come,  the  gods  have  done  their  part  in  you. 

Marina. 
I  accuse  them  not. 

Bawd. 
You  are  lit  into  my  hands,  where  you  are  like 

Marina. 
The  more  my  fault, 
To  'scape  his  hands  where  I  was  like  to  die. 
Bawd. 
Ay,  and  you  shall  live  in  pleasure. 

Marina. 
No. 

Bawd. 
Yes,  indeed,  shall  you,  and  taste  gentlemen 
of  all  fashions.    You  shall  fare  well :  you  shall 
have  the  difference  of  all  complexions.    What  I 
do  you  stop  your  ears  ? 

Marina. 
Are  you  a  woman  ? 

Bawd. 
What  would  you  have  me  be,  an  I  be  not  a 
woman  ?  .:  " ; 

Marina. 
An  honest  woman,  or  not  a  woman. 

Bawd. 

Marry,  whip  thee,  gosling:   I  think  I  shall 

have  something  to  do  with  you.    Come,  you  are 

a  young  foolish  sapling,  and  must  be  bowed  as  1 

would  have  you. 

Marina. 
The  gods  defend  me ! 

Bawd. 
If  it  please  the  gods  to  defend  you  by  men, 
then  men  must  comfort  you,  men  must  feed 
you,  men  stir  you  up — BouWs  returned. 

Re-enter  Boult. 

Now,  sir,  hast  thou  cried  her  through  the  mar- 
ket? 

Boult. 
I  have  cried  her  almost  to  the  number  of  her 
hairs :  I  have  drawn  her  picture  with  my  voice. 
Bawd. 
And  I  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  how  dost  thou  find 
the  inclination  of  the  people,  especially  of  the 
younger  sort?  ^^ 

Faith,  they  listened  to  me,  as  they  would  have 
hearkened  to  their  father's  testament.  There 
was  a  Spaniard's  mouth  so  watered,  that  he 
went  to  bed  to  her  very  description.         n 

Bawd. 


A<  r  iv.  Sc.  rv. 


riJIXCE  OF  TYRE. 


1139 


We  »hall  havo  him  here  to-morrow  with  hit 
best  ruff  on. 

Boult. 
To-night,  to-night.    But,  mistress,  do   you 
know  the  French  knight  that   cowers   1*  the 
hams? 

!-.,  ■,  i. 
Who?  monsieur  Verolest 

Boult. 
Av:  he  offered  to  cut  a  caper  at  the  procla- 
mation ;  but  lie  made  a  groan  at  it,  and  swore  he 
would  see  tier  to-morrow. 

Bawd. 

Well,  well ;  as  for  him,  he  brought  his  disease 

hither :  here  he  does  but  repair  it.     I  know,  he 

will  come  in  our  shadow,  to  scatter  his  crowns 

in  the  sun. 

Boult. 
Well,  If  we  had  of  every  nation  a  traveller, 
we  should  lodge  them  with  this  sign. 

Bawd. 

Pray  you,  come  hither  awhile.  You  have 
fortunes  coming  upon  you.  Mark  me:  you 
must  seem  to  do  that  fearfully,  which  you  com- 
mit willingly ;  to  despise  profit,  where  you  have 
most  gain.  To  weep  that  you  live  as  you  do, 
makes  pity  in  your  lovers :  seldom,  but  that 
pity  begets  you  a  good  opinion,  and  that  opinion 
a  mere  profit. 

Marina. 

I  understand  you  not. 

Boult. 
O !  take  her  home,  mistress,  take  her  home : 
these  blushes  of  her's  must  be  quenched  with 
some  present  practice. 

Bawd. 
Thou  6ay'st  true,  V  faith,  so  they  must ;  for 
your  bride  goes  to  that  with  shame,  which  is  her 
way  to  go  with  warrant. 

Boult. 
Faith,  some  do,  and  some  do  not.    But,  mis- 
tress, if  I  have  bargained  for  the  joint,— 

Bawd. 
Thou  may'st  cut  a  morsel  off  the  spit. 

Boult. 
I  may  so  ? 

Bawd. 
Who  should  deny  it  ?    Come,  young  one,  I 
like  the  manner  of  your  garments  well. 

Boult. 
Ay,  by  my  faith,  they  shall  not  be  changed 
yet. 

Bawd. 
Boult,  spend  thou  that  in  the  town  :  report 
what  a  sojourner  we  have ;  you'll  lose  nothing 
by  custom.  When  nature  framed  this  piece,  she 
meant  thee  a  good  turn  ;  therefore,  say  what  a 
paragon  she  is,  and  thou  hast  the  harvest  out  of 
thine  own  report. 

Boult. 

I  warrant  you,  mistress,  thunder  shall  not  so 

awake  the  beds  of  eels,  as  my  giving  out  her 

beauty  stir  up  the  lewdly  inclined.     I'll  bring 

home  some  to-night. 

Bawd. 
Come  your  ways  ;  follow  me. 

Marina. 
If  fires  be  hot,  knives  sharp,  or  waters  deep, 
Untied  I  still  my  virgin  knot  will  keep. 
Diana,  aid  my  purpose  I 


B*i  ! 

What  have  we  to  do  with  Diana  T    Pray  you, 
will  you  go  with  us?  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.    Thartus.    A  Room  in  Cleon** 

HuUM. 

Enter  Clean  and  Dionyxa. 

Dlonyra. 

Why,  are  you  foolish  ?    Can  It  be  undone  ? 

Clcon. 
O  Dionyxa  1  such  a  piece  of  slaughter 
The  sun  and  moon  ne'er  look'd  upon. 
Dionyza. 

I  think, 
You'll  turn  a  child  again. 
Cleon. 
Were  I  chief  lord  of  all  this  spacious  world, 
I'd  give  it  to  undo  the  deed.    O  lady  ! 
Much  less  in  blood  than  virtue,  yet  a  princess 
To  equal  any  single  crown  o'  the  earth, 
I*  the  justice  of  compare  1    O  villain  Leonine! 
Whom  thou  hast  poison'd  too.  [ness 

If  thou  hadst  drunk  to  him,  it  had  been  a  kind- 
Becoming  well  thy  face :  what  canst  thou  say, 
When  noble  Pericles  shall  demand  his  child  ? 

Dionyza. 
That  she  is  dead.    Nurses  are  not  the  fates, 
To  foster  it,  nor  ever  to  preserve. 
She  died  at  night ;  I'll  say  so.    Who  can  cross 
Unless  you  play  the  pious  innocent,  [it? 

And  for  an  honest  attribute,  cry  out, 
"  She  died  by  foul  play." 

Cleon. 

O  !  go  to.    Well,  well ; 
Of  all  the  faults  beneath  the  heavens,  the  gods 
Do  like  this  worst. 

Dionyza. 

Be  one  of  those,  that  think 
The  pretty  wrens  of  Tharsus  will  fly  hence. 
And  open  this  to  Pericles.     I  do  shame 
To  think  of  what  a  noble  strain  you  are, 
And  of  how  coward  a  spirit. 
Cleon. 

To  such  proceeding 
Who  ever  but  his  approbation  added, 
Though  not  his  pre-consent,  he  did  not  flow 
From  honourable  courses. 

Dionyza. 

Be  it  so,  then  ; 
Yet  none  does  know,  but  you,  how  she  came 

dead, 
Nor  none  can  know,  Leonine  being  gone. 
She  did  disdain  my  child,  and  stood  between 
Her  and  her  fortunes  :  none  would  look  on  her, 
But  cast  their  gazes  on  Marina's  face  ; 
Whilst  ours  was  blurted  at,  and  held  a  malkin, 
Not  worth  the  time  of  day.      It  piere'd  me 

thorough ; 
And  though  you  call  my  course  unnatural, 
You  not  your  child  well  loving,  yet  I  find, 
It  greets  me  as  an  enterprise  of  kindness, 
Perform'd  to  your  sole  daughter. 

Cleon. 

Heai  ens  forgive  it! 

*    j,      ,     r>    .  Dionyza. 

And  as  for  Pericles, 
What  should  he  say  ?  We  wept  after  her  hearse. 
And  even  yet  we  mourn  :  her  monument 
Is  almost  finish'd,  and  her  epitaphs 
In  glittering  golden  characters  express 
A  general  praise  to  her,  and  care  in  us 
At  whose  expense  'tis  done. 

Cleon. 


HID 


PEKICLES, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  iv. 


Cleon. 

Thou  art  like  the  harpy, 
Which,  to  betray,  doth  with  thine  angel's  face, 
Seize  with  thine*  eagle's  talons. 
Dionyza. 
You  are  like  one,  that  superstitiously 
Doth  swear  to  the  gods,  that  winter  kills  the 
But  yet,  I  know,  you'll  do  as  I  advise.       [flies  : 
[Exeunt. 

Enter  Gower,  before  the  Monument  of  Marina 
at  Tharsus. 

Gower. 
Thus  time  we  waste,  and  longest  leagues  make 

short ; 
Sail  seas  in  cockles,  have,  and  wish  but  for't ; 
Making  (to  take  your  imagination) 
From  bourn  to  bourn,  region  to  region. 
By  you  being  pardon'd,  we  commit  no  crime 
To  use  one  language,  in  each  several  clime, 
Where  our  scenes  seem  to  live.    I  do  beseech 

you, 
To  learn  of  me,  who  stand  i'  the  gaps  to  teach 
The  stages  of  our  story.    Pericles  [you, 

Is  now  again  thwarting  the  wayward  seas, 
Attended  on  by  many  a  lord  and  knight, 
To  see  his  daughter,  all  his  life's  delight. 
Old  Escanes,  whom  Helicanus  late 
Advanc'd  in  time  to  great  and  high  estate, 
Is  left  to  govern.    Bear  you  it  in  mind, 
Old  Helicanus  goes  along  behind.  [brought 

Well-sailing  ships,  and  bounteous  winds,  have 
This  king  to  Tharsus,  (think  this  pilot  thought, 
So  with  his  steerage  shall  your  thoughts  grow 

on) 
To  fetch  his  daughter  home,  who  first  is  gone. 
Like  motes  and  shadows  see  them  move  awhile  ; 
Your  ears  unto  your  eyes  I'll  reconcile. 

Dumb  show. 
Enter  Pericles  with  his  Train,  at  one  door ; 
Cleon  and  Dionyza  at  the  other.  Cleon  shows 
Pericles  the  Tomb  of  Marina;  whereat  Pe- 
ricles makes  lamentation,  puts  on  Sackcloth, 
and  in  a  mighty  passion  departs. 

Gower. 
See,  how  belief  may  suffer  by  foul  show  ! 
This  borrow'd  passion  stands  for  true  old  woe  ; 
And  Pericles,  in  sorrow  all  devour'd, 
With  sighs  shot  through,  and  biggest  tears  o'er- 

shower'd, 
Leaves  Tharsus,  and  again  embarks.   He  swears 
Never  to  wash  his  face,  nor  cut  his  hairs; 
He  puts  on  sackcloth,  and  to  sea.    He  bears 
A  tempest,  which  his  mortal  vessel  tears, 
And  yet  he  rides  it  out.     Now,  please  you,  wit 
The  epitaph  is  for  Marina  writ 
By  wicked  Dionyza. 

"  The  fairest,  sweet' st,  and  best,  lies  here, 
Who  wilher'd  in  her  spring  of  year : 
She  was  o/Tyrus,  the  king's  daughter, 
On  whom  foul  death  hath  made  this  slaughter. 
Marina  was  she  call'd  ;  and  at  her  birth, 
Thetis,  being  proud,  swallow'd  some  part  o'  the 

earth : 
Therefore  the  earth,  fearing  to  be  o'erflow'd, 
HathThetis' birth-child  on  the  heavens  bestow'd : 
Wherefore  she  does    {and  swears  she'll  never 

stint) 
Make  raging  battery  upon  shores  of  flint." 
No  visor  does  become  black  villany, 
So  well  as  soft  and  tender  flattery. 
Let  Pericles  believe  his  daughter's  dead, 
And  bear  his  courses  to  be  ordered 
By  lady  fortune ;  while  our  scene  must  play 


His  daughter's  woe  and  heavy  well-a-day, 

In  her  unholy  service.     Patience  then, 

And  think  you  now  are  all  in  Mitylen.      [Exit. 

SCENE  V.    Mitylene.    A  Street  before  the 
Brothel. 

Enter  from  the  Brothel,  Two  Gentlemen 
First  Gentleman. 
Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

Second  Gentleman. 
No  ;  nor  never  shall  do  in  such  a  place  as  this, 
she  being  once  gone. 

First  Gentleman. 
But  to  have  divinity  preached  there  !  did  you 
ever  dream  of  such  a  thing  ? 

Second  Gentleman. 
No,  no.    Come,  1  am  for  no  more  bawdy- 
houses.    Shall  we  go  hear  the  vestals  sing  ? 
First  Gentleman. 
I'll  do  any  thing  now  that  is  virtuous  ;  but  I 
am  out  of  the  road  of  rutting  for  ever.    „ 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  VI. 


The  same. 
Brothel. 


A  Room  in  the 


Enter  Pander,  Bawd,  and  Boult. 
Pander. 
Well,  I  had  rather  than  twice  the  worth  of 
her,  she  had  ne'er  come  here. 
Bawd. 
Fie,  fie  upon  her !   she  is  able  to  freeze  the 
god  Priapus,  and  undo  a  whole  generation:  we 
must  either  get  her  ravished,  or  be  rid  of  her. 
When  she  should  do  for  clients  her  fitment,  and 
do  me  the  kindness  of  our  profession,  she  has 
me  her  quirks,  her  reasons,  her  master-reasons, 
her  prayers,  her  knees,  that  she  would  make  a 
puritan  of  the  devil,  if  he  should  cheapen  a  kiss 
of  her. 

Boult. 
Faith,  I  must  ravish  her,  or  she'll  disfurnlsh 
us  of  all  our  cavaliers,  and  make  all  our  swearers 
priests. 

Pander. 
Now,  the  pox  upon  her  green-sickness  for  me ! 

Bawd. 
'Faith,  there's  no  way  to  be  rid  on't,  but  by 
the  way  to  the  pox.    Here  comes  the  lord  Ly- 
simachus, disguised. 

Boult 

We  should  have  both  lord  and  lown,  if  the 

peevish  baggage  would  but  give  way  to  customers. 

Enter  Lysimachus. 

Lysimachus. 

How  now  !    How  a  dozen  of  virginities  ? 

Bawd. 
Now,  the  gods  to-bless  your  honour  1 

Boult 
I  am  glad  to  see  your  honour  in  good  health. 

Lysimachus. 
You  may  so ;  'tis  the  better  for  you  that  your 
resorters  stand  upon  sound  legs.     How  now, 
wholesome  iniquity  1  have  you  that  a  man  may 
deal  withal,  and  defy  the  surgeon  ? 
Bawd. 
We  have  here  one,  sir,  if  she  would— but 
there  never  came  her  like  in  Mitylene. 
Lysimachus. 
If  she'd   do   the  deeds   of  darkness,   thou 
would'st  say.  B&ytd, 


Act  iv.  Sir.  vi. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


II!! 


Your   honour  knows   what  'tis   to   say,  well 
enough. 

Lysimachus. 
Well ;  call  forth,  call  forth. 

Boult. 
For  flesh  and  blood,  sir,  white  and  red,  you 
shall  see-  a  rose;  and  she  were  a  rose  indeed, 
if  she  had  but— 

Lysimachus. 
What,  pr'ythee? 

Boult. 
O,  sir !  I  can  be  modest. 

Lysimachus. 
That  dignifies  the  renown  of  a  bawd,  no  less 
than  it  gives  a  good  report  to  a  number  to  be 
chaste. 

Enter  Marina. 

Bawd. 
Here  comes  that  which  grows  to  the  stalk  ;  — 
never  plucked  yet,  I  can  assure  you.  — Is  she 
not  a  fair  creature  ? 

Lysimachus. 
'Faith,  she  would  serve  after  a  long  voyage  at 
sea.    Well,  there's  for  you:  leave  us. 
Bawd. 
I  beseech  your  honour,  give  me  leave :  a  word, 
and  I'll  have  done  presently. 
Lysimachus. 
I  beseech  you,  do. 

Bawd. 
First,  I  would  have  you  note,  this  is  an  honour- 
able man.  [To  Marina. 
Marina. 
I  desire  to  find  him  so,  that  I  may  worthily 
note  him. 

Bawd. 
Next,  he's  the  governor  of  this  country,  and 
a  man  whom  I  am  bound  to. 

Marina. 
If  he  govern  the  country,  you  are  bound  to 
him  indeed ;  but  how  honourable  he  is  in  that,  I 
know  not. 

Bawd. 
'Pray  you,  without  any  more  virginal  fencing, 
will  you  use  him  kindly?    He  will  line  your 
apron  with  gold. 

Marina. 
What  he  will  do  graciously,  I  will  thankfully 
receive. 

Lysimachus. 
Have  you  done? 

Bawd. 

My  lord,  she's  not  paced  yet;  you  must  take 

some  pains  to  work  her  to  your  manage.    Come, 

we  will  leave  his  honour  and  her  together.    Go 

thy  ways.     [Exeunt  Bated,  Pander,  and  Boult. 

Lysimachus. 
Now,  pretty  one,  how  long  have  you  been  at 
this  trade? 

Marina. 
What  trade,  sir? 


Please 


Why,  I  cannot  name  but  I  shall  offend 

Mar. 
I  cannot  be  offended  with  my  trade, 
you  to  name  it. 

Lysimachus. 
How  long  have  y'ou  been  of  this  profession  ? 

Marina. 
Ever  since  I  can  remember. 


Lytlmachus. 
Did  you-  go  to  It  so  young  ?     Were  you  a 
gamester  at  Ave,  or  at  seven  ? 
Mar 
Earlier  too,  sir,  if  now  I  be  one. 

Lysl.n. 
Why,  the  house  vou  dwell  in  proclaims  you  to 
be  a  creature  of  safe. 

Marina. 
Do  you  know  this  house  to  be  a  place  of  such 
resort,  and  will  come  Into  it?    I  hear  say,  you 
are  of  honourable  parts,  and  are  the  governor 
of  this  place. 

Lysimachus. 
Why,  hath  your  principal  made  known  unto 
you  who  I  am  ? 

Marina. 
Who  is  my  principal  ? 

Lysimachus. 
Why,  your  herb-woman ;  she  that  sets  seed 
and  roots  of  shame  and  iniquity.     O  I  you  have 
heard  something  of  my  power,  and  so  stand 
aloof  for  more  serious  wooing.    But  I  protest  to 
thee,  pretty  one,  my  authority  shall  not  see  thee, 
or  else,  look  friendly  upon  thee.    Come,  bring 
me  to  some  private  place:  come,  come. 
Marina. 
If  you  were  born  to  honour,  show  It  now; 
If  put  upon  you,  make  the  judgment  good 
That  thought  you  worthy  of  it. 
Lysimachus. 
How's  this?  how's  this?— Some  more;  — be 
sage. 

Marina. 
For  me. 
That  am  a  maid,  though  most  ungentle  fortune 
Hath  plac'd  me  in  this  sty,  where,  since  I  came, 
Diseases  have  been  sold  dearer  than  physic, — 
That  the  gods 

Would  set  me  free  from  this  unhallow'd  place, 
Though  they  did  change  me  to  the  meanest  bird 
That  flies  i"  the  purer  air  • 

Lysimachus. 

I  did  not  think 
Thou  could'st  have  spoke  so  well ;  ne'er  dream 'd 

thou  could'st. 
Had  I  brought  hither  a  corrupted  mind. 
Thy  speech  had  alter'd  it.     Hold,  here's  gold 

for  thee : 
Persevere  in  that  clear  way  thou  goest, 
And  the  gods  strengthen  thee ! 

Marina. 
The  gods  preserve  you  1 

Lysimachus. 

For  me,  be  you  thoughten 
That  I  came  with  no  ill  intent ;  for  to  me 
The  very  doors  and  windows  savour  vilely. 
Farewell.    Thou  art  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
I  doubt  not  but  thy  training  hath  been  noble. 
Hold,  here's  more  gold  for  thee. 
A  curse  upon  him,  die  he  like  a  thief. 
That  robs  thee  of  thy  goodness  1    If  thou  dost 
From  me,  it  shall  be  for  thy  good.  [hear 

Enter  Boult. 

Boult. 
I  beseech  your  honour,  one  piece  for  me. 

Lyiiir... 
Avaunt,  thou  damned  door-keeper  !     Your 
house, 
But  for  this  virgin  that  doth  prop  it,  would 
Sink,  and  overwhelm  you.    Away  1 

[Exit  I.ysimachu*. 
Boult. 


ma 


PERICLES, 


Act  iv.  Sc.  vi. 


Boult. 

How's  this  ?    We  must  take  another  course 

with  you.     If  your  peevish  chastity,  which  is 

not  worth  a  breakfast  in  the  cheapest  country 

under  the  cope,  shall  undo  a  whole  household, 

let  me  be  gelded  like  a  spaniel.   Come  your  ways. 

Marina. 

Whither  would  you  have  me  ?    • 

Boult. 
I  must  have  your  maidenhead  taken  off,  or  the 
common  hangman  shali  execute  it.    Come  your 
way.     We'll  have  no  more  gentlemen  driven 
away.    Come  your  ways,  I  say. 
Re-enter  Bawd. 
Bawd. 
How  now  I  what's  the  matter  ? 

Boult. 
Worse  and  worse,  mistress:    she  has  here 
spoken  holy  words  to  the  lord  Lysimachus. 
Bawd. 
O,  abominable  I 

Boult. 
She  makes  our  profession  as  it  were  to  stink 
afore  the  face  of  the  gods. 
Bawd. 
Marry,  hang  her  up  for  ever  I 

Boult. 
The  nobleman  would  have  dealt  with  her  like 
a  nobleman,  and  she  sent  him  away  as  cold  as  a 
snowball ;  saying  his  prayers,  too. 
Bawd. 
Boult,  take  her  away ;  use  her  at  thy  pleasure : 
crack  the  glass  of  her  virginity,  ana  make  the 
rest  malleable. 

Boult. 
An  if  she  were  a  thornier  piece  of  ground  than 
she  is,  she  shall  be  ploughed. 
Marina. 
Hark,  hark,  you  gods  ! 

Bawd. 
She  conjures:  away  with  her.  Would  she 
had  never  come  within  my  doors.  —  Marry  hang 
you  !— She's  born  to  undo  us. — Will  you  not  go 
the  way  of  women-kind  ?  Marry  come  up,  my 
dish  of  chastity  with  rosemary  and  bays  1 

[Exit  Bawd. 
Boult. 
Come,  mistress  ;  come  your  way  with  me. 

Marina. 
Whither  wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Boult. 
To  take  from  you  the  jewel  you  hold  so  dear. 

Marina. 
Pr'ythee,  tell  me  one  thing  first. 

Boult. 
Come  now,  your  one  thing. 

Marina. 
What  canst  thou  wish  thine  enemy  to  be  ? 

Boult. 
Why,  I  could  wish  him  to  be  my  master  ; 
rather,  my  mistress. 

Marina. 
Neither  of  these  are  so  bad  as  thou  art, 
Since  they  do  better  thee  in  their  command. 
Thou  hold'st  a  place,  for  which  thepained'st  fiend  i 
Of  hell  would  not  in  reputation  change  : 
Thou'rt  thedamn'd  door-keeper  to  every  coystrel  j 
That  hither  comes  inquiring  for  his  Tib  ; 
To  the  cholerick  fisting  of  each  rogue  thy  ear 
Is  liable  ;  thy  food  is  such 
As  hath  been  belch'd  on  by  infected  lungs. 


Boult. 

What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  go  to  the  wars, 
would  you?  where  a  man  may  serve  seven  years 
for  the  loss  of  a  leg,  and  have  not  money  enough 
in  the  end  to  buy  him  a  wooden  one  ? 
Marina. 

Do  any  thing  but  this  thou  doest.    Empty 
Old  receptacles,  or  common  sewers,  of  filth  ; 
Serve  by  indenture  to  the  common  hangman : 
Any  of  these  ways  are  yet  better  than  this ; 
For  what  thou  professest,  a  baboon,  could  he 

speak, 
Would  own  a  name  too  dear.    That  the  gods 
Would  safely  deliver  me  from  this  place  ! 
Here,  here's  gold  for  thee. 
If  that  thy  master  would  gain  by  me, 
Proclaim  that  I  can  sing,  weave,  sew,  and  dance, 
With  other  virtues,  which  I'll  keep  from  boast; 
And  I  will  undertake  all  these  to  teach. 
I  doubt  not  but  this  populous  city  will 
Yield  many  scholars. 

Boult. 

But  can  you  teach  all  this  you  speak  of  ? 
Marina. 

Prove  that  I  cannot,  take  me  home  again, 
And  prostitute  me  to  the  basest  groom 
That  doth  frequent  your  house. 
Boult. 

Well,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  thee :  if  I 
can  place  thee,  I  will. 

Marina. 

But,  amongst  honest  women  ? 
Boult. 

Faith,  my  acquaintance  lies  little  amongst 
them.  But  since  my  master  and  mistress  have 
bought  you,  there's  no  going  but  by  their  con- 
sent ;  therefore,  I  will  make  them  acquainted 
with  your  purpose,  and  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall 
find  them  tractable  enough.  Come;  I'll  do  for 
thee  what  I  can:  come  your  ways.        [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Enter  Gower. 
(lower. 

MARINA  thus  thebrothel  scapes,  and  chances 
Into  an  honest  house,  our  story  says. 
She  sin^s  like  one  immortal,  and  she  dances 
As  goddess-like  to  her  admired  lays. 
Deep  clerks  she  dumbs,  and  with  her  needle 

composes 
Nature's  own  shape,  of  bud, bird,  branch,  or  berry. 
That  even  her  art  sisters  the  natural  roses  ; 
Her  inkle,  silk,  twin  with  the  rubied  cherry: 
That  pupils  lacks  she  none  of  noble  race, 
Who  pour  their  bounty  on  her  ;  and  her  gain 
She  gives  the  cursed  bawd.    Here  we  her  place, 
And  to  her  father  turn  our  thoughts  again, 
Where  we  left  him  on  the  sea,  tumbled  and  tost ; 
And,  driven  before  the  winds,  he  is  arriv'd 
Here  where  his  daughter  dwells:  and  on  this 

coast 
Suppose  him  now  at  anchor.    The  city  striv'd 
God    Neptune's    annual    feast  to    keep;    from 
I.ysimachus  our  Tyrian  ship  espies,        [whence 
His  banners  sable,  trimm'd  with  rich  expense ; 
And  to  him  in  his  barge  with  fervour  hies. 
In  your  supposing  once  more  put  your  sight ; 
Of  heavy  Pericles  think  this  the  bark: 
Where,  what  is  done  in  action,  more,  if  might, 
Shall  be  discover'd  ;  please  you,  sit,  and  hark. 


[Exit. 
SCENE 


'    ■. 


IP3EIR3KSIL.ES. 
Act    5.   Sc.    i. 


Art  v.    Sc.  i. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


mi 


/.  I.  On  board  Pericles'  Ship,  off  Mity- 
lene.  A  Pavilion  on  deck,  with  a  Curtain  be- 
fore it ;    Pericles  within   it,  reclining  on  a 

h.     A  Barge  lying  l>c*ide  tho  Tyrian 

Enter  Two  Sailors,  one  belonging  to  the  Tyrian 
Vessel,  the  other  to  the  Barge  ;  to  them  Heli- 
canus. 

Tyrian  Sailor. 
Where'*  the  lord  Helicanus  f  he  can  resolve 
you.  tTo  t,,e  Sailor  of  Mitylene. 

0  here  he  is— 

Sir,  there's  a  barge  put  off  from  Mitylene, 

And  In  it  is  Lysimachus,  the  governor,      [will  ? 

Who  craves  to  come  aboard.     What  is  your 

Hclic.iniis. 

That  he  have  his.    Call  up  some  gentlemen. 

Tyrian  Sailor. 
Ho,  gentlemen  1  "my  lord  calls. 

Enter  Two  or  Three  Gentlemen. 

First  Gentleman. 
Doth  your  lordship  call  ? 

Helicanus. 
Gentlemen, 
There  is  some  of  worth  would  come  aboard : 
Greet  him  fairly.  [I  pray 

[Grntlnnen  and  Sailors  descend,  and  go  on 
board  the  Barge. 

Enter,  from  thence,  Lysimachus  and  Lords  ;  the 
Tyrian  Gentlemen,  and  the  Two  Sailors. 

Tyrian  Sailor. 
Sir, 
This  is  the  man  that  can  in  aught  you  would 
Resolve  you. 

Lysimachus. 
Hail,  reverend  sir  1    The  gods  preserve  you  ! 

Helicanus. 
And  you,  sir,  to  outlive  the  age  I  am, 
And  die  as  I  would  do. 

Lysimachus. 

You  wish  me  well. 
Belngonshore.honouringofAVptttHe's  triumphs, 
Seeing  this  goodly  vessel  ride  before  us, 

1  made  to  it  to  know  of  whence  you  are. 

Helicanus. 
First,  what  is  your  place  ? 

Lysimachus. 
I  am  the  governor  of  this  place  you  lie  before. 


Sir, 


Helicanus. 


Our  vessel  is  of  Tyre,  in  it  the  king ; 
A  man,  who  for  this  three  months  hath  not 
l  o  any  one,  nor  taken  sustenance,  [spoken 

Rut  to  prorogue  his  grief. 

Lysimachus. 
Upon  what  ground  is  his  distemperature  ? 

Helicanus. 
It  would  he  too  tedious  to  repeat ; 
Rut  tlie  main  grief  of  all  springs  from  the  loss 
Of  a  beloved  daughter  and  a  wife. 

Lysimachus. 
May  we  not  see  him,  then  ? 

-  Helicanus. 

You  may, 
Rut  bootless  is  your  sight ;  he  will  not  speak 
To  any. 

Lysimachus. 

Yet,  let  me  obtain  my  wish. 


anus. 
Behold  him.  [/Vi/.Aj  discovered.]  This  was 
a  goodly  person, 
Till  the  disaster  that  one  mortal  night 
Drove  him  to  this. 

ichui. 
Sir  king,  all  hail  I'the  gods  preserve  you  1 
Hail,  royal  sir  1 

Helicanus. 
It  is  in  vain  ;  he  will  not  speak  to  you. 

First  Lord. 
Sir,  we  have  a  maid  in  Mitylene,  I  durst  wager. 
Would  win  some  words  of  him. 
Lysimachus. 

•Tis  well  bethought. 
She,  questionless,  with  her  sweet  harmony, 
And  other  choice  attractions,  would  allure, 
And  make  a  battery  through  his  deafen 'd  parts, 
Which  now  are  midway  stopp'd: 
She  is  all  happy  as  the  fair'st  of  all, 
And  with  her  fellow  maids  is  now  upon 
The  leafy  shelter  that  abuts  against 
The  island's  side. 

[He  whispers  one  of  the  attendant  Lords.— 
Exit  Lord. 

Helicanus. 
Sure,  all  effectless ;  yet  nothing  we'll  omit, 
That  bears  recovery's  name. 
But,  since  your  kindness  we  have  stretch'd  thus 
Let  us  beseech  you,  [far, 

That  for  our  gold  we  may  provision  have, 
Wherein  we  are  not  destitute  for  want, 
But  weary  for  the  staleness. 

Lysimachus. 

O,  sir  !  a  courtesy, 
Which,  if  we  should  deny,  the  most  just  God 
For  every  (jraff  would  send  a  caterpillar, 
And  so  afflict  our  province — Yet  once  more 
Let  me  entreat  to  know  at  large  the  cause 
Of  your  king's  sorrow. 

Helicanus. 
Sit,  sir,  I  will  recount  it  to  you ;  — 
But  see,  I  am  prevented. 

Enter  Lord,  Marina,  and  a  young  Lady. 
Lysimachus. 
O !  here  is 
The  lady  that  I  sent  for.    Welcome,  fair  one  1 
Is't  not  a  goodly  presence  ? 

Helicanus. 

She's  a  gallant  lady. 

Lysimachus. 
She's  such  a  one,  that  were  I  well  assur'd  she 
came 
Of  gentle  kind,  and  noble  stock,  I'd  wish 

No  better  choice,  and  think  me  rarely  wed 

Fair  one,  all  goodness  that  consists  in  bounty 
i  Expect  even  here,  where  is  a  kingly  patient : 
|  If  that  thy  prosperous  and  artificial  feat 
j  Can  draw  him  but  to  answer  thee  in  aught, 
i  Thy  sacred  physic  shall  receive  such  pay 
As  thy  desires  can  wish. 

Marina. 

Sir.  I  will  use 
My  utmost  skill  in  his  recovery, 
Provided  none  but  I  and  my  companion 
Be  sufl'er'd  to  come  near  him. 

Lysimaclius. 

Come,  let  us  leave  her, 
And  the  gods  make  her  prosperous  I 


Lysimai 
Mark'd  he  your  music? 


Lysimachus. 


[Marina  sings. 
Marina. 


fii4 


PERICLES, 


Act  v.  Sc.  I. 


Marina. 

No,  nor  look'd  on  us. 
Lysimachus. 
See,  she  will  speak  to  him. 
Marina. 
Hail,  sir !  my  lord,  lend  ear.  — 

Pericles. 
Hum !  ha ! 

Marina. 
I  am  a  maid, 
My  lord,  that  ne'er  before  invited  eyes, 
But  have  been  gaz'd  on  like  a  comet:  she  speaks, 
My  lord,  that  may  be,  hath  endur'd  a  grief 
Might  equal  yours,  if  both  were  justly  weigh'd. 
Though  wayward  fortune  did  malign  my  state, 
My  derivation  was  from  ancestors 
Who  stood  equivalent  with  mighty  kings  ; 
But  time  hath  rooted  out  my  parentage, 
And  to  the  world  and  awkward  casualties 
Bound  me  in  servitude.— I  will  desist ; 
But  there  is  something  glows  upon  my  cheek, 
And  whispers  in  mine  ear,  "  Go  not  till  he 
speak."  _     .  , 

Pericles. 

My  fortunes— parentage— good  parentage— 
To  equal  mine!  — was  it  not  thus?  what  say 

Marina. 
I  said,  my  lord,  if  you  did  know  my  parentage, 
You  would  not  do  me  violence. 


I  do  think  so. 
I  pray  you,  turn  your  eyes  again  upon  me.— 
You  are  like  something  that — What  country. 
Here  of  these  shores  ?  [woman  ? 

Marina. 

No,  nor  of  any  shores ; 
Yet  I  was  mortally  brought  forth,  and  am 
No  other  than  I  appear. 

Pericles. 
I  am  great  with  woe,  and  shall  deliver  weep- 
ing. 
My  dearest  wife  was  like  this  maid,  and  such  a 

one 
My  daughter  might  have  been:    my  queen's 

square  brows ; 
Her  stature  to  an  inch  ;  as  wand-like  straight ; 
As  silver-voic'd  ;  her  eyes  as  jewel-like. 
And  cas'd  as  richly:  in  pace  another  Juno; 
Who  starves  the  ears  she  feeds,  and  makes  them 

hungry, 
The  more  she  gives  them  speech. — Where  do 
you  live  ?        .,    . 

Marina. 

Where  I  am  but  a  stranger :  from  the  deck 
You  may  discern  the  place. 
Pericles. 

Where  were  you  bred  ? 
And  how  achiev'd  you  these  endowments,  which 
You  make  more  rich  to  owe. 
Marina. 

Should  I  tell  my  history, 
•Twould  seem  like  lies,  disdain'd  in  the  report- 

ing-  Pericles. 

Pr'ythee,  speak :  [look'st 

Falseness  cannot  come  from  thee,  for  thou 
Modest  as  justice,  and  thou  seem'st  a  palace 
For  the  crown'd  truth  to  dwell  in.  I'll  believe 
And  make  my  senses  credit  thy  relation,  [thee,  j 
To  points  that  seem  impossible ;  for  thou  look'st  j 
Like  one  I  lov'd  indeed.  What  were  thy  friends  ?  j 
Didst  thou  not  say,  when  I  did  push  thee  back, 


(Which  was  when  I  perceiv'd  thee)  that  thou 

;  From  good  descending  ?  [cam'st 

Marina. 

So  indeed  I  did. 

Pericles. 

Report  thy  parentage.    I  think  thou  saidst 

Thou  hadstbeen  toss'd  from  wrong  to  injury, 

And  that  thou  thought'st  thy  griefs  might  equal 

If  both  were  open'd.  [mine, 

Marina. 

Some  such  thing 
I  said,  and  said  no  more  but  what  my  thoughts 
Did  warrant  me  was  likely. 

Pericles. 

Tell  thy  story  ; 
If  thine  consider'd  prove  the  thousandth  part 
Of  my  endurance,  thou  art  a  man,  and  I 
Have  suffer'd  like  a  girl :  yet  thou  dost  look 
Like  Patience,  gazing  on  kings'  graves,  and 

smiling 
Extremity  out  of  act.    What  were  thy  friends  ? 
How  lost  thou  them  ?  Thy  name,  my  most  kind 

virgin  ? 
Recount,  I  do  beseech  thee.    Come,  sit  by  me. 
Marina. 
My  name  is  Marina. 

Pericles. 

0 1  I  am  mock'd, 
And  thou  by  some  incensed  god  sent  hither 
To  make  the  world  to  laugh  at  me. 
Marina. 

Patience,  good  sir 
Or  here  I'll  cease. 

Pericles. 
Nay,  I'll  be  patient. 
Thou  little  know'st  how  thou  dost  startle  me, 
To  call  thyself  Marina. 

Marina. 

The  name 
Was  given  me  by  one  that  had  some  power; 
My  father,  and  a  king. 

Pericles. 

How  1  a  king's  daughter  ? 
And  call'd  Marina  T 

Marina. 
You  said  you  would  believe  me ; 
But,  not  to  be  a  troubler  of  your  peace, 
I  will  end  here.       „,    , 

Pericles. 

But  are  you  flesh  and  blood  ? 
Have  you  a  working  pulse  ?  and  are  no  fairy 
Motion?— Well;  speak  on.    Where  were  you 
And  wherefore  call'd  Marina  t  [born, 

Marina. 

Call'd  Marina, 
For  I  was  born  at  sea. 

Pericles. 

At  sea !  what  mother  ? 
Marina. 
My  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  king  ; 
Who  died  the  minute  I  was  born, 
As  my  good  nurse  Lychorida  hath  oft 
Deliver'd  weeping. 

Pericles. 
O !  stop  there  a  little. 
This  is  the  rarest  dream  that  e'er  dull'd  sleep 
Did  mock  sad  fools  withal ;  this  cannot  be. 
My  daughter's  buried. — Well:  —  where  were 

you  bred  ? 
I'll  hear  you  more,  to  the  bottom  of  your  story, 
And  never  interrupt  you.  M    . 


Acr  v.  Sc.  ii. 


PRINCE  OF  TYKI 


n.s 


You'll  scarce  believe  me,  'twere  best  I  did 
give  o'er. 

les. 
1  will  belter*  you  by  the  syllable 
Of  what  vou  shall  deliver.    Yet,  K've  me  leave  : 
in'  vou  in  these  parts?  where  were  you 
bred? 

Marina. 
The  king,  my  father,  did  In  Tharsus  leave  me, 
Till  cruel  Cleon,  with  his  wicked  wife. 
Did  seek  to  murder  me  ;  and  having  woo'd 
A  villain  to  attempt  it,  who  having  drawn  todo't, 
A  crew  of  pirates  came  and  rescued  me  ; 
Brought  me  to  Mitylene.    But,  good  sir, 
Whither  will  vou  have  me?    Why  do  you  weep? 

It  maybe, 
You  think  me  an  impostor:  no,  good  faith  ; 
I  am  the  daughter  to  king  Pericles, 
If  good  king  Pericles  be. 

Pericles 
Ho,  Helicanus! 

Helicanus. 
Calls  my  gracious  lord  ? 

Pericles. 
Thou  art  a  grave  and  noble  counsellor, 
Most  wise  in  general :  tell  me,  if  thou  canst, 
j  What  this  maid  is,  or  what  is  like  to  be, 
'  That  thus  hath  made  me  weep? 
Helicanus. 

I  know  not ;  but 
|  Here  is  the  regent,  sir,  of  Mitylene, 
Spe.iks  nobly  of  her. 

Lysimachus. 

She  would  never  tell 
Her  parentage  ;  being  demanded  that, 
She  would  sit  still  and  weep. 
Pericles. 

0  Helicanus!  strike  me,  honour'd  sir  ; 
Qive  me  a  gash,  put  me  to  present  pain, 
Lest  this  great  sea  of  joys  rushing  upon  me, 
O'erbear  the  shores  of  my  mortality,       [hither, 
And  drown  me  with  their  sweetness.     O  !  come 
Thou  that  begefst  him  that  did  thee  beget ; 
Thou  that  wast  born  at  sea,  buried  at  Tharsus, 
And  found  at  sea  again.— O  Helicanus! 
Down  on  thy  knees,  thank  the  holy  gods  as  loud 

j  As  thunder  threatens  us  :  this  is  Marina. — 

What  was  thy  mother's  name?  tell  me  but  that, 
j  For  truth  can  never  be  confirm'd  enough, 
Though  doubts  did  ever  sleep. 
Marina. 

First,  sir,  I  pray, 
What  is  your  title  ? 

Pericles. 

1  am  Pericls  of  Tyre:  but  tell  me,  now, 

My  drown'd  queen's  name,  (as  in  the  rest  you  said 

Thou  hast  been  godlike  perfect)  the  heir  of  king- 

And  another  like  to  Pericles  thy  father,    [doms, 

Marina. 

Is  it  no  more  to  be  your  daughter,  than 
To  say,  my  mother's  name  was  Thaisa? 
Thaisa  was  my  mother,  who  did  end 
The  minute  I  began. 

les. 

Now,  blessing  on  thee !  rise ;  thou  art  my  child. 
Oive  me  fresh  garments !  Mine  own,  Helicanus, 
She  is  not  dead  at  Tharsus,  as  she  should  have 


By  savage  Cleon:  she  shall  tell  thee  all ;  [been, 
When  thou  shalt  kneel  and  justify  in  knowledge, 
She  is  thy  very  princess.  —Who  is  this  ? 


Helicanus. 
Sir,  'tis  the  governor  of  Mitylene, 


Who,  hearing  of  your  melancholy  state, 
Did  come  to  see  you. 

les. 
I  embrace  you. 
Give  me  my  robes  1  I  am  wild  in  my  beholding. 
()  heavens,  bless  my  girl  1  But  hark  1  what 
Tell  Helicanus,  my  Marina,  tell  him  [music?— 
O'er,  point  by  point,  for  yet  he  seems  to  doubt. 
How  sure  you  are  my  daughter — But  what 
music? 

Helicanus. 
My  lord,  I  hear  none. 

Pericles. 
None? 
The  music  of  the  spheres  !  list,  my  Marina. 
Lysimachus. 
It  is  not  good  to  cross  him  :  give  him  way. 

Pericles. 
Rarest  sounds  !    Do  ye  not  hear  ? 

Lysimachus. 
Music  ?    My  lord",  I  hear— 
Pericles. 

Most  heavenly  music : 
It  nips  me  unto  list'ning,  and  thick  slumber 
Hangs  upon  mine  eyes:  let  me  rest.  [He sleeps. 

Lysimachus. 
A  pillow  for  his  head. 
[The  Curtain  before  the  Pavilion  of  Pericles 
is  closed. 
So  leave  him  all — Well,  my  companion-friends, 
If  this  but  answer  to  my  just  belief, 
I'll  well  remember  you. 

[Exeunt  Lysimachus,  Helicanus,  Marina, 
and  Lady. 

SCENE  II.    The  same. 

Pericles  on  the  Deck  asleep  ;  Diana  appearing 
to  him  in  a  vision. 

Diana. 

My  temple  stands  in  Ephesus:  hie  thee  thither, 
And  do  upon  mine  altar  sacrifice. 
There,  when  my  maiden  priests  are  met  together, 
Before  the  people  all, 

Reveal  how  thou  at  sea  didst  lose  thy  wife : 
To  mourn  thy  crosses,  with  thy  daughter's,  call, 
And  give  them  repetition  to  the  life. 
Or  perform  my  bidding,  or  thou  liv'st  in  woe : 
Do't,  and  be  happy,  by  my  silver  bow. 
Awake,  and  tell  thy  dream.  [Diana  disappears. 
Pericles. 

Celestial  Dian,  goddess  argentine, 
I  will  obey  thee  !— Helicanus! 

Enter  Lysimachus,  Helicanus,  and  Marina. 

Helicanus. 

Sir. 
Pericles. 
My  purpose  was  for  Tharsus,  there  to  strike 
The  inhospitable  Cleon  ;  but  I  am 
For  other  service  first :  toward  Ephesus 
Turn  our  blown  sails;  eftsoons  I'll  tell  thee 
Shall  we  refresh  us,  sir,  upon  your  shore,  [why. — 
And  give  you  gold  for  such  provision 
As  our  intents  will  need  ? 

Lysimachus. 

Sir,  with  all  my  heart,  and  when  you  come 

I  have  another  suit.  [ashore, 

Pericles. 
You  shall  prevail, 
Were  it  to  woo  my  daughter  ;  for  it  seems 
You  have  been  noble  towards  her. 

Lysimachus.  I 


IIT^ 


PERICLES, 


Act  v.  Se,  il 


Lysimachus. 

Sir,  lend  your  arm. 
Pericles. 
Come,  my  Marina.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Gower,  before  the  Temple  of  Diana  at 
Ephesus. 

Gower. 
Now  our  sands  are  almost  run ; 
More  a  little,  and  then  dumb. 
This,  as  my  last  boon,  give  me, 
For  such  kindness  must  relieve  me, 
That  you  aptly  will  suppose 
What  pageantry,  what  feats,  what  shows, 
What  minstrelsy,  and  pretty  din, 
The  regent  made  in  Mitylen, 
To  greet  the  king.    So  he  thriv'd, 
That  he  is  promis'd  to  be  wiv'd 
To  fair  Marina  ;  but  in  no  wise 
Till  he  had  done  his  sacrifice, 
As  Dian  bade:  whereto  being  bound. 
The  interim,  pray  you,  all  confound. 
In  feather'd  briefness  sails  are  flll'd, 
And  wishes  fall  out  as  they're  will'd. 
At  Ephesus,  the  temple  see, 
Our  king,  and  all  his  company. 
That  he  can  hither  come  so  soon, 
Is  by  your  fancy's  thankful  doom.       [Exit. 

SCENE  III.  The  Temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus; 
Thaisa  standing  near  the  Altar,  as  high  Pries- 
tess; a  number  of  Virf^ins  on  each  side;  Ce- 
rimon  and  other  Inhabitants  of  Ephesus  at- 
tending. 

Enter  Pericles,  with  his  Train  ;  Lysimachus, 
Helicanus,  Marina,  and  a  Lady. 

Pericles. 
Hail  Dian .'  to  perform  thy  just  command, 
I  here  confess  myself  the  king  of  Tyre  ; 
Who,  frighted  from  my  country,  did  wed 
At  Pentapolis,  the  fair  Thaisa. 
At  sea  in  childbed  died  she,  but  brought  forth 
A  maid-child  call'd  Marina  ;  who,  O  coddess  ! 
Wears  yet  thy  silver  livery.    She  at  Tharsus 
Was  nurs'd  with  Cleon,  whom  at  fourteen  years 
He  sought  to  murder,  but  her  better  stars 
Brought  her  to  Mitylene  ;  against  whose  shore 
Riding,  her  fortunes  brought  the  maid  aboard  us, 
Where,  by  her  own  most  clear  remembrance, 
Made  known  herself  my  daughter.  [she 

Thaisa. 

Voice  and  favour  !— 
You  are,  you  are  —  O  royal  Pericles  '  — 

'  [She  faints. 

Pericles. 
What  means  the  woman  ?   she  dies :   help, 
gentlemen  I 

Cerimon. 
Noble  sir, 
If  vou  have  told  Diana's  altar  true, 
This  is  your  wife. 

Pericles. 
Reverend  appearer,  no : 
I  threw  her  overboard  with  these  very  arms. 
Cerimon. 
Upon  this  coast,  I  warrant  you. 
Pericles. 

'Tis  most  certain. | 
Cerimon. 
Look  to  the  lady — O  !  she's  but  o'erjoy'd. 
Early  in  blust'ring  morn  this  lady  was 
Thrown  on  this  shore.    I  op'd  the  coffin, 


Found  there  rich  jewels  j  recover'd  her,  and 
Here,  in  Diana's  temple.  [plac'd  her 

Pericles. 

May  we  see  them  ? 
Cerimon. 
Great  sir,  they  shall  be  brought  you  to  my 
house, 
Whither  I  invite  you.     Look!   Thaisa  is  re- 
cover'd. 

Thaisa. 
O,  let  me  look  ! 
If  he  be  none  of  mine,  my  sanctity 
Will  to  my  sense  bend  no  licentious  ear, 
But  curb  it,  spite  of  seeing.    O,  my  lord  ! 
Are  you  not  Pericles  ?    Like  him  you  speak, 
Like  him  you  are.  Did  you  not  name  a  tempest, 
A  birth,  and  death  ? 

Pericle*. 
The  voice  of  dead  Thaisa  ! 
Thaisa. 
That  Thaisa  am  I,  supposed  dead,  and  drown'd. 

Pericles. 
Immortal  Dian! 

Thaisa. 

Now  I  know  you  better 

When  we  with  tears  parted  Pentapolis, 
The  king,  my  father,  gave  you  such  a  ring. 

[Shows  a  Ring. 
Pericles. 
This,  this  :  no  more,  you  gods  !  your  present 
kindness 
Makes  my  past  miseries  sports !  you  shall  do 
That  on  the  touching  of  her  lips  I  may       [well. 
Melt,  and  no  more  be  seen.   O  1  come, be  buried 
A  second  time  within  these  arms. 
Marina. 

My  heart 
Leaps  to  be  gone  into  my  mother's  bosom. 

[Kneels  to  Thaita. 
Pericles. 
Look,  who  kneels  here.    Flesh  of  thy  flesh, 
Thaisa  ; 
Thy  burden  at  the  sea,  and  call'd  Marina, 
For  she  was  yielded  there. 
Thaisa. 

Bless'd,  and  mine  own  1 
Helicanus. 
Hail,  madam,  and  my  queen  ! 
Thaisa. 

I  know  you  not, 
Pericles. 
You  have  heard  me  say,  when  I  did  fly  from 
I  left  behind  an  ancient  substitute :  \Tyre, 

Can  you  remember  what  I  call'd  the  man  ? 
I  have  nam'd  him  oft. 

Thaisa. 

•Twas  Helicanus,  then. 
Pericles. 
Still  confirmation  ! 
Embrace  him,  dear  Thaisa  ;  this  is  he. 
Now  do  I  long  to  hear  how  you  were  found. 
How  possibly  preserv'd,  and  whom  to  thank, 
Besides  the  gods,  for  this  great  miracle. 
Thaisa. 
Lord  Cerimon,  my  lord  ;  this  man 
Through  whom  the  gods  have  shown  their  power ; 
From  first  to  last  resolve  you.  [that  can 

Pericles. 

Reverend  sir, 
The  gods  can  have  no  mortal  officer 
More  like  a  god  than  you      Will  you  deliver 
How  this  dead  queen  re-lives  ? 

Cerimon 


Act  v.  5c.  hi. 


l'KINCE  OF  TYRE. 


»»7 


Cerlmon. 

I  will,  my  lord: 
Beseech  you,  first  go  with  me  to  my  house, 
Where  shall  be  shown  you  all  was  fjund  with 

her; 
How  she  came  placed  here  in  the  temple, 
No  needful  thing  omitted. 
les. 
Pure  Dian  !  bless  thee  for  thy  vision, 
I  will  offer  night  oblations  to  thee.    Thaisa, 
This  prince,  the  fair-betrothed  of  your  daughter, 
Shall  marry  her  at  Fenlapolis.    And  now, 
This  ornament, 

Makes  me  look  dismal,  will  I  clip  to  form  ; 
And  what  this  fourteen  years  no  razor  touch'd, 
To  grace  thy  marriage-day,  I'll  beautify. 
Tha 
Lord  Cerimon  hath  letters  of  good  credit ; 
Sir,  my  father's  dead. 

Pericles. 
Heavens,  make  a  star  of  him  !    Yet  there,  my 
queen. 
We'll  celebrate  their  nuptials,  and  ourselves 
Will  in  that  kingdom  spend  our  following  days : 


Our  son  and  daughter  shall  in  Tyrut  reign. 
Lord  Cerimon,  we  do  our  longing  stay, 
To  hear  the  rest  untold. — Sir,  lead's  the  war. 
I 

Enter  Gooer. 

Gower. 
In  Antiochusta.nd  his  daughter,  you  have  heard 
Of  monstrous  lust  the  due  and  just  reward  : 
In  Pericles,  his  queen,  and  daughter,  seen, 
Although  assail'd  with  fortune  tierce  and  keen. 
Virtue  preserv'd  from  fell  destruction's  blast, 
Led  on  by  heaven,  and  crown'd  with  joy  at  last. 
In  Helicanus  may  you  well  descry 
A  figure  of  truth,  of  faith,  and  loyalty : 
In  reverend  Cerimon  there  well  appears. 
The  worth  that  learned  charity  aye  wears. 
For  wicked  Clean  and  his  wife,  when  fame 
Had  spread  their  cursed  deed,  the  honour'd  name 
Of  Ptricles,  to  rage  the  city  turn  ; 
That  him  and  his  they  in  his  palace  burn. 
The  gods  for  murder  seemed  so  content 
To  punish  them,  although  not  done,  but  meant. 
j  So  on  your  patience  evermore  attending, 
I  New  joy  wait  on  you  t  Here  our  play  has  ending. 


GLOSSARY 


A  BY,  to  pay  dear  fop,  to 

**  luffer. 

Abysm,  abyss,  from  the 
French  abysme,  now  a- 
bime. 

A  ccite,  to  call  or  summons. 

Aconitum,  wolfsbane.) 

Adam,  the  name  of  an  out- 
law, noted  for  his  skill 
in  archery.     Much  A  do. 

Adam  Cupid,  an  allusion  to 
the  same  person. 

Addrest,  ready,  prepared. 

Advertising,  attentive. 

A  try,  or  A  iery,  a  nest. 

Affect  the  Utter,  to  practise 
alliteration. 

Affects,  affections    or   pas- 


Affined,  joined  by  affinity. 
Affront,  sometimes,  to  face 


A% 


■  confront. 


A  {/let-baby,  a  diminutive 
ing,  not  exceeding  in  site 
the  tag  of  a  point ;  from 
aiguillettes. 

Agnize,  acknowledge,  con- 
fess, avow. 

A  iery.     See  Aery. 

A  iry/ame,  verbal  eulogium. 

Alder-liefest,  preferred  to 
all  things ;  from  leve  or 
'  re,  dear,  and  alder,   of 


ft 


A'life,  at  life. 

Amazonian  chin,  a  chin 
without  a  beard. 

Ames-ace,  the  lowest  chance 
of  the  dice.' 

Amort,  sunk,  dispirited. 

Ancient,  an  ensign,  or  stand- 
ard-bearer. 

Angle,  a  fishing-rod. 

Ant  res,  caves  and  dens. 

Appeach,  to  impeach. 

Apple- John,  species  of  apple 
that  will  keep  for  two 
years;  in  French  deux- 
ant. 

Approof,  approbation,  or 
sometimes,  proof.con  fi  rm- 
ation. 

Aqua  vita,  probably,  usque- 
baugh. 

Arabian  bird,  the  phoenix. 

A  rgentine  goddess,  regent  of 
the  silver  moon. 

Argier,  Algiers. 

A  rgosies,  ships  of  great  bur- 

Aroint,  avaunt,  or  be  gone. 

A  scapart,  a  giant 

Ascaunt,  aside,  sideways. 

Aspersion,  sprinkling. 

Assay,  to  take  the  assay,  ap- 
plied to  those  who  tasted 
wine  for  princes. 

Assinego,  an  ass  driver,  a 
foolish  fellow. 

A  stringer,  a  gentleman  fal- 
coner; from  austercus,  a 
goshawk. 

At  point,  completely  armed. 

Atomies,  minute  particle* 
discernible  when  the  sun 
breaks  into  a  darkened 
room. 

A  ttasked,  taken  to  task,  cen- 
sured. 

A  Went,  attentive. 


name  of 


who 


\Baccare,  a  proverbial  word, 

of    doubtful     meaning  ; 

perhaps  from  baccalare, 

arrogant 
.Bate.baue,  ruin, misfortune. 
Baldrick,  a  belt 
Balked,   either  bathed,    or 
I     piled  up. 
\Bandog,  L  e.  band-dog,  a 

village  dog,  or  mastiff. 
■Bandy,    a   metaphor  from 

■  tennis-playing,     to     ex- 

■  change  smartly. 
Banning,  cursing. 
Bans,  curses. 

\B  urbason,  the 

|      demon. 

•:  Barbe,  a  kind  of  veil, 

I  Barber- monger,    one 

I     consorts  with  barbers,  a 

low  fellow. 
•Barm,  yeast 

Barnacles,  a  kind  of  shell- 
fish, growing  on  the  bot- 
tom of  ships. 

Barne,  a  child. 

Barrfull,  full  of  impedi- 
ments. 

Basis,  a  kind  of  loose 
breeches. 

Basta,  'tis  enough. 

Bate,  strife  or  contention. 

Battel,  the  instrument  with 
which  washers  beat  their 
coarse  clothes. 

Batten,  to  grow  fat 

Bavin,  brushwood,  which, 
fired,  burns  fiercely,  but 
is  soon  out 

Bawcock,  perhaps  from  beau 
and  coq,  a  jolly  cock,  or 
cock  of  the  game. 

Bay  curtal,  a  bay  docked 
horse. 

Beadsmen,  persons  main- 
tained by  charity  to  pray 
for  their  benefactor. 

Bear  a  brain,  to  have  a  per- 
fect remembrance. 

Beck,  a  salutation  madewith 
the  head ;  in  the  North,  it 
means  curtsying. 

Becomed,  becoming. 

Behests,  commands. 

Behowl,  to  howl  at 

Beldame,  ancient  mother. 

Be-lee'd,  becalmed. 

Belongings,  endowments. 

Be-mete,  bemeasure. 

Bemoiled,  bedraggled,  be- 
mired. 

Besmirch,  to  foul  or  dirty. 

Bestraught,  distracted. 

Beteem,  to  give  or  bestow,  or 
to  permit,  deign,  or  suffer. 

Bevy,  a  company,  or  num- 
ber, originally  applied  to 
larks. 

Bezonian,  a  term  of  re- 
proach ;  from  bisognoso, 
a  needy  person. 

Bias  cheek,  swelling  out  like 
the  bias  of  a  bowl. 

Bid  the  base,  to  challenge  in 
a  contest 

Bigyin,  a  kind  of  cap,  worn 
now  only  by  children. 

B  ilberry,  the  whurtle-berry. 

Bilbo,  a  Spanish  blade, 
flexible  and  elastic ;  the 
best  of  which  are  made  at 
Bilboa. 

Bilboes,  a  bar  of  iron,  with 


fetters  annexed  to  it,  by 
which  mutinous  sailors 
were  anciently  linked 
together  ;  derived  from 
Bilboa,  which  was  famous 
for  the  manufacture  of 
instruments  of  steel. 

Bill,  articles  of  accusation. 

Bill,  the  old  weapon  of 
English  infantry,  still 
used  by  the  watchmen 
in  some  towns. 

Bin,  is. 

Bird-bolt,  a  short  thick  ar. 
row  without  a  point,  used 
to  kill  rooks,  and  shot 
from  a  cross-bow. 

Bisson,  blind. 

Black  cornered  night,  night 
which  is  as  obscure  as  a 
dark  corner. 

Blacks,  mourning  made  of 
stuffs  of  different  colours 
dyed  black. 

Blank,  i.  e.  of  the  eye,  the 
white  or  the  white  mark 
at  which  arrows  are  dis- 
charged. 

Blank  and  level,  mark  and 
aim,  terms  of  gunnery. 

Blaze,  i.  e.  of  youth,  the 
spring  of  early  life. 

Blench,  to  start  off,  to  fly  off. 

Blent,  blended,  mixed  to- 
gether. 

Blind-worms,  the  Csecilia, 
or  slow- worm. 

Block,  the  thing  on  which  a 
hat  is  formed. 

Blurted  or  blurt,  an  expres- 
sion of  contempt. 

Bobbed,  fooled  out  of,  cheat- 
ed. 

Bodge,  to  botch,  or  to  budge. 

Boitier,  a  box  :o  hold  salve 
or  simples. 

Bolds,  embolden). 

Boltered,  bedaubed,  be- 
grimed. 

Bolting-hutch,  a  wooden  re- 
ceptacle into  which  the 
meal  is  bolted. 

Bombard,  a  barrel. 

Bona-robas,  ladies  of  plea- 
sure. 

Bores,  stabs,  or  wounds. 

Borne  in  hand,  deceived, 
imposed  upon. 

Bosky,  woody ;  bosky  acres 
are  fields  divided  by 
hedge-rows ;  from  boscus 
and  bosquet. 

Bots,  worms  in  the  stomach 
of  a  horse.  —  A  bots  light 
upon,  an  imprecation. 

Bottled-spider,a.  large  bloat- 
ed ,  glossy  spider. 

Boulted,  sifted  or  refined. 

Bourn,  boundary,  or  rivulet 
dividing  land. 

Bow,  yoke. 

Bowhns  or  bowlines,  roues 

by  which  the  sails  of  a 

ship  are  governed  when 

the  wind  is  unfavourable. 

;  Bowling,  or  the  smoothness 

I      of  a  bowling-green. 

i  Bowstrings,  i.  e.  hold  or  cut, 

I      at  all  events. 

Brace,  the  armour  for  the 
!  arm :  warlike  brace,  state 
i      of  defence. 

I  Brach,  a  kind  of  hound ;  or 


,     used  as  a  term  of  con- 

■     tempt 

\Brack,  to  salt. 

■Braid,  crafty  or  deceitful. 

grain's  flow,  tears. 

tBrake,  an  instrument  of  tor- 
ture, or  a  thicket  or  furze- 
bush. 

Brands,  a  part  of  the  and- 
irons, on  which  the  wood 
for  the  fire  was  supported. 

Brasier,  a  manufacturer  in 
brass,  or  a  reservoir  for 
charcoal. 

Brave,  to  make  fine;  bra- 

]     very  was  the  old  term  for 

|     elegance  of  dress. 

Bravely,  splendidly  or  gal- 
lantly. 

Bravery,  finery. 

Brawl,  a  kind  of  dance. 

Braying,  an  epithet  applied 
to  the  sound  of  the  trum- 
pet, harsh,  grating. 

Break,  to  begin. 

Break  up,  to  carve. 

Break  with,  to  break  the 
matter  to. 

Breast,  voice. 

Breath,  speech,  K.  John,  Ti- 
mon.  Exercise,  Troilus 
and  Ores.  A  slight  ex- 
ercise of  arms,  ibid. 

Breathing-courtsy,  verbal 
compliment 

Breeched,  foully  sheathed, 
I      or  mired. 

Breeching,  liable  to  school 


a  bribe. 
Bridal,  a  nuptial  feast. 
Brief,  a  short  account,    a 
contract  hastily  perform- 
ed.— Now-born    brief,    is 
the  breve  originate  of  the 
feudal  times. 
Z?ri'nj7,attend  or  accompany. 
Bring  out,  bring  forth. 
Brize,  the  gad,  or  horse-fly. 
Broach,  to  put  on  the  spit, 

to  transfix. 
Brock,  the  badger. 
Brogues,  a  kind  of  shoes. 
Broken,  communicated. 
Broken  mouth,  a  mouth  that 

has  lost  part  of  its  teeth. 
Broker,  a  matchmaker,    a 

procuress. 
Brooch,  a  trinket  with  a  pin 

fixed  to  it 
Brooched,  adorned. 
Brought,  attended. 
\Brow,  i.   e.   of  youth,  the 
!      height  of  youth. 
Brown  bill,  a  kind  of  battle- 
axe  affixed  to  a  stick. 
Brounist,     a     follower     of 

Brown,  a  sectarian. 
Bruising  irons,  an  allusion 

to  the  ancient  mace. 
]  Bruit,  noise,  or  report. 
I  Brush,  i.  e.   of  time,  decay 
!      by  time. 

Buckle,  to  bend,  or  yield  to 
i      pressure. 
:  Bug,  bugbear. 
;  Bugle,  hunting-horn. 
Bulk.  body. 
Bumbard,  a  large  vessel  for 

holding  drink. 
Bung,  a  cut-purse. 
Bunting,  the  name  of  a  bird. 


l~: 


GLOSSARY. 


««"9  II 


l!uny.  «•  • 


»r.  woody. 

Bull- shaft,  an  arrow  to  .hoot 

at  liuiu  with. 
Buxom,   under  good    coin- 


Caddis  garter,    a    kind    of 


Caddises.  wor»t 
Cud*,  a  barrel. 


Cum,  a  prison. 
Cai*-ro/<mr«/, 


yellow ;  Cain 


picture*. 
Caitiff,  a  prisoner,  (lave,  or 

»i'.>iiii<lri'l. 
Cutrv/uU,  to  foretell. 
Caliv,-,    a    light    kind    of 

musket. 
Collet,  a   bad  woman,    or 

witch. 
Calling,  appellation. 
Canulot,  a  place  where  king 

Arthur  u  supposed  to  hare 
kept  hi>  court. 
Canaries,    the   name  of    a 

brisk,  light  dance. 
duiker,    the    cauker-rote, 

dog-rose,  or  hip. 
Canstick,  candlestick. 
CantU,  a  corner,  or  piece  of 

any  thing. 
Cantons,  used  for  canto*. 
Canvas-climber,    one    who 
climbs  the  roast  to  furl 
the  canvas,  a  ship-boy. 
Capped,  saluted  by  taking 

off  the  cap. 
Capable  imp'tssure,  hollow 

mark. 

ipocch     . 

heavy    gull, 

Italian  capocchio. 
Capricious,  lascivious. 
Captious,  for  capacious. 
Carack,  a  vessel   of   great 

bulk. 
Caracts,  characters. 
Carbonado,  a  piece  of  meat 

cut  crossway  s  for  the  grid* 

iron. 
Card,  sea-chart. 
Carded,  mixed. 
Carierts,  i.  e.  to  pass  the  ca- 

rieres,  a  military  phrase. 

Means  that  the  common 

bounds  of  good  behaviour 

were  overpassed. 
Carkanet,  a  kind  of  neck. 

lace  or  chain. 
Carl,  clown,  husbandman. 
Carlot,  a  peasant  or  churl ; 

from  earL 
Carnal,  sanguinary. 
Carovses,  drinks. 
Carpet  knight,  a  term  of  re- 
proach,   spoken    of   one 

knighted  In  time  of  peace, 

and  on  a  carpet,  on  some 

festive  occasion. 
Carriage,  import. 
Case,  skin,  outside. 
Cos*  o/  lives,  a  set  of  lives, 

or  r.air  of  any  thing. 
Cased  lion,  a  lion  irritated 

by  confinement. 
Casques,  helmet. 
Cassock,  a  horseman'*  loose 

coat. 
Cast,  to  empty,  to  throw  or 

reject. 
Cast  lips,  left-off  lips. 
Cast  the  water,  to  find  out 

disorders    by    inspecting 

the  urine. 
Cataian,  a  liar;    the  first 

adventurers    who  visited 

Cataia,  or    China,    were 

notorious  liars,  as  Paulo 

and  Mandeville. 
Catling,  a  small  lute-string 

made  of  catgut 
Cavalero-justict,     a      cant 


Casxii.ro,  an  airy,  sprig htly ,    Clean  tans,  aw  ry. 

Irregular  fellow.  \clepe,  to  call. 

Caviare,  too  good  tor,    or    Clerkly,  like  a  scholar. 

foreign  to.  CUmJ,  to  dry  or  shrink  up. 

Coiwirs,  a  luxurious  Rus-    Clinquant,  gUtteriug,  shln- 

sian  dish  made  of  the  roe         ing. 

of  the  sturgeon.  Clipt,  twined  around,  em- 

Camel,  subtlety,  or  deceit.      I      braced. 

artful,  or  lnsldl-    Clout,  the  white    mark  at 
1      which  archers  took  their 


burning, 


Cautrriiino, 
blistering. 
Cearment,  the  wrapplug  of 

an  embalmed  body. 
Cease,  decease,  die. 
Center,  braslcre. 
Ctrtes,  certainly. 
Cess,  measure,  tax,  or  sub- 
sidy. 
Chaltced,  L  e.  flowers,  with 

cups  from  calix. 
Challenge,     law-term,      tho 
right  of  refusing  a  jury- 
man. 
Chamber,  London  was  an- 
ciently called  the  king's 
chamber. 
!  Chamber,  a   piece  of  ord- 

nance. 
'  Chambtrers,    men    of    in- 
trigue. 
Changeling,  a  child  substi- 
tuted for  one  stolen. 
<  Channel,  kennel. 
I  Chantry,  little  chapel  in  a 
I      cathedral. 
^Character,  band-writing. 
;  Char  acts,  characters. 
.CharacUry,  the  matter  of 
which     characters      are 
made. 
Charts,  task-work. 
Charge-house,  free-school. 
Char  its  t,  from    chary,   the 
'     most  cautious. 
j  Chariness,  caution. 
\Charneco,  a  kind  of  sweet 
i      wine. 

i  Chases,  a  term  in  tennis. 
|  Chaudron,  entrails. 
>  Cheater,  for  eschcatour,  an 
|      office  in  the  Exchequer. 
Check,  command,  control. 
I  Cheer,  countenance. 
Cherry-pit,  pitching  cherry. 

(tones  into  a  little  hole. 
;  Cheveril,  kid-skin,  soft  lca- 
j      ther. 
Chewet,  or  chuet,  a  pie,  a 
noisy,  chattering  bird,  or 
a  fat  pudding. 
Chide,  resound,  reecho. 
Child,  sometimes  applied  to 

knights  and  heroes. 
Childing,  pregnant. 
Choppine,  a  high   shoe  or 


aim. 
Clouted,  strengthened  with 

clout,  or  hobnails. 
C<xu<int7,conclllaUng,  Invlt- 

Cob-loci/,  a  crusty,  uneven, 
gibbous- loaf. 

Cock  and  pye,  a  popular  ad- 
juration. 

Cockihut-time,  twilight 

Cockle,  a  weed  which  grow* 
up  with  corn. 

Cockled,  like  the  fish  called  a 
cockle. 

Cockle-hat,  cockle-shell  hat, 
such  as  pilgrims  wore. 

Codding,  amorous. 

Codpiece,  a  piece  of  dress. 

Coffin*,  ancient  term  for  the 
raised  crust  of  a  pie. 

Cog,  to  falsify  the  dice,  to  lie. 

Cogging,  lying. 

Coigne  of  vantage,  conve- 


ignes, 
il,  bu 


bustle,  stir. 


Collection,  consequence   or 

corollary. 
CoUied,  black,  smutted  with 

coal,  discoloured. 
Collier,  a  term  of  reproach, 
from   the   impositions  of 
coal-dealers. 
Comart,  a  bargain. 
Combrinate,  betrothed. 
Comforting,  abetting. 
Commend,  commit 
I  Committed,  lain  with. 
Commodity,  self-interest 
,  Commonly,  a  comedy. 
'  Companies,  companion*. 
|  Compassed,  round. 
I  Composture,  composition. 
C'oncupy  a  cant  word  from 

concupiscence. 
Conduct,  conductor. 
Coney-catched,       deceived, 

cheated. 
Conject,  conjecture. 
Consent,  used  sometimes  for 

will. 
Continent,  that  which  con- 
tains or  encloses. 
Contraction,  marriage  con- 
tract 
Control,  confute. 
Consented,  summoned. 
Chopping,  jabbering,  talk-  (  Convents,  agree*,  is  conve- 

ing  glibly.  I      nient 

Chough,  a  bird  of  the  jack-  '  Convertite,  a  convert 

daw  kind.  ■  Convey,  steal,   conveyance, 


Chris  torn,    or    chrisom,     a 
christened  child. 

Chrystals,  eye*. 

Chuck,  chicken,  a  term  of 
endearment 

Chuffs,  rich,  avaricious  peo- 
pie. 

Circummured,  walled  round. 

Circumstance,  circumlocu- 
tion. 

Circumstanced,  treated  ac- 
cording to  circumstances. 
|  CitaL,  recital. 
i  Clack-dish,  a  beggar's  dish. 


derived 


theft 
Conveyers,  thieve*. 
Conveyed    himself, 

his  title. 
Convicted,        overpowered, 

baffled,  destroyed. 
Convive,  to  feast 
Copatam  hat,  a  hat  with  a 

conical  crown. 
Copped,  rising  to  a  top  or 

head. 
Coragio,  an  exclamation  of 

encouragement 
Corky,  dry,  or  withered. 


,  bu  jld  term 

I     in  the  game  of  chess. 

Counterfeit,  sometimes  used 
for  a  portrait. 

Counterpoints,  counter- 
pane*. 

County,  ancient  term  for  a 
nobleman. 

Courser's-hair,  alluding  to 
the  notion  that  the  hair 
of  a  horse,  dropl  Into  a 
corrupted  water,  will  turn 
to  an  animal. 

Courses,  the  mainsail  nnd 
foresail. 

Court  cupboard,  sideboard. 

Coved,  restrained,  or  made 
cowardly. 

Cover,  to  sink  by  bending 
the  hams 


Coyed,  condescended  reluc- 
tantly. 
Coystril,  a  coward  cock,  a 

paltry  fellow. 
Cozier,  a  tailor,  from  cousu  ; 

or  a  cobbler,  or  (owtcr. 
Crack;  a  child. 
Crack  of  doom,  dissolution 
i     of  nature. 

franking,     crankling,    ap- 
i     plied  to  the  rush  of  a  river. 
Cranks,  windings. 
Crare.n  small  trading  vessel. 
trash,  to  be  merry  over. 
Craven,  a  degenerate,  dispi- 
rited   cock.       Cowardly, 
I     to  make  cowardly. 
Credent,     creditable,    pro- 
bable. 
Cressets,  a  light  set  upon  a 

beacon,  from  croissttte. 
Crisp,  curling,  winding;  or 

for  crypt,  vaulted. 
Crone,  old  worn-out  woman. 
.Cross-gartered,  an  article  of 
i     puritanical  dress. 
\Crow-keeper,  a  scare-crow. 
Crow  net,  last  purpose. 
Cruel,  worsted.     Lear,  ap- 
plied to  garters. 
Crush,  to  drink. 
Crusado,  a  Portuguese  coin. 
Cry,  a  pack  or  troop. 
Cub  drawn,  i.  e.  bear,  one 
whose  dugs  are  drawn  dry. 
Cuisses,    armour    for    the 

thighs,  cuisses,  Fr. 
Cunning,  knowing,  skilful, 

in  a  good  meaning. 
Curft,  to  bend  and  truckle, 

from  cour6«r. 
Curled,  ostentatiously  dress- 
ed. 
Curious,  scrupulous 
Currents,  occurrences. 
Curst,  shrewd,  mischievous. 
Curtail-dog,       one      which 

misses  the  game. 
Curtle-axe,  a  cutlass,  broad- 
sword. 
Customer,    a  common  wo- 
man.     Oth.    *  c.   or  one 
who  visits  such. 
Cut,  horse. 
Cut  and  long  tail,  a  phrase 

from  dogs,  poor  or  rich. 
Cuttle,    a    knife    used    by 
•harpers. 


Clamour,  when  bells  are  at    Corollary,  surplus,  one  more 
than  enough. 


the  height  in  order   to 

1  cease  them  the  repetition 
of  the  stroke*  become* 
much  quicker  than  be- 
fore, which  is  called  cla- 
mouring them. 
Clap  in,  fall  to. 

,  Clapped  f  (he  clout,  hit  the     Couch,  to  lie  with. 

white  mark.  Counter-caster,     one     who 

Claw,  to  flatter.  reckon*  by  counter*. 


Corrigible,  corrected. 
Costard,  a  head. 
Coster-monger,  a  dealer  in 

coiten,  or  costards,  a  kind 

of  apples. 
Cote,  to  overtake. 


\Daff,  or  Doff,  to  put  off. 
i  Damn,  condemn. 
i  Dank,  wet,  rotten. 
Darkling,  in  the  dark. 
Darraign,    range,    put    in 

order. 
Dauberry,  counterfeit,  dis- 
guise. 
Dealt,  fought  by  proxy. 
Dear,  sometimes  means  im- 
mediate, consequential. 
Dearn,  direful,  lone,  soli- 

tary. 
DtbosUd,  debauched. 


GLOSSARY. 


Dock,  of  cards,  a  pack. 
Decked,  sprinkled. 
Decline,  as  in  grammar,  to 

run  through  from  first  to 

last 
Deem,  opinion,  surmise. 
Default,  (in  the)  at  need. 

to  free,  to  disem- 


*& 


Defeature,  alteration  of  fea- 
tures. 

Defence,  the  art  of  fencing. 

D<i/r/i/,adroitly,dexterously. 

Delighted,  spirit,  accustom- 
ed to  delight. 

Demise,  grant. 

Denay,  denial 


indications. 


Denotements, 
discoveries, 

Denude,  strip,  divest 

Depart  and  part,  often  sy- 
nonymous. 

Deprive,  disinherit 

Deracinate,  force  up  by  the 
root*. 

Derogate,  degraded. 

Descant,  a  term  in  music, 
or  to  harangue  upon. 

Deserved,  deserving. 

Despatched,  bereft 

Detected,      suspected,       or 
charged. 

Determined,  sometimes,  for 
concluded. 

Dibble,    an    instrument   in 


Diffused,  wild,  irrcgular,ex- 
travagant 

Digression,  transgression. 

Dildos,  the  burthen  of  a 
song. 

Directitude,  discredit  udc, 
or  discredit 

Disable,  undervalue. 

Disappointed,  unappoiuted, 
unprepared. 

Discandy,  to  melt  the 
sweets,  to  dissolve. 

Discourse,  reason. 

Dishabited,  dislodged. 

Dismes,  Fr.  tenths. 

Disnatured,  wanting  na- 
tural affection. 

Dispark,  to  throw  down  the 
hedges, 

Disperge,  to  sprinkle. 

Dispose,  to  make  terms. 

Disputable,  disputatious. 

Dispute,  talk  over,  reason 
upon,  account  for. 

Dissent,  displace. 

Distained,  unstained. 

Distate,  to  corrupt 

Distemperature,  perturba- 
tion. 

Diverted,  turned  out  of  the 
course  of  nature. 


Dudgeon,  the  haft  or  handle 
of  a  dagger. 

Dull,  gentle  soothing. 

Dullard,  a  person  stupidly 
unconcerned. 

Dumbs,  makes  silent 

Dump,  a  mournful  elegy. 

Dung,  an  obscene  word,  pro- 
bably part  of  a  proverb. 

Dungy,  of  dung,  earthy. 

Dupped,  did  up,  put  up, 
opened. 

Durance,  some  lasting  kind 
tfttaS 

Eager,  sour,  harsh. 
Kanlings,  lambs  just  dropt 
Ear,  to  plough. 
Easy,  slight,  inconsiderable. 
Eche,  eke  out. 
Ecstacy,  alienation  of  mind. 
Edward  shovel-boards,  Ed- 
ward    Vlth's     shillings, 
used  at  shuffle-board. 
Effects,    affects,   affections, 
Mta.  for  ilea.  Actions, 
Ham, 
Eftest,  or  Deftest,  readiest. 
Eld,  old  person  or  persons, 
Mer.    Wiv.    Decrepitude, 
Mea.  for  Mea. 
Element,     initiation,     pre- 
vious practice. 
Elf,  done  by  elves  or  fairies. 
Emballing,    being     distin- 
guished by  the  ball,  the 
emblem  of  royalty. 
Embare,  expose,  display  to 

view. 
Embarquements,       Impedi- 
ments, hinderances. 
Embossed,   enclosed ;   when 
a  deer  is  run  hard,   and 
foams  at  the  mouth,   he 
is  said  to  be    embossed. 
Swollen,  puffy. 
Empericutick,  of  an  empiri- 
cal kind,  quackish. 
Empery,    dominion,    sove- 
reign command. 
Emulous,  often  used    in   a 

bad  sense  for  envious. 
Enactures,  laws. 
Encave,  hide. 

End,  still  an  end,  generally. 
Enfeoff,  to  invest  with  pos- 
session. 
Engaged,  delivered  as  a  hos- 
tage. 
Engross,  to  fatten  or  pam- 
per. 
Engrossments,     accumula- 
tions. 
Enkindle,  or  kindle,  to  sti- 
mulate. 
Enmesh,  enclose  them  all, 
from  taking  birds  or  fishes 
with  meshes. 
Enmew,  to  force  to  lie  in 
cover;  a  term  in  falconry. 
Enridged,  bordered,  or  per- 
haps for  enraged. 
Ensconce,  to  secure  in  a  safe 

place. 
i  Enseamed,  greasy. 
Down-gyved,  hanging  down  ]  .EnjiAteZd.concealed.niasked. 
like    the    loose    cincture    Enstceped,  immersed, 
which  confines  the  fetters    Entertainment,    pay,     Cor. 


Division,  phrase  in  music, 

the  parts  of  it 
Doff.     See  Doff. 
Dole,  alms,  or  distribution. 
Don,  to  do  on,  put  on. 
Dout,  do  out,  extinguish. 
Dowl,  a  feather. 


round  the  ankle. 
Draught,  the  jakes. 
Draw,  sometimes  used  for 

withdraw. 
Drawn,  swords  drawn. 
A  drawn  fox,  one  which  is 

trailed  over  the  ground, 

and  deceives  the  hounds. 
Dressings,    semblances    or 


Oth.     Receive    into    ser- 
:      vice  Jul  Cou. 
|  Entreatments,    favours,    or 


Estimable,  i.  e.  wonder,  es- 
teeming wonder,  or  es- 
teem and  wonder. 

Estimate,  the  rate  at  which 
I  value. 

Estimation,  conjecture. 

Estridgts,  ostriches. 

Eterne,  eternal. 

Even,  to  make  even,  or  re- 
present plain. 

Even  CAmd'aw,  fellowChris- 
tian. 

Evils,  jakes. 

Examined,  disputed  or 
doubted. 

Excellent  differences,  distin- 
guished excellencies. 

Excrement,  the  beard. 

Execute,  sometimes  for  to 
use,  or  employ. 

Executors,  executioners. 


Exercise,  exhortation,  lec- 
ture. 

Exhale,  breathe  your  last 

Exhibition,  allowance. 

Exigent,  end. 

Exorcism,  in  Shakespeare, 
generally  means  the  rais- 
ing of  spirits. 

Expect,  expectation. 

Expedience,  expedition. 

Expedient,  often  for  expe- 
ditious. 

Expediently,  expeditiously. 

Expostulate,  inquire  or  dis- 


Envy,  often  used  for  aver- 
sion, malice. 
Ephesian,  a  cant  term,  per- 
haps for  a  toper. 
Erewhile,  a  little  while  ago. 
habiliments  of  virtue.  Erring,  wandering,  errant 

Driven  bed,  one  for  which    Escape,  illegitimate  child, 
the  feathers  are  selected  '  Escoted,  paid ;  from  escvt, 
by  driving  with  a  fan.  shot,  or  reckoning. 

Drumble,  to  act  as  confused  !  Esil,  or  Eisel,  a  river. 

and  stupid.  !  Esperance,  the  motto  of  the 

Ducdame,  due   ad  me,  the        Percy  family. 
supposed    burthen    of   a  ;  Espials,  spies. 
oug.  Essential,  real,  existent 


Exsufflicate,  bubble-like. 

Extacy,  a  degree  of  mad- 
ness. 

Extend,  to  seize. 

Extent,  violence. 

Extern,  outward. 

Extremity,  calamity. 

Eyas-musket,  a  troublesome 
^  puppy,  infant  Lilliputian. 

Eyas  and  musket,  are  young 
hawks. 

Eyases,  young  nestlings. 

Eye,  a  shade. 

Eyliads,  eyes;  from  wil- 
lades,  Fr. 

Eyne,  eyes. 

Face-royal,  a  face  not  to  be 
meddled  with. 

Facinorous,  wicked. 

Factious,  active. 

Faculty,  exercise  of  power. 

Fadge,  to  suit  or  fit 

Fadings,  a  dance. 

Fain,  fond. 

Fair,  sometimes  for  fair- 
ess,  beauty, 

Faitors,  traitors,  rascals. 

Fall,  often  used  as  an  active 
verb :  At  fall,  at  an  ebb. 

Falsing,  a  thing  that's  falsi- 
fied, or  false. 

Falsely,  illegally,  illegiti- 
mately.    Mea.  for  Mea. 

Familiar,  a  demon. 

Fancies  and  Ooodnights, 
little  poems  so  called. 

Fancy,  often  used  for  love. 

Fang,  to  seize,  or  gripe. 

Fantastical,  of  fancy,  or 
imagination. 

Fantasticoes,  affected,  fool- 
ish fellows. 

Fap,  beaten,  or  drunk. 

Far,  extensively. 

Far  off  guilty,  guilty  in  a 
remote  degree. 

Farced,  stuffed. 

Farthel,  or  fardel,  a  bundle, 
a  burthen. 

Fashions,  the  farcens,  or 
farcy. 

Favour,  often  for  counte- 
nance. 

Favours,  features. 

Fear,  sometimes  to  affright 

Fear,  danger. 

Feat,  to  form,  to  model. 


Feat,  ready,  dextertus. 
Federacy,  a  confederate. 
Fee  farm,  a  kiss  in  fee-farm, 
a    long    and  unbounded 
kiss,  from  a  law  phrase. 
Feeders,     low      debauched 

servants. 
Feere,  a  companion,  a  hus- 
band. 
Fell,  skin, 

Fell  of  hair,  hairy  part 
Fence,  sKill  in  fencing. 
Feodary,  an  accomplice. 
Festinutely,  hastily. 
Festival     terms,      splendid 

phraseology. 
Fet,  fetched,  derived. 
Fico,  a  fig,  or  fiyo. 
Fielded,  in  the  field. 
Fiu,  to  insult 
File,  a  list 
Filed,  defiled. 

Finch    egg,  a  term  of   re- 
proach;  a   finch's  egg  is 
remarkably  gaudy. 
Fine,  to  make  Bhowy  or  spe- 
cious. 
Finer,  for  final. 
Fine    issues,    great    conse- 
quences. 
Fineless,  unbounded,    end- 
less. 
Fire-drake,    a    serpent,     a 
will-o'-the-wisp,    a    fire- 
work. 
Fire-new,  just  off  the  irons; 

quite  new. 
Firk,  to  chastise. 
First  house,  chief  branch  of 

the  family. 
Firstlings,  first  produce. 
Fit  o'  the  face,  grimace. 
Fits  o'  t/ie  season,  its  disor- 
ders. 
Fixure,  position. 
Flap-dragon,  an  inflamma- 
'     ble  substance   swallowed 

.  by  topers. 
Flap-jack,  a  kind  of  pan- 
cake. 
Flaw,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind. 
Flecked,  spotted,    dappled, 

streaked. 
Fleet,  for  float 
Fleshmtnt,  performance.    A 
young  soldier  fleshes  hi* 
sword  when  he  first  draw* 
blood  with  it 
Flewed,  deep-mouthed,  ap- 
plied to  hounds. 
Flibbertigibbet,  a  fiend. 
Flickering,  fluttering,    un- 
dulation, the    motion  of 
flame. 
Flote,  wave. 

Flourish,  to  ornament,  sanc- 
tion. 
Flout,  to  wave  idly,  to  wave 

in  mockery. 
Flush  youth,  youth  ripened 

to  manhood. 
Foin,  to  make  a  thrust  in 

fencing. 
Foison,  plenty. 
Fond,  valued,  prized,  some- 
times foolish,  indiscreet 
Fond  done,  foolishly  done. 
Foot,  to  grasp. 
Forage,  to  range  abroad. 
Fordone,  overcome    or  de- 
stroyed. 
Foredoomed,        anticipated 

their  doom. 
Forefended,  prohibited,  for- 
bid. 
Foreslow,  to  be  dilatory. 
Foryetive,  from  forge,  inven- 
tive, imaginative. 
Forked  plague,  an  allusion 

to  the  cuckold's  horns. 
Formal  capacity,  not  de-ar- 
ranged, or  out  of  form. 
Former,  sometimes  for  fore- 
most 
Forspoken,       contradicted, 
spoken  against 


GLOSSARY. 


TI21 


Frwmpold,  fretful,  peevish. 

Fiauk.  ft* 


stye. 


•at  on  the  ground,   In  the 
1      old  theatre*. 
I  Guerdon,  reward. 
Franklin,    a    fi  echo'.der,    a  ,  Guerdoned,  rewarded. 

(iuUt,  a  term  in  heraldry, 

i  arte. 
Gyve,  to  catch,  to  thacVle. 
Gyiet,  ihackle*. 


I  Immediacy,  proximity  with- 
out  Intervention. 


Ilclency,  a   phraio   from 
falconry. 


lata  the  vibrations 

MrtMk 

Frippery,  a  »hop  where  old 

■lidMi  «>  t%  ton 
rroniltt,  part  of  a  woman'* 

luailUr<»>. 
Frush,  to  break,  or  bruise, 
cant    term   for 


nritan.  a 
Um  &1m 


ce. 


Furnishings,  cojours,  ex- 
ternal pretences. 

Fuiti'arian,  from  fusty,  a 
cant  name. 

OofcM-d.iu,  the  coam  frock 
of  a  peasant,  or  a  loose 
cloak. 

Gad,  a  sharp  pointed  Instru- 
BMnt :  Done  upon  the  Gad, 
suddenly,  capriciously. 

Galliard,  an  ancient  dance. 

GaUiatses,  a  kind  of  ship* 
so  called. 

Gallimawfry,  a  confused 
heap  ot  things  together. 

Gallow,  to  scare,  or  frighten. 

Gallow-glasses,  foot  »oldier* 
among  the  lri>h. 

Garboiis,  commotion*. 

Garish,  gaudy,  showy. 

Gasted,  frighted. 

Gawd,  a  bauble,  or  trifle. 

(Tear,  a  colloquial  expres- 
sion, for  things  or  matters. 

Geek,  a  fool. 

Gennets,  ot  jennet*,  Spanish 
horse*. 

German,  a- kin. 

Germins,  seed*  which  hate 
begun  to  germinate  or 
sprout 

Gest,  a  stag*,  or  journey. 

Gib,  a  name  for  a  cat. 

Giglott,  wanton  wenches. 


the  part*  played  one  with 
another. 

Ging,  an  old  word  for  gang. 

Gird,  a  sarcasm,  or  gibe: 
To  gird,  to  be  sarcasticaL 

Glaire,  a  sword. 

Glared,  gazed  upon,  looked 
fiercely. 

Gleik,  to  joke  or  scoff. 

Glib,  to  lib,  or  geld. 

Glooming,  gloomy. 

Glote,  to  expound,  or  ex- 
plain. 

Glut,  to  swallow. 

God'ild  you,  God  yield  you, 
or  reward  you. 

God's  sonties,  the  abbrevia- 
tion of  an  ancient  oath. 

Gomjarian,  for  Hungarian, 
used  a*  a  term  of  re- 
proach. 

Good  den,  good  evening. 

Good-jer,  from  gougere, 
what  the  pox  I 

Gorbellied,  fat  and  corpu- 
lent. 

Gospelled,  of  precise  or  pu- 
ritan virtue. 

Goss,  furze. 

Gossamer,  the  white  exhala- 
tions which  fly  about  in 
summer. 

Gougcers,  the  French  dis- 
temper. 

Gourd,  an  instrument  of 
gaming. 

Gout*,  drops.     Fr. 

Gramercy,  grand  mercl, 
great  thanks.     Fr. 

Orise,  or  Grizr,  a  step. 

Groundlings,  the  lower  sort 
of   people  who  stood    or 


Haggard,  a  kind  of  hawk. 
;  Halcyon,  a  bird,  otherwise 

called  tho  kingfisher. 
Hallidom^   sentence    at  the 

day  of  judgment. 
Handsaw,  corrupted    from 
i      lltmshaw. 

,  Hangers,  that  part  of  tho 
I  girdle  or  belt  by  which 
I  the  sword  wa»  iu»i>cnded. 
Hardiment,  hardiness,  bra- 
very, stoutness. 
Harlocks,  the    name    of   a 

Slant,  probably  the  bur- 
ock. 
[  Harlots,  sometimes  applied 
;      to  cheat*  of  the  male  sex. 

Harlotry,  vulgar,  filthy. 

Harness,  armour. 
'  Harrow,  to  conquer,  to  sub- 
due. 
|  Harry,    to    hurt,    to     use 

roughly. 
;  Hatch,  to  cut,  or  engrave. 
1  Having,  estate  or  fortune. 

Haught,  haughty. 

Hay,  a  term  in  fencing. 

Hearted  throne,  the  heart  in 
which  thou  wast  en- 
throned. 

Hebenon,  henbane. 

Hefted,  heaved,  agitated. 

Hefts,  heavings. 

Hell,  a  cant  name  for  a  dun- 
geon in  a  prison. 

Henchman,  page  of  honour. 

He nt,  to  seize  or  take  po». 
session,  to  take  hold  of. 

Herb  of  grace,  rue. 

Hermits,  beadsmen. 

Hest,  for  behest,  command. 

Hight,  called. 

Hilding,  or  hilderling,  alow 
wretch. 

Hoar,  hoary,  mouldy. 

Hob-nob,  let  it  happen  or 
not 

Hold,  1.  e.  rumour,  to  be- 
lieve it 

Hold  taking,  bear  handling. 

Hoodman-blind,  blindman  s 
buff. 

Horologe,  clock. 

Hoxes,  to  hox,  or  hough,  to 
cut  the  hamstring. 

Hull,  to  drive  to  and  fro 
upon  the  water,  without 
sails  or  rudder. 

Humming,  overwhelming. 

Hunt-counter,  blunderer, 
worthless  fellow,  probably 
bailiff. 

HunU-up,  a  morning  bunt- 
ing tune. 

Hurly,  noise. 

Hurtle,  to  dash,  or  posh  vio- 
lently. 

Hyen,  hyeena. 

Jauncing,  jaunting. 

Jay,  a  bad  woman. 

Ice-brook,  i.  e.  temper,  tem- 
pered bv  being  plunged 
into  an  ice-brook. 

Jesses,  straps  of  leather  tied 
about  the  foot  of  a  hawk  ! 
to  hold  her  in  hand. 

Jet,  to  strut,  to  walk  proud-  i 

Ignomy,  ignominy. 

Jig,  a  ludicrous  dialogue  in 
metre. 

Imbare,  to  lay  open,  or  ex- 
pose. 

Immnnity,    barbarity, 
vageucss. 


Impair,  unsuitable  to  the 
,      dignity. 

Impawn,  to  engage;  the  mo- 
dern word  is  to  commit 
one's  self. 

Imperious,  sometime*  used 
j      for  Imperial. 

/mper*etrran«,  ill  persere- 
rent,  or  persevcrant 

Impress,  a  device,  or  motto. 

Incarnardine,  stained  of  a 
flesh  colour,  or  rod. 

Inclips,  embraces. 

Incony,  fine,  or  pretty,  a 
term  of  endearment 

Indent,  to  bargain,  or  arti- 
cle. 

Indues,  iuWucs. 

Indued,  inured,  or  formed 
by  nature. 

Indurance,  delay,  procrasti- 
nation. 

Inhibit,  for  Inhabit,  or  to 
forbid,  or  decline,  as  a 
person  refusing  a  chal- 
lenge. 

Inhooped,  encloied,  con- 
fined. 

Initiate,  young,  just  Ini- 
tiated. 

Ink-horn  mate,  a  bookman. 

Inkle,  a  species  of  tape,  or 
worsted. 

Insculped,  engraved. 

Insconce,  to  fortify. 

Intention  and  intcntivcly,  for 
attention,  attentively. 

Interessed,  interested. 

Intrcnchant,  that  which 
cannot  be  cut 

Intrinse,  intricate,  or  intrin- 
secate,  ravelled. 

Inward,  sometime*  for  an 
intimate. 

Journal,  daily. 

Irk,  to  make  uneasy. 

Irregulous,  lawless,  licen- 
tious. 

Iteration,  citation,  or  repe- 
tition. 

Jump,  sometimes  to  agree 
with,  to  suit 

Juvenal,  a  young  man. 

Keech,  a  lump  or  mass  of 
tallow. 

Keel,  to  cool. 

Kernes,  light-armed  sol- 
diers.   See  Gallow-glasses. 

Key-cold,  as  cold  as  iron,  a 
key  of  which  is  used  to 
stop  small  bleeding*. 

Kicksy-wicksy,  a  ludicrous 
name  for  a  wife. 

Kiln-hole,  the  place  into 
which  coals  are  put  un- 
der a  stove. 

Kirtle,  a  sort  of  garment 

Knap,  to  break  short 

Knotts,  figure*  into  which 
part  of  a  garden  was  dis- 
posed. 

Laced  mutton,  cant  name 
for  a  courtesan. 

Lackeying,  floating  back- 
wards and  forwards. 

Lag,  the  fag-end. 

Lalcin,  ladykin,  or  little 
lady. 

Lances,  lance-men. 

Land-damn,  probably,  to 
banish  from  the  land. 

Land-rakers,  wanderers  on 
foot 

Lapsed  in  time,  having  suf- 
fered time  to  slip. 

Latch,  to  lay  hold  of. 
•  LaUd,  belated,  benighted. 
1  Latten,  lathy,  thin. 
1  Lnvolt,  a  dance. 


Laund,  lawn. 
Lay,  a  wager. 

Leaguer,  a  name  for  a  camp. 
Leasing,  falsehood. 
Leavened,     matured,     pre- 
I  iin-.l. 
"    nil 

eature,    complexion, 
|      or  colour. 

\Leet,    court-lcet,    a     petty 
I      court  of  justice. 
I  Leg,  obeisance    to   my  fa- 
ther. 
Legerity,  lightness,  nimble- 

nca*. 
Leiger,  a  resident,  or  rcsi- 


Leman,  a  lover,  or  mlstrc**. 
I  Lenten,  short  and  spare. 
|  L'envoy,  a  term    borrowed 
!      from     the    old     French 
poetry. 

Lewd,  sometime*  mean* 
idle. 

Libbard,  leopard. 

Liberty,  for  libertines,  or 
libertinism. 

Liefest,  dearest 

Li/ter,  a  thief. 

Limbeck,  a  vessel  to  emit 
fumes  and  vapours. 

Limbo-patrum,  in  confine- 
ment 

Limed,  ensnared,  a*  with 
bird-lime. 

Limits,  estimates,  or  out- 
lines, rough  sketches. 

Lined,  delineated. 

Link,  a  torch,  used  to  make 
old  hats  black. 

Linstock,  the  staff  to  which 
the  match  is  fixed,  when 
ordnance  is  fired. 

List,  the  bound  or  limit 

Lither,  flexible,  or  yielding. 

Loach,  a  very  small  fish,  ex- 
ceedingly prolific. 

Lob,  an  epithet  implying 
dulness  and  inactivity. 

Lock,  a  particular  lock  of 
hair,  called  a  love- lock. 

Lockram,  a  kind  of  linen. 

Lode-star,  leading  Btar,  the 
pole-star. 

Loygats,  a  game  played  with 
bowl  and  pins. 

Longing,  for  longed,  wished, 
or  desired. 

Longly,  longingly. 

Loofed,  brought  close  to  the 
wind. 

Loon,  a  base  fellow. 

Looped,  full  of  apertures. 

Lop,  the  branches. 

Lordings,  the  diminutive  of 
lord. 

Lover,  sometime*  used  for 
mistress. 

Lown,  a  sorry  fellow. 

Lowted,  treated  with  con- 
tempt 

Lozel,  a  worthless  fellow. 

Lunes,  lunacy,  frenzy. 

Lurch,  to  purloin,  to  de- 
prive. 

Lush,  a  dark  full  colour. 

Luatic,  cheerful,  pleasaut 
Hutch, 

Lym,  or  lyme,  a  blood- 
hound. 

Magot  pie,  magpie. 
Magnipco,  a  chief  man  in 

Venice. 
Mailed,  wrapt  up,  bundled 

up,  covered  with  mail. 
Main  descry,  the  main  body 

is  descrii'd. 
Male,  male  parent 
Malich,  a  wicked  art   ftpan. 
Malkin,  a   kitchen  wench, 

or  scullion,  a  trull. 
Maltwonns,  tipplers. 
hammering,        hesitating, 

stammering. 
Mammocked,  cut  in  (for** 
4  C 


1122 


GLOSSARY. 


Mammets.  puppets. 

Manage,  conduct,  adminis- 
tiation. 

Mandragora,  a  plant  of  so- 
porific virtue. 

Mandrake,  a  root,  supposed 
to  have  the  shape  of  a 
man,  and  to  groan  when 
pulled  from  the  ground. 

Mankind,  i.  c.  witch,  a  mas- 
culine witch. 

Manner,  with  the  manner, 
in  the  fact. 

Marchpane,  a  kind  of  sweet 
confection,  or  biscuit. 

Marches,  borders,  confines. 

Martlemas,  the  latter  spring. 

Mated,  confounded. 

Meacock,  timorous,  das- 
tardly. 

Mealed,  sprinkled,  or  min- 
gled. 

Mean,  a  tenor. 

Measure,  a  solemn  dance. 

Meaxels,  lepers. 

Medicin,  physician. 

Meditation,  quickness  of 
enthusiastic  thought 

Meiney,  people.     Fr. 

Melt,  to  meddle  with. 

Memory,  sometimes  used  for 
memorial. 

Mends,  the  means,  the 
wherewithal. 

Mere,  sometimes  for  abso- 
lute, entire,  total. 

Mered  question,  the  sole 
question. 

Mewed,  confined. 

Micher,  a  truant. 

Miching  maUecho,  a  secret 
mischief. 

Minute- jacks,  Jack  o'lan- 
tern. 

Miscnate,  illegitimate,  spu- 
rious. 

Misprised,  mistaken. 

Misprising,  despising,  con- 
temning. 

Missinyly,  at  Intervals,  oc- 
casionally. 

Missives,  messengers. 

Mistempered,  angry,  con- 
tentious. 

Mistful,  Le.  eyes  ready  to 
flow  with  tears. 

Mobled,  veiled  or  muffled. 

Model,  sometimes  for  mould. 

Modern,  sometimes  for  ab- 
surd, new-fangled. 

Module,  model. 

Moe,  to  make  mouths. 

Moist  star,  the  moon. 

Mome,  a  dull,  stupid,  block- 
head. 

Momentary,  short,  momen- 
tary. 

Monster,  to  make  monstrous. 

Moonish,  variable. 

Mope,  to  be  stupid  or  fool- 
ish. 

Mopes  and  mowes,  wry 
faces  and  mockings. 

Mort,  I .  e.  of  the  deer,  a  tune 
on  the  death  of  the  deer. 

Mortal,  abounding. 

Mortified,  religious,  retired, 
peaceable. 

Motion,  sometimes  for  pup- 
pet ;  puppetshows  were 
called  motions. 

Motive,  sometimel  for  assist- 
ant, or  mover. 

Mouldwarp,  the  mole. 

Mays,  pieces  of  gold. 

Much,  sometimes  an  expres- 
sion of  admiration  or  dis- 
dain. 

Muckwater,  the  drain  of  a 
dunghill. 

Muffler,  a  part  of  the  female 
headdress. 

Mulled,  softened,  dispirited. 

Mummy,  the  liquor  that 
runs  from  mummies. 

Mundane,  worldly. 


Mure,  wall. 
Muss,  a  scramble. 
Mutine,    to    mutiny,    or  a 
mutinous  fellow. 

Napless,  threadbare. 

Nayword,  a  watchword,  or 
a  byeword. 

Neb,  the  mouth, 

Neelds,  needles. 

Neglection,  for  neglect 

Keif,  fist 

Aether-stocks,  stockings. 

Newt,  the  eft 

Nice,  sometimes  for  silly, 
trifling. 

Kick,  reckoning  or  count 

To  nick,  to  set  the  mark  of 
folly  on. 

Night-rule,  frolic  of  the 
night 

NiU,  shall  not 

Nine  men's  morris,  figures 
cut  out  In  tin-  turf  for  a 
game  so  called. 

Noble  touch,  true  metal  un- 
alloyed. 

Nonce,  for  the  nonce,  on 
purpose. 

Noon-tide  prick,  noontide 
point  on  the  dial. 

Nott-pated,  round  headed, 
cropt 

Novum,  a  game  at  dice. 

Nouzle,  to  nurstle  a  fond- 
ling. 

Nowl,  a  head. 

Nurture,  education. 

Nut  hood,  a  catchpole. 

Odd-even,  the  Interval  be- 
tween twelve  at  night  and 
one  in  the  morning. 

OcCs    pitikins,     God's     my 

Oeliads,  glances  of  the  eye. 
Fr. 

Oes,  circles. 

Onyers,  probably  for  own- 
ers. 

Opal,  a  precious  stone,  of 
almost  all  colours. 

Operant,  active. 

Opinion  sometimes  for  self- 
conceit. 

Ordinance,  rank. 

Orgulous,  proud.     Fr. 

Ostent,  ostentation  or  de- 
monstration. 

Overcrows,  overcomes,  tri- 
umphs over. 

Overscutched,  whipt,  or 
carted,  applied  to  low 
prostitutes. 

Ouphes,  fairies. 

Ousel-cock,  supposed  the 
cock  blackbird. 

Out  vied,  defeated,  a  term 
in  the  old  game  of  gleek. 

Owe,  sometimes  used  for 
own. 

Oxlip,  the  greater  cowslip. 

Pack,  to  make  a  bargain, 
or  act  colluslvely. 

Packings,  frauds. 

Payed,  beaten,  drubbed. 
Men.  IV.  1st  Part,  pun- 
ished. 

Pale,  sometimes  dominions, 
boundaries. 

Pall,  to  wrap,  or  Invest 

Palled,  vapid,  decayed. 

Palmers,  pilgrims  who  visit- 
ed holy  places. 

Palmy,  victorious. 

Palter,  to  shuffle. 

Paragoned,  peerless,  with- 
out comparison. 

Parcell-bawd,  half-bawd. 

To  parcell,  sometimes,  to 
reckon. 

ParceU-gilt,  partly  gilt 

Paritors,  apparitors,  offi- 
cers of  the  spiritual  court 

Parle,  dispute  by  words. 


Parlous,     perilous,      keen, 

shrewd. 
Partisan,  a  pike. 
Pash,  head. 
Topash,  to  butt,  or  strike 

with  violence. 
Passed,  sometimes  for  sur- 
passed all  expression. 
Passy-measure,  a   kind    of 

dance. 
Patch,  a  fool. 
Path,  to  walk. 
Patines,  round  broad  plates. 
Pavin,  a  kind  of  dauce. 
Paucas  palabris,  few  words, 
corrupted    from  the  Sp. 
pocas  palabras. 
Peat,    pet,    or    darling,    a 

spoiled  child. 
Peer-out,    appear    out,    or 

peep  out 
Peevish,  sometimes  for  fool- 
ish. 
Peize,  to  weigh,  to  keep  in 

suspense.     Fr. 
Pelting,      sometimes      for 
paltry, 
i  Perdu,  one  of   the  forlorn 
!      hope.     Fr. 

i  Perdy,  a  corruption  of  the 
'.      French  oath,  par  Dieu. 
:  Perfect,  sometimes  used  for 
|      certain,  or  well  assured. 
|  Periapts,      charms      worn 
about  the  neck. 
Pew-fellow,  a  companion. 
Pheere,  a    mate,   or    com- 
panion. 
Pheese,  to  plague  or  tease. 
|  I'll  pheese  you,  I'll    comb 

your  head. 
I  Pia  Mater,  the  membrane 
that     protects    the    sub- 
j      stance  of  the  brain. 
j  Pick,  sometimes  for  to  pitch. 
Pickers,  hands. 
Pick-thank,  an  officious  pa- 
rasite. 
Piece,  sometimes  used  as  an 
epithet  of  contempt 
!  Pieled,  shaved. 
j  Pight,  pitched,  fixed. 

Pitcher,  leathern  sheath. 
i  Piled,  that  which  has  lost 
I      the  hair. 

!  Piled-esteemed,  probably  for 
vi!e-esteemed 
Pilled,  pillaged. 
I  Pinfold,  a  pound. 
Pink  eyne,  red  eyes. 
Pinnace,  anciently  signified 

a  ship  of  small  burthen. 
Pix,  the  box  in  which  con- 
secrated wafers  were  kept 
I  Placket,  a  petticoat 
:  Plague,  for,  to  punish. 

Plainly,  openly,  free  from 
I      concealment. 
]  Ptanched,  made  of  boards 
I      or  planks. 

1  Piantage,  plalntain,  or  any 
[  kind  of  plants  subject  to 
1  the  influence  of  the  moon. 
Plants,  feet ;  from  the  Lat. 
Plates,  silver  money. 
Platforms,  plans  or  schemes. 
Plausive,  gracious,  pleasing, 

popular. 
Pleached,    folded    in    each 

other. 
Point,  to  point  exactly,  com- 
pletely. 
Point-devise,  exactly.     Fr. 
Poize,  weight  or  moment 
Polack,  a  Pole. 
Politick  regard,  a  sly  look. 
Polled,  bared  or  cleared. 
Pomander,  a  perfumed  ball, 
worn  in   tunes  of  infec- 
tion. 
Pome-water,  a  species  of  ap- 
ple. 
Poor  John,  hake,  dried  and 
salted, 
i  Popinjay,  a  parrot. 
I  Port,  show  or  appearance. 


Portage,  open  space,  or  safe 

arrival  at  a  port 
Portance,  carriage. 
Possess,  sometimes   for    to 

make  understand. 
Potch,  to  push  roughly  or 

violently. 
Potents,  potentates. 
Poulter,  poulterer. 
Pouncet  box,  a  box  cut  with 

open  work.  Fr. 
Prank,  to   adorn,  to  deck 

out 
Precisian,  one  who  pretends 

to  great  sanctity. 
Preeches,  breeched,  flogged. 
Prenomina  te.already  named 
Pricket,  a  buck  of  the  se- 
cond year. 
Prig,  to  filch. 
Primer,  more  important 
Primero,  a  game  at  cards. 
Princox,  a  coxcomb  or  pet 
Probal,  probable. 
"  -oface,  much  | 

do  you.     Itat 
Profane,  sometimes,  free  of 

Bpeech,  talkative. 
Profession,  end  and  purpose 

of  coming. 
Prolixious,  coy,  distant 
Prompture,  suggestion,  In- 
stigation. 
Prone,  humble  or  prompt 
Properties,  the    necessaries 

of  a  theatre. 
Provand,  provender. 
Prune,    sometimes    for    to 

plume. 
Pugging,     cant     word    for 

coveting,  as   a    thief   or 

sharper. 
Puke,  colour  between  russet 

and  black. 
Pun,  to  pound. 
Pussel,  a  low  wench. 
Putter-out,  one    who    puts 

out  his  money  on  interest 

or  other  advantage. 
Puttock,  a  mean  species  ef 

hawk. 

Quail,  to  sink,  to  faint. 

Quaked,  thrown  into  trepi- 
dation. 

Quarry,  the  game  after  it  is 
killed. 

Quart  d'ecu,  fourth  part  of 
a  French  crown. 

Quat,  a  scab,  an  angry 
blockhead. 

Qucasj/,suspicious,  unsettled 

Quell,  sometimes,  to  murder. 

Quests,  reports. 

Question,  sometimes,  con- 
versation. 

Questrist,  one  who  goes  in 
search  of  another. 

Quiddits,  subtleties. 

Quill,  in  the  quill,  written. 

Quillets,  evasion,  chicanery. 

Quintain,  a  post  or  butt  set 
up. 

Quips,  hasty,  passionate  re- 
proaches and  scoffs. 

Quired,  played  in  concert 

Quit,  sometimes  to  requite. 

Quittance,  return  of  injuriei 
or  favours. 

Quiver,  nimble,  active. 

Quote,  sometimes,  to  observe 
or  regard. 

Rabato,  an  ornament  for  the 
neck. 

Rabbit-sucker,  a  young  rab- 
bit 

Race  of  heaven,  something 
descended  from  heaven, 
heavenly. 

Race,  a  single  root 

Rack,  the  last  fleeting  vestige 
of  the  highest  clouds. 

To  rack,  to  harass  by  exac- 
tions. 

Ram,  for  rain. 


GLOSSARY. 


1123 


the   nnino    of    a 


Rampallion,  a  rampltif  low  , 

creature. 
Rapt,  rapturously  affected.    1 
Kitted     sinew,     a     strength  < 

reckoned  npon. 
Ravin,  to  devour  voracious- 
Raught, reached. 
Rawly,  without  preparation, 

suddenly,  hastily. 
Rayed,  bewrayed. 
A  rue,  a  bale. 
Rechmt,  a  horn,  a  tune  to 

call  the  dogs  hack. 
Reek,  to  care  for. 

Recorders,  a  kind  of  flute.         Scntf,   a  word 
AW  lattire i>hrtu<e*,K\cho\i»e  I       scab. 

conversation,     from    the  I  Scumble,  to  scramble. 

form    of   the  doori  and 

window*. 
Red  plague,  the  erysipelas, 

8.  Antony's  lire. 
disco] 


Sacring-bell,  the  bell  which 
five*  notlre  of  the  Host 
approach  hip. 

Sad  osttnt,  grave  appear- 
ance. 

Saaa,  to  sink  down. 

SalUt,  a  helmet. 

Saltier s,  satyrs. 

Saminao,  San  Domingo. 

Saw,  discourse. 

%,  old  word  for  silk. 

Scale,  to  disperse,  to 


Avc-y., 


Reels,  probably  for  wheels. 
Re/el,  to  confute. 
Reared,  exchange  of  saluta- 
tion. 


\S 

Scanned,  examined  nicely. 

Scandling,  measure  or  pro- 
portion. 

Scarfed,  decorated  with 
flags. 

Scath,  destruction,  harm. 

Sconce,  the  head,  or  a  kind 
of  fortification. 

Scotch,  to  bruise  or  crush. 

Serimers,  fencers.     Fr. 


Re  guerdon,  recompense,  re-  ;  Scroyles,  scabby  fellows. 


;  Serubbtd,    stunted,    shrub. 
,      like,  or  short  and  dirty. 
1  Sculls,  shoals  of  fish. 
j  Seam,  lard. 
Seamels,  a  bird. 
!  Seamy  side  without,  inside 
j      out 
1  Star,  dry. 
j  Sear,  to  close  up. 
"  to  sew  u] 


turn. 

Remotion,     removal     from 
place  to  place,  shifting. 

Remues,  journeys,  stages. 

Render,  sometimes,   to  de- 
scribe. 

Renege,  to  renounce. 

Repeals,  recall*. 

Reports,  reporters. 

Reproof,  confutation. 

Repugn,  to  resist. 

Reserve,  to  guard,  to  pre-  ,  Seld,  for  seldom. 

serre  carefully.  Semllably,  in  resemblance, 

Resolve,  sometimes  for  dis-  '      alike. 

solve.  }  Seniory,  seniority. 

Raped,  caution,  regard  to    Sennet,  a  flourish  on  cornets, 
consequences.  !  Sense,  sometimes  for  reason 

Respective,  respectful  or  re-        and  natural  affection. 


1  Seeling,  "blinding. 
Mifa     " 


spec  table 
Rtsj>ectiiely,  respectfully. 
Rest,  what  I  am  resolved  o 
Retort,  to  refer  back. 
Reverbs,  reverberates. 


I  Septentrion,  the  North. 
I  Sequence,    of   degree,    me- 
thodically. 

Sere,  dry,  withered. 

Serpigo,  a  kind  of  tetter. 


Revolt  of  mien,  change  of  j  Sessa,  from  cesser,  be  quiet 
complexion.  |  Set    of  wit,  a    term   from 

Revolts,  revolters.  :       tennis. 

Rheumatic,  for  capricious,  Sett  up  his  rest,  a  term  from 
humoursome.  !       the  military  exercise. 


Rib,  to  enclose. 

Ribald,  lewd  fellow. 

Rid,  to  destroy. 

Ri/t,  to  split 

Rtgyish,  wanton. 

Rigol,  a  circle. 

A^i'm,  probably  a  cant  word 

for  money. 
Ringed,  encircled. 
Rivaoe,  the  bank  or  shore. 
Ricnlity,  equal  rank. 
Rivals,  equals. 
Aim,  to  discharge  or  burst. 
Romage,  tumultuous  hurry. 
Ronyon, 

person 


Setobos,  a  kind  of  god  or 

devil. 

I  Several,  or  severcll,  a  field 

separated  from  others  to 

bear  corn  and  grass. 

:  Sewer,  the  person  who  placed 

the  dishes  in  order. 
.  Shard  borne, borue  on  shards 

or  wings. 
!  Shark  tip,  to  pick  up  without 
j      distinction. 

Shaven  Hercules,  Samson. 
1  Sheen,  shining,  bright,  gay. 
.     [  Sheer,  pellucid,  transparent 
b,  a  despicable  |  Shent,      scolded,      roughly 
'      treated. 


Rood,  the  cross. 
Rooky,      abounding 

rooks. 
Ropetrieks,  roguish  tricks, 

or  abusive  language. 
Ropery,  roguery. 
Roundel,  a  circular  dance. 
Roundure,  a  circle. 
Rouse,  a  draught  of  jollity, 

carousal 


'  Sherris  sack,  sherry  sack, 
with  I  Shive,  a  slice. 
Shog,  to  go  off. 
Shotten,  projected. 
Shove  groat,  a  kind  of  game. 
Shovel  boards,  shillings  used 
at  the  game    of  shovel- 
board. 
Shoughs,  a  species  of  dog. 
I  Shoulder  clapper,  a  bailiff. 


Sister,  to  Imitate  or  re-echo. 

Si'fA,  and  sithence,  since. 

Sixes,  allowances. 

Sknin's  mates,  kin's  mates. 
i«on. 

Skills  not,  is  of  no  Import- 
ance. 

Skinker,  a  tapster;  from 
Skink,  drink. 

Skirr,  to  scour. 
|  Slave,  to  treat  with  Indig- 
nity. 

Sleave,  coarse  unwrought 
•Ilk. 

Sledded,  carried  on 

Sleided,  untwisted. 

SliphU,  arts. 

Slip,  a  counterfeit  piece  of 
money. 

Slips,  a  contrivance  In 
feather,  to  start  two  dogs 
at  the  same  time. 

Slivered,  sliced. 

Slops,  loose  breeches  or 
trowsers. 

I  Slough,  the  skin  which  the 

I      serpent    throws    off    an- 

j     nually. 

Slowed,  delayed. 

Slubber,  to  obscure. 

j  Smirched,  soiled,  obscured. 

•  Sneap,  rebuke,  check. 
[Sneck  up,   a  cant    phrase, 
j      probably   for,    go    hang 
1     yourself. 

1  Snipe,  an  Insignificant  fel- 
i      low. 

Snuff,  sometimes  for  anger. 

Snuffs,  dislikes. 

Soft,  i.  e.  conditions,  gentle 
qualities  of  mind. 

SoiV,  sometimes,  turpitude, 
reproach. 

Solidares,  some  species  of 
coin. 

Sooth,  truth. 

i  Sorer,  a  greater  or  heavier 
j      crime. 

\Sorel,    a    deer  during    his 
j      third  year. 
1  Sort,  to  choose  out 
{Sorts,  different  degrees  or 

•  kinds. 

Sort  and  suit,  figure    and 
[     rank. 
,  Sot,  fool.     Fr. 

Soused  gurnet,  a  gudgeon,  a 

term  of  reproach. 
!  Soud,  sweet,  or  an    excla- 
mation   denoting  weari- 
j      ness. 

1  Sowle,  to  drag  down. 
:  Sowter,  the  name  of  a  hound. 
[  Spanieled,  dogged. 
i  Speak  parrot,  to  act  child- 
i      ishly  and  foolishly. 
I  Speak  holiday,  L  e.  words, 
j      curiously  and  affectedly 

chosen. 
I  Speculation,  for  sight 

S/h  culatite  instruments,  the 
eyes. 

Speed,  fate  or  event 

Sperr,  to  stir. 

Spill,  to  destroy. 

Spleen,  often  for  hurry,  or 
tumultuous  speed. 

Spotted,  wicked. 


decoy    to    catch 


Royal,  or  real,  a  coin  of  the  '  Shrewd,    sometimes  for  *e- 

value  of  ten  shillings.  j      vere,  bitter. 

Royally  attorneyed,    nobly  '  Shrift,  confession. 

supplied   by  substitution  i  Shrive,  to  call  to  confession. 

of  embassies.  |  Side,  purpose  or  resolution. 

Roi/nish,  mangy,  scurry.  .  Siege,  a  stool,  or  privy,  or 
Ruddock,  the  redbreast  J      seat 

Ruffle,  to    be  noisy,  dlsor-    Sieve,  a  common  voider. 

derly.  Sightless,  unsightly. 

Ruffling,  bustling  or  rustling  Sights,  i.  c.  of  steel,  the  per- 
Rump  .fed,  fed  with  offals.  >  forated  part  of  the  helmet 
Rush,  for  rush-ring.  I  Single,  sometimes  for  weak, 

Ruth,  pity,  compassion.  little 


Sprag,  ready,  alert. 
Sprightrd,  haunted. 
Springhalt,  a  disease  toci 


dent  to  horses. 

Square,  sometimes,  to  quar- 
rel. 

Squarer,  a  quarrelsome  fel- 
low. 

Squash,  an  immature  peas- 


Squire,  sometimes  for  a  rule 

or  square. 
Stage,    to    place    conspicu- 
ously. 
I  Staggers,  a  disorder  jx-culiar 
I      to  horses. 
I  Stain,  colour  or  tincture. 


;st„ie,    a 
i       birds. 
Stannyel,  tho  name  of  a  kind 
j      of  hawk ;  a  stallion. 
.  8tnrk,  stiff. 
State,  sometimes  for  a  chair 

of  state. 
Statists,  statesmen. 
Staves,    the    wood    of   the 

lances. 
Stead,  to  help  or  befriend. 
Sternage,  the  hinder  part, 

close  after. 
Stickler,  one  who  stood  by 
to  part  tho   combatants, 
an  umpire. 
Stigmatical,  marked  or  stig- 
matized. 
Sf/tf, sometime*  for  constant, 
I     continual. 
;  Stilly,  gladly,  lowly. 
I  Stinted,  stopped. 
Stint,  sometimes  to  stop. 
Stithied,  forged ;  from  stithy, 

an  anvil. 
Stoccata,  a  thrust  or  stab. 

JtaL 
Stock,  sometimes  for  stock- 
ing. 
Stomach,     sometimes     for 
stubborn  resolution, 

pride,  or  haughtiness. 
Stone-bow,    a    crossbow    to 

shoot  stones. 
Stover,  hay  made  of  coarse 
rank  grass,  and  used  for 
thatching. 
Strachy,    or    thrachy,     of 

Thrace. 
Strait,  narrow,  avaricious. 
Straited,  put  to  difficulties. 
Strange    and     strangeness, 
;      sometimes    for  shy    and 
I      and  shyness. 
I  Strangle,  sometimes  for  to 

suppress. 
Stratry,  straying. 
(Striker,    cant   word    for    a 
j     a  borrower. 
:  Stuck,  or  stock,  for  stoccata, 

a  term  in  fencing. 
, Stuffed  sufficiency,   abilities 
:     more  than  enough. 
Submerged,  whelmed  under 

water 
Subscribe,     sometimes,     to 
1     yield  or  surrender, 
j  Subtleties,  disguised  dishes. 
•  Success,  sometimes  for  suc- 
cession. 
[Successive,  L  e.  title,  title  to 

the  succession. 
Suggest,       sometimes,       to 
I     tempt,  to  excite. 
i  Suited,  dressed. 
\Sumpter,  either  the  horse  or 
the  package  that  conveys 
necessaries. 
Superfluous,       overclothed, 
AWs    Well.      Living    In 
abundance,  Lear. 
Surcease,  cessation,  stop. 
Surreigned,  overridden. 
Swart,  or  swarth,  black  or 

dark  brown. 
Swashing,  imposing,  bully. 

ing. 
Swath,  the  quantity  of  grass 
i     cut    down    by    a    single 
I     stroke  of  the  scythe. 
\Sway,    weight 


Sweltered,  weltered. 
\Swinge-buckUrs,    rake*    or 

I     rioters. 
Swounded,  swooned. 
( Table,  the  palm  of  the  hand 
I      extended,  a  picture. 
\Tables,  books  of  ivory  for 

memorandums. 
'  Tabourines,  small  drums. 
j  Tn' en  order,  taken  measure* 
Tag,  the  vulgar  populace. 
1  Take,  Let  house,  to  g* 
into  a  house. 


1 124. 


GLOSSARY. 


Take,  sometimes,  to  strike 
with  lameness  or  disease. 

Take  in,  to  subdue. 

Talent,  often  for  talon. 

Tarre,  to  stimulate,  to  set 
on. 

Tasked,  sometimes  for  taxed 

Tassel-gentle,  or  tercel-gen- 
tle, a  species  of  hawk. 

Tawney  coat,  the  dress  of  a 
summoner  or  apparitor. 

Taxation,  sometimes  for 
censure  or  satire. 

Teen,  sorrow,  grief,  or  trou- 
ble. 

Temper,  to  mould  like  wax. 


Tender,  to  regard  with  af- 
fection. 

Tent,  to  take  up  residence. 

Tercel,  the  male  hawk. 

Tested,  attested,  genuine. 

Testerned,  gratified  with  a 
tester,  or  sixpence. 

Tetchy,  touchy,  peevish, 
fretful. 

Tether,  a  string  by  which 
any  animal  is  fastened. 

Tharborough,  third  bo- 
rough, a  peace  officer. 

Theortck,  theory. 

Thews,  muscular  strength 
or  appearance  of  man- 
hood. 

Thick-pleached,  thickly  in- 
terwoven. 

Thill,  OTjUl,  the  shafts  of  a 
cart  or  waggon. 

Thin  helm,  thin  covering  of 
hair. 

Thought,  sometimes  for  me- 


Thrasonical,  insolently 

boasting;  from  Thraso, 
a  braggadocio  in  Terence. 

Thread,  sometime*  for  to 
pass. 

Three-pile,  rich  velvet 

Thrift,  a  state  of  prosperity. 

Thrumbed,  made  of  thrum, 
the  end  of  the  weaver'* 
warp. 

Tib,  a  nickname  for  a  wan- 
ton. 

Tickle,  sometimes  for  tick- 
lish. 

Tickle-brain,  the  name  of  a 
strong  liquor. 

Tilley-valley,  an  interjection 
of  contempt. 

Time,  a  ripener. 

Timeless,  untimely. 

Timely-parted,  i.  e.  ghost, 
departed  in  the  course  of 
time  and  nature. 

Tire,  to  fasten,  to  fix  the 
talons. 

Tire  valiant,  or  volant,  a 
kind  of  headdress. 

Tired,  sometimes  for  adorn- 
ed. 

Tod,  to  produce  a  tod,  a 
certain  quantity  of  wool. 

Toged,  wearing  their  habits. 

Tokened,  spotted. 

Tolling,  taking  toll. 

Tomboy,  a  masculine,  for- 
ward girl. 

Too  much,  any  mm,  ever  so 
much. 

Topless,  supreme,  sovereign. 

Topple,  to  tumble. 

Touches,  the  features,  the 
trait 

Toward  and  towards,  some- 
times, instead  of  readi- 
ness. 

Toys,  sometimes  for  whims, 
freaks. 

Toze,  to  unravel,  to  close 
examine. 


Trace,  sometimes,  to  follow 
or  succeed  in. 

\Trail,  the  scent  left  by  the 

J     passage  of  the  game. 

I  Trammel,  to  catch ;  tremmel 
is  a  species  of  net 

Tranect, probably  some  kind 
of  ferry,  dam,  or  sluice. 

Translate,  sometimes  for  to 
change  or  transform. 

Trash,  to  cut  away  the  su- 
perfluities, or  to  check  ;  a 
phrase  in  hunting. 

Traverse,  an  ancient  mili- 
tary word  of  command. 

Traversed,  i.  e.  arms,  arms 
across. 

Tray-trip,  a  kind  of  game 
at  tables  or  draughts. 

Treachers,  traitors. 

Trench'd,  cut  or  carved.  Fr. 

Trick,  sometimes  for  a  pe- 
culiarity of  feature. 

Trick,  to  dress  out 

Tricksy,  clever,  adroit 

Trigon,  Aries,  Leo,  aud  Sa- 
gittarius. 

Trip,  to  defeat  or  disap- 
point. 

Triple,  for  third,  or  one  of 
the  three. 

Triumphs,  sometimes  for 
shows,  masks,  revels. 

Trol-my-dames,  trou-ma- 
dame,  the  game  of  nine 
holes. 

Troll,  to  sing  trippingly. 

Trossers,  probably  for  trow- 
scrs,  or  a  kind  of  breeches. 

Trot,  a  familiar  address  to  a 
man. 

Trow,  to  imagine  or  con- 
ceive ;  I  trow. 

Trundle-tail,  a  species  ofj 
dog. 

Trusted  for  thrusted. 

Try  conclusions,  try  experi- 
ments. 

Tub-fast,  the  sweating  pro- 
cess in  the  venereal  disor- 
der. 

Tucket,  toccata,  a  flourish 
on  a  trumpet     Ital. 

Tupped,  lien  with;  from 
turn,  a  ram. 

Turlygood,  for  turlupin,  a 
naked  beggar. 

Turquoise,  a  species  of 
precious  stone,  supposed 
to  be  endued  with  extra- 
ordinary virtues. 

Twangling  Jack,  a  paltry 
musician. 

Twiggen-botlle,  a  wickered 
bottle. 

Tyed,  limited,  or  circum- 
scribed. 

Umber,  a  dusky,  yellow-co- 
loured earth. 

Unaneled,  without  extreme 
unction. 

Unavoided,  unavoidable. 

Unbarbed,  bare,  uncovered, 
beardless. 

Unbated,  i.  e.  sword  not 
blunted  as  foils  are. 

Unbonneted,  without  any 
addition  from  dignities. 

Unbreathed,  unexercised, 
unpractised. 

Uncape,  a  term  in  hunting, 
to  stop  every  hole  before 
the  fox  is  uncaped  or 
turned  out  of  the  bag. 

Uncharged,  unattacked. 

Unclew,  to  unwind,  to  ruin. 

Uncoined,  unrefined,  una- 
dorned. 

Unconfirmed,  unpractised  in 
the  ways  of  the  world,  not 
hardened. 


Undercroft,  a  phrase  from 

heraldry,  to  wear  beneath 

the  crest 
Uneffectual,  u  e.  fire,  shining 

without  heat 
Unexpressible,  inexpressible 
Ungenitured,      not     having 

genitals. 
Unhaired,  unbearded, 

youthful. 
Unhappy,     sometimes     for 

mischievously     waggish, 

unlucky. 
Unhoused,  free  from  domes- 
tic cares. 
Unhousclled,  without  having 

the  Holy  Communion. 
Unmastered,  licentious. 
Uvproper,  common. 
Unqualified,  unmanned. 
Unquestionable,    averse    to 

conversation. 
Irrespective,  inconsiderate. 
Unrough  youths,    beardless 

youths. 
Unsisting,    unresisting     or 

unfeeling. 
Unstanched,  incontinent. 
Untempering,  not  softening. 
Untented,  not  probed,  viru- 
lent 
Untraded,  singular,  not  in 

common  use. 
Un  valued,  invaluable. 
Upspring,  upstart 
Use  aud  usance,  sometimes 

for  usury. 
Utis,  a  merry  festival. 
Utterance,  the  extremity  of 

defiance. 

r<it7,  sometimes,  to  cast 
down,  to  let  fall  down. 

Valenced,  fringed  with  a 
beard. 

Validity,  sometimes  for 
value. 

Vanity,  an  illusion. 

lrantage,  opportunity. 

Vantbrace,  armour  for  the 
arm.     Fr. 

Vast,  sometimes  for  waste, 
dreary. 

Vaunt,  the  avant,  what  went 

■    before,  or  the  vanguard. 

Vaward,  the  forepart 

Velure,  velvet. 

Venetian,  admittance,  a 
fashion  admitted  from 
Venice. 

Veneia,  a  bout  at  a  fencing 
school. 

Veneys,  venews. 

Vent,  rumour,  materials  for 
discourse. 

Ventages,  the  holes  of  a 
flute. 

Verbal,  verbose. 

Verify,  to  hear  witness. 

Very,  sometimes  for  imme- 
diate. 

Vice,  to  draw  or  persuade. 

Vice,  a  grasp.     A  mimic. 

Vie,  a  term  at  cards,  to  brag, 

Violenteth,  probably  rageth. 

Virgin  crants,  maiden  gar- 
lands.    Ger. 

Virginal,  a  kind  of  spinnet 

Virginal,  belonging  to  a 
virgin. 

Virtuous,  sometimes  for  sa- 
lutiferous. 

Vizument,  advisement. 

Waft,  to  beckon. 

Wage,  sometimes,  to  hire  or 
reward,  to  fight. 

Wan'd,  probably  for  waned, 
decayed,  or  in  the  wane. 

Wanned,  pale,  made  wan. 

Wappened,  probably  decay- 
ed or  diseased. 


Ward,  defence,  a  phrase  in 
the  art  of  defence. 

Warden,  a  species  of  large 
pear. 

Warn,  sometimes,  to  sum- 
mon. 

Warp,  to  change  from  the 
natural  state. 

Wassel,  a  kind  of  drink,  or 
intemperate  drinking. 

Waxen,  to  increase. 

Waxen,  soft,  yielding,  easily 
obliterated. 

Web  and  the  pin,  diseases  of 
the  eye. 

Ween,  to  think  or  imagine. 

Weigh,  sometimes,  to  value 
or  esteem. 

Weird,  prophetic 

Welkin,  the  sky. 

Welken-eye,  blue  eye. 

Well-a-near,  well-a-day, 
lack-a-day. 

Wend,  to  go. 

Westward-hoe,  the  name  of 
a  play  acted  in  Shake- 
speare's time. 

Il'<  titer,  used  for  ram. 

Whelked, varied  with  protu- 
berances ;  from  whelks, 
protuberances,  a  small 
shell-fish. 

Where,  sometimes  for 
whereas. 

Whiffler,  an  officer  who 
walked  in  processions. 

Whiles,  until. 

Whipstock,      the      carter's 

Whip. 

Whirring,  hurrying  away. 

Whist,  being  silent. 

Whiting  time,  bleaching 
time. 

Wliitsters,  bleachers  of  linen. 

Whittle,  a  pocket  clasp 
knife. 

Whooping,  measure  and 
reckoning. 

Wimpled,  hooded,  or  veiled ; 
from  wirrple,  a  hood. 

Winchester  goose,  a  strump- 
et; the  stews  were  for- 
merly licensed  by  the 
bishop  of  Winchester. 

Winking-gates,  gates  hastily 
closed  from  rear  or  dan- 
ger. 

Wis,  to  know. 

Wish,  sometimes,  to  recom- 
mend or  desire. 

WittoUcuckold,  one  who 
knows  himself  a  cuckold, 
and  is  contented. 

Woe,  to  be  sorry. 

Wondered,  able  to  perform 
wonders. 

Wood,  crazy. 

Woolvish,  giving  an  idea  of 
a  wolf  in  sheep's  cloth- 
ing. 

Woolward,  clothed  in  wool, 
or  rather  naked. 

Worts,  the  ancient  name  of 
all  kinds  of  cabbage. 

Wreck,  resentment. 

Wrest,  an  instrument  for 
drawing  up  the  strings  oi 
a  harp;  a  help. 

Wrested  pomp,  pomp  ob- 
tained by  violence. 

Writhled,  wrinkled. 

Wrying,  deviating. 

Yare,  handy,  nimble. 
Yearn,  to  grieve  or  vex. 
Yerk,  to  kick. 
Yesty,  foaming,  frothy. 

Zany,  a  buffoon,  a  merry 
Andrew. 

,  pious. 


R.    CLAY,    PRINTER,    BREAD    STREET    HILT.. 


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